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Stiles thought the world of his father. In his eyes, the Sheriff could do no wrong. He was a god in their sleepy town, revered and praised—everyone loved him, and he played the part well. He showed up to charity auctions and organized the toy drive, and Stiles knew when he grew up, he wanted to be like Noah. Respected and admired, keeping the townspeople safe from harm.
So when he witnessed a few kids not much older than Stiles beelining out of the shadows of a back alley on a school night, his father following not far behind as he zipped up his pants and smoothed out his hair, the alarm going off in his head piqued his interest. Surely that’s not what it looks like… and yet, he couldn’t keep himself from sneaking into his room and digging through his laundry hamper to catch the hint of a drying wet spot on his underwear. Except it wasn’t in the front, where his dick would hang, but in the back, like something leaked out of him.
Stiles blinks, holding his breath, before bringing the fabric to his nose and inhaling the undeniable musky scent of spunk. It smells exactly like what he’d imagine cum leaking out of an asshole would smell like, and his upper lip curls in disdain.
What the fuck was his father doing in a back alley with a couple kids and a wet spot at his hole?
He crumples up the fabric and tosses it back in the hamper, slipping out of the room to deny the clues that lead to the obvious truth as he prepares for bed. Surely that’s not what that looks like. Surely there’s a logical explanation that’s going over his head, because that’s just not the kind of thing he can outright ask. Not his dad, his role model, his champion since day one. That couldn’t be it, it just couldn’t.
He can’t look his father in the eye the next morning, ducking out before breakfast even after Noah calls after him.
It’s an early out school day, and Stiles gets home to find the cruiser parked in the driveway despite knowing Noah should be on duty today. He heads straight to the refrigerator, chugging from the gallon of milk, and thinks he hears the neighbor kid outside throwing a fit, but when he stops to listen… it sounds more like someone grunting in pain. He shoves the milk back in the fridge, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand as he creeps up the stairs. His face is pinched in confusion, his heart pounding once he reaches his father’s room where the noises are coming from.
Once Stiles peeks through the sliver of the partially open door, he realizes the grunting is his father, bent over his bed with a dark-skinned man plowing into him. Stiles’ face turns red, his heart skipping a beat or two, his mouth open in shock. He can’t look away, the black man’s hips unrelenting, and Noah just keeps grunting and whimpering, and the man fucking him doesn’t even look happy to be doing it despite the rate he pounds into the Sheriff. He looks angry, and disgusted, and like he’d rather be anywhere else, a sheen of sweat glowing on his skin, his thighs slapping against Noah’s backside, and Stiles can’t figure out what is actually happening despite the evidence being as clear as day in front of him. Is this really happening?
“Come on, Reggie, I know you can fuck harder than that. You really want your family to find out you’ve got another one a town over? Fill me up, big boy,” the Sheriff gruffs out, his hands splayed out in front of him over the mattress as his ass gets destroyed—there’s no way his hole isn’t bleeding after this.
Reggie, apparently, glowers down at the Sheriff, his chest heaving as his hips snap, sweat beading over his skin, and Stiles, unable to hold it back, gasps before slapping a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide and blinking.
The Sheriff’s head shoots up, and Stiles shifts too late, his movements relayed as he attempts to hide from his father’s line of sight, his face flushing in panic.
“Stiles Genim Stilinski, get your ass in here,” Noah shouts, and Stiles swallows, his heartbeat humming in his chest, his breathing picking up. He hears Reggie grunt, and he must have finished inside the Sheriff, because not ten seconds later and another round of shouting from his father, Reggie is fleeing as fast as possible, glowering at Stiles before he descends the stairs.
“Now!” the Sheriff yells, and Stiles has never been so scared of his father in his life, not even when he’s drunk and incomprehensible. His skin is hot, and he keeps his gaze averted as he shuffles into his father’s room, sweat sprouting over every inch of him.
“Look at me, son,” Noah says, and his voice is softer but stern, but Stiles can’t stand to see his father in such a position, his cheeks burning as he peeks up at Noah before averting his gaze once again.
“I said, look at me, Stiles,” Noah reiterates, and Stiles swallows thickly before he carefully lifts his gaze. He’s still bent over the bed, his face flushed, ass perked out in the air. “Good boy. Get over here.”
“Dad, I—”
“Do not talk back to me, son. I said get over here.” Noah spreads his legs further apart, and Stiles steps closer, his skin still hot as he lowers his gaze. Noah reaches back behind him, spreading his cheeks apart, and another flush burns through Stiles, too hot to be in a hoodie, his cock twitching once his gaze lands on the red and puffy hole in front of him, glistening with cum, all used and angry. The Sheriff’s cock hangs between his legs, thick and leaking, and he pushes more cum out of him, pearly globs of it slipping down the inside of his hairy thighs.
Stiles doesn’t know why his cock is twitching at his dad’s weeping hole, but his mouth floods and his heart beat speeds up, and the Sheriff says, “I want you to fuck me just like Reggie did, and you’re not going to say a word about it to anyone. Do you hear me?”
Stiles can’t help the tiny whimper escaping the back of his throat, panic rising in his chest. “But I don’t—”
“I said don’t talk back to me, Stiles. Be a good boy and do as I say. Come on, honey, don’t make me use force on you,” Noah says, and Stiles wants to cry, his breath caught in his throat. He nods but doesn’t make a move, and Noah looks back at him with an expectant raised eyebrow. “Hurry up, don’t make me wait.”
With another thick swallow, his skin covered in humiliation, Stiles undresses, able to breathe easier once the hoodie is off and the air can cool his skin. His cock is shamelessly hard, and he doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, that his dad telling him to do this is working him up enough to be hard and leaking.
“Do you… do you need, um, lube?” Stiles asks, his voice cracking, and the Sheriff looks back at him with a smirk.
He can’t believe he just asked his father if he needs lube. What the fuck is happening.
“No, baby. Just use spit if you need to, but Reggie got it nice and ready for you.”
His skin flushes again, and he strokes his cock a few times before he takes in a few deep breaths. The Sheriff hunkers down in his position, legs spread wide, his puckered hole waiting, and Stiles lines himself up, disregarding every instinct in his body to run and hide because this is wrong, this is so wrong on so many levels. He’s using another man’s cum as lube to fuck his father, and his cock is hard and excited, regardless of who the hole in front of him belongs to.
He licks his lips before biting the bottom one, and the Sheriff presses back just enough for the tip of him to get swallowed into the gaping heat. He chokes on a gasp, and then his hips do the work for him, bucking into his father, unable to contain the moan that slips out of him as the pressure wraps around his fat cock.
“Oh, fuck, Stiles, that’s good, baby boy, just like that,” Noah says, a bit breathless as he lets his arms splay out in front of him again. Stiles presses in up to the hilt, his eyes rolling back as he grips Noah’s hips and groans when the ring of muscle clenches around him. “Fuck me hard, honey. Spill your seed inside me.”
Stiles shudders at the thought, goosebumps raising over his flesh, and he builds a rhythm, his hips working as he attempts to emulate the man that was just inside his father not five minutes ago. He does his best, but Noah keeps telling him to go harder, faster, and Stiles can’t keep up, his breath catching in his throat each time Noah squeezes around him. It feels good, way too fucking good, and Stiles is ashamed of it, how much he actually likes being buried in his father, the obscene squelching sounds, the slapping of his hips against Noah’s thighs.
“That’s right, honey, good boy, keep going. You’re gonna make daddy come like that. You want to come inside me, don’t you, Stiles?”
“I— Yeah,” he answers, his voice pathetically high and wobbly, tears filling his eyes in shame. He hates how good this feels, how much he wants to please his dad—how much he wants to come inside him.
“Such a good boy, Stiles. Fuck me harder, baby. Make it hurt,” Noah commands, and Stiles swallows with a hapless nod, looking down as he watches his cock disappear and reappear, Noah’s hole red and used, Reggie’s cum glistening on his cock. He fucks into his father as hard as he can, bruises forming on his hips, his thighs aching. Noah moans below him, his back arching as he attempts to feel every inch of his son, tiny whimpers leaving him as Stiles’ rhythm starts growing erratic.
“You gonna come, baby? Come on Stiles, fill daddy up,” Noah says, licking his lips as he looks over his shoulder. “Be a good boy.”
Stiles’ face flushes all over again, and Noah squeezes around him one final time before he chokes on a withered moan, tears slipping over his cheeks as he releases inside his father, his orgasm rolling over him. Noah praises him again, bucking back to meet his hips before he’s coming, too, hot spurts painting over his mattress with a low groan as his hole flutters around Stiles’ cock.
Stiles pants, his muscles tired and trembling, and as he pulls out he watches his cum slip from his father’s spent hole and can’t help but lick his lips, his mouth salivating.
What is wrong with him? He wants nothing more than to place his mouth over that hole and taste himself there, taste the black man that came before him.
Noah heaves on the mattress, his thighs shaking as he holds his legs apart, and as if he’d read Stiles’ mind, he reaches back once again to hold his cheeks apart.
“Clean me up, baby. Let daddy feel your tongue.”
A small whine leaves Stiles’ lips, his heart beating so fast he swears it’ll grow legs and run away like he should be doing. Instead, he obeys his father and sinks to his knees, his mouth watering as he leans in tongue first to lap over his father’s used hole. The puckered skin is hot to the touch, the taste of Stiles and Reggie’s cum bitter and salty, and Noah moans beneath him, praises him more, calls him his good boy as he writhes.
“Oh, fuck, Stiles, your fucking mouth,” Noah breathes out.
Stiles swallows every bit that Noah pushes out, his cheeks hot, his cock already leaking again.
Noah sucks him off for being such a good boy, and when his father sneaks into his room, he doesn’t even cry.
He is so fucked up.