"C'mon, Derek, I hafta peeeeee!" Stiles whined, dancing from foot to foot in the hallway, holding onto the base of his dick with one hand through the material of his pajama bottoms. He knew he wouldn't get in trouble for grabbing himself -- like he normally would have done -- because both their parents were downstairs in the kitchen. Then again, if one of them was up here, they might have been able to pry Derek out of the bathroom.
"Go use Mom and Dad's," Derek replied, his voice muffled through the door.
"No," Stiles snapped, though if Derek didn't hurry up it was going to be he would either have to do that or wet himself.
"What even are you doing in there?" Stiles whined, still dancing a little. He didn't want to tell Derek that he didn't like using the master bathroom anymore ever since he'd found a pubic hair on the toilet seat in there. It had probably been his Dad's and, yes, he'd started sprouting them himself, but it didn't make it any less gross.
There was no reply, but then he hadn't really been expecting one. Stiles was still dancing, but he was starting to think that standing perfectly still might work out better for him. Either way, he needed Derek out of the bathroom, now.
Time for some serious whining. "Derek, come on!"
Stiles didn't even know what his stepbrother could be doing in there. They had their own rooms, so it wasn't like Derek didn't have plenty of private time for jerking off. Of course, if he was taking a dump, Stiles didn't really want to use the bathroom after him.... But he just needed to pee, he really needed to pee, and he could hold his breath for as long as it took to pee.
Stiles heard banging around and the low tones of Derek muttering until finally, as he desperately squeezed his handful even tighter, Derek yanked open the bathroom door. He glared at Stiles, red-faced and sweaty from God only knew what he was doing in there.
"Jeeze, freaking thank you," Stiles huffed, banging against Derek's bare shoulder -- Derek spent far too much time shirtless and examining his abs in every reflective surface in the house in Stiles opinion -- as he scurried into the bathroom. It only smelled like pungent but relatively clean teenage boy in there, the way it usually did, so he had no clue what could have been taking so long.
Stiles basically yanked open his pants and whipped his dick out, sighing in relief. Seriously, it felt deliriously good, and he'd blame the near euphoria of finally letting go for the fact that he only noticed Derek still standing there in the doorway, staring, when he was almost done.
"Boundaries!" Stiles squeaked, hurriedly slouching slightly sideways to protect his dick from Derek's stare.
"Still waiting for that first growth spurt, huh?" Derek said, snotty as anything. Dad had said that Stiles needed to be nice to Derek because he was growing into a teenager and had been all hormones back when their parents had gotten married five years ago. But Stiles was the same age now that Derek had been then, which meant he was a teenager and no one walked around Stiles like they were on eggshells. It was seriously unfair!
"Shut up," Stiles snapped, knowing it was a lame comeback. But Derek was standing there with all his height and dark hair and intense pale green-hazel eyes that were almost blue sometimes, and he seemed to be made up almost entirely of muscle and body hair. Which was probably why he was being such a jerk recently, since puberty had hit him a little late but really hard.
Still, it was no excuse, and Stiles wasn't going to just be his punching bag, verbal or physical.
Stiles knew that he would get where Derek was someday, eventually. He was only just thirteen and Derek had been seventeen for months. Stiles was still sort of short, and he was skinny as a matchstick no matter how much he ate. He might never grow as tall and beefy as Derek, but his shoulders were starting to get a little more broad, so there was some hope there....
Now, if only his dick would get a smack from the puberty fairy's wand, so Derek couldn't stand there and mock it. Stiles had seen Scott's dick, he knew his was a perfectly reasonable size for his age, but he also knew it was bound to get bigger, and he couldn't wait for that day.
"How about some privacy!" Stiles demanded, pulling up his pants and trying to will away the bright red in his face as he flushed the toilet. It had felt so good to finally get to pee, and then Derek had had to go and ruin it all. Jerkface.
Speaking of Derek and his jerky face... Stiles glanced down from that face at Derek's torso, fascinated as always by the way his scrawny stepbrother had turned into a freaking male centerfold practically overnight. He had abs, he had pecs, he had... no hair on either of those, above his bellybutton, and Stiles was pretty sure that last time he'd seen Derek's chest -- which had been the night before because Derek was evidently allergic to pajama tops as well as shirts -- there had been plenty of hair there.
"Did you shave your chest?" Stiles squawked incredulously, eyes round.
Now that he'd noticed, he couldn't stop staring. Like Derek's exhibitionist streak needed the encouragement. But his skin was so smooth it almost reminded Stiles of wax, his nipples tight, tawny coins, puckered in the cool morning air. Without the dusting of dark hair that had been there before he looked like a new person.
And that person resembled a Ken doll. Stiles had enough of a sense of self-preservation not to tell Derek this, but he was thinking it loud and clear.
"What do you think, Sherlock?" Derek asked snidely.
Stiles snorted, because of course Derek was gonna be a jerk about it. "If you used your mom's Nair, she'll kill you," he warned.
Instead of getting flustered, Derek just raised an eyebrow, and from the looks of things he'd manscaped those as well. "Are you speaking from experience?"
Stiles stuck out his tongue, but it would have been kind of like salt in a wound to admit that his own hairlessness was natural rather than chemical so he didn't say that. Damn that puberty fairy. Well, he had hair down there, but none on his chest. Yet.
"You'd better never use that stuff on your nuts," he warned, eyeballing the bulge in Derek's jeans. He got to see a lot of his stepbrother on a regular basis, but he had yet to catch a glimpse of his junk. He only wanted to get a good look out of... curiosity. That was all. He just wondered how Derek stacked up to all the guys he'd been ogling online, that was it.
Of course, he had to go look at things like that at Scott's house, because his own parents had their computer all locked up so that he couldn't access any of the good stuff. He cleared his browser history every time and so far Scott's Mom hadn't noticed. Or at least she hadn't said anything; hopefully she hadn't noticed.
Stiles looked at girls too.... It just wasn't only girls that he looked at.
Derek's brows crawled up his forehead and he had shifted completely from looking embarrassed to being very obviously amused. "So you are speaking from experience," he said with way too much delight in his voice.
Stiles retaliated by slamming the door in his stepbrother's smirking face, even though he'd already peed. Well, he could get in the shower and get in a quick jerk in before breakfast.
Something about seeing Derek prancing around without half his clothes always got him kind of riled up and bothered. Stiles tried not to think too hard about what that might mean. Because Derek was an asshole, and besides that, he was Stiles' stepbrother.
Mostly, though, he was a big old jerkface.
And when Stiles was in the shower stall, wringing a quick, furious orgasm out of himself, he definitely wasn't thinking about Derek's newly bare chest, or how he might have manscaped... down there. Because that would be gross and perverted, right?
That reality didn't stop Stiles from coming so hard his knees almost went out from under him, though. It never had before and he doubted it ever would.
Derek really hated when he got stuck taking care of Stiles.
It wasn't because he hated Stiles. He wasn't that much of a dick to his younger stepbrother. But Stiles was younger and he was Derek's stepbrother. They weren't friends, and Derek never chose to get stuck with babysitting duties.
It wasn't as if Stiles was five or something, although Derek did do his best to keep the kid away from sugar and all valuables. He was thirteen, perfectly able to look after himself and make his own meals. Derek suspected the only reason he was stuck being responsible for his stepbrother when their parents were out was because his Mom wanted them to bond.
So far the Sheriff had taken them fishing -- where Stiles nearly capsized their boat -- to the State Fair in the dead of California summer -- where Stiles got a sunburn and nearly hurled cotton candy all over Derek's shoes -- and their Mom had insisted they go paintballing then proceeded to kick everyone's asses, including their Dad's. Talia Stilinski-Hale was deadly when it came to competition, and her husband knew when to let her win, even though he was the one who carried a gun for his job.
All of their attempts at family bonding, including a Family Game Night that was unceremoniously shelved when they realized how unpredictable a Sheriff's schedule could be, meant that Derek and Stiles were more than strangers but certainly not brothers and not even friends.
Derek liked Stiles well enough, he supposed, but living with a thirteen year old wasn't a walk in the park, even one as goofily endearing as Stiles. Derek was nearly an adult and Stiles was still a kid, and they had virtually none of the same interests.
And if Stiles thought that Derek hadn't noticed how much time the kid spent staring at him, he was wrong. At first it was baffling, and then it was funny, and now it was kind of annoying but mostly hilarious. Whatever. Derek had been thirteen too, once upon a time -- though admittedly a different breed of thirteen -- and anything that hoved into his field of vision had given him vicious boners at the time.
He might have joked about whether or not Stiles was even capable of getting a hard-on, if he were talking about this. But he wasn't actually going to mention any of this to anyone, plus he was pretty sure that even though Stiles was still young and skinny, he was already jerking it on a regular basis.
If he had been feeling kind Derek might have offered to discus the whole bisexuality thing with Stiles, since it was so obvious that the kid was plowing headlong into swinging both ways. But that wasn't his job. The thought of being so intimate with his stepbrother, being so emotionally vulnerable even on a verbal level, made him want to snarl. And that would hardly be helpful, where being helpful was kind of the entire point.
If he'd been cruel instead of kind, he could have given the Sheriff a head's up that maybe he should talk to Stiles about it. But even if they weren't close, he and Stiles were technically siblings, and there was a sibling code that said never to rat on ones brothers or sisters about anything important, especially to ones parents.
Not to mention, Derek thought, it might not be the most awkward thing in the world to tell his stepfather that the man's son was probably bisexual... but it would be pretty damned close to it.
Derek wondered if Stiles was even aware of his budding sexuality yet. He was barely pubescent, after all. Derek might have thought he was gay if it weren't for the whole Lydia thing. Hell, the fact that Derek knew the name of a female eighth grader that he'd never met -- as well as her favorite color and the name of her new puppy -- was annoying as hell and clearly indicated the power of Stiles' crush on her.
Stiles was scrawny, but he had potential, Derek supposed. If he wore something other than baggy slogan teeshirts and did a pushup or two from time to time. It was too early into puberty to tell if he'd shoot up or fill out, let alone tell what would happen to his voice. He had no layer of baby fat to lose, but Derek thought the angles of his face might sharpen even further as he got older.
At the moment, though, Stiles was an awkward collection of limbs and energy, nerdy and annoying. He wasn't unpopular so much as unremarkable, and Derek was just glad that he'd be out of high school when Stiles became a freshman next year. Otherwise he'd probably spend his life dogged by Stiles and his dweeby little friend Scott, trying to make his way down the halls at Beacon Hills High with each boy attached to a leg like limpets. Nothing could have ruined Derek's carefully constructed image like Scott McCall's inhaler and Stiles' terrible Dalek imitation.
Stiles seemed to have a special knack for being annoying. As though it were a gift, like his talent for getting good grades despite never seeming to seriously study, or his skill at tripping over his own feet.
And he was certainly bringing that talent for being annoying into play tonight, while their parents were out on "date night" and Derek was stuck babysitting.
The problem was that Stiles didn't seem to like having Derek watch him any more than Derek liked doing it. And when Stiles didn't like something, he got even more unmanageable than he normally was; which was bad enough!
Once they'd gotten past the whole wanting to invite Scott over thing -- which Derek nixed on the grounds that he wouldn't drive, Scott wasn't allowed to ride his bike so late, and if they tried doing it anyway Derek was gonna tell Mrs. McCall what had really happened to her favorite wolf lamp -- Stiles seemed bound and determined to be as annoying as was humanly possible.
And for Stiles, who was naturally annoying, that was really damned annoying indeed.
First off, he ordered a pizza without getting permission. But since Derek hadn't been thrilled about having leftover meatloaf for dinner and he had some cash on him, he just paid for it and made a mental note to add the cost to the miserable pittance he got paid for 'sitting Stiles. He did intend to eat it all himself, but Stiles whined so much that he eventually caved, simply for the sake of his sanity.
Then there was a brief lull while Stiles was on the phone, complaining to Scott about how awful Derek was being. After that Stiles did his homework, because the kid was some kind of freak that didn't use Friday night as excuse to goof off, what the hell even was that about?
But once he was through with that, he was right there in the living room, demanding that Derek let him use the television even though Derek was clearly in the middle of watching something.
"Why don't you go stream something on the computer?" Derek asked, pausing his show and scowling. It had been so nice and quiet just two minutes ago.
"Because I want to play a game, obviously," Stiles retorted, pointing at the Wii. It could be amusing watching him flail around, Derek knew, but only for a few minutes before it got embarrassing and besides, he was watching something.
"No," he said firmly. "Go play one of your stupid online games."
Then he couldn't even concentrate on what he was watching, because Stiles started a three minute diatribe in defense of his dorky online game. Which he probably wasn't even supposed to be playing; Derek would have to say something to his stepfather about the kinds of deviant predators Stiles might meet on there. It was totally for Stiles' own protection and not to wreck his fun, right?
Derek tuned out Stiles' voice and after a while Stiles seemed to lose interest, wandering away. Kitchen or bedroom, Derek didn't care as long as he shut the hell up.
Of course, Derek should have known it wouldn't be so easy. He paused his show in order to go take a leak and when he came back, Stiles was busily setting up his game.
"Dammit, Stiles!" he swore, hands clenching in fists. He wanted to grab the little brat and shake him, hard. And if he did, he might get out of future babysitting duties, but he'd be in so much trouble. It wasn't worth it. Not quite.
"I thought you were done," Stiles said guilelessly, his brown eyes huge and full of fake innocence and laughter, his obscene red mouth curving in a ridiculous moue.
"Well, I'm not," Derek ground out, advancing on his younger, smaller stepbrother. Stiles was no match for him, and Derek was not going to lose this battle of wills. It would set a bad precedent. "Give me that remote."
Stiles danced away as Derek snatched at it, and, sure, now he was graceful!
"No way, it's my turn!" he bleated. "You've been here for hours! Don't you have homework to do?"
"Only complete freaks do homework on Friday night," Derek scoffed, making another grab that Stiles eluded. Barely.
"But I--" Stiles mouth fell open again, this time in outrage, still red and moist and way too pretty for a boy. "You jerk! You're definitely not getting this now!"
Derek knew better than to let Stiles goad him, but this was a matter of honor. And dominance. Derek was in charge here and Stiles needed to acknowledge that. Normally they were able to ignore one another, aside from the occasional exchange of snark and borderline insults, but tonight Stiles had been increasingly obnoxious. Like he wanted attention or something. Well, he wasn't necessarily going to like any attention he got from Derek now.
Derek lunged at Stiles, and Stiles darted away, waving the remote and laughing like a maniac.
"And you expect me to think you're not a freak?" Derek asked scornfully, grasping at Stiles again. He had more muscle mass than Stiles, and he was wiling to bet he had more stamina. Stiles might elude him for a while, but unless he locked himself in the bathroom again, Derek would get that remote back.
And if he did lock himself in the bathroom, well, the remote wouldn't do him much good in there, now would it?
"You're the freak!" Stiles came back with, in a disappointing display of lack of imagination. He stuck his tongue out and Derek rolled his eyes at how childish it had looked.
Stiles led him on a merry dance around the living room and dining area, but Derek caught him in the end, back in front of the TV, pouncing him into the shag rug that both their parents wanted to get rid of, but which Stiles insisted they keep, no matter how old and ugly it was. It did manage to cushion his tumble of ungainly limbs and pad Derek's knees as he sat on Stiles' stomach, prying the remote out of his hand.
"Derek! You asshole! Get off me!"
He ignored Stiles' squalling, distracted because he could tell the minute he had the remote in hand that Stiles had removed its batteries. So they were stuck staring at the Wii menu, and there went half his victory right there.
Well, at least he was still on top, literally.
"Get off!" Stiles was panting, squirming and shoving ineffectually at Derek's thighs with his fine-boned hands. Without thinking, Derek tossed the useless remote aside and reached down to grab both of Stiles' skinny wrists, pinning them to the floor on either side of his head.
He froze there, realizing two things at once. The first was that he kind of liked this, looking down at Stiles, all flushed, his mouth gaping and wet, his narrow chest heaving, the warmth of his torso captured underneath Derek's thighs and ass, his arms and shoulders jerking as he struggled to free himself....
And the second was that he was actually hard. Which would be a complete disaster if Stiles noticed, even though Stiles was probably about the age to start popping inappropriate wood at the slightest change in the wind.
Not that there could be much more of an inappropriate situation than this one, pinning down his whining, wriggling stepbrother who was only thirteen, and then getting a boner.
Derek tried to will himself to let go and pull away before Stiles could notice and either have ammo to mock him forever, or worse, freak the hell out. But something about the way Derek's blood was pounding in his ears -- and other places -- was new and fascinating, that same appeal of Stiles worked up and trapped underneath him. Instead of letting go, Derek's fingers tightened around Stiles' wrists until a pained hiss of breath was pushed from Stiles' lungs.
"You are such a pain in the ass," Derek said, not as convincing as it could have been given the way his voice dipped low and gravelly.
Stiles made a face and continued to squirm, thighs jostling Derek but coming nowhere near being able to unseat him. "Okay, seriously, you made your point, lemme go."
The continual movement of Stiles' skinny body trying to buck him off was annoying and stomach-tightening at the same time. Derek was pretty sure his own mouth was hanging open, breath coming quicker, and sweat prickled uncomfortably on his skin, under his arms and at the back of his neck.
"Say please," he demanded, watching his own knuckles turn white as Stiles tried to twist his wrists away again.
Something about his tone must of registered as weird to Stiles, because he suddenly stilled and drew a nervous tongue over his bottom lip. "What?" he asked, half laughing, but his eyes were tracking Derek's face carefully.
Derek grunted, squeezing his thighs around Stiles' body. "You heard me," he said, sounding somewhat more like himself, though still too hoarse. He loosened his grip a little as he continued, "Say. Please."
Stiles' breath hitched nervously; Derek could actually feel it underneath him, Stiles' narrow chest between his inner thighs. He remained silent, staring up at Derek with big brown eyes and his mouth hanging open.
"Pretty please," Derek clarified slowly and deliberately, his cock throbbing in his jeans like this was his first hard-on. It took everything he had in him to keep from shifting his pelvis forward and down, so that he could rub his cock against Stiles' soft stomach. So far his loose jeans were doing a pretty decent job of hiding the fact that he had a raging erection, but grinding into Stiles' torso would definitely give the game away. Even though that was what his instincts were urging.
"I will not," Stiles protested breathlessly, attempting to arch underneath Derek's unmoving weight and rubbing up against his balls in all kinds of interesting ways. Well, really only one way, but Stiles' body was rubbing up into Derek's balls so what more did he need?
Derek needed a lot more... but he shouldn't. "Say it," he gritted, because he really ought to let Stiles up, and then he should go rub one out behind his locked door, and never let Stiles know what had happened.
"No!" Stiles said, panting now, his cheeks blazing red. Derek would be willing to bet they were hot to the touch. "I will tell Mom and Dad, though, if you don't let me go now!"
Derek had no intention of losing face, but he did scoot back. Only to encounter something slightly surprising, even though he maybe should have been expecting it.
"You're hard," he accused, staring down at Stiles and his flushed face as he deliberately ground his ass into the stiffness he had bumped up against. Which, okay, wasn't the best move he could have made, but it certainly drew attention to the situation even more than his words could have done.
"What? No!" Stiles squawked, which was ridiculous when Derek could feel his hard-on, right there. "That's the, um, just the batteries! From the remote!"
To be honest, Derek had actually forgotten why he had pinned Stiles to the floor in the first place. The reality of both their hard-ons had kind of distracted him.
"You're hard and you're lying to me about it," Derek snapped, glaring down at Stiles in an attempt to keep himself from laughing. Part of him wanted to mock Stiles for implying that his dick was as small as a double-A battery, but most of him was still caught up in the heady feeling of power and arousal that dominating Stiles was filling him with.
"Derek, you're hurting me!" Stiles whined, twisting his wrists within Derek's tight grasp.
"Cut it out," Derek directed, because Stiles actually was going to bruise himself if he kept that up, and then they would both have some explaining to do to their parents, and Derek would probably be in some serious trouble. "Don't try to change the subject."
"I'm not!" Stiles bleated, even though he clearly had been. "Let me up, Derek!"
"Part of you is already up," Derek said ruthlessly, and it was taking a chance that Stiles might catch on to his own hard-on, but he pressed his ass back into Stiles' raging boner again.
"Ha-ha, look at you with a sense of humor and everything, now let me go!" Stiles demanded, his voice high and breathless, his words running together.
Derek might almost have felt bad for Stiles, the way he was so flushed he looked like his face was on fire, the way there was perspiration beaded at his temples, the way he kind of looked like he was about to cry. He might almost have admired the way Stiles was sticking to his guns and demanding to be let go off instead of caving to the way Derek was pointing out his hard-on.
But Stiles had been a real shit all night, and this was payback of a sort. Even if Derek was dancing the knife's edge of disaster himself, considering that Stiles wasn't the only one with an erection. Thank God for the loose crotch of Derek's jeans.
Still, the longer Derek held Stiles pinned down like this, the more likely it was that the younger boy would notice that he wasn't the only one with an inappropriate boner. Also he might stop his squirming long enough to realize he wasn't the only one who was all flushed and sweaty.
If he hadn't noticed already, that was.
Derek needed to retreat, and the sooner the better, but how was he supposed to do that without either giving the game away where his erection was involved or conceding defeat where control of the remote was concerned?
"What are you gonna do if I let you go?" he asked, and was that his voice coming out in a low rasp that dripped with sexual innuendo when he had his thirteen year old stepbrother pinned on the living room floor and they were both hard?
"Play Wii!" Stiles squalled.
Derek snarled, driven to it by the sheer inanity of this reply, as well as the undeniable, uncontrolled arousal running rampant through his system, and for just a moment Stiles looked scared of him.
Legitimately afraid that Derek might, what, hurt him?
It was like having a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. Derek let go of Stiles' wrists as if they'd burned him and lurched to his feet and away from Stiles' prone body.
Teasing, dominating, and sometimes intimidating his stepbrother was one thing, but Derek hadn't ever wanted Stiles to think that he might actually hurt him; not physically.
His hard-on hadn't faded, though, not even with his sudden burst of guilt and shame, so Derek beat a quick retreat to his bedroom, locking the door. Yeah, that meant letting Stiles win their battle over the television, and, yeah, technically Derek was still supposed to be watching his stepbrother while their parents were out. But the only thing that could make this situation worse would be Stiles bursting into the room while Derek was on his bed, violently wringing an orgasm out of himself.
Hence the locking of his door.
Besides, Derek didn't really think Stiles would get into too much trouble without someone out there in the living room watching him. And if Stiles caught even a glimpse of his hard-on, Derek would be dead meat.
As it was Stiles was probably going to tell their parents about the way Derek had pinned him down and held onto his wrists too tightly... which meant Derek was going to be in deep shit anyway.
But none of that mattered now, as he quickly shucked his jeans, threw himself down on his bed, and shoved his hand down his boxer-briefs.
His cock was so hard it ached and he'd already made a mess of his underwear with leaking precome, so he might as well just jerk off inside his briefs and then change. It wasn't like he had the patience to bother undressing right now anyway.
Derek didn't usually prefer to use his own precome as lube, but his hard-on was so wet and slick with it that it actually worked out this time. Especially since it only took a handful -- literally and figuratively -- of rough strokes with Stiles' gaping red mouth clear in his mind's eye before he was shooting off with a stifled groan, heels digging into his bedcovers.
As he floated back down from his orgasm, one thought echoed loud in his mind.
He was so very, very fucked.