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Come to Me with the Look in Your Eyes

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Stiles is finishing stacking boxes of vibrators when Beth calls out to him, "Stilinski! I need to get going. Can you close up in an hour?" It's been happening a lot lately, Stiles having to close up while Beth leaves the shop for whatever reason. Stiles is not actually sure she has anywhere to go half the time. Mostly, he figures this is her way of making sure he's dependable and that he's not going to make off with a thousand dollars in pilfered dildos when she's not around.

"Yeah," Stiles calls back, as he finishes placing the last few boxes. He steps back to admire his handiwork: seven rows of vibrators in all the bright and vibrant colors of the rainbow. It's visually pleasing, and, if Stiles does say so himself, eye-catching. It's the kind of display that would make somebody think that a neon green vibrator is a good thing to spend money on.

He adjusts one of the front boxes slightly, then dusts off his hands with a faint breath of success. He's only been working at The Treasure Trove for a couple of weeks now, part-time on weeknights and all day Saturday, but he likes to think he's excelled at the job. Admittedly at first he was way out of his comfort zone--in his defense, seeing handcuffs, nipple clamps and bondage gear line the back wall takes some getting used to--but somewhere around his fifth day in, he managed to stop blushing when putting somebody's edible panties in a bag. Now he doesn't even blush, and he can totally recommend something to spice up a marriage and still conveniently forget that the last time he saw Mrs. Douglas, he was eight and at her son's birthday party.

The doorbell rings and Stiles heads to the front of the store, positioning himself behind the sales counter. The guy's already looking through their selection of condoms (organized both by size and color, thank you very much), so Stiles thumbs through one of the catalogues while he waits. Normally, this is the time that he'd do his homework, but condom guys are in and out of the store so quickly that there's no point in even hunting for his books in his backpack.

Instead, he glances through the sexy holiday underwear they'll be stocking up on halfway through November. He's looking at a pair of meshed boxers with a crude Rudolph covering the guy's junk, when he hears, "Stiles?"

Stiles instinctively freezes, because people recognizing him leads to people telling Sheriff Stilinski that his son's working in a sex shop. Scott's the only person he's told about this job, and while the voice is definitely masculine, it is not Scott. Stiles' attempt at not wincing as he looks up fails, and he comes face to face with one Danny Mahealani, clutching a box of condoms in one hand and a bottle of lube in the other. Danny looks as deer-in-the-headlights as Stiles feels.

"Um. Hi," Stiles says after a couple of beats. "What are you doing here?"

Danny looks down a little helplessly, tightening his grip on both of his purchases. Oh, right. Stiles works in a sex shop. Stiles didn't want anybody--especially Danny, now that he thinks about it a little--to know that. But Danny is here, in said sex shop, and he has things he wants to buy and Stiles needs to pack them for him.

He figures it's going to be very awkward come Monday's science class.

"Oh, right. Ha!" Stiles pastes on a too-large smile and pushes the catalogue away from him. "Good choices," he says, nodding to the contents in Danny's hands. "Playing safe. I support that." It's the least cool thing Stiles could come out with, but in his defense the employee handbook didn't cover what to do when people from your school showed up.

Danny smiles slowly, and it's as real as the blow-up dolls that are stacked behind him. "I didn't know you worked here," he says, setting the condoms and lube on the counter, which Stiles immediately shoves into a bag.

"I don't. I'm just going to take your money and get out of here before the boss comes back," Stiles says. Danny looks at him questioningly, and it's good to know that he still sucks at sarcasm. "That was a joke."

"Oh," Danny says, eyebrows pinched together.

"I've been here for a couple of weeks." Stiles looks up from the register momentarily and adds, "Um. Don't tell people. Please?"

"Okay. I wouldn't, anyway," Danny says, and Stiles is totally not blushing. Now that he thinks about it, it's somewhat conceited to think the first thing Danny's going to do is call up every student in Beacon Hills and tell them Stiles' secret. More likely, he's going to go test out the things he's just bought. With guys.

And well, that makes Stiles blush for all new reasons.

"Um, $9.46," Stiles says, forcing the air out of his tight throat. "For your... stuff."

Danny nods and pulls out a couple bills and hands them over. "Keep the change," he says with what looks to be a mostly genuine smile.

Stiles takes the money and hands over the bag, and Danny's already headed out of the shop when he's done getting his tip money.

"I'll catch you later, Stiles," Danny calls, and then the doorbell chimes and he's gone.

"Enjoy your purchases!" Stiles shouts back, and then smacks himself in the forehead. He's pretty sure Danny's running, not walking, away, and Stiles really cannot blame him at all.


The next time Danny comes in, Stiles is much more calm and dignified. Of course, most of that is probably due to the fact that Beth's serving Danny and Stiles is fixing a shelf that some drunken college kids knocked over. Stiles flashes him a smile and a wave and Danny returns it, looking actually happy to see him. Stiles figures it's both luck and a testament to Danny's easy-going nature that their last interaction here didn't have Danny begging for a new lab partner.

Stiles, ever the curious cat, finds himself glancing at the counter when Danny's done shopping. He only has a box of condoms, which, really, he could've gotten those at any store within a mile radius of his house. At least he bought specialty lube when he came in the first time--Stiles is happy to report that he's used it and, yes, it's worth every penny--but who comes into a sex shop just to buy condoms?

Stiles lets that question wash over him for the rest of the night, because for some reason it's a lot better to wonder why Danny's buying condoms here, rather than acknowledge the fact that if he's buying more, he must've used the ones he had before.


Wednesday nights are the slowest. Beth once made a joke that it's not called "Hump Day" for no reason, but Stiles really didn't get it and mostly just laughed because she's his boss and that's what good employees do.

He's managed to do the little homework he had over an hour ago, in between the four customers he's had all night. The dildo display he put out two weeks ago is starting to look a little sloppy--his rainbow of colors is now more of a kaleidoscope of colors--but despite being restless, he's also too lazy to do anything display-related tonight. He texts Scott a couple of times, and gets increasingly shorter messages in return, which can only mean that he and Allison are doing their own little Hump Day.

And, ha. He gets the joke now.

When his phone tells him that it's 10:30, he's debating on whether or not to just close up early and see if he can maybe watch some TV before face-planting into his bed. Beth would probably disapprove, but he hasn't seen anybody in well over an hour at this point.

Which is, naturally, when the door chimes and Stiles looks up in time to see Danny walk into the store. Danny freezes on sight, and Stiles is suddenly brought back to the first time he came here when Stiles was working. "Stiles. You're here tonight."

Stiles can't help but feel the bruise to his ego. Danny's disappointed. And, sure, Stiles was kind of a mess when Danny came in here the first time, but he thought they were past that now. Not to brag or anything, but the customers here love Stiles. Seriously! Danny can ask anybody and they will heap the praise on Stiles.

Still, Stiles smiles and nods, drumming his fingers on the counter. "Yep. I'm here every night after school, and on Saturdays."

"Oh, right." Danny still looks kind of pained, which, okay, is sort of insulting at this point. But he seems to be able to move again, and proves it by heading straight to The Treasure Trove's selection of lubricants.

Stiles flips through a catalogue while he's waiting, shaking his head every time he sees a product Beth has circled in red. He's not really sure why anybody would want to buy edible panties with Santa Claus' face on the front. Is that actually a thing?

After what seems like ten minutes, Danny comes to the counter with the same brand of lube he had bought the last time Stiles served on him. Stiles manages to not say anything ridiculous like, "Tough decisions, huh?" or, "I have this kind at home, isn't it amazing?" which actually takes a lot of restraint. Not that his coolness seems to help: Danny's rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, looking around awkwardly, like he can't wait to get out of here.

"Here you go," Stiles says as he holds out the bag to Danny. "Thanks for shopping at--"

"Can I look around for a few minutes?" Danny interrupts in a rush of words, and Stiles blinks at him.

"Um. Yeah, sure. I'm supposed to close up at 11, but feel free to take your time."

Danny nods and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Great. Thanks, Stiles," he says, softly adding Stiles' name at the end like an afterthought.

Stiles is nervous enough to be able to recognize it pretty easily, and Danny isn't being subtle at all, so he figures it's probably best if he avoids watching Danny look around. It's not like Danny's going to steal a couple of butt plugs or anything--and no Stiles is not going to even think of that.

He concentrates on the edible Santa panties for probably too long, colors blurring together and not getting any less disturbing in his mind. It's only when Danny drops something on the counter that he looks away, and instead of a Santa on a pair of edible panties, he's now staring at a dildo. A dildo that Danny picked out. Danny's buying a dildo. That's probably why he didn't want Stiles to be working tonight. Because of the whole buying a dildo thing. Dildo. Dildo. Dildo.

"Find everything you wanted?" Stiles asks, surprisingly cool, but he's still openly staring at the dildo. Or, well, the box the dildo is in.

"Yeah," Danny says, forced, and it's enough to snap Stiles' attention to Danny's face.

"Great," Stiles says, and is about to take the box from Danny when Beth's voice blares in his head. Stiles winces and rubs the back of his neck. "Um, actually, you need an ID to buy toys here. We can't sell to minors."

Danny looks at him funny, eyes narrowed and the corners of his lips pulled tight. "You're a minor, Stiles."

"Well, yeah. But I'm not buying them, I'm just selling them."

Danny doesn't exactly look convinced, but he nods and pulls out his wallet, and then Stiles has a fake ID shoved in his face. Well, it looks real, but the ID says Danny is twenty-one and he's... well, obviously not.

"Um." Danny raises an eyebrow, his mouth curling into a smirk. And well, Stiles is not that great at saying no to people. He nods and tries to smile naturally. "Awesome. Let me just ring this up for you."

He does Danny's order in silence, just talking enough to tell him the price and what his change is. Danny looks pretty relieved at that, and actually smiles when Stiles hands him over the bag.

"Thanks, Stiles," he says, and he looks like he means it. "Have a good night."

"You, too," Stiles says, and immediately hears the innuendo in it.

Whatever. He just sold Danny Mahealani a dildo without saying something truly disastrous. He's counting it as a win.


The good thing about working in a sex shop is that there's nothing that's boring. Likewise, all the customers sort of blend together and Stiles doesn't remember the people at all. The lady who buys massage oil and the dude who bought the puppy play outfit are one and the same in his mind. He forgets people and whatever kinks they happen to be into pretty much as soon as they leave the store.

Except for Danny.

Which, okay, sure. The difference between Danny and all the other customers is that Stiles knows Danny on a somewhat personal level. He sees him every day at school, and he's his lab partner, and sometimes they've hung out. (More precisely, they've happened to be in the same room when werewolves or kanimas were causing trouble.) These other people he knows only as customers, so it makes sense that they're not as important in his brain as someone he knows. Like, for example, Danny.

And really, there's no reason for Stiles to even be thinking about it. Danny's not awkward around him at all, and he treats him like a lab partner and casual acquaintance like always, not like the guy who sold him a dildo and lube. Clearly, he's forgotten about it, so Stiles needs to as well. Especially because someday Danny's going to ask him, "What's our hypothesis?" and Stiles is going to reply with, "Hey, Danny, how are you liking your dildo?"

It's been two weeks since Danny went ahead and turned Stiles' world upside down, and during that time he hasn't even had the decency to come into The Treasure Trove to buy more lube. Which, Stiles figures one would go through a lot of lube with a dildo, if you're a guy. Because, well. Reasons. And then his mind goes into the place he tries to avoid, the one where he can see Danny spread out on his bed, miles of tanned skin, and then the dildo, pushing in--

Stiles digs his fingernails into his palm and snaps out of the fantasy.

Also, maybe it's not even for Danny. Maybe he was buying it as a present. Which, really, would make a lot of sense. Danny seems to be the kind of guy who would buy presents for people. When was Jackson's birthday again? Yeah. Yeah, it was probably for Jackson. That makes a lot more sense than it being Danny's.

Except for how it doesn't at all and oh god, Stiles is so fucked.


Stiles' dad is gone when he gets home from work Friday night, and Stiles reads the note stuck onto the refrigerator: There's casserole in the oven. I made it with turkey. Stiles can't help but smirk at the obvious disdain his father's having for healthier cooking, but he doesn't bother looking in the oven. Instead, he tosses his backpack against the wall and heads up to his bedroom. He's not exhausted or anything, really--school was pretty easy and work was even easier--but he plops down on his bed so hard he's surprised it doesn't collapse.

He closes his eyes, hands cupped under his head, and he manages to think about absolutely nothing for about three seconds. And then Danny's face pops up from the blackness, casual smirk on his face, and just--no! Stiles cannot deal with Danny right now.

To say that Danny Mahealani ruined Stiles' life would be overdramatic, ridiculous, and probably around ninety percent not true, but: Danny Mahealani ruined Stiles' life. It's downright embarrassing at this point, the amount of times in any given hour that Danny will just randomly pop into his brain, always lingering for far too long.

Part of it is Stiles' fault, and he can own that; he's very aware that he has an obsessive personality, and whatever, he can deal with that. But part of it (the bigger part, Stiles insists) is absolutely entirely Danny. He totally did not have to buy that dildo from Stiles. He could've cut class during the week and bought it from Beth when Stiles wasn't working.

But then, Stiles considers, maybe he couldn't wait. Maybe it's something he really needed to have right then. Maybe it's like that. Stiles' every thought was just a casualty to Danny's needs.

Immediately the image of Danny shifts in his mind, to one where Danny's on his knees, face buried in a pillow, and he's pushing the dildo into himself, face contorted as he works it in deeper.

Stiles groans at the mental image--he wants to push it out of his head, but for some reason it continues to stay there. Somehow his hand's already found his crotch, Stiles rubbing at himself unconsciously, and his dick's already hardening rapidly in his jeans. Unable to help himself at this point, Stiles undoes his fly and lets out a breath of relief when the pressure's lifted.

Without hesitation and aided by the video running in a loop in his mind, Stiles slides his fingers under the elastic band of his underwear, biting down on his lip when the tips graze his shaft. He grips himself tight, no cause for drawing this out, and jerks himself off, quick pulls that drag his knuckles against the cotton of his underwear.

Danny, all warm skin and firm muscle, lying on his bed, taking the dildo deep. Moaning, lips parted, his tongue sliding back and forth on the bottom as he hits that spot inside him. His eyes squeeze shut and he parts his legs, pushing the dildo in farther, as far as it can go, and that's when Stiles loses it. He presses his lips together to stifle the sound that wants to escape and he comes hard, spilling into his hand and underwear like it's his very first time.

The thought of Danny trickles away slowly, fading like an old photograph. Stiles is relieved for the momentary absence, and grimaces when he pulls his hand out of his boxers, coated in cooling come. He gets up and heads to the bathroom, stripping off before turning on the shower. He's immediately grateful that he's the one who does the laundry, because this is not something he wants to explain to his father ever.

It's not until he's under the showerhead with a stream of scalding water on him that Stiles realizes that if there's any sort of resemblance to a line, he's definitely crossed it.


Things kind of change after that night.

It's not completely intentional, but Stiles ends up avoiding Danny whenever possible. He enthusiastically drops in between Scott and Allison during lunch and avoids parties like the plague. (Which, naturally, is when he starts getting invited to said parties, but Stiles mostly doesn't care.) Danny comes into the store that Tuesday, and Stiles makes an excuse about restocking inventory so Beth will serve him. Science is a little trickier, because they're lab partners and that generally requires communication, but he keeps it strictly work-related and answers Danny's questions in as few words as possible.

Danny probably thinks that Stiles is an asshole at this point, but Stiles is willing to take that hit if it means he can maintain what's left of his sanity. Even if it sort of sucks for him, too, because hey, he likes Danny! Danny is a nice guy and, well okay, yes, he's attractive and muscular and--Danny's a nice guy. Stiles would like to interact with him without seeming like a crazy person at some point in his life.

And it's not like the avoidance is actually helping at all. Stiles still gets the images of Danny and his dildo into his head far too often. If anything, the avoidance is making Stiles think about Danny more, because he's constantly checking to make sure he's not in the immediate vicinity. Still, Stiles keeps it up, because it's bound to work eventually, right?

It doesn't.

Stiles is finishing up with a customer on Thursday night when Danny steps into the store. It's his first trip in since he bought the dildo, Stiles' brain immediately supplies, and Stiles kind of just wants to hide underneath the counter until he goes away. He doesn't, because he does have a customer and also because he's not five years old anymore, but the temptation is definitely there.

"Have a great night," Stiles tells the man, who grins like anybody would if they'd just purchased a pair of handcuffs and chocolate paint. When he leaves it's just Stiles and Danny, who's--of course--browsing the collection of lubricants, left in the store. Stiles' five year-old self is definitely making himself known right now.

He should say something, right? Just something small, a brief acknowledgement of Danny, something that might make Danny suddenly forget that Stiles has been avoiding any and all interactions with him for nearly two weeks. However, that could be enough to piss Danny off and, well, Stiles would rather not do that.

Stiles chooses to say nothing and instead decides to resume his normal position of leaning on the counter, flipping through the latest catalogue that's come in. To his credit, it's not like Danny says anything either; the guy is painfully quiet as he picks up bottles of lube, scrutinizes the label, and then puts it back. Really, at this point, Stiles figures that Danny should know what he likes by now. He's looked at them pretty much every time he's come in here.

Stiles would think that nothing's changed at all, given how Danny comes sauntering up to the counter five minutes later, same bottle of lube he always buys. He's smiling as he places it on the counter, and he says, "Hey, Stiles," with no obvious contempt.

That's the moment when Stiles wonders if Danny's even noticed that he's been doing his best to avoid him. Which might actually suck more than having to avoid Danny in the first place.

"Danny. Hello." Stiles is the king of inconspicuousity, clearly. "Find everything okay?"

Danny nods and reaches into his pocket for his wallet. At this point, he probably has the price memorized. "So are you going to Greenberg's tomorrow night?"

"No," Stiles says immediately, because that's been his default lately.

"Awesome. I'm not going either." Danny grins. "You should come over after your shift and we can get a head start on Harris' project."

Stiles is pretty sure by Danny's look that he absolutely knows that Stiles has been avoiding him. "Uh, well, actually." Stiles rubs the back of his neck, but there's not much he can say as an excuse. Scott and Allison are definitely going to the party, and unless he decides to go chase bunnies with Derek, he can't even think of anything he could be doing instead.

"Sounds great!" he says finally, and Danny looks positively victorious as he takes his bagged lube off the counter.


Stiles parks his jeep outside Danny's house at 11:30. Apart from Danny's car, there's nothing else in the driveway, and Stiles wonders how many minutes he could kill trying to repark so he's not in the way when Danny's parents get home. Then he smacks his forehead against the wheel and realizes he's getting a little ridiculous. It's not like he's avoiding Danny because he believes he's a serial killer or anything. He's doing it because he has an issue, one that's going to occur whether he's five inches from Danny or a hundred feet.

Danny answers the door wearing a loose black t-shirt, and he smiles at Stiles in a slightly weird way. It takes Stiles a minute to realize it's relief. "Stiles, hey. Come on in."

Danny moves aside and Stiles enters the house, mindful of his shoes as he takes them off on the mat beside the door. He doesn't say anything, because Danny seems to be the one person in the world he has a hard time thinking around, at least now.

"My parents and sister are out of town for the weekend," Danny says, filling the conversational void for Stiles. "I set my books out in my room, it's the second door on your left, upstairs, if you wanna go put yours out, too. Do you like popcorn? I'm going to pop some popcorn."

"Uh, yes," Stiles says after a moment, because it's more dialogue than he's heard from Danny ever. "That sounds good. I'll... yeah, I'll go set mine out. Second on the left, you said?"

"Yep," Danny confirms. "I'll be right up."

Danny's room is pretty typical, Stiles thinks. The walls are a dark blue and there are an impressive number of trophies lining a shelf on one wall. Danny's books are spread open on his desk, with a large spot cleared for Stiles, as well as two chairs. For some reason, his eyes keep averting away from the bed, which is probably for the best. Stiles takes a seat and starts emptying his backpack, and he's just finishing when Danny comes into the room with a large bowl of popcorn.

"Oh, hey, you're all set up," Danny says as he takes the seat next to Stiles.

"Yeah," Stiles says, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl and stuffing it in his mouth. It's not exactly refined or even all that polite, but Danny just looks at him in amusement, so he figures it's okay. "So, uh. You want to start?"

All in all, the project is not that difficult to do, it's just time consuming. Stiles is glad for the distraction, though, because considering the fact that he's currently in Danny's room, if his brain wasn't focused on the project it'd start drifting to other places.

And Danny's cool, keeping up a steady stream of casual conversation and jokes, but spacing them out enough so that Stiles can finish something before he says something else. It's... easy, Stiles thinks. Which actually makes him feel worse about avoiding Danny for so long, because yeah, he's always liked Danny, even before he, well, liked Danny.

They're about halfway finished when Danny drops his pen and turns toward Stiles. "So why were you ignoring me?"

Stiles almost chokes on his own spit. "What? I wasn't ignoring you. I'm talking to you."

"Not tonight." Danny rolls his eyes. "I mean for the past two weeks. You weren't exactly subtle."

"Oh," Stiles says, swallowing hard. This is exactly what he dreaded would happen tonight, and even after debating it in the car he still doesn't have an answer that Danny wouldn't read as a total lie. "Um."

"It's got nothing to do with your job, right?" Danny presses. "Like, what I bought--"

"What'd you buy?" Stiles asks, trying to pass it off as a joke but his voice comes out too tight, too forced. Danny's face falls.

"That's it, huh? I knew I shouldn't have bought it, but I figured you'd be cool about it."

Stiles wants to laugh at that, but instead he blurts out, "I just--I can't stop thinking about it!" He wants to take it back as soon as it's out there, because Danny's eyes are opening obscenely wide.

"Oh," Danny says after a few moments of the most awkward silence Stiles has ever endured. "I didn't realize... I shouldn't have. I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd be grossed out by it."

This time, Stiles does laugh, and it's strained and way too high, and Danny probably thinks he's a crazy person for it. Actually, if Danny's not convinced of Stiles' lack of sanity at this point, a laugh is probably not going to change that.

"Believe me, it's not because I find it disgusting that I keep thinking about it."



"So, you..." Danny doesn't finish, instead chooses to press his thumb to his bottom lip.

"Yeah," Stiles repeats, feeling his face get hot. If he had thought what the possible outcomes of this confrontation might be, he wouldn't have ever considered "admitting that I keep thinking about Danny and his dildo" a plausible ending. But here he is, sitting in Danny's room, and Danny's looking at him with a mix of bewilderment and contemplation. He's pretty sure Danny's two seconds from firing him out the door. "Um, maybe I should go--"

"Do you want to actually see it?"

Stiles' head whips around so fast he's almost certain he dislocated something. "Um. What did you just say?"

Danny licks his lips carefully, eyes downcast. "It might get it out of your mind. You'll stop thinking about it if you can see it with your own eyes."

Stiles has stepped into some weird, alternate universe, because unless he's the most idiotic person in the world (which is admittedly possible), Danny Mahealani just propositioned him.

"I'm fine with it, Stiles," Danny says quietly. "Really."

Stiles doesn't realize it at first, but he's nodding wordlessly, and apparently that's all Danny needs.

With nothing more than a hint of a smile, Danny stands up promptly, and Stiles watches as he heads to his bed. He stops when he reaches his nightstand and, pausing only for a glimmer of a second, he reaches behind his back and tugs his t-shirt off in one swift pull. Danny's back is all smooth skin, indecent dips of bone and muscle, and oh god, this is actually happening. Danny is not messing with Stiles, which is good, because Stiles is half-hard already.

Stiles doesn't move from his spot--he's not even sure if he could move, given the choice--and watches as Danny opens a drawer and first pulls out a bottle of lube, and then--fuck.

Rationally, Stiles knew what kind of dildo Danny had bought the night that he got it. It wasn't anything special, really, just a flesh-colored, realistic looking one, but seeing Danny pull it out of the drawer and set it on the bed is enough to get his heart racing. He can hear the blood pounding in his ears, loud enough to drown out everything else, as Danny slowly pulls off his jeans.

Danny's all long lines of muscle and tanned skin, almost naked except for a tight pair of black briefs. When he turns around to face Stiles, Stiles realizes just how tight they are. Danny's cock is thick against the confines of the material, already so, so hard, and Stiles swallows, trying to soak the image in his brain to keep forever.

"Wow," Stiles says without really thinking, and Danny laughs lightly, ducking his head with a smile. He runs his hand down the curved muscle of his abs, almost like he's self-conscious, and that's the craziest thing Stiles has ever considered. Danny is quiet, sure, but Danny is also hot, and he has to know that.

"Thanks," Danny replies finally, his thumbs finding the elastic of his underwear. He pulls them down just slightly, and Stiles feels like he's going to pass out.

Which is why he, for some ungodly reason, chooses that moment to say, "Uh, you know, you don't have to do this."

Danny freezes, and for a moment Stiles thinks he has officially ruined any chance he's had of seeing Danny Mahealani naked and hard. But then Danny's lips turn up and he shakes his head, like Stiles just doesn't get it. Maybe Stiles doesn't get it, whatever "it" is.

"I know," Danny says slowly, eyes laser-focused on Stiles' own gaze, "I want to."

He chooses to accent that by shoving off his briefs, pushing them down to his knees and then kicking them off the rest of the way. In an instant, Stiles is staring at the full form of Danny, and just--he's breathtakingly perfect. He looks like he could be made out of marble, which is a thought that Stiles vanquishes immediately for how corny it is. But it's not untrue: Danny's fit and defined, dick jutting up between his legs, long and thick, and Stiles is overcome with the desire to touch, to taste.

He swallows the impulse back and waits for Danny to make his next move, and it comes mere moments later. Danny climbs onto the bed without further hesitation, and Stiles watches mutely as he takes one of his pillows from the head and positions it under his hips, elevating his ass. It takes Stiles a moment to realize just what he's doing, but then he gets it. Danny's making sure that he can see everything.

"I--I like to start slow," Danny says quietly, and Stiles' attention is drawn back to Danny's face, and not, well, every other inch of him. Danny is squirting lube onto his fingers, an act that Stiles can't help but watch intently, the way Danny's fingers are suddenly so slick and glossy, giving off a sheen in the bright light of the room.

It's only when Danny reaches between his legs that Stiles really understands that this is definitely not a dream or his imagination. This is really Danny, naked and on his bed, his fingers trailing down his perineum, leaving a wet path in their wake. Stiles is undeniably hard in his pants, and Danny hasn't even done anything yet, really.

Danny takes his sweet time with his fingers, lets them circle around the tight, little hole--and it is little; Stiles can't quite comprehend how Danny could squeeze a finger into that tiny opening, let alone anything else--and back up just under his balls, then back down again.

Finally, finally, Danny presses in, just the pad of his middle finger, just past the nail. Stiles digs his fingers into his thighs, straining, as he watches Danny slowly sink his finger in deeper, turning slightly. Past the first knuckle, the second, and he pulls back, until the tip of his finger's pressing against the opening, and then he pushes back in.

It's a slow agony for Stiles, and he presses the palm of his hand to his dick, rubs himself a little to the pace of Danny's finger. He wants to take off his pants, take his cock out, but he knows if he does he'll come in all of three seconds. Instead, he tells Danny, "Another," his voice so hoarse and low that it actually surprises Stiles. Danny pauses his movements, and then he pulls all the way out, and then pushes two back in.

With his free hand Danny grips his dick, gives it a few casual strokes, moves down to fondle his balls and then back up. It takes him a little longer with two fingers inside of him--the slide in slower and more stilted, more wiggling and twisting as they go. Danny's face is different, too, forehead wrinkled, mouth a little tense. Stiles wonders if it hurts.

Soon, though, both fingers are dipping in and out as easy as the single digit, Danny's free fingers pressing snug to his skin. Danny's relaxed now, eager, and his pace has quickened, but he doesn't add another finger; seems content with just the two. Stiles feels like he's going to explode any minute, because Danny wasn't kidding about taking it slow. Which, don't get him wrong, is totally, totally fine, because Danny fingering himself for Stiles is pretty much the hottest thing Stiles could ever imagine, but there's more to the night and Stiles, well, Stiles would like to see more. He wonders how long Danny does this when he's alone, if he draws it out quite this much, or if this is a special occasion. He kind of wants to ask.

As if Danny's heard Stiles' thoughts, he removes his fingers. Stiles actually wants to protest for just a moment, before he realizes that Danny's reaching to his side and--yeah, yeah okay. Stiles is okay with Danny stopping, because now Danny has his dildo in hand.

"You should take off your pants," Danny says, and his voice sounds as fucked out as Stiles' did. And Stiles, well, Stiles does not have to be told twice to remove clothing, at least in a situation like this. He unzips his jeans and pulls them down his legs, wondering vaguely if he should be taking off his underwear, too. He looks up to Danny to ask, but Danny's already got the dildo slick with lube and he's positioning the head against his hole.

Stiles forgets about his underwear.

Danny glances at Stiles, like he thinks maybe Stiles has found something more interesting to look at in his science book or something, and then he spreads his legs wider, slowly sliding the dildo up and down his opening. It's obscene, is what it is, Danny rubbing the thickness against himself. Meekly, Stiles wonders how that can fit inside Danny, how his two fingers could have even loosened him a fraction of enough. But then Danny stops teasing himself and just goes for it, pushes the head into his hole.

He breathes in sharp at the immediate penetration, and Stiles is forced to look away from what Danny's doing in order to look at his face, and Stiles is pretty sure he'll remember Danny's expression for the rest of his life. His eyes are tightly shut, his lips parted, a slight sheen of sweat over his face.

"How's it feel?" Stiles can't help but ask, because he wants to know. Needs to know.

Danny hums, this low buzzing sound that fills Stiles' up. He's not even aware that he's holding his breath until Danny speaks and he lets out a burst of air. "Hurts a little, at first," Danny says, sounding almost thoughtful. He emphasizes the point by pressing in a little deeper, and he lets out a short gasp. "But once that's gone, it's--I don't even know how to describe it. But there's this one spot, and just... it's good. Oh, god, it's good."

Danny's not lying, because soon he's got the dildo inside him over halfway, fucking in and out quicker now, sinking in just a fraction deeper with each push. It's sort of hypnotic, really, the clean, efficient slides as Danny opens himself on it, the way Danny's hands and ass are all slippery and glossy from the lube. Watching Danny work the dildo into himself, Stiles is suddenly struck with the overwhelming want to be the one fucking Danny--maybe without the dildo, actually.

It's a dangerous thought and Stiles tries not to keep it in his head, but he sticks his hand under the elastic of his underwear and grips his dick, tugs hard and rough at the thought. Imagines himself pushing into Danny, Danny rocking back against him, breathing hard, eyes fluttering shut and his lips parted in a groan. His balls are drawing tight and he's close, so close, but then Danny murmurs, "Stiles," and Stiles' hand freezes where it's at, Stiles' eyes drawn back to Danny who is--Christ--looking at Stiles in a way Stiles has never had anybody look at him before.

Stiles' immediate question dies on his tongue when Danny slides the dildo out of his hole completely, letting it drop to the bed. Stiles is not sure when he started being able to read people, but one look at Danny has him off the chair and crawling across the bed in a second flat. There's a lump in Stiles' throat that feels like the size of a grapefruit, but Danny's staring at him with that same soft, determined look and he doesn't even care, swallows it away the best he can.

The dildo's base is wet with lube, and Stiles almost lets it slip out of his hand when he tries to pick it up. He spares a quick glance at Danny, who doesn't appear to notice, and then he positions himself properly in front of Danny, gets his first up-close look at Danny's hole, a little puffy and oh so perfect. Stiles can't help but press his thumb to it, circle the rim slowly. Now he can actually feel Danny shudder, and that's Stiles doing that, making him shake, and truthfully? It's definitely in the top five feelings Stiles has ever felt.

"Come on," Danny half-whines, which in itself is hilarious. He can tease himself (and, as a result, Stiles) all he wants, but Stiles tries and what happens? He pushes.

"Yeah," Stiles says anyway, because he doesn't disagree with Danny's words. "Okay," he adds in a breath, dildo grasped in hand as he presses the head to the spot where his thumb just was. He mentally counts to three and pushes in, and holy crap, he's fucking Danny with a dildo.

It slides in without resistance, smooth and easy, and Danny pushes back on it, sinks it in further. Stiles bites his lip and grips the meat of Danny's thigh, and he presses on, sliding the dildo in all the way, until the side of his finger is snug against Danny's hole. Danny groans a little, and Stiles pulls back before twisting and sinking it back in. It takes him a couple of tries, but when Danny pushes back hard and lets out a long, drawn-out moan, Stiles grins to himself. Yeah, there's the spot Danny was talking about.

Once he finds it, it's easy to keep finding, and soon Danny's dick is hard as a rock, jutting out from his hips like an invitation. Stiles takes it, wraps his free hand around it, adjusting to it. It's definitely different grabbing another guy's dick than it is grabbing his own, but he thinks he could probably get used to it. He jacks Danny a couple of times, trying his best to keep in rhythm with his thrusts despite his total failure at using his left hand, but then Danny's stopping him, fingers sliding around Stiles' wrist.

"No," Danny says, barely a whisper. Stiles nods, though he's not entirely sure what that "no" encompasses. "I'm too close, and I--I don't want to come like this." Danny runs his tongue across his bottom lip and swallows, looks up at Stiles through thick eyelashes and fucked-out eyes. "I want you to fuck me, Stiles."

Stiles almost comes on the spot, and if there is a greater set of words than those, Stiles doesn't want to hear them. "Oh god, Danny," Stiles says through his teeth, and he doesn't think--doesn't have to. He nods and slides the dildo out of Danny, adds, "Yes. Yeah, okay."

Danny gestures to his nightstand and Stiles gets the hint, climbs off the bed and opens the nightstand to find the box of condoms Danny bought what seems like months ago now. He pulls one of the packets out and drops it on the bed by Danny's feet, and then works on getting out of his underwear. Naturally, he tries to walk and take them off at the same time and almost falls flat on his face. He can hear Danny laughing, but Stiles is surprised to find out how little he cares about anything when he knows he's about to get laid.

He makes it back onto the bed a few moments later, dignity still intact and underwear on the floor. He wastes no time opening the condom and rolling it down his achingly hard dick, coating the entire thing with lube afterwards. He's grateful now for the awkward three months that was grade nine sex ed, and sends a silent thank you to Mrs. Benson before wiping her from his brain completely with one look at Danny. Stiles has thought a lot about Danny naked and wanting it over the past couple of weeks, far more than he would ever be willing to admit out loud, but he never thought Danny wanted Stiles. To say that this night is blowing every idea and fantasy Stiles has ever had about Danny out of the water would be the understatement of the decade.

"I find it hot, you know," Danny says. "That you kept thinking of me. Does a lot for a guy's confidence."

Stiles swallows. "Are you sure about this?" Because for some reason he just needs to reassure himself that this is all actually happening. He's had some crazy shit happen to him in the past year, but this is topping it all.

Danny's response is simple: he locks his legs around Stiles' waist and says forcibly, "Fuck me, Stiles."

Stiles doesn't have to be told twice. He carefully lines himself up with Danny's ass, and then slowly, painstakingly so, he pushes in, head enveloped in immediate heat, tight all around. Stiles groans the same time as Danny, and it is definitely the best thing he's ever felt, slipping deeper into Danny. The dildo opened Danny enough to make the slide quick enough, but Danny's still squeezing around Stiles' cock, pressure all over, and Stiles feels a flood of warmth fill him up.

It doesn't take long at all until he's pressed flat to Danny, all the way in. Stiles has to take a minute to think about corpses and his third grade teacher, because while he's already accepted that he won't last long, he at least wants to get a chance to enjoy it. Danny doesn't push, just stays still, breathing deeply, until Stiles inhales shakily and sets his hands on the bed, on either side of Danny's stomach.

He starts small, slight pull back before he presses all the way back in, and then farther, and then again, and again. It doesn't take him long to establish something resembling a rhythm, and Danny's hand grips his ass cheek tightly, pulls him in all that much more on each thrust. Stiles' body is on fire, sweating and aching in all the right spots, and his brain is going haywire, overrun by the tight squeeze of Danny all around him, the droop of Danny's eyes, the slant of his mouth.

"I'm close," he gasps out, and Danny makes a murmur of understanding and starts jacking himself off. They're frantic pulls that Stiles adds to his suddenly very large mental scrapbook of Danny, and then he's coming apart, biting back a sob as he spills into the condom. Danny follows behind just a second later, shooting over his chest with a hoarse swear.

Before Stiles knows what's happening, Danny's pulling him down by the neck, in for a kiss. And somehow during all of his thoughts, Danny's lips got the short end of the stick, something Stiles realizes pretty quickly was a mistake. Because Danny's amazing, all warm, soft lips and teasing tongue, and the skills to know what to do with them. Stiles is not exactly experienced in the area, but he gives back with as much enthusiasm as gets, and Danny doesn't seem to care, deepens it further.

They stay like that for a few moments, just exchanging kisses that range from almost chaste to slow and burning. Stiles doesn't really want it to end, but he's also dimly aware that he's still inside Danny and there's a puddle of rapidly cooling come between their bodies. He makes off with one more quick, deep kiss and then backs away. He removes the condom, ties it, and tosses it in the garbage bin by Danny's desk, and then Danny tosses him his shirt to clean himself up.

Stiles is honestly not sure what to make of the entire thing, truthfully. He has no idea where the hell they're supposed to go from here. But then Danny clears his throat and says, "My parents are gone until Sunday morning, and we still have to finish the project. Do you... maybe want to sleep over?"

Stiles nods without thinking, because there is no other answer other than yes. He's still very unsure of where this all is going to lead, but he is sure that he wants to find out.


If Stiles is honest, nothing really changes.

Well, of course there's the whole semi-boyfriend thing, and the getting laid pretty regularly thing, and the having control of his thoughts again thing, but besides all of that, Stiles' life hasn't changed much. He still works at The Treasure Trove and he still risks his life at least once a month, and Jackson still isn't exactly nice to him despite that fact that he's pretty-much-though-they-haven't-talked-about-it-exactly dating his best friend.

Stiles is in the middle of ringing up a very large order of penis pops for a bachelorette party when the tell-tale chime of the door informs him of a new customer. He looks up from counting and grins when he sees Danny walking in. Like clockwork, every Thursday, and his first stop is always the lube. Half of the time he doesn't even buy any--they don't go through that much, come on--but that doesn't stop him from looking through them, especially if Stiles is busy.

Stiles finishes up with the customer a few minutes later, and Danny's gone from the lubricant display. Stiles spots him at the back wall, head dipped like he's inspecting something, and well, Stiles' curiosity gets the better of him.

Danny's holding a pair of handcuffs in his hands, nothing fancy, and he looks up and smirks when Stiles approaches. Something in it makes Stiles' stomach twist pleasantly, and Danny drops them in his hand when he holds them open. They're strong, sturdy, and definitely durable. His mind flashes to the image of Danny cuffed to the bed, keening beneath him. Stiles shakes the thought away quickly, because Danny's smirk is growing wider.

"What do you think?" Danny asks, managing to sound so damn innocent despite the fact that his face is anything but.

Stiles drops them back into Danny's hand and nods slowly. "We'd better get a second key. Just in case."