hiatus , halepaws: “Holds me in his big arms, drunk and...

halepaws:
“ “Holds me in his big arms, drunk and I am seeing stars, this is all I think about…” Stiles hummed under his breath as he slid his key into the lock, pressing his ear to the door before turning the deadbolt. Wouldn’t want to walk in on God...

“Holds me in his big arms, drunk and I am seeing stars, this is all I think about…” Stiles hummed under his breath as he slid his key into the lock, pressing his ear to the door before turning the deadbolt. Wouldn’t want to walk in on God knows what could be going down inside. He slipped into the apartment quietly, yanking his earbuds out and tucking them into his shirt. Once the door was locked behind him he strolled into the large room, smirk on his face as his eyes landed on Derek, Boyd at his side, bent over the large table against the opposite wall. “Got some love for you, Daddy.” He purred, letting the dufflebag slide from his shoulder, tossing his lacrosse stick aside. He earned himself a roll of Boyd’s eyes, but all of Derek’s attention was on unzipping the bag.

Their boss peeled open the duffle, lifting an eyebrow at the stacks of hundreds lining the bag, mixed in with lacrosse gear. “What? It’s more than you asked for, babe.” Stiles huffed out as he hopped up onto the table, scooping up the Tokarev TT-33 sitting next to him and turning the gun over in his hands.

Deft fingers went to work disassembling the TT as he waited for Derek’s judgment. It was hit or miss with the man, but Stiles was used to it. Used to the soft affections and explosive rages that came in equal measures. What he got as a response made his fingers still in removing the slide.

“Boyd, get out.“

Boyd didn’t hesitate. No one hesitated around Derek. His authority was absolute, unquestioned, and unchallenged. Derek only turned to face him once Boyd was long gone, and he stayed perfectly silent as he took the pieces of the gun from Stiles’ hands. He set them aside, and the boy wondered for a moment if he was going to be scolded for fidgeting with an antique. Instead he was being hauled off of the table and shoved to his knees before he could blink, a Glock 22 jammed against his forehead. He arched an eyebrow, making an aborted gesture. “What is it this time? Am I short fifty cents? Cause that’s it, I swear.” More silence. Great. “Okay, I took a cut. A generous cut. But I totally deserve it. I sucked more metaphorical dicks getting that cash this week than any self respecting human being should ever-“

"Twenty-seven fucking thousand dollars, Stiles?” Derek cut in, voice perfectly level, pistol unwavering where it pressed against Stiles’ hairline.

Stiles licked his lips, balancing the risk of poking the monkey. Of course, he couldn’t help himself. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, dude. Communication is a great skill to have, you know? Might try it.”

“How’d you get the money, Stiles? You’ve never brought in more than twelve K in a week."

"You know, somehow this just isn’t threatening at all. Do you know how many times you’ve pointed a gun at me?” Stiles smirked, “Dozens. I mean, I’m pretty sure you like me. If the number of times you’ve put your dick in my ass wasn’t a hint, the number of times you haven’t shot me is a good tell."

Derek’s eyes were hardening by the second, finger inching a little closer to the trigger, and Stiles could only stare back. “How did you get the money, Stiles.” He growled, upper lip curling back. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Stiles cut him off.

"I told you.” He hissed, one hand snaking up, long fingers wrapping around the barrel of the Glock. As much as he loved to play, this situation was getting a bit too hairy for him. He had to calm Derek down before he got a bullet in his brain. He nudged Derek’s finger away from the trigger, coaxing the gun a little lower, licking his lips nervously. “I sucked dicks.”
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