Damaged Goods: (1) Goods subject to duties, which have received some injury either in the voyage home, or while bonded in warehouses.
(2) A person regarded as inadequate or impaired in some way.
It started the way everything does, with an ending. As one phase of life passes another begins. Had you asked Stiles a year ago he'd be where he was now, he would have thought you insane. But life has a funny that way, one day everything was fine—he was a relatively happy high schooler—and the next the he knew he was being trotted around on a leash by some creepy old rich dude.
Stiles never imagined he'd be one of those people, the kind of people who have sex for money, but at some point it stops being about the sex and just becomes a matter of survival. Maybe he could survive without a cell phone or jeep repairs but without food? Or a house?
No, at some point minimum wage wasn't enough to even makes ends meet and one thing lead to another and here he was, walking around in his underwear with a collar around his neck and for what? A couple hundred bucks, that's what-enough to cover the mortgage and maybe the water and gas bills. A few hours a humiliation was worth it.
"Look at him Derek." Peter, the old bastard who'd paid for his services, commanded his nephew. Up until this point Derek had advertised his gaze, but stared up at his uncle's words. Those big green eyes bore holes in Stiles, made him weak in the knees. "Look at him." Peter cooed again, this time his breath on Stiles neck. "He's a whore Derek, damaged goods. He'll never be anything more."
Stiles bit back the bile rising in his throat. At this point he'd heard those exact words so many times he'd begun to believe it. How could he be anything more that what he'd become. Derek hadn't treated him like that. He'd been the only one to treat Stiles like a person and not a piece of meat.
Derek didn't say anything. "Look at his pretty face." One of Peter's hands cupped Stiles' chin. Stiles wanted to champ off one of his fingers, teach him a lesson. "Is this really what you want? My little boy toy as your own?"
Derek still refused to speak, his jaw set tight watching his uncle handle Stiles. "He does tricks you know. Show him Stiles."
Peter tugged on the leather strap for Stiles to kneel. Stiles stood strong against the pull. "Do it or you get nothing," Peter hissed in his ear. "Now be the good little whore and do your trick."
Stiles swallowed down his pride and fell to knees in front of Derek. He knew the routine. He reached for the zipper on Derek's pants. Derek stiffened under his touch but didn't stop him. Peter's hand forced his head down onto Derek. Derek let out a bucked and gasped as he entered Stiles' mouth. If this had been another time, another place Stiles would have done this willingly. That's how much Derek meant to him.
Their beginning was coming to an end. Anything they had would be lost after tonight. He would never look at Stiles the way he did. He would see what everyone else did: Damaged goods.
It started when the bills started to pile up. At first they were late notices but quickly turned into past dues and final warnings. The lights got turned off, then the water and gas. Soon the bank was threatening to reposes the house. Stiles father was too busy drinking to care about paying bills.
It wasn't his fault, the man was depressed, and who wouldn't be. Stiles needed him to be strong; they were both grieving in the worst way possible. But when Stiles found the darkness inside of him ebbing away his father let it fester and grow. He took to drinking to drown it out.
That when Stiles took matters into his own hands. The only problem was that the only jobs he could get paid nearly nothing, and between school and lacrosse practice he was perpetually exhausted.
It was Jackson who got him involved in the first place. Jackson- with his stupid perfect face, and stupid perfect car and stupid perfect life—who approached him that Friday after school.
"Hey Stilinski, I hear you're looking to make some extra cash."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll do anything, except cleaning toilets. I do that enough at the movie theater and don't get paid nearly enough." That was an understatement. The theater worked him like a dog and only paid seven dollars an hour. Even if he worked full time his paychecks would be diddlysquat.
"Good, I'll come by and pick you up. We're going job hunting tonight."
Something in Jackson's tone gave Stiles the chills. Even more so was the fact that Jackson was offering help in the first place. Jackson had treated him like garbage up their whole lives. Why change now?
When Jackson said the words 'job hunting', Stiles assumed he meant turning in applications at the mall, not going to a gay bar.
"What the hell is this? I thought you were going job hunting, not getting our grove on at the sugar shack."
"Stilinski, shut your pie hole for one second and listen. Now this is job hunting. Remember how you said you would do anything?"
"Yeah but it's not like I can be a shirtless bartender. I'm pale and flabby."
"Not the job. Look, what if I told you there was a entire group of guys in there willing to pay your bills for you, all you have to do is spend a little time with them."
It took a small moment for what Jackson was saying to click. "Oh god, are you talking about screwing old dudes for cash? That's sick, and I'm pretty sure illegal."
"Not screwing, escorting. It's not illegal because they're not paying for sex; they're paying for your company. And it pays well." Jackson nodded his head towards his Porsche.
Stiles' mouth dropped open. "Are you telling me some geezer bought you a car because you hung out with him for a few hours?"
"That an so much more."
That was tempting. That car must have cost almost two hundred grand. That was more than enough to cover bills for a long time. Enough that he wouldn't have to work at theater. Enough that he and his father wouldn't lose their house. "Okay… say I was interested, how do you know anyone's gonna wanna talk to me. I mean you're so… and I'm so…"
Jackson held back a laugh. "Don't worry, you're with me. So are you in or out?"
Stiles thought it over. He didn't have to have sex with these guys, only talk to them. It was kinda like he was the hot girl at the bar and every guy was going to buy him drinks. It didn't mean anything. "Alright, one time and if I don't like it I'm out of here."
Jackson smiled. "Believe me, you'll love it."
Jackson walked past the bouncer like he'd done this a million times, and he must have to get a Porsche out of the deal. When Stiles walked up the big gorilla bouncer stepped in his way.
"He's with me." Jackson yelled continuing into the club. The monstrous size guard stepped aside and Stiles scurried in after. Jackson walked through the club, all eyes on him. Guys and girls alike watched as he walked past the dance floor to the back of the club to the VIP section. Another bouncer stood guard. One look and he moved the velvet rope to sweep them in.
It wasn't what Stiles expected. He wasn't sure what he expected but not this. There were a lot of guys, a mix of young and old. The older guys all had drinks in their hands and sat around as the young guys walked around shirtless or in their underwear trying to get attention.
"Come on," Jackson said dragged Stiles through the crowded room towards a darkened corner. "Keep your mouth shut and follow my lead."
Jackson lead then to a small group of men sat. From the way they dressed to the their style, Stiles could tell they were different— The VIP's of the VIP. They were younger and much more affluent than the other men. Jackson stripped off his t-shirt before strutting up to them. They cheered and called his name, begging for him to join them.
"Welcome back." One guy greeted Jackson. He was much younger than the other, had to be in his mid thirties and handsome. He shouldn't be here; he should've been out there dancing with the other guys. "And, who's your friend?"
All eyes were on Stiles. One wrong step and Stiles would slip and fall on his face. "Boys, meet Stiles. Show him the same love you would show me."
"Stiles," The younger man crooned. "Such an interesting name for a handsome young man. Peter Hale." The man held out his hand and Stiles shook it. "Join us."
Stiles took a seat next to Peter. The guy didn't even ask before pouring him a drink. Stiles wasn't sure what it was but drank it down anyways. It burned running down his throat and tasted like rubbing alcohol. "So how old are you Stiles?"
"Uh… Seventeen."
"Ah, seventeen, such a memorable time. You have your whole life before you. What brings you here?"
What was he supposed to say, that Jackson told him if he were nice enough some old guy would throw some cash his way. "Well-uh- my good buddy Jackson over there told me he was coming here so I figured I could join him."
Some of the guys were ballsy, running their hands along Jackson's toned chest and arms. Stiles felt insecure taking his shirt off. He wasn't fat or anything but skinny and white as milk. "Tell me," Peter said, his mouth getting close to Stiles ear. "Is this your type of club?"
Stiles was pretty sure the guy was asking him if he were gay. "You could say that, though I've never even kissed anyone beside my mom." A small pang rung out in Stiles' gut at the mention of his mother. It hadn't been that long but long enough that he missed her more than anything in the world. He wished he didn't mention her, he felt stupid, but Peter didn't seem to notice.
"You are a fresh one aren't you? Believe me when I say that sex is one of the few pleasures we get to enjoy as human. No other species has sex for fun, and there's so many fun ways to have it."
This guys voice was hot on Stiles neck, sending chills through his body. Virginity was something most guys tried to get out of the way as fast as possible but Stiles never saw it like that. He wanted his first time to mean something. He wanted his first time to be with someone he loved and who loved him in return. Sure maybe he could pick up some random dude, or hook up with Danny from school but it would be meaningless. He wanted it to be memorable.
"You don't say. I thought there was only way to do it."
Peter pour Stiles another drink. Stiles knew he shouldn't be drinking like this on a school night but something about this guy didn't rub him right. He needed it to loosen up. "Maybe if you're a repressed Catholic but you're a virile young man, you should be out there tearing it up while you can. Believe me, you'll be old and decrepit before you know it."
"You don't look that decrepit to me."
For a moment Stiles for sure Peter would take it the wrong way but instead he let out a hearty laugh. "Well thank you, but believe me when I say I look young for my age."
It went on like this for hours. From what Peter told him, he was a businessman and CEO of the Hale Corporation, a fortune five hundred company that specialized in herbal medicines. Peter then went to talk on about the medicinal benefits of mistletoe and mountain ash. Stiles had no idea what he was talking about but he nodded along and tired to keep his eyes open. The alcohol was hitting him harder than he thought and his eyelids were growing heavy.
"Well boys, I think I should call it a night." Peter said standing up and tossing some bills to the waiter who'd brought over a check. Stiles had never seen so many zeros on a bill but Peter didn't bat an eye. "It was nice meeting you Stiles. Perhaps our paths will cross again."
Peter shook his hand and in his palm, slid Stiles a wad of cash before disappearing. It ended up being two hundred bucks. Two hundred American dollars, and they weren't counterfeit. Stiles checked. If he had gone to his regular job, it would have taken him almost a week to make that.
If all the transactions went like this than he would be on easy street. Stiles went home and stashed the money away where his father wouldn't find it. The last thing he needed was his finding the money and spending it on booze. Stiles decided he would go back there. As long as the money kept coming he could hold a conversation. How hard could that be?