Author's note: Happy New Year everyone!

(worry not, Ruby, if there is one thing in my fics one can be sure about, it's that sooner or later there will be spanks in them;))

"I think I…" Stiles had a sudden inexplicable urge to laugh. He quelled it, taking a deep breath instead. "I think I might have a stalker."

...

"Might have a stalker?" Derek repeated, sounding confused.

"Yeah, remember that guy from B-9? He has been bombarding me with messages and then there was this car and I thought I must be going crazy but apparently, my spidey sense is fully functional and that silver Toyota or whatever-"

"Whoa, Stiles, hold on. You are not making any sense."

"He attacked me."

"What? When?"

"Now."

"Like right now?"

"Yes."

"Where are you? Are you ok? Did he hurt you?" Derek's unconcealed worry shouldn't have felt as good as it did. Not that it stopped Stiles from his rant.

"I'm fine. He is as good at kidnapping as he is at flogging. Frankly, I am embarrassed to have such an incompetent stalker. I mean, shouldn't you prepare for such a thing? There are so many different, more effective, ways to do this and he-"

"Stiles!" Derek cut him off impatiently. "What happened?"

Stiles took a breath. Why was he rambling so much? "Well he jumped me and tried to knock me out with chloroform or something similar, but then he tripped and ran away." It sounded so trivial, now that he said it. Almost not worth all the drama, the pounding heart, and the queasy feeling that wouldn't go away.

"Shit," Derek cursed, apparently not finding it trivial at all. "Where are you?"

"At the hotel."

"Here?"

"No, I'm at the site."

"Why are you there when you are supposed to be here?"

"I just needed to fetch something… Why the fuck should I be explaining myself to you?!"

Ok, that came out of nowhere. Stiles wondered if he could plead temporary insanity or maybe it was the lingering chloroform fumes that made him act so defensive. It's not like Derek was implying that it was his fault for being at the wrong place at the wrong time, right? Though the thought certainly crossed Stiles' mind - that he somehow fucked up and brought this on himself.

Derek must have been just as stunned by this sudden outburst because he didn't even say anything. And when he did, he wasn't addressing Stiles. "No, Erica, not now… well, I can't right now… then cancel it, I'm busy!"

"Whoa, what are you doing? Don't cancel anything!"

"But-"

"I didn't call you to ask for your help!" Now Stiles just sounded panicky. The idea of Derek dropping everything to be his knight in shining armor was too romantic for the casual relationship he was trying to maintain between them. "I just called you to inform you that I won't be coming today cause I need to go to the police station to report the incident. So you go do your things, no need to change your plans for me."

"Well, I could-"

"Bye Derek." He hung up before Derek managed to squeeze in another word.

Rude. He will probably need to apologize for that later, but right now he had other, more pressing matters.

xxx

Stiles was under no illusion that the police would be able to do anything. After all, he was the son of a sheriff, he knew how things worked. And he had nothing on the guy. He hasn't actually seen him and 'roughly 5'9' and slightly overweight' was not exactly narrowing things down. The messages were from an endless string of new accounts created using proxy servers, so that was a dead end as well. Stiles even stopped reporting them, cause what's the point? There were no security cameras on the site and he still had no idea what was that car that might or might not have followed him a few weeks ago.

The officer didn't even have to say anything and Stiles knew it was all just a formality at this point. He was positive that he did the right thing by reporting it, and getting all his injuries documented for potential future litigation shall they ever catch the culprit. But he also knew that right now the police couldn't do jackshit about it. He was advised to be careful and avoid traveling alone, which was kind of a no brainer, but Stiles was polite enough not to point that out.

He spent several hours at the police station and by the time he was finally done, he felt numb and exhausted. It didn't dawn on him till he got in the car and pulled into the Manhattan traffic. The prickly feeling of being watched was back and Stiles groaned, slapping the steering wheel in frustration.

He hated this. Hated feeling so powerless and vulnerable - which was a first. As a submissive, he quite enjoyed that feeling - except feeling powerless and vulnerable at the hands of a strong trustworthy Dominant was different from having the rug pulled from under his feet by a crazy stalker.

That's why an hour later Stiles found himself standing in front of Derek's apartment door, a stack of papers in his hands ready as a perfect excuse for the late-night visit. His palms were sweating and he felt ridiculous just standing there afraid to press the doorbell. He triple-checked the address Erica gave him and there was no doubt that he was at the correct place. A fancy place too, on the Upper East Side, top floor and everything. General managers apparently made a fortune.

Pull yourself together, Stilinski.

With a slow exhale, Stiles pressed the doorbell and waited. At first, there were no sounds coming from behind the door. Maybe Derek wasn't home? Maybe he was at TRZ? But then he heard the approaching footsteps and had a split second freakout at the possibility of a random submissive opening the door, naked with whip marks and a ball-gag in his mouth.

Thankfully, that was not the case.

"Stiles?"

It was Derek, wearing a loose grey t-shirt and cotton slacks. Such a homey attire. His hair was messed up, with bits and pieces sticking in all (surely unintended) directions, but it didn't take anything from his attractiveness. Stiles got used to Derek's good looks and rarely paid attention to them anymore, but sometimes he would still get caught off guard. Like now.

"Uhm. Hi. Erica told me where to find you. I brought these." He handed Derek the files they were supposed to go through at the meeting today.

Derek glanced at them and let out a soft chuckle. "Only 6 hours late."

"Well, I'm sorry that me getting assaulted interfered with your plans for the day."

Great. He was here barely a minute and he was already blowing it. This came out as snide as it possibly could and Stiles felt like an ass once again. He let out a frustrated breath and watched Derek do the same.

"You wanna come in?"

Of course he wanted to come in. Why on Earth would he otherwise come all the way here pretending that those papers couldn't wait till tomorrow. "No, I-"

"Yeah you do," Derek cut him off, pulling him inside by the arm and closing the door behind him.

"Well, I guess I could use a drink," Stiles conceded. There was no point in protesting and putting up a false front when it was clear to both of them that Stiles didn't come here for work.

"Sit." Derek pointed at the sofa, forgoing the pleasantries. It was kinda funny how easily he slipt into Dom-mode when they were alone like this. "Scotch?"

"Yeah. Sure. Why not," Stiles nodded, glancing around. The loft was spacious and expensive-looking. Dark leather combined with light wood and abstract art covering the walls all pointed at the designer's touch, while tidy surfaces and overall cleanness signaled that Derek was either pedantic to a fault, or he had professional help. Probably the latter. Stiles wondered if there was a dedicated service submissives brigade Derek would invite over on a daily basis to keep the place spotless. He kept subconsciously looking for any sign of kink but unsurprisingly, Derek's living room was not filled with whips and St. Andrew's crosses.

"Have you eaten?" Derek asked as he handed him the drink.

Stiles lazily turned the glass in his hand watching the brownish liquid pour through the ice cubes and then took a sip, grimacing at the burn and the malty taste. "Not really."

"I have some leftover lasagna." It wasn't phrased as a question, but it was one nonetheless.

Stiles wasn't really hungry, but he figured drinking on an empty stomach was not wise. "Ok."

"Good boy," Derek said, disappearing into the kitchen. Stiles wanted to point out that agreeing to eat Derek's leftovers was not exactly a praiseworthy deed, but the flush of pleasure he felt at hearing those two simple words tied his tongue.

Derek didn't force the conversation. Much like when he brought Stiles home after the Brooklyn-9 incident, he let Stiles decide if he wanted to talk about it or not. Stiles did. He told Derek about the messages, about the car following him, and subsequent paranoia that lasted weeks and culminated in an actual assault when Stiles least expected it.

"I finally got rid of this horrible feeling, like I was constantly being watched and now it is back again and I just... didn't want to be alone tonight." Stiles chewed on his bottom lip, stealing a sheepish glance at the Dom. "Pretty pathetic, huh?"

"No," Derek said firmly. "And you really ought to stop using that word."

Or what?

And how tempting such a retort would be… but Stiles was not bold enough to take that route. He had no doubt that Derek would take the bait and issue a delicious spanking threat that would feed Stiles's fantasies for the next couple of days, but he didn't come here to throw his principles out the window. And he would be the biggest hypocrite to taunt Derek after all the times he scolded him for breaching the boundaries.

"So what now?" Derek asked, refilling yet another glass with scotch.

"Now nothing. There's hope that he will get scared after his botched attempt and leave me alone... No, don't give me that look, I don't expect him to, either."

"You should get a bodyguard."

"Right," Stiles snorted, "I'll call Kevin Costner if he is interested in the gig."

Derek frowned. Stiles saw that reference materialize and fly over his head. He was getting drunk. And Derek wasn't joking.

"Derek, I can't possibly afford a bodyguard!"

"Then you should move in with somebody."

Stiles let out a sad chuckle. "Uh-huh." That was obviously not happening. He watched Derek glance towards his bedroom and knew where this was going even before he said anything.

"You could-"

"No."

"I have a spare bedroom. If you need a place to stay, I don't mind."

"Derek. That's a generous offer, but no. I'm not ready to join the SS brigade."

"The what?"

Stiles didn't even realize that SS stood for Schutzstaffel and not 'service submissives' but he was too tipsy to bother explaining his thought process. "Nevermind. Thanks but I'll be fine. I didn't come here to seek shelter, I came for the booze." He clanked the glass against the table in an extravagant gesture demanding a refill.

Derek pushed Stiles's untouched glass of water closer to him. "Finish this, then you can have more whisky."

"Sooo bossyyy."

Derek smirked. "You haven't seen anything yet. Bottoms up, champ."

xxx

Stiles woke up with a slight headache and a nagging feeling that something was off. That proved to be self-explanatory when he opened his eyes and didn't recognize his surroundings. It took him a moment to remember where he was and how he got here.

He and Derek definitely finished one bottle and then even opened a second one. After that things were a bit blurry. He remembered complaining about the recent Yankees' loss and his drunken attempts to explain the importance of the recent detection of the gravitational waves. What he didn't remember was going to bed. At all. Which meant that he probably passed out from drinking. Yikes.

A quick glance under the sheets told him that he was wearing his boxers and nothing else, so Derek must have not only put him to bed but also undressed him. Jesus, was he really so out of it yesterday? And why was his dick taking a sudden interest in the idea?

He looked around the room. It was done in the same style as the rest of the apartment, spacious, neat, and tidy. Perhaps a bit cold and impersonal, but far be it for Stiles to criticize Derek's living arrangements when he was nice enough to provide Stiles with a room and a comfy bed, whereas Stiles left Derek to spend the night on his awful sofa covered by his bathrobe.

His clothes were folded neatly on the chair and smelled suspiciously fresh. Like somebody washed them. Damn, did the SS brigade already come and took care of it? That thought stopped bothering him as soon as he saw the time and had a mini heart attack. It was 10-fucking-am!

Stiles almost fell off the bed as he tried to put his socks, trousers, and shirt on, all at the same time. How could he oversleep so badly? And where was Derek? Didn't he have work too?

"Derek?!" he yelled, bursting out of the room as if it was on fire. "Derek!"

He heard the sounds of the TV and something cooking coming from the kitchen and stomped there in fury, buttoning his shirt on the way.

"What the hell, Derek?! Why didn't you wake me?! Did you see what time it is?! I'm so fucking late!"

"Good morning to you too, Stiles," Derek greeted him with an amused expression, as he continued stirring the scrambled eggs on the pan. Dick! That was just like him to ignore Stiles's entirely legit complaints and act as if nothing was going on.

Stiles then realized that he buttoned his shirt one button askew and will now have to redo the whole thing. "FUCK!" It might have been a minor thing but for some reason it made Stiles want to pull his hair out and Derek's subsequent laughter didn't help it much either.

"Help yourself to some coffee."

"I don't want your fucking coffee! I'm late!" Stiles snapped as he bounced around the living room like a ball in a Pong game. "Have you seen my jacket?"

"Calm down, Stiles, it's ok. Sit down and have some-"

"It's most certainly NOT ok! I need to get to work! Preferably two hours ago!" He tried to remember what was on the agenda this morning, but his hangover brain was not cooperating.

"Well, nothing you can do about it now, so might as well eat before you go." Derek's attitude was so infuriating! Of course, living like this he probably never experienced the common struggles of the working class.

"I knew I shouldn't have come here. Where did you say my jacket was?"

"Stiles!" Derek's patience must have run out because his amused expression was replaced with a frown as he whipped around and pointed the wooden spoon at him. "I swear if you don't sit your butt down right now I'll show you what else I can do with this spatula!"

Blood rushed to Stiles's face in a mix of arousal, embarrassment, and indignation. There were two possible courses of action he could take - both equally tempting - either storm out of the door, slamming it properly behind him, or sit his butt on the chair as Derek told him to. Well technically, there was the third option - not to do anything and see if the Dom would follow up on his threat, but frankly, Stiles was not ballsy enough to opt for that, so he sat down.

Derek didn't acknowledge Stiles's surrender and simply turned back to the stove.

Submitting to Derek did absolutely nothing to help Stiles's agitation though. "I obeyed you, shouldn't you praise me?" he snapped with as much venom as he could muster.

"You're being a brat, you don't deserve any praise," Derek replied casually, not even bothering to turn around and look at him.

The rebuke was rather mild but Stiles still felt stung by it. Despite his continuous wrangle against being dommed, he didn't actually like it when Derek was displeased with him. Especially when he wasn't even trying to be a brat.

"Are you pouting?" Derek asked after a minute. His mildly amused tone and the fact that he was still facing away was pissing Stiles off.

"You wish," he grumbled, basically proving him right.

Derek didn't comment and Stiles felt like a child. His freakout over being late was probably a tad overdramatic, but it wasn't ungrounded. And he wanted Derek to understand that.

"Look, you might not be able to relate, but I cannot just not show up to work. I have bills to pay, I don't have the luxury to be flippant. I mean, sure, people can oversleep, but when they do, they don't just sit around waiting to have a nurturing breakfast, they get their asses to the office and prepare some lame-ass excuse."

Derek finally turned away from the stove to look at him. "Well, it's a good thing then that you won't need a lame-ass excuse because you are having a business breakfast with your client to discuss the filtration system options." He pointed at the stack of papers Stiles brought over yesterday and managed to forget all about overnight.

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed," Derek replied with far less sarcasm than he could have. "Now as much as I enjoy your sulky demeanor I need you back in your work mindset for this, cause I have some questions."

If Stiles wasn't blushing before, he sure as hell was now. "Yeah, uhm, right. Sure, sorry." Shit. When will he stop making a fool of himself?

"That's better. Coffee?"

"Yes, please," Stiles muttered, keeping his gaze downcast in embarrassment. Derek filled his cup and then placed two plates with deliciously smelling eggs on the table. There was bacon, cheese, tomatoes, and something green mixed in, and even though Stiles was not big on the last two, it tasted surprisingly well. The polite thing would be to compliment Derek on his cooking and thank him for his hospitality, but Stiles was still smarting from his censure, so adulting will have to wait till he got over it.

"Stiles?"

"Hm?"

"Look at me."

Shit.

"I'm glad you came over. And not just because I enjoy your company but because it was the right thing to do. I know you already said no but if you ever feel unsafe or change your mind, my offer still stands."

Stiles managed an awkward smile and a tiny nod. How did Derek do it to make him feel chastised, embarrassed, and reassured at the same time? And why did he like it so much? And how was he gonna protect his heart going forward if his first instinct seems to be to run to him for help?

He cleared his throat and grabbed the file, summoning his business persona. Now was not the time for self-exploration. As usual, he will leave all those thoughts and conflicted feelings tucked away for later. And when "later" came he would casually pretend they never existed. So far this worked just fine for him.

TBC