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Undercover Work Sucks (Pun absolutely intended)

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Chief Finstock had attempted to talk Lydia into short-shorts and a skimpy top in order to go undercover as a vampire hooker.

Lydia had refused, and somehow they'd taken a vote and Stiles ended up wearing black short-shorts that looked like they were painted on, a see-through sleeveless netting shirt, and black leather boots that came up to mid-thigh. It was a small victory that they didn't have heels, but every little bit counted.

So now Stiles was walking around the hotel room, waiting for his first customer of the night and ignoring Lydia's filthy commentary on how natural he looked as a rentboy and how much his father was going to enjoy seeing this. She was enjoying this, traitorous bitch that she was.

A knock on the door alerted everyone to the first client of the evening and Stiles sighed, slinking over to the door and resigning himself to the face that he was going to have to field some interesting calls from his father when the episode aired later in the month. Maybe he'd save himself the trouble and give his dad a heads up on what was going on so the guy didn't have a heart attack when he saw his only son seducing sleezebags in a trashy hotel room.

"Well hello there."

"You-you're not Sophia."

"Sophia got staked last week." Stiles leaned against the doorframe and flashed fang, running his tongue over the dental implant and trying to impart sexy. "They sent me instead, but if you want someone more feminine, Maggie Rae is three doors down." Maggie Rae was a three hundred and fifty pound newly turned vampire with crooked fangs, badly bleached hair and the habit of putting on her makeup in a Mimi-esque fashion.

"Um...no. I haven't been with a guy since college. But...I'm sure you're good at what you do." The man offered a shaky-nervous smile and Stiles gave him the sultry sort of look he'd been practicing in front of both Lydia and the mirror for the past week.

"Why don't you come in and find out." Stiles turned and sauntered back into the room. The door shut and the guy stepped into the room, nervous fingers tugging at his sloppy half-windsor. Stiles could see the pale band of skin on his left hand. He'd obviously taken off his ring before he came to the hotel. The asshole was married and instead of going home to his wife he was stepping out with some trashy vampire prostitute.

Stiles hoped Lydia put the cuffs on extra tight when she busted this asshole.

XxX XxX

He'd been in the room for two hours and they'd made four busts already. What was in the water in this town that made the men such freaky horn-dogs?

Another knock on the door had Stiles groaning softly. After this one he was demanding a change of clothes and a plate of pancakes with a side of bacon from the diner down the street. And he was charging his entire meal to the precinct. Finstock could suck it.

Stiles blew out a breath, arranged himself in a half-languid sprawl against the doorframe and pulled the door open. The moment he saw who was on the other side he slammed the door, only to have a strong hand press against the door and force it open.

"What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On." Derek Motherfucking Hale glared at him from the hallway, his eyes flashing red and his canines elongating as he took in Stiles' outfit. The UTF officer backpeddled until his knees hit the bed and he found himself unintentionally sprawling across the blankets, staring up at Derek in mute horror. "I come home to hear my pack talking about Officer Stilinski slutting it up in a motel known for it's sex for blood trade. So please, explain to me, what the hell is going on. And try to remember I can hear it when you lie."

Derek was currently pinning Stiles to the bed, on the verge of wolfing out. His breath was hot on Stiles' chin and smelled faintly of peppermint, which was kind of weird when Stiles thought about it. Like Derek had taken the time to brush his teeth before rushing over to confront his-Stiles shut his brain down with a screeching of metaphorical tires and the phantom smell of burning rubber.

There was no way he was getting into this with Lydia and a camera crew next door.

Stiles slapped his hands against Derek's chest, attempting to push him back so he could sit up. Having a conversation while he was pinned to a disgusting comforter that had who knows what genetic material wiggling around in the thread count. Derek's pectoral muscles tensed under his hands and then he moved, just enough to let Stiles sit up.

"We're trying to break a vampire prostitution ring okay. And you're blowing my cover you asshole."

"....and they sent you?" Derek's face scrunched up in a confused sort of way as he stared at Stiles who was probably pouting. But hey, if anyone was allowed to pout right now it was him okay.

"I don't even know how Lydia convinced Finstock to make me take her place, and frankly, I'm a little scared to find out. Now get offa me." Stiles put a leather clad boot on Derek's thigh and pushed. The Alpha grunted and allowed himself to be pushed back a couple of steps.

"Do you have a change of clothes?"

"Yeah. Lydia's got them." Stiles nodded in the direction of the mirror and Derek half turned to flash fang, almost absentmindedly at the redhead who partnered his mate. She liked to put on a brave face, but it always gave Derek a kick to make her heart start racing even as she'd sneer at him and pretend she wasn't afraid.

"Tell her to bring them to you. You're done."

"No I'm not." Stiles made the immediate decision to bust at least two more guys. "I've got two more busts to make. So get lost before you blow my cover." He knew the reality of Derek actually listening to him was less likely then winning the lottery, or Scott getting a date with Allison. What he didn't expect was to be shoved up against the wall beside the mirror in the camera's blind spot.

"I'll carry you out to my car if I have to." Derek was full on growling, the low rumble of his voice cruising over Stiles' skin in a way that made his hair stand on end. "But you're fucking done." He kept Stiles pinned to the wall, claw tipped fingers settled over his throat in a loosened grip. "Officer Martin, bring Stiles his change of clothes and then kindly fuck off for the weekend." Derek half yelled through the wall. There was a double tap on the glass and thirty seconds later Lydia had dropped Stiles' duffle just inside the door and walked away whistling.

 

The camera crew had apparently developed self preservation instincts in the last ten minutes, because rather then stay and film, they took off after Lydia.

Derek let his had full and stepped back, raking his eyes down Stiles' body in a way that made his skin flush and tingle in a way he hadn't felt since puberty had first hit over ten years ago.

"On second thought, if you wanted to keep that outfit on-" Stiles stormed past the werewolf and grabbed his duffle, stomping into the bathroom and slamming the door. Derek let out a low mocking howl that made Stiles' ears burn as he wriggled out of the skin tight shorts and the scrap of threadbare string that could barely be called a shirt.

He turned the tap on and used the washroom, suddenly self conscious when the man in the next room had super hearing. He washed his hands and splashed water on his face, cupping a wet hand around the back of his neck and wondering if he could sweet talk Derek into leaving so he could wallow in pancakes and misery.

Finally, after nearly ten minutes of pretending to do his business Stiles opened the door and slunk into the main room, boots in one hand and duffle bag in the other. All at once the shame of what he'd been doing hit him and he averted his eyes, heading to the door and ignoring Derek all together.

It didn't matter that they'd busted four assholes who'd probably make bail that night. He'd been dressed up like some low class rentboy for the entire world to see. And if what his father told him was true, his entire graduating class had seen him like that. He was suddenly glad his father was coming to see him this Christmas, because he didn't think he could ever show his face in his home town ever again.

"Stiles." Derek had a hand on his shoulder before he reached the door, but rather then trying to spin some bullshit speech about how he was doing his job and keeping desperate assholes off the streets, he reached down and took the duffle bag and the boots. Stiles let them go without a fight, never wanting to see that particular outfit again.

For all he cared Derek could weight the bag down with rocks and throw it off a bridge.

Stiles pulled open the door, not even thinking about pack politics when he let Derek go first. He'd been raised to be polite, and holding the door open for someone when they had their hands full was just good manners, plain and simple.

They walked down the hall together, shoulder to shoulder, Derek's bumping his own in an affectionate manner.

When they got outside, Stiles was resigned to catching a cab since Lydia had long since driven away, leaving him to deal with all the werewolf drama. Instead, Derek used his body to herd Stiles' to his car. The UTF Officer wasn't sure how someone could bully another person into a car with their hands full, but Derek seemed to be good at that particular skill and Stiles figured he'd had practice.

He slumped in the passenger seat as Derek popped the trunk and shoved his duffle bag and those stupid fucking boots into it. He entertained the thought of running, even though he knew Derek would be on him before he made it five steps. So rather then exert himself after the shitty fucking day he'd had, he waited quietly in the car and wondered if he could interest Derek in a plate of pancakes.

Derek seemed more like a waffle kind of guy, and Stiles could understand that. Waffles were good in the right circumstances, but pancakes were a comfort food. His stomach rumbled at the thought, helpfully reminding him he hadn't eaten since just before noon.

The Alpha got in the car, slamming the door and staring moodily out the windshield. Great. It was gonna be one of those car rides. Where the other person got all judge-y and shit. Stiles could feel his own temper start to grow and he huffed out a breath, turning to glare out his window as Derek started the car.

"When was the last time you ate?"

"I dunno. Scott brought muffins in around noon, so noon I guess."

"You had a muffin at noon? That's it?"

"I had two." Stiles muttered mutiniously. "But I could go for some pancakes."

"I like waffles."

"Of course you do." Stiles sighed, resting his forehead on the cool glass of the window and watching the city fly by in a blur of colour.

"So pancakes? Any restaurant preferences?"

"TK's on 87th. They've got waffles too." Derek offered a grunt and turned onto 75th street, taking them towards the diner. Stiles offered a silent cheer in his head and resigned himself to the harrassment Lydia was going to give him at work tomorrow. Hell, the entire damn precinct was going to give him hell over having his undercover op blown to hell by the Alpha of North Vegas.

But all that mattered now was pancakes. Yay pancakes.