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Stiles, or as the online community knew him, Straight Hunter, was a master of his craft. His pornographic videos had a certain je ne sais quoi that set them apart from the rest. His charm and persuasive nature allowed him to coax straight men into his bed, and his camera lens captured every steamy detail for his devoted fanbase to devour. His channel was a hit, and he reveled in the power that came with being a notorious content creator.
One fateful evening, Stiles found himself at a local dive bar, a place where he often prowled for fresh faces to add to his collection. His eyes scanned the room, looking for the perfect candidate. He spotted man in the corner, tall, muscular, with a five-o'-clock shadow that screamed 'masculinity'. He approached the bar with a swagger that could make any straight guy question his sexuality, and ordered a drink. He caught the bartender's eye and nodded towards the target. "His usual," he said with a knowing smile.
The bartender, an old ally in Stiles' conquests, served the drink and slipped him a knowing wink. Stiles sauntered over, his heart racing with excitement. This was what he lived for. The challenge of the chase, the thrill of the unknown. He sat down next to the man and offered a coy smile, his eyes lingering just a little too long on the man's bulging biceps. "Hey," Stiles said, his voice low and seductive. "I couldn't help but notice you from across the room. You look like you could use some company."
The man looked at him, his eyes narrowing. Stiles' heart sank as he recognized the look. The tightening of the jaw, the clench of the fist, the sudden hostility in the air. He'd encountered homophobes before, but they were usually easier to spot, and he had a knack for avoiding them. This one had been hiding in plain sight, lurking in the shadows like a predator waiting for his moment to pounce.
"What the fuck do you want you fag?" the man snarled, his voice thick with aggression.
Stiles tried to play it cool, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Just trying to be friendly, man," he said with a forced laugh, trying to ease the tension. But it was too late. The man had already made up his mind.
Before he could react, a fist collided with his face, sending him reeling backward. The room spun around him, and he tasted blood. He felt the sting of pain, the humiliation of being punched in a place where he was supposed to be in control. He stumbled to his feet, his cheek throbbing, and saw the man glaring at him with pure, unadulterated hatred. The crowd had gone quiet, watching the scene unfold with a mix of shock and morbid fascination.
For a moment, Stiles considered fighting back, but he knew better. He wasn't here to get into a bar brawl, and he certainly wasn't going to let this asshole ruin his night. He wiped the blood from his lip and flashed a defiant smile, the kind that said, 'Is that everything you got? If that's it and you can't break me asshole'. He turned on his heel to walk his way to the counter, his dignity bruised but intact. He'd deal with the physical pain later. Right now, he had to lick his wounds and regroup.
The bartender rushed over, looking concerned. "You okay?" he asked in a low voice.
Stiles nodded, trying to ignore the ringing in his ears. "Yeah, just another bad hunt," he joked, not wanting to cause a scene. He took the rest of his drink and downed it in one go, the alcohol burning a path down his throat. He knew he couldn't stay here. Not after that. He had to get out, find some fresh air, and clear his head.
The cool night air hit him like a slap in the face as he stepped outside. He leaned against the brick wall, trying to catch his breath. His phone buzzed in his pocket, a constant reminder of the promise he'd made to his subscribers. He needed to upload a new video tonight. It was becoming a pattern, and it was starting to wear on him. He'd approached countless men over the last few days, all with the same hopeful spark in his eyes, only to be met with rejection. Or worse like that night, violence.
"Rough night?" a voice said from behind him, sending a shiver down his spine. Stiles turned around, and his eyes widened in shock. Standing there, looking like he'd just stepped out of a wet dream, was Derek, his ex-boyfriend. The man who had broken his heart into a million pieces and scattered them across the town they both called home.
Derek's eyes searched his face, a mix of concern and confusion. "What happened?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine care. Stiles wanted to ignore him, to keep the facade of indifference that had shielded him for so long, but something in Derek's gaze made him pause. Maybe it was the way the streetlight cast shadows across his ruggedly handsome features, or the way his T-shirt clung to his chest, revealing the muscles beneath. Or perhaps it was the sudden realization that he'd never truly gotten over the love they once shared.
"Just a misunderstanding," Stiles muttered, trying to brush off the pain that still lingered from the punch.
Derek took a step closer, his hand reaching out tentatively as if he wanted to touch Stiles' bruised cheek but thought better of it. "You should get home," Derek said, his voice firm but gentle. "You don't look so good."
Stiles sighing, turning back inside the bar. "Thanks for the concern, but I'm fine. I've got work to do."
Derek's brow furrowed. "You're not still..."
"What? Hunting straight guys?" Stiles said with a bitterness that surprised even himself. "Yeah, that's what I do. It's who I am."
"But why?" Derek's voice was laced with something Stiles hadn't heard in a long time—curiosity, maybe even concern.
"It's what gets me views, Derek," Stiles said, his voice cold. "It's what makes me money. And apparently, it's what makes me interesting to people. So, if you don't mind, I have to get back to it." He pushed past Derek, feeling his ex-boyfriend's eyes on his back as he retreated into the dimly lit bar.
The next few hours were a blur of failed attempts and awkward rejections. Each "no" stung a little more than the last, and Stiles found himself growing increasingly desperate. His hand hovered over his phone, the app that controlled his entire life open and waiting for a new video to upload. He'd been at it for hours, and still, no one had taken the bait.
As the night grew later, the bar grew emptier. Stiles's hope dwindled with each passing minute. He knew his subscribers would be waiting, eager for their fix, and the pressure was becoming unbearable. That's when he saw him—another straight-looking guy, sitting alone at the bar, nursing a beer. Stiles felt a twinge of excitement, mixed with a hint of dread. This could be the one, he thought. The one to break the streak of bad luck and get him back on top.
He approached the man with newfound determination, his eyes gleaming with the promise of a good time. "Hey," he said, sliding onto the stool next to him. "How's it going?"
The man looked up, and Stiles's heart skipped a beat. It was Derek's best friend, Isaac. Talking about tough luck. "Not great," Isaac replied, his eyes bloodshot and his voice slurred. "But I'm sure you're here to make it worse."
Stiles sighed. He knew the guy probably harbored grudges after he snitched him to Scott, Stiles' best friend and Isaac's ex. "Look, Isaac, I don't have time for this."
Isaac leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is not about Scott. It's about Derek. You know, he's worried about you."
The words hit Stiles like a sledgehammer. "What does he care?" he snapped, trying to keep the hurt from his voice.
"He cares more than you know," Isaac said, his eyes meeting Stiles' with a solemn look. "But he won't say it to your face. He thinks you've changed for the worse. That this... this life you're leading will cause your downfall."
Stiles scoffed, his defenses rising. "Well, maybe he should mind his own business."
"Maybe you should be more open to people's opinions who really care about you," Isaac retorted, his voice sharp. "You're playing a dangerous game, Stiles."
The conversation weighed on Stiles' mind as he left the bar, the sting of his bruised ego almost as potent as the pain in his cheek. He couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, there was some truth to what Isaac had said. Derek had never been one to meddle in other people's affairs, especially not when it came to Stiles. If he was concerned, it must be serious.
As he stepped into the night, the neon lights casting an eerie glow on the empty street, Stiles saw Derek leaning against his CJ5 jeep. He couldn't help but feel a pang of something—desire, anger, nostalgia?—at the sight of his ex. The jeep had always been a symbol of their past, of the adventures they'd had together, the secret kisses stolen under the guise of 'checking the engine'. Derek pushed off the hood and strode over, his gaze unreadable.
"You still have her even though you're already a big shot," Derek said, his voice low and teasing. Stiles bristled at the jab, his hand reflexively reaching for his phone.
"What's it to you?" Stiles snapped. "You don't know anything about what I do."
Derek stepped closer, invading Stiles' personal space in a way that was both infuriating and intoxicating. "I know enough," he said. "And I know you're better than this."
Stiles took a step back, his eyes flashing. "You don't get to judge me, Derek," he spat. "You're the one who left, remember?"
Derek's eyes searched his, a hint of regret flickering in their depths. "I know," he said softly. "And I'm sorry. But that doesn't mean I don't care about you."
Stiles felt his resolve wavering. The words were like a balm to his soul, but he couldn't let himself be swayed. "Well, you don't have to," he said, his voice shaking. "I don't need you or your pity."
Derek sighed, his hand reaching out to gently touch Stiles' face, his thumb brushing the tender flesh of his bruised cheek. Stiles' breath hitched at the contact, his body betraying the emotions he was trying so hard to keep hidden.
"I'm not pitying you," Derek said. "I'm worried about you. What happened in there... it's not right. You don't have to do this to yourself."
The tenderness in Derek's voice was almost too much to bear. Stiles had missed it, missed the way Derek's voice could soothe him, the way his touch could make the world feel right again. But he couldn't go back, not now. He had a reputation to uphold, a business to run. And Derek might have good intentions but it infuriates him. He left him, because he couldn't accept his lifestyle.
"What do you know about what's right for me?" Stiles snarled, pushing Derek's hand away. "You wanted to help? Let me record you while I fuck you," he spat out, his words a challenge, a dare. He didn't mean it, not really. But he was hurt and lashing out, trying to push Derek away before Derek could do the same again.
Derek's eyes widened, his hand dropping to his side as he took a step back. The silence between them was deafening, filled only with the sound of their ragged breaths. Stiles felt a twinge of regret, but he couldn't take it back now. The words hung in the air, a toxic cloud of anger and pain.
Derek's face was a mask of shock, but then something shifted, something Stiles rarely seen in the past. A hint of a smirk played on Derek's lips, and his eyes darkened with a hunger that sent a shiver down Stiles' spine. "Fine," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
"How do you want me?" Derek asked, his voice a low, seductive rumble that seemed to resonate through Stiles' very bones. He quickly pulled down his pants, revealing himself in a move that was both deliberate and unabashed.
Stiles couldn't help but gulp as he stared at his ex's bare back form. Derek was a vision of raw masculine beauty, his semi-hard cock stood proudly, the tip glistening with pre-cum in the cool night air. He turned around, spreading his hairy ass cheeks, giving Stiles an unobstructed view of his tight, pinkish hole. The sight of it made the Stiles' own cock throb painfully in his pants.
The question hung in the air, thick with lust and challenge. Stiles couldn't believe what he was hearing. Derek, his ex-boyfriend, the man who had crushed his heart and walked away, was offering himself up like this? It was like a scene from one of his own videos, except it was all too real.
"Derek," Stiles breathed, his voice hoarse with need. "You don't have to do this."
But Derek was already leaning over the hood of the Jeep, his pants around his ankles, his ass up in the air like a siren's call. "How do you want me?" he repeated, his voice taunting, daring Stiles to take him.
Stiles took a step closer, his eyes raking over Derek's body, his muscles tense with anticipation. The air was charged with electricity, the tension between them palpable. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he touched the smooth skin of Derek's back, tracing the curve of his spine down to the swell of his ass. Derek's skin was warm, and Stiles could feel the tension coiled in his muscles. He leaned in, his breath hot against Derek's skin as he whispered, "I want you any way I can have you."
The words were a declaration, a promise, and a warning all in one. Stiles had never wanted anyone as badly as he wanted Derek in that moment. He dropped to his knees, his heart pounding in his chest as he took in the sight before him. Derek's ass was just as he remembered—full and inviting, the perfect target for his eager tongue. He leaned in and licked a slow, teasing line up Derek's crack, savoring the taste of his sweat and the faint scent of soap. Derek's body tensed, a low moan escaping his lips as Stiles' tongue circled his inviting hole.
"As much as I enjoy this," Derek panted, his voice strained with arousal, "aren't you planning to record this?"
Stiles chuckled, his breath warm against Derek's skin. "You're not straight," he pointed out, his voice teasing.
"I can be," Derek countered with a smirk. "I used to be anyway."
Stiles laughed, his eyes glinting with mischief as he slipped the tip of his index finger inside Derek. He was surprised to find him a bit loose, and Derek's cheeks flushed at the intrusion. "Ethan and Danny double-fucked me this afternoon so I should be good," he murmured, his voice filled with a hint of pride. "Just hook-ups, no strings attached," he added, as if it were a consolation prize.
Stiles felt a twinge of jealousy but kept it hidden behind his teasing smile. Ignoring the jab, Stiles pushed his finger deeper, watching Derek's body react with a shiver. "You slut," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. Derek's words had stirred something within him, something dark and possessive that he hadn't felt in a long time. That can wait, he thought.
He stood up, his own pants now a prison around his erection. He fumbled with his phone, setting it up on the dashboard to capture the perfect angle. He knew his fans would eat this up—the sight of Derek, the "straight hunk" turned slut for his ex's camera.
As Stiles positioned his camera, Derek couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and vulnerability. He'd never done anything like this before, but there was something about the way Stiles looked at him that made him want to please him, to give him what he wanted. The kind of fullfillness that his fuck buddies failed to give him.
"Okay," Stiles murmured, his eyes never leaving Derek's body. "You're going to be 'Miguel', the straight guy who left his girlfriend just because he couldn't resist the allure of easy cash."
Derek rolled his eyes but didn't protest. He knew that was part of Stiles' MO—the thrill of the conquest, the story behind the video. It was all part of the game.
"Fine," he said, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. "I'll be 'Miguel'." He turned back around, presenting his ass to Stiles like a delicious dessert. "Now, are you going to fuck me, or do you need more lighting adjustments?"
Stiles couldn't help but laugh at Derek's sarcastic remark. He quickly snapped out of it and approached him, his cock straining against his zipper. "Not yet," he said, his voice thick with anticipation. "Let me just do some final touches."
He took a moment to appreciate the sight before him—Derek's muscular body, the way the streetlight painted shadows across his broad back, the roundness and hairiness of his ass as he bent over the hood. It was a sight that would make any straight man question his sexuality, and Stiles knew his subscribers would go wild for it. He took a few deep breaths, trying to compose himself before he began filming.
"Let me assure you that I won't show your face," Stiles said, his voice steady. "I'll blur it just in case."
Derek's eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced over his shoulder. "By the way, the plot where I leave my girlfriend at the bar to have sex for cash is too cliché even for you, don't you think?"
Stiles smirked, unable to deny the truth in Derek's words. He leaned in closer, his hand reaching for the lube in his pocket. "You're right," he admitted, "but it's a classic for a reason. Besides, it's not the story that makes it hot, it's the action."
Derek's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, and he turned back to face the hood of the Jeep. Stiles couldn't help but admire the view as he squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. He spread it over Derek's ass, watching the muscles tense and relax as he worked the slick substance into his opening.
"Can I be honest? I'm horny as fuck for you Derek and all I wanted was to fuck you. I'm having a hard time to think. So sorry if that's the I only plot that I can come up for your porn debut."
Derek's breath hitched, the reality of the situation setting in. He'd never been in front of a camera like this before, but he found himself oddly turned on by the idea of being the star of one of Stiles' videos. He'd secretly watched them, of course—everyone had. It's the reason why he was there on the first place. But being the one getting fucked while being filmed was a new experience, and one that was surprisingly thrilling.
"Ethan and Danny," Derek murmured, his voice tight with arousal. "They're not... they don't compare to this."
Stiles smirked, his fingers still working Derek's hole. "Let's talk about it later," he said, his voice a seductive purr. "After I've fucked you so good, you won't remember their names."
The challenge was clear in Stiles' eyes, and Derek felt a thrill run through him. He'd never been one for games, but there was something about Stiles that brought out his competitive side.
---
"So, 'Miguel'," Stiles murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he began to play his role. "You're saying your girlfriend doesn't even attempt to finger you?"
Derek took a deep breath, trying to focus on the role. "No, of course not," he managed to get out, his voice strained as Stiles' fingers worked their magic. "I won't let her even if she asked. I'm s-straight."
Stiles chuckled, his eyes gleaming with excitement. Derek was too natural at this. He positioned himself behind Derek, his cock standing at full attention. "Well, 'Miguel'," he said, his voice filled with false sympathy, "It seems like that you're not simply desperate for cash... looks like to me you badly need a good, hard fuck. A huge cock to turn your hole into a pussy."
Without waiting for a response, Stiles lined himself up and pushed inside, groaning at the feel of Derek's tight heat surrounding him. Derek's body stiffened, but Stiles knew it was from pleasure rather than pain. He'd always been like that—so tight and responsive, even when they'd been together.
Derek bit his lip, trying to maintain his 'straight' facade. "Fuck," he breathed, his voice strained. For Derek, everything felt so real. No one can stretched his insides the same way as Stiles. The guy was simply a fucking monster down there. "Fucking pull out. You're... you're so... big."
Stiles couldn't help but smirk. "You're taking it like a champ though," he said, his voice taunting. "But we're not here to talk, are we?" He began to thrust in earnest, his hips slapping against Derek's ass with a rhythmic intensity that echoed through the quiet street.
Derek's moans grew louder, his body moving in time with Stiles' thrusts. It was obvious that he was enjoying it, forgetting that he was supposedly a "straight stud". Stiles felt his own pleasure building, his cock swelling even more as he watched Derek's muscles flex and his skin glisten with sweat.
"You're so good at this," Stiles murmured, his voice a mix of awe and satisfaction. "You should consider a career change Der." It was too soft that camera won't capture it.
"Fuck you," Derek denied, his voice muffled by the hood of the Jeep. "I'm not into this."
Stiles chuckled, his grip on Derek's hips tightening. "You're the one begging for it," he pointed out, driving in deeper. Derek's response was a loud groan that seemed to shake the very air around them.
The sound of their bodies coming together filled the silence, the only other noise the occasional car passing by, oblivious to the intense scene unfolding just out of view. Stiles knew that Derek was trying to keep his cool, trying to play the straight guy who'd been talked into this for money, but the truth was written all over his body. He was enjoying it, just as much as Stiles was.
Derek's grip on the hood tightened, his knuckles turning white as Stiles picked up the pace. "Oh, god," he moaned, his voice strained. "Fuck me harder."
Stiles chuckled. He will surely take time to edit the video. "Miguel" should not be a whore for his cock. At least not until the end part where he will completely break him. Regardless, he obliged with Derek's request, his strokes becoming more urgent, his breathing ragged. He could feel his climax approaching, the tension coiling in his belly like a tight spring. He leaned over Derek, his chest pressing against his back, and whispered in his ear, "You like that, don't you? Being my little slut?"
Derek's body jerked at the words, and Stiles knew he'd hit a nerve. He reached around and found Derek's cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. Derek's moans grew louder, his hips pushing back into Stiles, silently begging for more.
And then, with a roar, it all came to a head. Stiles felt Derek's body tighten around him, heard the wet sound of his release as he came, spurting hotly onto the Jeep's hood. It was all Stiles could do to hold out a few more seconds, savoring the feeling of Derek's ass clenching around him before he too found his release, his cock pulsing deep inside Derek.
The two men stayed there for a moment, panting and trembling, the only evidence of what had just transpired the sticky mess on Derek's stomach and the way Stiles' cock remained buried deep within him. "You're not... you're not going to upload this, are you?" Derek asked, his voice shaky.
It caught Stiles off guard because it was not part of the script, but he played along. Stiles pulled out, a sadistic smile playing on his lips. "Oh, 'Miguel'," he said, patting Derek's ass and watched in awe as his cum dribbled out of that wrecked hole.
He grabbed his phone and pointed it at the said scenery, then held it up towards Miguel's face. "Now, tell the audience how much you enjoyed being fucked by a guy."
Derek's face was flushed with a mix of anger and arousal, his eyes snapping up to meet Stiles'. "Fuck you," he denied, trying to slip out from his character. "I didn't enjoy that."
Stiles just laughed, his eyes gleaming with glee. He knew better. Derek was such a good actor. He was trying so hard to cling to his character - a guy desperately trying to keep up his straight identity, even now, even after he'd just been fucked by a guy and enjoyed it.
"Come on," Stiles cajoled, his voice smooth and soothing. "Be honest and just admit it."
'Miguel' took a deep breath, his chest heaving. He knew he couldn't win this battle. Not with his body betraying him like this. So, with gritted teeth, he forced the words out. "It was... okay."
"Okay?" Stiles' smile grew wider. "I think we can do better than that." He leaned in closer, his breath hot on Miguel's neck. "How about 'mind-blowing'?"
Derek's eyes rolled, but he couldn't stop the small smile that tugged at his lips. "Fine," he growled. "It was fucking amazing."
"That's more like it," Stiles said, his voice filled with satisfaction. He stopped the recording and slipped his phone back into his pocket. "But you know what's even better than 'amazing' Derek?"
"What?" Derek asked, his voice still thick with lust.
Stiles leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Derek's ear. "The sound of my cock sliding in and out of your ass while you scream my name," he whispered, his hand reaching around to give Derek's still-hard cock a gentle squeeze. "You pretending so hard to be Miguel when there's no ounce of straightness in you."
Derek's body responded immediately, his cock twitching in Stiles' hand. "You're a sadistic fuck," he murmured.
"And you love it," Stiles said, his voice filled with a dark, teasing promise.
The two men stood there for a moment, their bodies still entwined, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Stiles knew he had Derek right where he wanted him—desperate for more, desperate to give in to the feelings he'd been pushing down for so long.
"I'm single," Stiles said, his voice casual as he stepped back, watching Derek's reaction. The words hung in the air like a challenge, a silent 'are you going to take me up on it?'
Derek's eyes snapped to his, and for a moment, Stiles saw a flicker of something that looked a lot like hope. But it was quickly replaced with playfulness that was rarely seen in Derek. "What's your point?"
Stiles shrugged, his hand sliding down to adjust his pants, trying to hide a smile. "Just thought you should know," he said, his voice dripping with innuendo. "In case you were wondering."
Derek didn't reply this time. Instead, he leaned in and captured Stiles' mouth in a kiss that was fiercer than any Stiles had ever experienced. It was as if Derek was trying to devour him whole, to claim him in a way that went beyond the boundaries of their past or the façade of the porn they'd just filmed. It was a kiss filled with unspoken words, with the promise of what could be if they both let go of their fears and insecurities.