Favorite Bottom Boy
"Mr. Hale?" Erica knocked on his door, pushing it open with her hip, her head tilted and her ruby-red lips stretched into a shit-eating grin. "The Stilinski’s are here for your one o’clock."
Derek raised his head from where he had been studying the scotch in his glass tumbler. “Let them in,” he said coolly, though his calm demeanor was belied by the way his cheeks had flushed red and his hands began to sweat.
"Derek."
Stiles was the first one in, as usual, a tight-fitting tee underneath his signature plaid overshirt. His pale cheeks were flushed, his lips parted and shiny with spit, and he winked when he caught Derek looking.
Derek’s heartbeat stuttered and Stiles smirked. They did it on purpose, Derek knew.
When he had first hired them, Derek had no idea what he wanted, and he didn’t really think that getting fucked, by twin brothers, was really his thing, but when they showed up that first night, looking like one of them had just been sucked off on the way up to his apartment, Derek had gotten harder than he ever thought was possible.
He hadn’t looked back since.
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