Little Red Riding Hood isn’t just one story. People are mistaken about that. Hell, Grimm wasn’t even original about it. The first guy to publish it was actually Charles Perrault, a french writer who wrote shit for the Louis XIV’s court. And damn, there was nothing subtle about it.
Stiles knew this because in freshmen year his high school teacher made then do a research paper on any literature topic they wanted, and Stiles had thought that there was nothing simpler than fairy tales for an easy A. That was until he got into it, and saw how many freaking fairy tales there were, and the teacher told him to stick to one. Why Little Red Riding Hood? His library just happened to have a book on the subject, a light read he finished within the week that gave him the lowdown on all things Riding Hood. It was on the first page when searching fairy tale analysis.
Anyway, back to Perrault. The story had one thing in mind, and it wasn’t for kids, coz that one theme was sex. Unlike the Grimm tale that you grew up with, the wolf just eats her in the end. Chomps down on her, and it was suppose to be a metaphor for virgin girls having sex with unscrupulous men outside of wedlock. Once again, nothing subtle about it. The men were commonly called les loups. The wolves.
So what about Grimm, the one we all know and ‘love’? That’s basically all about Christianity. Red represents Christians, the wolf is evil/sin/the devil, what have you. He tells her to pick some flowers- really, do I have to spell it out for you? She’s ‘tempted’ by ‘sin’ and is eaten because of it. Strays from ‘the path’ though her parents told her not to. And then she’s ‘saved’ by an older man, a literal rebirth as he slices the beast’s belly open. Simple, clean cut explanation.
But there’s this even older version of the story, a really creepy one. There’s no huntsmen, but Red is still tricked into picking some flowers, and the wolf eats her grandma, puts on the clothes, plays pretend, the whole shebang. Only- and how sick is this? The wolf tells Red to eat some of her grandmother’s flesh and drink some of her blood mixed with wine. And she does, without even realizing it, she eats her own grandmother’s fucking flesh. It’s suppose to symbolize maturation, how the old must die to make way for the young, the cycle of humanity and all that. She escapes in the end though, tricks the wolf with her wits. Though Stiles was pretty grossed out by the cannibalism, the ending was probably his favorite. The other stories seemed anti-feminist in comparison, and hey, Stiles was all for equal rights with the ladies.
That should have been that, he landed a solid A and his teacher ate that shit up. Just another random fact that he could sprout when he had the chance to slide it into conversation, along with all the other thousands of bits of useless trivia. But... fuck. Something about it. Something about it just stuck with him. Just reading so much about the sexual side of it. There was even a section in the book about how pornos had run with the idea (something he markedly decided to not put in his paper), and fuck was that annotation a great rec list for his viewing pleasure.
So yeah, he spent a lot of time imagining himself as the wolf, coz what guy wouldn’t? Not that he was suddenly all about random molestation, but there was nothing wrong with a little rough foreplay. And, trust him, all the girls in his imagination were more than willing. Even the strong headed redheads who normally wouldn’t give him the time of day. Lydia Martin in a skimpy red riding hood outfit, damn. It was a definite wish list item that was shot down every Halloween. It had led to some embarrassing moments, like that one time in Sophomore year. He had blurted out the suggestion when she was sitting across from him, talking to one of her friends about an upcoming costume party. Yeah, the glare he had gotten could have burned holes through his head when that happened. If there was ever a chance she would do it, it was certainly not on the table now.
Besides, he was pretty sure she would drag Jackson along as her wolf. Maybe even grab a leash, play up a whole dominatrix feel. Stiles couldn’t even laugh, he would love to be on that leash.
And that’s where the second half of his fantasies played out (or, if he was completely honest, the majority), because even though every guy would love to be the big bad wolf, Stiles wasn’t every guy. Hell, being Red, even if it just involved his red hoodie, didn’t seem like such a bad idea either. (Though don’t get the wrong idea, it’s not like he was imagining himself in some sort of skimpy skirt here. Well, maybe that one time, but that had been a weird night full of Red Bull hallucinations and Adderall withdrawal.) But the idea of a chick in leather and fangs pushing him down on the bed, clawing at his back, riding him even while he feared for his life? Nothing could really get him going like that.
The only problem is he couldn’t find the porn for it. The industry was so bent towards male domination that every Riding Hood kink he found involved the male as the wolf, or if the female was a wolf it was always girl on girl action. The spheres of dominatrixes and fairy tale porn just didn’t mix very often, and Stiles would have even resorted to buying a physical dvd if it came to it, but even that was turning up blank.
So, when Stiles did find a male riding hood, he clicked without thinking.
It was fate, really, on the side bar of one of his classic go tos. A guy in a red hoodie, exactly what he always imagined, he was even young looking like Stiles was. Kinda that awkward skinny that didn’t have much broad appeal, sure, but apparently good enough to become a porn star. He was so excited that he was 30 seconds in before he realized just what he had clicked. That the big bad wolf was still a guy.
Stiles kept watching.
He would later rationalize, while he was lying in bed, that it had been the shock at first. Coz really, he never even gave gay porn suggestions a second glance. And then, all the sudden, you’re in the middle of it. Just watching as two guys start making out, and one pushes the other down, and the clothes kept coming off, and things were stroked and skin was licked, and oh god it was just like normal porn but not. So not.
Finishing the video? Well, he chalked that up to curiosity. He was sure he wasn’t the only straight male that watched a gay porno for the hell of it. Just to see what it was like, how it was different. Fuck, how did two guys even work? (Okay, he knew how two guys worked because he had googled it, once, just out of curiosity, back in eighth grade.) But reading the mechanics and watching it in action were two very different things, and really, curiosity didn’t mean anything.
It wasn’t until he was reaching into his pajama pants to grasp his still hard dick, his thoughts still on the tall wolf figure in the video, all leather jacket and brooding stubble, that he realized that maybe it was a little more than curiosity.
The snow was falling lightly, like confectioners sugar on top of the cake, melting as it reached the blacktop. It was getting towards evening, and Stiles was in the mountains of California, where snow actually stayed when it fell. The evergreens were lined with it like strips of cotton, thousands of Christmas tree displays bare of the ornaments, lining the road. At first it had been kind of beautiful, very different from his own warm home at Beacon Hills (even though it did snow there occasionally), but soon the repetition allowed the dazzle effect to wear off. This would have been the point of the road trip where he would zone out, maybe text Scott or fall asleep in the passenger seat. His dad would wake him up when they came up to the next rest stop, which wouldn’t be for another hour or so. The way to Aunt Vivian’s was pretty desolate for long stretches.
But Stiles couldn’t do that when he was driving, rubbing his eyelids to brush away the sleepiness. He knew he shouldn’t stare at the snow too long, he had actually read the driver's manual before getting his license and knew that snow blindness wasn’t something you messed with. He tried to keep his eyes on the black pavement as the sun set behind him, illuminating each flake as it dipped gracefully onto his windshield.
His dad was back at home with a broken leg, and Stiles had made sure that Miss McCall was on (heh) call in case the sheriff needed help with anything. Not that he exactly wanted to imagine his dad getting a sponge bath from his best friend’s nurse mom, ew, she was like his aunt or something. But hopefully she would stick to her promise and force the sheriff to eat Christmas dinner with Scott and her and his dad wouldn’t have a pathetic night eating take out while watching old Christmas movies, coz that was only not pathetic if Stiles was there to do it with him.
And he would have been there, too, Stiles that is. Making sure his dad was comfortable, carting him to and fro in the house, making sure the sofa his dad had claimed for easy kitchen access was covered in pillows and blankets. That is, if it wasn’t for the Stilinski tradition of visiting Great Aunt Vivian every Christmas. Great Aunt Vivian, his mom’s Aunt, and really the only close connection he had to that side of the family. A woman who lived all by herself up north in the mountains, who hated the phone but called once a month anyway, who always sent a birthday card with a crisp 5 dollar bill, and who had sounded so heart broken when Stiles had called to explain about his dad’s broken leg.
“It’s okay, I understand Stiles,” she had said. She hadn’t called him anything but Stiles since he had thrown a tantrum about it when he was 5, back when he had first gotten the nickname from Scott who had a childish lisp and couldn’t pronounce his ‘real’ first name. And she did sound understanding, but also so sad and heartbroken about it, because he really did love her and her disgusting candy and stories about when his mom was a little girl, and he didn’t want to miss out on the one time of year he got to see her.
“I’m still coming though,” he had said on reflex, because hell he was sixteen and had a car and he hadn’t really planned on it but he would ask dad later. “Make sure you make a lot of food, because I’m going to eat it all! Hel- Heck yes, your food is delicious!”
“If you’re sure,” she said in the brightest voice ever, crinkled along the corners with age. “You Stilinski men sure know how woo a girl-” The sentence was cut off with a round of wet coughing.
“Aunt Vivian?” Stiles asked, worry make his voice high pitched. “Shi-shoot, are you okay?”
The coughing ended after a few moments, but she sounded a little out of breath when she spoke next. “Yes dear, fine. Just a little cold, nothing to worry about.”
“If you’re sure.” Colds were suppose to be a big deal for old people though, right? That’s why they always got vaccines first. “Do you want me to bring you anything? Medicine or something?”
“Oh, no no, I have all the medicine my poor stomach can handle. But, if you did want to do me a favor, ask your father to buy me some wine. There’s a brand down by you that he knows I like, and a little warm wine would do my throat wonders.” She paused and whispered, “I’ll even let you have a sip if you’re a good boy, though that’s something you shouldn’t tell your father, alright?” He could almost hear her wink.
Stiles smiled. “Alright, I’ll make sure to do that.” She didn’t need to know that he had already done more than sipped a little wine during Christmas.