kyrene_writes: (TW: pedobait stiles)
[personal profile] kyrene_writes
Title: Life in the Stilinski-Hale Household: Part Four
Author: [personal profile] kyrenekyorl
Pairings/Characters: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Talia Hale
Rating: R
Word Count: 6,276 (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 Four

by kyrene


Derek tore his attention away from the show he was watching, glancing over the back of the sofa at where Stiles was hanging on the living room entryway. Literally hanging.

"Yeah?" he grunted, feigning disinterest, even though his eyes were running over Stiles' long legs, bare and pale under his boxers, lingering at the way his lean fingers were clinging to the wood of the door frame.

Stiles fidgeted, gnawing on his lower lip, his cheeks bright and pink, his eyes wide.

"What?" Derek prodded again, scowling. He knew he looked less than encouraging, but it wasn't like Stiles ever needed any encouragement to speak his mind. He couldn't help it. Seeing Stiles in his underwear and a loose teeshirt, his lips red and plump, made Derek's cock twitch in interest, and that wasn't cool.

"Could you...." Stiles balanced on one leg and rubbed his shin with the opposite foot, thigh muscles flexing, looking uncommonly shy for him. Then again, he and Derek didn't usually talk unless they were sniping at each other, and Stiles didn't seem as though he was going to say anything snide right now.

So Derek tried to tone down his own aggression, reminding himself that Stiles was a kid still, and even though he was annoying as hell he was Derek's stepbrother and they had to live with each other.

"What do you want?" he asked, trying not to sound bitchy. It was interesting, the way Stiles' face bloomed red with this simple question, but Derek had given up trying to understand Stiles years ago.

"I was wondering if you could... um... show me how to shave?"

Derek blinked. That was really something Stiles' Dad ought to be doing, and besides;

"It's the middle of the afternoon," he pointed out. Just because their Mom had made Stiles pick out some shaving stuff -- and then Stiles had deserted Derek in the store and left him to do it -- that didn't mean Stiles had to go and use it right away. He didn't even really have anything to shave off yet.

"I know," Stiles said, swaying on one foot, the other tucked up behind his knee, looking far more graceful than he usually did. Probably because he wasn't thinking about it. He also looked disturbingly tempting, but Derek was trying his hardest to ignore that fact. "But tomorrow morning I'm gonna be sleeping in even if you're crazy enough to go jogging early. And then on Monday we'll both be in a hurry to get ready and get to school. So now is really the best time...."

"Except that I was watching something," Derek pointed out, then he felt like an asshole when Stiles' face fell, hopeful expression slipping away. That wasn't even really fair; he didn't actually care that much about the show he had on. Not that Stiles knew that, but still.

"Sorry," Sties mumbled, foot falling to the floor with a thunk. He turned to leave, and Derek called out before he could stop himself.

"Hang on."

Stiles froze and turned around again. Derek allowed himself a moment to feel a rush of power. Stiles never obeyed, never listened when Derek gave him orders, barely paid attention when their parents told him to do something. And yet he was doing it now, because Derek had spoken up.

"How come you're not asking Dad?" Derek asked, raising his brows. Learning to shave was supposed to be a manly bonding thing, right? The Sheriff had been the one to teach Derek how to shave, after all, back when that had become necessary. Even though Derek had been pretty sure he could have figured it out on his own.

"He's busy in his shop," Stiles said, and there was that. When their Dad was in his workshop, fiddling with whatever his current project was, he preferred not to be interrupted unless it was an actual emergency.

"And Mom's soaking in the tub in their bathroom," Stiles continued, staring at Derek intently. His hair was a mess and his cheeks were still pink. Derek was pretty sure that Stiles really didn't need to shave, but he had already mentally given in. "Now would be a good time...?"

Derek was bemused by the fact that Stiles had phrased his last sentence as a statement but spoken it like a question. He had to admit that the kid was right. Pretty soon their Mom would be done with her quiet time, their Dad would emerge from his workshop, and it would be time to start making and eating dinner.

"Okay," he said, because if he didn't offer Stiles some guidance he might well slice himself open and bleed all over their bathroom. And it would be a shame to scar his pretty face right after Derek had realized that he found it pretty, right?

Ugh, best not to go there right now, though.

Now or ever.

Derek turned off the television and entertainment system, rose off the sofa, and followed Stiles upstairs.

"How come you're in your boxers?" he asked.

Saturday afternoons, once they got home from doing the groceries, were the designated Stilinski-Hale relaxation hours. That was why his Mom was enjoying a long soak in the tub and their Dad was in his workshop doing whatever he did in there. But Derek didn't feel like it was underwear time. If Stiles was warm, he ought to be wearing shorts.

"Um, I got something on my jeans," Stiles replied, voice muffled, and Derek was behind him so he couldn't read his expression, but he could see his ears burning. "And I thought that if I was shaving anyway I should just not bother putting on a new pair."

"Do you need to do laundry?" Derek teased, not bothering to hide his grin. Stiles pretty much eternally needed to do laundry, and from the state of his bedroom that morning, Derek would have bet good money that the majority of his wardrobe was on the floor or draped over his furniture, all of it dirty.

"Oh, like you don't, too," Stiles snapped, glancing over his shoulder as they walked down the hall toward the bathroom. He was flushed, which Derek thought was weird, but then Stiles was weird.

Derek shrugged. He'd actually washed most of his clothes the weekend before, but he didn't feel the need to tell Stiles that. It wasn't like it was competition to see who could be more responsible, after all. Derek was pretty sure that the fact that he was the one who had to babysit Stiles when their parents were out won him that hypothetical contest anyway.

"Do you want me to go put pants on?" Stiles asked, his brows creasing in a little frown.

Derek shrugged. "I don't care. Probably safer this way, in case you make a mess."

Stiles' mouth fell open in outrage, wet and red and Derek really better not stare at it too long or his treacherous brain might start giving him ideas.

"I am not a baby who's gonna spill all over myself!" Stiles squalled in protest.

"No, but you are a klutz who regularly spills all over yourself," Derek pointed out, and he couldn't help smirking even though he knew it was kind of a dickish expression. "In fact, maybe you should take off your shirt, too."

Stiles scowled at him, dark brown eyes flashing. "Don't be an asshole, Derek."

Derek lifted his brows. "Or I could just go back downstairs and finish my show," he pointed out.

He almost felt bad at the expression on Stiles' face -- kind of hurt and... desperate for some reason? -- but then his heart thumped hard in his chest and at points lower as Stiles reached for the back of his collar and then peeled off his teeshirt, dropping it on the floor.

Derek probably should have pointed out that he hadn't meant that Stiles should actually take his shirt off. He probably should have told him to put his shirt back on.

But he didn't. Instead he nudged the bathroom door closed and stepped up to the sink, grabbing the shaving gel and getting right up in Stiles' personal space.

Stiles didn't take a step back. He cast his gaze down, his cheeks pink, and his lashes fanned thick and dark. He didn't look like a girl, not at all, but he was a pretty boy. When he kept his mouth shut, anyway.

If he was painfully honest, Derek could admit that he respected the fact that Stiles was able to hold his own verbally against people older than him. Especially against Isaac and Erica. Yeah, a lot of times Stiles was painfully outspoken and he blurted out things people just shouldn't say in company, and he was agonizingly geeky....

But he was a smart kid and he was sassy. And when he wasn't upset about something and dissolving into tears while he ran upstairs, he was more than able to hold his own against Derek's friends. The evening before had been an aberration, and Derek still wasn't quite sure why Stiles had been so on edge. Aside from the whole going-through-puberty thing, which was understandable.

"Here." Derek shoved the shaving gel at Stiles. As tempting as it was to think about smoothing his fingertips over Stiles' jawline and baby-soft cheeks as he put the foam on for him, Derek knew that was a magnificently bad idea. Besides, he was here to teach Stiles how to shave, right? Not to do it for him.

Stiles stared down at the shaving gel as though it was a foreign object, not moving. Derek watched his chest move as he breathed. He had no hair there, not even a wisp, but there was the beginning of a trail leading down from his bellybutton toward his crotch, disappearing under the saggy band of his boxers.


"Are those my boxers?" Derek asked, trying to sound outraged and coming off sounding breathless instead. He could feel his eyebrows crawling up toward his hairline, but Stiles was determinedly not looking at him, keeping his gaze down, so he missed the expression.

It was probably just as well, since Derek could feel that his cheeks were blazing, almost as red as Stiles' were right now.

"They were," Stiles mumbled, fingers clenching around the shaving gel in his hand. "Mom gave them to me with some of your other old stuff." Stiles shifted his bright eyes to stare at Derek's crotch, which made him feel very warm and somewhat uncomfortable. "They're years old, though. You outgrew them. Your underwear now wouldn't fit me. Besides, you don't even wear boxers anymore."

Derek felt as though they'd wandered away from the salient point, which was that Stiles was wearing his old underwear, but he allowed himself to be distracted.

"How do you know what kind of underwear I wear?" he asked, trying to scowl. His cheeks were flaming and his traitorous cock was plumping in his underwear. Which, as Stiles had pointed out, weren't boxers, thankfully. Not that boxer-briefs did a better job of containing his threatening hard-on, but every little bit helped.

Stiles looked up at him -- thank God taking his gaze off Derek's potential erection -- and grinned. His own cheeks were bright red, but he looked impish and far more at ease in this awkward conversation than Derek felt.

"Because when Mom goes clothes shopping I go with her and I pay attention," he said. "Also, they say things at school."

"About my underwear?!" Derek blurted, appalled. Stiles was still in junior high; why would junior high students be discussing Derek's underwear?!

"No, no," Stiles hurried to assure him. "About boxer-briefs. About how guys who wear them have big dicks. And so I noticed that Mom got them for you, you know?"

Derek let out a loud sigh and rolled his eyes, trying to hide his relief. "If you told any of your classmates..." he started, trying to come up with a suitable threat, but before he could do so, Stiles snorted.

"Oh, come on, Derek. Why would I do that?" he asked scornfully. "Do you think I want to be known as the creeper who talks about his stepbrother's underwear at school? I'm pretty sure everyone with eyes can see that you're packing quite a piece in your--"

"That's enough!" Derek interrupted, slapping his hand over Stiles' mouth. Oh, great, now he had Stiles' soft lips mashed into his palm and he could feel Stiles' hot-wet breath breaking over his skin. That wasn't making his cock any less likely to chub up on him. Dammit.

To his credit, Stiles seemed to be as horrified by what he had been saying as Derek had been, his cheeks blazing under Derek's fingers, his thick lashes flickering as he shifted his gaze away from Derek's face and toward the sink.

Belatedly, Derek removed his hand. He'd done it again; manhandled Stiles in a way he probably shouldn't have done and definitely shouldn't have found as arousing as he did.

"Sorry," Stiles mumbled, tongue running over his lower lip, slicking it with saliva, the red swell shining, and he popped the cap off the shaving gel, his jaw setting with determination.

"Hang on," Derek directed, reaching over and twisting the hot water handle. "You need to get your face wet before you put that on." He cast a glance down at Stiles' bare chest. "I guess it's a good thing you took off your shirt after all."

Stiles stuck his tongue out at Derek in a great display of maturity. "I'm not some baby who's going to dribble water all over myself," he protested, setting the can of shaving gel on the counter beside the sink. "I know how to use a washcloth, okay? Don't be a jerk."

Derek snorted. "It's not easy the first time. I wasn't implying anything."

Even though he kind of had been. Stiles was a walking disaster even when he was on his best behavior and they both knew it, but Derek hadn't meant to actively insult him. Especially not if it could potentially drive him to tears again.

"You should take your shirt off too," Stiles said, and Derek gave him a hard look, but he had his attention fixed on making sure the water was the perfect temperature. "You know. In the interest of fairness."

Derek strongly considered informing Stiles that since he'd been the one to take his own shirt off his argument didn't carry any weight... but Derek had been the one to suggest Stiles do so, albeit not really seriously. Anyway, since when did Derek shy away from any opportunity to remove his shirt?

He could admit it; even before the night that he'd pinned Stiles to the floor and begun to consider his younger stepbrother sexually, Derek had liked the attention he got from Stiles when he stared at his bared chest. After all, Derek didn't work out as much and as hard as he did for nothing.

So instead of fighting Stiles on it, Derek peeled his own shirt off and dropped it on top of Stiles' on the floor, toeing them both out of the way because he could totally imagine Stiles tripping over them at some point.

Stiles' eyes went wide and he froze, his hands under the running water, staring at Derek's chest.

Derek probably should have mocked Stiles, but he couldn't manage it through the flush of warmth that rushed through him, tightening his throat and clenching in the base of his belly. He didn't get hard, but he wasn't far from it.

"So, wet a washcloth," he instructed, hating how hoarsely his voice came out, grabbing the can of shaving gel for something to do with his hands. "You already know that part, right?"

Stiles blinked, closing his gaping mouth and swallowing. "Why did you shave your chest?" he asked as he grabbed a washcloth as directed and stuck it under the facet. His voice wobbled a little and Derek felt moderately more in control, but he still cleared his throat before he answered.

"Some girls don't like hairy chests," he said with a small shrug.

Stiles turned to stare at him, face squeezing into a disapproving look. "What? Yeah, maybe pedophiles!" he snapped, slapping down the washcloth and turning to face Derek directly. "Are you kidding me? Hairy chests are awesome! I can't wait to get hair on mine!"

Derek's gaze dropped as Stiles brushed at his soft pectorals with damp hands, watched as his nipples peaked, pointed and pink like a girl's.

"You're gonna be waiting a while," he said before he could stop to think.

Stiles' chin crumpled, not as if he was gonna cry, but he was definitely displeased by this statement.

"Jerk," he snapped, shoving at Derek with wet hands.

Derek grabbed his wrist and squeezed. It wasn't the one he'd held in the store, it was the opposite one, and he kind of wanted to give it a matching bruise.

He hadn't marked Stiles up as much earlier in the day as he had the weekend before, but he could already see the faint shadow of bruising ringing Stiles' delicate wrist, and it seemed a shame that it was only just the one.

Stiles went red, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

"I'm not being a jerk," Derek said, setting down the shaving gel. "You just don't seem like you're going to grow a lot of body hair very quickly."

Stiles sulked at him, his eyes dark, his lips tight, but he wasn't fighting to get out of Derek's grip. And then his mouth fell open as Derek spread his free hand over his narrow chest.

Derek stared intensely at Stiles, who stared back silently, as he felt how soft and delicate Stiles' skin was. Without his meaning to, Derek tracked his fingertips over one of Stiles' nipples, drawing a loud inhalation out of his stepbrother.

This broke Derek out of the haze he'd fallen into, and he pulled back abruptly. Grabbing the washcloth, he thrust it toward Stiles. "Here," he said, because they really ought to get on with the shaving lesson. Otherwise he was likely to do something he regretted.

It was true that he'd have to be blind not to pick up on the signals Stiles was sending. But Stiles was a thirteen year old virgin who had no idea what he was doing. And even if he did have an awareness and was teasing Derek on purpose, he didn't really know what he was offering.

Derek was the almost-adult here; he had to be mature about this, had to stop indulging himself. Because that way lay disaster. Stiles was a kid who had no idea that he was tempting Derek.

So it was with a renewed and somewhat desperate sense of responsibility that Derek began to actually legitimately show Stiles how to shave.

He was still pretty sure that Stiles didn't need to shave, but maybe getting started would get his facial hair growing. Besides, Derek still felt a little bit bad about having ignored Stiles for a week and also for the way his friends had picked on him, so he didn't mind humoring him. Much.

Though it was kind of suggestive, both of them standing here, close together, in the small bathroom that was filling with steamy air and the smell of both their bodies... with no shirts on, no less.

"Good job," Derek said grudgingly, once Stiles had managed to shave his entire jawline without nicking himself. That was better than he had managed his first time, even though there was no way he was telling Stiles so. Then again, Stiles knew how prone he was to hurting himself, so he'd probably been even more careful than usual to avoid that.

"Thanks," Stiles said shyly, wiping the residual foam off with the washcloth and craning his chin up and around to look in the mirror. It was beginning to fog up and Derek opened the door to let some fresh air in so that it didn't get worse.

"Do you think I need this?" Stiles asked, picking up the after-shaving lotion and eyeing it speculatively. Derek was privately amused, because Stiles didn't look any different now than he had before shaving, but he wasn't cruel enough to say so.

"Couldn't hurt," he offered with a little shrug.

"Looking good, Stiles," their Mom suddenly spoke from the doorway, causing Derek to start and Stiles to jump and drop the lotion with a yelp.

"Mom!" Derek snapped.

She grinned, looking relaxed and bright-eyed after her soak. She was dressed, her hair still caught up on top of her head, dark strands stringing damp around her neck, and she looked way too amused for Derek's peace of mind.

"I don't think I want to know why neither of you is wearing your shirt, though," she continued, quirking a brow in a move she must have learned from her husband.

Derek flushed and bent to snatch up both shirts in an effort at disguising this guilty reaction. He nearly slammed his head into Stiles' as his stepbrother moved to pick up the dropped lotion, and they both glared at each other as they straightened.

"Play nice," Talia warned automatically, almost absently, stepping into the bathroom and running her hand along Stiles' jaw. "Very smooth."

"It was already smooth," Stiles said, wrinkling his nose, and Derek was glad Stiles had said it before he could, because he probably would have gotten in trouble if he had.

Their mother just laughed and kissed Stiles' temple while ruffling his hair, and then she turned to sweep out of the bathroom and down the hall.

"Get some clothes on and come down to the kitchen," she directed Derek over her shoulder. "It's your turn to help make dinner."

Derek sighed, but she was right and he wasn't the type to shirk his duties without a reason.... He didn't think locking himself in his bedroom to jerk off because he'd been standing half-naked in the bathroom with his thirteen year old stepbrother counted as a legitimate reason. Even if it was, he certainly wasn't going to talk to his Mom about it.

Derek shoved a shirt at Stiles and moved to leave the bathroom.

"Thanks, Derek," Stiles said again, and Derek paused in the doorway as Talia went downstairs. "Really. You didn't have to help me."

Derek shrugged, pulling on the shirt in his hand. "It was no big deal," he said. "You should put some pants on, though."

Stiles flushed. "You should grow your chest hair out again," he declared boldly. "Don't let any dumb girl who doesn't know what a real man looks like force you to change."

Derek snorted and followed his mother down to the kitchen. It wasn't until he was halfway down the stairs that he thought that he should have told Stiles it was none of his business what he did with his chest hair... and it wasn't until he was in the kitchen that he realized he was wearing Stiles' shirt rather than his own.

It was a little tight, but it had been loose on Stiles and so it fit reasonably well. He felt like an idiot for not noticing sooner, though. They were about the same color and were both teeshirts, but that was where the similarities ended.

Derek's Mom didn't say anything, she probably didn't even notice, and Derek was too embarrassed to make it his excuse to go and change. So he had to help make dinner with the smell of Stiles filling his nose and the image of Stiles maybe putting on his shirt upstairs before he realized the mistake filling his mind.

It was only by carrying on a conversation with his Mom about school that Derek managed not to pop the world's most awkward boner while helping her cook.

And then when Stiles came downstairs to eat with his freshly shaved cheeks a bright pink, his hair a riotous mess, and Derek's shirt draped over his skinny body... well, Derek was gone. At least by then he was sitting at the table and no one could see that he spent the meal hard as a rock inside his jeans.

It was both heaven and hell, getting to see Stiles wearing his shirt and looking as though he'd jerked himself off while wearing it.

Derek wouldn't have given up that sight for anything, though.


Stiles squirmed his way through dinner, which in itself wasn't so unusual, but tonight he really, really had a very good reason.

He probably shouldn't have put Derek's shirt on... but it had seemed fitting enough, at first. Derek had grabbed the wrong shirt, yeah, and he'd put on Stiles', so it had seemed only natural to Stiles to put Derek's shirt on in some form of payback.

But he hadn't counted on it smelling so much like Derek. Or the effect this had had on him.

Stiles had gotten off in his bedroom before being called down to dinner. Twice. Which had been good, because it had taken his mind off of how bizarre his cheeks felt. Tingly, and strangely sensitive, and a little raw even though the razors Derek had picked out for him had been expensive. Stiles thought the lotion had helped, and he supposed he owed Derek his gratitude, both for picking it out and for urging him to use it.

Now, if only Derek wasn't sitting there during dinner, with Stiles' teeshirt stretched taut across his amazing pectorals and incredible biceps, staring at Stiles with dark, hooded eyes and flaring nostrils.

Stiles couldn't tell if Derek was pissed off at him, or.... Well, he had to be pissed off at him, right? Because the alternative possibility was just so impossibly laughable that Stiles was frankly surprised it had entered his head at all.

His wrists were throbbing, though, with the memory of being squeezed tight by Derek. One at the grocery store -- which was already beginning to bruise -- and the other more recently, upstairs in the bathroom. Stiles was going to have to switch to long-sleeved shirts again, he thought, but he didn't care. It was a small price to pay, to be carrying the mark of Derek's intensity branded into his skin, however accidentally and temporarily.

Stiles just hoped they'd make it through dinner without their parents noticing the beginning of the bruising around his one wrist and the redness of the other. With the way he was wriggling on his chair seat he figured the odds were unlikely that they'd see.

Besides, their Mom was all happy about Derek teaching Stiles how to shave, and excited that Stiles had shaved, to the point that Stiles wanted to hide under the table out of embarrassment. More for her than for himself, but still. The only thing that made it semi-bearable was remembering that she'd been just as effusive when Derek had begun shaving. More so, even, because he was her actual son, he'd been the first to start going through puberty, and she'd been thrilled that her husband, Derek's stepfather, had helped him learn how to remove his stubble and that Derek had let him.

Stiles' Dad just sat there, looking bemused, smirking at both Stiles and Derek in turn, and humoring his wife. Stiles would have liked to have gotten more support from his own father, but he supposed he was lucky the man wasn't joining in with the praise and delight. He'd certainly been ready enough with his amusement when she'd been teasing both Stiles and Derek about their long showers, in the grocery store no less!

Stiles really didn't need his stepmother speculating on his masturbatory habits. And he was remarkably glad that she hadn't asked why he and Derek had been topless together in the bathroom while he'd been learning to shave.

Stiles himself wasn't quite sure how it had happened. Derek had told him to take off his shirt, and he had done it. And now Derek was wearing his shirt, and Stiles figured it was accidental, but it was also so sexy it made his mouth water.

Then Derek had removed his own shirt when Stiles had told him to, and it was hanging loose over Stiles' skinny body now.... But he didn't much care that it was so big on him, because it smelled like Derek. Sweat and cologne and deodorant and Stiles was probably totally imagining it. but he thought that it smelled like sex.

Not like Derek had had sex while wearing it. Not like Stiles had jizzed on it while jerking off before dinner; he'd been insanely careful about that, since he didn't want Derek to kill him. But it just... had a scent that Stiles' brain connected with sex for whatever reason. Salty and musky and primitive, and maybe that was just the way Derek smelled, but Stiles had it all pressed against his skin now, and he thought he would go crazy before dinner was over!

It should have been gross, but it wasn't. It was so far from gross that the entire surface of Stiles' skin was tingling pleasurably.

Stiles' uncontrollable squirming had an unexpected benefit, in that once he was done eating his Dad told him to go and burn off some energy.

"But I was supposed to help you with the dishes," Stiles protested. Since Mom and Derek had cooked it was on the remaining two family members to clean up afterward. They all took turns. Next Saturday it would be Stiles and his Dad cooking, and Talia and Derek doing the dishes.

"If I trust you with the dishes tonight we'll wind up with something broken," Dad said, and that was so unfair! And not... totally accurate. Just moderately probable.

Stiles opened his mouth, prepared to argue even if he didn't really want to do dishes, but then Talia interrupted.

"How about we go and play some Wii, Stiles."

It wasn't really a question. Stiles pouted, but he couldn't really insist that he be allowed to help do the dishes. That would definitely set a bad precedent.

"Okay," he said instead.

"Derek, do you want to join us?" their Mom asked, turning to raise her brows at her son.

"No," Derek grunted, and why was he glaring at Stiles? Was it because he didn't insist that he help with the dishes? Why would Derek care about that; it was Stiles' father who would be stuck doing them alone, not Derek's mother. And certainly not Derek himself.

"Oh, come on," Talia wheedled, and Stiles left her to try convincing Derek, grabbing his plate and glass and carrying his stuff into the kitchen. Loading the dishwasher wasn't going to be a huge hardship on his Dad, even with the sink full of bowls and utensils from Talia and Derek's cooking. Stiles still felt a little bad that he wasn't helping....

But, hey, he was being banished; he wasn't actively shirking his duties. So he put his stuff in the sink, ran a little water over the plate into the garbage disposal, then left the kitchen.

Derek was still arguing with their Mom, so Stiles went into the living room and got the Wii set up and ready for use. Playing with Talia wasn't always a lot of fun, because she got so competitive, but maybe Dad would join them once he was done with the dishes. That would be good for a laugh. And maybe Derek would--

Nope, Stiles thought ruefully as he heard Derek stamp up the stairs and slam his bedroom door. Derek was going to be an antisocial goober, who broke his own mother's heart.

Except Talia really only looked annoyed when she walked into the living room, not heartbroken.

"Derek has decided to be a big fat party pooper," Talia announced, taking the Wii-mote that Stiles held out to her in one elegant hand.

Stiles snickered, amused by the way her thought process and vocabulary echoed his own pretty closely, but he felt compelled to point out;

"Derek wasn't a party pooper when he helped me choose my shaving stuff and showed me how to shave."

Talia smiled fondly, ruffling Stiles' hair with the hand not holding the game controller. "That's true," she allowed. "But it doesn't make him not a party pooper now."

Stiles wrinkled his nose and mentally prepared himself to have his ass handed to him by his stepmother. If Derek had been willing to play, maybe Stiles would have stood a chance at winning against someone, since he was way better at almost every game than Derek was... but Derek was upstairs, sulking.

Or maybe jerking off. Stiles blushed, his gaze suddenly fixing on the spot on the floor where Derek had pinned him down, straddled him with his powerful thighs, and held onto his wrists while yelling at him about the remote batteries....

Maybe that was why Derek had declined to play. Maybe the Wii brought back bad memories.

Or maybe he never thought about that at all and he was really was just being a party pooper because he didn't want to play with his Mom and Stiles.

"Well, if he doesn't come down for Wii, then he's not getting any chocolate cake," Talia said decisively.

Stiles' eyes went wide. She meant business!

"Does he know that?" he asked, because if Derek didn't, maybe Stiles should run upstairs and tell him.

"I made him aware," she said, sniffing, and clicking her way through the game menu.


Derek had to be jerking off, then, Stiles figured. Because that was just about the only thing in the world better than chocolate cake.

He probably would have chosen the chocolate cake, though. Because he could always eat it and then jerk off later. But sometimes, Stiles thought, he was more pragmatic than his stepbrother was.

Even though he was pretty sure that Derek would have snorted if he'd known that Stiles thought so.


Derek had barely been able to wait to jerk off until he got to his bedroom. His Mom was probably pissed at him for declining to play Wii, but there was no way Derek could have done so with the hard-on he'd spent all of dinner sporting.

He couldn't tell his mother that, though. She might have understood -- not knowing the cause; being seventeen was cause enough, right? -- but Derek would have died of embarrassment, and she probably would have teased him more, the way she'd done at the store today.

At least she was used to Derek refusing to play video games with Stiles. It actually wasn't because of the reason it had been before, namely Stiles being obnoxious and annoying, but it was because of Stiles.

Because Stiles had come down to dinner wearing Derek's shirt. Because Stiles looked like he'd been jerking off while wearing Derek's shirt. Because Derek was also wearing Stiles' shirt and all he could smell was Stiles, Stiles, Stiles.

Derek had put on Stiles' shirt by accident, but Stiles had to have deliberately chosen to trundle downstairs draped in Derek's shirt. He could have left it on the bathroom floor. He could have dumped it in the hamper, if he'd had an unexpected burst of altruism for some reason. But he hadn't. He'd put it on, and he was still wearing it.

He was wearing it while he was playing Wii downstairs with Derek's mother. There was just something wrong with that. But the part of it that was wrong... was all in Derek's head, right? His pervy, perverted head. Because there was no way that it gave Stiles the same huge boner that it gave Derek. No way.

After Derek had gotten off, he considered going downstairs after all. It was Saturday night, and he knew it meant a lot to his Mom for the family to spend it together on the nights when their Dad was home. But he looked like he'd just gotten off, his face flushed red. And he wasn't some dorky thirteen year old who could get away with it, like Stiles had when he had come down to dinner.

Derek did take off Stiles' shirt, because he wasn't some kind of masochist. He did not, however, make any move to return it to his stepbrother. After all, Stiles still had Derek's shirt, right? So it was only natural that Derek would want to hold Stiles' shirt hostage until he got his own back... or something.

He felt even more like a creeper than usual when he raised Stiles' shirt and took a deep breath of his stepbrother's scent, mingled now with his own. Hadn't it just been a few weeks ago that he'd been complaining about Stiles stinking?

Things had definitely changed.

And maybe Derek stuffed Stiles' shirt under his pillow, and then flopped on the bed to stare at his ceiling and fantasize about the things he could do to Stiles if he only allowed himself. And maybe he let go of the feeling of being a pervert, just for the evening. But he knew that feeling would be back full force, the next time he had to face his family.

It would be back. But for tonight he called up the memory of standing in the bathroom with Stiles, and he let the guilt and the feelings of perversion slip away.

And then he jerked off again. Because he could and because he wanted to.

He wanted, and this was all he was going to allow himself.



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February 2015

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