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In the Galaxy of This Sucks Werewolf Dicks

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Marriage was such a stupid concept to Stiles, as he kept vehemently telling his dad. He didn't understand why it was even a thing. Yeah people do it and pop out a few kids, but he was almost and adult now. He had a license and everything. Anyway the point was his dad wasn't going to have anymore kids so why bother. Especially with a woman that he only met a whole three times, talk about fools rush in. Don't get him wrong she was a nice lady. Pretty for her age with a respectable job as a nurse. But why marriage? It confuses Stiles to no end.

Fuck sanctity. The man ain't making him a drone of society. Fight the power. At that Stiles gave a fist pump. Of course his dad looks up from his paper right as his fist is in mid pump.

"You alright there son?" He smirked.

Oh cute.

"Nope just sticking it to the man."

"You do realize that I am the man." The Sheriff's authority knows no bounds.

"Way to be a funsuck dad."

"Just doing my job." The Sheriff replied.

"Hmmmmm." Stiles goaded.

"Cheer up sport. I think it's time for a change for the both of us."

"Dad, we are men. That means a few things. We like to shit with the door open. We talk about pussy. We go to riverboat gambling trips. We make our own beef jerky. That's what we do. And now that is all wrecked." Stiles was pouting.

"We literally never done any of those things."

Okay so they haven't done those things. But that's what the are supposed to do and damn it they are men.

"Alright here's a scenario for you Dad, suppose Melissa sees me coming out of the shower and decides to come on to me."

Okay Stiles knows that will probably never happen, but he was making a valid Stilinski argument.

"And I'm looking good. And got a luscious bead of hair going from my chest pubs down to my ball fro. And she takes one look at me and goes, "Oh my god. I've had the old bull now I want the young calf." And she grabs me by the wiener...."

Stiles gives himself a little tug around his junk to emphasize.

"STILES!" The Sheriff screamed.

He dropped his cup in the sink at the wild rant his son gave. Sighing he looked up to the ceiling as if asking god for guidance.

"This has to end. Melissa and I are married now and it's just something you are going to have to come to terms with."

At that Stiles did feel a bit ashamed. He knows his dad deserves to be happy, but the whole thing is just seems rushed and overwhelming.

"Besides," his Dad says with a smirk, "I think you are being quite generous with the chest pubs."

And that gets Stiles to smile. He just finished washing his cereal bowl, when he hears a car approaching.

 

"That must be them." The Sheriff says as he rubs his hands together and fleas outside. Stiles bangs his head off the cupboard in hopes of accidently falling unconscious so today can be over already. "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck." He follows his Dad outside none the less. Melissa is just getting out of the car parked next to the moving truck, when he notices who's sitting in the backseat. Oh did Stiles forget to mention, not only does he have to put up with a strange woman living in his childhood home, he also has her son. He refuses to acknowledge him as a step brother or any other sort of familiarity. He literally one met the kid at the wedding during the dining part of the ceremony, and the kid got all pissy and started complaining about salmon of all things. What a grade A douche nozzle. So now here they were about to cohabitate in his house with a douche and his mother. His life.

"So where's Scott?"

"He's still in the car." Melissa replied. "It was kind of a rough drive."

 

That's when their neighbor decided to interrupt, spouting about wanting to touch Melissa's face. The creep. Okay maybe he wasn't a creep because he was blind and that was the only way he could tell what people looked like, but who the hell just asks that? Though it was totally worth it to watch his crazy seeing eye dog Cinnamon spin him around in circles. Soooo worth it. God Stiles was going to hell.

The Sheriff shown her inside, just when the backdoor opened on their car. Scott slowly made his way on the yard and just seemed to stare back at Stiles. Glare really. As far as in the looks department Scott wasn't ugly. He had this black curly hair that he combed out of his eyes just so. You could see he had a nice face. Nothing otherworldly gorgeous or anything, but cute in a puppy dog kind of way. Some girls are into that he supposes. His skin had a nice olive tan that contrasted so much to Stiles own pasty white skin. He had one or two freckles and marks, but nothing to rival Stiles own. He was covered in them. Not in a diseased looking sort of way. In a way like when he was younger and use to play connect the dots on his chest and make the Batman symbol out of them. Stiles was a special child his mom used to say. Back to present time Scott still continued to stare until it seemed like seasons shifted until he spoke up.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"I'm Scott."

"Stiles, but you have to call me the Dragon."

"You have to call me Nighthawk." He replied.

  

Later on they all gathered around for a friendly Stilinski dinner. Seriously the awkward staring was giving Stiles the heeby jeebies. Do people still use that phrase? What the hell was a heeby jeeby anyway? And how much blue Kool-Aid could one guy drink? It's astounding how much Kool-Aid Scott has packed away in the last half hour. It's enough to give him sympathy cramps, god he was going to go into labor at this rate. Is he like this mystic camel boy that can store Kool-Aid instead of water in his hump for later use?

"Stiles that enough come on."

Stiles keeps squeezing the ketchup bottle till it makes these horrendous uncomfortable flagellant noises that seem to urk people. Yeah it's immature, but so what. Sixteen year-old boys are supposed to think farts are funny. Scott just keeps on giving him that death stare like he's expecting his head to spontaneously explode. Though thinking about it, that would be kind of cool. Melissa tries to lighten the mood by mentioning that they both are into kung fu. Granted kung fu is pretty boss, but that doesn't really change Stiles perspective of Scott. The Sheriff thinks that they will get along just because they are the same age, but that's bullshit. They know next to nothing about each other, except Scott is a major buttmunch.

"I have a green belt." Scott proclaims.

"I don't believe in belts." Stiles retaliates. "There should be no ranking system for someone's toughness. For one time I wrestled a giraffe to the ground with my bare hands."

Yes the giraffe was a three foot tall stuff animal that he had gotten at the zoo on a school trip, but what Scott doesn't know. Topics range from fantasy league baseball to Scott's ability to sing. Stiles still cannot fathom that he actually called himself the song bird of their generation. What a douche. On top of the most craptastic day it had now become Stiles job to play tour guide of his own home. When they get to the room on the second floor, Stiles stands in the door way and stops Scott in his tracks.

"Hold up, here's the deal, this is my office and beat laboratory." He hooks is thumb toward the room. "Okay and this is the only rule of the house. Don't you ever, ever, EVER touch my drum set. You understand."  It wasn't a question.

"So don't go in there or...?"

"DON'T TOUCH IT!!!!!"

His eyes get big and wild like the time he thought pixie sticks captain crunch sandwich with soda was a good idea at three in the morning before a major chem test.

"Now get your shit, we're going to my room."

Scott scoops up his bag and gives one last fleeting glance back at the ominous drum set. He swears up and down that he hears freaking dramatic opera music shoot up out of nowhere.

Creepy.

Chapter Text

 

 

It was much later when the house was settled down that Stiles had some time to think of the past day's events. He was lying down (in a horizontal position) on his bed, that thankfully he didn't have to share. He did though have to share his room now. Which was ridiculous. What did two teenage boys have any business sharing a room. Wait don't answer that. He was so not going down that line of thought. Stiles was definitely having difficulty falling asleep to say the least. It was so weird to have someone else in your own comfort zone. Like a dog walking on its hind legs, which was freaky.

From what his dad was telling him Scott seemed to have some self esteem problems. But then again who didn't, Stiles sure did, so he could be sympathetic. Not enough to willing get along with the guy, but enough to stop him from outright kneeing him in the nads. That in itself was a big accomplishment for him. Stiles considered though from the story Melissa told him about the time Scott participated in a talent show at his school. He was singing a weird version of a show tune, only with a bizarre combination of pirates and zombies. He'd give the guy credit that seemed kind of badass. Though apparently Scott's older brother Derek had gotten a bunch of his baseball buddies to replace some of the zombie-pirates and started chanting that Scott had a mangina. And yeah Stiles could totally see how that would bring a guy down. Though Stiles couldn't help smirking at the thought. Okay it was a bit cruel, but he knew he was a bit of an asshole.

Stiles gave up on the pretense of sleeping and flipped over on his back. Sighing deeply he open his eyes and said " Hey you awake?"

Thinking that if he were Scott and was it was his first night in a strange house, he certainly wouldn't be sleeping, not that he was anyway.

"I just want you to know, I hate you."

He wasn't going to say that, but it just slipped out. His brain to mouth filter was on the fritz due to the lack of sleep going on. Sue him.

"And so does my Dad."

Okay that was harsh but like he said lack of some good old REM sleep. Scott didn't brush it of either.

"Well that's fine because guess what? I hate you too. And this house sucks ass." Scott said.

Oh no he did not. It was so on. It was on like Donkey Kong.

"Well the only reason you're living here is because me and my Dad decided that your Mom is really hot and we decided we should both just bang her. And we'll put up with the retard in the mean time."

"Who's the retard?!"

"You." Stiles sneered.

Scott was a little hysterical by then.

"You can't say THAT!" he squawked.

"Shhhhh, you'll wake them up and get me grounded."

"Then shut up."

"You and your Mom are hillbillies and this is a house of crime fighting detectives."

"You're not a detective! You're a big fat freckle faced fuck."

"Oh yeah? I'm a freckle faced fuck?"

"Yeah you better not go to sleep." Scott replied smugly.

They were both facing each other, squaring off with their duvets tucked under their chins.

"Because as soon as your eyes shut I'm gonna punch you square in the face."

"I hope you stay still when you sleep because I'm putting a rat trap between your legs." Stiles retorted.

"I'm gonna take a pillowcase and fill it with bars of soap and beat the shit out of you."

"I want you out of my fucking house." Stiles was seething.

"Keep awake kemosabe. This is my house now."

At that Stiles said screw it and hit the hay before he took the nearest blunt object he could find and strike Scott repeatedly in the head with it.

 

The next day they all decided it would be a fun bonding moment to sail out on the coast with his Dad's sailboat the Gilded Kanima. And low and behold the moment when Scott bent over to gather some rope that Stiles grabbed onto the mass of the sail, swung his legs and dropped kicked Scotts sorry ass right out to sea. Douche overboard! Thus began the most epic prank war to end all prank wars. Stiles took it one step further. When he goes home he vandalizes of Scott's favorite shirts. Hey he used glitter and everything. Who says he isn't fabulous. Scott didn't know until he came home fuming about how his boss Deaton scolded him at his part-time job at the vet clinic about his poor taste in fashion. It wasn't Stiles fault that Scott loved crystal meth enough to print it on his clothing. Okay maybe it was Stiles fault, but it was so worth it to see 'I heart Crystal Meth' Sprawled on the back with a big glittery heart. Though Scott got him good by painting a big gaping wound with Halloween makeup right on his forehead, that freaked out the girl at the counter where Stiles gets his daily curly fry fix, enough to where she fainted. Talk about awkward.

It was all really harmless and immature things at first and both seemed equally annoyed at each other, until Scott thought to take it up a notch. He decided to break the one sacred rule of the house. He walked up to the first room on the second floor, taking a deep breath he opened the door. Staring at the drum set was like a bad omen, like walking under a ladder or walking by a black cat. It gave him the chills. He knows he's not imagining it when that goddamn opera music starts up again. He swivels his head expecting to see a fat Viking woman with a steel metal bra only to find nothing. He sits down and picks up the sticks and starts bashing and wailing on every surface of the thing, going extra hard on the upmost cymbals and occasionally striking the chimes behind him. Really chimes. How gay. he tries twirling the sticks like he sees most drummers do on videos on MTV, but it was way harder then he thought. He takes the bigger sticks that look like they have marshmallows attached to the ends end and just outright chucks them at the set. He screams "Fuck you Stiles! You're a butthole!" at the thing and gives it a smack for good measure. Afterwards he sneaks downstairs like a ninja and plops his ass on the couch to watch some god awful bad reality television.

Stiles gets home a little while later and comes in and just stares at Scott.

"Why are you all sweaty?"

Stiles notices that Scott's shirt is practically soaked in sweat and odor. Gross. Scott glances around nervously and claims he was watching cops. Skeptical Stiles goes upstairs to investigate. He starts to head for his room to check his bed. It's not beneath Scott to put some weird, disgusting things under the covers. Can never be too paranoid. He stops right in front of his office though and cocks his head to the side, sniffing the air like a wolf trying to track it's prey. He walks over to his drum set. Looking around as if something is amiss, he tests the position of each cymbal. He's about to turn and around and walk out when something catches his eye. His drum sticks his Dad bought him last Christmas that look like two identical green light sabers is chipped. CHIPPED. Oh there will be pain. So much pain that Scott will be begging to be his pony boy as release. Okaaaay that was not what he meant at all. Moving on. He bolts down the stairs and gives Scott the trademark Stilinski cop eyes.

"Hey man, did you touch my drum set?"

See he can be reasonable and give Scott the benefit of the doubt and all. And the dickface denies it. Stiles trudges on.

"Because it's really weird. It seems like someone definitely touched my drum set."

"Yeah that is weird. Cause I didn't touch them." He replies.

That's it the gloves are off. The gauntlet has been thrown. The lime was in the coconut. He grabs Scott's legs and demands him to tell that he touched his drum set.

"Well I know you touched my drum stick because the left one has a chip in it."

"You fucking crazy man? You sound insane, do you realize that?! You should be medicated." He replied getting in Stiles face.

Oh fuck him.

"Fuck you Scott. I know you touched my drum set and I want to hear that dirty little mouth admit it."

Where the hell did Scott get off telling him he was crazy and need to be medicated? He was already medicated. Adderall wasn't candy.

"You better get out of my face before I round house your ass!" Scott bellowed.

"Then swear on your Mom's life that you didn't touch it!"

"I don't have to swear to shit!"

"That's cause I know you touched my drum set, cause I know cops doesn't start until four!"

At that Scott shoved Stiles out of the way.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going upstairs cause I'm gonna rub my butt on your drum set. OKAY?!"

"Don't you do that. I am warning you. RIGHT NOW. If you touch my drums, I will stab you in the neck with a knife."

Scott rushed up the stairs into the room. He pulled down his pants and started rubbing his ass all over Stiles poor drums. Stiles continued screaming threats from down the stairs as Scott's ass because well acquainted with the drum set. All the warning Scott got was a half choked out " I swear to god..." and a screeching war cry from behind. Stiles tackled Scott from the side and both plummeted to the ground with a loud thump. He grabbed on of his cords to his headset and wrapped it around Scott's neck and started choking the life out of him, screaming the whole time like a hybrid mutant howler monkey. Scott elbowed him in the side of the face as he gasped for air. They continued to wrestle and it eventually ended up in the hallway, both knocking down picture frames along the way. The both ended up tumbling down the stairs in a frenzy just as Stiles threw Scott through the plaster of the living room wall. His dad was going to kill him. He was so dead, but not as dead he was going to make Scott. Scott managed to recover faster and kick Stiles in the ribs, and run for the door.

"I'm going to rub my ass on your Mom's face." An empty threat, but Stiles will take what he can get.

Scott scrambled to get outside only to be bombarded by their neighbor's crazy dog Cinnamon. Stiles gets up and plows right into Scott's back while Cinnamon his trying to tear off his leg. Good boy. The fight continues until finally Melissa shows up only to be attacked by the freaking dog. Where was his owner?!

"My Mom is being eaten by a dog and there is nothing I can do!" Scotts yells in vain.

All hell breaks loose when the Sheriff arrives to witness Stiles trying to strike Scott with a bat while he fends him off with his bicycle. Scott managed to get his hands on a golf club and they both swing at that exact moment.

That's when things get fuzzy.