Chapter Text
Stiles adjusted his tie for the fourteenth time, his fingers brushing against the metal collar around his neck. It made him twitch. He had told Jacob how much he hated wearing a collar in public, but the Dominant never seemed to care.
‘A Dom’s orders are absolute. It’s my job to keep you under my control, don’t you want to be a good Sub?’ Jacob’s voice rang through his head like a siren: loud, interrupting, and a warning sign for Stiles. Back-sassing his Dom even in his head would cause his Dynamic to flare up and he didn’t have time for that. Not when his boss was about to call him over and give the feedback for their latest projects.
“Stilinski!” Victor’s voice boomed across the cubicles. The stout man stood on the threshold of his office with an exasperated look — clearly he was dreading this as much as Stiles was. “Office, now.”
“Yep, yes yes I’m here.” Stiles scrambled out of his chair and nearly tripped over the wheel, but caught himself just in time. Straightening up, he grabbed his laptop and strode with his head held high into the office. The room was smaller than some of the other offices, but it was still better than the 5×5 cubical Stiles had been shackled to this last year. But that was going to change.
Stiles was finally getting the hang of his job and if he got through this, he’d be moved from a Junior Data Analyst to a full blown Data Analyst. Well, as long as everything in his data was right — which it was, because Stiles had spent every lunch break and late night making sure it was. He couldn’t be getting coffees and picking up the slack forever, that wasn’t what he got his degree for.
He put his computer down on the little side desk so he could start his presentation, adjusting his tie again. “I can start with the Bracebridge or the Carter files, but I’m also about three-fourths done with the —”
“Close the door.”
Stiles paused and glanced back to the open office door. No one else had the door closed during their presentations. Stiles had to listen to Bart Higgs go over his data in the monotone voice for an hour before he was offered a promotion. Stiles’ stomach lurched but he kicked closed the door and sat back in the chair across from Victor’s desk.
Victor leaned back in his chair, closing Stiles’ laptop so they were face to face. “Stilinski, do you know why I hired you?”
“Because I was the top of my class at Drexel University?” Stiles guessed, but with the way Victor’s eyes continued to bore holes into his skull, he knew that wasn’t it.
“You’re a good worker and you don’t rock the boat. You know what your place is.” Victor offered a rare smile with his explanation.
Stiles bit back his reply. If Victor knew the real him, he probably wouldn’t be working for the company in the first place. Work Stiles was far more palatable than Normal Stiles.
“I try my hardest, sir.”
“That’s why,” continued Victor without even missing a beat, “I’ve decided to offer you the position of BI Analyst under me. It will be a lot of work, lot of late nights, and probably won’t have a lot of free time — but I think you’re perfect for the job. I just need to make sure you’ll be up to the requirements.”
“I am up for it, I promise. I will do everything that’s needed for this job and more.” Stiles nodded emphatically, calculating how big of a salary boost that would be in his head — he could pay off his student debt, convince Jacob to buy a closer house, fill the fridge with better food, maybe actually pay someone to fix his Jeep instead of his own duct tape jobs; hell, he and Jacob could take a vacation! Everything was falling into place better than he had expected and there was nothing that could bring him down.
Victor’s smile widened and he pushed back in his chair a little more. “I had a feeling you’d say that. Then we can get started right away:”
[ COME ]
Stiles’ whole body froze like someone had tossed a bucket of cold water on him. Had Victor just used a Command on him? His stomach twisted again as he watched the piercing gaze from his boss turn predatory.
[ KNEEL ]
He felt his body moving without being able to control it, hating his nature for wanting to obey this slimy, disgusting, waste of a Dominant. Slowly Stiles stepped around the desk, Victor’s smile now a smirk of satisfaction as he unzipped his pants.
“See, you know your place here and I know you’ll be happy if I do this for you.”
Stiles’ hand trembled as he curled his fingers into a fist and slammed it down into Victor’s smug face, the sickening crunch of bones breaking echoing through the office.
“You can’t go around punching people!” Lydia chastised him over the phone as Stiles shoved his desk box into his Jeep.
“So I’m supposed to just get sexually assaulted by my boss?”
Lydia was quiet for a moment, clearly rethinking her stance on the situation. “You didn’t have to break his nose.”
“I could have bitten off his dick instead.” Stiles switched the phone from his left side to his right, glancing back at the building with a distasteful sneer. “HR would have had a field day with that one.”
He could hear Lydia stifle a little laugh as Stiles got into his Jeep and just sat there for a moment. The collar around his neck had never felt heavier and all he wanted to do was go home before he had another Sub Drop in the parking lot.
“I fucking hate being a Sub sometimes.”
“I know, Stiles.” Lydia’s voice was soft and kind, but he knew she couldn’t do anything about it. It was his stupid Dynamic: he was a Submissive and nothing could change it. “Is Jacob home?”
Stiles took a deep breath, checked the time and saw it was a little after noon. The Dominant should be home for lunch, but coming home in the middle of the day after being ‘let go for possibly violent tendencies’ didn’t seem like a great way to start a Tuesday.
“Just have him do a light session and get you back on your feet.”
“There’s no such thing as light with Jakey.” Stiles said, using the nickname his boyfriend hated to puncture a point. “I’m gonna go home, I’ll call you later.”
He said a final goodbye to Lydia and drove twenty minutes to his house. Sure enough, Jacob’s Black Ford F-250 was parked in the garage next to the oil stained concrete where Stiles’ Jeep lived. At least Stiles could count on Jacob being consistent on his lunch breaks.
“Jacob!” Stiles called out from the garage, stepping into the mud room before walking into the kitchen with his shoes still on. “All I have to say is it’s not my fault, Victor is a fucking sleaze bag and I—”
Stiles stopped dead in the kitchen, throat tightening at what he saw. A mousey-looking twink was squatting on their kitchen table, toes just at the edge. His arms were stretched out wearing Stiles’ handcuffs and latched against the legs of the table. Jacob was behind him, legs driven apart and a hand buried in the twink’s brown hair so tight his knuckles were white. All Stiles could do was watch his boyfriend of six years, Six Years, plow into the twink who was barely scraping 18. The two were oblivious to Stiles, lost in their own world of afternoon delight. He could have easily walked out without them knowing and just pretended he didn’t see.
But Stiles couldn't stay silent.
“So is this what you mean when you say it’s a cheat day? Fuck, I’ve been doing it wrong for 24 years.”
The twink looked up from the throes of passion, brown eyes widening in shock. Around his neck Stiles could see the silver glint of a forever collar — the same one Stiles had around his own neck. What hurt the most was he looked like Stiles. Well, like Stiles did when he was 18: wider shoulders, sinewy fingers, thin waist that looked like it would bruise if you held on too tight, big bambi eyes, and moles dotting his face.
It was like looking at Stiles’ past self.
“You’re home early. Let me finish up and then we can talk.” Jacob’s voice was thick with lust but still managed to sound as casual as reading the newspaper. Fucking asshole.
“Finish… oh, yeah sure. Take your time,” Stiles spat and made a beeline to their bedroom. “Take all the fucking time you need, Jakey!”
He kicked the door so hard he felt the fake wood cave, slamming it back into the wall to dent the plaster. The noise from the kitchen changed from confusion to something else, but Stiles couldn’t find it in himself to care. Suitcase pulled from the closet, he began packing as much shit as he could without taking longer than a few minutes in every drawer.
“Sty —” Jacob started as he walked into the room still naked.
“Stiles. STI-LES. Sty is an eye infection. Which you might have if you’ve been shoving your face in that twink without protection.” He shoved his shirts into the bag and turned to look at his boyfriend. His black hair slicked back with sweat and his body drenched in the come of someone else. “How long have you been cheating on me?”
Jacob rolled his eyes. “It’s not cheating, Stiles. He’s just a Sub I use when you’re not able to give me what I need. You’re my only boyfriend.”
“What do you mean that’s not cheating?” Stiles’ asked dryly, wondering what dictionary Jacob used. “You’re fucking someone on our kitchen table and I’m supposed to just be OK with that?”
“Yes.”
Stiles blinked at how easily Jacob said that, not even hesitating.
“I’m a Dominant and I need a Submissive who can give me what I want whenever I want. That isn’t you.” Jacob continued as he walked up to Stiles and lifted his chin in his hand. Those big, stupid green-blue eyes looked back at Stiles without remorse, without guilt. What had once been a comfort now made Stiles feel like he was going to throw up. “You’re not a good Sub, Stiles. You know this, I know this. But despite that, I still care for you and still want you in my life by my side.”
Jacob leaned down and kissed him, a smile forming over his lips as he pulled away again. “So I’ll drop Tony back at his place and then come get you for lunch, ok? We can put this whole day behind us and focus on our future. I just need you to:”
[ STAY ]
For the second time today, Stiles felt the Command of a Dom race through him; just like his boss, Stiles wanted to punch Jacob.
“Fine.” Stiles said through gritted teeth and jerked his head out of Jacob’s hand. The Dom looked relieved to hear him agree and placed another kiss against his forehead — Stiles felt like his skin was on fire where they touched. He watched Jacob dress and close the bedroom door behind him, leaving Stiles alone in the room.
As soon as the garage door opened, Stiles went right back to packing his suitcase with everything he could fit. He grabbed his PlayStation on the way out and packed everything in his Jeep as quickly as he could. Pulling out of the driveway, he started driving west. It didn’t matter if he was leaving most of his stuff, he just had to leave. Had to get out of this house, this city, this state.
He didn’t stop until Roscoe’s tank was nearly empty and he was three hours outside of Pittsburgh. He had over 40 missed calls from Jacob and enough texts to send his phone into a fit, but Stiles couldn’t bring himself to care. No, there was only one place he wanted to be and it was on the complete opposite side of the country. He couldn’t stay in Pennsylvania any longer.
Dialing a different number, he held his breath until the familiar sound of his Dad’s voice broke through.
“What’s going on, kiddo?”