kyrene_writes: (TW: pedobait stiles)
[personal profile] kyrene_writes
Title: Life in the Stilinski-Hale Household: Part Three
Author: [personal profile] kyrenekyorl
Pairings/Characters: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Talia Hale
Rating: R
Word Count: 7,462 (this part)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: underage
Summary: Derek is seventeen, Stiles is thirteen, they're stepbrothers, things happen....


"Life in the Stilinski-Hale Household"
Part Three"

by kyrene


It took Stiles ten minutes to come downstairs but Derek was kind of relieved that he came down at all so he didn't comment on the time or the redness of Stiles' face or the fact that for some reason he'd changed his clothes.

"Pizza's cold," he said, indicating the box that was still resting on the coffee table.

"I like cold pizza," Stiles said, padding into the room, long, pale feet sinking into the shag carpeting.

Derek snorted. "Oh yeah, because you're a freak."

And, okay, maybe it wasn't the smartest idea, insulting Stiles when he'd so recently been in tears over Derek's friends doing the same, Derek thought belatedly. But Stiles just scoffed and grabbed the plate he'd set aside, piling some more pizza on it and then settling on the sofa beside Derek. Not near enough to be annoying but not all the way on the edge like when he'd come down earlier.

"What are we watching?" Stiles asked, curling his legs up and tucking his feet under his thighs. Erica really had been a bitch, Derek thought with annoyance. Stiles was only thirteen and he was still growing. He wasn't that skinny.

"I put in the latest Batman movie," Derek said. He knew that Stiles would recognize it for the silent apology it was, but just in case that slipped past him, he offered, "Unless there's something else you wanna watch."

Stiles shook his head and stuffed a huge bite of greasy pizza in his mouth.

Derek took that as tactic permission to proceed, and so he hit "play" and settled back with a soda and a couple of careful, carefully covert glances at his younger stepbrother.

Stiles looked okay now. Even though his face was still blotchy and flushed, and his nose was pink. His lips looked bitten and swollen, and his hair was a mess. He looked....

Dammit, except for his raw nose, more than anything he looked like he'd just been fucked.

Derek grimaced, snapping his attention to the screen, making an effort to actually watch the movie, even though it wasn't anything close to being his favorite, the way it was Stiles'.

He'd tried so hard not to think about Stiles like that in the past week. He'd gone so far as to invite his friends over in an attempt to not spend time alone with Stiles tonight.

And that had ended well. With Stiles in tears and Derek running his friends out of the house. Isaac had been kind of bitchy about it, but Erica and Boyd hadn't minded. They'd gotten fed and hadn't had to do any more studying, after all. Derek was pretty sure they were having sex right now, but he didn't want to think about that too hard.

Thinking about sex at all while sitting next to Stiles was really not the best idea, Derek realized uncomfortably, clasping his soda in both hands so that his wrists were resting over his crotch. He was still wallowing in visions of pinning Stiles down and.... Well, that was as far as he let his imagination go, because there was a line and he'd already crossed it a week ago.

Stiles finished eating and set his plate down on top of the empty pizza box. Derek could see Stiles sucking the pepperoni grease off of his lean fingers, wet and sloppy, out of the corner of his eye, and he could feel his cheeks burn. His cock was definitely threatening to pop a full hard-on, and he kind of wished he hadn't asked Stiles to come back downstairs.

But he couldn't have left Stiles to cry and go hungry upstairs, could he? And he'd sort of felt like he'd had to try to make things up to Stiles for how rude his friends had been. Sure, Stiles could be annoying, and had been in the past, but he hadn't been doing anything other than sitting and quietly eating when Isaac and Erica had started in on him, and they'd made him cry.

And, yeah, Derek remembered being a giant ball of hormones when he'd been thirteen. Even though he'd been more inclined to be rage-filled and break things than to break down in tears, he thought he knew how Stiles felt. And the teasing really had been unnecessarily harsh.

"Hey, Derek," Stiles said, shifting where he sat and wiping his saliva-slick hands on his jeans in a way that was more gross than sexual. He looked over, his eyes wide and his expression open and strangely vulnerable. "People don't... really think... that about Scott and me, do they?"

Derek frowned, having to cast his mind back in order to figure out what Stiles was talking about. Then he recalled what Erica and Isaac had said, and his frown deepened.

Stiles fidgeted, plucking at the hem of his jeans with his nimble fingers and chewed-down nails. "I mean, it'd suck if people thought Scott was gay because of me," he added, and Derek arched a brow.

"He's not," Stiles assured Derek earnestly, as though that was what Derek had an issue with.

Well, he hadn't have any real issue with anything. He was just a little surprised that Stiles was so self aware. He hadn't thought his stepbrother had figured out that he was gay already. Or, well, more likely bisexual, considering the whole Lydia Martin mega-crush.

Then again, maybe Derek was reading more into this than was there. Stiles always seemed to think of others before himself, even though he came off seeming self-involved to those who didn't know him well, so it only made sense that he was more concerned with McCall's reputation than his own. Whether or not he felt the accusations were true.

"I don't think anyone thinks anything about the two of you," he replied automatically, then winced a little. That had been bordering on cruel. Even if it was true, he maybe shouldn't have said it like that. He didn't want to send Stiles crying to his room again.

Thankfully, Stiles just pulled a nasty face at him, and reached over to smack his arm.

"Just 'cause we're not super-popular, doesn't mean no one notices us," he informed Derek haughtily, his thin chest puffing up, pointed chin raised. Then he deflated as he continued, "It's the least popular kids who get picked on the worst, you know."

Derek felt his brows crunching in a deep scowl. "Is someone picking on you?" he asked fiercely. It was one thing for him to mess with his stepbrother in their own home, but no one else had better be messing with Stiles!

For all he didn't really feel like they were siblings, Derek definitely felt possessive of Stiles. The kid looked so fragile, even though Derek knew he was tougher than he appeared, and to think of asshole classmates pushing him around and calling him names... well, it made Derek's blood boil.

"Um, your friends do," Stiles said, snotty and still kind of stuffy-nosed which made him sound literally snotty. Not that he didn't have a point.

"I meant at school," Derek clarified, in tones that clearly stated he thought Stiles was an idiot. Stiles wasn't in high school yet so the only time Derek's friends could pick on him was here, in their home, where Derek could keep an eye on them... and kick them out if they got too rude, like had just happened.

"What do you care?" Stiles asked, scowling at Derek. "Wouldn't you rather pretend I don't exist?"

Derek scowled back. That was a low blow but he couldn't really protest it. Not after having spent the past week doing his best to do just that.

"I'm sitting here watching a movie with you, aren't I?" he snapped.

Stiles pulled an ugly face. "You don't even like this movie," he said stridently. "I'm going back upstairs!"

"No, you're not."

Derek moved fast as Stiles unfolded himself and scooted toward the edge of the sofa seat, grabbing his smaller stepbrother and plopping him right back down where he'd been before... or maybe a little closer to Derek. So that he could get a hold of him if he moved to leave again, of course. No other reason.

"Hey!" Stiles squalled, but he didn't actually do anything other than flail a little, almost hitting Derek in the nose, before he settled down and just sat where he'd been put.

"Stay there," Derek directed, trying to ignore the burst of heat zinging through his body at the way he'd just manhandled Stiles. It hadn't been as bad an idea as pinning him to the floor had been, but he probably shouldn't have done it nonetheless. Well, too late now.

"You're not the boss of me," Stiles complained, but he stayed, pulling his legs back up onto the cushion with him again.

Derek slouched and did the best he could to hide the fact that he was half hard, watching out of the corner of his eye while Stiles curled up, knees raised, hunching over his own lap, his cheeks burning as he stared at the television screen. Presumably he was watching the movie, but Derek sort of thought Stiles was paying as much attention to it as he was. And he had to wonder if Stiles had positioned his body the way he had in order to hide a hard-on too. It was a distinct possibility....

Stiles hadn't gotten around to answering Derek's question about the bullying, Derek realized after a few minutes, frowning, and he had little doubt that was deliberate. The kid was way too good at deflection. Derek was going to have to pin him down -- though not literally, because that way lay disaster -- at some point in the future and force an answer out of him.

Or maybe he'd ask Scott. Scott was pretty easy to break and wasn't adept at lying and misleading the way Stiles was. Derek also didn't want to literally pin Scott down and... well.

Derek wasn't sure what he'd do if Stiles was being bullied. It wasn't like he could go lurking around the junior high. It might be a bad idea to tell their parents, but he was getting old enough that he didn't really care about being labeled a snitch. He'd be headed to college next year, and the idea of Stiles being picked on at school, now or while he was gone, just didn't sit right with him.

Maybe he shouldn't ask if Stiles if he was getting picked on; maybe he should ask who was picking on him. A point-blank question like that was harder to avoid, even for slippery Stiles.

But not right now. He'd made Stiles sit down to finish out the film with him, and he shouldn't keep pestering him to the point that he couldn't really watch it.

Derek tried, he tried really hard to turn his attention to the movie. Even if he'd already seen it and knew what happened, watching it was preferable to obsessing over the thirteen year old sitting next to him on the sofa....

Which was totally what he was doing, Derek realized. He could hear Stiles softly breathing, even over the explosions onscreen. And Stiles smelled like soap, which was a little weird. He was a kid; cleanliness wasn't exactly his highest priority, not normally.

Derek could smell Stiles' skin underneath the fake scent of their bathroom soap, salty and almost strong enough to be unpleasant, but mostly just viscerally gripping. Derek might think of Stiles as a child sometimes, and he was still small and slender, but he was a teenager, which meant that his body was pumping out the hormones and making the changes necessary to bring him to adulthood.

These hormones were definitely the reason Stiles had run to his room in tears earlier today, Derek thought with a certain amount of exasperated fondness. The kid had fielded worse insults from both Erica and Isaac before in the past, slinging his own pointed barbs back at them pretty successfully. Derek didn't want to admit to being impressed by this but, well, sometimes he had been.

After about ten minutes had passed, Derek was relieved to note that his hard-on was fading, it was almost gone, and then he noticed a slow, rhythmic movement in his periphery. He glanced over to see that Stiles' lean fingers were wrapped around his own wrist, tightening then loosening, tightening then loosening....

And all of a sudden his cock was straining against his fly again, and even though he was sitting in a way that disguised this fact Derek was terrified that Stiles was going to see somehow. But he didn't dare to move, because then Stiles really would see.

It was the situation on the floor all over again, when he'd pinned Stiles down the week before, and Derek began to sweat, literally, because remembering that was not helping him with his problem right now!

Stiles didn't even seem to be aware of what he was doing. The bruises Derek had left on his pale skin were gone, as far as Derek could tell, and Stiles was wearing a teeshirt, didn't have sleeves down to his knuckles. Derek could see his wrist clearly, could see the way Stiles' hand circled it all the way. Stiles had big hands for his age, and yet his fingers couldn't engulf his wrist the way Derek's had done....

Derek struggled to control his body, trying not to breathe too heavily, trying not to reach over and wrap his own hand around Stiles' wrist again, the way he had done a week ago.

God, did Stiles want Derek to? Even if the kid wasn't aware of what he was doing, holding his own wrist like that indicated at least a subconscious desire to be pinned down and held again... right?

Derek could feel his face heating up, perspiration prickling in his armpits and at his temples. It was so stupid and so gross to be getting turned on by his thirteen year old stepbrother. And yet Derek felt as though if he shifted wrong he'd be shooting off in his underwear before he could help himself, he was that close to coming.

Just from the sight of Stiles squeezing his own wrist, and the memory of having had Stiles pinned underneath him on their disgusting shag carpeting.

Derek had tried to forget about what had happened, and had ended up jerking off to the memory all week. He'd tried to ignore Stiles and he was pretty sure he'd managed to legitimately hurt the kid's feelings. Maybe that was why Erica and Isaac had driven Stiles to flee the living room in tears.

So denial wasn't working out for him. But what could he do? Even if it was in his nature to confront a problem head-on -- which, for the record, it wasn't -- he could hardly turn to Stiles and say something. For one thing, what would he say? Stop squeezing your wrist? Stiles would think he was crazy. Do you want to touch my hard-on? Do you want me to touch yours? Then Stiles would know for sure what a pervert he was.

Hell. Derek was in hell, right now. And he couldn't see any way out of it.

Teasing Stiles while he'd had him pinned down had been bold, but it had been something that Derek had indulged in during the heat of the moment. It wasn't something he could deliberately repeat. Not without hating himself forever.

At least the movie was finally coming to an end. Stiles was still squeezing his wrist and Derek was still leaking in his boxer briefs. If it got much worse it would seep through his jeans and Stiles would be able to see the mess he was causing Derek to make.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

At least Stiles seemed to have all of his attention on the movie and wasn't looking at Derek the way Derek kept looking at him. Small favors.

And then Stiles stopped squeezing his wrist, which was good, but the next thing Derek knew, Stiles was pressing his left thumb to the swell of his lower lip, which was just as bad, in a different way.

He wasn't sucking his thumb, but he was only a centimeter or less from doing so, the tip of his thumb playing with the sensual curve of his upper lip, and Derek's imagination was more than willing to supply the rest.

It should have looked silly. It should have reminded Derek of when Stiles had been young and tiny and very much prepubescent. But it didn't. It looked sexual to Derek. Maybe only because that was where his mind was right now... but did the reason matter when his reaction was the same?

Derek cursed his unruly cock. He wanted to get off so badly, but he couldn't. Not with Stiles sitting right there next to him, completely oblivious to the effect he was having on his older stepbrother.

Derek was supposed to be babysitting Stiles, not lusting after him. Not visualizing what it would be like to pin Stiles down again; maybe on the sofa this time, or one of their beds.

Oh, shit, and now that that had crossed his mind, Derek couldn't get the idea out of his head. The mattress would cushion Stiles' back, and be giving under Derek's knees. He could hold Stiles' wrists firmly but more gently this time, not leave bruises.

Though the way Stiles had been squeezing his wrist just now... had he really minded the bruising?

Stiles smelled good, but if Derek pinned him down on his bed he'd smell even better. He'd smell like sweat and arousal and he'd smell a little bit like Derek, from rolling around on Derek's sheets....

Oh, shit, could Stiles smell Derek's arousal right now?

That was just paranoia, and yet it ate away at Derek's brain as the movie wound up to its climax. He was pretty sure he could smell himself; he was sitting there in a welter of frustrated arousal, and his balls were starting to ache.

Stiles was staring raptly at the screen, mouth hanging open, mesmerized despite the fact that he'd already seen this movie. His thumb wasn't against his lip any longer, but Derek was all too easily able to visualize sliding his own thumb into Stiles' open mouth... or something else.

Fuck.

The minute the movie finished and the ending credits started rolling Derek was up off the sofa and headed for his room as fast as he could move with a demanding hard-on pressed against the front of his jeans.

"Derek," Stiles called after him, and Derek paused at the doorway, turning to look over his shoulder, careful to keep his crotch tilted away from the living room.

Stiles was kneeling up on the sofa, peering over its back at him, all wide, wet eyes and his mouth was hanging open again.

"Where are you going?" he wanted to know.

"To my room," Derek snapped shortly.

Stiles shut his mouth but his chin crumpled as though he would start crying again so that wasn't exactly a good thing. There was no way Derek was letting the kid manipulate him into staying, though. Not when he was ready to jizz in his jeans. He needed to go upstairs and jerk off immediate; half an hour ago, in fact.

"But you wanted me to come down..." Stiles said, and he didn't sound like he was going to cry, but he did sound sad and small. And so very young. Which just made Derek feel even more like a pervert.

Because he was a pervert.

And because he was an asshole as well, he just fled to his bedroom without giving Stiles any kind of a definitive answer.

What could he do, after all; tell him the truth?

+=+=+

Stiles felt kind of shitty as he watched Derek vanish up the stairs. But... well, even if Derek was leaving him down here, at least he didn't seem to be ignoring him any longer?

Unless he went right back to ignoring him after their parents got home.

Stiles sighed heavily and flopped onto the sofa, bringing up Netflix on the entertainment system and searching for something to watch. Derek had left his homework on the coffee table, so he hadn't gone upstairs to work on that. He really had just wanted to get away from Stiles, then.

Stiles couldn't settle on anything to watch, his mind full of squirming thoughts of Derek, of how Derek had deserted him down here, but how he'd chased his friends out of the house when they'd been mean to Stiles, of how he'd been ignoring Stiles for a week, of how his hand had felt resting heavy and warm at the small of Stiles' back while he'd been laying face-down on his bed....

And that memory led to Stiles reliving how Derek had pinned him to the floor a week ago, and then next thing he knew, his dick was all hard again.

Dammit.

Switching off the tee vee, Stiles contemplated his situation.

Without his meaning it too, his thumb had slotted into his mouth and he was sucking on it lightly. It was the comforting kind of thumb-sucking, not the desperately sexual kind, and so he whipped his hand away as soon as he noticed and rubbed his thumb dry on his jeans. He felt like a big baby for having caught himself sucking his thumb, and he was a million times glad neither Derek nor Derek's friends had seen that.

He was still hard in his pants, and he thought he wanted to go to his room and jerk off while thinking about Derek holding him down. But the living room was a mess, and even though Derek's friends had been assholes, and even though Stiles was still upset that Derek had gone upstairs as soon as the movie had finished, Derek had kicked his friends out and he'd extended the proverbial olive branch in putting the movie on for Stiles in the first place, and Stiles didn't really want him to get in trouble....

So Stiles ignored his burgeoning hard-on for as long as it took to clean up the half-full soda cans that Isaac, Erica, and Boyd had left laying around. He recycled the empty pizza boxes. And he stacked Derek's homework neatly, secretly hoping that he was messing up Derek's system, because Derek still kind of deserved it for being a jerk and ignoring him for a week.

Then, once all that was accomplished, Stiles made his way upstairs. He paused outside Derek's door, listening intently through the wood, but all he could hear was some muffled music.

Sighing heavily, Stiles went to his bedroom to jerk off and finish his Friday homework. And then he'd probably jerk off again, because he was thirteen and his stepbrother was hot like burning and had voluntarily touched him earlier.

At least Derek wasn't ignoring Stiles anymore. And if he started up again the next time they were sharing space....

Well, Stiles still had his plan, which he hadn't had a chance to implement tonight. So there was that.

He kind of wished that Derek wanted to spend time with him, though. Forced family members or not. But Stiles was used to wishing for things he couldn't have.

At least he had his imagination. And his memories. Of Derek pinning him to the floor and rubbing his fine ass all over Stiles' erection, his hands clenched tightly around Stiles' wrists... and also of the softer, more gentle pressure of his hand on Stiles' lower back, just a couple of hours ago.

Stiles jerked it to the memory of both, and came so hard he saw stars. Then after a brief recovery period he did it over again, slower. So all in all, the evening wasn't a total loss.

+=+=+

Derek had always hated using the shower after Stiles. Back when they'd been younger it had been because the kid loved to play in there and always used up all the hot water and because Derek was convinced Stiles was peeing in the stall.

Now that they were both teenagers, it was still all of that, but it was also knowing for almost absolute certain that the reason Stiles was taking so long wasn't because he was playing but because he was getting off.

They might have their own bedrooms -- thank God for that -- but Stiles didn't have a working lock on his doorknob, and so the shower was prime time for masturbation. Not to mention all the running hot water was sensual and it helped with clean up afterward far more handily than dealing with a messy bed and tissues or toilet paper.

And, fuck, now Derek was thinking about what Stiles' sheets might smell like. If they were anything like his own, they smelled of teenage sweat and spunk and probably needed to be laundered more often than they were.

To be perfectly honest, Derek couldn't blame their mother for making doing their own laundry one of their weekly chores. If he were her, he was sure he wouldn't have wanted to touch his own sheets, much less Stiles' sheets.

Of course, the fact that they had to do their own laundry meant that a fair amount of the time it didn't get done. Even though there were clean sheets right in the linen closet. Stiles was only thirteen; making his bed was way at the bottom of his priority list, even when it was a set task.

The fact that he was curious about Stiles' sheets was a deviation and so wrong that Derek felt his face flush hot with shame, even though he was just sitting alone in his bedroom.

Stiles had been in the shower for over twenty minutes now. Derek knew, because he had his bedroom door open, listening to hear when Stiles finished. He didn't really need to shower before they went out, because they were just doing the weekly grocery shopping, but he wanted to bathe.

Partially because he wanted to do the same thing Stiles was undoubtedly doing.... But mostly because he felt like his hair needed washing. Even though he was coming up close on being an adult, Derek was still going through puberty, and that meant he was more greasy than he liked more of the time than he liked.

Giving in to temptation, Derek rose and padded barefoot out of his room, down the hall, and to Stiles' bedroom. The door was ajar, as though inviting him to enter, but he paused there, uncertain.

He'd entered easily enough the day before, when he'd gone in to check on Stiles after his friends had driven the kid away in tears. But then he'd knocked and... well, he hadn't been invited, true, but Stiles hadn't said not to come in. Also, Stiles had been in his room at the time.

Right now Stiles was in the shower, probably touching himself. After having been in there twenty minutes, after all, he couldn't possibly still be soaping up his scrawny little body.

Derek sighed heavily, inadvertently getting a nose-full of Stiles' scent. And that was. Well.

It shouldn't have been pleasant. In some ways it wasn't. Stiles' bedroom smelled like teenage boy -- a teenage boy who was jerking off a lot -- which was pungent, but not rank. Derek was familiar with this scent, and he was pretty sure that was why his Mom insisted both of them clean their own rooms.

And that fact was why Stiles' room was such a mess. Derek stepped inside, still acutely attuned to the sound of the shower running down the hall behind him, and glanced around. There was clothing strew everywhere, there were empty mugs and bowls sitting on Stiles' desk and bookshelves -- even though their Mom gave them extra hell for that -- and comics and books were laying on the floor as well as on the furniture. The bedclothes were half off the mattress, and about the only thing that looked neat was the homework Stiles had piled on one half of his otherwise messy desk.

Derek bent to pick up a discarded shirt, thinking for a moment it was his. The mere idea of Stiles in Derek's clothes made a surge of intense heat burst through his core and had his cock jump inside his jeans, and even though the shirt turned out to be Stiles' after all, now Derek had that image in his head and it wasn't going away.

Derek lifted the shirt to his nose, knowing that this was a gamble, but when he sniffed it all he smelled was boy-sweat and the deodorant that their Mom insisted Stiles start using. It was a scent that said "Stiles" to Derek, and his cock ached for some attention.

The shower cut off unexpectedly, and Derek dropped the shirt he was holding and darted back to his own bedroom, closing the door behind him. It would take Stiles a few minutes to dry off and dress, of course, but there was no way Derek was getting caught in his younger stepbrother's bedroom, sniffing his clothes like a gigantic creeper.

Derek palmed his throbbing erection, straining to listen through the wood. He could whip it out now and get himself off in minutes, but why do that when he could wait until he was in the shower? Its walls all hot and the air still humid and filled with the smell of Stiles getting himself off in there.... Yeah, that last was probably all in Derek's imagination, but damned if he wasn't going to breathe in deeply while he stroked his cock and coaxed his orgasm out of himself.

And if he also visualized Stiles on his knees, those plush red lips stretched around the shaft, his cheeks hollowed as he sucked, his lashes starred on pink cheeks... well, no one else would ever know.

Derek was feeling increasingly less guilty about his deviant thoughts. But still no closer to acting on them, because there was no way he was doing that to Stiles. Just no way.

+=+=+

The Stilinski-Hale family was late getting out grocery shopping because Derek took a late shower, which he blamed on Stiles having taken so long before him, which was totally unfair, and both their parents were cranky, but Stiles still had to fight to keep the grin off his face as they drove to the store in the early afternoon.

Because Derek might be blaming Stiles for their late start, but he was talking to Stiles, paying attention to him. Stiles had been so afraid that he'd end up being ignored again, and he was so glad that it wasn't happening.

He still couldn't figure out why Derek had deserted him the moment the Batman movie was over, but that didn't matter as long as Derek didn't go back to avoiding him and giving him the silent treatment.

"Boys, do you need shampoo? Soap?" their mother asked as the made their way into the produce section and their Dad started squeezing avocados. Stiles hoped he was planning on making guacamole soon. His Dad's guacamole was epic.

"Not really," Derek grumbled, at the same time Stiles wondered, "Why do you ask?"

Talia lifted one brow and pursed her lips in that way that meant she was biting back a smirk. "Because both of you have been spending an awful lot of time in the shower lately."

Stiles turned bright red as their Dad snickered, and Derek immediately jumped to the defensive.

"I told you, I was late because Stiles was in there too long."

Stiles pushed Derek -- which had all the effect of pushing a wall -- annoyed by his whining. Although he was at least glad that both their parents seemed to be in better moods now, even though they were using their better moods in order to mock their sons' bathing habits. As if Talia didn't know exactly why he and Derek both spent extra time in the shower!

Well, Stiles supposed that was kind of the whole point.

Talia didn't argue with Derek, just patted his shoulder, then said, "Well, if you don't need bath supplies, go and help Stiles pick out some shaving gel and razors. It looks as though he's going to need them soon."

Derek snorted, making his opinion on that known. Stiles could feel his cheeks burning even more hotly, not least of all because of the surprised, speculative look on his Dad's face as he stared at Stiles. He couldn't help lifting his hand and rubbing the area under his nose. Maybe it was a little more fuzzy than it used to be... but he still didn't feel as though he was going to need to start shaving any time in the near future.

"Come on," Derek directed, giving a jerk of his head and setting off in the direction of toiletries.

"But I wanted to help pick out the ice cream," Stiles protested. He wasn't whining, he wasn't. He just hadn't come on this shopping trip expecting to be teased and humiliated by most if not all of his family members.

"If you don't dawdle you can finish in time to choose your own ice cream," his Dad spoke up, and who even used the word "dawdle"?! His father, ladies and gentlemen.

"Come on," Derek repeated, sounding way more irritated than the situation warranted, and Stiles was about to tell him as much, but in the next instant Derek snatched up one of Stiles' wrists and began dragging him through the store.

Words kind of deserted Stiles at that point, his entire being focused on the feeling of Derek's fingers digging into the thin skin and prominent bones of his wrist, holding on far more tightly than was warranted.

In fact, as Stiles feet caught up with his brain and he managed to get moving after his stepbrother, Derek really ought to have let go... but he didn't.

Stiles didn't want Derek to let go, and so he did his best to keep up, making sure he didn't tug at his captive arm, didn't inadvertently give Derek the idea that he wanted to pull free.

Derek was still holding on as they came to a halt in front of the shaving supplies, and Stiles crowded in close, trying to disguise the fact that Derek was clutching at his wrist as they stood there, even though there was no one in this aisle. Just in case, he didn't want it to look like... well, like what it was.

They stood there for almost a full minute, not speaking, and Stiles could hear that Derek was breathing a little heavily. It made him flush and made his dick twitch in his jeans, especially in combination with the pressure around his wrist. Derek's hand was flexing and squeezing on the painful side of too tight and Stiles was in serious danger of popping an actual boner because of it, even though he'd gotten off in the shower twice before they'd left the house.

Which, yeah, was why he'd taken so long and why they'd gotten a late start, so Derek did sort of have a point, but Stiles wasn't about to let him know that he was right.

"So, pick something out," Derek said harshly, after the silence had stretched on far past what could have possibly been considered normal. Stiles was flushed and kept his face toward the display of shaving creams and gels and razors, but he was hyper-aware of the heat of Derek next to him. Derek's body was a hard, hot line of incredible muscles and Stiles suddenly realized he was kind of leaning into him, and that Derek wasn't pushing him away or telling him to back off.

"What do you use?" Stiles asked, as much because he was completely clueless as because he felt the need to stall.

"You've seen it in the bathroom," Derek said, but his voice was low and intimate in the silent space between them, and he didn't sound irritated any longer, just kind of distracted.

"They all look the same here," Stiles complained, because it was true, he was staring at a wall of varied shaving supplies that all looked alike, and he sure as hell didn't pay a huge amount of attention to what kind of product his stepbrother used in the bathroom.

Derek sighed and Stiles frowned, but he still didn't dare to meet Derek's eyes.

"That one," Derek said, pointing at a blue can that looked pretty much the same as all the rest with his free hand. "But that's for a thicker beard, which you're definitely not going to need. You're probably going to want something for sensitive skin."

Stiles bit his lower lip and tried really hard to focus on the shaving supplies in front of him instead of the cruel dig of Derek's fingers into his wrist and the warmth of his body beside him. They were still standing way too close, but neither of them moved away, and no one was around to see.

"I like the way your stuff smells, though," Stiles murmured, turning his head toward Derek and breathing in deeply, even though he kept his gaze on the shaving gel in question. His cheeks blazed and his stomach twisted at his own boldness, but he didn't want to take it back.

Derek didn't shove him away and call him a pervert or anything. He nodded, Stiles could see the flicker of movement in his peripheral vision, and then he turned his own head toward Stiles and Stiles was pretty sure that Derek hadn't just nuzzled the crown of his head in the middle of the grocery store, but he was also pretty sure that he'd just been sniffed in turn.

"You don't need to be too picky," Derek said, and Stiles' stomach swooped as his fingers loosened and slid away from his wrist. "You'll do fine with another kind. Just get the same brand if you like the smell, okay?"

Stiles nodded numbly, barely even processing what they were talking about, and he held completely still as Derek took a step away from him, then reached and ran the pad of his index finger over the skin above his upper lip. Stiles had just done the same, but it felt a million times different when Derek did it, sending tingles through all of Stiles' body.

"Huh." Derek's eyes were intent on Stiles' face, and Stiles stared up at him, knowing that his mouth had just fallen open but unable to control his jaw enough to close it. "I guess maybe you do need to start shaving after all."

There was a bloom of red all along Derek's high cheekbones and the tips of his ears were pink, and Stiles stared in fascination, somehow unable to drag his eyes away. Derek had lowered his hand and they weren't touching anywhere now, but Stiles could feel the phantom echo of Derek's finger brushing his upper lip gently, and he could feel the pulse of his own blood in the probable bruising ringing his wrist where his hand had so recently been.

Suddenly Stiles needed more than anything to go into the grocery store bathroom and jerk off. He grabbed the first can of shaving cream that said "sensitive skin" and was the same brand Derek used.

"You should probably use gel," Derek said, distracted by this quick movement, a little frown creasing the skin between his thick brows. And that look, that adorable expression, was the final nail in the coffin as far as Stiles' dick was concerned.

"Fine," he said, slamming the can back down, and knowing that he sounded angry when really he was just desperate, "Pick one out for me, then."

And before Derek could respond, Stiles made a bee-line for the restrooms. He might get in trouble for ordering Derek around and for not choosing his own shaving supplies, and he might not get to pick out the ice cream he wanted, but by God he was going to get off!

Thankfully, this grocery store had one of those bathrooms that was self-contained and not the kind that had urinals and several stalls. It also had a fan that kicked on when someone came in and flicked on the lights. Stiles locked the door, then paused and peeled back his shirt sleeve to look at his wrist.

There was no bruising... yet... but the skin was pink and he hoped. He hoped it would bruise, no matter how perverted that made him seem, even in the privacy of his own head.

There was nothing glamorous about getting off in the grocery store restroom, but Stiles was a horny teenager who'd just been manhandled and sniffed by a walking wet dream that he happened to share living space with at home, so he didn't really feel he had any choice in the matter.

When and how Derek had gone from being his annoying stepbrother to being someone that Stiles was actively lusting over... Stiles wasn't sure. But it had happened, and he wanted. He wanted so much that it ached, in his heart as well as his dick.

A quick jerk off session, some cold water splashed on his face, and Stiles didn't exactly feel ready to face the world -- most especially Derek -- but he didn't really have any choice. He couldn't hide in the grocery restroom for the rest of the shopping trip.

It felt like hours before Stiles ventured forth in search of his family, but he'd really been in there less than six minutes. Well, he was a teenaged boy who'd been really turned on; it hadn't taken him long at all to get off.

"There you are, sweetie," their Mom said as Stiles slunk up and glanced in the cart. Derek had chosen him a shaving gel for sensitive skin, some quality razors, and a "soothing" after-shaving lotion for sensitive skin. Stiles unconsciously reached up to finger his chin. He kind of thought Derek was overdoing it, but he wasn't sure whether he was making a snide point or if he really was worried about his younger stepbrother's baby-face.

Daring to look at Derek did nothing to enlighten him. He was watching Stiles with heavy-lidded eyes that seemed darker than usual, even in the florescent lighting of the store, and he looked away the moment Stiles caught his gaze. Stiles blushed and hoped Derek wasn't too pissed off at him. His expression was blank, so it was hard to say.

"You should thank Derek," Talia said, running her fingers through Stiles' hair, then tightening and tugging lightly the way she did when she wanted his full attention. Maybe that was where Derek got his tendency to use physical force to achieve the same effect.

Then again, Stiles' Dad would grab him by his nape when he thought Stiles wasn't giving him his full attention, so it was probably just a family thing.

"Thanks, Derek," Stiles said, and he actually meant it, because he really had bailed on his stepbrother... even though it had kind of been an emergency. An emergency that Derek and his sexiness had caused.

Derek shrugged, folded his arms, and said nothing.

Their Mom sighed, rolled her eyes, then sent Derek to go and fetch her some chocolate chips, because she'd missed grabbing them while she'd been in that aisle earlier. Stiles' Dad ruffled his hair absently as Talia picked out some pasta. Stiles stared at the shaving gel in the cart and wondered if he could ask Derek to show him how to use it... Yeah, he could figure it out on his own, or look online, but the thought of standing in the bathroom, with Derek right there, touching his face, guiding his movements.... Well, Stiles couldn't help but want that. Want badly.

When it was time to choose dessert, Stiles made sure to get Derek's favorite flavor of ice cream. Again, Derek didn't say anything, but Stiles was sure that he had noticed.

He didn't know if his ice cream choice was meant as an apology or something else, but it meant something. Honestly, Stiles was just glad Derek wasn't still ignoring him.

Maybe he could figure out exactly what his feelings were regarding Derek later. Though Stiles had a tummy-twisting sensation that he already knew what it was he wanted from his stepbrother....

Too bad he was absolutely certain that he would never get it. And God help him if Derek ever found out.

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