Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7836016.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Sheriff_Stilinski/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Sheriff_Stilinski, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Face-Sitting, Parent/Child_Incest, Rimming, Human_Furniture, Scat, Human
      Toilet_Paper
  Series:
      Part 12 of Forbidden_Kinks
  Collections:
      Anonymous, Toilet_of_Our_Own_(scat_watersports_musk_etc.)
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-08-22 Updated: 2016-10-19 Chapters: 2/3 Words: 8458
****** An Empty House ******
by Anonymous
Summary
     There are certain acts in the world that deserve the deepest form of
     punishment.
     John Stilinski, having served in the military for 10 years, then as a
     deputy for 12, and finally as Sheriff of Beacon Hills for another 10
     years, was more than aware of the disgusting acts that some people do
     to each other. Especially child abuse – he’d seen 100 too many cases
     of just that, and he’s sure that he’s let plenty more slip by him.
     Every time he’d been able to save a child, he’d taken a sick amount
     of pleasure at locking the abusive parent behind bars.
     He’d never imagined during those moments that he might someday become
     worse than them. But boy, did he enjoy it.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
  This work was inspired by
      A_Comfortable_Life by Anonymous
***** Chapter 1 *****
There are certain acts in the world that deserve the deepest form of
punishment.
 
John Stilinski, having served in the military for 10 years, then as a deputy
for 12, and finally as Sheriff of Beacon Hills for another 10 years, was more
than aware of the disgusting acts that some people do to each other. Especially
child abuse – he’d seen 100 too many cases of just that, and he’s sure that
he’s let plenty more slip by him. Every time he’d been able to save a child,
he’d taken a sick amount of pleasure at locking the abusive parent behind bars.
 
He’d never imagined during those moments that he might someday become worse
than them. But boy, did he enjoy it.
 
~~
 
It began on a Thursday afternoon when Stiles was 14. It had been 4 years since
Claudia had passed away, and the two Stilinski men were still trying to deal
with the loss. The house had become quiet and still in a way she had never let
it get – and Stiles, who had always been too loud and too everything – was even
quieter.
 
John had tried many times to help his son out with his grief, but when you’re
grieving yourself, it’s pretty hard. And Claudia had always been the one who
just gotStiles. John had often been left to stare in bemusement as they left
him behind, constantly. No child was the same after the loss of a parent, and
Stiles was no different.
 
And John himself, well, he certainly didn’t take it well. He’d become a lot
friendlier with alcohol since the funeral, and that friendship had only grown
as each year passed. On this Thursday afternoon, one could very firmly say that
the man was an alcoholic. It was a rare day when he had less than half a bottle
of whiskey, and it was more often more. Everybody has his or her ways of
coping.
 
Half the time, John was so drunk that he didn’t even know where Stiles was.
Most often he was away from the house, spending the afternoons and evenings
after school with Scott, his best friend, and Melissa, who had become a
surrogate parent in most ways. She wasn’t aware of the Sheriff’s drinking
problem – only that the house had too many memories of Claudia for Stiles to
take. So she gladly took him in, at the same time doing nothing to stop what
was truly happening.
 
Because the thing is, when the Sheriff was drunk, he was loud. Trying to fill
the quiet house with something other than silence, he would often yell and
scream – not loud enough so that the neighbours could hear, just loud enough
that anybody in the house would be unable to hear anything else. And if Stiles
was around, that yelling would often be directed at the kid. John felt terrible
about the yelling afterwards, of course, but if he’d truly regretted it, he
would have stopped drinking altogether.
 
As stated, everybody has their way of coping.
 
So on this Thursday afternoon, the Sheriff had no reason to suspect that Stiles
was anywhere but at the McCall’s house – he certainly didn’t expect that he
would be at home. And so he came bustling through the door, walking quickly
into the kitchen so he could find his relief at the bottom of his bottles,
before he made his way over to the couch. It was quite a surprise when he saw
that instead of being off somewhere, his son was lying stretched across the
couch, taking up each cushion. Rolling his eyes and taking a swig from his
bottle, John merely grunted at him to budge over, turning his back to him to
take a seat.
 
He had assumed Stiles would hear him, is the thing, so when instead of sitting
down on the perfectly worn in cushions of the family room couch, the Sheriff
instead found himself sitting on something hard and vaguely round, he was
confused. Whereas most people might have stood up immediately, the Sheriff was
too bottle-weary to do so, and instead he turned to glance down at what was
underneath him.
 
He could see Stiles’ chest on the cushion beside him, and he realized that his
son hadn’t moved at all before he sat down. Meaning that he was currently
seated on his 14-year-old son’s face.
 
He didn’t stand up as quickly as he perhaps should have, too confused. Because
for all that John Stilinski was a drunk, he didn’t get elected as Sheriff for
nothing. He had noticed right away that despite having been smothered under his
father’s ass, Stiles hadn’t moved in any sort of protest.
 
Turning around once he was standing, John looked down at his son’s face. His
eyes were open, focused on the ceiling straight-ahead, blinking every few
minutes. He was breathing slightly heavily, but it settled down after a few
moments. Over all, he might as well have had a paper placed on his face,
instead of the full weight of a fully grown man.
 
And John really should have moved him, but he was too curious. Taking another
swig, he turned around again, and slowly lowered himself down this time.
 
It wasn’t as uncomfortable as he had first thought, when he’d been expecting
the cushion. In fact, he found a strange contentment rising up in him. He
shifted a little to the side, centering himself more, allowing Stiles’ nose to
settle into the very crease of his legs, giving him the opportunity to take in
air. He could hear the breaths coming out of him – heavy once again – but he
still wasn’t panicking.
 
John took another swig.
 
He doesn’t know exactly how long he stayed like that, but he knows that he
eventually stood up and shoved Stiles over, settling down properly. Stiles
eventually snapped out of whatever spell he was under and got up and went to
his room, leaving John alone with the TV and his drink.
 
When the Sheriff eventually stumbled his way into his own bedroom, he drifted
off to thoughts of how it had felt to have Stiles underneath him.
 
~~
 
Stiles was home the next day as well, and the day after that, and the day after
that. Each day, the Sheriff found himself tempted to see if Stiles would take
being sat on as well as he had the first day, but he managed to keep himself in
line, instead shoving his son down to the other side of the couch before he sat
down. Stiles never commented on what happened that day, so he thought it would
be best not to try it again.
 
He didn’t particularly want to sit on his son’s face, anyways. It was all about
seeing if he would fight it or not. At least, that’s what he told himself.
 
It turns out Scott and Stiles had had a fight at school, and that was why
Stiles was always at home. He said he was giving Scott space to get over it,
but that they weren’t talking at all anymore. He didn’t seem to beat up about
it, sure that they would make up and be back to best friends in no time, but he
also wasn’t going to push it. Scott would forgive him on his own time.
 
So, he was always home, now. John hadn’t yelled at his son while drinking since
the facesitting day, and he found himself feeling looser for it. Stiles was
even chattier with him, asking him about his work and cases, as if he too could
feel that something had shifted. He always spent a few hours practically
comatose when the Sheriff first got home, but he eventually ‘woke up’, and then
it was hard to get him quiet after that.
 
It just so happened that a week after Scott and Stiles fight, there was a minor
shoot out at a bank in Beacon City. The Hills force was called down to help
deal with the situation, and when it was over, the Sheriff was dead tired. He
was looking more forward to his bottle than he had in months, since the last
shoot out had occurred.
 
Throwing his jacket down as soon as he entered the house, he grabbed a bottle
as usual, and stopped in front of Stiles, who was – as was becoming the norm –
spread out on the couch. It took 3 long pulls from the bottle for John to
realize he didn’t have it in him to deny himself the chance.
 
Sitting down on Stiles’ face again was like coming home, better than the
feeling of relief he’d gotten when he first came in the door. All he had to do
was make sure the kid could breathe, and then he settled in.
 
He was still at first, just relaxing, taking in the feeling of having a face
underneath him, warm and pleasant, before the drink started to set in. Then, he
got a little carried away.
 
At first, he would merely stand a little bit, before sitting back down. Then,
he switched to just plain out rubbing himself into his seat, back and forth
slightly, taking care not to injure his son in anyway.
 
A few more drinks, and he stood up completely, pulled his rough pants off so he
was just in his underwear, and sat down again.
 
It was so much better. He could feel better what he was doing, could feel the
ridges of Stiles’ young face as he settled down on it. He couldn’t believe that
Stiles never protested any of this, but he figured that wherever his son’s mind
was during these times, it was somewhere too far away to register what he was
doing to him.
 
What Stiles didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.
 
When he eventually left to go to the washroom, Stiles was sitting up when he
came back, and didn’t blink an eye at his father’s state of undress. John got a
sick kick out of seeing how flushed his face was from all of the rubbing.
 
~~
 
For the next few days, a pattern started. The Sheriff would come home, strip
down to his underwear, and then spend a few hours sitting on his son’s face.
When he eventually got up to go to the washroom, he would return to find Stiles
sitting up, none-the-wiser to what had happened. John wasn’t sure what caused
his son to fall into those still moods, but he was sure glad for whatever it
was.
 
~~
 
It was a few weeks later – Scott still hadn’t forgiven Stiles, and John was
beginning to suspect that it hadn’t been just a little fight – that John found
himself at a stalemate. He had drank a lot of coffee that day, and so after
only half an hour of sitting on Stiles, he found himself having to go to the
washroom. He didn’t want to get up, was the thing, knowing that every time he
did Stiles would ‘wake up’. He wanted to sit on him for just a while longer.
 
And it just so happened that he had an empty bottle on the coffee table in
front of him.
 
He felt the first twinges of shame as he adjusted himself so that his cock –
always soft, as it had been since he’d lost his wife – flopped out the top of
his waistband. Surely this wouldn’t make what he was doing any worse – he was
already basically suffocating his kid everyday just for his own sick pleasure.
He grabbed the bottle slowly, having to press himself more solidly into Stiles’
face as he used it as leverage to lean for it, and brought it slowly up to the
head of his cock.
 
He thought about it for a few more minutes, before he decided he just needed to
go for it. Slipping his dick just slightly into the mouth of the bottle, he let
his bladder go.
 
It felt unreal to be pissing as he sat on his son’s face like he would a chair,
or even a toilet. The fact that he had now found a way to relieve himself while
staying seated might mean he had the chance to sit for longer, now. All he
needed was a bottle to piss in.
 
His theory was true. After he finished his first piss, he remained seated for
long enough that he got through 5 episodes of some beat cop show, and even
pissed a couple more times into the bottle. Stiles didn’t move throughout any
of it, until John realized it was about time he headed to bed. He collapsed
into bed, and remained awake long enough to hear Stiles clamber up the stairs
into his own room.
 
The next morning, Stiles didn’t say anything out of the ordinary to him, so
John assumed he’d gotten away with it once again.
 
He shouldn’t have assumed.
 
That afternoon as he walked into the house, eager to take a seat and begin his
newest pastime of sitting on his child’s face, he immediately noticed that
Stiles wasn’t lying on the couch. Instead, he was sitting up. Resigned, already
feeling the happiness he’d been feeling since the night before leaving him, he
shed his coat, grabbed a bottle, and made his way into the living room for what
would be an average night.
 
But he was wrong about that. As he approached the couch, Stiles turned to him
and looked him in the eye.
 
And then he laid down, putting his head exactly where his father usually sat.
 
John froze in place, staring at his son who was still making eye contact with
him. He had always assumed Stiles hadn’t known what was going on – he never
moved at all when he sat on him, and had never said anything. This one move
proved that he was wrong, though.
 
“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked. His voice sounded off, strained and hollow. Like
he was upset. “Isn’t this what you want me to do?”
 
So he was angry, then. He must have been at least slightly aware of what was
happening, and maybe the night before he had come completely too and realized
what was happening. Why he hadn’t tried to struggle his way out was beyond
John, but he could feel the stress of the weight of what he’d been doing to
Stiles on his shoulders anyway.
 
Running his hand over his face, John sighed. He didn’t particularly want to
talk about it, so instead, he took a drink.
 
He couldn’t do anything for a moment except look at his son, spread out and
upset with him. He could see the anger and confusion in the kid’s eyes as he
tried to get his father to admit that what he’d been doing was wrong. Seeing
this spark, however, actually soothed John’s guilt. Instead, it made him angry,
too.
 
He didn’t say anything, didn’t give Stiles the admittance he wanted. Instead,
John took a large step over towards the couch, and before Stiles could move, he
sat down on his face.
 
Stiles fought it this time. His legs immediately came up, and his arms moved to
push John off. But the Sheriff wasn’t the Sheriff for no reason – he had years
of training to overpower people, and already having the position of dominance
in this fight, it was more than easy to press his weight down so much that
Stiles never had a hope of getting him off.
 
He eventually tired himself out, collapsing his limbs onto himself as he
struggled to breathe through the pressure over his face.
 
“Are you done now?” John asked sternly, not willing to put up with anymore
struggling. He just wanted to relax.
 
Stiles couldn’t nod, but he remained still, so he took that as a good enough
answer.
 
“Just for that, we’re doing something new today,” John said, standing up. He
pulled his pants off as has become the norm, but instead of keeping his
underwear on, he pulled them off, too. “You want to act like a little shit,
you’ll get treated like one.”
 
When he sat back down, bare-assed, he questioned why he’d never thought to
completely shed his layers before. He felt so free, allowing his cock and balls
to air out from their day of confinement. And he could feel the face below him
so much better with nothing between them – could feel the puffs of breath as
the body struggled to breathe from underneath him, feel each individual part of
the face imprinted itself on his ass.
 
It was so, so much better. John was really a fool for not doing it before.
 
“You’d better get used to this,” he said quietly in the direction of the body
beneath him. “I’m sorry you don’t like it, but not everything can be about you.
Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do to please other people.
The earlier you learn that lesson, the better.”
 
There was a slight vibration against his cheeks, and he heard the slightest of
sounds from underneath him. He knew it was most likely a protest, but the way
it was muffled made it come out more like a moan. John smirked, and rubbed
himself further down, getting more comfortable.
 
Not having anything else to say, he took up his drink again, making sure an
empty bottle was nearby in case he felt the need to relieve himself.
 
~~
 
Despite how quickly the situation had escalated at the beginning, it didn’t go
much farther than that for a long time. Two weeks after Stiles had admitted
that he knew what was going on, Scott decided to forgive him for whatever it
was he had done, and so Stiles went back to spending all of his free time at
the McCall household. John didn’t let him get away with that, however.
 
At night, when Stiles would return home, his father would be waiting for him,
naked from the waist down. The first few times, he had tried to make his escape
up the stairs, but John had the training of a cop and even drunk was more
coordinated than his son. It was easy enough to catch him, and once caught,
Stiles would give in with an extremely reluctant sigh and spread himself out,
ready for whatever his father wanted.
 
And what his father wanted was a face to sit on, and occasionally rub his ass
all over.
 
After a few attempts of escape, Stiles realized it was altogether useless, and
just started trudging over to the couch as soon as he’d gotten home, giving in
to what was happening. This in no way meant Stiles liked it, though; in fact,
he hated it. He hoped everyday that his father would sober up and realize that
what he was doing to his only child was sick and twisted, but after a few
months, he gave up hope and continued to hate it in silence. At least when he
was with Scott and Melissa, he got a normal home life.
 
Every time John sat on his kid, he enjoyed it more and more. It felt like an
addiction sometimes – if he didn’t have at least an hour a day, he could barely
function the next day at work. Right on side with alcohol, he had to have it.
 
Days passed, and then months, and when the “routine” was finally shaken up, it
had been nearly 2 years since the day John had first accidentally sat on
Stiles’ face. It was rare that a day would go by without him taking the
pleasure of having a good seat, always with pants and underwear off, bare assed
to his son’s face.
 
Really, if he’d never gotten the idea to take it farther, he would have been
more than happy with that. It would have brought him happiness for the rest of
his life. But he did have the idea, and it made him even happier, in the end.
 
It came to him on a day when he’d been awfully sick. John had eaten something
that had gone bad for lunch that day, and it had left him expelling the
sickness in everyway possible. He had been passed the worst of it by the time
Stiles, by then 16, came home, and had begun to feel relief from all symptoms
after just a few minutes of sitting.
 
But there was still a sense of discomfort. The amount of times John had
relieved himself during the day had left his hole dry, swollen, and in pain.
The constant wiping had caused chafing, further heightening the burning feeling
he’d been getting. He’d been restless, shifting and shifting to try to find his
comfort on his son’s face, but it was no use. Ready to give up, the Sheriff
stopped moving, sighing heavily as he clearly felt the dry pain coming from his
hole.
 
His hole that, he realized then, was pressing down onto his son’s mouth. He
could feel his lips below it, almost like they were unwillingly giving his hole
a kiss. There was a second where John wondered idly if he’d truly wiped well
enough, or if he was unwittingly spreading the remains of his last shit on his
son’s mouth. The thought actually thrilled him, rather than disgust him as he
thought it might. Imagining his son licking his lips afterwards, unknowingly
clearing his face of his father’s waste…
 
Huh. Licking.
 
To give him credit, John spent the better part of half an hour thinking it
through. When he’d almost made his decision, he even stood up, telling Stiles
roughly to remain where he was, and made his way into the bathroom. Wetting a
cloth quickly, and wiping gently over his dry, swollen hole, John closed his
eyes at the relief he felt. The cloth was a little rough, but just having the
cool feeling of water against his hot and swollen hole was enough.
 
He could only imagine how it would feel without the rough cloth, but with
something softer instead.
 
Throwing the cloth down, John turned back out of the bathroom and made his way
back to his living room, where his son was still spread out. He stopped to take
the image in, the way Stiles’ face was flushed despite the rather normal
temperature of the room. No doubt being underneath almost all of his father’s
weight made him hot. John had never stopped to consider his son’s comfort
before; besides making sure the kid could still breathe, everything else had
slipped his mind. But now that he was, he almost found himself… giddy at the
thought that this wasn’t easy for Stiles. He’d known his son hadn’t liked what
he was doing to him – and really, what kid would – but this brought a different
side to the whole thing. He didn’t like it, and he wasn’t comfortable; it truly
was John’s game to play.
 
Reaching into his liquor cabinet to grab himself another full bottle, John
finally made his way back to the couch. He dawdled for another moment before
sitting down, deciding how he would go about this, before he decided to just be
blunt about it. Bending over slightly, so that he was hovering just above his
son’s face, he glanced down and met his eyes – or, what he could see of them
from where they were gazing straight ahead from between his thighs, waiting for
him to continue with his sick ways.
 
“I’m going to give you a choice,” John said carefully, and Stiles’ eyes snapped
to his almost immediately. “There’s something I want you to do, and if you do
it, you’ll be let up after an hour. If you don’t do it, you’ll remain here as
always for the rest of the night, which will be another five hours. In order to
be let up, though, you’ll need to do it for the complete hour – no stopping for
breaks, or thinking you can get away with just doing it for a little while. A
whole hour, and then I’ll let you up. If you decided not to do it right away,
but in, say, a half hour you begin, your hour will start there. Do you
understand?”
 
Stiles nodded slowly, looking up at him with wary eyes. His skin was just
beginning to lose the flushed look, and John nearly smirked as he thought about
how it would quickly come back. He managed to keep his face stern just barely.
 
Turning back to the TV, John finally lowered himself all the way, adjusting
himself over his son’s face so that his hole hovered just above his lips again.
It was a little difficult, having to spread his legs so that he didn’t
inadvertently crush Stiles’ nose and thus block one of his airways, but he
managed it.
 
Settled, he took a long pull from the full bottle, feeling the warmth float
down his throat and heat up his body from the inside. Then he spoke to his son
again, not needing to see his face as he told him what it was he wanted. “Lick
me,” he said quietly, but still loud enough for Stiles to hear.
 
He felt a jolt run through his son’s body as he heard the words, and a hot
breath came rushing out. It was only another moment before the flailing began
as Stiles became almost desperate to get out from underneath him. Planting
himself down more firmly, John leaned forward quickly to place the bottle on
the table so that it wouldn’t spill.
 
“Quit that,” he spit out, annoyed. He barely held himself back from slapping
sharply down on the chest beside him, instead bringing his hand down underneath
him to grip tightly in his son’s hair. “I gave you the choice; you don’t need
to do it, it would just be in your best interests. I won’t be letting you up
anytime soon if you decide not to. That’s not one of your choices.”
 
When Stiles ran out of strength, having been unable to do anything but shift
around underneath his father, he practically collapsed into himself. John
enjoyed the hot breaths he could feel against his hole, but it wasn’t quite
enough; he really hoped Stiles would make a decision soon. “Remember, if you
lick, you’ll get up in an hour.”
 
Predictably, his words didn’t bring forth any action, so he settled himself
along the back of the couch for a long wait. Glancing at the time every once in
a while, he counted the hours that went by. As two turned into three, and then
neared four, he began to lose hope that he would get what he wanted. Perhaps he
should have forced the boy into doing it, instead of giving him the option. He
should have known by now that Stiles was quite stubborn, even if the way he let
his father use him didn’t exactly display that. John’s hole was still sore and
dry, and he was frustrated now that he wouldn’t get his relief.
 
It was nearly ten o’clock when he finally felt something. His hole had been
pressed over Stiles’ mouth for the last few hours, waiting for any sign of his
compliance, and so it was easy to tell when that mouth suddenly opened. Poised
in wait to see what would come next, John nearly groaned out loud as he finally
felt the tongue that he’d been waiting for.
 
It was warm and wet, just as he’d expected it to be. Much softer than the cloth
had been, too. He wanted to weep as his swollen hole was licked gently, almost
coaxing the tensed muscles to relax from the rough action they’d seen that day.
 
Spreading his legs more so that Stiles had better access, John looked at the
clock and grinned. His kid hadn’t known that he would have only had to remain
underneath him for another ten minutes. He supposed staying up a little late
was worth this treatment.
 
~~
 
The morning after the licking, John and Stiles met in an awkward tableau in the
kitchen. He hadn’t said a word to his son after he’d stood up at the end of the
hour, merely making his way drunkenly into the bathroom before heading off to
bed. He’d been asleep before he’d heard Stiles make his way up into his room.
 
Stiles was fully dressed, even though it was barely eight in the morning on a
Saturday. There was no doubt in John’s mind that he’d been planning on sneaking
out, most likely to the McCall’s house. John had the day off, though, and so he
was glad to have caught his son.
 
Dishing up two plates of bacon and eggs, he motioned for his son to take a seat
across from him at the table. Stiles did so slowly, even moving his chair
slightly so that he was sitting as far away from his father as he possibly
could. John merely raised an eyebrow at him before he dug into his own
breakfast, pretending to ignore Stiles as he warily picked up his own fork to
do so as well.
 
When his plate was cleared, and Stiles was still picking over his, John sat
back in his chair and eyed his son down. “Heading off to Scott’s today?”
 
Stiles blinked his eyes over at him warily, letting out a careful nod as he
brought a forkful of eggs to his mouth. His eyes flitted away from him again as
he bit down.
 
No doubt he was expecting to not be allowed, but John could be reasonable.
Standing up from the table, he moved so that he was standing next to his son.
He was still nude from the waist down, having come to enjoy that more than
being fully dressed. Bending over slightly, facing away from Stiles, he brought
his hands back so that he could spread his cheeks. The fork hit the nearly-
empty plate with a sharp tapping noise.
 
“Lick for ten minutes, and I’ll let you stay out until six tonight.”
 
Having clearly learned his lesson from the night before, mere moments passed
before John felt his son’s face touching his cheeks. He flexed his muscles,
feeling his hole pulse slightly, and wondered what Stiles must have been
thinking at that point. When the tongue came, John was prepared for it, and he
bent over more to open himself up better, settling in for what he was sure
would become a morning tradition.
 
“Alright,” he said when nearly fifteen minutes had passed – so he’d gone over a
little, who could blame him. Stiles drew back away from him, and John stood up
just in time to see him licking his lips, as if to clear them of what he’d just
done. The thought pleased John more than it should. “I’ll see you at six.”
 
Stiles was out of there in less than a minute, and as he stood there listening
to the sound of his son’s jeep driving away, he began looking more and more
forward to that evening.
 
~~
 
More time passed like this. John did indeed make the breakfast licking a
tradition, having Stiles lick him for a little while before sending him off on
his day. When John had to head in for an early shift, he’d even wake the kid up
and have him lick him from his bed, desperate to get even a little bit of
tonguing in. He’d gradually lengthened the time that Stiles had to lick him
whilst they were sitting on the couch, until eventually there were only a few
minutes Stiles didn’t need to tongue him.
 
They were some of the happiest months of John’s life, but it would only get
better from there.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     John runs out of toilet paper; luckily he has something else he can
     use.
One hot day in the middle of the summer, after having had Stiles underneath him
licking for nearly seven hours straight, John stood up and made his way to the
bathroom. He didn’t have to bother saying anything to his son anymore, knowing
the boy would remain in place waiting for him to formally dismiss him.
 
John relieved himself, pissing first and then sitting down on the toilet to
empty himself out. He’d found shitting to be a lot easier of late, what with
Stiles opening him up with his tongue. No more straining for it to come out;
now, it took just a little bit of coaxing for him to empty out.
 
He always got a sick kick whenever he had to shit in the middle of his sitting
sessions; just thinking of Stiles running his tongue over his hole so soon
after his waste had passed through it was enough to keep him content for the
rest of the evening. He’d even gone so far as to time it before, waiting to
dispel his waste until he was sure Stiles tongue would be licking over him soon
after. But he’d never gone so far as to delve deeper down that train of
thought, content with how things were.
 
Until this particular day, when John had finished relieving himself, only to
find that he’d run out of toilet paper.
 
In the middle of doing laundry, he had no cloths or towels that he could use in
the mean time, and he sighed frustrated as he stood up to clean himself off in
the sink. As he was turning around to try and maneuver himself underneath the
faucet, though, John caught a glimpse of his hole in the mirror.
 
There really wasn’t much on it, he realized. Just a few streaks in an otherwise
clean crack. An otherwise very clean crack, he thought and smirked a little.
Stiles had certainly helped with his personal hygiene.
 
Whenever he had added something to what they were doing before – the nudity,
the licking, or whatsoever – he had always paused to debate with himself
whether he should do it or not. This time, though, he didn’t stop for a minute,
didn’t give himself the chance to back out.
 
After all, Stiles certainly wouldn’t be getting it.
 
As he made his way over to the couch, though, he did take those couple of
seconds to really take in his son’s face. Still flushed as it always was, he
was lying on the couch with his eyes closed. He could have almost been
sleeping, but years of being a parent to the boy had trained John to know when
his kid was just faking being asleep. It had been a long time since John had
really thought of him as his son, he realized suddenly. So much of their
relationship over the last two years had revolved only around his pleasure –
they didn’t do anything together anymore that didn’t involve John forcing
Stiles to please him.
 
After Claudia had died, he hadn’t known quite what he’d do with the kid, if
he’d be able to raise him as well as she had been doing. He certainly had never
pictured anything like this, back then. He knew, though, that whatever he had
pictured, this was infinitely better.
 
Perhaps not for the kid, but certainly for John.
 
Finally in front of the couch again, he makes one last glance over the area –
verifying he has enough to drink for the rest of the evening – and then sits
himself back down. He’s as careful as always to make sure Stiles can still
breathe as he does so, but other than that, his body feels tight with tension
as he waits for Stiles next move.
 
The next few seconds seem to stretch on forever. He feels hot breath on his
hole, a familiar feeling now, as his son opens his mouth to continue licking.
He’s been so well taught now that it’s an automatic reaction. John feels almost
giddy about what is going to happen.
 
The tongue is as warm and wet and wonderful as always when it first touches.
There’s a few quick licks at first, and then John smiles as he feels them come
to a halt. He knows Stiles has just tasted the crud on his hole.
 
“Come on,” he says gruffly, spreading his legs a little more, spreading his
crack wider over the mouth below him. “The sooner you clean it, the better it
will be for you.”
 
John didn’t expect him to give in so easily. He expected a fight, a struggle of
some sort. He even expected it to be a firm line that Stiles refused to cross,
despite what else John had forced him to do. But despite these expectations,
Stiles does give in easily. A moment later he feels the tongue back, licking
over him in broad strokes – as broad strokes as he can achieve cramped
underneath him – cleaning up all of the residue from John’s bathroom trip. A
few times he even feels a hint of teeth on his skin, as if Stiles is opening up
his mouth wide in order to do his job well.
 
The licking, of course, continues long after John is sure he must be clean, and
he congratulates himself for this new idea. He’s definitely looking forward to
doing it as often as possible.
 
~~
 
The next time John goes to take a dump, though, he decides not to do it on the
couch. Afterall, bathroom duties should stay in the bathroom. It’s not
appropriate or sanitary to be wiping himself on the couch, after all, no matter
how many times he’s pissed into a bottle on that very couch.
 
So instead, once he stands up from his spot on Stiles’ face, he reaches down to
tug lightly on his son’s shirt, pulling him up slightly.
 
Stiles blinks, dazed a little from not only the sudden return to brightness but
also the sudden pulling. Confused, he follows John as he pulls him into a
sitting position, getting the hint soon enough and standing up quickly. John
jerks his head to the side, motioning for him to follow, and Stiles does.
 
He wonders if Stiles has an idea of what’s going to happen as he makes his way
to the bathroom, his son following close behind him. His kid always has been
smart, so he’s sure he at least has some idea. There had been no words
exchanged between the two of them about John using him for toilet paper, but
then again, the topic of what he’d been doing to him was sort of taboo in the
house. And they rarely talked about anything anymore, let alone this.
 
Once they’re both standing in the bathroom, John directs Stiles where he wants
him, pushing on his shoulder gently but firmly until he’s kneeling on the
ground. From there, it’s easy to nearly drag him into position – he has him
kneel right beside the toilet, the back of his head touching the toilet paper
hanging on the rack behind him. After a moment of deliberation, John grabs the
roll of the hook and places it back under the counter; it adds an added affect
to the scene, not having the roll there. Now Stiles isn’t merely blocking it,
he’s actually leaning against the empty hook, replacing it easily.
 
Well, not easily. John would be blind if he didn’t see the detachment in his
son’s eyes. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes blank and devoid of any
light. Not that he particularly cared – he wasn’t going to deny himself the
pleasure of what he was about to do just to make the kid feel better – but he
figured any well-meaning parent would feel that look tug at their heart
strings.
 
But over the last two years, John had become anything but a well-meaning
parent.
 
He picked up one of the magazines he usually had lying around and took his seat
on the toilet. Stiles, obviously, took up more room than the usual toilet paper
did, and so John’s right leg was pressed into the front of his chest lightly as
he spread himself out, settling in to be there for a little while.
 
He pretended to read an article from the magazine he had chosen as he emptied
himself out into the bowl below him, but really, he was watching Stiles’
reaction from the corner of his eye. He hadn’t moved at all from his position,
but he easily recognized the distasteful mask that began to cover his face as
the smell began to fill the room. For a moment, John wished he could make
himself care for his son’s feelings as he once had, wished that he could shake
off the cruel mask of this man that he had somehow begun and send his son out
of the room, and apologize for everything and stop it all. Most of all, he knew
that if Claudia could see him now, she would be absolutely disgusted with the
man he had become.
 
But the thing was, John had denied himself a lot of things since Claudia’s
death. He had stopped going out with the few guy friends he had once he
realized it was nothing but awkward because they didn’t know what to say to him
anymore. He had refused to go out looking for anybody, not wanting to replace
her, so not only had he gone without sex for the last six years, but he’d also
gone without basic romantic companionship. Now that he had finally once again
found away to be as close to happy as was possible these days, he knew there
was no way for him to give it up.
 
So he wasn’t going to even try; it was useless to even entertain the thought.
 
For all the work his face was doing in turning up in disgust, Stiles remained
perfectly still, kneeling next to the toilet like he’d done it a thousand
times. John could easily imagine that fact becoming true in the future.
 
Flipping through a few more pages of the magazine without taking any of it in,
he tensed a little bit to force the last bit of his dump out, and then dropped
any pretense he had by practically throwing it to the side and standing up.
 
He was a little awkward about it, at first; he had placed Stiles by the toilet
paper rack for aesthetic purposes; basically replacing the paper he had used
before with the boy. But now, it didn’t exactly make it easy for him to get
access to his new paper. He had planned to simply stand in front of Stiles’
face once he was done, allowing the kid to do the rest of the work, but there
wasn’t enough room between his son and the toilet. He would need to either
balance himself slightly awkwardly with his legs spread, or pull Stiles
somewhere else whenever he was finished and needed use of him. Not the best
planning on his part, he realized now.
 
It turns out, though, that any work on his part was going to be unnecessary.
When he stood up, Stiles had shifted as well, the disgust on his face still
clear to see. His eyes had gone slightly glossy, the way they had at the
beginning of this entire tryst, when John had been hard-pressed to get any kind
of reaction out of him even whilst he was sitting with his whole weight on his
son’s face. It seemed almost like the kid was moving on instinct; he was aware
of exactly what his father wanted him to do, and John could already see his
tongue coming out, as if waiting for permission to begin his duty.
 
Smiling slightly, John turned and faced the opposite way, allowing Stiles to do
the rest of the work of craning his neck around whilst still keeping his spot
on the ground. This position put him leaning over the toilet bowl, full of the
Sheriff’s warm, stinking shit, and the image of that made it better. If only
John could actually put this toilet paper in the bowl with the pile… now there
was a thought. He didn’t have very much time to continue exploring that train
of thought, however, for soon after it had crossed his mind he felt the first
warm puffs of air against his hole.
 
He had to give it to the kid; as awful as John imagined the taste might be, he
had really learned his place. Stiles dug into his hole like there couldn’t
possibly be anything nasty about it, licking over the whole of his crack a few
times before focusing directly on the hole, laving it gently but still in a way
that made John sure it would be perfectly clean once he was done.
 
John sighed as he leaned forward slightly, bending a bit more to open himself
up more. He was about to reach back to actually spread his cheeks so that
Stiles could really get in there, but it once again seemed like his son had
read his mind, for just as soon as his hands twitched with motion he felt other
hands grab him slightly, thumbs digging in just enough to open up his crack to
the cool air of the room.
 
He kept Stiles licking over his hole for what he knew was more time than was
necessary, intoxicated by the thought of his kid using his tongue to clean up
the streaks of shit left behind by his dump. During a time when he felt Stiles
pull back to swallow and rewet his tongue, an image popped up in his mind, and
he smiled. He wouldn’t do it to him yet, but he’d just figured out a way to
make this even better.
 
~~
 
It became a part of the routine, just as all things in this little game they
were playing had (well, John was playing; Stiles was just, for whatever reason,
putting up with it). Every time John felt the need to pass shit, he knew he
could count on Stiles’ tongue to worm its way into his crack and clean him up.
It was significantly better than the rough paper he had used before, and he
wondered how even the most expensive, three-ply tissue could not come anywhere
near how luxurious a wet, human tongue could feel.
 
He waited a little while to introduce anything else, but he knew in the weeks
he waited that it would all be worth it. In the meantime, of course, he took
great pleasure sitting on his son’s face just as he had for the last two years,
his ass almost always loose and relaxed with the constant rimming it was
receiving. If John had been the sort, he knew he would have been able to bottom
quite easily, so open was his hole at all times. But that would never happen;
he had never been even slightly tempted to put a finger up there, let alone a
cock.
 
A tongue, on the other hand… they hadn’t done that yet. John had been content
so far with just the outer rimming, but he had to admit there was a certain
interest in him to feel that tongue actually breach him. That would have to be
another time, though; for now, the Sheriff had something else in mind for his
son.
 
Stiles kneeled alongside the toilet as he always did, dutifully waiting for his
father to finish up so he could get to his task, when John finally decided it
was time. During the first time he had done this, he had thought for a moment
of the concept of flushing his newfound toilet paper down the toilet, and it
had stuck with him.
 
As he stood up from emptying himself, John knew that he would need to do it
quickly, when the time came. Whilst Stiles rarely struggled against anything
now, he knew it would be foolish to think that he would just accept this.
Allowing Stiles to lick him clean, John tensed slightly in anticipation. In a
matter of seconds, he had turned towards Stiles and, with a firm grip on the
back of his neck and one shoulder, forced him to lean up and over the bowl,
shoving his face down into the filthy water. And he was right to presume that
Stiles would put up a struggle; almost immediately, he felt a tensing in the
muscles under his hands, and his son brought his hands up to the side of the
toilet to begin to push himself up and away.
 
“Oh come on,” John said, slightly sarcastically. “You’ve already tasted it; and
besides, this is where used toilet paper belongs, isn’t it?”
 
His words didn’t seem to have any affect on his son; he was too busy struggling
to lift himself up still, but John had the benefit of gravity on his side. He
was above Stiles, and so it was easy for him to simply lean more of his weight
onto the kid, forcing him farther down.
 
He waited him out, allowing him to run down his strength slightly, most likely
from lack of oxygen as his airways were blocked by the water, before he moved
one of his hands up to the handle. And with his other arm still pushing Stiles
down towards his shit, he flushed the toilet. “Swirlies” were rather juvenile
things, but even still, the Sheriff very much enjoyed this one. Stiles’ head
covered most of the water in the bowl, but he could still see as the pressure
twirled his waste around, and he could only imagine how it would feel to have
the water and logs pushing against the face. He’d never been the victim of a
swirly in school, but he wondered if Stiles ever had; it wasn’t a secret that
his son was a nerd.
 
Of course, John didn’t actually want to flush Stiles down the toilet, even if
it was physically possible. He was enjoying using him far too much to ever
permanently get rid of him. So eventually, once the water had settled, he let
him up.
 
His son panted, staring up to him in total shock and disbelief, his mouth
hanging open with his exertion. There were streaks of shit all over his face,
and John couldn’t hold back the gulp as he realized he quite liked the look,
and wouldn’t mind seeing it more on his kid.
 
“See you in the morning,” he said gruffly, turning around to make his way out
of the bathroom. He was in his bedroom, about to lie down on the bed, before he
heard the telltale sound of the bathroom sink as Stiles no doubt worked to
clean himself up. As John slept that night, he dreamed of a different sort of
bowl full of shit, sat in front of Stiles at the kitchen table.
 
It was most definitely a pleasant dream.
End Notes
     This fic is unbeta'd, so if you find any mistakes, please feel free
     to let me know so I can adjust them! And similarly, if you feel I'm
     missing something in the tags (which is more than possible since I
     was very tired when I posted this), write it down in the comments and
     I'll fix it as soon as possible!
     If you'd ever like to talk kink with me, or see what I'm up to when
     I'm not visibly posting here on ao3, send me a message on tumblr @
     forbiddenkinks-ao3!
     Rape/Non-con: Stiles does not consent to anything his father is
     forcing him to do.
     Underage: Stiles is 14 when his father first forces him into this.
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