Chapter Text
It was a truth universally acknowledged that not even the happiest of marriages could keep the clutches of infidelity from snagging a spouse. Infidelity was horrible, of course, and possibly one of the worst things a married man could do. In the world of divorce, it was grounds enough for the jilted partner to get lucrative settlement.
Lucky for Stiles, it was all legal.
He and his latest lover, a spicy Italian whose name he couldn't recall without being slightly racist, crashed into the heavy oak door. Their tongues tangled, hands fumbled and they danced for a bit before a set of keys fell onto the ground with a loud clang.
Stiles broke away, smiling down at his latest conquest as the other slid his back down the wall, kneeling down to reach the keys. Damn, his type was getting blaringly obvious the more and more he came home with strangers. At least this one didn't have a full on beard, but his impressively copious moustache did nothing to draw attention from his best feature; brilliant hazel green eyes.
'Got them,' Marco, Mario grinned back, waving the keys up. 'Move back so I can get up.'
'I don't know, you kinda look good down there,' Stiles said, feeling his mouth grow wider. His head felt cloudy, from an excessive amount of drinks and probably something in a joint someone passed him in the first club he had hit. Still, there was something still sane enough in him telling him that his neighbours wouldn't love a view of him getting sucked off in his doorway.
He dragged his Italian enamorato back up into a kiss, slipping one hand under his silky blue shirt whilst the other grabbed the keys and jammed a random into the lock. It took three tries, and finally breaking away from the lip lock for him to get the door unlocked.
The room was suspiciously dark but Stiles didn't pay any mind as he quickly latched his lips onto Marco/Mario, slamming the door closed with his leg. Marco/Mario moaned, his arms locking around Stiles's neck.
They clumsily made their way down the passageway, wincing everytime they knocked into some table or object in the long passageway. They finally made their passion-drunk way into an open plan, Marco/Mario breaking away to breathe.
'Where's the bedroom?' He panted hoarsely, bringing his nose to rub it against Stiles's throat. Stiles blinked into the darkness, trying to make out his surroundings. He could see a few chairs, a vase or two and he estimated that the area near the left corner were the stairs...
'I don't really know.'
Marco/Mario snorted. 'How drunk are you, dude?'
Stiles shrugged. 'It's not really my house.'
'Yeah, it's kind of mine.'
A light switched, flooding both Stiles and Marco/Mario with pain. They both sprung away from each other, hnads lifting to rub their eyes as they tried to find the source of the new voice.
Stiles turned towards the staircase to see none other than Derek Hale, hand on a switch whilst the other clutched a baseball bat, staring at him unimpressed.
'Babe,' he greeted Derek, nervously. Beside him, he noticed Marco/Mario freeze, head shooting up.
'Babe?'
'Welcome home, honey.' Derek said sarcastically. He shot Stiles another glare before lowering the baseball bat and swiftly turning around to walk back upstairs.
Marco/Mario and Stiles both watched his back disappear before letting out identical breaths of relief.
'Shit,' Marco/Mario whispered. 'You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend.'
'Not my boyfriend,' Stiles grimaced. 'Shit, I didn't think he would be in New York this month. Fuck's sake.'
'If he's not your boyfriend, then what the fuck is going on!' Marco/Mario hissed.
Stiles raised his fingers to his temples, a familiar sense of impending doom blooming in his chest which he always felt whenever he did something that he knew would piss Derek off. It was almost disturbing how familiar it was getting.
'Look Mar...' he droned off, opening one eye to look at the Italian.
'Martin.'
Stiles opened the other eye. 'Wait for real.'
'What?'
'Nothing,' Stiles grimaced slightly. 'I just have to revisit my stereotypes.'
'What?'
'Look, it was fun and all but I think you have to go now,’ Stiles said, wincing slightly.
Martin scoffed, hurrying to button up his shirt. ‘You think? I don’t know what you thought this was but I’m not a homewrecker dude.’
‘It’s not like that,’ Stiles muttered half-heartedly. He rummaged in his pockets for his wallet, pulling out a 50 once he found it. ‘Here. The least I could do is pay for your cab.’
Martin eyed the cash before snatching it from him. ‘Yeah whatever. I guess I’ll see you around.’ He paused, turning his head to look ar the staircase Derek had disappeared from. ‘Maybe not.’
Stiles waited until he heard the door click before groaning. It didn’t take a genius to know that he was in deep trouble. Sighing, he glanced at the staircase as he weighed up his options. He could pretend he was too drunk for the conversation or he could man up and get it over with.
Fighting with himself, he decided he should just head upstairs and face Derek sooner or later. If he didn’t, Derek would just end up being over passive agressive in the morning and Stiles hated it when he did that shit.
He followed Derek upstairs and looked inside all the rooms, trying to remember which one would be Derek’s room exactly. He had only been in the New York mansion once, during Derek’s housewarming party and the details were a little fuzzy because of all the booze he had taken. He remembered sneaking a girl up during the party but they had both decided it would be really uncool to break Derek’s new bed for him. So they had done it in the study instead.
Which was where Stiles found Derek, pouring himself a glass of wine. The man stood leaning against his desk, scowling as he watched Stiles enter the room.
Stiles swallowed. The air, it was tense.
‘Hey hubby,’ he chuckled nervously. ‘Didn’t know you were in town.’
‘I sent a text.’
‘Oh,’ Stiles rummaged inside his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through his notifications and sure enough, at around 5pm, there was a message from Derek letting him know that he was passing through New York before heading to Beacon and asking if he wanted to grab a bite. Stiles put his phone back, grimacing. ‘You know what? That is my bad, completely my fault. I’ll make it up to you.’
‘You should have known better than to come here Stiles,’ Derek scowled even harder. ‘This is my home more than yours.’
Stiles winced. The details of the marriage contract were complicated but the prenup didn’t lie. New York was Derek’s before they married, bought and paid for before they got together, so the house did belong to Derek. However, as far as their marriage went, what was Derek’s was Stiles’s. Stiles’s father had made sure of that.
But, Derek considered it his safe place. And it was a really dick move to bring someone here, after the fallout from the housewarming party. Sure, alcohol had probably played a huge part when he picked a place to go bone, but it was inexcusable.