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Stiles was staying at his parents' place that summer after his freshman year at college. He was definitely missing dorm life—the freedom to meet new people, try new things, and just figure out who he was amid the chaos of young adulthood. College had helped him open up more, transforming him from Mr Painfully Awkward his whole life to just kinda shy. Now, he was in a space of leaning into whatever life offered, taking chances even if they pushed him out of his comfort zone. Wasn't that what this stage of life was all about? Especially after years of dealing with werewolves, kanimas, and every other supernatural nightmare Beacon Hills threw at him.
Being home, however, kinda sucked, as it immediately transported him back to feeling like a 12-year-old again. His parents still called him "Champ" for chrissake—Derek with that gruff affection, and Noah (the Sheriff) with his dad-joke warmth.
Because Derek and Noah had revamped the living room into a loungey library after Stiles left for school, the only TV in the house was in their bedroom upstairs. As much as Stiles would like to say he'd been staying super active—maybe running with the pack or helping Scott with some lingering supernatural loose ends—the truth was he'd been watching a lot of TV. Bad TV. But whatever. It was summertime in Beacon Hills. His parents didn't care if he was in their room, though—even on weekends when they weren't at their jobs. Derek was always working on something in his workshop, lifting weights in the basement, or patrolling the preserve to keep the pack safe, while Noah was either at the station, sometimes cleaning the house or running errands. They only used their bedroom for sleeping. And sex, of course.
Stiles got to hear that sometimes now that he was back home. It used to make him super uncomfortable in high school, back when the pack's drama made everything feel amplified. But now it was just an annoying distraction that made it hard to fall asleep. Heaven knows he'd gotten used to hearing people having sex after a semester rooming with Scott's cousin, Jared—a human guy who'd somehow avoided the Beacon Hills curse.
Last Sunday, Stiles was watching TV while Noah was folding laundry on the bed. Derek got out of the shower down the hall and walked into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He grabbed some clean underwear from the drawer and, then, boom.
He let his towel fall to the floor. Stiles saw Derek's butt—that fat, perfect, round, and huge ass that looked like it could crush boulders—and his flaccid dick wiggle as he bent over to put his underwear on. Did he not see Stiles there or something? Stiles thought.
He then took notice that Derek's body looked a lot like his own. Hairy chest. Long legs. Thick bum. Stiles was just a brown- haired, brown-eyed leaner version of him, that's all. And his bush was better maintained.
“Honey, come on, Champ's in here,” Noah half-heartedly complained.
Derek looked at them. “We're guys. We're naked in locker rooms all the time around each other—hell, the pack's seen worse during full moons.”
Noah smirked at him and then looked at Stiles as his eyes became fixed on the TV screen. Stiles glanced at him real quick. Was he supposed to freak out? Or leave the room? He didn't know, so he just said:
“Whatever.”
It was the following Saturday afternoon, and Stiles was lying down in his parents' bed watching TV when Derek started climbing the stairs. Stiles heard the bathroom door shut and the shower burst on. Derek had probably just got done working out—or maybe a quick patrol—and needed to cool down and clean up. Stiles wondered if he was gonna change in front of him again.
Noah was at the bar with one of his old deputy friends. Should Stiles leave now, before Derek comes in and avoid the situation altogether? Maybe Derek would dress in the bathroom. He didn't know. Shit.
He swiftly recalled Derek's hairy chest and dangling penis from the other day. It was kinda cool that his father wasn't bothered that Stiles was in the room. That it wasn't a big deal. Like, they both had penises, so who cared? Plus, with Derek's werewolf senses, he probably knew exactly how Stiles was reacting. After a brief internal assessment, Stiles figured to just stay put and keep watching TV. After all, he was just hanging out on a Saturday afternoon.
The shower turned off, and Stiles heard Derek whistling to himself. He liked it when his father was in a good mood—he was playful and easy-going, a rare break from his usual brooding alpha demeanour.
The bedroom door opened, and Derek walked in nonchalantly without looking at Stiles. In nothing but his towel.
“Hey, Champ.” He glided toward the closet.
“Hey,” Stiles replied.
“Whatcha watchin'?” Derek faced away from Stiles and let the towel drop.
Stiles saw his round, massive ass—those perfect, fat cheeks that jiggled slightly with every movement, so huge they could probably smother a kanima. And he noticed the hairiness of Derek's inner thighs. His upper body had gotten beefier in the past year, no doubt from all the pack training and all the food he's been eating more lately.
Answer him!
“SUPERNATURAL!”
Derek turned to face the TV, and Stiles could see his soft dick resting atop his big set of balls. He laughed at one of Dean's jokes from the show, and Stiles watched his penis jiggle with the movement of his body. It looked between six and seven inches soft. Kinda like Stiles's. Derek simultaneously started putting on deodorant in each of his hairy armpits. Stiles noticed his body's profile, the shape of an 'S' curving around his upper back, into his waist, and then out around that enormous, round ass.
“Dad.”
Derek shifted from the TV to Stiles in a gesture of 'what'.
“Clothes?” Stiles inquired.
Derek looked at him and smiled, his green eyes sparkling with mischief.
“What? You afraid of seeing your old man's weiner?”
Stiles couldn't help but smile. He said 'weiner'.
“I'm not afraid of it. It's just... hanging out so freely is all.”
A spark of playfulness showed in Derek's eyes, and he started crawling toward Stiles on the bed. In the nude, playfully punching his legs, with a shit-eating grin on his face. In a satirical old-person voice, he joked:
“I'm sorry you're seeing your old, geezer-dad in his birthday suit.”
Stiles laughed as he tried kicking him away.
“Get off me!”
Derek's penis was flopping around with his abrupt movements. And now that Stiles was up close, he could see Derek had a few grey pubic hairs in his big bush. Stiles kept checking it out.
“Come on, Dad!”
“All right, all right,” Derek relented and got off the bed. He faced Stiles. “Hey, I'm old, but I think I'm still in pretty good shape.”
And he wasn't lying. He was tall, strong, with nice abs—werewolf genetics and super healing kept him looking prime. Stiles would love to eventually have his muscle definition. He suddenly thought of Derek having sex with Noah. This was Noah's view from bed as Derek readied to mount him—or get mounted, knowing their dynamics. Fresh from a shower and eager to get dirty.
Dude, Stiles, why are you thinking these thoughts? He glanced from Derek's body to the TV and back, remembering his comment.
“Sure,” Stiles blurted out lazily.
Derek was just looking at him. Why wasn't he putting on underwear? He opened his mouth and, in a softer tone, asked:
“You take after your dad in this area?” while pointing to his crotch. He saw Stiles glance at his dick. Whoops. Stiles's eyes returned to the TV.
“Dude, come on,” Stiles whined, dishonestly.
“We're just talking about guy stuff. Fine, whatever, I'm freaking you out.”
Derek walked up to the drawer and opened it, searching for underwear. Stiles knew this was his out, that if he ignored him and let his father put on his underwear, this awkward situation would be over. And life would go back to normal. They'd go back to doing normal dad-son stuff, like arguing over pack strategies or Stiles's jeep repairs. Sigh. But Stiles felt caught up in a wind that had a mind of its own, so he took a leap into the unknown and opened his mouth.
“It looks the same as yours, Dad...” Derek glanced down at Stiles's crotch for a moment. “... I just maintain my area, unlike you.”
Derek faced him again. In the nude. And adjusted his balls.
“You 'maintain your area'?” he asked with air quotation marks. “What, like, you shave off all your hair or somethin'?”
Stiles glanced at his lap.
“No, I just trim it. They call it manscaping.”
“Let me see what this manscaping looks like, then,” Derek commanded, his voice dropping to that alpha growl that always sent a shiver through the pack.
A part of Stiles had kinda been hoping he'd get to that. But he just said:
“There's no way.”
“Come on, Champ. I'm hanging it all out here like a goofball. We're talking about our bodies. Ain't nothin' to be ashamed of, right? Especially not with family.”
Stiles's dad wanted to check out his package. A long moment passed, and Stiles then rolled his eyes.
“Whatever.”
He slowly climbed out of bed, debating just blurting out “Sike!” and walking out, but ended up just standing a couple of feet in front of Derek—in his sweatpants and large T-shirt. No underwear. His possessed self pulled his pants down to his knees. And he felt the cool AC air tickle up against his exposed skin.
Derek took a long glance at Stiles's crotch as Stiles bashfully stared at the floor. This was so weird. How was this happening? He was getting lost in thought when:
“Looks pretty sharp, actually.”
In a flash, Derek reached his hand and brushed his finger against Stiles's trimmed pubic patch. Stiles noticed Derek's dark forearm hairs and then the redness of his nipples as he got a little closer. His touch tingled. And Stiles worried that his penis might grow a little.
“Makes you look like a little boy, though.”
Stiles eased a little.
“Girls like it.”
“Your balls look hairless,” Derek commented as his finger skimmed the side of Stiles's testicle, feeling the smoothness he worked hard to maintain. He was touching Stiles a second time. “Yeah. I like it like that, though.”
A brief silence passed, and time seemed to freeze.
“Now this looks like a man,” Derek redirected, while rubbing his hand across his own pubic hair and downward to grab his nuts. “Check it out, boy. Feel how thick and manly it is.”
He pulled Stiles's hand to touch it and let go as Stiles's fingers pinched through Derek's pubic hair for a moment. Still moist from the shower. Derek had made Stiles touch his pubic hair. This was bizarre.
“More like a caveman, Dad.”
Derek laughed. And it looked like his penis got a little longer. He reached toward Stiles again and, with his finger, moved Stiles's soft penis to the right, glancing at his testicles more fully. Then let Stiles's penis dangle back into place and said:
“My balls are a little bigger, but yeah, looks just like my dick when I was your age. That fat vein running down the side, the same mushroom head. Fuck, it's like you inherited every inch from me.”
He so casually kept touching Stiles's genitals. Was this normal?
“They do kinda, yeah.” Stiles felt like his penis grew a smidge, too.
Derek then spoke in an even quieter tone:
“You all right with the parts you inherited from me, boy? That big, thick cock that's gonna stretch holes just like mine does?”
Stiles smiled. Because he was.
“Yeah. I like my penis.”
“Good. I like mine, too. And yours looks delicious—like a younger version I wanna devour.”
Stiles noticed the relaxed look in Derek's eyes and how nice his smile looked with his stubble. Another brief silence passed. And he wondered if this was as far as it would go.
“How 'bout we see if our hard-ons match, too,” Derek laughed, his voice husky. “I bet yours gets to twelve inches, just like mine. Thick as a wrist.”
“What?!” Stiles echoed his laugh.
“Sure! Haven't you compared hard-ons with a buddy before? Scott never whipped it out during a pack sleepover?”
“No.” Stiles scratched his groin. He could see that Derek's penis was slowly filling out. He glanced at his own just to make sure it wasn't already solid. It wasn't, but it was stirring. This was insane. His dad was semi-erect in front of him after touching him multiple times, and Stiles was here trying to stop a boner from popping.
“It doesn't mean you're gay, son. It's just guy stuff—taboo shit that gets the blood pumping. Girls do the same crap with each other. Come on.”
Stiles suddenly felt his nerves surge. His heart rate increased. And a part of him was afraid of what was to come. Like, what the fuck was happening? This moment of trepidation paused his dick from grow-mode.
“I don't know if I can get fully hard right now,” he lied.
“Close your eyes. You'll get hard. Trust me. Just close your eyes.”
Stiles was standing there with his pants down at his knees. Unsure of how to proceed. And he just closed his eyes.
“You're crazy, Dad.”
Within a few seconds, Stiles suddenly felt warm skin press up against his crotch. He realised Derek's ass—that fat, perfect, round, huge bubble butt—was rubbing against his cock. He guides his hanging dick in his crack and now strokes it in a back-and-forth fashion. And, of course, it was working.
“Noah helps get me hard by rubbing his ass against me like this—How does it feel, mine boy? I bet it's even better than any of the girls who have done this to you. So wrong, but so fucking good.”
Stiles secretly opened his eyes to watch Derek rubbing up against his body, facing the wall. Derek's back was just inches from touching Stiles's chest, and he felt the warmth of his body heat—enhanced by that werewolf core temperature. Stiles noticed a small patch of hair at Derek's lower back and saw short hairs leading into his ass crack. That booty was built! Fat cheeks jiggling with each grind, so round and huge they swallowed Stiles's growing shaft between them. Derek had a constellation of freckles on his back. His cheeks continued to stroke Stiles's growing dick. Derek must have known Stiles was getting hard as hell because his cock was now poking into Derek's nut sack and curving upward between his legs. But he kept pressing against him.
“Hard yet?” Derek asked. He fucking knew he was.
“Almost,” Stiles fibbed, as he relished a few more seconds.
Once Derek turned around, Stiles saw his twelve inches of meat pointing toward the ceiling. Rock hard, veiny, and throbbing—just like the monster Stiles knew he inherited. Derek smiled widely as he looked at Stiles's cock, now fully erect at twelve inches, thick and pulsing.
“Damn, boy, they look identical! Fuck, that huge cock of yours is a carbon copy—gonna wreck asses and pussies just like mine.”
They were both laughing and checking each other's junk out. It was weird and funny and exciting all at the same time, with a taboo edge that made Stiles's skin tingle.
“Yeah, that's messed up.”
“Ha, yeah. Like looking in a mirror. Same girth, colouring, that fat head begging to be sucked.”
Derek stepped forward and pressed his erection against the side of Stiles's. And held them together.
“Length,” Stiles said.
“That's crazy. It's like a crystal ball, and I'm looking into my past—when I was younger, dumber, and full of cum.”
“Ha, yeah... and I'm looking into my future.”
Stiles's heart was racing as Derek's hand cupped their erections. They said nothing for a moment.
“I remember trying to suck my own dick once, ya know, just to see if I could,” Derek said. “With werewolf flexibility, I got close, but no cigar.”
“Ha, yeah, me too.”
“Used to wonder what it'd be like if I could just suck my own dick anytime I wanted to. Ya know, instead of working so hard at getting a blowjob—or begging Noah for one.”
His grasping hand subtly shifted around in a slight massaging motion.
“Would you if you could, Champ? Suck that huge cock of yours?” Suck his own dick? Hell yeah.
“Maybe. Prolly, yeah. You?” They were both standing super close to each other, staring down at their bodies.
“Oh yeah. And right now, I wanna taste what it's like to suck my own—yours looks so fucking tasty, boy.”
He continued rubbing their dicks together, his breath hot against Stiles's neck.
“We're both pretty freakin' hard,” Derek commented, his voice dripping with lust. “That taboo rush got you throbbing, huh? Knowing this is so wrong—father and son.”
Stiles said nothing. He didn't know what to say. Derek was making the moves, and Stiles was just along for the ride.
“I'm gonna see what it's like to suck my own dick. Get ready, Champ—Daddy's gonna slobber all over that inherited one-eyed monster.”
And just like that, Derek got on his knees and put Stiles's helmet in his mouth. And sank deeper. Down to the base and up once. Then twice. And a third time. Painting Stiles's twelve-inch cock with his saliva, gagging slightly on the girth but loving every nasty inch.
“How does that feel? Fuck, your cock tastes like mine—salty, musky, perfect.”
Umm, great!.
Stiles's dick was feeling alive as hell right now.
“Strange, I guess... but... um, good.”
Derek looked up at him and could probably tell Stiles was a little nervous—his werewolf senses picking up the racing heartbeat.
“No one needs to know about this. Especially not Noah—he can never fucking know his husband is sucking off their son like a dirty whore. I promise not to tell anyone if you promise, too. But god, the thought of him finding out... it makes me hard and wet just thinking about how forbidden this is.”
“Promise.”
Derek then continued giving Stiles a slow, sensual blowjob. Like he was discovering something new and not wanting it to end too soon—savouring the taboo flavor. Stiles listened to the slurping, the wet gags as Derek deep-throated that massive shaft.
“I kinda like sucking my dick,” Derek murmured between slurps, keeping up the dirty talk. “Tastes so good, boy. So nasty knowing it's yours—my own flesh and blood filling my throat.”
It felt so good. His dad was actually giving him a blowjob. A great one, with werewolf tongue skills that twisted and teased. It went on like this for minutes. Stiles looked down and saw Derek's throbbing boner between his legs. He realised he wanted to try sucking Derek's dick (his own, in a way), but he was afraid of looking dumb. Or not making him feel enough pleasure. But as he observed Derek moving his lips and mouth along his cock so calmly, he reminded himself of how simple it all was.
“Can I try?”
“God, please! See what it's like to suck your own cock—suck Daddy's fat dick, boy.”
Derek stood up, while Stiles got to his knees. He smelled a shower scent waft in his nostrils, mixed with the musky werewolf pheromones. His eyes met Derek's erection and full bush. Derek's penis was bouncing to the beat of his pulse, inches away from Stiles's face. Stiles was going to consume his creator.
In a dreamlike trance, Stiles's mouth and throat greeted Derek's dick, and they danced together in harmony. He heard Derek's deep and heavy breathing as he filled his mouth with his father's masculinity. Derek's fingers brushed against the back of Stiles's neck in tenderness. Stiles could barely fit the damn thing in his mouth. It was warm, and he could taste a slimy drip of precum. His nose touched Derek's pubic patch with each bob. And he was loving how alive Derek's penis felt inside his mouth. Pulsing. Throbbing. Twitching.
“Mmm,” Derek moaned. Stiles must have been doing okay. “You're doing great, Champ. Suck that daddy dick like the nasty boy you are,” he added.
That was all Stiles wanted to hear. He relaxed a little more into the moment and lost track of time.
“I really like it when my balls get licked,” Derek whispered, his voice rough. “And my ass—tongue that hairy hole, boy. Get it ready for your big cock.”
Stiles instinctively kept his hand massaging Derek's dick while his mouth gave Derek what he wanted. His tongue brushed through Derek's full and hairy testicles, speckled with grey hair, gliding on each side and underneath where it met his ass hair. Then, bolder, Stiles spread those fat, perfect cheeks and dove in, tonguing Derek's tight, hairy hole—tasting the clean, musky flavour.
Derek exhaled loudly, his huge ass quivering. “Fuck yes, eat Daddy's hole. Get it wet for that twelve-incher,” he groaned. “Plant your seed in me, son—Fuck me with that huge cock you inherited. Stretch my ass, fill me up with your cum. Make Daddy your bitch,” Derek urged.
As crazy as it was, Stiles was willing to give it a try because he didn't want this to end. And he wanted his father to feel good. He wanted to make him cum. And if that meant pounding Derek's perfect ass, so be it.
“All right,” Stiles replied. “But I'll go easy on you.”
“No! You won't— don't you dare to hold back on me, boy. Pound Daddy's fat ass like you mean it,” Derek growled.
As he lay back on the bed with his ass toward the edge, knees up. His erection and balls were shiny with Stiles's saliva. Stiles stood at the foot of the bed between Derek's open legs. For a second, Stiles felt a little embarrassed to have his father's hairy asshole so on display—that huge, round bubble butt spread wide, cheeks so fat and perfect they jiggled with anticipation. But he quickly found reassurance in Derek's excitement.
Derek dropped a slow and long wad of spit onto his own asshole, then spread it around with his thumb, gently edging into his hole with a smirk on his face. “Mmm, get in here, son. Noah never will be able to fuck me this deep— but you will.”
Was Stiles really about to take his dad's ass? Did this count as losing his virginity—in the most taboo way?.
For a few minutes, Derek kept slowly thrusting his fingers into his own hole, moaning softly as he stretched himself, his eyes locked on Stiles with raw hunger. It awakened sensations in Stiles he'd never felt before—watching his alpha dad finger himself like a needy slut, those fat cheeks parting to reveal his tight, hairy entrance. And then, with Stiles's guiding hand, his twelve-incher slowly entered Derek, inch by throbbing inch, the tight heat enveloping him like a vice, gripping and pulsing around his shaft in a way that made Stiles gasp.
It kinda hurt Derek at first, but not too much to say anything; his werewolf healing helped him adjust quickly. For Stiles, though, the sensation was overwhelming—tight, hot, and gripping his massive shaft so intensely that he felt his control slipping almost immediately. He began gyrating with ease, thrusting deeper, clenching onto the blanket as he leaned into the moment, the friction building an unbearable pressure.
Soon, Stiles's dad was filled with his son's manhood, and as Stiles humped him—bang, bang, bang—he felt close to cumming already, the tightness of Derek's asshole clenching rhythmically, milking him relentlessly.
"Fuck, boy, your cock gets even harder when I remind you how wrong this is," Derek groaned, relishing the taboo. "Noah can never know I'm taking our son's dick up my ass like a filthy whore—but god, it turns me on. Feel how my hole twitches? Pound me harder, Champ. Fill Daddy up with that forbidden cum."
And then, they heard a car pull into the driveway. Fuck, Noah's home!
"Papa," Stiles exhaled.
"Hold up. I'm almost there, boy."
"OK. Me too."
Stiles's thrusts increased in tempo, but the overwhelming tightness proved too much; he barely lasted a few more strokes before embarrassment flooded him as he came prematurely, spilling deep inside Derek's clenching hole, his seed flooding the warm depths in hot spurts. He felt his face heat up, ashamed at how quickly the intense grip had pushed him over the edge—his first time, and he'd blown his load so fast.
Derek intermittently closed his eyes in ecstasy, sweat dripping from his forehead—werewolf heat making the room steam.
Stiles was about to burst even more, but he'd already done it. He heard the side door shut. Derek's asshole tightened around his engorging cock, prolonging the aftershocks.
“Here I cum,” Derek whispered, jerking himself furiously.
The moment Stiles felt his own orgasm lingering, he watched Derek erupt, his cum splashing onto his own hand and forearm. Their eyes met just inches away from each other, and Stiles wondered if Derek might kiss him. His orgasm face stared at Stiles with lips slightly ajar. Father looking at his son. But he didn't kiss him. Derek quickly pulled off Stiles's cock, and they rushed to put on some clothes. Noah was walking upstairs. They both clumsily re-positioned themselves on the bed, sitting upright with their backs to the wall and knees up. Pretending to watch TV.
“Hi, boys.”
They said hi. And Noah left to use the bathroom. Derek looked at Stiles and showed him his hand that still held a few smears of his own cum. He smiled and then licked it up in front of him.
Then showed him his tongue.
"That was some good bonding time, Champ. Can't wait for a longer round two, three, four—your cock in my ass feels like home."
And he got up and exited the room.
Stiles sat there on the bed watching his naked father retreating, his heart still pounding like a drum in his chest, the TV droning on with some rerun episode of Supernatural that he wasn't even pretending to watch anymore. The scent of sweat and sex lingered in the air, mixed with Derek's fresh shower smell, and he shifted uncomfortably under the blanket, hoping Noah wouldn't notice anything off. His mind was a whirlwind—replaying the last hour in vivid, forbidden flashes: Derek's mouth on him, the taste of his dad's cock, the tight heat of that massive ass clenching around his shaft. And that premature finish? Embarrassing as hell, but the rush... god, it had been intense. Taboo. Wrong. And yet, Stiles couldn't deny the thrill buzzing through his veins.
Noah emerged from the bathroom a moment later, towel-drying his hands as he glanced at the screen. "Supernatural again? You and your marathons, kid." He chuckled, that familiar dad-joke warmth in his voice, oblivious to the chaos that had just unfolded in his own bed. He plopped down on the edge of the mattress, kicking off his shoes with a sigh. "Rough day at the station—some kids vandalising the old house of your father's family ruins. Nothing supernatural, thank god. How's your afternoon been? Derek behaving himself?"
Stiles forced a casual laugh, pulling his knees up tighter to hide any lingering evidence under his sweatpants. "Yeah, yeah. Just chilling. Dad—uh, Derek—was here a minute ago. Said something about heading to the workshop." He swallowed hard, his face flushing as he remembered Derek licking his own cum off his hand like it was no big deal. That mischievous grin. The promise of round two. Stiles's cock twitched at the thought, and he quickly shifted his gaze back to the TV. "You know him, always tinkering with something."
Noah nodded, leaning back against the headboard with a groan. "That man never sits still. Werewolf energy, I swear. Speaking of, pack meeting tomorrow night—Scott and Chris want everyone there to go over those weird scent trails in the preserve. You in?" He ruffled Stiles's hair affectionately, like he was still that awkward kid from high school, not the college guy who'd just fucked his own father.
"Definitely," Stiles replied, his voice steadier than he felt. But inside, his thoughts were racing ahead. Round two. When? How? With Noah around, it felt impossible—and that forbidden edge only made the idea hotter. He glanced toward the door where Derek had disappeared, wondering if his alpha senses were picking up on this conversation, smirking to himself downstairs.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of normalcy that felt anything but. They ordered pizza—extra meat for Derek, who emerged from the basement workshop with sawdust in his hair and that gruff, post-workout glow. He acted like nothing had happened, clapping Noah on the back and stealing a slice from Stiles's plate with a wink that only Stiles caught the double meaning in.
"Good stuff, Champ," Derek said, his green eyes lingering a second too long. Noah laughed it off, turning up the volume on the game they switched to, but Stiles felt the heat rise in his cheeks. Dinner turned into board games—Monopoly, of all things—where Derek's competitive streak came out, and Noah's dad jokes kept the mood light. All the while, Stiles stole glances at Derek's broad shoulders, his hairy forearms, remembering how they'd flexed as he braced himself on the bed.
By bedtime, the house quieted down. Stiles retreated to his old room, the one still cluttered with high school mementos and packed research notes pinned to the wall. He lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, his body still humming from the afternoon's events. Sleep didn't come easily—every creak in the house made him wonder if Derek was sneaking up the stairs. But nothing happened. Not that night.
The next morning dawned with the smell of coffee and bacon wafting from the kitchen. Noah was already suited up for his shift, badge gleaming as he poured a mug.
"Early patrol for me—stay out of trouble, you two," he said, kissing Derek on the lips and going back to give Stiles a quick hug before heading out the door. The engine rumbled away, leaving the house in that heavy silence that suddenly felt charged.
Stiles wandered downstairs in his boxers and T-shirt, hair tousled, pretending like he wasn't hoping for this exact moment. Derek was at the stove, flipping eggs, his back to the door—that same broad, muscular frame Stiles had admired yesterday. He turned, spatula in hand, and his eyes lit up with that playful mischief.
"Morning, Champ. Sleep well?"
Stiles leaned against the counter, crossing his arms to hide his nerves. "Not really. Kept thinking about... You know." He glanced away, but Derek set the spatula down and stepped closer, his presence filling the space like always.
"Yeah? Me too." Derek's voice dropped to that husky growl, his hand brushing Stiles's arm. "Noah's gone till late. Plenty of time for that longer round two I mentioned. You up for it, boy? Or you gonna chicken out on exploring more of what you inherited?"
Stiles's pulse quickened, the taboo rush flooding back. He met Derek's gaze, seeing the hunger there mirrored in his own. "I'm up for it. But... slower this time. I wanna make it last."
Derek grinned, pulling him into a rough embrace, his lips brushing Stiles's ear. "That's my boy. Kitchen table or back upstairs? Your call—Daddy's ready to get wrecked by that monster again."
They didn't make it upstairs. The kitchen became their playground, eggs forgotten on the stove as Derek shoved aside the frying pan with a growl, his green eyes locked on Stiles with raw, feral hunger. He stripped off his shirt in one fluid motion, revealing that hairy, muscled chest, then yanked down his pants, kicking them away before bending over the table like the needy alpha slut he was turning into. That fat, perfect ass was on display once more—huge, round, bouncy cheeks covered in a light dusting of dark hair, jiggling invitingly as he spread his legs wide, arching his back to present his hole like a bitch in heat.
"Look at this ass, Champ," Derek snarled, his voice dripping with dirty lust as he reached back and slapped one massive cheek, making it ripple. "Still fuckin' loose and ready from last night—your cum's probably still leakin' out. Had to clench tight all evening around Noah, hidin' how wrecked you left me. He tried to fuck me before bed, but I played it off, said I was tired. Couldn't let him feel how stretched and sloppy you made Daddy's hole. Now get over here and eat it, boy—tongue that hairy, used-up ass like the forbidden treat it is."
Stiles dropped to his knees behind him, heart pounding as he gripped those enormous, hairy cheeks and spread them wide. Derek's hole was indeed still slightly gaped from their rushed session the day before, pink and puffy, glistening with a hint of leftover lube and cum, surrounded by a thick ring of dark hair that trailed up his crack. The musky, werewolf scent hit Stiles like a drug—salty, earthy, intoxicating. He dove in without hesitation, his tongue lapping flat and broad over the puckered entrance, tasting the remnants of their taboo encounter. Derek moaned like a whore, pushing back against Stiles's face, his fat ass smothering him as Stiles thrust his tongue deeper, spearing into the loosened hole, swirling around the sensitive walls.
"Fuck yes, eat Daddy's dirty hole, boy," Derek groaned, his voice husky and broken. "Tongue-fuck it deeper—get in there and taste how you ruined me last night. Noah has no idea his husband's ass is still open for their son's cock. Mmm, that's it, slurp it up, make it wet and ready for that monster you inherited."
Stiles amplified his efforts, sucking and nibbling at the hairy rim, his hands kneading those massive, bouncy cheeks as they quivered under his touch. He buried his face deeper, his nose pressing into the sweaty crack, tongue probing relentlessly until Derek was whimpering, his werewolf healing making the hole twitch and clench greedily around the intrusion. Minutes stretched into a filthy eternity, Derek's dirty talk egging him on:
"God, your tongue feels better than Noah's ever did—deeper, boy, make Daddy's ass drip for you."
Finally, Derek pulled away with a shudder, turning around and dropping to his knees in front of Stiles. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he yanked down Stiles's boxers, freeing that massive twelve-inch cock—thick, veiny, and already throbbing hard.
"Now let Daddy lube this up right," he purred, spitting a thick wad onto the fat mushroom head before wrapping his lips around it. He sucked sloppily, deep-throating the shaft with wet, gagging sounds, his saliva coating every inch as he bobbed hungrily. "Mmm, tastes so good, Champ—I have to admit your cock's even bigger and thicker than mine was at your age. Gonna stretch my hole wide open, better than Noah's pathetic prick ever could. Slobberin' all over my own inherited meat—fuck, it's nasty and perfect."
Stiles groaned, threading his fingers through Derek's hair as his dad worked him over, spit dripping down his balls. Once the cock was slick and glistening, Derek stood, bending back over the table with a wicked grin.
"Now pound me, boy—bend Daddy over and wreck this fat ass like you mean it."
Stiles didn't hesitate, lining up his spit-lubed monster and thrusting in deep. The tightness was still overwhelming but now familiar—like coming home, just as Derek had said—his hole gripping like a vice, stretched to its limits around the girth. This time, Stiles lasted longer, his thrusts deeper and more controlled, building a steady rhythm that had the table creaking under them. Derek's fat, huge, bouncy, hairy ass jumped back against Stiles's hips, meeting every powerful thrust with a slap of skin on skin, those massive cheeks rippling and jiggling like they were made for this forbidden pounding.
"Oh fuck, yes! That's it, Champ—your cock fills me so completely, stretches my hole wider than Noah's ever has," Derek screamed like a whore, his voice echoing through the kitchen. "Pound that prostate, boy—every thrust hits it like a fuckin' punch, makin' Daddy see stars. Harder! Make me your bitch—better than your other dad could ever dream. God, this ass is bouncin' back on you, swallowin' that thick dick whole. Scream for it, yeah—fuck me like the dirty alpha slut I am!"
Derek's moans turned into outright screams, raw and whorish, as Stiles hammered relentlessly, each prostate-punching thrust sending shockwaves through his father's body. The hairy ass clapped back greedily, sweat-slicked cheeks quaking with the force, Derek's werewolf heat making the room steam as he begged for more. "Deeper, boy—fill Daddy up, stretch me till I can't walk straight. Noah's cock is nothin' compared to this monster—wreck me, Champ!"
They went at it for what felt like hours, Stiles's control holding strong this time, drawing out the pleasure until they were both drenched in sweat. Finally, with a guttural roar, they finished together—Stiles spilling deep inside that clenching hole, Derek's own cock erupting onto the table below. They collapsed in a sweaty heap on the floor, panting and tangled, Derek whispering hoarsely against Stiles's neck, "Inherited every damn trait, Champ. Can't wait for round three."
Little did they know, the pack meeting that night would bring unexpected interruptions—but for now, in the quiet of the house, the bond between father and son had deepened in ways neither could have imagined.