We Shall Never Speak of This Again

Wherever Sheriff Stilinski went with his new “friend”, he didn’t get back until the shadows were dripping golden through Stiles’s bedroom window.

Stiles and Derek were just getting out of the shower when they heard him come through the door, calling, “Guys! Guys! I’ve got some pizza here!”

Derek half-laughed in the middle of pulling his freshly laundered shirt over his head. “You know, your dad is pretty awesome.”

Stiles nodded and pulled his boxers on. “You’ve got clothes for tomorrow?” he asked. “I mean, now that I did laundry?”

Derek nodded. “Yeah, but–“

“Then stay. Again. For dinner.”

“Stiles–“

“Your place sucks. It’s big and broody and lonely. Lots of women slept there who either tried to kill you or died. Stay here.”

Oh Lord. So easy. Would be so easy just to stay here and pretend they were one happy family.

When John Stilinski called out again it was from the foot of the stairs. “Are you telling me neither of you have an appetite?”

“Be right there, Dad!” Stiles called from his door. “What kind of pizza?”

“I brought three–combination, with anchovies, and pepperoni. Derek can eat them all if he feels like it, because I had a big salad with chicken for lunch.”

Stiles’s grunt did not sound like he was buying it. “Why would you do that without me nagging?”

“I had lunch with another middle aged man, Stiles. Do you think we both don’t check cholesterol?”

“Huh. Yeah, give us a minute.”

Stiles closed his door and checked over his shoulder to see if Derek was clothed.

And Derek smacked him in the face with a T-shirt and sweats. “Stop tormenting him,” he said. “And yes, I’ll stay until tomorrow.”

Stiles’s grin was so happy/evil, Derek tried really hard to pretend he didn’t know what he’d just signed on for. Stiles was going to make him ask “the question”.

*  *  *

John Stilinski was still befuddled over the events of the night before.

Well, not really befuddled. Bemused. 


Well, not really bemused.  AROUSED. 


Yes, he probably should have been entering the viagra years, but every time he’d thought about what he and Jack had done in the muted quite of his bedroom the night before, his erection grew both uncomfortable and embarrassing.

Which explained how a trip to Eureka to take Jack out to lunch had gone on a lot longer than either one of them had planned.

Because last night…

They’d both taken off their shoes before they entered the kitchen, and John had listened carefully before they padded up the stairs.

Oh, thank God. Not a sound–just the unmistakeable smell that was probably werewolf sex, because Stiles had been pretty active with boys and girls before Derek, and John had never been quite that… overwhelmed with pungency until Derek.

“Oh my God…” Jack whispered behind him. “It smells like… like sweat sox and elephant semen.”

John chuckled as they passed Stiles’s room and dragged Jack unselfconsciously down the hall.

“The sweat sox were my son’s,” he admitted. “The other thing–“

“Werewolf sex?”

“Saying.”

John stopped in his doorway and frowned. “Wait a minute– how do you know what elephant semen smell–“

Jack kissed him again, that same assertive sweetness that he’d given in the car, and John melted against the doorframe.  Fumbling, he reached behind him and opened the door, backing up so Jack could come in and shut the door behind him. He pulled back long enough to turn on the lamp near his bed, hearing the snick of the lock just as he looked up.

Jack was walking toward him with definite intent, unbuttoning the cuffs of his blue dress shirt as he walked.

John was suddenly, acutely aware that he was forty-seven years old. Yeah, sure, he went running more mornings than he didn’t, and he worked out his upper body when he could–but still. Time didn’t tell kind lies. He knew his chest hair was a little gray and his ass wasn’t as tight as it had been and–

Carter finished unbuttoning his shirt and drew near, close enough for John to feel his heat. His rough hands cupped John’s cheeks and he made John look at him.

John was really starting to like those crinkles in the corners of his eyes.  “What?” he asked, his voice shaking a little.

“You tell me.”

John looked down to the neck of Carter’s tank. His chest was muscular and broad, and he only had a few blonde hairs in the center.

“You’ve got a really nice chest,” he said, feeling pathetic.

Carter laughed softly and lowered his head, kissing him behind the jaw. “You’ve got really nice eyes,” he said, brushing John’s ear with his lips.

“Backatcha… oh…”

“And I like your laugh,” Carter continued, nibbling down the side of his neck.  “And your kindness…”

“Mmm…”

Carter was unbuttoning the front of John’s shirt, and John had lost track of why they were telling each other stupidly nice things–but that didn’t mean he was going to drop the ball.

“You’ve got a really nice smile,” John mumbled, as Carter kissed down his chest. They were both wearing tanks under their blue dress shirts, which was sort of funny, really, but John didn’t feel like laughing.

Particularly when Carter shoved the dress shirt off his shoulders and then lifted his tank up by the hem and pulled it over his head.

“You like my smile?” Carter asked, his eyes glinting wickedly in the lamp light.

“Yeah,” John said, comfortable again in his own skin. He raised a hand and rubbed Carter’s abdomen under his tank. “I really like your smile.”

“Do you like my teeth?” Carter teased, and John frowned.

“Sure– they’re part of a smile right–ooooh…”

Carter lowered his head to John’s chest and nibbled gently on his nipple.  John’s hand flailed for Carter’s shoulder, and Carter licked the the nipple, and then nibbled again, and then nipped.

“Ahh…”  John’s hands flailed, finally finding purchase on Carter’s hard biceps. He squeezed hard, knowing he couldn’t hurt, couldn’t bruise, and he realized there were unexpected good things about being with a man.

Carter chuckled and licked over to his other nipple and John groaned and sat down hard on the bed.

“Lay back,” Carter ordered.

So easy. Just do what this kind, funny man asked him to and touch back. Run his hands down the smooth skin of Carter’s back, knead his chest, enjoy the little catches of breath he made when John hit something particularly sensitive.

And keen as Carter paid copious amounts of attention to a part of John’s body he’d thought had fallen off years ago.

John’s hips were arching off the bed, and Carter’s hand at his groin made him ache. “Oh God!” he breathed. He reached awkwardly down between them, trying to reach Carter’s groin to see if he had an erection that could pound nails.

Carter pulled back and laughed.  “YOu want to do this like gentlemen? I’ll show you mine and you show me yours?”

John had never felt like a nervous virgin before–like Stiles, he’d pretty much thrown himself into sex with a sort of practical joy. You had to have it, right, or your dick would fall off? (He’d actually heard Stiles say that to his first girlfriend– if he hadn’t used that line on Stiles’s mother, he would have smacked the kid in the back of the head.)  But he felt like a nervous virgin now.

“Yeah,” he said, trying not to hide. “But, uhm, can we do it under the covers.”

Jack’s laugh and smile were enough to make John’s stomach flip.  “Yeah, sure.”

“God–your dimples–fucking lethal.”

Carter chuckled some more as he stood and gave John a hand up. John had to turn his back to strip, he was so embarrassed. By the time he’d gotten naked and scrambled under the covers, Jack was naked too. He stood next to the bed and held his hands out before doing a little turn and presenting himself again.

His stomach was the washboard stomach John had once possessed in his youth, and his chest was just as wide and wonderful as it had felt under John’s hands.  His skin was a sort of natural gold, even the pale part of his hips and thighs.  And now that John had taken that inventory, he could move down to the thing that scared him the most.

“Oh.”

Yeah. It was big. John couldn’t seem to come up with a comparison– was it bigger than his? Longer? Wider? Or did all the bigness come because it was probably going to end up inside John’s– uh, either way, it was wide and thick and long and erect. 


Basic sex mechanics seeped into John’s brain. “Uh, that’s for me?” he asked, confused.

“Yeah, John. I, uh, don’t normally spring one of these for someone I’m not excited to see.”

John bit his lip again and whooshed the covers down, exposing his pale, middle aged glory for Carter to inspect.

Carter didn’t. He slid into bed next him, and caught his mouth in another knee-melter of a kiss. John was glad he was lying down, seriously. And then Jack threw his leg over John’s hips, and blew his mind.

OH God, two male naked bodies, sliding together, their chests touching, their groins… oh God. Carter’s cock was touching his. It was the most amazing, wistful sort of foreplay.

John wanted to touch it!  He reached down between them, not so awkwardly this time, and grabbed him, appreciating the size and texture of him in his palm. He closed his fingers and squeezed, stroking up toward the head, and then he rubbed his thumb.

“Oooh…” he breathed. “Skin’s so soft…”

Carter’s pained chuckle made him flush, and then Carter’s hand on John’s erection, doing exactly what John was doing to Carter, made him groan.

STroke… stroke… stroke stroke stroke stroke stroke… oh God! A man’s hands were on him, a man was touching him, kissing him, and his body was vibrating, swelling, aching, and climax was rolling in his thighs and his stomach–

“I’m gonna come!” he gasped.

“Come…” Jack whispered. “We’ve got the whole night…”

“Ahhh…”  Oh, it had been so long. His testicles tightened up between his thighs, and the edge of Jack’s thumb caught on his slit, just as his fingers tightened around John’s crown and…

“Ohhh…” He whimpered into Jack’s mouth and Jack captured the sound.  Oh… oh God… Ohhhh…. Oh, he’d forgotten what climax at someone else’s hands felt like. A hand job, naked bodies, a passionate kiss–apparently these things were the same no matter who was giving them.

Or maybe because the person giving them was giving them right.

John melted into the mattress, aware that Jack had continued stroking him through the slickness of come.  After a moment, when his dick had swelled again, and he was hard and tight and a little tender, he grunted and pulled his hips back.

“That was amazing,” he breathed, smiling at Carter with a sort of innocent gratitude. “What can I do to… you know…”

“YOu ever given a blow job?” Carter asked, his hips twitching with a little bit of urgency.

“Nope.”  John grinned. “But I’ll try anything once.” He rolled his hips and moved his body until he was eye level with Jack’s chest. “But first, I’d like to try these…”

Male nipples were tiny and hard, and he liked them very much. He especially liked the throaty sounds Jack made when he nibbled on them, and he understood why the other man had spent so much time there. But John had a goal now, and he kissed his way from nipple to nipple, staying just long enough to make Carter grab his shoulders and keen with frustration.

“You know what you are,” Carter mumbled and John kissed his way down a mildly furry abdomen to a perfectly shaped, bald cockhead.

“A middle aged man learning how to give head?”

“A prick tease,” Carter said, then he leaned his head back and gave that appealing, throaty laugh just as John licked his crown.

The laugh turned into an “ooooh…” and John realized he was enjoying the hell out of this. His own cock still tingled, and it was already aching. And the taste of the pre dripping from Carter’s cock had really flipped his switch.

He didn’t even have to think, didn’t have to feel, didn’t have to have the big epiphany about, “Oh my God, I’m touching a guy’s dick with my mouth!” because he wanted to taste that again. 


He carefully positioned his teeth and lips and tongue and sucked Carter in like he was pulling on an extra thick popsicle.

Jack’s hushed grunt and his fingers scrabbling in John’s hair were enough to keep John hard for hours. Oh, man, this was power. It had been power with a woman and it was just as powerful with another man. He was doing something for Carter, something important, something huge. 


He pulled up his fist and started stroking, using his lips and tongue together. He wasn’t a pro or smooth or sophisticated–he was what he always had been: serviceable and competent.

He could tell by Carter’s increasingly frantic tugging on his head that he was about to cum, and suddenly, he didn’t want to pull away. He was lost in it, in giving someone pleasure, in doing something, something of importance, even if it was making this charming, kind man climax.

“John… coming…”

John’s response was to move his hand and lower his head and bottom out as best he could.

Jack bit his own shoulder and grunted, and poured into John’s mouth, the saltiness and bitterness enough to make John gag a little, and spill some out of his mouth. It puddled in a mess over Jack’s balls, but John didn’t have time to be embarrassed, because Jack  pulled him up by the shoulder.

“C’mere,” he muttered thickly. “Here…”

John went, proud and aroused and thrilled, because… oh yes! There was Carter’s mouth, and his tongue exploring, tasting again, and John answered, the shyness and hesitation gone. He’d do anything– everything– because doing it with this man felt so right.

The kiss went on, and on, and on, until they were both thrusting against each other’s groins some more, and Jack pulled back with a gasp.

“So,” he panted, a sleepy, sated, aroused smile on his face. “Round two?”

“God, yeah,” John answered. “Who does what?”

Jack’s smile was sin itself, and his voice made John’s cock even harder…

* * *

Derek went down the stairs first, knowing Stiles would wait a scant five minutes before crashing the supposed ten minutes of talk time he’d given for Derek to answer the all important question.

God, he didn’t want to do this.

“Derek!” Sheriff Stilinski said, sounding genuinely happy to see him. “Come get the pizza before it becomes, you know, tepid.”

Derek smiled a little, recognizing Stiles’s sense of humor and dorkiness wrapped up in the stolid, no-bullshit man he’d once been so contemptuous of.

“Tepid pizza is better, sir,” he said gravely, and was rewarded by John Stilinski’s quick grin.

“That should be on a T-shirt,” he answered, just as gravely. “Where’s Stiles?”

Derek sighed. He couldn’t go through with this. “Waiting for me to ask you the most embarrassing question of all times, sir.”

Sheriff Stilinski paused in the act of getting plates out from the cupboard. “Oh hell. Could we not?”

“He’s relentless. You know he’s relentless.”

“Even if I give the answer, you know what’s going to happen–“

“Squeamishness? Weirdness? Having your name dragged into my sex life for at least another month? Yes sir, I know.”

“Oh God.”  John shook his head and set the plates on the table, very carefully not looking at Derek. “So why are you–“

“Because if we get it out of the way now, I’ll get my boyfriend back sooner. So, uhm, do you mind?”

“Jesus. I swear– if I wasn’t going to see the guy for as long as humanly possible, I’d say it wasn’t worth it–“

Derek rubbed the back of his neck. “You know he’ll be awful, right? He’ll be asking that nice Sheriff Carter until the poor guy runs screaming from the house–“

“Yes. Yes I know.”  John grabbed napkins and a glass bowl and put them both on the table, and then took the salad out of the plastic thing and put it in the glass bowl.  “Dammit. Fine.”  He turned and balled the salad bag up and pitched it into the trash can by the sink. “Both of us. Happy?”

Derek thought about it.  Both. For some reason that canceled shit out. “Best answer we could hope for– thank you sir.”  Then he turned his head and shouted over the stairs. “Stiles, they both topped! Now stop being a child and get down here and eat!”

“OH my God! You told him I told you to ask!”

Derek met John’s eyes and for a moment they were both in complete agreement.

“We shall never speak of this again,” Jon said gravely.

Derek nodded his head. “A-fucking-men.”