Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1003509.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski/Original_Male_Character(s), Derek_Hale/Stiles
      Stilinski, Derek_Hale/Original_Male_Character(s), Stiles_Stilinski/
      Original_Male_Character(s), Lydia_Martin/Scott_McCall
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Original_Male_Character(s), Scott_McCall
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_College/University, Alternate_Universe_-_No_Hale
      Fire, Stiles_Has_a_Brother, Stilinski_Twins, Twincest, Threesome_-_M/M/M,
      Alpha_Derek_Hale, Derek_and_Stiles_are_Mates, Underage_Sex, Underage
      Kissing, Past_Underage, Non-Linear_Narrative, Omega_Stiles_Stilinski,
      Background_Relationships, Possessive_Derek_Hale, Sibling_Incest
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-10-14 Words: 9328
****** Through Darkness There is Love ******
by mznaughty01
Summary
     Six long years had gone by since the last time Stiles laid eyes on
     him, talked to him, touched him. His twin. His identical twin. Now
     here Link was. A part of Stiles's life again. And along with Link
     came one Derek Hale.
Notes
     Inspired by the lovely Stilinski Twins posts that are all over Tumblr
     right now.
See the end of the work for more notes
“Stiles! Hey, Stiles! Slow down!”
Stiles didn’t slow down, he froze. Just stopped walking, mid-step. The blood in
his veins ran ice cold for a split second, then heated up hotter than fire in
direct relation to his accelerated heart rate. Slowly, he lowered his foot
still raised in the air down to the sidewalk, his class he’d been on the way to
no longer quite so important, but he didn’t turn around to face the person
who’d called out to him.
It wasn’t necessary, he already knew who it was. Six long years had gone by
since he’d last heard that particular voice coming from that particular mouth,
but Stiles would never be able to forget it. Could never forget it, no matter
how much he sometimes wanted to as a result of those certain days he refused to
acknowledge, even to himself, refused to even think about. Days when his
barriers were so low they were almost non-existent and he allowed himself to
stroke his cock until the explicit, forbidden memories playing in his mind on
overtime caused him to come so hard he was left a crying, shaking, inconsolable
mess in the immediate aftermath. The depression that always followed lasted for
a week, minimum. Sometimes, it lasted longer. Mostly, it lasted longer.
The cadence of the voice was the same, the tone was the same.
As Stiles’s own.
Sucking in a deep gulp of air through his mouth that hung open, Stiles listened
to the sound behind him of feet hitting the ground hard as they rushed in his
direction. With every step they came closer, nerves and fear twisted his belly
into a tight knot and the thoughts of wrongwrongwrong, what they’d done to and
with each other wasbad, disgusting and so, so wrong made him lightheaded and
nauseous. Then he was right there in front of Stiles, all big unbelieving eyes
set behind thick rimmed black glasses. And his face was so very familiar—Stiles
saw it every time he looked in the mirror, looked at any type of reflection of
himself.
Immediately, Stiles felt better. Like he’d just rediscovered an integral part
of who he was and could finally—finally—breathe again. Be whole again, happy.
Knew it was because of him.
He. Him. Stiles’s other half. His twin. His identical twin.
“Fuck, it-it really is you,” Link rasped out in a low whisper.
“Link,” Stiles gasped in return.
Then Link pulled Stiles into a hug, smiling wide. And Stiles let it happen,
smiling back. Despite being aware somewhere in a little, tiny corner of his
head that he probably shouldn’t. He even buried his face in the side of Link’s
neck as he held onto his brother twice as hard as Link held onto him. The
spiciness of the cologne Link wore, and the musky scent of sweat and warmth
that was just plain Link, filled Stiles’s nose and it was the best thing he
could remember smelling in all of ever.
A voice reeking of amusement asked from just in back of Stiles, “How’d he end
up with a nickname even more ridiculous than yours?”
Link chuckled and Stiles felt the rumble against his chest. It had been so long
since he’d last felt that vibration, too long. Still, it felt right as it ever
had, like the years they’d been away from one another, with no contact at all,
were no more than a few negligible weeks apart.
Before answering, Link pulled away and took a step back. “Well, the more
ridiculous real name lands you with the more ridiculous nickname, isn’t that
right, Godzislaw?”
“Right, because your real name is so much better,” Stiles mumbled. The exchange
was an old one, familiar, even as far out of use as it was. They’d been having
it since they were four when they’d thought up and gifted their nicknames to
each other.
“It really, really is.”
“It really, really is not.”
“Your name’s literally pronounced Gods is law.”
“You know that’s not how you say it.”
“Yeah, whatever you have to tell your—”
“Shut it, Godek.”
“Man, I’ve missed you.” Brown eyes blinked rapidly, glimmering with the same
unshed dampness Stiles could feel stinging his own eyes, then flicked to right
over Stiles’s shoulder. “But, Derek, I really need you to tell me why my baby
brother is dressed like a douche right now.”
“Godek?”
“I will kill you.” Link focused on Stiles again. “Why are you dressed like a
douche?”
“Dude, you’re wearing a cardigan—a navy blue cardigan—with a matching beanie.
Based just on that piece of hair you have artistically tufted out from
underneath your hat, your right to question my fashion choices has forever been
revoked. Reinstatement denied. Do not apply again.” Arms flung out from his
sides, Stiles looked down at himself. Plaid overshirt. T-shirt with a screen
print of R2-DT. Jeans that were a little baggy, but still a good fit overall.
“And there’s nothing wrong with what I got on.”
“You mean besides the fact that it completely showcases how your style as a gay
man is a total fail?” Link asked, taking Stiles’s open armed stance as an
invitation to mount a second invasion.
He wasn’t gay. Stiles tried to force the words out.
But he couldn’t. They wouldn’t come. Not with the want coursing all throughout
him because of Link plastered to his front like he was, close, so close, chest-
to-chest. Not with the heat burning up his skin, right through all his
protective layers of clothing, where Link’s arms were wrapped around him, one
up high on Stiles’s shoulders, the other down low on his back, just above the
waistband of the pants he had on.
Not with Link breathing out a warm moistness that brushed Stiles’s ear and made
his mouth dry for reasons he didn’t want to contemplate because the only way he
should want Link, should’ve ever wanted Link, was as a brother. Brother. Same
father, same mother. Anything other than that was wrong, would always be wrong,
and were perversions that should stay dead and in the past.
“I’ve missed you,” Link said. “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”
And especially not when the Derek dude stepped from in back of Stiles. He met
Stiles’s gaze as he cupped a comforting hand around the back of Link’s head in
a way that spoke of deep familiarity on an intimate level. A brief moment of
hesitation, then he laid his other hand on Stiles’s shoulder. Stiles felt his
dick, that had already been wrongly chubbing up in response to Link’s nearness,
go full on hard.
He wasn’t gay, he told himself as they stood there on Columbia’s campus, a
roadblock in the middle of the sidewalk. Students rushing to and from their
various destinations were forced to detour around them. He wasn’t.
Being gay meant loving Link in ways he wasn’t allowed to. It was the reason
that Link had been taken away from him. Now that Stiles had him back, he
couldn’t lose Link for a second time. That type of heartbreak would annihilate
Stiles if he had to go through it again.
But he also didn’t know if he was truly ready to handle having Link back in his
life. As just his brother. And that’s all Link would be. Because Link,
apparently, had Derek to fill all the spots that Stiles used to.
Sobs that Stiles tried his best to keep quiet rocked through him. Derek’s hold
on him tightened. Transformed into fingers that softly caressed the back of his
neck.
                                       *
When they were fourteen...
It wasn’t the first intimate touch they’d exchanged. But this was going to be
the first time they crossed the line.
Once over it, there would be no coming back. Not for them.
“Please,” Link said. He was straddled across Stiles, used his weight to press
Stiles down into the soft comforter beneath him. When he ground his ass on
Stiles’s crotch, Stiles whimpered, then met the move with a roll of his hips
upwards. Link’s eyes fluttered shut for just a moment and his mouth dropped
open, tongue darting out to moisten lips red and swollen from kisses and bites
Stiles had given.
They were in Link’s room, on his bed. Ever since they’d graduated from sharing
a crib, they’d had their own spaces which included places for them to each,
separately, lay down their heads. But since they were always together, they
normally just stayed in one room, whichever was cleaner. Today, that had been
Link’s. Even with the sweat soaked shirts discarded on his floor that they’d
stripped off after practicing lacrosse out in the backyard for the last hour
until Mom had called them in because she was getting ready to head out to
dinner with Dad.
Normally, an evening out for dinner included Stiles and Link unless they
decided they didn’t want to go for whatever reason since they were old enough
to stay home by themselves now. But this dinner was just for their parents.
Neutral territory for them to discuss their differences and problems, the
increased arguments they’d been having lately.
(I know how important your job is, John, I do, and I understand. But why can’t
you understand that I miss you, that theboysmiss you also? ~ Jesus, Claudia,
we’ve already been over this. I have responsibilities as the Sheriff and I...I
just want to drop it for the moment. I just walked through the door. Give me a
few minutes to myself, alright? Just a few minutes, that’s all I’m asking for.)
“Stiles, please.” Link’s moan interrupted Stiles’s thoughts, redirected them to
the situation at hand with its thick need.
“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. He didn’t ask Link what it was that he begged for. He
knew. Wanted it, too. Had known for weeks where their desperate licking into
each other’s mouths and mutual handjobs were going.
Link slid down Stiles’s chest until his face hovered above the spot his ass had
just vacated. His long, graceful fingers paused on the elastic band of the
athletic shorts Stiles had on, Link peered up, met Stiles’s eyes. Still unsure.
“Are you—”
“I’ll do you next.” And Stiles’s promise must have been enough. His hard cock
bobbed up, free, when Link yanked off both Stiles’s shorts and boxer briefs at
the same time. The head was flushed red, sticky with pre-come.
“Okay,” Link said, tentative. His first lick of the stickiness covering the tip
of Stiles’s dick was just as cautious as the word had been, but enough to have
Stiles whining and thrusting up in search of more of that hot wetness. Then,
firmer, confident, just before taking in as much of Stiles as he could in a
hollow cheeked suck, “Okay.”
                                       *
So, this was uncomfortable. Wherein this was Stiles sitting on the opposite
side of the booth from Link and Derek. One of Derek’s arms was stretched out
along the back of the seat behind Link, who was sitting so close to Derek he
was almost in his lap.
Stiles was man enough to admit that he was just a little bit jealous. But as to
the whys of his jealousy, well, that was a little bit more difficult to parse.
He wanted what Link had with Derek. Just...he wanted it with someone a lot less
Dereky and a lot more girly.
If he was really being truthful, though, Stiles would admit that he wanted
exactly what Link had, Derek, because Derek was hot like fire with his hard,
muscled body and stubble, holy hell the stubble. And he would also admit that
he wanted what Derek—
Nothing. He wanted nothing that Derek had. That was, of course, unless his abs
were up for the taking. Those, Stiles would be all over.
Or, in other words, the truth was extremely overrated.
The remains of what had once been a platter of loaded curly fries (Dude, what
do you mean you haven’t eaten curly fries in years? ~ Because I couldn’t make
myself forget just how much you liked them, Stiles, they reminded me of you too
much.) was still in the center of the table, the server not yet returned to
pick it up. Along with several bottles of beer, emptied while stories had been
exchanged on how they’d spent their twenty-firsts the year before (Ugh, me and
Scott—you don’t know him, he moved to Beacon Hills after you, uh, er, anyway he
goes to school here, too, and he’s my roommate—ended up on the front lawn of
our apartment building, cold, naked and covered in puke. Mine’s was green and
his, strangely, was purplish? I don’t even know. ~ I spent it with Derek.
Doing...things. I won’t go into details, but it was nice.Verynice. I can feel
you internally gloating from all the way over here, Hale. Stop it.).
And, now, they’d arrived at the part that Stiles had been dreading.
“I sent you a ton of messages on Myspace, Stiles.”
“Myspace? Lame.”
“Yet you had an account. Still do have an account. And what about the messages
I sent you on Facebook? Facebook lame, too?”
“I’m not on Facebook all that much.”
“Really?” As if Link’s tone by itself hadn’t already indicated his level of
disbelief for Stiles and his fuckery, and the fact that he had proof to back up
his doubt, he slid his finger across the screen of his phone a couple times,
then held it up for Stiles to see. “Then why did you make this post, just this
morning, about something as silly as which class you were on your way to? You
remember this post, right? How ‘bout the post you made one hour before it? Or
the one you made thirty minutes before that? Or what about all the ones you
made yesterday? The ones from the day before?”
Cheeks heating up, Stiles rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. Over his
buzzed head. “Uh...”
“You accepted my friend request, Stiles. For years, I’ve been able to see every
detail of your life. A life I wanted to be a part of, but couldn’t because you
refused to let me.” Link’s voice rose with every word that left his mouth. It
was full of hurt and pain. “Because you kept ignoring every message that I sent
to you. Kept deleting all the comments I made on your posts, pictures, any-and-
everything.”
“Hey,” Derek said, tone calm but holding a note of warning.
And Link immediately deflated into himself, pushed even further into Derek’s
side. “I just...I just want to know what the fuck, Stiles? What the fuck.”
Sliding out from his side of the booth, Stiles said to Link, “I wasn’t ready.
I’m...I’m still not sure that I am.” He met Derek’s gaze, swallowing hard as
those light eyes assessed him, broke him down into a million pieces, without
asking a single question, analyzed and understood all the different components
revealed. Even the not quite so right parts that loved and desired Link in the
same ways that Derek loved and desired him. To Derek, because he would be the
one tasked with putting Link back together tonight like Stiles had done so many
times growing up, just like Link had done for Stiles, Stiles offered up a half-
smile and a weak, “Sorry.”
Then he walked away. Stopped at the tortured sound that escaped Link’s throat.
Actually turned around to face Link and Derek before he was aware of what he
had done when Derek growled out a harsh, “Stiles.”
It was like Derek had compelled him or something. Which Stiles knew was just
his subconscious not wanting to leave, grasping at any reason to stay. Steeling
his resolve, Stiles backed up a step, then another, eyes fastened onto Derek’s
the whole time. Those light eyes which Stiles’s vivid imagination saw spark an
impossible shade of red as a visual representation of Derek’s barely restrained
anger.
Stiles whirled to face the exit again, rushed towards it. Once outside, he ran.
Away from Link. Away from Derek. Away from Link and Derek.
Just...away.
                                       *
When they were nine...
Shocked, Stiles stared at Link. Who had just punched him.
“What the hell!” he yelled. Only, since the hand he had slapped across his
tender nose also covered part of his mouth, it came out more muffled than he
would’ve liked and lacked half the impression he was trying to make.
Link came right back with, “I’m telling Mom you said a curse word.” He glared
at Stiles for another few seconds, then stalked through the yard, towards their
house. “You’re going to get in sooo much trouble.”
Seriously? Seriously? “You hit me! You’re going to get into trouble, too,
y’know!”
“I don’t care!”
“What is wrong with you? Why would you hit me just because I said I’m going
to—”
Before Stiles could get out marry Lydia Martin one day for the second time that
afternoon, for the second time in the past five minutes, Link had turned around
and launched himself at Stiles. He knocked Stiles down to the ground, sat on
top of him, then tried to punch Stiles in the face again. Over and over again,
he tried. Arms thrown up, Stiles blocked the blows. Wiggled around until he’d
dislodged Link, then crawled on top of Link himself.
But rather than hit Link the way Link had been hitting him, Stiles just stared
down at his brother. Link laid there, eyes watering up and breaths coming in
fast, ragged gulps. He appeared completely torn apart. Wrecked. More so than
Stiles probably did even though Stiles was the victim.
Stiles sighed. Rolled off Link until he was down on the ground next to him.
Buried his face in Link’s hair when Link shuffled closer. He held on tight as
his brother wet his shirt with a disgusting mixture of tears and snot.
For some reason, Link hated Lydia. Or, maybe it was that Link liked her himself
and hated the thought of Stiles someday marrying her. Whatever the reason, no
matter how great Stiles thought Lydia Martin was, how pretty, how smart, he
refused to let her come between them.
Dad came out a little while later, when the sun had just started to go down and
the mosquitos had just begun to feast on exposed arms and legs. He looked down
at them tangled up all around each other on the ground. Asked, “Everything
okay?”
Answering for them both, Stiles said, “Perfect.”
And he meant it with every ounce of his soul.
Because no one would ever come between him and Link. No one. Instinctively, he
knew it was true even if no spoken agreement had been reached.
                                       *
When Scott arrived home from his last class of the day, it was to a sight
Stiles suspected was pretty pitiful.
Stiles sat in the center of the couch that had come included with their
apartment. Only reason it was still in one piece was due to love and a lot of
duct tape. A lot. His butt was planted on the crease created by the meeting of
the two cushions and he’d sort of sunk down inside as they were just great big
lumps that provided no support at all. His head was rested on the top of the
couch’s back. All he could see of the ceiling was white, the gold flakes mixed
into the popcorn texture indistinguishable since he’d been forced to literally
peel his contacts off his eyeballs because they’d somehow dried out and gotten
stuck from all the aimless staring he’d been entertaining himself with for the
last few hours.
“Dude,” Scott said from somewhere near the front door. “Wanna talk about it?”
A high, pathetic whine was all the response Stiles could muster.
After a few seconds of silence, only disturbed by the sound of Scott shuffling
closer, Scott plopped down next to Stiles. “That bad, huh? Erica finally find
her common sense and cancel you guys date for tonight?”
“What? Screw you, McCall, I’m awesome, no, she didn’t cancel.” Then, as Stiles
remembered that he had an actual date tonight with Erica, he said, “Oh my God!
Date! Tonight! Erica!”
His struggles to get off the Stiles eating couch so he could go mope at his
closet until it spit out a suitable outfit were unsuccessful. He gave up
entirely when Scott flung out an arm and it landed across his chest, pinning
him in place.
“Seriously, dude, what’s going on with you? I haven’t seen you this down in the
dumps since Dollhouse got cancelled.”
“Scott, I told you a million times already, the problem wasn’t that they
cancelled Dollhouse, the problem was the ridiculous storylines they created to
neatly tie everything up. They made Boyd evil, then killed him. They made me
like Paul, then killed him, too, but oh no, they didn’t really kill him, they
just mind raped him into Echo’s head so he could live there forever and ever
and she could happily be in love with herself, er, him. I’m just saying, all
the storylines sucked. All of them.” There was only one other time Scott had
seen Stiles in a similar state. When he’d first moved to Beacon Hills, which
had been right after Mom and Dad had divorced and Mom had dragged Link with her
out here to New York. It had been Scott who’d pulled Stiles out of his funk
back then as the lonely new kid on the block who’d needed a friend at a time
when Stiles had needed something to distract himself from the horror that was
his life. Stiles sighed, then said, “I saw him today.”
Scott picked up the remote and flicked off the tv that Stiles hadn’t been
watching anyway (wallowing in his depression had been too fascinating an
activity to tear his attention away from, okay). He turned to face Stiles as he
tossed the controller onto the center of their rickety coffee table. “Saw who?”
“Him.”
“Him?Him who?”
“Really, Scott?”
“Who are you talking—oh, oh, you mean him.” Perked up in excitement, Scott
said, “But that’s good, right? Wasn’t a serendipitous encounter your whole
motive for coming to Columbia?”
Yeah, that’s what Stiles had told Scott. But it wasn’t the truth. None of what
Stiles had told Scott was the truth. Scott had no idea why Stiles and Link had
been separated from one another, why their Mom and Dad had really divorced
(hint: it didn’t have a damn thing to do with all their fights and arguments),
and he never would. He had no idea about Link’s thwarted efforts to contact
Stiles. In fact, for reasons Stiles still didn’t comprehend and could never
justify, he’d sort of led Scott to believe that the situation was the exact
reverse, that it was Stiles who had been maligned and wronged by his twin, that
it was his friend request that had been accepted yet his messages and attempts
at contact ignored. He’d told Scott his need to go to school on the east coast
had been fueled by the hope that he would one day just happen by his twin while
walking down the street, just like what had happened that day.
Never once had he confessed that meeting up with Link would’ve been as easy as
replying to a message on Facebook.
Because Stiles was sort of fucked up like that.
So that was what led to Stiles avoiding via distraction. “Serendipitous?”
Scott grimaced. “Sorry. PSATs flashback.”
“All the way to Junior year of high school? Scotty-boy, I’ll take some of what
you’re having, please.”
The shove Stiles received in answer was good natured, then Scott sobered up
again. “So, did things not go well? With Link? Was he as much of an ass face-
to-face as he’s been online?”
“Fine. Everything went fine. There were some misunderstandings, but we’ve got
them all straightened out. We’re good. Awesome. Fantastic.” Free of Scott’s
extra heavy arm (man, Scott had bulked up something nice since outgrowing his
asthma a few years back), Stiles levered himself off the couch. “Now come help
me find something to wear. Dude, I have to look nice or else Erica will eat me.
And not in the fun way.”
Half an hour later, Stiles finally had his suitable outfit. Just before ironing
it, he opened up his laptop and logged onto Facebook.
          Batman, Yo!
          Hot date with the lovely Erica Reyes tonight!
He used his cell phone to check for replies a little later while in the
bathroom gargling. There were three.
          Boyd Date with my girlfriend? Count me in.
          Erica Reyes Damn it, Boyd.
          Erica Reyes :-( Sorry, Stiles, so sorry. We just decided to get back
together, like, not even five minutes ago.
Stiles wasn’t even mad. Or surprised. He’d known that Erica and Boyd had just
broken up, again, that it had just been the interest of a friend when she'd
cornered him earlier in the week at the library and demanded he take her out
for drinks Friday night. Erica just needed someone to blow some steam off with,
and Stiles would've agreed to go out with her for that reason alone (he was a
good dude like that, to her and Boyd both), but Erica had definitely made it
damn hard for Stiles to do anything but accept when she'd shoved her hand down
the front of his pants, her acrylic claws threatening parts Stiles was very
fond of. When she’d squeezed, he’d babbled, “Friday night! I'm so there!
Totally!"
          Batman, Yo!
          Group date! Tonight! At Dungeon!!!
While in the shower Stiles couldn’t help it, he needed the stress relief. So,
he cupped one hand around his balls, used the other to stroke himself, being
very careful not to reminisce about big brown eyes peering up at him from a
certain mole speckled face belonging to a person down on their knees in front
of him. Or about round cheeks flushed the slightest bit pink and covered in
streaks of come that Stiles had put there. Or about a wide mouth, with the
softest, plushest lips ever wrapped around his dick, gently sucking on Stiles
until he went completely soft.
Well, he didn’t think about any of that too much.
Instead, he focused more on bushy eyebrows set just above light eyes that were
greenish at the outer edges and more hazel towards the center that flashed red,
red, in anger. And about a certain mouth with lips that were thinner than
anything Stiles normally thought about, had ever felt. He came, hard, come
splattering the tiles of the shower, imagining a finger stuffed deep inside of
him, but not one that was long and graceful like Stiles’s. Or Link’s.
It was too thick to belong to either of them. Thick like one of Derek’s.
Dressed, walking out the door, Stiles checked his Facebook again. He smiled
when he saw that Erica Reyes, Boyd, S. McCall and 5 others had liked his last
post. And his heart beat a little faster, just a little bit, as he read the two
new messages he’d also received.
          Linkster
          I want to see you again. Please. Do you mind if me and Derek come?
Then, two minutes later, from someone who wasn’t listed on Stiles’s Friends’
list, but a person that he knew regardless, as of that very day:
          Hale
          We’ll be there.
                                       *
When they were four...
Godzislaw was laying on top of Godek, one cheek smooshed against his brother’s
chest. They were laid out on the couch for naptime, where Mama had put them.
Almost where Mama had put them.
Really, Godzislaw was supposed to be down on the other end. But he didn’t like
taking naps so close yet so far away from Godek. Godek didn’t like it either,
Godzislaw knew, because Godek had told him once and Godzislaw remembered.
So, after Mama had left the room, Godzislaw had crawled over the cushions until
he was on top of Godek and squirmed around until they were both comfortable.
Godek’s arms squeezed tight around him, they’d both fallen asleep. Now, awake,
Gozislaw listened to the Rugrats playing on the tv behind him, his face turned
away from the screen, towards the back of the couch.
Since he’d already been up for several minutes, Godzislaw knew the exact moment
Godek finished his nap. Godek’s breathing was no longer deep and heavy. And it
was around a huge yawn that Godek greeted Godzislaw by saying, “Godek is a dumb
name.”
Godzislaw scrambled all the way up, plopped his butt next to Godek’s feet, then
met Godek’s eyes as he sat up, too. “Huh?”
“Godzislaw is even dumber.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Yeah-huh, it’s stupid.”
“Nooo—”
“Is so. I dreamed ‘bout it. And your new name is Stiles.”
Stiles wasn’t bad. And it was easier to say than Godzislaw. “Stiles?”
“Yep. Stiles.”
“What’s a Stiles, honey?” Mommy asked, walking into the living room from the
direction of the kitchen. She stopped behind the couch.
“He is.” Big and toothy, Godek grinned at her as he pointed at Godzis—Stiles.
“Who? Godzislaw?”
“Not Godzislaw, Mommy, Stiles. I named him right now. Named him just like our
last name. Stileslinkski.”
“Yes, you did. And what about you? You have a new name, too? Or are you still
just my Godek?”
As his eyebrows scrunched up in unhappiness, Godek’s grin disappeared. “No, I
don’t have, I haven’t—”
“Link, Mommy!” Stiles shouted in excitement, tummy feeling all funny with the
need to make his brother stop frowning. “Just like our last name, too!
Stileslinkski! I’m Stiles and he’s Link!”
“Yeah!” Link immediately agreed, bouncing up and down, happy once more. “I’m
Link! Stiles said so!”
“Okay, then, Stiles and Link it is, guys.” Mommy’s laughter was bright, pretty.
She dropped a kiss to each of their foreheads. “Now let’s go eat some lunch.”
                                       *
The whole gang had been able to come out. It was nice because they didn’t get a
chance to all hang out together very often. With the exception of Stiles, Scott
and Lydia, who had all known each other before Columbia from back home, the
gang had met during first year and had become friends who hung out in each
other’s dorm rooms. Now, between full class loads, love lives, jobs and, in the
case of Danny and Jackson, fraternity engagements, they were just too busy.
Eh, so what if it had taken Stiles’s not!date to get them all there in one
place. Whatever. Stiles could roll with it.
Erica and Boyd were sucking face next to the bar, Jackson next to them with his
face all screwed up in disgust at the PDA. Danny was next to Jackson, probably
over there encouraging Erica to slip Boyd some tongue going by the sly
expression on his face, dimples and all, and his laughter.
A few seats away were Allison and Lydia, also respectively known as Scott’s
previous love interest and Scott’s potential new love interest. Since there was
no more sitting space, Isaac stood just behind Allison, leaned in close to her
back, as he made his contributions to the conversation via his mumbles into her
neck.
At the table situated closest to the bar, Scott kept Stiles company. And,
despite wanting to smack Scott in the back of the head, Stiles was glad Scott
was there. It kept him from thinking too much. From wondering when Link would
show up with Derek in tow. Or vice versa.
“Just go over there,” Stiles said for the tenth time, no exaggeration. It was
the actual tenth time he’d said it. He’d kept count.
Scott cast another longing look in Lydia’s direction. “I don’t want—I mean,
Isaac’s with Allison now and, y’know, what if I make things uncomfortable?”
“What about me, Scott? What about making me uncomfortable? Because you’re doing
it. Right now. There’s a vague burning sensation in my chest that is slowly
starting to make its way up my neck.”
“They have medicine for that.” Scott made a face.
“No, they don’t, because this is second hand embarrassment I’m experiencing
over here, asshole. Caused by Scott McCall’s refusal to man up. Only known
cure, Scott McCall finding his balls and actually going over there to talk to
Lydia Martin.”
The next few minutes were spent with Scott draining the rest of his beer, then
shredding the label off the bottle with the tip of a fingernail, neither of
them talking. Stiles waited. He knew his friend and, therefore, knew what was
coming next.
Not one to disappoint, Scott finally tore his attention away from Lydia to make
sad puppy dog eyes at Stiles instead. “It’s just that, a few months ago, I was
with Allison and things were really good between us. Really, really good. Good
like—”
“Nope.” Stiles had heard all the excruciating details before, had lived through
them all the same time as Scott had from the moment Scott had met Allison two
years ago during Freshman Orientation on up to the day they’d broken up. No
need for a repeat, thanks. He stood up from the table and said, “She’s
obviously moved on. Time for you to do the same, man.”
Then Stiles pushed his way through the crowd until he reached the edge of the
dance floor. The Dungeon was a club that attracted all types. Straight, gay,
bisexual, asexual, whatever. There were guys and girls grinding on each other,
girls grinding on girls, guys grinding on guys, people grinding with the air.
Eyeing an attractive dude who eyed him back, Stiles decided screw it, if Link
could be himself and be with Derek, be happy, then Stiles could do it, too.
Time to stop suppressing his desires, hiding who he was. He was just about to
make his way over to introduce himself Stilinski club style, which would
include some pretty vigorous and awesome shaking of his ass, if he did say so
himself, when a pair of arms slipped around his middle from behind.
“Stiles, hi,” a female voice said into his ear.
A genuine smile already on his face, Stiles turned around. Pulled the girl
standing in front of him into a hug. “There she is.”
Although Heather was his ex, they’d separated on good terms. Specifically, with
Stiles appreciating her attempts to salvage his pride as she’d assured him that
it was okay he couldn’t get hard, she didn’t think any less of him, it could
happen to anyone. They’d only made it for another week after the disaster
Stiles had immediately dubbed as The Unspeakable Event That Shall Never Be
Mentioned Upon Pain of Death before reaching the amicable conclusion that they
just worked better as friends.
She had been the first person, since Link, that Stiles had tried to have sex
with. She had also been the last.
Heather grinned as they parted. “So—” a nod of her head towards the guy who’d
caught Stiles’s notice “—finally realizing some things about yourself?”
“Something like that,” Stiles confessed, sheepish. When a shoulder nudged him
from the side, he latched onto the interruption because, despite the fact that
they were still friends of a sort, and that Heather respected his decree about
The Unspeakable Event That Shall Never Be Mentioned Upon Pain of Death, every
encounter he had with her through forevermore would always be just the
slightest bit uncomfortable because erectile dysfunction.
Yeah, not something Stiles would be getting over any time soon. Like ever.
But the problem had never really been erectile dysfunction, had it. Because
Stiles’s dick was getting hard just fine right at that very moment.
From Link, dressed in a fitted black sports jacket, a white shirt and tight
dark jeans. The glasses were still in place, but the beanie was gone, Link’s
hair ruffled and messy in a way that suited him.
From Derek, who wore black, black annnd...even more black.
Holy shit, they looked good together. Standing there right next to Stiles
dancing, Derek behind Link, hands on Link’s hips, holding Link close, ass to
crotch, as Link gyrated in tune with the music.
“I never would’ve guessed that there were two of you, you never told me,”
Heather said and all Stiles could do was nod dumbly in reply. She pushed up to
her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Whispered in his ear, “Looking at your other
half’s preferences, Stiles, I’d say your answer earlier should have actually
been less something like that and more exactly like that.”
Stiles tore his attention away from Link and Derek to watch her walk away. The
crowd swallowed her completely and the guy from earlier was suddenly there in
front of Stiles.
“Wanna dance?” he asked.
Sucking in much needed air through his open mouth, Stiles glanced at Link and
Derek. Felt his face heat up when he saw them both staring right back at him.
“Yeah, yes. Yes, I do.”
The guy took a single step towards Stiles, then...Stiles wasn’t there anymore.
He was up against Derek’s chest, yanked there by Derek’s hand that still
surrounded his wrist, Link now molded to his back, sandwiching Stiles in.
“He’s with us,” Derek said, voice hard and top lip pulled up on one side in a
snarl, revealing a set of canines that the alcohol Stiles had consumed told him
were very sharp and very elongated. His eyes also seemed to flash that
impossible red again.
Though he knew he shouldn’t, between Derek and Link is where Stiles stayed. For
the rest of the night.
But Derek’s hard dick pressed up against Stiles’s thigh meant nothing. Nor did
the hot, wet stripes Link licked up his neck. They were both just going with
the flow. Having some fun. It wasn’t serious.
They had each other. While Stiles had no one but himself.
                                       *
When they were eleven...
“Have you ever thought about it?” Link asked.
Stiles had thought about it plenty. Was currently thinking about it. While
watching Link.
Link didn’t even like cherry, but he was eating a cherry flavored popsicle
regardless, even though there were still a few grape and orange left. His lips
were stained red and a little bit of juice ran down his chin that his tongue,
also stained red, darted out to lick up.
“Yeah, I’ve thought lots about kissing someone,” Stiles answered. He tore his
eyes away from Link’s mouth and focused on the game he was playing. Just in
time to see his car rear end the driver in front of him and flip over into a
fiery wreck. Game over. “Crap.”
“Sweet! Now gimme the remote. It’s my turn, jerk. Finally.”
                                       *
Things were changing.
Isaac and Allison had moved in together. Which left Lydia without a roommate.
Which led to Scott reminding Stiles numerous times over the past few weeks that
the lease on their apartment would soon be up.
Stiles’s pending homelessness couldn’t be blamed on anyone but himself. He had
been the one to tell Scott to go for it with Lydia. And Scott had. With a
spectacular outcome. Because although Scott and Lydia were new to the whole
dating each other thing, they weren’t new to each other. There was six years of
history and friendship between them. An excellent, solid foundation. They were
happy and Stiles was happy for them.
“So just move in with us,” Link said after Stiles told him what was going on.
Easy as that.
They were sitting on the cream leather couch in the center of the loft Link
shared with Derek. This wasn’t the first time Stiles had come over to visit.
First time had actually been the night after the club. The loft was within
walking distance of The Dungeon and Stiles had been invited home with them so
Stiles and Link could continue to make up for lost time.
Only, things hadn’t exactly ended with Stiles and Link catching up.
Derek was very tactile. The entire walk, he touched Link a lot, kept Link near
him. He also touched Stiles a lot, too, through the bumping of shoulders and
the occasional swipe of his fingers against Stiles’s neck, the back of his
hand, his cheek.
End result? Link basically tackling Derek soon as they were behind closed
doors. And, since the loft was basically the kind where there wasn’t exactly a
bedroom, just a second level spanning half the loft which shared air with the
floor below, Stiles got an earful. Of Derek trying to pound Link’s ass straight
through the mattress.
Ashamed, Stiles had spent the night biting the throw pillow belonging to the
very couch he was sitting on now, a hand down inside his pants. He’d come the
exact moment Link had whimpered, “Derek, I’m gonna, gonna—unghf, com-coming.”
The next morning had been very awkward for Stiles. Link and Derek acted like
there was nothing wrong. Assholes.
Stiles had been over a few times since then and had worked himself up to the
point where he was all for spending a night every so often, didn’t have a
problem with it. Because now he could read the signs and knew when to slip out
to avoid being an auditory voyeur of the sexytimes happening upstairs.
Living with Link and Derek? Would make it a lot more difficult for Stiles to
leave.
“Um,” Stiles said, “you guys really don’t have the room?”
Not unless they moved, which Stiles didn’t see happening since Derek actually
owned the loft. It was a recent purchase, Stiles had found out a few weeks
back. Previously, they’d lived upstate, with Derek’s family, including his
mother, father, sisters, brother-in-laws, uncles, aunts, numerous nieces and
nephews, everyone (“We’re very close,” Derek had explained). The decision Link
and Derek had made to move away hadn’t been met with full approval and a couple
of family members, an overinvested uncle and a meddling older sister, had even
gone so far as to try and stop them even though Derek was twenty-eight and Link
twenty-two and both very capable of living on their own (“Very, very close.”).
Just the day prior, Link had told Stiles they’d come to Manhattan for one
reason and one reason only. Stiles.
The hum Stiles received in response from Link to his observation on the lacking
of Stiles space in the loft was non-committal. Link flicked on the tv and,
still caught up in his head a little bit, it took Stiles a few moments to
realize that Link had actually turned on a DVD.
When he did…
...whoa.
Two brothers, twins, identical twins, filled the screen. Completely nude.
Kissing. Licking. Sucking.
Stiles’s eyes met Link’s. “Hey, Link, I-I can’t—this isn’t—”
“We’ve been very careful to stay away from talking about...us, our past. But
you do know that what we did with each other wasn’t wrong, right? We loved each
other, were the closest things to each other. It was natural.” Eyebrows
shooting up, Link added, “Dad never—did Dad tell you—”
“He never told me it was wrong.” He’d also never treated Stiles any
differently. Just...one day their family of four was suddenly a family of two
and Stiles had been told he couldn’t talk to his Mom or brother anymore, that
it was better for everyone that way.
“For what it’s worth, Mom didn’t, either,” Link stated. “I haven’t, I haven’t
talked to her in a while. There are some reasons I haven’t called her lately.
Things...there are things in our family’s history that she should’ve told us
about. Important things.”
“Like?”
“Later.” Link eased closer to Stiles. “Please.”
And it was just like that first time when they were fourteen. The want, the
need. It was all there.
Stiles blinked. Blinked again. “Derek...”
“Please, Stiles, please let me.”
A nod of the head and Link had Stiles’s shirt pushed up his chest, out the way.
Had Stiles’s pants unbuttoned. Had a cock pulled out that was already hard for
him.
Link spit in his hand, got it nice and wet, nasty, just how Stiles liked it,
then wrapped Stiles up in his palm. Stiles curled his sock covered toes into
the fibers of the area rug that covered most of the hardwood floor. His hips
thrust up, causing his dick to slide further into Link’s tight hold.
In only seconds, Stiles was whining, come pulsing out of his cock, slicking up
Link’s fist even more. It spurted up his chest, almost to his chin. Left Stiles
feeling exhausted and lightheaded.
And the guilt, the guilt was there. Always there. An old friend waiting in the
dark to welcome Stiles back with wide open arms.
It chased Stiles out of the loft and down the street, nipping at his feet the
entire way.
                                       *
When they were sixteen...
Link was up on his knees, his forearms bracketing the pillow his face was
buried in. One hand steady on the back of his neck, Stiles used his hold to
keep Link in place.
He fucked into Link hard. It was something that Link needed, had asked for.
Something that Stiles needed, wanted to give. They had both been on the
starting line for tonight’s game against Forest Bend, both had scored several
goals. Beacon Hills' win had been in large part due to the Stilinski twins.
Celebration with the team had included pizza at Papa John’s.
Celebration with each other included lube, hard cocks and relaxed, greedy ass
holes.
Moans, moans belonging to Link, echoed throughout the room. Much too loud.
“Damn it, Link, you have to shut up,” Stiles hissed, snapping his hips forward
again which resulted in the loudest sound yet from Link. They may have been in
Stiles’s room, which was further from the Master Bedroom than Link’s, but it
was the middle of the night and Mom and Dad were home, down the hall. Within
hearing distance.
“Stiles? Link?” Dad’s voice came from right outside the shut door. The door
neither Stiles nor Link had bothered to lock. “Everything okay?”
“Are they all right?” And there Mom was.
But Link was too far gone, hadn’t heard them. He groaned again leaving Stiles
with no time to warn him not to.
Then Mom and Dad were in the room with them, dragging them apart. Dad prevented
Stiles from jumping up to check on Link, who was still on the bed, Mom by his
side, with his firm hand planted in the center of Stiles’s chest.
“One of you want to tell me just what in the hell is going on here?” Dad asked,
looking back and forth between Stiles and Link.
Stiles met Link’s eyes. Eyes that were just like his own. Reflected the same
terror his own did.
No getting around this, they’d finally gotten caught.
                                       *
It wasn’t that Stiles was avoiding Link and, by extension, Derek.
He...just hadn’t spent as much time over at their place for the last week.
There were still of plenty text messages and phone calls and Facebook messages
exchanged. But no actual face-to-face time.
Okay, Stiles was avoiding Link and, by extension, Derek. Link had a good thing
going with Derek and Stiles didn’t want to screw shit up between them. Link had
been able to let go of their perversions before Stiles had come back into his
life, had been able to move past them, start a healthy relationship.
And Stiles was going to do the same. Once he reached that point, had someone to
tag along with him to hang out with Link and Derek, take his mind off things
that he shouldn’t want, well, that’s when he planned to start spending time
with his brother again.
Maybe, once things were right, he’d even open up to Dad. Call home. Tell him
he’d found Link. Quit being selfish by trying to keep Link all to himself. But
that could only happen when things were on the up and up. Else Dad would be
suspicious.
For damn good reason.
That handjob Link had given Stiles had been the best thing Stiles had felt in
years. Probably the worst way Link had ever betrayed Derek.
Everything was just so fucked up.
So that’s how Stiles ended up on a date with one of Danny and Jackson’s frat
brothers. After Stiles had admitted to all of his friends, one at a time, that
he was gay (to which everyone had expressed support, even Scott in a roundabout
way when he’d asked if there was maybe a secret boyfriend he didn’t know about
that Stiles could move in with once their lease terminated – let no one ever
accuse Scott McCall of being cryptic, okay) Danny had immediately told Stiles
about some dude he knew who wanted some of the Stilinski (Stiles’s description,
not Danny’s).
Ryan was nice looking in that wholesome, boy next door way and Stiles was
having a good time. Even if Link hadn’t bothered to wish him good luck, had in
fact hung up on Stiles when Stiles had talked to him just beforehand and told
him who he was going out with, and for what purpose, without revealing the
where lest he and Ryan ended up with unexpected company.
“Waiting for a call?” Ryan asked when Stiles checked his phone for the
millionth time during dinner in hopes of discovering a missed text from Link,
an overlooked voicemail, something.
“Uh...” Stiles said, just as a text message showed up on his screen.
Although he didn’t recognize the number, the area code was the same as Link’s,
one that belonged to Upstate New York, Essex County. It wasn’t hard to guess
who the terse message was from.
                                Get here. Now.
“Hey, sorry, but I have to go,” Stiles excused himself.
“Yeah, it’s cool.” Once their bill was settled up, Ryan walked with Stiles to
the door. Before going their separate ways, he added, “Maybe I’ll see you
around sometime. Stay in touch.”
Stiles used the fifteen walk to get his thoughts together. He was unsure why
Link’s pleas that he stop being such a pussy ass douchecanoe hadn’t managed to
get to Stiles off his ass and over to their place like that one, single, rude
two sentence text from Derek had. By the time he’d reached their place, been
granted access by the doorman and ridden the elevator up to their floor, he
still didn’t have an answer.
Hand lifted, ready to knock, Stiles took a step back when Derek wrenched the
door open before Stiles had even touched it. With an iron hold on Stiles’s
wrist, he yanked Stiles inside, slammed the door shut behind him, then crowded
Stiles up against the closest wall until he basically covered Stiles’s entire
front side.
Derek didn’t have a shirt on. Derek. Did not. Have a shirt. On.
“You smell like him,” Derek growled.
And—“What?”
“You should, you know.”
Mind fuzzy with Derek’s half naked nearness (Stiles really should push him
away—where the fuck was Link?), Stiles wasn’t able to follow the leap in
conversation. “What?”
Downright predatory, Derek grinned. “Move in with us.”
“Oh, Link told you about that, huh?” Then, around a bark of strained laughter,
Stiles said, “Your couch is awesomely fantastic for the occasional night over,
dude, but no way do I want to permanently sleep on it.”
“Who said you had to?” Derek asked, pushing his face into the side of Stiles’s
neck. He bit down lightly. Sucked for a few moments. Backed away. “I wouldn’t
want you to.”
“Link,” Stiles gasped out in response to this strange, reverse parody of events
that had happened the other day with his brother.
“How ‘bout we go find him.” Derek grabbed Stiles’s hand and pulled Stiles
behind him, up the stairs to the second floor.
Naked, Link lay there in the center of the bed, face down. His legs were spread
apart in such a way that it left the pucker of his asshole exposed. It was
puffy and angry red in color, abused from a very recent, good, hard fucking.
Streaks of white leaked out.
Come. That was Derek’s come.
Involuntarily, Stiles took a step back. Right into Derek, who gathered Stiles
close to his chest from behind.
“You belong there. On that bed, my bed, right next to your brother.”
Stiles was already hard, dick straining against the back of his zipper. He
shivered, bucked into Derek’s palm when Derek slipped a hand down and around
the straining outline. “This isn’t—I can’t...”
Lips right next to Stiles’s ear, Derek’s breath was hot and moist. “I want to
go hunt that guy down you went out with. You’re mine.”
And Stiles was done. Done arguing with himself. Done fighting his desires,
whether they were fucked up or not.
Derek pushed him towards the bed, towards Link who had flipped over to stare at
Stiles, brown eyes wide with desire and want and need. Stiles went. Crawled on
top, towards Link who waited for him. Didn’t protest when Link pushed his
overshirt down his shoulders and off.
“You don’t ever fuck him.” Derek gave the order from where he still stood at
the foot of the mattress, arms folded across his chest, muscles bulging in an
obscene manner.
“Got it.” Stiles’s agreement was wholehearted, immediate. He just wanted to be
a part of this. To be with Link. With Derek. “This Stilinski’s stick never
touches that Stilinski’s slot.”
“Link,” Derek said after a few long minutes of silence had gone by.
Entertaining minutes filled with Link pulling Stiles’s t-shirt over his head,
followed by them reacquainting themselves with each other through kisses and
cautious touches, but silent of everything else other than their occasional
throaty moans.
“What?”
“You don’t ever fuck him.”
“How come? I’ve known him way longer than you have and I’ve—”
“Link.”
“Okay, fine.” Link’s tone was flippant. Stiles knew it well. It plainly said
that Link was going to do whatever Link wanted to do.
“Link.”
Sighing, Link said in all seriousness, “Understood, Derek, I will never, ever
fuck him.” Link placed a hand on top of Stiles’s head and pushed Stiles down,
towards his erect cock that was still smeared with the remnants of his orgasm
from when Derek had fucked him earlier. “Least we still get to do all the other
fun stuff.”
                                       *
When they were twelve...
The first time, they’d both moved in too fast and had ended up clacking their
teeth together. Painfully.
The second time, Stiles’s lip had ended up busted. He’d gone in for it just as
Link had ducked his head, putting his forehead where his mouth had been just
moments before.
The third time, this time, they’d gotten it right. Link pulled back from the
kiss, his cheeks flushed pink, a shy smile on his face that Stiles returned.
                                       *
Covered in come, sweat drying on his skin, Stiles lay between Link and Derek,
one to either side of him. He was drifting, satiated. Satisfied. Mostly asleep,
but still just the slightest bit awake. Enough to pick up bits and pieces of
the conversation going on around him. But not enough that he would remember any
of it the next time he opened his eyes.
“...an Omega, just like me...gene is latent in our family...”
“...one day forgive...”
“...hard to...our Mom should’ve told us...she knew...”
“...Link...”
“...I do miss her...Dad, too...but never would’ve known...neither of us, if you
hadn’t...”
“...my mate...Jesus, I can’t believe...not one, but two...”
“...love you and him...so much...hurts...”
“...love you both...”
Love. Stiles loved them both, too. And he was exactly where he was supposed to
be, with who he was supposed to be with.
Safe, secure, he fell asleep.
   They whose guilt within their bosom lies, imagine every eye beholds their
                                    blame.
                             ~William Shakespeare
End Notes
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