kyrene_writes: (TW: pedobait stiles)
[personal profile] kyrene_writes
Title: Life in the Stilinski-Hale Household: Part Seven
Author: [personal profile] kyrenekyorl
Pairings/Characters: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Talia Hale
Rating: R
Word Count: 7,769 (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 Seven

by kyrene


Derek had done the best he could to limit the fallout from Stiles' violent return home. He'd downplayed the fact that Stiles had punched Isaac in the balls. He'd warned his Mom about Stiles' migraine. He hadn't said anything about the fact that the classmate that had turned Stiles down had been a guy....

That final piece of discretion hadn't really mattered, because as soon as Stiles was recovered enough to talk he'd told both their parents all about it and he hadn't been shy about having been turned down by Danny Mahealani.

Not that either of them had cared. Derek wasn't surprised by this, considering that they'd raised both Derek and Stiles to be open-minded and accepting, but he was a little surprised that Stiles had been so ready to spout it out, hadn't even seemed to have thought about prevaricating.

He was also somewhat surprised when Stiles wandered into his bedroom the next afternoon without being invited in. Granted, Derek had left his door ajar which he normally didn't do -- probably in the subconscious hope that Stiles would come in -- but he hadn't actually thought that Stiles might.

"Hey," Stiles said, fidgeting uncomfortably where he was standing just inside the door. He looked better than he had the day before, or even that morning before school, though his eyes were still a little red and his cheeks were a little pale.

"Hey." Derek spun in his desk chair and stared at Stiles for a moment before realizing that it probably came off as kind of weird. "Um, you can sit," he offered, waving a hand toward his bed. Sort of in reverse of where they had been last time Stiles had been in his room.

Stiles' eyes went wide, but then he scampered over to the bed and plopped down as directed. Derek forced himself to stop thinking about how easy it would be to leave his chair and pounce Stiles into the mattress he was perched on the edge of.

"Thanks," Stiles said, sinking his fingers into Derek's bedsheets to either side of him and kicking his feet a little. He always had to be in motion. "For... you know. For...."

"Did Danny apologize to you today?" Derek asked, interrupting without guilt when Stiles failed to get to the point.

He'd texted Scott with the same question but hadn't yet received an answer. People thought Stiles was scatterbrained and easily distracted, but Derek felt that sometimes it was harder to pin Scott McCall down. When he answered, he was more likely to be honest than Stiles, who tended to prevaricate, it was true. But getting him to answer was often the struggle.

Then again, even when asked a direct question Scott wasn't always forthcoming. When Derek had texted him yesterday afternoon to ask why Stiles had just come home in tears, all Scott had texted back was that Stiles had gotten his heart crushed. No name, no specifics, and he'd misspelled three words in the five word reply.

That situation had involved Stiles, though, and Scott tended to be as protective over him as Stiles was over Scott. Derek had only wanted to help, obviously, but Scott didn't tend to take the long view of things. As admirable as his loyalty to Stiles could be, it did sometimes make things harder on them both, not easier.

Of course, the same could be said about Stiles. Hell, he was even more loyal toward and protective of his best friend than Scott was of Stiles, as impossible as that might seem.

But Stiles, unlike Scott, had the ability to see the bigger picture. Derek was a little disconcerted to find himself recognizing Stiles' good points for a change... but why not? The kid had lots of them. It was about time Derek acknowledged this and allowed himself to appreciated them.

Derek had spent so much time allowing himself to be annoyed by Stiles that he hadn't really processed the fact that Stiles wasn't always annoying. Because he wasn't, not always.

Stiles nodded, his soft hair flopping in his eyes. He really needed a trim. Derek was starting to think maybe he should offer to take him to the barber, because if he sent him with either of their parents Stiles would be likely to either buzz it or getting an unflattering, unstylish cut. And maybe he wasn't supposed to care about how Stiles looked, but he couldn't help it; he did care. Derek liked to think he would still care even if he wasn't lusting after Stiles in a completely inappropriate manner. And that he'd still care after he stopped lusting after Stiles, because he had to stop; Stiles was his stepbrother!

"Yeah," Stiles verified. "Danny apologized in front of my locker, just like I tried to ask him out in front of his."

His voice was still somewhat hoarse, and Derek thought longingly of beating up Danny Mahealani. Just a little bit, because he hated that this guy had hurt Stiles' feelings so badly. His Mom had said no, though. And Derek really shouldn't be going around beating up eighth graders, no matter how much they might deserve it. At least Danny had followed through on his promise to apologize.

"Jackson looked like he was smelling a really bad fart," Stiles continued, grinning crookedly at the memory. "And then Danny told him to shut up even though he hadn't said anything. That kind of made up for Danny telling me that the answer was still no." Stiles looked sad but resigned over this fact. "At least he said that part in a quiet voice, after Jackson left."

Derek scowled. He was still angry at Danny for thinking he was better than Stiles, but now he was focused on something else; a name that he knew and didn't like hearing.

"Jackson.... This is the Jackson who's dating Lydia Martin, right?" he asked. He'd heard about this kid from Stiles in the past, and it had never been anything good. Jackson was probably who Stiles had meant when he'd talked about being bullied.

Stiles nodded. "Danny's best friends with him."

"And yet you still asked Danny out?" Derek asked incredulously, brows rising. He'd known that Stiles was lacking in self preservation and any sense, but that was just ridiculous.

"Danny's a lot nicer than Jackson!" Stiles defended vigorously. "I don't even know why they're friends."

"Hm." Derek didn't agree with that assessment, but he supposed he was biased. Sure, Danny had come to their house to try to talk to Stiles, and he'd evidently followed through on his promise to apologize to him at school the following day, but he was still a little jerk who'd crushed Stiles' heart and wasn't going to date him now, even though he knew Stiles had been serious when he'd asked him.

"Danny's an idiot," Derek declared, because Stiles ought to be told so. "You can do better than him." It felt weird to be giving Stiles a pep talk, but Boyd had been right; Derek had spent too long being mean to Stiles when the kid didn't deserve it.

"I really couldn't," Stiles mumbled, looking at Derek with a strange expression on his face. "Except for Lydia Martin, but she's dating Jackson."

"Which proves that both she and Danny have bad taste," Derek pursued. "What about your friend Heather? She's nice and she likes you and she's getting pretty."

Stiles pulled a face. "We grew up together, Derek," he protested. "We bathed together when we were tiny. I've seen her naked."

Derek just stared at Stiles for a moment, speechless. It betrayed how very young Stiles was that he said this as though it was a negative thing. Granted, Derek understood what he'd meant... kind of. But he failed to see how this was a bad thing, and he was really beginning to feel that Stiles wasn't old enough to be dating.

It didn't help that he felt a possessive flare of jealousy every time the subject crossed his mind or reared up in conversation. He was furious at Danny for turning Stiles down twice, even if he'd been more gentle about it the second time, but he was also hugely relieved that the kid had done so. The thought of Stiles holding hands with an attractive boy his own age, maybe being kissed by him, maybe the two of them touching each other with fumbling hands... or not so fumbling on Danny's part....

Well, it kind of made Derek want to punch Danny in his handsome face and then grab Stiles and throw him down on his bed and-- and--

And he really shouldn't be thinking these things when Stiles was actually sitting right there on his mattress, looking delicate and vulnerable. There were still the fading traces of the bruises Derek had put on Stiles' wrists, marring the pale skin there, and Stiles was gnawing on his lips, making them wet and red and slightly swollen, his expression shifting from scornful over the idea of asking Heather out to vaguely concerned.

Derek wondered what kind of expression was on his face that Stiles was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He didn't want to scare Stiles out of his room, and he definitely didn't want to give away what he was thinking about, so he did his best to smooth his features into a blank, neutral mask.

It seemed to work, somewhat, but Stiles still hunched in on himself.

"Thanks for not yelling at me about Isaac," he said unexpectedly, gazing at Derek with his warm brown eyes. It was a change of subject, but Derek was more than ready to change the subject from Stiles' hypothetical dating and potential sex life.

Derek snorted. "Isaac deserved it. And we all told him so."

Stiles stared, his mouth hanging open. "Whu-what?"

Derek shrugged, feeling a little uncomfortable in the face of Stiles' obvious disbelief.

"You mean Erica told him? And Boyd? And you?" Stiles asked incredulously, his voice spiraling higher and higher until it squeaked on the "you", his eyes huge in his angular face.

"Who else would I mean?" Derek asked. He still felt kind of guilty, remembering what Boyd and Erica had said to him. He hadn't thought he'd been so awful to Stiles when they'd been younger... but he probably had been, and he was willing to be better to him now. Especially since, as he'd told Erica, Stiles was tumbling headlong through puberty and was only going to get more and more hyper-sensitive to every little mean thing that he or Erica said to him. Even if they were said in joking....

Though, to be painfully honest, it hadn't always been jokingly meant. And speaking of which, Derek wasn't going to let Isaac get away with badmouthing Stiles anymore either. Not at all, but especially not to his face.

Stiles licked his lips, and Derek felt a rolling wave of warmth pass through him, arousal swelling his cock. God dammit. He couldn't kick Stiles out of his room, though. Not when he was actively trying to be nicer and more supportive. Also, he kinda liked sitting here, talking with him. It was... nice.

"Okay," Stiles said doubtfully, but at least he didn't actively call Derek a liar or anything.

"I think Dad was proud of you for nut-punching Isaac," Derek said, trying to steer their conversation away from his own feelings for Stiles and back to Stiles nailing Isaac in the balls.

Stiles smirked, looking delighted. "Yeah, he told me never to do it again with his mouth, but his eyes were saying way to go, son."

Derek couldn't disagree; he'd been there, he'd seen the same thing. He and Stiles shared a conspiratorial grin.

"Mom was proud too," Derek offered, even though he was sure Stiles already knew.

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, she actually told me so."

Derek grinned and shook his head. That was his mother. Their mother. "Of course she did. She said 'that's my boy' when I told her you'd done it," he informed Stiles affectionately.

Stiles wriggled up further onto the bed, folding his legs under himself to sit crosslegged, his eyes brighter now, and his face alert. He was still wearing his school clothes, and Derek badly wanted to strip them off of his skinny little body and roll him around in his sheets... to roll around with him....

"By the way," he said, feeling desperate to keep talking and take his mind off of doing terrible, unforgivable things to his younger stepbrother, "That maybe wasn't the best way you could have sprung the fact that you're bisexual on Mom and Dad."

Stiles blinked, looking taken aback, and this tilted his head to the side. Derek hadn't really meant to mention the matter, but his mouth had run away on him, and now that it was out there he couldn't take it back.

"I didn't think it was anything that even needed to be said," Stiles replied, speaking slowly and sounding more than a bit confounded. "I mean, it's not like they're upset about it." He squinted at Derek, wrinkling his snub nose in an adorable manner. "Why are you acting like it's a big deal?" he asked a little defensively, seeming ready to pull into himself even more.

"I'm not!" Derek protested, a little more stridently than he'd meant to. He scowled, adding, "I already knew you were bi anyway. You haven't exactly been subtle."

Stiles' mouth fell open again. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"Nothing." Derek sighed. He shook his head. "Just forget about it."

Stiles curled into himself, a tight little ball on Derek's bed, and swallowed tightly. "Are... are you upset that I'm bi?" he wanted to know.

"What?" Derek hadn't wanted Stiles to think that at all! He just hadn't wanted Stiles to know that he'd noticed, mainly because he'd noticed due to the way the kid had been staring at him for years now.

"Why would I be upset?" he wanted to know.

"I dunno...." Stiles had his arms wrapped around himself and he looked miserable now, instead of happy, and so Derek spoke without thinking.

"Hell, Stiles, one-third of the people I've had sex with have been guys." There was no reason not to tell Stiles, and he definitely didn't want the kid thinking that Derek was some closed-minded bigot. That was the last thing he wanted, in fact. Especially since it was so far from true.

Derek wasn't open about being bisexual, not really, but it wasn't like it was a big secret that he was closely guarding, either. He didn't tend to talk to anyone in his family about his sexual exploits. He was barely comfortable mentioning the dates he'd had with Paige -- mostly because his Mom made such a big deal about them -- but, yeah, no, he wasn't about to mention the classmates he'd hooked up with casually.

His parents had to guess that he wasn't celibate just because he wasn't in a steady relationship with anyone... but the truth that he'd had random sexual encounters with both guys and girls in a really pretty casual basis was one of those things that was better left unsaid.

By everyone.

Not because of the gender, but because of the sex. It had been bad enough getting the sex talk twice. Once when he'd been nine, from his Mom -- a talk that had mostly consisted of "this is what your body is going to start doing soon" -- and then far more in-depth and detailed when he'd turned thirteen, from his stepfather. That one hadn't been fun for either of them, but at least it had left Derek with a good sense of what was expected of him.

Derek was always safe, he always made sure his partners knew it wasn't more than it was, and even if it wasn't serious he felt like it was something private. Definitely not something his parents needed to know about!

But now that Stiles had come out as openly bisexual, Derek felt like it was only the brotherly thing to do, to come out as well. To Stiles, at least. Maybe not their parents.

He'd have thought that Stiles would be pleased to hear that Derek was bi too. He'd have thought that it would have eased Stiles' mind and given the two of them a sort of connection, a sense of solidarity.

But, instead, Stiles looked more upset, rather than less. His face tightened and he was clutching at his upper arms so tightly his fingers were white. It made Derek feel bad just looking at him, even though he hadn't said or done anything wrong.

"Was one of them Isaac?" Stiles asked in a tiny voice, and what the fuck?!

"What the fuck?!" Derek blurted, glaring at Stiles. "Seriously? Not that it's any of your business, but no! Just... no!" He shook his head, repelled by the thought. That would be like... like having sex with Erica! Or Boyd!

"Anyway, I'm pretty sure Isaac is straight," he added, calming slightly in a face of Stiles' obvious distress.

Instead of seeming reassured, Stiles frowned at Derek. "Um, I'm pretty sure he's not." At least he uncoiled from his tense position, relaxing a little and slouching on Derek's mattress, picking at the hem of his jeans instead of clutching at his own upper arms. "He's probably bi too. He gets pretty jealous of you, dude."

"Don't call me dude," Derek corrected automatically. "And I think you mean jealous over me." He pulled a sour face. "Also, you're just wrong."

Stiles shrugged, tongue sneaking out to play over his lower lip. God, the things Derek wanted to do to him, to that tongue, to those lips....

"I'm not naming off a list of the people I've messed around with," Derek said, and somehow the conversation had veered wildly off course on him and was in dangerous waters, yet again. "You're still only in junior high so I don't think you know any of them, anyway. Well, aside from Paige."

"Can we talk about something other than your sex life?" Stiles asked, his voice coming out strangely tight. Derek wondered why it was such a big deal to Stiles. But then he figured....

"Don't worry," he said, trying to offer some reassurance. "Your time will come too, Stiles. You're only thirteen."

He pretty much knew that was the wrong thing to say as the words left his mouth. He'd meant to give his younger stepbrother some comfort, but had managed to put his foot squarely in it.

"Oh, yeah, because I'm practically a baby right now, huh?" Stiles snapped, jumping off Derek's bed in a mad flailing of limbs. Derek was ready to catch Stiles if he pitched headlong toward the floor -- it wouldn't have been the first time -- but Stiles managed to get his legs under him and staggered toward the door like a newborn colt.

"Stiles, you know that's not what I meant," Derek called after him, feeling a sense of deja vu, with Stiles storming out of his room in a snit that Derek didn't feel was justified. "Don't be like that."

"Like a little brat?" Stiles asked snottily, pausing in the open doorway and glowering at Derek.

"You know I didn't mean that," Derek said, trying to sound serious rather than condescending. "I just... don't rush into things, okay? And don't go giving anything away to someone who doesn't deserve it."

Stiles calmed a little, his brow crinkling in a frown. At least he seemed to be giving consideration to Derek's advice. "What?"

"I just don't want you getting hurt," Derek said, marveling that those words were passing his lips. Not only were they horribly cliched, but he hadn't thought he'd ever be so honest and open with Stiles. Because it was true. He really didn't want anyone hurting his stepbrother.

"You mean...." Stiles tilted his head, and he didn't seem angry anymore, thankfully. "Derek." He laughed a little, and gave Derek a look he chose to interpret as fond, even though it also seemed a bit mocking. "You don't need to worry about these goods," he said, waving a hand at his own body in a way Derek felt was far too dismissive. "I can't even give it away."

"Don't give it away," Derek growled tightly.

Stiles' eyes widened. "I didn't mean-- I just meant that I can't even get anyone to date me," he sputtered. "Not... that."

Now Stiles was flushed and Derek felt like a pervert all over again for finding this look incredibly tempting. Especially with Stiles' floppy hair and his red mouth hanging open and his bright eyes staring right at him....

"Just." Derek huffed, feeling helpless. He wanted Stiles for himself but he couldn't have him. He wanted to throw him on the bed and touch him all over and taste and take. He wanted to tell him not to have sex, ever, with anyone who wasn't him. He wanted Stiles to leave his room so that he could jerk off, but he didn't want him to leave mad.

"Just don't try to grow up too fast, okay?" he came out with, even though it was another trite platitude and it made him wince internally to give voice to it.

"Okay, Mom," Stiles said sarcastically, still staring at Derek with a curious expression.

Derek sighed.

"All right." Stiles wasn't leaving in a huff anymore, but now he hovered in the doorway, looking awkward. "Well, thanks again for, you know, everything."

Derek nodded. "I'm going to make sure Isaac leaves you alone," he felt the need to add, even though he'd already given Stiles this assurance earlier in their conversation. "Doesn't try to get revenge for getting nut-punched."

Stiles' mouth did something that was a grin and a grimace at the same time; an expression that should have been impossible but wasn't with his mobile features. "He's gonna love that."

"And that's all he's gonna love," Derek said firmly, because no matter what Stiles thought about Isaac and jealousy, he was wrong.

Stiles let out a little huff of laughter. "Whatever you say. And, um, thanks for that too, Derek."

He looked... God, Derek just wanted to eat him up. Toss him on the bed and strip him naked and learn every inch of his growing body. He could hardly say "save yourself for me" when it was so twisted and wrong to want his younger stepbrother so much, but that was what he wanted above all else....

Derek managed to make some sort of a mangled sound of acknowledgement. Stiles gave him a long, sharp look that he was afraid saw too much, but then he smiled softly and gave a little salute before letting himself out.

Derek thought it wasn't too optimistic of him to count this conversation as a win?

Then he went and locked the door before throwing himself on his bed and jerking it until he came, hard. All the while thinking about Stiles and the way he had looked while sitting crosslegged on Derek's bed.

Even if he couldn't act on his perverted desires, Derek could engage in whatever fantasies he wanted. Right? Just as long as he didn't start mixing fantasies up with reality.

Because that way lay potentially life-ruining disaster.

It just sucked that Stiles was right there, within arm's reach, and Derek couldn't reach for him. Not the way he wanted to, anyhow.

+=+=+

Derek was mowing the lawn. Derek was mowing the lawn and Stiles' life was about to come to an end.

He should have been used to this sort of sight from all the times that Derek wandered around the house shirtless.

But it was different, when Derek was pushing around a lawnmower, his smooth skin coated with a glossy sheen of sweat and flushed with exertion. He was wearing a tank, its thin white material clinging to his chest, his jeans framing his tight ass and powerful thighs as they flexed with every step that he took.

Stiles was well aware that there wasn't really anything sexual about mowing the lawn, but as he peered out the living room window, drinking in every shift of Derek's body, every detail of his face, he couldn't help thinking that this was the closest thing he was going to get to seeing what Derek looked like when he was having sex.

Derek's cheeks were pink with sun and exertion, his eyes were focused on what he was doing, he needed to shave, and his hair was clinging damply to his forehead. Stiles could see that Derek was living up to their agreement and was letting his chest hairs grow back. His forearms were corded with muscle and flexed as his fingers wrapped around the lawnmower handle. He had dark hair on his arms and knuckles that he hadn't ever shaved off. He looked impossibly masculine and grown up. As well as incredibly sexy.

Stiles palmed himself through his own jeans as his eyes drank in the sight of Derek's waistband riding a little low on his hipbones while his tank rode up a little. Those amazing hips that looked as though they had been sculpted out of marble. Out of warm, flesh-colored marble that Stiles wanted so badly to lick that his mouth was literally watering.

As good looking as Danny Mahealani was, he was only fourteen and had nothing on Derek. Who was close to eighteen and so perfect that it made Stiles ache.

It wasn't exactly a good ache. Even if Derek hadn't been Stiles' stepbrother he still would have been off limits. He was four years older, and he was smart, attractive, and popular in school. If their parents hadn't married one another he and Stiles never would have met, much less talked.

And yet Stiles couldn't help feeling as though... Derek kind of liked him now. Really liked him, not just as a forced family member. They'd gone from barely acknowledging one another to Derek defending Stiles against Danny, Isaac, and possibly Erica, since she'd had less mean things to say to Stiles lately. She still snarked at him, but the attacks were less personal and she actually laughed when he snarked back.

She'd even ruffled his hair once, but he thought they'd both ended up regretting that.

Derek now came to pick Stiles up after school in his car, glaring at Danny and Jackson through the windshield in a way that was both humiliating and hysterical at once. Danny seemed bemused, but also looked a little nervous whenever Derek's eyes were fixed on him. Jackson was totally offended, but he wasn't actually picking on Stiles as much as he'd used to; it had been a while since he'd roughly pushed Stiles against his locker in passing. Lydia just looked speculative. Derek glared at her too, which wasn't fair since she'd never done anything to Stiles, but she wasn't fazed by it, and Stiles though that he'd maybe gained a few cool points, getting a ride in a hot car from his hot older stepbrother, for what it was worth.

And Derek had tried to reassure Stiles that he wasn't a complete loser, that day that they'd talked in his bedroom after Danny had turned Stiles down, while also telling Stiles not to rush into anything, sexually.

That last was patently ridiculous, since Stiles couldn't get anyone to date him, much less kiss him or touch his body in any meaningful way, but it said something about how far their relationship had evolved in the last month or so that Derek actually cared enough to give Stiles this advice.

Stiles wasn't sure why Derek cared, and talking about his nonexistent sex life with the older stepbrother he desperately wanted to hump was hardly his idea of a good time, but he couldn't deny that the conversation had happened, and it made him feel warm inside, in a way that had nothing to do with arousal.

Right now he was hot all over with arousal, and it was because Derek looked so incredibly sexy, mowing the lawn in the bright sunlight.

Stiles rubbed himself some more, his dick as hard as it was gonna get and leaking in his second-hand boxers.

His hard-on was pressing against this pair of underwear in the same spot where the material had clung to and cradled Derek's dick, Stiles thought, with a wave of arousal so intense that his knees literally went weak and he very nearly came right there. Like, really, it was so close that he whipped his hand away and shuddered for a moment, pressing his hot forehead against the wood of the window sill, gasping for air, his dick twitching and his balls drawn up tight.

After taking a moment to recover, squirming slightly where he stood, so incredibly grateful that both his parents were out, Stiles peeked outside again and mentally calculated. Derek had already done half the lawn, but it was a big lawn. He'd be out there at least another ten to twenty minutes....

And Stiles would be able to get himself off in less than two minutes, if the way he'd almost come in his pants just now was any indication. He could probably get off twice before Derek finished mowing.

With one last longing look at Derek's amazing body and gorgeous face, Stiles turned away and scampered up the stairs. Memory was going to have to do, unless he wanted to jizz in his pants while peering out the window like a creeper.

No, much better to sneak into Derek's room and come on his bed, like a total creeper.

It felt really wrong to walk into his stepbrother's bedroom when Derek wasn't in it, Stiles thought as he did that very thing, but it also felt really exciting. Almost as exciting as the hard-on throbbing in his pants.

Stiles could hear the mower outside, a distant muffled roar coming in through the walls. He was safe as long as its engine was going, and a little bit longer, while Derek emptied the clippings into the recycling bin. Chances were that Derek would head right to the shower once he was done with the lawn, but Stiles needed to be gone by then, because chances were also good that Derek would want to grab a change of clothes out of his room on the way to said shower.

Speed wouldn't be a problem, Stiles thought feverishly, shedding his jeans and climbing up onto Derek's bed. The covers were thrown back, and Stiles wallowed on the sheets, burying his nose in the pillowcase. It smelled like Derek, like his hair products and his sweat and something else bitter and tangy and almost unpleasant that Stiles thought was probably his jizz.

This thought raced through him and he reached down to grab at his dick through the material of his boxers. Derek's old boxers. They were wet and clinging to his hard-on in a way that was as hot as it was gross.

Stiles whined, mouth open, accidentally tasting Derek's sheets as he hunched inward and came, hard, the heated wetness spreading through his boxers and slicking up his fingers.

Well, that was orgasm number one, he thought dazedly as he slumped and took a few minutes to recover, to wallow in the tingling warmth that filled him, and to breathe in the smell of Derek's bed.

Stiles rested his hot cheek on Derek's pillow, feeling the cool material warm under his face, Derek's scent growing stronger as the case heated up. He let his mind wander, from Derek mowing the lawn -- which he could still faintly hear, thank God -- to Derek jerking it in his own bed, where Stiles was right now. He knew how he felt when he jerked off, and he had an idea of what he looked like, but he wished that he knew what Derek looked like when he masturbated.

His imagination was pretty good, even though Stiles didn't think it was anywhere near what reality would look like, and Stiles indulged himself. Derek would be flushed, his cheekbones and ears all pink, his mouth open. He'd maybe be sweaty, his loose bangs clinging to his temples in dark curls. His forearms would be flexing, his fingers wrapped around his dick the way they'd been wrapped around the lawnmower handle, only more sexily because it would be his dick....

Speaking of dicks, Stiles was hard again. He wasn't surprised by this. He was thirteen years old, he'd gotten himself wound up watching Derek mow the lawn, and now he was wallowing on Derek's bed.

He levered himself up onto his elbows, reaching for the drawer in Derek's bedside table. There was no guarantee Derek kept anything sexy in here, but considering that he cleaned his own bedroom and no one else ever came in here, and considering that hiding things under the mattress made it lumpy to sleep on -- as Stiles could attest from personal experience -- it was more than likely that he had stuff in there.

The suspense lasted only as long as it took Stiles to grab the handle and tug.

Yes. Derek did keep his sex supplies in his drawer.

Stiles shifted to sit as close as he could while remaining on Derek's bed. His boxers were sticking to him in a cooling, somewhat uncomfortably mess, but his attention was focused on Derek's drawer and he barely noticed.

There were condoms, which made Stiles pull a sour face because they reminded him that Derek had admitted to having had sex with people. At least the box was almost full, he consoled himself, and tried not to think about the fact that it might have been the second, third, fourth box that Derek had purchased....

But he didn't care about the condoms. What he reached out and picked up was the bottle of lubricant that was closer to the bed than the condoms were.

There was actually more lube, two more bottles, but they were still in the packaging. And the bottle in Stiles' hand was only half full... or he could say half empty, since the thought of Derek emptying it while he masturbated made the hair on Stiles' skin rise in prickles of excitement, a rush of heat flood through him.

He was leaking in his boxers again, which made them more slimy than sticky, and he thought about taking them off, but then he thought about getting jizz on Derek's sheets, and he decided that was a really bad idea.

For some insane reason, Derek had navy sheets. Okay, so they matched the paint on his walls, and they went really well with his burgundy bedspread, but a dark sheet was just asking for jizz stains. And Derek was a healthy seventeen year old male. Stiles kind of assumed from the presence of the half empty bottle of lube in the bedside table drawer and the industrial size box of tissues hidden behind the lamp on top of the little table, that Derek masturbated.

The sheets were soft and sexy, though, Stiles had to admit. And they smelled like Derek. He was just going to have to be careful while getting himself off on them. Which meant leaving the boxers on, as gross as that was starting to sound.

Leave no trace, Stiles thought with a little giggle that was only moderately hysterical, as the bottle of lube warmed in his tight, sweaty grasp. His dick was plenty wet; if he was a good younger stepbrother he'd put the lube back and just get himself off without dipping into Derek's private stash....

But Stiles was not a good younger stepbrother. Considering that he was jerking off in Derek's bed to thoughts of how hot his older stepbrother was....

Stiles knew it was wrong, but he had zero intention of stopping. He didn't think he could stop himself.

Getting the cap off, however, almost stopped him. It was screwed on super tightly. Which made sense, Stiles thought as he gave a grunt of frustration and twisted as hard as he could. Derek would hardly want lube leaking all over in his drawer, and it was shallow enough that he had to store the bottle on its side.

Stiles was just about to give up when the cap came loose, and then it was too late to back out. Not that he really wanted to.

It was different than his hand lotion, which, duh. Stiles poured a little in his palm, then set the bottle on top of the table with the cap on loosely. He'd fix it afterward. Dipping his finger in the lube, Stiles marveled over how slippery it was. Yeah, that was the point, but this was in a whole other world than his lotion. How could he go back to that, now that he knew how much more awesome actual lubricant meant for sex was?

And he hadn't even gotten his dick slicked with it yet. He was going to have to rectify that. Immediately. He was on a time limit here, and the last thing he wanted was to get caught in Derek's bed, using Derek's lube to jerk himself off.

The lube was still a little cool when Stiles slid his hand inside his boxers with the skill only a teenage boy could master and palmed himself. Which was a good thing, because otherwise he probably would have come too quickly all over again.

He just held his dick for a bit. It felt good. But the whole point of lubricant was to ease friction, and so Stiles began to stroke himself. Slowly at first, savoring it, but then with more urgency as his pleasure increased.

Stiles didn't last long after that, even though he'd already come pretty recently. Not when he was in Derek's bed, using Derek's lube, the smell of Derek's body wrapped around him and engulfing his senses.

He whined breathlessly as he came a second time, the thumb of his free left hand jammed in his mouth, and now his boxers really were wrecked.

This time when he collapsed he lay there for longer, recovering, feeling as though he was glowing and vibrating. His hand was on his dick, and his other thumb shifted to the way he held it while he slept....

But then he realized that he was far too close to actually drifting off to sleep. And then he realized once he focused on his surroundings that he no longer heard the engine of the lawnmower roaring.

"Shit, shit, shit," he gasped, doing his best to wipe his hands off on his already destroyed boxers as he threw himself off the bed. He screwed the cap on the bottle of lube as well as he could when his fingers were still smeared with drying lube and come. In his mind he envisioned Derek pausing at the fridge of a drink of cold water, but he needed to get the hell out of Derek's room before he got caught.

"Shit!"

He was pretty sure he hadn't managed to fasten the cap as tightly as Derek had, but it was as tight as he could get it, and he shoved the bottle back in the drawer, then practically ran to the door.

There was no Derek in the hall, so Stiles darted to his own bedroom. He accidentally slammed the door behind him, but he was safe. He was safe!

It wasn't until he'd staggered toward his bed, peeling off his soiled boxers, and heard Derek's steps passing his room toward his own that two things occurred to him.

First, he realized that Derek was about to go shower, and Stiles was going to have to wait, covered in drying jizz, for Derek to finish bathing before he took his own turn.

"Shit."

Secondly, he realized with a jolt of horror, that he'd left his jeans laying on Derek's bedroom floor!

"Fuck!"

+=+=+

Derek was pretty sure Stiles was jerking off in his bed.

It wasn't just wishful thinking. It wasn't just that one time, when he'd entered his bedroom after mowing the lawn, stinking of perspiration and drenched in sweat, and found a pair of Stiles' jeans crumpled in the middle of his floor.

He'd stared at them a moment, just stunned by the implausibility of what he was seeing, and then he'd proceeded onward to the shower. Because what was he going to do, pick them up? And when he'd come back to his room, clean and refreshed, they'd been gone.

Derek hadn't imagined that he'd seen them, though. And he was sure that when he'd smelled his sheets he'd detected a trace of Stiles' body clinging to the material. He'd checked quickly, suddenly paranoid, but Stiles' teeshirt was still under his mattress where he had hidden it.

Which in itself was a little ridiculous, because after all this time of being in Derek's room it didn't really smell like Stiles anymore. If anything, Derek should have thrown it in the hamper and maybe, if he was still feeling super-pervy, snatched a new shirt, one that Stiles had worn more recently.

But part of the reason he was hanging onto it, Derek thought, was because Stiles still had his shirt. And Derek didn't intend to give Stiles back his teeshirt until Stiles gave him his. And Derek... kind of didn't want Stiles to return his teeshirt to him. He liked to imagine that Stiles was wearing it when he beat off at night, as unlikely as this scenario was.

At any rate. Derek had seen Stiles jeans on his floor before they'd vanished, and he was pretty sure the cap hadn't been as tight on his lube as he usually left it. That alone had given him enough mental images to force him to jerk off more than usual, as often as that was.

But that wasn't why he thought that Stiles was continuing to use his bed and his lube to jerk off. That was more a matter of observation and conjecture.

It was a little hard to tell for sure whether there was actually extra lube vanishing out of the bottle when Derek was still using it himself on a daily basis -- often more than once a day -- but he was pretty damned sure.

And Derek might never make his bed, but he was also pretty sure that his sheets were more of a mess after he came home from hanging out after school than they were before he left in the morning. He was also pretty sure that he wasn't imagining the scent of Stiles all over his pillow, growing stronger the more deeply he buried his nose in it.

It was the best sort of torture, but Derek didn't think it was healthy for Stiles to be sneaking into his bedroom when he wasn't there to use his lube.... He didn't have the heart to begin locking his door, but he couldn't stand for this to continue. Not without wanting to launch himself at Stiles every time he saw him and show him what lube could be used for outside of masturbation.

So as a form of self preservation and because he was trying to be a better older brother, Derek bought Stiles a big bottle of lube for himself.

Then, because he was still kind of an asshole -- hey, older brother, yeah? -- he left it on Stiles' bed with a fancy rainbow colored bow that he'd gotten at the same drug store he'd bought the lube at taped to the top of the box.

Stiles didn't talk to Derek for two and a half days after that, which made Derek regret his joke... but it was too late to take it back. At least Stiles didn't seem angry...? Just horribly embarrassed. Derek really hoped it was just embarrassment and not humiliation, but he had to admit to himself that the one was just as likely as the other.

Dammit, no matter what Boyd seemed to think, this older brother thing wasn't easy. Boyd didn't know that Derek knew about his sister who'd died in an accident before they'd become friends, but he hadn't counted on the fact that Derek was the stepson of the town sheriff. Derek had never said anything about it because he couldn't imagine bringing it up in casual conversation and Boyd had never mentioned it, but Derek understood why it mattered to Boyd whether or not he was nice to Stiles, even if none of their other friends knew.

And he got it, he did. But it was hard. Derek had been an only child before his mother had remarried. And Stiles had been an only child too, and he'd been even younger than Derek. Neither of them had had any idea how to be siblings.

Derek was pretty sure actual siblings didn't lust after each other the way he was lusting after Stiles. The fact that they weren't actually related made it slightly better, but better than unforgivable still wasn't all that great.

There was a part of Derek that regretted buying the lube for Stiles almost as much as he regretted the bow, because that meant Stiles would no longer be masturbating in his bed.

But Derek was supposed to be the mature one here. He was supposed to be thinking and behaving like an actual older brother. He wasn't supposed to be lusting after his thirteen year old stepbrother in a manner too depraved for words.

Stiles was only using Derek's bed and lube because he didn't have any lube of his own. Derek had gotten him lube, which meant that Stiles could stop using his room to jerk off.

It felt like he'd cut a hollow space in his chest, especially when Stiles was too embarrassed to talk to him afterward, but Derek knew it was for the best, and he intended to do the right thing. No matter what he actually wanted.

He still held onto Stiles' teeshirt, though. He wasn't going to give that back until Stiles gave him his. And so far that hadn't happened.

Derek might be failing as an older brother, but he knew fair was fair, and that was that.

Now, if only he could get over the part where he wanted to grind Stiles into his mattress. Because no matter how he tried, that desire just wasn't going away.

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