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I'm Cupid, Stupid

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A brutal thunderstorm raged around the two exhausted werewolves as they sped down the empty freeway—impatiently awaiting their arrival in Beacon Hills. The soaked directional sign that hung over the approaching overpass said that the small town was only twenty miles away, which just so happened to fill both Derek and Peter’s hearts with joyous relief. Seeing as how the both of them had spent the past week cooped up together in shitty motels throughout the state as they tracked down a murderous wendigo, the two were ready to be rid of one another. The thought of comfortable beds and warm showers were just an added bonus.

Without warning, an inescapable blast of light crashed down against the wet asphalt of the highway, only a mere couple hundred feet from where Derek and Peter were driving. Derek slammed on the brakes in hurried response—bringing the vehicle to a complete stop with a vicious screech. Slightly dazed, the two werewolves tried their best to analyze the situation from where they sat, determined to figure out whether or not they would have to step out into the pouring rain and take on some sort of threatening creature.

The flaring white light began to slowly dim, revealing the silhouette of a man standing plainly in the middle of the road. The rain continued to fall in heavy sheets, somewhat obscuring the figure. However, the headlights of the vehicle provided some much needed aid. And through the mist of the rainwater, it became easier to see that the figure was a teenager—probably around nineteen years old—wearing a simple red flannel and grey jeans.

Derek huffed out in frustration and slammed the palm of his hand down onto the front of the steering wheel, blasting the horn out into the open darkness of the murky highway. At first, nothing seemed to happen. The teenager remained motionless in the beams of the headlights, refusing to step aside for traffic to pass. But then, the boy started to slowly walk towards the car with an arrogant streak of power in his stride—infuriating Derek even more.

Annoyed, Derek rolled down his window and stuck his head out into the rain. “Get the fuck out of the road!” He yelled angrily, motioning with his hand for the mysterious figure to move.

As the teenager drew closer, the whole situation grew stranger. For one, the rain appeared to fall around the boy in a circle, rather than splash down onto him directly. It looked as if he was walking towards the car in some sort of protective invisible bubble. But that wasn’t even the weirdest part. Aside from the boy’s average height, pale skin, lean build, soft features, and his brown hair—his eyes glowed bright in a fuchsia haze that was almost dizzying to look at.

Eventually, the boy reached the front of the car—stopping at the hood. Derek and Peter watched with intrigue as a wicked smirk spread across the teen’s face and the blinding downpour immediately halted. Neither of the werewolves felt particularly threatened by the boy’s presence. Whatever he was—water elemental, weather witch, a damn toll troll—it didn’t matter. The two of them felt as though they would be able to get out of the car and toss the boy to the side of the road with ease.

The teenager raised both of his arms, with the fingers on both of his hands childishly resembling guns. With his index and middle fingers elongated outwards in the direction of both Derek and Peter, the moment seemed humorous in nature. But just as the two werewolves were about to scoff in amusement, bright beams of red light shot out from the kid’s fingertips in abstract shapes that looked similar to piercing arrows.

Both arrows fazed through the windshield of the car—individually striking both Derek and Peter in the chests. They both gasped out in alarm, clutching desperately at the arrows that had speared into their bodies. But neither of them could physically grab onto the arrows, seeing as how they appeared to be made of light. Yet, the searing burn that churned within their bodies was incredibly real. The heavy pressure on their chests felt inescapable and the inability to catch quality breaths was terrifying.

Eventually, the arrows absorbed into their chests, leaving behind no visible wounds. Yet, the levels of discomfort skyrocketed for the two werewolves. Both of them cried out in anguish, uncertain of the burning pain that seemed to coil around their bones from inside their bodies. They thrashed around and growled out in fury, desperately trying to free themselves from the confines of the vehicle. But then everything around them seemed to grow dark and their vision blurred as they slipped into unconsciousness.

Suddenly, their eyes shot open—glowing bright white. A dazed expression plastered both of their faces and their jaws were slack. They both climbed out of the car in lazy, uncalculated, and sloppy movements—stumbling out and around the front of the car to stand before the mysterious figure from the road. Neither of them spoke and appeared lost within the fog of their own minds—dead to the world around them. They just stood calmly, slightly unbalanced and easily manipulated by the occasional gust of winter wind.

“Well, after putting you guys through that ordeal, the least I can do is properly introduce myself.” The boy said, taking the initiative to shake both of the guy’s hands—though, their bodies were lax and their grips with slightly weakened. “Humans typically recognize me by my old Roman name—Cupid. Y’know, the god of erotic love and sexual attraction? But, I’m actually kinda feeling like I need to change things up.”

“Cupid?” Derek droned.

“Yes, yes—but, I’ve been thinking about going by something else in this form.” Stiles explained, scratching at his face inquisitively. “If it’s unique enough.”

Derek and Peter just stared blankly at Stiles, completely lost to the moment. Their eyes were glossed over and their mouths hung open in bewilderment. Neither of them felt particularly uncomfortable, but their skin began to tingle with arousing warmth. They could feel their blood pump hot with desire and whilst they remained still where they stood, their fingers twitched with urgency.

Stiles sighed. “By now you’re feeling the effects of my arrows. They fill you with uncontrollable desire and unyielding arousal. They do away with morals for a short while. Now, they can’t make you do anything that you’d never do, but it’s always interesting to see what kind of freaks you people are.”

The boy snapped his fingers, eliciting the two men to awaken. Life shot back into their bodies, though their eyes remained white hot in color. At first, they were both noticeably disoriented and confused as to what the hell had just happened, but they were back to full speed and felt completely normal. Derek was quick to confront the boy. He tried to swipe his claws across the teenager’s face—but with no success. Stiles just grabbed his wrist and brought it back down to rest at the side of Derek’s body.

“Who the fuck are you?” Peter growled.

“Well, I was almost positive that you two would recognize the name, ‘Cupid’.” Stiles shrugged. “I’m assuming—I mean, don’t you Earth-walkers have some sort of holiday that celebrates my deviant brilliance?”

Derek and Peter looked at one another with confused expressions on their faces, and then looked back to the teenager that remained before them. Cupid? Seriously? Was that supposed to be some kind of joke? Regardless of the strange events with the rain and the brief lapse in memory, Cupid—as some sort of legitimate figure—was a myth. As werewolves, the Hale duo had extensive knowledge about supernatural creatures, and a smug teenager in a red flannel wasn’t one of them.

“Cupid?” Derek questioned with a slight laugh. “You mean, like the chubby baby in a diaper who shoots people with love arrows?”

“Do I look like some infant in a diaper?” Stiles scoffed. “Yes, I’m cupid. But, I’ve decided that considering the current decade, the fashion, and the boldness of parents naming their children crazy things, I think ‘Cupid’ is a bit outdated. So, call me ‘Stiles’.”

Stiles blew a kiss to Derek and Peter, watching as their bodies momentarily shuttered and their eyes fluttered in apparent arousal. He watched as they looked down to their trembling hands with confusion as to what was happening. They traded glances of bewilderment as they felt their inners blaze with heated lust. Whatever the boy had hit them with had infected them with some sort of magic. And yet, neither of them felt plagued by disastrous illness. They felt good. They felt feverish. They felt entranced with rapturous desire.

“What did you do?” Derek demanded.

Stiles chuckled, walking closer to the two werewolves. He calmly brushed the sides of both of their faces, offering just a bit of relief from their heat fevers. “I did what I do best. I turned you two on. Now give in.”

Derek and Peter felt their minds jolt and immediately flood with filthy thoughts. They turned to face one another yet again, but this time, beamed amorously at each other. It was magnetic. They couldn’t help themselves. The two of them watched helplessly as their bodies stepped closer and closer until they were pressed tightly against one another. They could feel their heat mix; they could smell each other’s stimulated arousal, they could feel the way that their skin prickled with enticement. There was no way to fight it. And neither really wanted to.

“He’s—he’s controlling this.” Derek groaned, leaning forward to mumble softly into the crook of Peter’s neck. All the while, his hands began to explore curiously at Peter’s waist, down to his abdomen, and down to where their two throbbing erections were pressed against one another’s.

Stiles chuckled. “Actually, I’m not controlling any of this. My powers can’t make you do something that you’d never do. My arrows only amplify your performance in the bedroom, make you uncontrollably horny, and let you act on pure desire. All the dirty things you’ve ever wanted to do are coming out right now.”

“He’s lying.” Peter grumbled lazily, bringing one of his hands up to cradle the side of Derek’s stubbled face whilst his other hand wrapped around to palm at the thickness of Derek’s ass. “I’ve never—we’ve never—”

Stiles hopped up onto the hood of Derek’s car, lounging back as he watched the werewolf duo go at it like starved lovers. He watched with an amused expression on his wicked face whilst he palmed downward to where he was aching and hard to the sight of Derek and Peter’s incestuous display. And all out in the middle of the open road, it was practically shameful. Yet Stiles’ powers made sure that none of that mattered in the grand scheme of things.

“I can smell all of the backed up desire that you’ve both been holding back for years.” Stiles explained, unbuttoning his jeans. “And by the smell of it, you’ve been cooped up together for a couple weeks, am I right? Sleeping in the same motel room, unable to find enough privacy to blow your loads, right?”

Derek and Peter crashed their lips together in a fury of passion. Their teeth gnashed together in desperation for closeness, whilst they chased each other’s tastes with their skilled tongues. Meanwhile, their hands grabbed wildly at one another’s bodies. They palmed at all of the available rugged muscle with untrained movements, as if mapping over unfamiliar terrain. Neither of the two wanted to rush, but their bodies were working hard to betray their desires. The eagerness to satisfy their arousal was too powerful.

Clumsily, Derek fumbled his fingers around at Peter’s belt buckle, just enough so that he could unfasten it. He didn’t bother to even pull it free from the belt loops of Peter’s pants. Derek was in too much of a hurry to get to what he knew Peter was packing under the coarse material of the worn trousers. So he undid Peter’s pants and tugged them down the thick muscles of Peter’s hairy thighs—allowing for Peter’s thick, throbbing, leaking cock spear out into the icy air of the deserted highway.

As the two refused to stop kissing, biting, and tugging lustfully at one another’s lips, Derek wrapped the fingers of one of his hands around Peter’s protruding cock—sighing in relieved awe at the feeling of Peter’s heat pulsating in his calloused grasp. He started to jerk Peter off to the best of his ability, squeezing with just enough power and working the werewolf over with the sudden switch of rhythm and speed, lulling Peter into a false sense of predictability, before Derek would pull forward and gently scrape his nails across the leaking slit of Peter’s dick.

“You’ve been nothing but a fucking pain in my ass for the past week—” Derek pulled off of Peter’s lips, mumbling near drunken insults with heavily lidded eyes. “—fuck that. You’ve been a pain in my ass my entire life. Never following directions, getting in the way of things I want, screwing with my life in ways you shouldn’t—”

Peter nuzzled Derek’s jaw and neck, littering the expanse of stubbled skin with damaging kisses. He knew that he couldn’t suck bruises into the skin of his nephew’s body in the way that he could with fragile, markable humans. But none of that stopped him from pushing past the idea of keeping things tame and romantic. Peter was chasing the same thing as Derek—instinctual, bestial, primal desire and heat. So Peter sucked and bit—scraping the bluntness of his unshifted teeth against Derek’s jugular, feeling the pulse of intoxicated blood pump through his veins.

“Pouty little nephew.” Peter growled, elongating his claws and pressing against the skin underneath Derek’s shirt. “How do you think I’ve faired? I’ve watched you fumble around in the night in a relatively feeble attempt at playing alpha, never following my directions, never owning up to the simple fact that you were made to submit—not dominate, not control, not lead, never take…only receive.”

Stiles groaned, wrapping his own hands around the sizable thickness of his own shaft. “Holy motherfucking shit. Not even I could write such sickeningly hot dialogue.” He laughed, blowing out a pale red dust from his pursed lips, watching the vapor settle outward around Derek and Peter, and then get breathed in by the two heaving werewolves.

The two werewolves growled out to the sky—with Derek eyes flashing red and Peter flashing blue, before settling back to a blazing white hot. Stiles watched from where he remained perched atop the hood of Derek’s car as the two shifted halfway. Their claws and fangs elongated, their sideburns thickened, and their eyebrows did some sort of odd—yet intriguingly arousing disappearing act. Stiles’ extra hit of love dust managed to push them further out of control and plunged them deeper into the fiery pit of bestial temptation.

Peter grabbed Derek by the front of his shirt—tearing claw holes into the neckline of the fabric. In control, Peter pulled Derek around and positioned him at the side of the hood of the car. He then splayed one of his open palms out against the delicious muscles of Derek’s back, pushing forward with enough force to bend his beloved nephew down over the metal car hood. Peter watched with amused silence as Derek’s new positioning put his face practically in the throbbing crotch of Cupid’s waiting cock.

Stiles took advantage of the situation and tapped graciously at the side of Derek’s sharp jaw, egging him on to open his pretty and willing mouth so that he could keep himself occupied whilst Peter prepped him from the backside. Derek obliged almost instantaneously—like a werewolf in desperate heat—sloppily scooting his head closer to Stiles so that he could successfully take the supernatural love demon’s throbbing dick into the heat of his empty throat. Stiles and Derek both groaned out at the new sensation.

All the while, with hurried motion, Peter tugged down Derek’s pants so that they could rest messily at his ankles. He then crouched down and leveled his face with Derek’s hole. He wasted no time and pressed his mouth inward to brutally assault Derek’s tightness with the wet heat of a savage tongue. And as Peter wickedly dipped his tongue in and out of where Derek was billowing out heat and musk, Peter groaned out and snickered into the meat of Derek’s ass—letting the sounds reverberate through Derek’s bones.

Using his free hands, Peter gripped into the meat of Derek’s hairy ass and kept him spread open as he continued to rim the younger werewolf. Occasionally, Peter would strike down a thunderous slap across the skin of Derek’s ass—watching the way that the muscle bounced with impact, burned red with initial heat, and then faded away—all before he’d do it again and again, making Derek whimper and cry out in pleasure with each strike. There was an addictive quality to all of the beautiful sounds that Derek could make.

“Woah—” Stiles slurred, delicately running his hands through Derek’s hair. He stared down in pure awe at the way that Derek worked his mouth around his cock. “—you’re really fucking good at this. I’m guessing I didn’t give you that skill. You’ve done this before. You’ve done it a lot. But you’ve kept yourself away from tossing yourself around like this and now you’re driving all of that backed up desire into your slick mouthwork right now, aren’t you?”

Derek hummed—lips still wrapped tightly around Stiles’ cock. He felt lost, yet completely in tune with the flood of lust that coursed through his veins like liquid sin. There was a part of his mind that knew what he was doing was horridly wrong, but he couldn’t fight against it. He didn’t want to fight it. He was splayed out on the hood of his own car, with some stranger’s dick plunged deep into his throat—cutting off any possibility to arguing or demanding or fighting back.

And none of that quite matched the fact that he was truly getting off to the feeling of his uncle’s tongue lashing around and thrusting into his hole. Nobody had ever done that before. Sure, he’d sucked a couple dozen cocks through his days—back when he was all alone living in New York. But he had never bottomed. The worst that he had done was ride a couple of his spit-slicked fingers and bite down onto his pillow in embarrassed reserve in the private quietness of his loft when nothing else was quite doing enough for him.

Peter pulled his tongue away, rubbing the pads of his fingers against where Derek was shiny with spit and pink with heat. He spat down onto Derek’s hole with a grunt and then stood up from his crouched down position, gazing over to where his nephew continued to sloppily work around Cupid’s dick. Peter then grasped around his own cock and pressed into Derek, not bothering to wait for adjustment. Instead, he went ahead and plunged deep into Derek’s hole—shivering at the broken off whimper that screamed from deep in Derek’s overworked throat.

Peter set the pace off rough and brutal from the start. As he pounded into Derek’s muscular frame with every bit of his werewolf strength, he watched the way that Derek’s ass wobbled with each quick thrust. His rhythm was so intense that Derek couldn’t even continue sucking the cock that had already been in his mouth. It was too much. Instead, Peter watched with sinister smugness as Derek’s eyes remained tightly shut, mouth blown open in a silent scream of pleasure—with only the sound of cut off exhaled huffs of breath getting punched out with each thrust.

In a flashy cloud of vivid red smoke, Stiles teleported from where he had been situated atop the car’s front hood, to standing directly at Peter’s immediate right. Whilst Peter’s concentration remained fiercely locked onto unloading what felt like an endless amount of pent up sexual frustration into his nephew below, Stiles ran his left hand along the arch of Peter’s muscular back in an encouraging and soothing motion. At the same time, Stiles leaned in just enough so that he could kiss at the flushed, sweaty skin of Peter’s neck.

Stiles blew another puff of smoke from his pursed lips, letting it breathe its way into Peter and Derek. Instantaneously, Peter halted his rough movement and refused to continue pounding as deep as he could into Derek—as though he had been commanded to do so. But at that same movement, it was clear that something snapped inside of Derek. Instead of Peter taking what he wanted, Derek started to throw himself backwards onto Peter’s stilted cock—grinding backwards and using Peter’s idle stance to his own advantage.   

Derek bore his claws into the metal of the car hood where his upper torso remained splayed across, using it somewhat as an anchor as he jerked his body backwards in a rhythmic manner. He groaned and moaned out a litany of obscene demands and whimpered cries as he fucked himself on Peter’s hard dick. All the while, Derek’s lower body shook under the continued strain. It didn’t matter. There was something inside of himself that wanted more and more and it seemed as though no matter how hard he bounced back and let his uncle’s cock tear into his inner walls, he couldn’t find absolute satisfaction. He had to keep going. He was entranced. He was locked into his own uncontrollable desire.

Peter, however, remained entirely still. His mind rattled around with pleasure as his body refused to unlock. His muscles strained with eagerness to reach out and grab onto Derek, but he couldn’t. His claws were still elongated, speared out and ready to claw into the meat of Derek’s sinful body, but he couldn’t find enough strength to budge even a little. There was some sort of force keeping him at bay—keeping him frozen for Derek, for his ass, for his pleasure.

Nonetheless, Peter found it easy to lose himself to the feeling of Derek’s tight hole sliding on and off of his cock with an embarrassingly starved rhythm of physical desperation. It was more than obvious that Derek had been made to take cock—Peter had no qualms. Periodically, Derek jut backwards and grinded down onto his uncle’s girth the best that he could. He squeezed and bore down the best that he could, working Peter’s orgasm closer and closer from where it brewed deep down in his balls.

The sound of Derek’s thick ass brutally crashing backwards into Peter’s strong pelvis and thighs assaulted the three devious sinners’ ears and all of them drank in the sounds like it was the finest thing in the world. The sounds of Derek and Peter’s bodies pounding together in an incestuous session, the strained moans from Derek’s throat, the savage grunts from deep within Peter’s chest, and the whispered words of encouragement that spilled out of Stiles’ mouth crafted an incredible cocktail that would surely be remembered by the two werewolves for decades into the future.

Stiles smacked his lips. “The two of you wouldn’t mind giving me a taste, would you?” Stiles asked, blowing out another puff of smoke into the airways of the two werewolves.

Just then, Derek stopped fucking himself on Peter’s cock and Peter found himself free of the brief movement imprisonment. Like puppets, the two of them walked into position—standing side-by-side—solid and proud. Both of their beautiful cocks stuck out arrogantly into the dark aura of the night, unashamed that they were presenting themselves so lewdly to a complete stranger. Instead of worrying, they just stood there, their hands behind their backs, as though they were standing in attention to a commanding officer.

Stiles dropped down to his knees, leveling his face with the two presenting werewolves. He smirked up at the two, analyzing the blissed out expressions on their faces, and then took each of their cocks into the warm grasp of his hands. As he began to jerk the two of them off, Stiles watched as their bodies wobbled and occasionally faltered out of exhaustion and indulgence. Stiles could feel both of the two throb rapidly in his hands. He could feel their desperation for more stimulation than they were receiving and he could smell their desire to unload all of the cum that they had to give.

Whilst Stiles continued to stroke the two leaking werewolf cocks in his capable hands, he couldn’t help but make comparisons. But surprisingly, Derek and Peter shared similar looking cocks. Both were about eight full inches in length, thick enough to leave a definite lasting impression in whatever poor virgin ended up caught up with either of them, and both of the men had a great set of thick balls that hung down—certainly full with thick werewolf seed.  

 Eventually, Stiles leaned over and took Derek into his mouth. He wrapped his lips around Derek’s girth, working his tongue with unquestionable skill and ease. As a god—especially one in regards to love and lust—Stiles was more than familiar with what it took to get a couple mere Earth-Walkers off. But Stiles wasn’t exact set on bothering to get the two men off. They would do that for each other. Instead, Stiles just wanted to taste. He wanted to play. He wanted to take a couple cocks down his throat and see how they compared to the gods and demigods that he was more familiar with playing with.

Stiles snapped his fingers, sending a spark of energy through Derek and Peter’s bodies. It allowed them the freedom to act on their desire to make out with one another. However, they kept their composure—standing solidly in attention whilst Stiles remained on his knees and sucked them off. Derek and Peter turned their heads just enough to face each other and then locked lips in the same passionate way that they had done when Stiles had first pulled them out of their car and filled their bodies up with exceedingly dangerous amounts of amoral lust.

After a couple minutes of deepthroating Derek’s cock, Stiles pulled off and switched over to working Peter. Stiles took Peter into his mouth—humming softly at the tang of salt that washed over his tongue from all of the pre-cum that leaked from the fat head of Peter’s thick cock. As he bobbed up and down on the older werewolf’s dick, Stiles continued to stroke Derek—tightening the grasp of his hand and using the slick of his own saliva as make-shift lubricant for added thrill. And according the wild noises that slipped out from where Derek and Peter were lip-locked, Stiles was doing something right.   

Stiles continued on with the same rhythm that he had formulated. He switched back and forth between Derek and Peter—sucking both of them into his mouth, slobbering over the heads of their leaking cocks, taking them both down his throat, and getting their balls slapped helpless against his chin—multiple times over the course of about a quarter of an hour. For Stiles, the time had flown by so quickly and he had gotten so lost in the delicious taste of the werewolf cocks that assaulted his throats. But for Derek and Peter, they were both hanging on for dear life on the edge of orgasm—whimpering uncontrollable mews into each other’s mouths as they found themselves incapable of pulling away from the intoxicating sweetness of each other’s lips and tongues.

Stiles pulled off the two of them and stood up from where he had been knelt down on his knees—patting carefully at the street-toughed fabric of his jeans. He wiped saliva away from where it had gathered at the corners of his lips with the pad of his thumb and then snapped his fingers, relinquishing the two from their haze of passionate tongue war. He smiled at the two of them and received a weakened smile in return, then pursed his lips and blew out a thicker haze of red smoke into the faces of the two.

Hurriedly, Peter and Derek walked around to the front of the car—directly in the path on the headlight beams that flared out into the emptiness beyond. Peter laid down onto his back, spread out in the light of the headlights, with his cock twitching rapidly towards the blackness of the night sky. Meanwhile, Derek quickly did away with the pants that were still settled uncomfortably at his ankles. He then situated himself so that he was directly above where Peter was splayed out. He lowered down and happily took Peter’s thick cock back into his tight hole with unapologetic ease.  

Neither of the two wasted any time. Both of them were focused solely on chasing their own orgasms and using each other as a means to an explosive end. Derek’s body jolted up and down rapidly in time to ruthlessly crash into the upward thrust from Peter’s rhythm below him. The sound of their bodies slamming into one another again was even more intense than it had been before. The combined cries of their pleasure sent shockwaves through the otherwise calm air that surrounded the three. It was a vicious race to the finish line and the two werewolves knew that they were going to cross it with or without the other.

Stiles walked around to stand beside where Peter and Derek fucked on the cold asphalt. He stroked himself to the sight, smell, and sound of the two werewolves growling out filthy threats and empty promises. But there was something so incredibly arousing about watching two previous put together werewolves become so completely unhinged at the immediate removal of normal morals and the implementation of amplified desire. To watch a beta werewolf jackhammering rapidly and savagely into his own alpha was beyond stimulating. And to watch an alpha werewolf fucking himself on a cock without care and practically melt into the tantalizing touch of his subordinate uncle was even more of a prize.

Suddenly, Stiles’ knees buckled and his breath faltered. He tightened his grip on his cock and let his orgasm crash over him like a violent tide of lust. Stiles cried out to his heavens above, splashing down a hosed glory of thick cum across the werewolves that continued to fuck like sex-starved rabbits on the ground below Stiles’ godly spray. But then something completely, yet interestingly unexpected happened.

As Stiles’ cum poured over Derek and Peter—practically dousing them in continued jets of thick cum—their rhythm slowed, their bodies shook, and the entranced white glow from Stiles’ power slowly faded away from their eyes. Their vision cleared and all of the morals that had been dampened by Stiles’ powers started to return to the two werewolves below.

Derek stared down in aroused horror to see the same expression mirrored perfectly on his uncle’s face below. As their morality clicked back into place, they were both overcome with confused emotions. The feeling of Peter fucking into his ass was prominent—Derek could feel Peter’s thickness spreading him open, slamming deep into the bundle of explicit pleasure that set his body on fire. Derek’s face blushed red with embarrassment, but he didn’t want to stop. He was too close and he could feel that Peter was just as close.

With incredibly vocal growls, the two werewolves crashed over the edge together. Derek’s body rattled with embarrassed fervor as he felt Peter’s cock throb and pulsate deep inside of his ass—unloading an extremely noticeable amount of cum, coating every bit of his inners with white taboo fire. That feeling alone was enough to make Derek shoot his own load, spilling out onto the dingy fabric of Peter’s sweaty shirt, partly onto Peter’s spent face, and into his messy hair. Meanwhile, Peter cried out at the feeling of Derek clenching his ass down around his girth. He bucked upward as hard as he could into the beaten cushion of Derek’s ass and then refused to pull out, letting every last bit of his seed dump into Derek—who remained seated in his lap.

“Wh—what the hell was that?” Peter questioned tiredly, eyes flashing blue, cock still feebly pumping into Derek’s hole.  

Stiles snapped his fingers and was immediately put back to a proper presentable appearance—a new outfit, freshly styled hair, and he was made untouched by all of the sweat, grime, and cum that both Derek and Peter were sopping wet with. “I told you. I fill people with uncontrollable desires and do away with morals for a short while to see what people really want to do. And honestly, you two are a couple of freaks. I can’t wait to see what the rest of Beacon Hills has to show me.”

Derek and Peter just sighed with exhaustion, collapsing into one another for just a moment before they knew that they had to pull themselves up off of the ground and ride back to Beacon Hills in uncomfortable silence as they wrapped their minds around everything that they had just done with each other.