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This isn’t the 90’s, people KNOW gay people now.

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“DUDE! Give it back!” Stiles leaped over the couch and slid across the hardwood living room floors, clipping Scott’s hip and sending them both crashing to the ground.  Scott yelped and scrambled to get to his feet, holding his arm extended so that the gaming magazine is out of Stiles’ reach.

“Whoa, Stiles! Calm down!  I just want to see if they have the screen shots from GTA V yet.” Scott flips through the magazine  one-handed, holding Stiles off of him with one arm to his chest.

Stiles let out a laugh that even Scott could tell was forced, trying to downplay his initial reaction. “No, man, I checked and that’s supposed to be in the next issue.” Stiles stopped trying to explain and flushed bright pink as he saw Scott’s face change from confused to surprised.  “Come on man, stop looking at it!”

Scott’s lips quirk and he gives the magazine back to Stiles, who immediately snatches it from his hands and runs upstairs. Scott can hear rustling, so Stiles is presumably stashing the magazine somewhere. Scott starts feeling guilty so he waits downstairs and boots up the Xbox, starting in on a first person shooter. He’s already had to respawn 3 times by the time Stiles stops hyperventilating enough to come downstairs.

Scott doesn’t say anything and tosses him a controller. They’ve been gaming for about an hour before Scott can’t leave it anymore and slides his eyes from the screen to look at Stiles. “So, you are into guys, huh? Hiding pages of porn in a different magazine only work if that magazine is boring.” Stiles can feel scared tears pricking the corners of his eyes and takes full advantage of Scott’s distraction to systematically take his avatar out, then pauses the game.  

“What, do you have a problem with it?! I’m gay. Always have been.  Don’t worry I won’t give you my cooties.” 

Scott holds his hands up in a placating manner, trying to bring Stiles back from the edge of panic he’s been teetering on ever since Scott flipped open the magazine. “Stiles, you know I don’t care if you’re gay or not.  I just meant that you could have told me. It isn’t a big deal.”

Stiles snorts derisively. “Maybe to YOU it isn’t a big deal but this has been something Jackson and Boyd would have a field day over.  Jackson already calls me a faggot, he would FLIP OUT if he found out that he’s been changing in the locker room beside a homo for the last 2 years?”

Scott growls reflexively at any insinuation that Stiles could be in danger. “He’d fucking accept it, that’s what he’d do.  You’re still just you, dude. I don’t understand why you think that everyone is going to suddenly think you are a different person.  This isn’t the 90’s, people KNOW gay people now.”

Stiles laughs “Dude, did you seriously just say” Stiles laughs before he mimics Scott’s voice back to him. “This isn’t the 90s?!? Because the 90s was known as a period for gay persecution. Forget the 80s and the AIDs epidemic. Don’t you remember how ‘the gays’ were treated in the NINETIES!?” He leans into Scott, dissolving into hiccupping laughter.


It’s about six more hours before they finally go to sleep,  hunchbacked, red-eyed, and exhausted from screening too much. Stiles turns in wearing his customary plaid boxer shorts and plain white tee. He tries not to notice Scott walking into the room, wearing sweatpants and an A-frame. He hates and loves that he can tell Scott is freeballing like he usually does at night. Stiles tears his eyes away from the heavy weight of Scott’s dick pressing against the fabric of his sweats and nervously pats the bed next to him, trying not to make it obvious that he was looking.

“If you want I can sleep on the floor” Stiles stammers out. “I don’t want to make it weird.” Scott picks up his pillow and hits Stiles soundly in the face.

“You’re the only one who thinks it’s weird, Stiles. We’ve been having sleepovers for over 12 years. Of course we are both going to still be on the bed!” He leaps on the bed and catches Stiles completely off guard by tickling his sides. Soon they are both laughing and wrestling on the bed, each trying to be the first one to push the other off of the side of the bed or to get a surrender. It ends in a draw with Scott breathless and pinning Stiles down, not quite straddling him but close enough. Stiles can feel his dick twitch at the easy physical dominance Scott has, before squirreling out of his hold, covering him with the edge of the quilt and shoving him off of the bed. Scott lands with a loud thump followed by guffaws of laughter. “You cheated! I had you!”

Stiles reaches over the bed and helps to untangle Scott, a troublemaking grin on his face. “It isn’t over till the fat lady sings, Scotty!” Scott huffs good-naturedly, resettling the quilt on Stiles’ bed before climbing over Stiles to reach ‘his’ side of the bed.

Stiles flails for his nightstand and manages to turn off of the light. “Goodnight, Scotty.” Scott makes a noise in positive agreement and tunnels into his pillow, turning his back to Stiles.


Scott  foggily awakes, fighting through a thick fabric of sleep to drag himself to consciousness. He’s hot and sweaty and the air feels close around him.  He shifts to flip the blankets off of his feet and Stiles’ arm (which had just been resting on his waist) clamps down and pulls Scott back into Stiles’ chest.  Scott squirms a little when Stiles buries his face at the back of his neck and then instantly stills, feeling Stiles hard dick press against his buttcheek. Scott laughs under his breath, thinking about how Stiles’ body probably had a reason to be worked up tonight—what with the porn and the wrestling and all. Without thinking about what he is doing, Scott experimentally scoots his ass back so that only two pieces of fabric are really between his ass and Stiles’ dick.  Stiles mumbles in his sleep and Scott can feel his own dick reacting to the light anal stimulation, quickly filling with blood.

Scott groans and finds himself humping into the air in front of him while pushing his butt tightly into Stile’s crotch.  Stiles’ body unconsciously begins metered, shallow thrusts, eliciting a happy whimper from Scott. Scott shifts his ass back and forth trying to get some pressure directly on his hole but gets frustrated by their pajamas deflecting the point of Stiles dick so it keeps glancing off of his cheek to the side. Scott arches forward to create a little room and then reaches back behind him, easily slipping his fingers into the unbuttoned, partially gaping fly of Stiles’ boxer shorts and getting a soft, guiding grip on his dick. He lines Stiles’ hard dick up with his boxer’s fly and then pushes the edges of the fabric down around Stiles’ wet dick, until it is completely pushing out of the fly and his shaft is completely naked.  Scott can barely move fast enough to pull down his own sweats, before pushing his bare ass directly up against Stiles’ cock. Scott puts the fingers wet with Stiles’ precome into his mouth before getting lost in the skin-on-skin feeling and becoming completely oblivious to anything outside of the delicious friction of Stiles’ dick dragging in his crack.

Scott struggles to remain calm but the cadence of Stiles’ wet dream has picked up and Stiles is now humping Scott, snapping his hips in pursuit of his dream person.  Scott can’t take it anymore and reaches back to his buttocks before pulling them apart. His eyes roll back and his back arches as Stiles’ dick bumps against his hole on every thrust. Scott grips his ass tighter and pushes back, just as Stiles presses forward. For a bit it doesn’t feel like his hole will be able to fit the head of Stiles’ cock, but then his dick pops through, introducing just the tip of him  into Scott’s hole. Scott almost blacks out from surprise and pleasure, his body seizing up as he sprays all over the sheets in front of him. His ass tightens on the head of Stiles’ cock and within seconds Stiles’ balls are contracting, pumping his come into Scott.

Scott takes a deep breath and sleepily presses back just a little further onto Stiles’ dick. He can’t go very far because the drag of skin without lube becomes a little painful, but he nestles his back to Stiles’ chest, being the perfect little spoon before passing out, completely orgasm drunk.


Stiles wakes up to his father’s cruiser pulling into the driveway out front. He cracks his eyes open as he begins to stretch. His dick feels weird and he reaches down to give himself a tug or two—only to find the tip of his cock barely breaching Scott’s ass. He flails back so violently he falls off of the bed but even the surprise and pain do nothing to control the wood that developed as soon as he got the visual of his dick in Scott.

Scott startles and springs out of bed, only to fall flat on his face because of the sweats pooled around his knees.

“Boys?” They both hear the stomp of the Sheriff as he comes up the stairs.

Scott rolls around on the ground, struggling to pull his pants up to cover his cock. He motions violently at Stiles to tuck his penis back in his fly. Stiles accomplishes this task just as his father knocks softly on the door and opens it. “Is everything okay?” The sheriff takes into account the two disheveled , panting teens and shakes his head, pulling the door shut ,“I don’t want to know.”

Scott ducks his head and can barely find the courage in himself to lift his eyes up to Stiles’.

“I’m sorry,” they both start.