Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13038120.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Papa_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Smut, Mating_Cycles/In_Heat,
      Barebacking, Breeding, Knotting, Age_Difference, Dead_Dove:_Do_Not_Eat,
      Dirty_Talk, Car_Sex, First_Time, Loss_of_Virginity, Virginity_Kink, Bad
      Decisions, Praise_Kink, Rimming, Alternate_Universe
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-12-19 Words: 4865
****** Hard Wood ******
by red_crate
Summary
     Joe’s voice in his ear, “Let me take care of you,” makes Stiles
     squirm.
     Stiles’ mouth feels dry, throat clicking when he swallows. Every base
     instinct in him is screamingyes, yes, yeswhile a small voice in the
     back of his mind tells him this isn’t right, he shouldn’t be doing
     this.
     He opts not to say anything, doesn’t want to make a decision—just
     wants to feel better, feel good.
Notes
     I had a desire; I followed it.
     Unofficially dedicated to a few friends on Discord. My undying love
     to Greenie for the cheerleading. How I managed all but 300 words of
     this in one day, I have no clue other than her support and help by
     looking this over. <3
      
     Read the tags. Heed the tags. This is not an above-board fic. Dubious
     stuff happens that irl would amount to rape of a minor. By continuing
     to read, you accept responsibility for yourself and mental health.
See the end of the work for more notes
He's freaking out pretty heavily, two fingers crooked in his own ass and trying
to satiate the need building under his skin. It isn’t working, and tears of
frustration bead up in his eyes. He blinks them away, pumping his fingers in
and out as he stares up at the ceiling and prays to anyone listening that the
restlessness and lust thrumming in his body will just go the fuck away.
Slick drips down his fingers and onto the fabric where his underwear and jeans
are bunched around his calves. Stiles thinks his fingers must be pruney at this
point. Arching as far as he can without falling over, he tries to reach that
spot inside he’s read enough about to know massaging it will help. His fingers
barely glance the bundle of nerves.
Stiles lets out a muffled cry into his own shoulder.
It’s not working.
Angry, confused, and embarrassed, he yanks his fingers out too quickly. The
sudden loss rips another cry from his throat as he glares with bleary eyes at
his clothes while he gets everything straightened out and buttoned up before
grabbing up his bag. When he unlocks the door to his stall, he shuffles to a
sink and does a passing job at washing off his hands. He was right, his
fingertips are wrinkled from the hot wetness of his need.
Stiles wipes his hands dry on his thighs before checking the time on his cell
phone as he heads back into the hallway. Shit, shit, shit. Way more time passed
than he realized. He freezes in a stasis because he can't figure out what to do
or how to handle things with as little personal humiliation as possible. His
backpack feels like it weighs three times its usual weight and his clothes are
itchy against his skin. Pushing his side into the wall, Stiles tries to
remember the quickest way home. He rode the bus this morning, but he's already
missed the afternoon load.
The nurse; he should have gone there first. If she's still here, Stiles should
be able to get her to help him. Maybe a pill from the  emergency suppressant
prescription his doctor gave him, that the school requires to be kept under
lock and key in the nurse's office. That's only like one corridor over from
where Stiles is currently curled in on himself by the bathrooms.
“Stiles?”
The voice jolts him out of his thoughts and immediately has his attention. His
eyes widen in surprise, and he can feel his heart rate speed up. This is so
bad.
He clears his throat and steps around the water fountain. “Hi, Joe.”
Joe. It's still so weird that Derek's dad insists on Stiles calling him by his
first name. Now, it feels almost intimate, almost forbidden. Stiles crosses his
arms over his stomach and pushes through the fever spiking in his blood. He
hopes Joe won't ask him about it or start demanding Stiles calls his dad to
come get him.
Things are tight and his dad can get better hours if he works second shift.
Calling him to come get Stiles because he's having a breakthrough heat isn't
something Stiles feels is necessary—even if it would be nice to be taken care
of.
He sees the instant his scent hits Joe. It's in the momentary pause in Joe’s
stride, in the way his nostrils flare as he breathes in deeply.
When he speaks again, Joe’s voice is just a little rougher. “Stiles. What are
you doing here?”
Stiles’ brain suddenly feels foggy at the assured, chastising tone in Joe’s
voice. He grips the straps on his backpack tight, attempting to push through
the haze when the woodsy, familiar scent of Derek’s alpha dad washes over him.
He clenches his ass involuntarily and is all too aware of the sticky feeling of
his underwear.
“What are you doing here?” Stiles manages to ask, still not moving away or
closer as Joe eats up the distance between them until he’s towering over
Stiles.
He belatedly realizes lifting his chin to meet Joe’s eyes leaves his neck
extended and on display. Stiles swallows loudly. This is either the stuff of
his most hidden fantasies or his worst nightmares.
Joe smiles at him though and it’s disarming. “Derek forgot his uniform at home,
so I came by to drop it off before practice.”
Stiles nods woodenly, because that makes sense. The school isn’t exactly Fort
Knox, and the day is over anyway. Most of the staff and students gone by this
point, except for sports teams and a couple club meetings.
“I thought you rode the bus.” Joe sounds exactly like every other worried,
disapproving adult Stiles has met. It grounds him a little, takes the edge off
the sudden explicit images that popped into his brain. “Do I need to call your
dad for you?”
Joe looks him up and down slowly—slowly enough that it feels a bit too long.
Stiles shudders under the scrutiny.
He shakes his head. “No. No, I’m fine. I can walk home. It isn’t that far.”
It’s sorta far, but Stiles doesn’t really have any other choice right now
anyway.
Lifting an eyebrow, Joe asks, “Really.”
Yeah, it sort of sucks when the person he’s lying to already knows the truth.
But Stiles doesn’t know what else to do at this point.
Joe takes the problem out of his hands when he says, “I’ll drive you home. You
really shouldn’t be out alone right now.” His words sound a little strained,
and Stiles can’t tell why.
He flushes however, both at having to be managed by his best friend’s dad and
the subject they’re clearly skirting around. Stiles can see the slight dilation
of Joe’s pupils, and, even though it shouldn’t, a thrill shoots through him at
the affect his scent is having.
His fists twist around his backpack straps some more as he chews his bottom lip
for a second. “Okay. Thanks.”
Joe seems to relax just a little at the acceptance, then he takes a step to the
side so Stiles can move forward. The warm hand that gently cups the small of
his back as they walk down the hall is a surprise that Stiles bites his tongue
to keep from squeaking over.
They make it to Joe’s sleek black SUV before he even realizes it. When he’s
buckling his seatbelt he remembers the emergency heat suppressants in the
nurse’s office. Too late now, he decides. When he gets home, he can just use
the toy he has in a sealed package under his bed.
He stares out the window with determination as the tips of his ears heat up at
that thought. He’s never had a heat, not even a false heat like this one. His
fertility doctor told him how to differentiate false heats from the real deal.
Stiles won’t be experiencing an actual, full-blown heat until he’s in his early
twenties. But, the doctor said, false heats can be almost as intense as their
counterparts, though they are over much faster. If he’d been able to take an
emergency pill soon enough, he wouldn’t be dealing with this at all right now.
Stiles slides down further in his seat, grimacing at the squish he feels in the
seat of his pants. It feels as if he’ll never stop blushing at this point.
“Okay, kid.” Joe turns to Stiles in his own seat before starting the engine.
His hand lands on the back of Stiles’ neck in what is supposed to be a
reassuring gesture. To Stiles right then, however, it only serves to ignite his
desire. In the enclosed space of the SUV, all Stiles can smell is Joe’s alpha
scent, familiar and intoxicating in a way it’s never been before.  He doesn’t
think he’s ever been so aware of the size of Joe’s hands as he is now with one
cupping the back of his neck, fingers lightly pressing into the skin just below
Stiles’ ear.
Stiles blinks a few times and remembers he should be listening to what Joe is
saying. He makes a questioning sound, unable for the moment to form actual
words. His stomach swoops and his pulse is loud in his ears. It feels like what
he imagines being high might feel like: aware he’s not in control but unable
and unwilling to do anything about it.
Joe squeezes his hand lightly around Stiles’ neck and smiles softly. “It’s
really hitting you hard, huh?”
Stiles sways just a little closer, tipping his head so his jaw brushes against
Joe’s forearm. “This sucks.” He whines a little, letting himself succumb to the
despair for a moment.
It feels almost too easy to lean into Joe, to stop hiding from him here in the
bubble of space between them where no one else can hear or see the way this
heat is affecting him.
“I’ve got you, babe.” Joe soothes him with a soft, rumbly tone that both makes
Stiles feel better and makes the need inside him ratchet up.
Looking up at Joe, Stiles wets his lips and bites his chapped bottom lip.
“Thank you.”
Something passes over Joe’s face, and Stiles is hit with a deep wave of alpha
scent that has his half hard dick filling up and straining almost immediately.
Joe’s fingers move to thread up the back of Stiles’ hair, blunt nails lightly
dragging over his scalp for a second before Joe pulls away completely. He
straightens up in his seat and turns to start the engine. When he backs up, he
braces a hand on the back of Stiles’ seat so he can look back while he
maneuvers the SUV. The hand stays and gradually moves back to Stiles’ neck,
fingertips slipping under the collar of Stiles’ shirt.
Stiles keeps his head tilted back, trapping Joe’s hand there. He knows he’s
flirting with fire here, exposing his throat to an alpha the way he is when he
smells like heat. Stiles has watched enough porno and seen enough movies to
know what flirting looks like even if he isn’t making solid conscious decisions
to do this. It just feels good to lean into Joe’s touch, to make these small
gestures that are biologically meant to entice an alpha.
It doesn’t mean anything. Nothing’s going to happen.
They drive for several minutes in silence, and Stiles lets his eyes close. His
mind is racing, thinking of how shitty it is that his heat couldn’t wait one
more day to start. Tomorrow is Saturday, and he has no plans, which would have
been a perfect time for his first false heat to hit. The thought of being home
alone while he screws himself with the silicone toy his doctor prescribed for
him is sort of humiliating and arousing all at once—something he doesn’t
exactly want to examine right now. Stiles comforts himself with the hope that
he can squeeze a few orgasms out of himself and end his heat before his dad
gets home tonight.
That’s not a really a conversation any kid wants to have with their parent.
He’s startled when the car stops and Joe cuts the engine. It doesn’t feel like
it’s been long enough time for them to be at his house already. When he blinks
his eyes open, he realizes they aren’t parked in his driveway but parked in an
alley between two buildings.  
“Wha—” Stiles can’t compute what they are doing here, why they are parked here.
He sits up, moving so Joe’s hand is free.
Except Joe doesn’t take his hand back. He curves it more closely around the
base of Stiles’ neck, fingers hidden completely by the fabric of Stiles’ shirt
where they are tucked. Joe uses the pressure of his hand to get Stiles to look
at him.
“You’re so far gone, baby.” Joe murmurs smoothly. “I can smell it on you.”
Stiles furrows his brows, still not following what is happening. His heartbeat
picks up, adrenaline pumping into his system.
The sun is already starting to slip behind the horizon. It’s January and the
nights come sooner and stay longer. They haven’t had snow yet, but the
weatherman predicted a dusting on Sunday. Stiles doesn’t know why he’s thinking
about this right now, except the dim lighting of the outside makes the space
between Joe and him seem so much more heavy.
His mind latches onto the word baby , that soft way Joe called him that. Almost
twice now, and he’s never called Stiles anything but kid or by his name.
“What’s...Joe…” Stiles tries a couple times.
Joe shushes him, leaning forward until his mouth ghosts across Stiles’ ear.
“Let me help you.”
His other hand slides up Stiles’ thigh and right over the tent over his crotch.
The pressure of Joe’s palm fitting to his hard dick makes Stiles whimper
involuntarily.
Stiles spreads his thighs, tilting his hips up to push into the first touch
he’s ever had from someone else there. He’s surrounded by Joe’s scent, can’t
escape that woodsy, earthy smell that has always drawn him a little bit closer
when Stiles was at the Hale’s. Derek smell almost the same as Joe, but a muted
sort of echo of his dad.
“Feel good?” Joe asks, tongue brushing against the shell of Stiles’ ears as he
squeezes his hand around Stiles’ dick. “You smell so good, baby.”
Stiles’ face feel like it’s on fire. He shudders and leaks more slick. He has a
sense memory of his own fingers pushing in and out of his hole, and suddenly
he’s imagining Joe’s long, thick fingers there instead. The image is
overwhelming, almost frightening. It's thrilling.
Joe’s voice in his ear, “Let me take care of you,” makes Stiles squirm.
Stiles’ mouth feels dry, throat clicking when he swallows. Every base instinct
in him is screaming yes, yes, yes while a small voice in the back of his mind
tells him this isn’t right, he shouldn’t be doing this.
He opts not to say anything, doesn’t want to make a decision—just wants to feel
better, feel good.
Joe’s fingers skim back down Stiles’ thigh like he’s decided against going any
further. That is, until Stiles hears the distinct ‘click’ of the seatbelt
buckle and the release of the strap across his chest.
Joe brings his hand back to tip Stiles’ face up, thumb brushing along his
bottom lip. When their eyes meet, he can see the green of Joe’s eyes are eaten
up by the expanded black of his pupil.
“Fuck,” Joe seems to almost be speaking to himself, “Look at you, baby. All
strung out on your first heat and so beautiful.”
A shiver runs down Stiles’ spine at the praise. He whines in the back of his
throat. It feels like he’s shaking all over. When Joe guides him up, hooking
both arms under his armpits, Stiles lets himself be manhandled into the
backseat.
So this is actually happening. Whatever “this” is.
He can smell, faintly, the citrus of Derek’s beta scent where it’s soaked into
the upholstery back here. It’s comforting in an unexpected way, reassuring.
Stiles arches his back when Joe kneels in the cramped floor space between his
knees. The feeling of his thighs stretching to accommodate the width of Joe’s
chest is foreign.
“Please,” is all Stiles can manage to say. He can’t quite catch his breath, but
the feel of Joe’s mouth kissing up his throat is intoxicating.
Finally, he’s able to make his own hands and fingers work. He grabs onto the
front of Joe’s henley, twisting his fingers in the fabric over Joe’s muscled
shoulders. Sparks feel like they’re flying over his skin, bursting behind his
eyelids which have closed on their own as he pushes and pulls at Joe.
“Turn over.” Joe commands as he unfastens the fly of Stiles’ jeans. “Now.” He
moves fast, yanking Stiles’ pants and underwear down as Stiles clumsily does as
he’s told.
He barely has his forearms propped on the back of the bench seat before his ass
cheeks are being spread to expose where he’s hot and so, so wet. Stiles blushes
all over again, feeling awkward in a moment of clarity.
Stiles shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be spread out in the backseat of
Derek’s dad’s SUV with Joe behind him, breathing across his skin. He has a
moment where he wishes he’d called his dad at school, thought to duck into the
nurse’s office instead of the bathroom by the gym. But here he is, letting Joe
take the reigns.
It’s one of Stiles’ deepest, darkest fantasies come to life, and he doesn’t
know what to think about that. He shies away from it all together then,
choosing to let himself ride the sensation and the knowledge that all this will
be over soon. His heat will end, and he’ll be back to his usual self, more
educated and more experienced.
Joe rumbles behind him, scent sharp and deep now.
Stiles expects Joe to shove inside. What happens is Joe moves until his chest
is pressing against Stiles’ back and he’s reaching for one of Stiles’ hands,
pulling it up. Then it’s sudden wet warmth as Joe sucks on his fingers. The
suction spears right though Stiles, arrowing down to his own dick where he
can’t help but imagine how good that could feel if it were his dick in Joe’s
mouth instead of his fingers.
“I could smell your slick, Stiles.” Joe confesses before biting at the back of
Stiles’ neck. “Such a needy whore that you had to stuff your own fingers in
your ass after school? You’re lucky I’m the one that found you and not some
bitch ass teenage alpha who doesn’t know what they’re doing.”
Stiles pushes back against Joe, ass brushing across front of Joe’s exposed
underwear. He can feel the hardness waiting for him, wanting him.
“Please.” He repeats himself, licking his lips in attempt to wet them.
It feels like his dick is gonna fly off, like his hole is gaping with need even
though he’d only had two fingers in himself earlier. He just wants and needs .
He’s freaking out at the way he can’t stop from rutting back against Joe, can’t
stop making these pathetic noises that are so omega.
“Yeah, baby boy. I’m gonna take good care of you. Get that sweet hole of yours
stuffed up with my come.” Joe presses his face between Stiles’ shoulders and
groans. His next words are muffled. “Breed you until you’re so full you’re
leaking around my knot.”
The word “breed” makes Stiles stomach flip flop. “Can’t get pregnant.” He
manages that, a relief in and of itself. His pills that suppress false heat—and
will eventually lessen his true heats—also work as birth control.
“I know.” Joe purs the words, pleased. “You’re gonna like having my come
filling you up though. Your body wants it, baby. You want it.”
Stiles nods his head. He does. He can’t deny the desire running through him
even if it’s too much, too soon.
Joe reaches down then, fingers tracing along his spine until he pushes Stiles’
shirts halfway up his back. Then his hole is being exposed again as Joe leans
back on his knees.
“So wet.” Joe blows across Stiles’ hole.
More wetness and something firm running across Stiles’ entrance before he
realizes that is Joe’s tongue licking and lapping at him. Stiles rocks his hips
back and forth, hands tightened into fists as Joe fuckes the tip of his tongue
inside and swirls it around his rim. It’s so dirty and Stiles thinks he’s going
to rocket straight to the moon. It’s over too soon and not soon enough, because
Joe’s tongue is only a tease.
The first push inside of Joe’s cock hurts. It’s wider than two of Stiles’
fingers. He’s loose and wanting, but he’s never had anything so wide and firm
inside him. Stiles whimpers, dick flagging at the sharp pain of being split
open. Still, the arousal isn’t diminished one bit. It hurts but if feels good
at the same time.
“That’s it.” A hand runs down Stiles’ back slowly, reassuringly, while Joe’s
other one feeds his cock into Stiles’ ass.
It feels like the push goes on and on and on. By the time Joe is flush to
Stiles, Stiles is choking on the feeling of being so full. For a moment,
everything is still and Stiles almost cries out “No” when he remembers that
things are going to get wider once Joe’s knot firms up and locks them together.
Stiles can’t make a sound, just gasp for air while Joe stills and allows Stiles
a moment to adjust to the intrusion.
Joe praises him and it helps. “You feel so good, baby. Tight and hot and wet.
Just for me. Letting me fuck you for the first time.” His voice is rough this
time, and Joe is panting behind him.
Stiles is going to have bruises on his hips from the grip Joe has on him.
Instead of pulling out at first, Joe grinds forward, forcing Stiles to take
every last millimeter of his cock. The first glance against Stiles’ prostate
has him screaming out.
Finally, finally he’s getting something of what his body wants and needs.
Joe fits a hand around Stiles’ mouth and pushes his fingers inside as he hushes
him. “Gotta be quiet, babe.”
He pulls out slowly until just the flare of his cock is holding Stiles open.
When he pushes back in, he grunts. It gets easier the longer they go. Stiles
can feel the slick leaking between his ass cheeks and over Joe’s length. The
slide is almost too easy within a few minutes. If it weren’t for the way Joe is
careful to thrust against Stiles’ sweet spot, he wouldn't quite feel it all.
Stiles loses time, eyes rolling back in his skull as Joe fucks him. Everything
feels liquid and hot, bruising fingers on his hips, insistent ones in his mouth
as he is shoved forward and pulled back on Joe’s cock. It’s so much, too much,
perfect.
Joe bites down on Stiles’ shoulder. It hurts. It’s going to last longer than
anything else happening right now, and Stiles is suddenly hit with a perverse
kind of pride. His first real sex trophy.
Stiles’s orgasm builds rapidly after that, spooling tighter and tighter in his
balls with each thrust of Joe’s cock against that place inside that lights him
up like a pinball machine. He’s never come from anything other than a his hand
on his dick, too afraid to venture down further, but he thinks he’s going to
spill for the first time without even needing a touch on his dick.
When he does, he cries out as it rips out of him, balls aching as soon as the
release starts. He chokes on Joe’s fingers which press down on his tongue until
tears spring up in his eyes and Joe is pulling his hand away to reach down and
stroke Stiles’ spasming dick.
“That’s right, milk it out of me, baby. Listen to your body.” Joe doesn’t sound
anything like himself at this point. He’s grinding in and his knot is filling
up with each stroke.
Stiles hangs his head between his arms, the dim brightness of a nearby street
light is just enough to let him see the way Joe’s hand completely covers his
softening dick between his legs. There’s a mess on the back of the seat that
he’s braced against, and Stiles wonders how Joe is going to fix that, if Derek
will smell Stiles’ come when he climbs into the SUV after practice.
Mortification rolls through Stiles at that for a second. It’s chased away by
the pop of Joe’s knot filling him up wide enough to take his breath away.
Suddenly, Stiles can’t think about anything. His whole brain is taken up by the
stretch of his hole around that knot. It stings and aches and yet still manages
to send sparks of too good up and down his spine, making him shiver and
convulse.
Joe wraps his arms around Stiles’ chest and pulls him back until Stiles is
perched precariously on the seat and reliant on Joe to keep from tipping over.
It settles all of Stiles’ weight on his knot, pushes him down as far as he can
possibly go.
The jerk of Joe’s cock inside and the spill of his come is deep, so deep Stiles
is almost surprised he can’t taste it.
“Yeah, baby, take my seed.” Joe pants the words out. “Taking it so good. Gonna
keep you full.”
He rubs his hands under Stiles’ shirt and over Stiles’ stomach. The image of a
swollen belly flashes across Stiles’ mind with that. Being full and about to
pop with a litter. Stiles groans and shakes his head no. He doesn’t want it,
but at the same time his dick gives a weak twitch as Joes’ knot rubs against
his prostate. Everything sounds and feels like a good idea right now, even if
it all freaks him the fuck out.
“Wish I could take you home, fuck you over and over.” Joe is whispering against
Stiles’ ear as he kisses along the shell there. He nuzzles into Stiles’ neck,
the first soft, sweet gesture of the night, Stiles realizes.
It’s nice. He could get used to it.
Stiles can’t muster up the energy to move, so he just leans back against Joe
and winces at the way it makes his hole stretch just that much further. The
slick, he imagines, is mixing with Joe’s come as it slowly seeps around the
base of Joe’s knot. He probably looks swollen and red down there, messy.
He wonders if he looks as good as the omegas in pornos do.
“Shh, shh.” Joe rubs his hand over Stiles’ stomach rhythmically as his hips
stutter minutely. “You did so good for me. So good, Stiles. You're gonna be
okay.”
Tears are streaming down his face, unbidden. Stiles covers his eyes with a
hand, sucking in air through his mouth as endorphins and adrenaline crash
through his system. He wants off this ride, off Joe's knot, and away from the
feel over this overwhelming experience. He's shaking, shocky as he
involuntarily clenches around Joe's cock.
“Your heat should be over now.”
Stiles presses the heel of his palm into his eye socket before wiping away his
tears. That's when he realizes his other hand is tangled with Joe's, holding on
for dear life. He clings tight to those words, thankful that the buzzing fire
under his skin is receding quickly. His fingers twist in Joe's until his nails
dig hard into Joe's knuckles.
As the minutes tick by, the air chills around them, seeping in from the
freezing temperature outside the SUV. Stiles can see the windows are fogged up;
the sweat on his forehead feels sticky as it cools. His ass and thighs feel
worse.
Joe eventually soften enough to gently pull free, and the mess that drips down
Stiles’ skin is almost scalding. He shudders when Joe swipes his fingers
through it.
He catches Joe licking his hand clean when Stiles flops over to awkwardly pull
his clothes back up. He hadn't even kicked his shoes off before he got fucked.
Joe looks sweaty and slightly disheveled. Stiles stares in shock at the heavy
hang of Joe's cock. It had felt huge, but Stiles had sort of assumed he was
overestimating the actual size. Joe is large though, even when he's not hard,
and a kind of pride swells up in Stiles at the realization that he managed to
fit that inside him. His ass clenches at the memory, but it stings, no more
pleasure to drown out the physical reminder of losing his virginity.
Once he has himself to rights, Joe moves back to the driver's seat and helps
Stiles climb up as well. He clears his throat.
“Are you okay?”
Stiles shrugs, not really sure what to say. So he tells Joe what he knows. “I
think you're right.” He can't quite meet Joe's gaze, looking at the smeared
fingerprints on the window instead. “About my heat. It's going away.”
He sees Joe smile at that before turning to cut the engine back on and switch
on the heat. Warm air blows out. They hadn't been parked all that long it
seems.
“Good. I'm glad I could help.” Joe reaches over, hesitant for the first time
tonight, and pats Stiles’ leg. “Thanks for letting me.”
Stiles smiles, but it's a stretch of his lips more than anything. He can't
quite think or feel right now. He's sort of numb and in shock by the
rollercoaster this afternoon has turned into. “Thanks,” he mumbles the word.
It's not until Joe is driving away after Stiles unlocks his front door that he
realizes he never got a real kiss. He isn't a virgin anymore, but he still
hasn't been kissed.
Stiles goes to bed that night dreaming of large hands and sinful lips.
End Notes
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