Following on from the PR Nightmare AU. Slight NFSW

Jackson scowled to himself in the shower. The generic shower products were full of awful chemicals and no doubt already drying his skin out. Honestly, it felt like the whole rehab facility was a test on his patience. A personal purgatory.

Being treated like every other inpatient was his idea. A ploy to make Derek feel like they were on the same team. Get him to trust him. But it was only the first day, and Jackson was already regretting hand over his expensive toiletries. Apparently, inpatients were desperate enough to drink cologne and mouthwash for the alcohol. Other liquids could smuggle in other substances, so they all were replaced with the rehab facility's dreadfully generic 'safe' products.

He finished up in the shower and reached out for a towel. Where was his clothes? The tiny en-suite bathroom was empty, his clothes vanished.

Cursing, Jackson jammed the towel around his waist and opened the door to his room. His suitcase was gone from where he'd left it.

"Fucking Derek Hale" muttered Jackson. No doubt Mr Grumpybum had something to do with it. Jackson sighed and picked up the phone to call Reception.

He wore a shiny hawaiian shirt, the synthetic fibres made Jackson skin itch and the baggy, brightly coloured board shorts swooshed as he stormed down the hall to Derek's room. They were the only things the woman at Front Desk could find for him to wear. Stupid old bat.

He burst into Derek's room, not bothering to knock. Jackson scanned the room, ignoring Derek sprawled out on his bed, in grey shorts and singlet. Jackson's suitcase was nowhere to be seen.

"Like the new look," teased Derek.

"It's not here," said Jackson, ignoring him.

"What's not here?" asked Derek, his face the very picture of innocence. Too innocent, thought Jackson.

"Cut the bs. I know you took my stuff in some juvenile attempt at revenge. But that's alright. I can buy more."

"Where? At the tiki bar?"

Jackson shot a smile that was more Screw You than friendly. "You mock the shirt? Fine, I'll take it off." He pulled off his shirt in one fluid movement and tossed it to the floor. "It was itchy anyway."

Derek didn't reply, just stared at him with that unreadable expression of his.

"Right, well now that I have your attention, we can talk about the press conference I scheduled this week. Roll your eyes all you like but the public needs to see you as contrite, especially with the company's annual reports coming up. So you will present a check to that charity you wronged, your eyes will be downcast. You will meek and tail-between-your-legs mild mannered in front of those cameras."

"Oh for fucks sake!" snarled Derek. "Would you like to shove your hand up my ass and use me as your puppet?"

"There will be no crass or crude language," continued Jackson, not letting himself be baited. "You will shave off all that messy stubble and wear a suit. Which reminds me. I need to take your measurements."

He was rewarded with another eye roll. "Ugh, fine," said Derek, dragging himself off the bed.

Jackson got out his measuring tape and set to work. Derek's bare arms were distractingly muscled and the man gave off this musky scent that…

Jackson forced himself to focus. "Right. Now your waist," he said, slipping the tape around Derek's waist.

Derek pressed in a little closer. "You know you could have just asked, if you wanted to get close to me."

"That would hardly be professional conduct." Jackson jotted down the measurement and got down on his knees, by Derek's feet.

"Could show you something hard," muttered Derek.

Jackson nearly dropped his tape. "Vulgarity is no substitute for wit," he said primly, glad that Derek couldn't see his blushing face.

He brought the tape up Derek's inseam, his hand wavering slightly. There was a rather large bulge jutting out in Derek's shorts.

Jackson jerked his hand away. "Oh my god, you have a boner!"

Derek grinned, brazenly unashamed. "Well, I did warn you."

He knew he should do something to take control of the situation, but Jackson simply couldn't move away from Derek's package. It was just right there in front of him, close to his face.

"Like what you see huh?" murmured Derek. He used his hand to flatten down his shorts, showing off the line of his impressive hard cock. "You're a shit, but you might as well make yourself useful while you're down there."

There was a hundred and one reasons why he shouldn't even consider it but Jackson couldn't stop himself from reaching up. Fuck it. He could regret it tomorrow.