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Stiles is around twelve when he starts noticing strange things happening to him, more specifically, to his body.

It starts small with sparse hair growing at his shins, just wiry thinned ones that only come into focus when he stares at them for too long. He starts to pick at them whenever they start to grow out again, thinks maybe just like the hair on his head, they just need a little grooming.

Talia, she’s a beautiful brunette with long wavy hair that reaches to her waist, she’s his stepmother but Stiles just sees her as his own mother because his dad remarried her a few years after his mom shortly passed away after he was born.

He doesn’t have any real collection of his real mom anyway, other than the scarce amount of pictures his dad keeps up in the attic and Stiles isn’t one of those creepy boys who goes up to the attic and cry about stuff.

Yeah, the deal breaker anyway is that Talia bakes the best cupcakes in the whole of Beacon Hills.

That’s a certified best mom award from him.

Anyway, Talia, she usually shakes her head fondly at him and smack his hands away, telling him that it’ll mar his skin if he continues. He only follows through her advice when she bribes him with a large cookie that day but he does eventually stop.

Then the hair starts to sprout at different places like… at his armpits, of all places. What the fuck? Did a mutated gorilla take a big bite out of him when he was asleep and it’s now turning him into a fury hybrid teenager with hair shooting out from everywhere?

Stiles only start to really freak out when all that hair start to migrate their growth to his crotch, little soft grains of dark hair peppering at what used to be smooth skin around his… uh, pee-pee. He’s too embarrassed to ask Talia, lest his dad about it and well… there’s always Derek.

Derek is three years his senior and is Talia’s son from her previous divorce but he’s always cooped up in his room doing… something and Stiles just isn’t intrigued enough to enter the room of doom and death.

So he starts taking shorter showers (less birthday suit time) and altogether stops taking them daily when spring break starts.

Stiles only stops feeling weird in his own body when his school gives a free health education class that year and informs them about the hypothetical mutation he has going on.

“Yeah, for some of the early bloomers, I’m talking about both girls and guys here, who have hair growing at places that isn’t on your head? It’s normal, kids. Look!” and the guy, some mid-twenties dude who really isn’t dressed to impress at all pulls up his sleeves, revealing a dark thatch of armpit hair under it. “Even I’ve got them! It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Embrace it, young ones. You only go through puberty once! Best time of your life, I assure you.”

Yeah… Stiles calls bullshit because he starts popping zits on his face and Talia mothers him like his pimples are her new bed of garden roses to tend and repair.

That is until he turns thirteen and pops his first erection.


Stiles’ been thirteen for a few weeks now and life is kind of…good.

He’s keeping good grades in school and the teachers have kind of resigned to the fact that he’s a little too jittery to reprimand and kind of lets him do his own thing, but with careful supervision.

Hey. It’s not his fault that his best buddy, future best man for his thoroughly planned out wedding with redhead Martin, Scott McCall, quipped up a fabulous idea during a horribly boring art lesson about glue eating.

It was stringy and tasted funny—smelt even funnier. Nobody denies Scott, Stiles thinks hell is the endgame paving for that decision.

Other than that, he’s cool with how things are going on with his life until his body starts to go against him. Again.

It’s nothing humiliating or anything. Stiles is pretty sure he’s used up his humiliation quota of the year when he shits himself  earlier in the year when all the bathrooms were taken and he was about 92.4 percent combusting from last night’s Thai food.

Yeah, he can deal, totally. That’s when his dick (yes people, he’s upgraded from pee-pee) decides to go apeshit on him.

Stiles is in the bathroom on a weekend with Talia in the kitchen, pots and pans clanging as her prepares lunch for him and Derek. He’s languidly taking off his clothes in preparation for a good soak in the bathtub when his dick springs to life for the first time ever.

Just when the last items of his clothing is strewn across the floor, the blood rushes to his crotch in record breaking time that he has to clutch onto the towel ring beside him, woozy from the force of losing a good amount of blood from his head.

His head is pounding with surreal headiness and he doesn’t even know what the heck it is—and oh my god, his dick looks absurd when he manages to squint his eyes opened.

Stiles is so used to looking at it when it’s flaccid, with the slightly pink head of his dick poking out of his nicely cut foreskin but now—now it’s just an angry flush of purple and it bleeds out towards the entire shaft of his dick, swelling up as it twitches in staccato thumps of his heartbeat.

He quickly reasons that he got bitten on his dick. Probably by a bee.

Oh my god, his dick got stung by a bee.

Stiles fumbles and grabs his dick at the base with an expert hand like he always does when tries to pee standing up to check for any bite marks but instead moans so gratuitously when the first contact of skin grazes on the swollen stretch of tightened skin.

That shouldn’t be right.

It should hurt, right?

He holds his dick upright because it’s just jutting out, hanging heavily in front of him, and presses it flat against his abdomen with his palm. He tries to check on the undershaft of his dick for anything but—nope, nothing.

“Damn it,” Stiles mutters and cringes when his voice echoes in the bathroom.

He steps into the running shower and tries to ignore the problem because he would rather not punish himself bathing in cold water when the heater is still dialled up.

Stiles scrubs himself with shampoo and soap and deliberately ignores cleaning his crotch area because he’s not taking the risk of getting a chemical reaction infused with a bee sting. He’s definitely not taking the chance to be the first walking bee-man.

Totally uncool.

Of course his hand slips when he tries to clean the area between his thighs and his arm swipes a long stroke against the head of his dick, making him grunt out a symphony of oh my god’s. His hips jerks front from that as if his body is actively seeking out for more and that’s when he gives it all up.

Stiles presses his front against the cool tiles of his bathroom, dick flushed against him while the running water cascades on his back.

There’s literally nothing going on his head at that moment except the burn of the pummelling water on his shoulder blades and the shivery friction he’s getting where his dick is thrusting against the wall. The little indentation of the tiles are actually rubbing against all the correct spots as he cants his hips up again, until he’s humping the wall.

It’s like Stiles got thrown into a trance and he only mildly snaps out of chasing that pleasure when his balls starts to tighten up in a nauseating knot, curling up from his toes until the bottom of his spine and he tosses his head and lets his body take over the physicality of it.

His dick starts to throb in an almost painful way, like whenever Scott manages to pass on a lacrosse hit without warning and it maims him at the crotch. It’s almost like that but worse because Stiles is expecting to fall over and hunch over in pain instead a hot burst of pleasure snaps and unfurls inside him.

Like blood hot fire igniting in his veins as his dick pulses in contractions and Stiles is gasping for his breath as he starts to spiral down from all of that.

He opens his eyes slowly, the fluorescent light burning into his retinas as he thinks to himself, holy shit, how long were my eyes closed for when he sees the whitish watery sheet painted across the beige tiles of the bathroom.

Stiles pales and hurries to rinse it away, mortified as he rubs the remnants of evidence with his fingers.

He only realizes that his dick decides to miraculously cure itself from its swollenness when he finally gets out of the bathroom and puts on underwear in his room.


Stiles only learns that he didn’t actually get a bee sting on his dick when Scott decides to trade boner stories a few weeks later, seemingly excited that he got his first that week.


His best friend, guys.

Take it all in.


Despite it all, Stiles tries not to play with his dick too often especially when it gets all… hard and weird looking especially in the morning after he wakes up, pyjamas pants tenting like it’s some kind of a joke.

He’s tried beating it, actually punching himself in the crotch, so that it wills away.

Scott dubs it as ‘morning wood’ and Stiles just doesn’t have the time to actually re-enact the whole shower scenario and white goo coming out from his dick. He can… but he won’t. It’s alienating and weird and he needs his dick to pee, okay?

No but seriously though, where the hell is Scott getting all these brilliant tidbits and Stiles isn’t?

Does he have some sort of secret handbook guide for this? Like a book about different types of erections?

An erection sutra?

What Stiles does try to do is to wrangle out more information about all of this from Scott but it’s not really a thing to whip out in a casual conversation, especially when it’s about one’s dick. Even with your best bro.

The first time he does ask, Stiles ends up stuttering so badly that the tips of his ears heat up with embarrassment until they start buzzing at the sides of his head. Even Scott asks why he’s turning into a horrible beet red like as though he just ran the entire course of the track field.

Stiles runs out of the McCall’s house after that, with not a whole lot of dignity left.

The second time (yes, he finally found his remaining dignity), Stiles decides to play it all nonchalant-esque. He does the three large breaths thing but ends up choking on the first because he took too large of an inhale.

Stiles gives up.

Yeah, he’s not really known for the whole patience kind of thing.


In the end, Stiles decides to confront his issues to Derek.

Like, the dude has seen him at his worst so this should be a ball out of the park. Apparently not, in hindsight, even though he’s properly devised out a really thorough plan, one with an escape strategy if said plan backfires.

It’s a lazy Saturday and Stiles knows Derek is probably awake and doing something mundane and high school-ly stuff in his own room while dad and Talia are out getting some late morning grocery shopping done.

“Derek!” Stiles shouts and the whole house kind of vibrates with his voice as he busts into Derek’s room with really clumsy steps. “I’ve got some ques—meep.”

Stiles needs to learn how to knock on doors. He really does.

Because Derek is totally on levels of do-not-disturb mode because he’s just laid on the bed, butt naked like the day he was born, hand wrapped around his dick (that is totally hard) like he’s actually trying to stroke out a gigantic pot of gold while there’s muffled…moans? coming out from the tinny speakers of his laptop.

“Stiles!” Derek shrieks, his voice cracking a little at the end. He does this really ninja move in a split second with both of his hands as he simultaneously slams his laptop shut and the other grabs a throw pillow to cover his junk. “What the fuck!?”

“You’ve got a boner.”

Stiles is most definitely word vomiting. Yeah, he knows his mouth is moving, knows the way his tongue is kind of laying heavy in his mouth like a limpid sock puppet as he talks. He needs to be put away for the greater good.

“Like, you have your dick out. And that pillow is, uh, totally not doing a great job in hiding it.”

Get out!” Derek grits.

There’s veins popping at the side of his neck now and it would look a whole lot more intimidating if he’s more buffed up but now he’s kind of in a nicely toned phase where Stiles can totally picture how the muscles will be bulging out in a few more months of weight training.

He’s totally not staring at his nude brother.



But he is.

“Uh—” Stiles says and he’s blinking his eyes rapidly. “—I kind of need to talk to you.”

Derek’s probably in agony because Stiles sees the moment his eyebrows kind of goes berserk as he shouts, “Fucking get out of my room! We can talk later, Stiles!”

Stiles runs out but not before he trips on Derek’s underwear which he pinches them with two of his fingers when he scrambles up, lifting them up to eyelevel in confusion when Derek roars at him that he’s going to murder his skinny ass.


Well, at least the exit strategy went pretty… uh, swell?


Derek storms to his room twenty minutes later with his cheeks flushing a pretty pink against his bronzed skin and his hair is tousled in a way Stiles can only explain as bed hair.

It’s atrocious, really.

“Stiles,” Derek snarls. “We really need to talk about you and your lack of personal. Fucking. Boundaries.”

“Excuse your face,” Stiles shoots back hotly. “Stop dropping your nasty F bombs near the innocence that is me just because Talia’s not home. It’s not a decent thing to do, brother of mine.”

Derek glares at him and the heated anger in his eyes intensifies, if that’s even possible. He’s pretty sure Derek is imagining many ways to decimate him as of now.

“Says the one who barged into my room without knocking.”

“Well, get a do not disturb sign then! Like, seriously man. I’m scarred for life because of your—”

“Finish that sentence and I swear—”

“Oh, we’re swearing now?” Stiles mocks. He really needs to learn how to shut the hell up too or he’s going to get a to get a nice hook to his face because of it. “Are we gonna throw out some scout’s honouring too?”

Derek pulls his hair in annoyance.

“Fuck!” He shouts. “You fucking irritate the shit out of me. Out of all the kids in the world that I have to be stuck with, it has to be the one that will drive me insane.”

“Yeah, well, it’s very mutual, lemme tell you. I passionately abhor the shit out of you too.”

Derek rolls his eyes at his choice of wording and gives him the finger. Yeah, he’s so cool with his high school sign language. “Don’t ever come into my room without knocking again or I’m gonna eat you.”

“Really, Derek. Really?” Stiles says. “You’re sinking to that? Wow, I have to actually give you a standing ovation for that. I can’t beat that. That’s like the world’s greatest comeback. I may actually have to sit down from enduring that.”

“One day—” He mutters and then he’s storming out his room in style again.

Stiles hums happily to himself that at least he didn’t get a beat down. He’s already a little emasculated due to the fact that Derek used to be pine sized, just like him, until his dad managed to get him a free membership for life at the local gym for his birthday last year.

Then he started doing the whole body building and protein shakes crap.

He doesn’t need to get his ass whipped even more. He’s already licking his scrawny little wounds because he’s still going that pimple popping, my shirts won’t fit me for more than six months crap while Derek breezes through the whole puberty thing.

Right, puberty—dicks!

“Dude! Derek!” Stiles shouts out again. “I’ve got a question about your dick!”

If he strains hard enough, he can hear the moment Derek drops something on the floor, the glass shattering like a cacophony of what the fuck is my life.


“So… I have to just… masturbate? whenever it gets all funky looking?” Stiles asks again, confirming. “It’s a normal thing to do? It’s not actually—like, I don’t know? It won’t actually ruin my dick right? I can still use it to pee?”

Derek look so out of place in his room filled with superheroes and action figures and he has the most uncomfortable expression on his face. Stiles is almost tempted to snatch his phone off the bedside table and snap a picture, yeah, keep it forever for momentos.

He’ll even caption it with ‘The moment Derek gives me the dick talk’.

“No,” Derek grunts and he’s looking at anything except for Stiles. “Well, it will if you do it too much but it won’t… ruin it.”

“Okay…” Stiles drawls and he starts smirking when his mind pings with a mischievous thought. “So I just do that thing you were doing just now right? The stroking motion?”

Derek slams the door when he leaves.


Shortly after Stiles gets the go ahead from Derek, he can’t stop touching himself.

He’s constantly finding new ways throughout the day (yep, even on a school day) to get himself off. It marvels him that he could have been doing this for weeks but didn’t because he was too afraid that there was a problem with his dick or something.

Yeah, Scott and him may have swapped boner stories but they most definitely didn’t share masturbation ones. That’s probably a little too much. Just a little.

Their friendship is kind of weird, to be honest.

Anyway, in just two weeks, Stiles realizes that jerking off with two hands are better than just one and they feel a lot better when he spits into them, palms slicked with saliva as he thrusts up into the enclosed space when both hands are wrapped on his dick.

He also finds out that rutting against the mattresses feels a lot better than the bathroom tiles. He likes that he gets to squelch his gasps into the pillow, humping his pleasure into the sheets as he paws at the headboard, all but willing for the tip to peak.

Stiles is waiting for that moment—chasing it as he humps like an animal in heat but it doesn’t come.

He groans, skin sticky with cooling sweat as he plops onto his back, panting heavily.

He would have asked Derek for a solution but he’s been out of the house since morning, surprisingly, said something to Talia that he’ll be at the library doing some finishing up for his course since home’s been a little distracting for him.

Stiles is almost convinced that it’s because of him, starts to feel a little self-conscious that Derek may have overheard his stifling moans through the thin walls but mildly relaxes when Talia tells him it’s because of the construction work next door.

…There’s no construction work next door.


Stiles is a walking, breathing ball of frustration when Derek returns later that night, just in time for dinner. He’s been dealing with a semi for the past few hours, never really fully going flaccid and staying that before it’s at half-mast again, ready to go.

He’s tried it all and nothing—nothing works.

Into both hands, switching it up to just one and that’s when he gets even more desperate and decides to go for the bathroom tiles as a last minute resort when his balls starts to ache in a painful, shivery way that is in no way pleasurable.

Stiles waddles out of the toilet in a way that would put Daffy to shame.


Stiles knocks on the door this time because unlike Derek, a complete neanderthal, he actually learns from his previous mistakes. Although not as frequently one would like, but he does.

It’s a tentative three knocks.

“Derek?” Stiles pssts. He’s trying to make it all sneaky because he doesn’t want Talia to overhear him actually seeking out to Derek because she always has a moment, like a really embarrassing one where she’d go, “My boys are finally spending quality time together! Oh John! It’s finally happened! I’ve won the bet!”

Yeah, he just wants his dick to blow up, not a call for family celebration.

“Derek!” He whispers. “Open up, you ape! I can hear you breathing from this side.”

Derek opens the door with his trademark scowl. Derek is definitely going to get frown lines a lot earlier than most people from all the brooding he does. He probably sits at his bed, all Bella Swan like and sulks about his day.

It’s probably the highlight of his day.

“Liar,” Derek says, ushering him in. Apparently they’re on the same boat with the Talia situation—well, mothers don’t always know best. “I don’t breathe that loud.”

“Uh-huh. Yes you do.” Stiles counters and tuts at him. “You even snort sometimes when you breathe.”

Derek pulls an even longer scowl, wow. “How observant of you, Stiles.”

“That’s what little brothers do, Derek!” Stiles chirps and flops himself onto Derek’s bed, making himself at home. Well, technically, he’s already at home but he’s never really ventured much into Derek’s room.

Not on purpose.

The walls are a dark navy; stark in contrast with the eggshell trimmings of the walls which Talia insisted on doing it when they got the house five years ago because she said it would highlight some cheeriness from the room into him.

It doesn’t.

Basically it’s all very dormitory like… in a missionary school. There are no pictures at his bedside table, not even a picture frame of his mom and on his desk sits a lamp a few nicely packed books for school beside it.

The room has no personality but it’s so Derek-esque that Stiles can’t help but grin to himself.

He’s just hiding all of under the layers of leather oppression.

Stiles just knows if he digs deep in there, he’s going to find a brony inside of that man? Dude? Bro-man?—and he’s just not ready for that so he’s pretty fine with the morbidity of this Derek.

 “Are you seriously just going to lie on my bed and gape at my ceiling?” Derek asks impatiently. “Because I’ve a lot of things to do, tons actually. So if you don’t mind if I kick you out—”

“Ugh,” Stiles makes a face at him, cutting him off. “Where’s your hospitality? You’re supposed to be a nice older brother, y’know, protector of all playground bullies and to feed me fat with sugary treats.”

Derek looks at him like he’s trying to dig deep into his soul. Stiles feels a little disorientated by that.

“Fine,” He huffs, relenting. “I’ve just got… more questions.”

“Again?” Derek kind of groans, kind of. He slumps down to his study chair and raises a brow at him like he’s trying to convey a message at him. “Okay, go on. Make it quick.”

“I think I kind of broke my dick.” Stiles blurts.


Derek has a severely distraught expression, body language twitchy, as he tries to explain that no, Stiles’ dick isn’t broken which he follows off with a wry laughter, clearly uncomfortable.

Then Derek starts rubbing at the back of his neck, “Uh, jeez. I—uh, this is clearly over my head. I don’t have much knowledge on that though.” He then kind of chokes out the last part, “Yeah… I’ve no problems with the… you know, coming.”

Stiles blinks, eyebrows steadily rising.


Derek looks perplexed for a second before he says, “Yeah. It’s a term.”

“A term?” Stiles echoes, bewildered. “For what?”

Derek groans and he looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. It can be considered mildly sadistic that Stiles is taking the utmost pleasure that he’s reducing his bigger brother—step brother—to this hot mess.

It’s exhilarating, actually.

“It’s… um, the happy ending? Yeah. Let’s go with that. It’s just a substituted term for—” Derek coughs. “—an orgasm. It’s mostly, uh, used in porn. Yeah.”

Stiles finally understands that on-going viral video of the awkward turtle. He so totally does because Derek’s portrayed is a hundred percent spot on.

Porn?” He squeaks out.

Derek looks like he wants to fold into himself and start crying.

“Are you shitting me now, Stiles?” Derek huffs and he looks vexed out, he even sounds strained as he says, “How do you not… know this stuff? I mean, it’s on the internet—google it. I’m pretty sure the search engines are much more informed about these types of things than me. I don’t know shit about anything. I really don’t.”

“C’mon!” Stiles squawks petulantly. “We both know that dad isn’t willing to buy me a new laptop, unlike your fancy schmancy one, and the general computer is out in the living room! Parental protected and all that snazz! They even start telling me off when I play neopets for too long.”

“Neopets.” Derek makes a wry face. “It’s a good thing we’re not related.”

Stiles sticks his tongue out, “Not by blood anyway.”

Derek mutters under his breath, scowling.

“What?” Stiles tuts at him. “Speak like a proper person, won’t you?”

“I hate you.” Derek seethes and then, “Fine. You can use my laptop—but only for ten minutes and then I want you to vaporize out of my room. Got it?”

Stiles snorts but then quickly complies with a salute and a “Sir, yes, sir!” when Derek growls at him.

Derek shoves him roughly on the shoulder that Stiles totally does not tumble onto his bed with an undignified noise. He’s got enough shame going on for him already.


Derek introduces porn to him which really should have been awkward but they practically grew up together since they were mere toddlers—like, Derek’s been there through all the clumsy falls (cues laughter) and humiliating moments (cues Stiles trying to bury himself alive)—so it shouldn’t be any much more different than when they were five and arguing over who gets the bucket when they’re building sandcastles.

Except it is because they’re teenagers now and there’s hormones added into the equation.

But he’ll get to that later.

Anyway, porn is… interesting, so to speak.

There’s a fanciful array of breasts (yes, Stiles knows this word because apparently it’s considered an okay term to use when acknowledging a girl’s… you know, chest area) and weird looking trappy things that are in between their legs which he deduces are vaginas.

Stiles knows it’s biologically different from his dick, yeah, he’s seen the scientific diagrams for both their junks during the health education class but actually seeing it in flesh instead of having unpronounceable terms being arrowed out from a line art drawing with tubes going god knows where is a whole other ball court.

Derek never stays on one picture for too long—manages to open up a few windows of multiple links he has bookmarked on his interface. The first few he shows, Derek explains it to him a little. Tells him how porn works when Stiles is not even being discreet as he gapes at the screen, completely dazed over at how much nudity is on display.

Even Derek’s stark nakedness from two weeks ago doesn’t hold a candle to this.

After a short while, about the seven minute mark of the ten, the video links start to pop up. They usually watch about a minute in before Derek grunts out that it’s a little too much for Stiles to handle and then he picks another only to make another excuse as he hops onto another.

It becomes an infuriating pattern.

It’s the fifth—or sixth, Stiles having lost count after the second video, that he’s half watching, still half grasping about the works of it when he slaps his hand on top of Derek’s, halting him from clicking onto the next link.

“Wait!” Stiles grabs two of Derek’s fingers in his small hands, never actually realizing how big they are in comparison to his until now. “I wanna watch this one. It, uh, it looks good. The whole video. Please?”

Derek tenses but then sighs in relent.

Stiles continues to hold his two fingers, even manages to pull Derek’s hand onto his thigh as they sit awkwardly side by side on the bed, shifting their hands around so that it’s not at an awkward angle as he continues to watch the screen, unblinking, taking in the duo in the video.

It’s a simple shot, kind of home-made from the grainy quality of it and the backdrop looks like a nicely furbished living hall. It’s a whole lot different to the quality picture shots he’s seen earlier where the ladies in it are in a nice setting that basically screams photo-shoot.

Yeah. He’s watched enough America’s Next Top Model to know, okay?

It’s a short ten minute video and there are hasty, unclean cuts but Stiles can deal because—oh my god. The girl is on her knees and actually gagging on the guy’s dick. Her eyes watering up, nose is actually buried into the man’s pubic hair while he holds her head in a tight headlock and making crude, encouraging noises.

 “Yeah,” He pants. “You’re taking my cock so well. Look at you. Fuck.”

Stiles feels his throat constricting for the poor girl.

“That—” Derek must sense his slight distress because he says, “—that’s not how good blowjobs are supposed to be but um, some guys are just real dicks.” He makes an aggravated sound. “This isn’t a good video, I can totally—”

“No!” Stiles half shouts and bites hard on his lips as if he can re-capture the sound back into his mouth. He really doesn’t need Talia or Dad to come barging into the room while they’re both watching porn. Stiles know it’s probably a thing that they both shouldn’t be doing especially together.

“It’s uh, heh, good. I mean not that it’s good for the girl! But, you know, overall. It looks good. The video quality is shit though.”

Derek looks at him and Stiles shies away from his stare. It gets a little intimidating especially now that they’re at such a close space and he can feel Derek’s breath wafting across his cheek.

“I can choose something else.” Derek says. “Better quality—more vanilla.”

“Vanilla?” Stiles asks.

Derek nods and his other hand reaches out for the mouse and starts clicking on several other links before Stiles can protest. He pouts indignantly when Derek closes the video link.

“Yeah, stuff that isn’t too hardcore—more for first timers. Okay, I think this should be nice.”

He pulls up a video and it buffers for a couple of seconds before a really cheesy type of music that barely holds a beat starts filtering through the speakers. The cameras then starts to pan in to a couple sitting on a leather couch, both of them slender and are probably in their early twenties.

There’s no stilted conversation like the other videos and they just jump right into it—pressing their lips together while crowding into each other’s personal space. The man’s hands start to roam the woman’s body, hands shifting and squeezing into her curves before he settles onto her breasts, fondling them.

Stiles feels his breath getting stuck in his throat, for a good reason this time, and he chances a quick peek over to Derek and he’s… he’s just staring at them, eyes a little dazed off. He swallows thickly and then looks back at the screen.

Because staring at your step-brother while watching… whatever this is probably isn’t normal.

Well, this is so far out of normal, he can’t even see the return route back to normal-dom.

He must have missed a few seconds of the video because when he resumes watching it, they’re taking off their clothes. The girl is pulling off her tank top with a grace that Stiles can only dream to have while the guy is grunting, hastily taking off his clothes with no real finesse until they both end up naked.

Stiles knows he should be looking at the girl—a blonde who has shoulder length hair and has perky breasts and off-ish pink nipples that should have him salivating or something but the man, god, the man his dick throbbing in his boy shorts.

He’s built, just a little more than Derek, like his muscles look like they’ve been honed and excruciatingly spent being defined at the gym. His waist trims sharp and his hip bones jut out in a teasing V that arrows down to his dick that’s nestled in thick and dark pubic hair.

His dick—his dick is thick, swollen in a way that Stiles can relate with, and he’s uncut. Stiles can see the way the skin moulds thinly over the head and green-ish blue veins striping the underside of his dick that has him breathing harshly out his nostrils.

Stiles subconsciously squeezes Derek’s fingers in his hands that are now warm with sweat. He should probably let go because Derek would definitely stir up a ruckus about it but apparently his brain isn’t sending enough messages to the nerve systems in his hand to let go.

The guy squeezes the lady’s butt—it must have been a little rough since it leaves a red of fingerprints against the white globes before he’s sitting up against the couch, stroking his dick.

“Sit on my cock,” He murmurs but loud enough that the microphone catches it. “Want to watch you take me deep inside you. Yeah, ride me until you fall apart.”

Stiles feels his eyes watering up from the want churning in his guts, the heat that’s stretching a little too tight under his skin and burning blood into his dick that feels like he’s been hard for way too long.

He probably has been but hasn’t really realized it until he subtly shifts his body a little, feeling the wetness of his underwear catching against his dick.

He pointedly refrains to look down at his crotch where it’s probably raised straighter than the flag pole in school.

Stiles ignores everything, the way his skin is flushing but instead focuses on the way her vagina takes the man’s dick so nicely, so wetly, that Stiles wonders if it feels the same way when he uses both hands and thrust his dick into it.

Probably not because the guy is making absolutely shameful noises that has Stiles want to tear his clothes off and drive his dick into something slick.

“Derek,” Stiles chokes, subconsciously, and he’s so goddamn hard with the need to come making his balls twitch painfully.

Derek makes a noise in his throat that Stiles almost misses when the girl makes a fledged out awful moan that almost has his dick retreating into his body but it’s at the same time that Derek digs his fingernails into his thigh that makes Stiles snap his eyes at him.

“You can—you know relief yourself.” Derek says earnestly. “I won’t look. Promise.”

Stiles knows he should say no, tells him that it’s okay and he’ll just go back to his room and spit into his palms and come in three seconds flat but instead his breath hitches and he nods.

He nods his stupidly arousal filled head and then presses his palm against his dick, the hand that’s still holding onto Derek’s hand like a little kid who’s going to get lost at the big, scary mall.

Derek takes a sharp inhale.

His peripheral shows Derek nostrils flaring angrily, brows drawn in a taunt line and Derek’s finger twitches, the two of them, just a small hint of pressure against his dick and that’s when he loses it.

Stiles’ orgasm barrels into him and he groans wetly, pressing his face into Derek’s shoulder as he rides out the convulsions of his dick, white probably staining through his thin shorts.

“I—” Stiles gasps, breath still catching in his lungs.

Derek closes his laptop and takes a deep inhale. “Kay. Stiles. Vaporize now.”

Stiles runs out of the room without a fight, feeling the soil squishiness of his come rubbing against his skin and soaking through his underwear.


They don’t talk about it even after a few days later and the awkwardness between them wears off but that doesn’t stop Stiles from thinking about it—not the talking, the other…thing.

It’s twisted and also borderline incest levels of wrong that Stiles is even thinking about it lest hoping for a repeat act. Stiles has been downright fantasizing about Derek, his stepbrother, and jerking his dick raw with the memory he retained from that night.

When he comes during the next two months after, he tries his hardest not to moan out Derek’s name.

He slips, just sometimes, when nobody’s at home and he’s gyrating his hips down and fucking his dick into the mattress. It’s those times where he gasps out a choked up sob into the pillow, keening, “Shit—Derek.”

Stiles tries not to feel guilty those times.


Stiles is in his freshman year of high school when things between him and Derek start to look up. It’s the second month since school started and he’s still adjusting to the new school schedule and trying his best not to sulk around at home because Scott isn’t in half of his classes.

Well, sometimes life balances out the good things after a whole lot of bad.

Not that his life has been bad per-se but it’s been the longest start of the year without his best friend being constantly there and a lot of Stiles me-time in classes where he uses it to reflect and shit instead of getting up to their usual shenanigans.

It’s a Tuesday and Stiles’ classes finishes a lot earlier than Scott but they’ve already made plans for later where Scott would drop by and squeeze in some much needed gaming time before Talia calls them down for dinner.

Apparently Derek must have skipped a class or two because when Stiles gets home, he’s already sitting on the couch in his worn in tank top and gray boxers, channel surfing on the television.

“Sup,” Stiles greets because it’s common courtesy. “You’re back early.”

Derek nods at him but doesn’t even lift his eyes off the television for one second to look at him. Stiles doesn’t know why that kind of eats at him a little—like, it’s not a damn chore to acknowledge his presence like a normal person, ugh.

“Yeah,” Derek grunts and sounds a little put off that he has to make meaningless conversation with him. “I’ve got Harris for Chemistry and Bio this year—gotta get the fuck out of dodge before I pour acid down my throat.”

“Oh,” Stiles says meekly. He doesn’t know who’s Harris, doesn’t understand what the ‘dodge’ lingo means either… yeah. He’s just so uncool unlike Derek (not sarcasm, surprisingly). “Awesome. Do the parentals know that you’re trying to pull some greaser bad boy wannabe thingamajig?

“No,” Derek sours and looks pointedly at him. “Unless you’re gonna rat me out.”

“Please,” Stiles dumps his schoolbag against the armchair and plops himself down beside Derek. “I’m like the nicest person to ever grace this Earth, you should be thankful that we’re related and that you’re not stuck with people like… snotty douchebag Whittemore.”

Stiles is scowling and knows it must be a ugly expression because his mouth always turns sour whenever he thinks about Jackson. He hates Jackson, like really hate him in a way that makes Stiles want to shove his entire arm down his mouth so that he’d choke on his fist.

Because his brain is brilliant like that it transports him to that dark, dark time where he sat beside Derek, watching that video of that girl choking on the guy’s dick.


Derek snorts loudly, “That’s the ugliest face I’ve seen you made and I’ve seen you co—”

Stiles feels his stomach dip and he’s raising a curious brow at Derek.

“Nothing,” He mutters, shaking his head like as if he does it hard enough, it might just backspace the last five seconds. “Gonna head to the gym. You’re gonna be alright at home alone?”

Eh,” Stiles shrugs loosely and waves his hands around the air spastically. “Home Alone would look fantastic with a sarcastic teenager as a sequel. It might even be the next box hit.”

Derek grins, small, and Stiles totally catches it before he schools it back to a semi-frown, pushing himself off the chair as though it’s a personal insult that he actually finds his own sort of marriage related sibling amusing.

Jesus, the guy has problems.

Not as much as Stiles since he wants to get all up at that—but yeah, totally.

“Kay,” Stiles calls out even though Derek’s already running up the stairs by twos. “See you.”

Derek doesn’t answer.

What a dick.


Stiles uses the next few hours at home alone in Derek’s room, perches himself on the study chair as he browses through his laptop, humming some wayward pop song as he clicks through a selective few of bookmarked porn videos.

Yeah, talk about déjà vu but he’s done this several times and hasn’t been caught before so he must have some sweet ninja moves.

Both Talia and dad still insists that he doesn’t need a laptop since he’s got a badass gaming set-up in his room and having more technology would retract his focus on studies, which, very true but he secretly knows that his dad just doesn’t want to ruin the innocence that is Stiles with the bad internet and its vast selection of naughty things.

Yeah, his exact words, not Stiles’.

What dad doesn’t know won’t kill him since he has a nicely stashed folder filled with sites of porn videos that he’s allocated deep in the hard drive of Derek’s laptop and he has it labelled with the least conspicuous name and about twenty folders deep in with sub folders that would obviously hinder away any attention.

Stiles is half hard from anticipation and palming through his jeans as he brings up his favourite video—the very same one that he and Derek watched a summer ago.

It’s a thing, kind of his go-to wank material even though he already knows what happens every second of the video.

Sometimes he even mouths the words the dude says to the girl.

He’s just looking through the side related videos when he realizes that the page has been slightly updated and he sees some new information added under the tags section area.

Model names: Vito Gallo, Jessica Swank

Stiles feels his blood running cold and he jerks up from the chair, back straightening ram-rod as he eyes both of the names curiously. He bites on his lips, looks back over his shoulder as though he’s doing something almost illegal before his hands are hovering above the mouse and clicks on the male model’s name.

The site blinks out white as it loads before it shows a full list of videos, several thumbnails catching his eyes immediately. Stiles only widens them comically around mid-list when the thumbnail reveals him… and two other dudes.

He gasps, covering his mouth.

Stiles scrolls down and there’s even more of them. The guy is total equal opportunity apparently and has actually taken two dicks up his ass like a real fucking champ. Yeah, the title actually stated that and there’s a thumbnail of two dicks blocking most of his face as a small preview.

He actually wanted to click on that video but his brain is probably short circuiting from the reveal of so much information within such a short span of time that Stiles accidentally clicks on a link below it and the video starts playing immediately in a new tab.

Something that’s a whole lot different than the ones he’s used to.

Stiles has always kept it safe within the straight category of porn sites, never actually dared to venture into the rest, especially the gay ones. It’s different when you watch a porn video and just gawk shamelessly at the man than actually actively seeking out a video where two guys—two dicks, his mind whispers grudgingly—are starring in it.

The video starts out decently enough with the same corny background music that Stiles kind of laughs along with it until Vito pans into the frame with a slim looking guy beside him. His skin looks completely whitened out beside Vito who looks like he spent an entire week in a tanning bed and has shoulders a little too sharp beside all that muscle.

It kind of reminds Stiles of his own self.

Well, if he wasn’t hard before, he sure is now.

Vito starts to mouth at the smooth length of the guy’s neck as he presses the heel of his palm against the noticeable tent of his khaki slacks, rubbing himself to full hardness. The other dude is vocal, a whole lot more than Stiles is, and he makes sweet keening voices through his nose as he scrabbles for purchase against his own crotch.

Stiles makes an undignified noise at the back of his throat, breath hitching, and he would be terribly ashamed of it but he doesn’t even being to administer it—his arousal clouding out any conscious shame and mortification.

He unzips his jeans and pushes them hastily to his knees and pulls out his dick through the pee hole of his boxers, thumbing at the pre-come as he slicks it up wetly all over his cockhead.

Yeah, he’s a master at masturbation now—a masterbater (dude, that pun man). He even knows several different terms and words for his cock—he could probably even start up his own erection sutra.

There’s an abrupt cut in the video after they both start making out, breaths getting more laboured and heavy before they’re suddenly on a bed. The lanky guy is spread-eagle on the bed as he makes come fuck me eyes at Vito and Stiles needs to learn that move, totally.

If the dude can pull it off, so can Stiles.

They’re doppelgangers, sort of, but hey, same logic right?

“You know something, twink?” Vito grunts and he sounds wrecked so unlike how he spoke to that girl in the other video. He lines his cock up against his asscrack, just sliding it smoothly in between the roundness of his ass cheeks, ever so and then dipping the head of his cock into his hole. “You’re the prettiest little boy I’ve ever had the chance to fuck. Yeah, those big eyes you starin’ at me with, god, it’s like you’re trying to suck the come out of me without even using your mouth.”

Stiles’ hips jerk up at that, trying to fist his cock deeper into his hand.

Vito sinks his entire length into him in one sharp thrust, fucks into that heat like he’s been denying himself for far too long and he groans so gutturally into the man’s chest that Stiles gets goose bumps up to his neck.

“Your ass—” Vito groans and he’s pulling back then snapping his cock deeper into his asshole. “—I wanna come inside you. I want you to milk me dry and spent until my cock is too sensitive to take anymore.”

Stiles doesn’t know what does it but the next second he’s seizing up, prematurely coming into his fist with a long choked up moan that sounds like it got pummelled out of his lungs. He spills into his head, hot and heady, come dribbling in between his fingers.

He only stops tugging at his cock when he starts to soften and finally gathering some clarity in his mind when it feels like he’s going to stop buzzing out of his own skin any moment while grabbing a couple of wipes to clean himself.

That’s when he the scratchy hollow creak of the door penetrates his orgasm high like a wakeup call. He does a swift 180 spin on the chair and his eyes snap up to a pair of dark, familiar eyes looking straight at him through the ajar door.

It’s unmistakable and Stiles knows it’s him—Derek.

He gulps and looks down at himself, his now flaccid cock’s still poking out through his boxers like some kind of long expired joke and his jeans has now slid down to his ankles. The snuffling groans and moans from the video are still loud and ringing through the tinny speakers of Derek’s laptop.

The entire situation is actually surreal, to be frank.

Derek is still watching him, eyes tentative as they dip down and takes a long glace at his dick. He stares at it for a good few seconds before he snaps them up at him again—eyes darkened with a ferocious hunger. He hasn’t seen that look in those eyes before—no, Stiles lies, he’s seen that look countless of time.

Only in his dreams though. The ones where he wakes up hard at the core, wet with the urge to come being strung tight at his balls.

Some sense finally snaps into Stiles and he quickly spins around, covering himself and pulling his jeans up with clumsy movements. His brain is already hammering on with sentences of word vomit that contains sincere apologies but when he scurries out of Derek’s room, he only catches the faint car tires screeching out from the garage.



When Derek comes home later that evening, he doesn’t leave his room. Even when Talia tentatively knocks on the door, tells him that dinner is already cold and that she’ll heat it up for him if he’s hungry for a late night bite.

Stiles is most definitely not pressing his ear against his own door, listening to the reluctant sigh when she gets no reply and feels a twinge of guilt nipping in his chest since he’s sort of the one that caused it.

Well, his weird jacking off did it but semantics, y’know?

Stiles falls asleep shortly after even though his eyes aren’t heavy to begin with despite the fact that he spent the last few hours ignoring reality and playing video games, getting positively smashed by the worst noob of all time—Scott.

He wakes up with a start when the alarm clock blares and he snuffles into his pillow. He rubs away the sleep caking around his eyes, squinting around as he lets his vision clear when he sees a rumpled piece of paper on his bedside table—he definitely did not see it there the previous night.

Stiles reaches out to it with sleep-lazy movements and pries it open, it reads:

I can’t get the image of you coming out of my head.

He drops the piece of crumpled paper.


Stiles is still processing that information in his head (there’s a lot of what the fucks going on there too) when he accidentally miss the last two steps of the stairs and tumbles down ass first. It attracts the immediate attention of both nosy parentals at the kitchen, quietly sipping on their morning brew.

“Stiles?” Talia asks worryingly, already on her feet as she ushers to help him up.

“I’m okay!” Stiles squeaks and he’d be worried about the pitch his voice just soared to but puberty hasn’t changed much of his voice just yet so, phew. At least his dignity is attached. Somewhat. “Yeah, you know, brain is lagging real time again.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Talia says fondly, smiling.

Dad’s a total asshole, though. Don’t let the sheriff badge fool you, he’s actually pure evil.

“Well, don’t let that be an excuse for whenever you get bad grades.”

He’s probably hiding a really outrageous smirk behind the newspaper too.

Stiles is totally mature but he lets it hinder a little as he pulls a horrible face at him and grabs a toast off his dad’s plate when he isn’t looking, shoving it wholly into his mouth with a triumphant noise.

“Damn it, Stiles! Get your own toast.”

Stiles is grinning cheekily as he chews, “I’m a growing boy, daddy-o! I need all the good stuff and Talia severely pampers you, don’t think I don’t know that. It’s outrageous.” He turns to Talia, “You’re going to make obesity out of that man.”

“Oh shush both of you. It’s like I have three kids under this roof, sometimes.” Talia tuts at them, laughing. “Also! Stiles, Derek’s already left so you’ve to hitch a ride from the public bus—”

“What!” Stiles squawks and mutters son of a bitch under his breath before he realizes what he just said. “Oh my god! No! I didn’t mean it like that, Talia!”

Talia huffs but she doesn’t look offended. “Watch your mouth, young man, but I get it. Lag time. Now, head on out or you’re going to miss the bus.”

Stiles rushes out of the house and accidentally puts on Derek’s shoes.



Stiles doesn’t know if Derek is actively avoiding him after the note accident (okay, he is but apparently denial has a good thing going on for him) but they don’t bump into each other for the rest of the week.

Including dinner time and they have a traditional Stilinski family night on every Friday which Derek totally gave some lame ass excuse about having to put in extra hours on some homework stuff with his project buddies.

Okay, Stiles is not upset—no. He’s just… worried?

Mildly terrified?

Borderline (there’s no border about it) obsessing over that piece of paper?

Yeah, that’s most probably it. How can he not? Derek basically shoved him this life-changing information at him and expects him to just deal with it like it’s some kind of casual thing like, hey, there’s that one time I wore your socks on accident—it’s cool, right?

Nope, that’s not it. The message is completely not casual, it’s so beyond casual that it’s almost like a sext but not exactly. So it’d probably be a sexagge—a mex. Whatever. It’s a sexually charged message that leaves no other room for further interpretations.


Okay. Fine, he admits.

Stiles may be losing a little bit of his sanity.


He finally manages to catch Derek on the weekend when he’s barrelling in through the front door on an early Saturday evening, probably just done with playing basketball with some of his other junior high school friends as he has his gym bag slung all over his sweaty shoulder—sweaty arms, sweaty everything really.

“Yo,” Stiles says awkwardly, tipping the remote control in his hand like he’s signalling a wave. It’s not cool at all. “What’s crackalackin’? Haven’t seen you all week, bro.”

“Uh,” Derek tenses a little, stopping mid-walk but then sighs, dropping his bag on the floor. “Yeah, have been real busy with some school projects. The usual, y’know?”

Stiles makes a frustrated noise through his nose and apparently the play-it-cool plan he wanted to follow with kind of went down the drain the next second.

“I got your note, you dipshit.” says Stiles.

Derek jerks his eyes at him, widening in mortification before he quickly schools his expression back to his normal stoic one—the one that wants Stiles to tie him up in his bed and pry open his head to take a look at how his mind works—but anyways, Stiles’ already seen his reaction.

He plays the defensive card. “What note? I haven’t left you anything.” He’s grumbling now. “Have you taken your adderall today, Stiles? You’re all over the place.”

“You’re deflecting.” Stiles sing-songs and oh god, he would punch himself in the face right now for being such a smug alec. “Not cool, big bro, and you’re the supposedly popular guy in school, man.”

Derek huffs, irritated and his sweat soak through shirt stretches taut over his chest with the movement. “I’m going to run a bath first, okay? We’ll—we’ll talk later. Promise.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and waves a hand in the air as though he’s saying ‘Fine. Go. Let your cowardice and you be one with the shower’.


“You’re fourteen, Stiles.”

They’re in Stiles’ room and have been talking for a while, well one-sided talking because Derek just makes disgruntled noises like the butthole he really is. It doesn’t take much before Stiles manages to crack him open, yeah, like an egg. Splat.

Stiles scoffs, “Are we like in some sort of reversal Twilight scenario? Because, dude, gotta break it to you. My dick doesn’t sparkle. You’ve seen it. I’ve seen it, many a-times actually. We’ve both seen it at the same time.”

“Fourteen,” Derek says again like it’d magically make sense the second time.

It doesn’t.

Stiles crosses his arms, agitated.

“I don’t think it makes me jailbait if you’re only three years older than me and technically, we’re still both underage under California law.” Stiles comments smartly. He’s done his homework, alright. “So the whole age difference you’re trying to pull here? Futile.”

Derek exasperatedly rubs his face. “I’m still your elder brother. Christ, we’re related Stiles and I want to—” He trails off.

Stiles doesn’t even realize he’s sitting at the edge of his bed, hanging onto each word Derek says.

“…And you want to?”

Derek has his fists clenched at the sides, jaw tightly locked. He almost as uncomfortable as the first time that Stiles approached him about the whole masturbation thing but worse, way worse. That situation feels miniscule in comparison to this now.

“I want to—I want to fuck you, Stiles.” He mutters out quickly, a blush slowly creeping high up his neck. “I want to ruin you and I… fuck, I can’t do that to you. You’re legally related to me and I can’t just let what my dick wants to ruin my mom’s marriage! Shit—John would lose all the respect he has for me.”

Stiles’ mouth is hanging.

“I’ve seen you in diapers!” Derek grits, shoulders shaking with the intensity. “How messed up is that?”

“Hey,” Stiles quickly stands up and ushers to him. He slings an arm around his waist and tries to minimize how awkward the angle is. It’s barely even a comforting hug, the height difference—a total of three and a half inches, curse you puberty—making it even worst. “I’m just as fucked up as you are. You know, the part with me jacking off in your room.”

“No it isn’t, damn it.” Derek mumbles into his hair, pulling Stiles closer to him. He feels a pressure being fisted at the back of his shirt, keeping him still. “The amount of times I had to run out of the house because I couldn’t take being so near to you, knowing that you’re doing things I want to do to you. I—we can’t, Stiles.”

Stiles should say something, knows he should, but of course it’s at this time that his mouth decides it’s the perfect time to shut the hell up and not produce a coherent sentence at all. His mind kicks up in overdrive, the words that are left at the tip of his tongue being strung together in his head like a heavy series of a looped up broken record.

He opens his mouth, ready for it to tumble out.


“Just,” Derek cuts in, whining.

Stiles has never heard him like this, never bore witness to a Derek that isn’t in top form and smacking his head with a snarky reply or who towers over him like it’s some kind of unsaid competition, with an air of loose confidence that makes him wish he’s a little older—a little not related to him at all—so he could dig down into the persona that Derek constantly hides behind.

“Let me hold you a little while more okay? I’m still a selfish person after all.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything but let himself be held for another twenty more minutes and when Derek lets go, he doesn’t protest.


Freshman year passes quickly after that.

Stiles also stops staying so cooped up at home because everything in the house reminds him of Derek which soon turns out to be kind of sickening, really.

He feels like a real Bella Swan, without the moping, of course.

But that’s probably because he uses that portion of his time jerking off any emotions that a fourteen (soon, fifteen okay!) years old boy might feel. He’s not ready for that phase of his life just yet and he’s fine rocking on his denial boat that might sink on him at any time.

Either that or his dick might probably drop off or probably start to chafe if he doesn’t invest in good quality lube.


The day Stiles turns fifteen—Derek has a girlfriend. He thinks.

Scratch that. He knows.

He’s all bushy tail and wide eyes for his magnificent breakfast feast to be bestowed into his stomach when he overhears Talia gossiping about it to dad as he scrambles down the stairs, albeit too noisy but the parentals are too far done with their juicy chattering to even notice him.

Talia is cooing about it like it’s the best damn thing to happen under this household while Dad is sitting on the kitchen stool, pretending to be not interested at it as he sips at his mug of coffee but Stiles knows him better than anyone.

He sees his old man right through—the fucking skeezer, just as bad as Talia.

“Oh, John!” Talia raves animatedly. “I actually never thought this day would come so soon!” His dad snorts at that like it’s almost ridiculous that Talia even believed that for a second. “Honestly, I had a moment a year back that he was… you know, because Derek never brought anyone back before.”

John chokes. “You thought our son was gay?”

“Well!” Talia retorts snippily. “One never know! We used to think Nancy’s sweet little son, what was his name, James? Yes, James! Nancy and I used to think that he would make the best boyfriend to a girl because he’s such a chivalrous boy! He used to courtesy at him whenever he would open a door and it was the most precious thing! Turns out he was gay!”

“I don’t care if Derek’s gay or straight.” John tells and Talia notices the immediate change in his tone.

Talia looks at him narrowly. “I don’t care if my boy brings back a girl or a guy—even a plant, John. You know that.”

John’s shoulders sag at that, loosening. “Yeah… I know, it’s just—”

“Sweetheart,” Talia says sweetly and kisses the top of his head. “Everyone knows about Stiles.”


“I heard someone call me,” Stiles hollers, mouth acting before his brain could catch up as he dashes into the kitchen, uncoordinated limbs flailing around. He sags his body onto a stool beside his dad.

“It’s nothing, dear.” Talia tells quickly, a big smile brightening her face as she puts two slices of bread into the toaster. “Now who’s ready for their birthday breakfast?”

Stiles is not ashamed that he shouts excitedly at that.


Stiles and Derek hasn’t seen much of each other after… their talk, yeah, their brotherly (is it still considered that if you want to do the nasty with them?) relationship has been considerably strained, not that it wasn’t before, but nobody actually goes out to make a comment on it even if they noticed.

Stiles never sits around to question it either. He thinks after the first two weeks of trying to actually work up to okay terms with Derek to be shot down constantly that it’s not worth bruising anymore of his ego.

However, the new information about Derek and the supposedly girlfriend eats at him slowly, gnaws at him when he catches himself daydreaming during class.

There’s a stranger that has apparently taken, more like stolen, an important area that Stiles used to chalk it up for him since they were close siblings and all that snazz but he’s been replaced just like that sits with him heavily like lead in his stomach.

Stiles reasons with himself that he can’t actually feel upset about something if you’ve never had it but, yet—

Yet it’s just the thought that someone else, someone that isn’t him, has already gotten their hands on Derek. Places that he’s been dreaming for the past two years, intimate ones where they’ll get to see him sigh out blissfully as he comes.

It twists in him like a knife that feels a lot like jealousy and Stiles doesn’t do jealousy.

So he decides to up his game and bring his whole jerking emotions away (literally) to a whole other level.


When Stiles mad dashes home from school, he quickly undresses out of his graphic tee and jeans and into his dad’s casual work attire—the ones that don’t have a badge on it and have BH Police printed on the back, of course.

They hang a little loose at the corners on his scrawny frame but it doesn’t look overall… bad, he could even pull off an early twenties look by a quick glance. He’s not really looking to be an exact replica of his dad—just, matured looking.

Well, as mature one would be allowed into a sex shop.

Stiles takes the public bus down into town and tries not to draw too much attention as he shoves on a pair of aviators on his face. They’re tinted black so nobody can see his wondering eyes through them, or frightened ones, in this sense.

He walks into the store coolly nods politely at the sales staff who greets him when the doorbell signals his presence. It’s a small boutique, not what one would describe a sex store if they lived in the city but it’s more than enough in Beacon Hills.

The shop has kind of an indie vibe to it with its maroon walls and an entire back wall that’s fully covered on every good inch of pornography movie posters. There’s also a really sleazy type of elevator music pulsating through the overhead speakers that reminds Stiles of one too many porn videos.

Figures, you know, what with it being a sex shop.

Stiles strolls along the two aisles the small store has, humming low with the steady beat of the music as he scans through the variety of products on the shelves. There’s a large section dedicated to every size and colour of dildo that can never be unseen again which Stiles quickly strays away from, closing his gaping mouth.

Next to it are two row of lubrication and condoms which Stiles internally fist bumps and thanks the higher supreme in the world that has made his task less painful. He snatches the nearest one his eyes catches his attention and fumbles away quickly to the cashier.

“Afternoon sir!” She—Kelsie apparently, or what the nametag that’s pinned on her shirt states—chirps. “That all for now?”

Stiles hums an answer and tries not to twitch around too much.

Kelsie harrumphs when she doesn’t get a reply from him. “Do you want to check out the other products we have? I’m pretty sure your girlfriend would love it. You could even, heh,” She winks cheekily. “Rock her world.”

Stiles wants to dig a hole and pretends to be an ostrich.

Apparently not so painless after all.

“That’s all, miss.” He says politely and is thankful that his balls have decided to drop with puberty a few months ago, lowering the tone of his voice from the child-like squeakiness to a rather mellowed sounding voice.

He’s pretty certain that his voice is lower than Derek—that is if he doesn’t flails around.


“You sure?” Kelsie digs at him again. “Okay, let’s be real here. A sex store in the middle of a small town doesn’t give much business, alright? How about… you buy one more product and I’ll give you a ten percent discount on the overall receipt? Sounds good?”

Stiles groans and realizes that he’s not going to be able to get away without purchasing something else—it’s the determination in her eyes that scares him, not because he’s underage and is the son of the sheriff and he may actually land his father into some hot oil.

Pfft, no.

“Fine,” Stiles grits.

He looks around the store a little and sees a nicely packaged up box on the counter which Kelsie suddenly produced from under it. Curious, he asks, “What’s that?”

“Oh, this?” Kelsie asks, brightening up that her lure tactic worked. “It’s the newest in the market, came straight from Japan—and you know what they say about the Japs. Kinky lil motherfuckers.”

“And people just buy it even though they can’t read the instructions?” He says sceptically, eyeing the box that’s written in some kind of foreign language. He’s not even sure what the product is supposed to be based on the image because the sparkles and explosions kind of pull the main focus of the product.

“It’s a vibrating bullet,” She explains. “It’s pleasurable for both the ladies and the men. Try it, I promise you that it’ll change your life.”

Stiles purses his lips and then sighs, “You won’t bug me to buy some more if I get this right?”

Kelsie grins, “Promise!” and rings up his purchase.

Stiles only realizes he’s cold sweating the armpits and feels beads of them hanging on his forehead when he leaves the store, paper bag in his hands.


Of course the instruction manual would be in Japanese,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes.

He flings the empty box onto the floor and then rolls the toy in his hand. It’s not really a vibrator, well it is, but the ones that he’s seen in porn are exaggerated big ones that have wires connecting to a whole lot of other equipment.

He hasn’t watched much porn after the incident because Derek immediately takes up the habit of locking his door whenever he’s out of the house and Stiles just isn’t that much of a risk-taker to try to break into his room just to watch porn.

Yeah, he can deal with using the power of his imagination—which apparently is one of his worst kryptonite because it stars him and Derek most of the time.

Okay, all of the time.

Anyway, the vibrator is a sleek metallic silver-like bullet that has a tapered tip and a push-to-play end function that starts buzzing up when Stiles presses the button. It flails around in his palm for a little and Stiles pushes at it again, only for it to up its vibration settings.

“Huh,” Stiles gapes and then presses a few more times before it winds down, heart thumping excitedly.

Commence jerk off.


Stiles has his right hand slick with lubrication, stroking and twisting on his hardened cock while the other fondles gently at his balls, rolling them in his palm as he grunts at the pleasure leavings of simultaneous stimulations.

Masturbating with lube is a whole lot better than spit—the texture is thicker and doesn’t dry up as quick as his own saliva, leaving it sticky and rough but instead it’s smooth and the slap of wet skin is obscene.

It sounds and looks like a bad rip off from amateur porn, how there’s lube accidentally drizzled across the thin dusting of hair at his belly and pubes while he lies on the bed, legs spread opened like a nice little slut just waiting to get fucked from some macho dude.

But because it’s not porn and actually real life, he only has his right hand to entertain him.

Oh! And the vibrator!

Stiles jerks his dry hand onto the bed and feels around the sheets until he finds it. He takes it clumsily, accidentally dropping it on his chest before picking it up and licking his lips. He presses the button once and the vibrator roars to life with a twitch.

He doesn’t really know what to do now.

Stiles carefully places it on one nipple, then the other, letting the ticklish buzz seep under his skin until it bleeds into recognition of his senses. It doesn’t feel bad but it’s not off the charts that’s making him pant so he trails the vibrator along his chest until it reaches his stomach, circles it around his navel before he’s jerking it lower.

His dick twitches in some kind of fail attempt when the vibrator sits right at the head of his cock, the low hum of it pulsing against the purpling head. He ups the speed with one press and then places the vibrator at the back of his cockhead, just before it meets shaft and his hips jerk at that.

Stiles tightens his hold at the base of his cock, making little nudging strokes while he teases the vibrator along the underside of the head, breaths hitching once he works himself into a nice little momentum.

He stirs it up to the third speed and that’s when the bullet really starts to pulse heavily in his hand, a steady throb of vibrations that feels like pleasurable lightning zings against his cock. Stiles moans softly, sliding the vibrator down against his shaft and then back up to the tip of his cock, teasing himself away from an impending orgasm.

Stiles doesn’t know what possesses him at that moment but the hand that was gripping the base of his cock loosens and starts to skirt along the inner sides of his thigh, leaving a fingernail trail of lube as he gently slicks up the sensitive area before his asshole.

He circles his dry hand onto the tip of his cock, smearing pre-come around the head while he nudges around so that he vibrator in his palm lines up just nicely with the underside of his dick, angling it just right so that he doesn’t need to keep shifting his hand around.

Stiles isn’t even picturing anything right now—so focused on the feel of everything that he doesn’t even realize he has his eyes closed for a while now but then he pries them open and looks down. His skin is flushing, a thin sheen of sweat lining at his chest and god, he’s kind of thankful that Kelsie made him buy the vibrator.

Then two fingers start to curiously probe around the tight ring of muscles at his asshole, just teasing around the wrinkled skin of it before he pushes the tip of his middle finger in, grunting at the intrusion like his body is rejecting but he huffs and then presses it deeper until the second knuckle pops through the muscle.

He’s panting now, cock twitching furiously in his dry fist like it’s trying to combust a wad into his hand.

Stiles twists the finger inside and feels the hot and dry tightening heat of his asshole swallowing his finger like a vice—god. A cock could go in there. Derek’s cock could slide in there and fuck him.

It’s with that he takes his finger out and tries to go all out and get two fingers in him—the tempting imagery of having something thick inside him heating up his skin like a sin. He flicks the lube cap with a clumsy schlick and then pours it over his thigh, dropping it on the bed before he swiping the wet area of skin into his fingers and then rubbing it all over his asscrack and hole.

He lines his index and middle finger at his rim and then wiggles them slowly, urging them in with careful movement and when they’re just slipping in at the first knuckle, his stomach twists urgently and he comes hard, cock pulsing in his fist and the vibrator still milking him until he feels his hips jerking away from the painful vibrations.

He tosses the bullet on the bed, wiping his come hastily on the sheets as he goes back to working the two fingers in him, easing them in carefully. His fingers are doing some kind of worm-like movement as he arches his back, trying to push them from the change of angle when the second knuckle pops through the intrusion.


His mind is supplying an endless amount of Derek doing this to him—spreading him open with his fingers and tongue and the idea of it—the filthiness is what makes both fingers bottom out inside him, his ass clenching around him as it takes the girth of his thin fingers.

Derek’s hands are thicker, bigger, so the stretch would be more unwelcoming but as Stiles continues to scissor his fingers, feeling himself slowly to open up like he’s taking it like a natural bottom porn star.

He gasps out Derek’s name, breaths coming out heavily as he feels his cock trying to thicken up.

Stiles is tempted to tease one more finger in there but he knows it would be too much of a stretch when an idea strikes him bold—the vibrator. It’s thick enough in girth, about two fingers of his, and he’s already starting to wonder how it would feel like inside him, having something that’s already pleasurable on the outside to feel when it’s inside him.

He carefully pulls out two of his fingers, whines when he feels the now familiar pressure being slowly extracted away, asshole clenching down rhythmically as though it’s trying to preserve the fullness from before.

He takes the vibrator with both hands and drizzles more lube onto it—hey, the more the merrier, right? And then starts up the vibrator at the fourth setting, the hums of it more like an angry buzz rather than its melancholy pulse.

Lining the tapered end of it against the slick rim of his hole, he starts to ease it in slowly, feels the vigorous buzz on his skin until he feels it slowly going in, filling him up like his fingers did and he’s about halfway in when he clenches the muscles at his ass—that’s when the vibrator slicks in fully.

Stiles fists his hands into the sheets, arching his back as he groans out wetly. The vibrator is buzzing along the walls of his asshole and it zaps pleasure to the bottom of his spine, curling more heat into his cock.

He quickly holds his now hardened cock with one hand and starts stroking it furiously when suddenly the vibrator slips in a little further with that movement, nudging it deeper inside him as it furiously vibrates when suddenly he gasps out loudly and sees white.

The pleasure itches under his skin and it keeps on going until his cock starts to spurt thin strings of come from the hole of his cock. Stiles spreads his legs wider and gyrates his hips in the air as he rides out the orgasm, feeling the splash of come hitting his chest and on his arms.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Stiles is panting now, sweat beading at his forehead and upper lip. He’s gasping for air when the vibrator nudges onto that same area again—the one that makes his toes curl and it feels like his stomach is bottoming out with the same heat again.

He’s so strung out with the second rush of relaxants that his arms feels numb and heavy but he knows he can’t possibly come the third time—he’s never done it thrice in one go. Stiles is probing two fingers in again and tries to reach for the vibrator when he realises that he can’t even reach the end tip of the bullet inside him.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck—” Stiles frantically squawks.

He comes the third time four minutes later and he’s weeping on the bed, body tight with oversensitivity and that’s when he knows he needs to call for help.


“Derek— I’m sorry, oh shit—” Stiles cries out pathetically. “Please, just, please come home right now. I need you and I’ll explain later. I just… I fucking need you right now—it hurts.”



Stiles can faintly hear Derek running around downstairs of the house but he’s too weak to even call out to him, doesn’t even have the strength to sit up since he used up a lot of effort to crawl to his study table to get his cell phone.

“Stiles! Where the hell are you? You’re scaring the crap out of me. Stiles!”

He hears the door of his bedroom slam open and then Derek is ushering next to him.

“Jesus, what the hell happened?” Derek asks and he doesn’t sound pissed off—he sounds worried, concerned. If Stiles could actually properly think, he would be kind of relieved that Derek still cared about him.

“Hey,” Stiles says weakly, squinting. “I just got myself into… a small problem.”

Derek must have finally realized that he’s naked and is actually sitting on probably the fifth small wad of come on the bed sheets that his dick magically produced. How he even had that much come in the first place bugs him.

He feels the seventh orgasm coming on and he knows from the last one that nothing is going to be spurting out but apparently his dick isn’t getting the message so when the vibrations start to hit at the same spot over like some kind of battle war, his dick starts to pulse in a familiar tightening.

“Oh fuck—Derek—” Stiles groans out gutturally and he’s clinging onto him, mouth opened and letting out a series of incoherent noises out as he smushes his face into his shirt, letting the orgasm ride out in time.

 “What the fuck? Stiles?” Derek is somewhat screeching but at least he’s not getting up. Instead he feels an arm being slung around him, pulling him closer. “Tell me what’s wrong? C’mon, I can’t help you if you’re not using your words.”

“Vibrator,” Stiles grits and his brows are furrowing from the intensity of how much everything hurts. It feels like his ass is on fire with the pulsing vibrations and his dick is already limp, has been soft since the fourth time he came. “In my ass. Can’t reach it.”

“Fucking christ,” Derek says and he’s rubbing his face against Stiles’ neck. It’s comforting—distracting and that’s what he needs to pull his headspace out from every part of his body that aches so painfully. “Okay, get on your knees. Do you have lube?”

Stiles flinches when he loses the warm heat of Derek’s shoulder and then points on the bed.

“Okay,” Derek tells, voice even toned. He has a hand on his thigh though, just rubbing it in small soothing circles that starts making Stiles tear because it feels so good after so much ofbad. “Can you get on your knees for me, Stiles? I can’t get it out otherwise.”

Stiles muffles a moan into the sheets as he tries to flop onto the front and then working the stiff muscles of his legs to get him into a somewhat kneeling position on his bed. He knows it’s not perfect but it’s the most he can do right now.

“Alright, just like this.” Derek assures and he has a hand low on his back, just smoothing it sure strokes just like when they were younger whenever Stiles would get a nightmare about the bogeyman and can’t fall asleep until a rhythmic-like pattern lulls him away.

“It might hurt a little okay,” Derek says softly. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles may be projecting a little but he thought he heard him say ‘I’m sorry, baby’ and that’s when Stiles blacks out from the next orgasm that barrels through him, leaving him gasping until he knocks out.


Stiles wakes up fully clothed and his skin feels like sandpaper against the scratchy material of clothes. He also realizes he’s not in his room and is in Derek’s—which, huh.

D’rk?” Stiles mumbles, voice hoarse and then he hears the light padding of footsteps before the bed dips with weight beside him.

“You doing okay, birthday boy?” Derek asks softly and feels an arm under him, pulling him against his sturdy chest. He feels his head sway a little until it flops like dead weight against his pecs.

“M’okay, just a little woozy that’s all.” Stiles says and tries to bite back a yawn which is when his brain finally starts to gear up. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Derek. I must have totally ruined your plans with your girlfriend or something because I got something stuck up my ass.”

Derek stifles a laugh and feels the bubbling vibrations against his forehead. “Nah, its fine. I wasn’t busy doing anything anyway. Was actually thinking of getting you a cake when you called.”

Stiles absolutely does not feel like suddenly his heart just plummeted and starts to hurt with the rest of his body. It’s also probably the same time his denial ship sinks.

“So,” Stiles drawls and he takes a large inhale. He’s always liked how Derek smells like, just a little like the cologne he uses and the detergent wash Talia has been using since they were young. “Do you think I can meet her?”

“What?” Derek jerks and Stiles whimpers from the sudden movement. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—damn it, no, Stiles.”

“Oh,” Stiles says.

“I mean, no, I don’t have a girl.”

“Oh,” Stiles echoes again.

“It’s always been just you, you know?” says Derek and he feels lips being pressed against his forehead, just lightly—like a secret. “Been you when I saw your first growth spurt at eleven, which makes me a real sicko, I know. Been you when I showed you porn for the first time. Been you when I saw you watching porn in my room.”

Stiles gulps thickly—he knows that there’s a line and they probably crossed it way over a thousand times like hours ago when Derek charged him to see him coming for the how many times was it? Fuck knows.

Stiles bunches Derek’s shirt in his hand. “I used to think that you were a superhero that would save me from anything.”

Derek laughs airily at that. “You did?”

“Yeah,” Stiles admits shyly. “Used to tell everyone that I wanted to grow up and be just like Derek Hale.”

“Stiles…” Derek whispers.

“Derek,” He retorts back but there’s no heat. He thinks he really did jerk out any emotions he has which well, at least the plan worked. “I know you said you’re a selfish person but… you grew up with me. I’m selfish too.”

Derek keeps quiet, the even breathing his chest rises and falls shows Stiles that he’s still listening intently and hasn’t actually dozed off even though none of them replies for a few minutes.

“Why can’t I want you? I mean, we’ve already done stuff. I jack off to you. You jack off to me. It’s a mutual jacking off. Why can’t we just jack off together and want each other?”

“We’ve talked about that, Stiles.” He groans. “And today has been a real test for me—we can’t… do that anymore. I… Stiles, I was this close to losing it when I saw you naked, all spread out and wet, Jesus fucking Christ.”

“But I’m fifteen now!” He argues.

“It doesn’t change what I said.”

Stiles sighs dejectedly.

“Then can you at least promise me something?”

Derek holds him tighter, pressing another dry kiss on his forehead, “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Don’t be with anyone else.”

“It’s always been just you, Stiles. Okay?”



Stiles sleeps soundly after that and wakes up the next morning in his own bed, the sheets beneath him already replaced with new, dry ones that he guesses Derek must have switched out when he completely black out.

His stretches and feels the knots in his back crack and that’s when he sees the dark ink smudging across his wrist, still readable nonetheless.

Always yours –D

Stiles grins.