Chapter Text
It begins where many terrible ideas begin—the wrong end of a long stretch of desperation. Stiles thought he had been desperate before. He thought he knew all the ways it could bring you embarrassment. Once you buy a girl who doesn’t know you exist twelve birthday presents, you think you’ve hit the bottom of desperate. Still, Stiles hasn’t been on this level before, $4 in his bank account broke level of desperate.
Stiles stares down at the notification from his bank that his account has gone below $30 and laughs humorlessly. Yeah, he fucking knows, thanks phone. He has to eat and that loaf of bread and sandwich meat is going to keep him fed for at least a couple of days if he only puts one piece of meat in his sandwich. He brings up the calendar on his phone hoping it’ll say something different than the last three times he’s looked. Nope, still eight days to go until pay day, though that’s not going to be the end solution to his troubles, just keep him in the game a little longer. One would think with two part time jobs, he’d be able to afford his lifestyle in Los Angeles. Even with his two roommates he’s struggling.
It’s not like Scott and Derek are doing much better. He looks up from his phone to see Scott lost in a Fortnite spiral and he concedes that if anyone looked in right now, they’d think he’s a typical college student and that he probably plays video games all the time and barely makes it to class. They would be totally wrong and maybe Stiles could make a quick ten bucks betting against them.
Scott’s going to UCLA to be a veterinarian, the only thing he’s ever wanted to do. Stiles remembers Kindergarten dress up career day when Scott dressed as a veterinarian who treated elephants and didn’t judge when Stiles was half cop, half Superman, and half circus juggler. No one explained fractions to him until 5th grade.
Vet school keeps its students extraordinarily busy—he has labs, hours of reading, volunteer hours at the humane society, and he shadows a local vet three nights a week all with the knowledge that there are thirty kids looking to take his spot if he can’t keep it all going. Vet school is way more competitive than people know and Scott’s acceptance came with years of hard work and a three page long letter from the local Beacon Hills vet, Dr. Deaton, who seems to have more clout than they ever realized in the crazy vet community. No, really, Stiles has seen people whisper his name with reverence when they mention they know him. Reverence.
Somehow in all that, Scott manages to get some hours at the local grocery store to put up his portion of rent and gets to take home some of the food that’s about to pass it’s expiration date. It’s a good deal, all around.
Derek, on a similar note, studies too much and works too much. Grad school, Stiles decides while watching Derek sit on the couch, typing furiously into the laptop on the coffee table, is a special brand of hell. The worst part is that you bring it upon yourself. You pay them to go through this hell and they give you a piece of paper at the end and then turn around and ask you to pay them as an alumnus.
Watching Derek flounder through grad school is enough to put Stiles off of it. Maybe after he’s been in the world a couple years after graduation. No amount of money would lead him to force grad school on himself.
Maybe it’s just the course Derek’s chosen, Stiles thinks. Maybe other grad school courses don’t force their students to leave 17th century Spanish poems all over the goddamn apartment, and don’t cause borderline successful adult people to leave random undergrad half-marked essays on the tank of the toilet like that time Derek got so angry at a student’s essay that he left it there with just a frowny face. Maybe like, business grad school courses are easier and everybody just circle jerks while they talk about how much money they’re going to make exploiting the poor and minorities.
Regardless, Stiles doesn’t want to touch grad school with a thirty-seven foot pole if he’d have to put himself through what Derek does—classes where he learns, classes where he fucking teaches (how is that in any way fair), office hours for ungrateful undergrads he doesn’t want to be teaching anyway who flock to his office to stare and giggle at him like he’s some kind of zoo animal. Stiles witnessed this once on a rare Tuesday his Econ class was canceled and Derek requested he bring him the lunch he left at home. He thought one particularly aggressive looking freshman was going to gut him when he skipped the line to hand Derek his lunch.
On top of all that, in the spare time he has between classes, Derek has to write a fucking thesis. Derek swears it could be worse. Apparently doctoral theses are a thousand times more headache-inducing.
Stiles will take his video editing classes, two part time jobs at the library and the Starbucks off campus and he will not be in charge of other people’s grades. Before he went into the thesis zone earlier, Derek showed him an email one student wrote to him trying to get a higher grade where she offered to let him “do anything” to her and somehow managed to imply anal. Stiles laughed his ass off, Scott cringed in sympathy, and Derek made the long-suffering face that he usually only pulls out for Stiles.
They work themselves to the fucking bone and all they have to their names right now is the $4 in Stiles’ bank account, the borrowed Switch that Scott conned away from Isaac for the weekend, and an email promising “forbidden treasures” if Derek turns away from his principles. What gives?
Stiles is tired of being fucking broke.
He’s tired of scrounging up five quarters and still not being able to eat anything at McDonald’s anymore. He’s tired of mentally calculating how many meals one jar of peanut butter is going to last him. He’s tired of lying through his teeth on the phone to his dad, who has more than enough financial troubles of his own after the last heart attack. He’s terrified of stressing his dad to the point of another heart attack, so he lives in squalor in a half-liveable apartment they rent from Finstock who refuses to fix the broken bathroom door and the loose live wire that Stiles pejoratively calls the death wire above the refrigerator that once shocked him so badly when he touched it for a micro second that he almost had to go the emergency room before he remembered he can’t afford it without health insurance.
His life is actively trying to kill him. He needs money and he has no time.
All he has is his borrowed video camera, some semi-professional editing software, and a lot of nerve.
“Porn,” he says, the word popping out of his mouth the moment the thought crosses his mind and he knows. He knows this is the idea. This is the solution and it’s been staring him in the face, it’s been lurking in his browsing history like yes, I am the answer. And Stiles, like a fool, almost missed it.
He looks to Scott, his crooked jaw tensed in concentration, and shudders. Nope, not Scott. They’re more brothers than Scott is with his actual brother.
Speaking of... Stiles turns to look at Derek, his back bent at an unnatural angle over the coffee table. There are no other spaces in the apartment to work. There’s no room for a kitchen table, and they’re already squeezing three people into two bedrooms by taking turns sleeping on the couch in a strictly enforced rota that the only exception to is if sex is imminently about to happen.
Derek, though. Derek.
His green eyes are lit up by the computer and he doesn’t glance at his hands as he types. He’s wearing the nerd glasses that he only wears around the apartment. Stiles moves his gaze down to Derek’s arms, the bit of his forearms he can see and smiles approvingly. Derek had a very truly horrendously awkward phase somewhere in early high school before he settled into the hunk that the college girls agree he is.
It’s not something Stiles thinks about, but Derek’s kind of beautiful. It’s probably what people who haven’t smelled his night farts think about when they first meet him, his like perfect face and broad shoulder to tiny waist ratio. Stiles made the mistake of sharing a bed with Derek when their families went camping when he was in the seventh grade and Scott got poison ivy and couldn’t share with Stiles and wow the baked beans must have disagreed with Derek’s digestion because Stiles had never before missed sleep due to gas and hopefully never will again.
He tries to take their personal history out of it. He forgets the night farts, the many times Derek beat him wrestling growing up when Scott wouldn’t play anymore, the taunting over Stiles’ massive Lydia crush that (rightly) was never going to happen, the post midnight game show marathons the summer his mother died and his father fell into his cups and Stiles wanted to be anywhere but home and Scott took the day shift and Derek took the night shift to keep him company and not alone.
He tilts his head, staring down at Derek’s hairy feet and trying not to remember when he started to get body hair and cried when Stiles told him he was turning into a hobbit. He doesn’t think about the genuine pride in Derek’s eyes when Stiles told him he got into UCLA and the framed picture of Stiles and his mom he found in wrapped in Iron Man wrapping paper in his room later that day. He doesn’t think of the dark times their family endured with Derek’s dad, he tries to let that fade away.
With all that out of the equation, Stiles can see that Derek is objectively, majorly, hot.
“Porn” he says again, louder this time and starting to let the idea get bigger in his head. He knows this is going to work, can feel it in his bones. It’s the same flavor idea of going to UCLA, of making friends with Scott in the sandbox, of deciding to live with Derek and Scott for Sophomore year because at least they’re used to each others’ shit.
This time Scott at least seems to have heard. “What did you say about porn, Stiles?”
Stiles stands up, and this finally gets Derek’s attention as they are sharing the lopsided couch. His fingers stop moving and he looks up at Stiles even as his glasses slide down his nose.
“Porn,” he says for a third time, waiting to see them get it. Stiles is used to his mind making weird jumps and he’s also used to these two following along.
“Stiles,” Derek says and it’s a plea and a curse all at once. Nobody says Stiles’ name like Derek does. This time, however, he’s clearly asking for a fucking explanation.
“I have the solution,” Stiles can’t sit still so he starts moving around the room, the other two so used to this that they just casually track him with their eyes, Scott’s character dies on the screen and he barely flinches.
“The solution to what,” Scott frowns, throwing the controller to the floor next to him and lifting a leg to bring his arm around his knee and his attention to Stiles.
“The solution to our money issues,” Stiles says, “aren’t you tired of working so hard and having literally no money? Think about it, the last time we had enough money for even a six pack of beer was like two months ago.”
“Midterms,” Derek says immediately, and Stiles squints at him until very well repressed memories of “celebrating” midterms start to resurface and Stiles shakes his head, pushing them back down.
“Two months ago,” he tells Derek with a look.
“Yeah, Derek,” Scott says, his lips curled into a smirk, “definitely not last week when Stiles got so drunk after Harris’ Econ midterm that he puked on your shoes.”
“You didn’t have to clean the puke up,” Derek shudders.
“You’re one to talk, Night Farts,” Stiles hisses. “Now stop bringing me down when I’m about to save us.”
Derek does smile now, “from you?”
“From fucking poverty, you idiot!”
“Poverty is a strong word for it,” Scott says, bringing his other leg up to meet the first one until he’s basically hugging his legs. Scott’s such a nice person that he literally will hug anything. Even himself. Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Trying my patience,” he mumbles to the ceiling.
“Where does the porn come in?” Derek asks, his eyes drifting back to the laptop screen like he’s waiting for Stiles to make his point so he can keep working and that right fucking there is their problem. He spent hours helping Derek apply for a copy writing position with the Los Angeles Times last week, and they didn’t hear a peep back. They spin their wheels and spin their wheels and get nowhere fast.
“See, that’s our problem,” he whines, jabbing a finger at Derek’s computer, “all we ever do is work. I haven’t talked to you in like three days and we’re having a conversation and you’re already trying to get back to working.”
“We have bills, Stiles,” Derek explains slowly. “They’re things that you have to pay to use, like water.”
“I know we have fucking bills!”
“Do you?” Scott asks, “because I paid the electricity bill last and you lazy fuckers haven’t given me anything for it.”
“I’ll see your electricity and raise you the gas bill,” Stiles argues, “and it’s winter so it’s higher than normal.”
“This is Los Angeles,” Derek points out, “it’s never cold here so your argument is invalid.”
Stiles struggles to come up with an answer, cursing Derek for choosing his brother over Stiles.
“Do you want to hear my idea or do you want to keep working and not making enough money to live off of?”
Neither Derek nor Scott say anything and Stiles knows only the Hale pride is keeping them from asking. Luckily, he’s been living in Hale pockets since he was born.
“Porn,” Stiles says reverently, and he thinks this must be what Moses felt like when he came down from Mt. Sinai with the Ten Commandments.
There’s a living pause in the room. Stiles watches Derek and Scott look at each other then back at him.
“What the fuck?” says Scott and Stiles sighs. He has to make them get it.
“Look, what are the resources we have?” he asks the room and neither of them reply so he just carries on like it was supposed to be a rhetorical question. He raises his hands and counts off on his fingers, “We have the three of us, this apartment, my video camera,” he says hoping they’ll catch on and start getting on board with the idea.
And they will get on board. They’ve never not gotten on board. Not matter how genuinely terrible the idea is—TP-ing the principal’s office, hacking into his dad’s police data base to get the number of the boy Derek had a crush on and then never called anyway, starting a win-over-Deaton campaign to help Scott weasel into a job at the vet clinic.
“If we do a little home-made porn, then we can make some good cash with very little effort. We’re over eighteen, mildly attractive. I mean, I think I’ve grown into my shoulders a bit.”
“Stop fishing,” Derek says just as Scott chimes in with, “You’re totally beautiful, dude,” like the good bro that he is.
“I’m not fishing,” he insists and throws a thankful smile at Scott. “I’ve got to do a little research on the best way to get people to pay for it. But my biggest problem with free porn is that it’s always low quality and horribly edited and usually the people aren’t that hot.”
“Are you now trying to call yourself hot?” Derek asks with a brow raised, “because that sounds like more fishing.”
“No,” Stiles shoots back, “I’m calling you hot because dude, c’mon, you know you look like an underwear model and you’re hotter than every guy in porn these days.”
Derek blinks owlishly back at him, clearly not expecting his insult to be met with a sincere compliment, even if it was sort of yelled at him. Derek doesn’t do compliments well, especially about his appearance.
“Stop floundering, you look less hot with your mouth gaping like that,” Stiles says and then turns the knife and says with glee, “unless you want me to put something in it?”
Derek’s face turns hard and he glares at Stiles. “We’re not doing porn. I’m not doing porn.” He tries to turn back to his computer like this is the end of the conversation. It’s like he hasn’t known Stiles for nineteen years.
“I think you guys should do porn,” Scott pipes up, helpfully.
Stiles paces over to Scott and pats him on the head, “Aw thanks, bro.”
“I wouldn’t have to like watch it or do anything to help, though, would I?”
“I think the therapy bills would be too expensive even for Derek’s magnificent ass to cover, so no, you just have to clear out of the apartment when we’re filming and let us use the big bedroom.”
Scott nods, accepting the terms. The loss of the big bedroom is a blow, but Stiles is sure that’s an acceptable compromise to never having to see his brother and his best friend going at it.
“I’m not doing it,” Derek says again, but he also said those exact same words and in the exact same tone before they broke into the police station and he played look out while Stiles logged into his dad’s account for the phone number of that guy who ended up being a dick anyway.
“Why not?”
“I can’t be in porn, Stiles,” he says derisively, “I’m in grad school. What if people find it later and I lose jobs because of it?”
“Then they have to explain how they know you did gay porn,” Stiles points to himself, “I’m not planning on telling anybody, and Scott’s not going to tell anybody.” Scott nods with his serious face on. “So the only way it will get out is if someone watches the gay porn and, hey, it’s not like you aren’t out everywhere. I mean, they all know you’re gay.”
“Bisexual, Stiles, c’mon. How many times do I have to tell you?”
Stiles rolls his eyes, “Your bisexuality is valid and all, but you haven’t been with a chick since high school and all you’re doing is stringing along all these girls who think they have a chance with you.”
“I don’t need your permission to be bi,” Derek says, “And how are you even going to do this since you’re straight?” He looks at Stiles like he’s scrutinizing him. Derek has a way of looking through him and seeing what Stiles is trying to hide from everybody else. It’s super annoying. They can’t even play poker together again after the 2012 episode.
“I mean,” he continues, “you’re planning on it being you, right? You mentioned me being there and I can’t obviously have sex with Scott.”
“Praise the Lord,” Scott mumbles looking back and forth between Stiles and Derek like this is the most entertainment he’ll see this week.
“Dude, I’m a teenage twink which I’ve come to accept about myself and you know how horny I get. I can get hard at like the wind and that’s why I have to jerk it twice a day. Yeah, you’re right, I’m not into dudes but I can fake it.”
“There are so many loaded statements in there,” Derek sighs, pushing his glasses up his nose, “you should never have to fake it and if someone is paying good money to watch you have sex, then it should be very enthusiastic and good sex. No one wants to pay for mediocre sex where one of the parties isn’t into it.”
“So help me get into it,” Stiles suggests, “I can be fluid with my sexuality when the cameras are on, especially if that means I can quit one of my jobs.”
Derek stays quiet and Stiles turns to meet Scott’s eyes, Scott gives him a small smile and jerks his head to Derek and nods. Perfect, if Scott thinks Derek is going to give in then he’s definitely going to give in. Didn’t Stiles mention that they always get on board?
“I will do this on a trial basis,” Derek says a full two minutes later, “I have stipulations and if they are not met then not only are we never speaking about this again, but I get permanent use of the big bedroom, no rota, and the two of you don’t get to make fun of me when I grade papers. Family rules.”
Stiles meets Scott’s gaze again and at his nod, turns back to Derek. “What are your stipulations?”
“If we’re doing this strictly for money, then we draw up a contract about the sex stuff. You know, to make it more professional.”
“Like no spanking, that kind of thing?” Stiles asks.
“I’m fine with spanking,” Derek says nonchalant, “but yeah, we have a long and very truthful conversation about what we’re comfortable with.”
Scott mimes barfing in Stiles’ peripheral vision and Derek continues on, “because we have to live together after this and our families have been practically family for years so we’re going to have to see each other at birthdays and weddings and such until one of us dies, so if it gets awkward, it stays awkward for decades.”
“It’s only awkward if you make it awkward,” Stiles points out, seeing as this is basically his life motto as someone inherently awkward in literally every situation.
“That only gets you so far, Stiles,” Derek says, “imagine we’re literally recording ourselves have first time awkward sex and then on top of that I do something that makes you uncomfortable or hurts you and then you can never look at me again without seeing that.”
Stiles remembers an encounter freshman year with Julie who stuck a finger up his butt with no warning while they were the in middle of sex and kind of sees Derek’s point. With proper discussion, it could have been fun, but instead it threw him off guard and ruined the whole thing for him. He recalls being scared of butt stuff for a while until he saw a particularly kinky porn and after a drunkenly brave masturbation session, discovered his prostate at his own pace and entered a whole new level of self-pleasure.
Julie cost him eight months of next level self-pleasure and there’s no excuse for that.
“Okay,” Stiles agrees, “a very frank conversation without Scott and a physical copy of our agreement that we both sign. I’m not going to be the one to print it at the printing center, though. I’m calling dibs on that right now.”
“We’ll make Scott do it,” Derek says, “if we’re doing all the work, he has to pull his weight somewhere.”
“Hey,” Scott whines.
“He’s right this time, Scotty,” Stiles turns to him with an exaggerated frown, “you’re really getting the best part of this deal so you can shut up.”
Scott rolls his eyes, “fine, I’ll pick up the sex contract. But I’m not picking up cum rags or anything.”
“Oh my God,” Stiles gasps, “there’s a line and I would never make you cross that.”
“My other stipulation,” Derek says after Scott and Stiles complete their secret handshake, “is that I see the final product before it goes up and I get veto power on the video and also the website you choose.”
Stiles agrees to this easily.
“Let’s talk time,” Stiles says.
“No.”
“No?” he asks with surprise.
“Let’s schedule a time to talk and give ourselves a couple of days to think about things. No hard feelings if either of us change our mind,” Derek uses his serious face and Stiles nods, allowing the out Derek gives him even though he knows he won’t be the one to use it.
“After your office hours on Tuesday,” Stiles suggests.
“Don’t you have your video class then,” Derek’s brow furrows.
“Canceled this week while we work on our projects.”
“Then shouldn’t you be working on your project,” Derek’s dad voice grates on Stiles’ nerves.
“I can handle my own classes, Dad.”
A blush tints Derek’s entire face, all the way to his ears. “No daddy kink. That goes in the contract.”
Stiles swallows the first fifteen things he wants to say. They all amount to !!!!!!!
“We can discuss that at our meeting on Tuesday, after your office hours, in the student cafe.” Stiles, very maturely, comments.
“We are not having a kink discussion in the student cafe,” Derek says, “my students might overhear. No, we’re having that discussion here and,” he looks over at Scott, “Scott will very conveniently be doing his reading somewhere else that day.”
“Sure, now can I get back to playing Fortnite? I only have until tomorrow before Isaac wants his Switch back.”
“Sure,” Stiles says, “we’re pretty much done here, now that we’ve all acknowledged that I’m a genius and saved us.”
Derek rolls his eyes, “wait until you see the video and it’s the worst porn you’ve ever seen and then we’ll talk. I wholeheartedly believe we’ll do this once and it’s the worst porn in the entire world and you realize what a terrible idea this is.”
Stiles throws a hand dramatically to his chest, “Baby, you think our sex is horrible?”
Derek looks dangerously over his computer at him, “Call me baby one more time.”
Stiles can’t resist, “I think you mean hit me baby, one more time. Spanking thing, huh?”
Derek fumes and eventually leaves to go to the library, even though it’s a ten minute walk.