.
Tohias
It's All Just So Ridiculous
[CHAPTER 2]
"Dad?"
He snapped his mouth shut the moment the words escaped his lips.
It's not actually him. It can't be.
With that logical train of thought, Stiles looked back at the man just to confirm that he wasn't going completely spastic.
Holy bat balls, it is him.
Twisting away and staring at the wine bottles slotted into the back wall, Stiles allowed himself a moment to just freak out.
After a few seconds of mild catatonia, he glanced back again.
The sheriff wasn't looking at Stiles anymore. Instead the man had relaxed back into his seat, draped one arm on the back of the couch and turned towards some curvy middle-eastern woman in a black strapless and ordered a drink like everything was right in the world, like they didn't just make eye-contact, like this wasn't something worth freaking out about.
The teenager's eyes blinked uncomprehendingly at the sight of his father surrounded by a cohort of criminals and looking every bit at ease with a woman in his lap as he did sitting at home watching football with mismatched socks. His posture was confident but not in the usual I'm-an-officer-of-the-law way. It was more like, I-could-kill-you-with-a-toothpick-and-then-continue-eating-my-dinner sort of way.
It was his dad. He was definitely Sheriff Stilinski, right down to the tilt of the mouth and the grey hair behind his ears.
It was his dad.
But…he kinda wasn't.
Feeling totally flummoxed, Stiles accidently knocked a tray of silverware off the counter, the sound turning heads towards his direction. Flushing red, he quickly crouched down and picked the utensils up which at least gave him a moment to collect his thoughts.
He should leave. He should leave immediately while everyone was distracted. One less serving boy in the room won't make a difference.
"Stiles?"
Nearly dropping the forks again, Stiles turned his head to the voice behind him.
"Sophia, hi!" Stiles winced at the pitch of his voice.
The blonde escort tilted her head, confusion marring her delicate brows as she asked, "Stiles…what are you doing here?"
"Oh you know, cleaning tables, serving drinks the usual."
The French escort still looked confused but now a slight hint of worry seeped into her face.
"Stiles…are you sure you're supposed to be here?"
"Yeah totally, Nadia promoted me a few days ago from cleaning bed sheets to cleaning cups."
"But Stiles…she wouldn't have let you work in here. She wouldn't have given you that uniform."
God, he was going to be busted now? Right at the end? By Sophia? Lovely, sexy, French bombshell Sophia?
"Of course she did!" Stiles lied. "I'm just doing my job, same job I've been doing since always, whenever, forever."
Okay, the strange mix of worry and alarm on Sophia face – the most laidback and sweet prostitute he's ever met – started to set off alarm bells at the back of his mind.
"Look Stiles, I think there must have been a mistake, you shouldn't –"
"Boy!" They both turned towards the bark and saw a patron waving an empty glass at them. "More wine!"
Relieved for the chance to escape, Stiles collected his platter and quickly dashed away from Sophia and her scrutiny. Of course his relief only lasted till he arrived at the lounge and realised the man that called him over was none other than his good friend Rape Face.
"Stiles," The man slurred his name like grease on carpet. "What a surprise! I had no idea you'd be here!"
Stiles gave a polite smile that pained him more than he could admit and silently poured the man more wine without making eye contact with anyone, especially his father lounging on the other side of the low resting coffee table.
Just as Stiles tried to make a dash for the bar, a firm hand suddenly gripped the back of his thigh.
"Aw, not so fast, why don't you come sit with me for a while? It's been so long since we last saw each other."
Why don't you stick that hand of yours in a blender?
Gritting his teeth, Stiles turned back to the man and responded, "I've love to but I have tables to clean."
Mr. Rape Face slid his hand higher and higher till they were resting on Stiles left ass and gave it slow squeeze. Goosebumps erupted down his arms at the repulsive touch and Stiles briefly closed his eyes and counted backwards from five.
"Now, now don't be like that."
Mr. Rapey McDonald abruptly yanked Stiles down till he was almost in the man's lap and his face nearly colliding with the man's mountain sized nose.
Stiles tried to pull back but the man kept a firm grip.
For the first time, Stiles looked over to his dad and found the not-sheriff watching the entire interaction from the other side of the lounge. He had next to no expression except for the slight press of his lips. But Stiles knew his father. He knew his expressions.
The Sheriff was furious.
Mr. Rapey McDougal suddenly slapped Stiles' ass and huffed with lascivious amusement. "Playing hard to get now are we? You sure you wanna be playing games with me boy?"
Stiles left eye twitch.
"Sorry," he didn't sound sorry at all. "I have tables to clean."
The man's leer twisted into something less patient and his hand tightened around Stiles' wrist but the expression was gone almost immediately and was replaced by a placid smile.
Suddenly the man deliberately tilted his wine till it spilled out of his glass and splattered red directly onto his crotch.
Shifting his stained pelvis forward, he gave Stiles a cocky grin.
"Well, would you look at that? Got something else to clean now don't ya?"
Why was he here again?
Oh yeah. Because there was a bunch of dead girls.
He didn't care if there was a massacre of kittens, next time Stiles was letting Scott take one for the team. He was never doing this again.
"I can refer a good dry cleaner."
Stiles brain-to-mouth filter never really worked so he wasn't surprised when the man lost all civil pretences and pressed Stiles' body with his own. The sudden invasion of space had Stiles reeling and desperate for the need to get the man's grubby paws off him but there wasn't much he could do without making a scene and the whole idea of spying was to be sneaky, not the freakin' centre of attention.
Any and all retorts Stiles fashioned in his head came to an abrupt stop when Rapey McGee slipped one large hand inside the front of his trousers and he instantly broke out in a cold sweat, his entire body tensed and screaming for him to jump back.
But the man's grip was tight and Stiles didn't know what to do.
Panicked, Stiles turned back to his father but found his dad wasn't even looking at him. Instead he was whispering something into some woman's ear and slipping her a wad of cash. Some functioning part of Stiles' mind wanted to kick his dad. Here he was getting molested and all his dad was thinking about was renting a prostitute!
Stiles gasped at a particularly unpleasant grip but Mr. Rape Face misinterpreted the sound as pleasure.
"Now, ain't this more agreeable?" He leaned in closer. "Ya still haven't cleaned my trousers." He pressed Stiles closer. "Why don't you get started down there eh?"
There was suddenly a loud crash and all eyes darted towards the broken wine glass shattered on the floor.
All eyes were on the Sheriff.
"Well damn," His father drawled pleasantly. "Sorry about that."
He didn't sound sorry at all.
The Sheriff rolled the broken flute of the glass leisurely with his left shoe, unconcerned with the sharp edges near his feet. There was something almost too relaxed about his voice.
Then for the first time in the whole night, John Stilinski looked at his son right in the eyes.
"You going to clean this up boy?" His father asked.
Without needing another sign, Stiles twisted his way out of his molesters loosened grip and shuffled immediately to his dad's side of the lounge. He crouched down on the floor and pulled out the spare towel hooked to the side of his pants and began sweeping away the broken glass so he could retrieve a dust pan for later.
But in his panicky haste, Stiles' thumb pushed too forcefully against one of the broken shards and sliced a clean line down through the fabric of his gloves and into his skin. It was a shallow cut but Stiles hissed at the hot sting and dumbly watched blood blooming through the white of his gloves.
A hand suddenly clasped around his own and pulled him up.
"Sit." His father ordered.
Stiles collapsed unwillingly next to his dad as the older man yanked off his glove and pulled a handkerchief from inside his jacket and wrapped it around Stiles bleeding thumb.
Feeling off-kilter and still trying to forget the sensation of Mr. Rape Grape hands all over him, Stiles felt he could be forgiven for any stupid words that came out of his mouth.
"Seriously? You keep a handkerchief in your pocket? Who does that in this day and age?"
John didn't look at him.
"It's for cleaning blood off my knives."
Yeah and Stiles wasn't totally blinking dumbly at that unexpected response.
There was some kind of snicker from his right.
"I think you scared him John." Some man with bleach blond hair laughed into his whisky.
"Shut it Daniels." His father responded still inspecting Stiles thumb.
Yeah…Stiles really didn't know what was going on.
Who were these people?
Still feeling jittery, he swallowed and asked, "So what's the damage John? Am I going to lose the finger?"
His father's name felt strange and misplaced on his tongue, like he shouldn't have said it but the Sheriff looked at him and Stiles knew that they both understood.
Just play along.
"Well I can't say for sure..."
Then John pulled the handkerchief away and slipped Stiles bleeding thumb into his mouth.
Stiles' brain stuttered to a halt when his throbbing finger became sheathed in a cavern of warmth and there was something undeniably strange about his father kissing his wound better like when he was a child but for a completely different reason in a completely different place. This wasn't done with the intention of making his boo-boo go away. No, the look in John's eye was broadcasting a very clear intention to anyone who was watching them. This was a show for the rest of the men sitting around on the lounge.
John pulled Stiles' finger out of his mouth with a 'pop' and leaned in closer.
"Why don't you come up to my room so we can take a closer look? Make sure none of these fingers go to waste?"
Jesus.
There was a slam of glass on wood at the other side of the alcove and they both looked over to see Mr. Rapey McGee go red with anger.
"The fuck are ya doing John? He's mine!"
A dozen people turned their heads at the loud sound and Stiles just wanted to disappear into the leather and become one with the sofa.
The Sheriff however seemed to relax even further at the other man's outburst.
"He's yours now is he?" John tilted his head. "Funny, I don't think…sorry what was your name again?"
Stiles blinked up at his dad and then answered, "It's Stiles."
"…is that your real name?" he dad suddenly asked, his curiosity almost hilariously genuine.
Stiles wanted to laugh but he repressed it and gave the most honest answer for the night, "Of course not. Who names their kid Stiles?"
John grinned.
Then he turned back to Mr. Rapey McSmelly and continued, "I really don't think Stiles here would agree with you, now do you Stiles?"
Stiles turned towards his molester and mimicked his father's expression of muted patronisation.
"Nope."
It seemed the double teaming from both of them had managed to raise Mr. Rapey McSpacy's blood pressure because he became an alarming shade of purple.
The next moment, the man pulled out his gun from his hip and pointed it at both of them.
Suddenly the lounge went quiet and a few of the escorts sitting with them tensed at the sight of the weapon but the other men from John's cohort looked either annoyed or amused.
John Stilinski just looked bored.
Stiles however wasn't feeling as relaxed, he couldn't look away from the barrel of the gun pointed at his father's face. Some lucid part of Stiles mind was laughing hysterically like a madman at the incredulity of the situation. Here he was, pale, skinny, ADHD Stiles, in a brothel being fought over by two men so they could buy him for a good roll around the hay, one of which was his own father.
Christ. It was just beyond ridiculous.
In the end neither Stiles nor his father had to do anything.
The blonde one, Daniels, sighed around his cigar and scowled at Rape Face.
"For god sakes Clark, put the damn thing away. You're killing the mood." Daniels rolled his eyes. "It's not like there aren't other boys around. You're in a brothel for crying out loud."
Some ginger with tattoos snickered. "Besides this is the first time I've seen John choose anyone. Let the prude have some fun."
Mr. Rape Face, or Clark, looked increasingly incensed.
John pulled Stiles closer to his side and downed another glass of wine.
"Besides Clark, there's nothing you can do," his dad wasn't grinning but with that amused sparkle in his eyes, he might as well be cackling hysterically and Stiles was openly baffled and amazed by this bizarre, vindictive version of his father.
"He's already mine."
Suddenly a woman approached John and handed him a key.
"Mr. John O'Brien, the transaction is complete and your room is ready."
John pulled Stiles from the lounge and with one last condescending look at Clark, they both followed the woman out of the parlour.
o
The door clicked shut behind them and all that Stiles could see was a large room as luxurious and opulent as every other room Stiles had the misfortune of cleaning as a brothel janitor.
Stiles let out a sigh and closed his eyes, feeling like he could breathe again after all the intensity back in the parlour.
"Aw man, that was close call." Stiles huffed with relief.
Stiles turned to his father but the older man was still facing the door with his back towards Stiles.
"Dad?"
The Sheriff didn't turn around.
"Dad?"
There was still no response and Stiles started to realise that he might have jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.
"Dad, come on –"
"Is it money?" the older man's voice cut in cold and sharp.
Stiles closed his mouth midway and blinked in confusion.
"What?"
"Is it money?" His dad quietly repeated with his face still turned away and Stiles felt increasingly worried.
"Dad, what on earth are you talking about?"
Suddenly the Sheriff spun around and stalked right up to his son's face, his eyes wet and ablaze with impotent fury.
"Is it the money?! Is it why you're doing this? Because if it's about college fees or your jeep or anything, you could've come to me!"
Completely at lost, Stiles just gawped at his father because the man almost never raised his voice at Stiles, not even when he lied to him for months, chased dead bodies or played around with the supernatural. Sheriff Stilinski never yelled.
"Dad, I don't –"
"Because I would've helped Stiles." Now his dad just sounded sad. "I've would've helped."
Stiles frowned, unsure what to say but then it slowly it dawned on him.
"Wait…" He furrowed his brows. "You don't actually think…?" Stiles blinked again and suddenly he was protesting rather loudly, "Dad! What the hell! I'm not a prostitute!"
Sheriff Stilinski still didn't seem very happy at Stiles words.
"Then why in god's green earth are you dressed like one!"
Stiles sputtered and looked down at himself then back up at his father. "I'm not dressed like a prostitute! There's barely any skin showing!"
"That uniform you're wearing is Monroe Court's dress code for the male escort working in the top floor parlour."
"Wha..?"
Suddenly Stiles remembered Sophia's confusion and her insistence that Stiles couldn't have been asked to work there. She wasn't talking about Stiles working as a server – she was talking about Stiles working as a prostitute. No wonder poor Sophia looked so alarmed.
Stiles groaned.
He messed up.
"Stiles," John made sure his words were clear and concise, "Please be very clear with me. Are you or are you not servicing your body for money?"
"No!" Stiles protested.
"Then I'm going to ask again why – if you're not working in a pleasure hotel – are you wearing a male escort uniform?"
Stiles gave a great big sigh and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Because I am working here. I was a janitor first then I got promoted to cleaning tables and serving drinks to clients on the lower levels. I'm wearing this uniform because I stole it. It was the only way I could sneak into the top floor." Stiles suddenly chuckled with little humour. "Although I swear I had no idea I was advertising myself as a prostitute for half the night. I just thought these were just fancy waiter clothes for the VIP parlour." He rubbed his eyes. "Jokes on me."
His dad seemed to flounder for words and just took a moment to process his son's answer. In the end, he just asked:
"Why?"
He sighed and answered, "Because I'm helping the pack investigate some supernatural murders that were linked back to this hotel."
Stiles knew his father didn't like the answer.
"Stiles!"
"What?! Dad I've been doing this for years, you know that! And I'm not running around fighting monsters or anything. It's just collecting information and relaying it back to Scott and Derek."
"So those two know."
"Dad, it was my plan, my decision. Not theirs."
The sheriff sighed.
"You're supposed to be in college Stiles. You're supposed to be studying. You're supposed to be at parties and freaking out about exams, not chasing killers and solving murders. That's my job."
"Well maybe I would've have called you if you were home half the time I visited!"
John rubbed his face and sighed. "I know I've been away but that's only because you're not home anymore and I have other thing on my plate now."
Stiles narrowed his eyes. "What, like playing mafia with your criminal friends back downstairs?"
John didn't answer.
"Dad, what are you doing with a crowd like that? And don't tell me its cop stuff because I know it's not. No Sheriff I've ever seen plays undercover agent with a false persona and name. That's not local police work."
"Stiles…it's classified."
Stiles barked out an unamused laugh. "Just by saying 'classified', you've just basically told me you're working with, at the very least, FBI. Did Scott's dad rope you into this? Is it a favour? Is that why you were pulling a Jason Bourne?"
"Stiles! Enough!"
Stiles huffed but didn't speak further on it.
"Look, let's just get out of here."
His dad walked back to the door and pulled it but after a few tugs it wouldn't open.
Stiles moved forward and gave the double doors a hard yank but that remained locked in place.
"Oh my god…I totally forgot."
John looked back at his son. "Why are the doors locked?"
"It's how it's run here. They always lock the doors because it seals the air in here without disruption, it helps the pheromones or love gas or whatever the hell the Madame pumps into the vents to circulate better in the room."
His father stood motionless with confusion.
"Pheromones?"
Stiles started to panic. "Did I forget to mention that the Madame that owns this lovely establishment is a succubus?"
"Yes Stiles, you did forget to mention it."
Suddenly Stiles remembered another very big piece of information regarding the room.
"…there are also cameras in the room. They installed them for the safety of the escorts and also cliental insurance. I discovered them while I was still a janitor. There're at least two in every room."
They both froze in place, unsure what to do.
His dad turned back to the door and gave it another hard pull.
"Look we'll get out of this Stiles. Just – Stiles?" John turned back to his son. "Stiles, what are you doing?"
John Stilinski turned back to find Stiles sitting on the bed and slowly unbuttoning his vest. After shedding his top clothes, Stiles began working on his white shirt while looking straight at his father.
"Stiles…why are you taking your clothes off?"
The teen ignored the questions and said, "Slowly walk towards me and look to the ceiling on your left and then to the painting on your right. Do you see the cameras?"
After a moment of hesitation John followed the instructions and found both cameras while approaching the bed.
"I see them…do they have audio?"
Stiles peeled his shirt off and dropped it to the floor.
"No. Just visuals."
"Is it recording or it just showing real time only?"
"I don't know but the angles too high on both cameras that they haven't seen my face well enough."
"Stiles, stop taking your clothes off."
John finally reached the bed and Stiles left hand was still gloved while the right was bare and the cut of his son's thumb was visibly still red. Stiles pulled his last glove off and dropped it at the Sheriff's feet.
Stiles pulled his shoes off and threw his socks away.
"Stiles stop. We'll get out of here."
Stiles subtly shook his head and eyed the camera to his left.
"They can't find out I'm here dad, the Madame may or may not see this and I can't risk being caught when I still don't know if she's involved in the killings. I still don't know if she's dangerous. I can't be caught in her territory dad. I can't. And definitely not with you."
Stiles reached out and yanked the collar of his dad's suit and peeled it off his shoulders.
"Stop…"
"And you can't be caught by your mafia friends."
John pulled away from his son and eyed him wearily.
"Stiles, we'll wait for those doors to open, they won't stay locked forever."
Stiles gave a frustrated shake of his head but had to temper it down so the cameras wouldn't pick it up.
"Dad, please believe me when I tell you I know these rooms. Those doors won't open till the person on the other side of those cameras knows you've finished using…their services."
Stiles swallowed the bile in his throat and tried to shake off the cold sweat on his brow.
John Stilinski all but growled.
"For god sakes Stiles! I'm not having sex with you!"
The both winced at the words finally spoken out loud and it sounded just as ugly as it did in their heads.
The Sheriff moved back a few steps and looked at his son with blazing blue eyes all defiant and protective. But Stiles could see his father's stress lines carved deep into the man's face like trenches mapped on his skin and the worried set of his shoulders seemed to press heavy against the older man's body. Why did Stiles have to continuingly, without fail, kept dragging his father into these messes?
God, he wanted to go home.
"I'm sorry dad…"
There was a sigh and John rubbed his face with both hands.
Neither Stiles nor his father moved or talked for a few minutes after that.
Suddenly a thought occurred to Stiles.
He peeked over to the cameras with a thoughtful frown and blinked at the angles of the lens and creating a mental map in his head. Then Stiles looked back at the bed which was filled with pillows, volumes of blankets and fluffy cushions, all of them good at obstructing a clear view for the cameras and whoever was sitting behind them.
It could work…Stiles had a plan.
"Dad I think I know what we have to do." Stiles whispered even though he knew there was no audio in the cameras. "They'll only open those door when the think they've seen we've finished using the room. So if we take the camera angles and the blind spots into consideration we can fake our way through this, they won't be able to see anything we don't want them to see."
There was some confusion in his father's eyes but Stiles didn't wait for a response.
He immediately pulled his pants down and kicked them away, now shivering since all he was wearing were just his red boxer shorts.
Fake it.
Giving one last eye at the cameras, Stiles sat up and kneeled on top of the mattress and tried to relax his body into something that might have resembled ease and confidence since he knew there was no way he could pull off sexy for the cameras.
Stiles reached out and pulled his father closer by his belt and observed his dad blink with slow apprehension but also a glimmer of understanding.
Just play along.
So Stiles slinked forward, pulling on whatever charm and confidence he could muster and tilted his head at his 'client' and gave the smallest smirk, a little bit cheeky and a little bit shy and just a touch cool. He suddenly pressed his body right up the other man's torso and drew his hands from his dad's shoulder and trailed them down his chest, feeling the muscle underneath twitch and move.
If he saw his father's eyes widened in surprise, he ignored it.
Just play along.
He yanked the man's shirt from his pants and then trailed his finger underneath the fabric and directly onto warm skin. He listened to his dad's rapid heartbeat and tracked the rise and fall of his breathe.
Stiles moved even closer than before till his naked thighs were parallel to the other man's body with almost no space left between them. He then wrapped his arms around his father's – John's neck in a half embrace and caught the man's blue eyes wide and almost confused but he knew there was understanding there as well. But he could see the tension and unsureness in the Sheriff's body so Stiles leaned in till his lips were pressed to the shell of John's ear.
"Just play along." He whispered.
With those last damning words, Stiles hooked his thumbs into the hem of his own boxers and with one quick movement pulled them down till he was naked as the day he was born.
Fake it for the camera.
Just play along.
.
.
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Note: Thank you for reading and stayed tuned!
TOHIAS-BANE
