“What if I told you that you don’t have to pay for the dry cleaning?” Derek starts, watches the guy’s lips work around the cap in his mouth. It looks more obscene than it has any right to do, but in Derek’s defense, he has a kind of mouth that invites dirty fantasies.
“Then I’d ask what the catch is,” the guy answers around the cap, before he takes it out of his mouth, tracing his upper lip with his tongue. It’s distracting.
“I need to get my family off my back. In their eyes I’m the eternal bachelor, doomed to a lifetime of loneliness, and they’re constantly up in my grill about my love life. My sister’s wedding is in two weeks, and in a moment of weakness I said I’d bring someone.” Derek feels only mildly stupid for telling this to a complete stranger who spilled coffee all over him, and then got snappy and childish on him after.
“So…” The guy lifts an eyebrow so judgemental Derek considers shaving it off in the guy’s sleep.
“So, I want you to be my plus one,” Derek finishes, because as much as the guy seems to be a petulant hipster, he definitely would pass as someone attracting Derek’s attention. Type-wise.
“Wait, hold on,” the guy says, puts away his pen and discards the paper he’s been working on. “You want me to go to your sister’s wedding with you, as your date, so your family will stop thinking you’re one of society’s lonely outcasts?”
“I’m not society’s lonely outcast—”
“Right, you’re probably just a douche who scared off every other potential candidate with your serial killer vibe. And I mean, a round of dry cleaning isn’t worth attending a wedding with your whole family and friends,” the guy continues, leaning back in his chair, and crossing his arms over his chest. There’s a dare clear in his eyes, taunting Derek to try harder.
“Name it. Your deepest, darkest desire, it’s yours,” Derek offers, only to realize that it came out wrong.
The guy lifts both brows this time, a smirk curling at his lips. “My foot up my advisor’s ass? That’s very tempting, but since I still need to graduate—”
“Money,” Derek grits out. “How much money do you want?”
The silence that follows seeps into Derek’s skin, almost makes him squirm in his chair while the guy scrutinizes him with an intensity that seems to strip him bare right down to his core.
“Fifteen grand,” he says, voice void of any inflection, yet there’s a kind of expectant gleam in his eyes, a challenging line around his mouth.
“Done,” Derek answers.
(Read more on AO3)