Chapter Text
He knew it was wrong. Every single thing about this was wrong, every thought about it was wrong.
He had seen cases like the one he was surely becoming pass his desk, he’d arrested men - and women - responsible for abusing their kids in every way they could think of, and then some. So he knew it was wrong.
But he wasn’t like them. He knew that, and he knew he would never become like them because the day he started abusing his son, the day he actually hurt Stiles, he would have himself arrested in a heartbeat.
Stiles was everything to him, his son meant more to him that Claudia ever had. That had been an odd revelation, one that had made him feel like he was betraying the memory of his late wife.
That didn’t mean it wasn’t true. Claudia was Claudia, she was his wife and he had been her husband. They’d started dating when they were fifteen and Claudia fell pregnant when they were nineteen.
It hadn’t been planned, Stiles hadn’t been planned. And though they both loved Stiles very much, they stopped being a couple the second he was conceived. It was as if the world had moved to bring the two of them together just to conceive Stiles.
Of course, that could also just be John’s wishful thinking. From the first second Stiles was born, John fell hopelessly in love with his son. He took as many days off of work as he could just to be around his son, just to love him.
He hardly noticed that Claudia didn’t take as much time off, that she went back to work a lot sooner than most new mothers. His eyes were on Stiles and his love was all aimed at his tiny, newborn son.
Claudia quickly became a second thought, and it didn’t go unnoticed. She didn’t resent him though, or his son. They had been high school sweethearts who made a dumb mistake and forgot to use a condom one day. They weren’t meant to last, and they knew it.
But now they had a son to worry about with one minimum wage job and one government job to support the family. They got by, but a divorce wasn’t viable at the time. The custody battle would be even worse - with John making it very clear he would fight for his son.
It had been easier to stay together.
Worse when Claudia got ill.
Most residents of Beacon Hills thought that they had sent Claudia to the hospital only when it had gotten too bad to keep in check, but those had been carefully crafted rumors started by John.
He would have loved to keep Claudia at home, to care for her, to keep her close to Stiles - because no matter how much he would love to keep Stiles to himself, she was his mother. John would have taken care of Claudia for however long he could, and had been preparing a room of solitude and safety for Claudia.
Until the day he came home early to see a bruise on little eight-year-old Stiles’ cheek while Claudia was calling his boy a monster.
John checked her into the long-term care the next day. And though he visited her whenever he could, whenever Stiles wanted to, that was the day his high school sweetheart had died.
Her actual death a year later came as both a blessing and a curse.
A blessing, for she was no longer in agony, constantly switching between a state of forgetfulness and hate, to one where she remembered every terrible thing she said to her son and could only cry for the loss of her own mind. A blessing, because Claudia was now at peace again.
A curse, for Stiles now no longer had a mother, and John no longer had a buffer between himself and his interests.
He would never hurt Stiles, he loved his son.
The problem lay in the fact that he loved his son in a way a father probably shouldn’t.
He wanted to care for Stiles, wanted to watch him grow up and learn, wanted to see him fill out and grow into his own, follow his interests and goals in life. John wanted what a normal father wanted for his son.
He just also wanted to see what his son would look like as he orgasmed, how those pretty pink lips would look wrapped around his cock, how he would rut against his leg to get off, how he would blush under his ministrations.
John loved his son.
He loved him a little too much.
The cop in him told him to distance himself before he could act upon those desires, but the thought of losing his son made him ignore those screaming instincts.
Surely, looking wouldn’t harm him any, would it?
As long as he didn’t do anything, force Stiles to do anything, then nothing would be wrong.
He could do that.
John’s mental distance lasted until the day he walked into Stiles’ room to tuck him into bed - one of the small concessions he made to himself - only to find the eleven year old asleep on top of his covers, small hand wrapped around a small cock with dried come sticking to his tummy.
He didn’t break all his promises to himself, John was stronger than that - he was so weak for his son, so very weak - but he allowed himself the one thing.
When John was younger, he’d always held a fascination with photography, with the idea that he could capture a beloved moment in time, trap it in a still frame for him to enjoy for the rest of his life.
Ever since he had gotten his first camera, he had taken countless pictures of the local wildlife, of old buildings, strange objects, old books, curious-looking people, and, of course, of his family.
Though digital cameras were a thing these days, John much preferred the older versions, the old Polaroid cameras.
They were perfect for just this kind of thing, the cop in John whispered to him. Perfect, because they left no digital trace for anyone to follow. Of course, they did leave him with a picture of his young, sleeping son whose tummy and hand were glistening with come.
A very lovely but very incriminating photograph he would have to hide to the best of his abilities.
John left the room without tucking Stiles in, making it seem as if he’d never come in at all, and got into the shower. The sound would be enough to wake Stiles and probably cause his son to rush to clean himself off before his dad came in to wish him a good night.
The sound of the shower would also be enough to cover any sounds John might make as he jacked himself off, the image of his son covered in come still sharp in his mind.
Imagining that one day that might be his come, caused his orgasm to rip through him faster than usual.
As long as it was just in his head - and maybe a couple of pictures - it couldn’t hurt. Could it?
--
He didn't mean for it to happen again. So he accidentally walked in on his son after he had masturbated, that happens. That happens to most parents at one point.
His mom once walked on him when he was younger, and he hadn't been able to look the cackling woman in the eye for a month.
So of course it was just a one-time thing, he'd make sure that if it looked like, or sounded like, he might walk in on something like that, he wouldn't. He'd stop, turn around, and wait till his son was done.
It couldn't happen again.
That resolve lasted until he walked in, once again, after Stiles was already finished, once again tuckered out with come still drying on his belly.
Taking a picture of his son was only a natural response by now.
As was hopping in a shower and getting himself off to the thought of his son beneath him, begging for his daddy.
What was new was him carefully dragging a finger through the mess on his son's tummy and popping it in his mouth before he realized what he just did.
Shit.
It was getting out of hand.
It was way past the point in time that he should stop and turn himself in. He really, really should.
But what would happen to his son then? Would he end up in a foster home where people didn't care for him, didn't love him like he did?
People already had a hard time understanding his son and his oddities, foster homes would destroy his spirit.
Of course, he wouldn't turn himself in.
Christ, he knew he wouldn't the moment he even thought of it. He couldn't leave his son. He loved him.
As long as he didn't hurt Stiles, John repeated what was quickly becoming his mantra. As long as he didn't hurt his son, what harm could some fantasies do?
--
It wasn’t as if it was all wrong. John didn’t wake up every morning thinking about all the things he wanted to do to his son. Not every waking moment was spent looking at Stiles and wondering what it would feel like to hold his son’s naked body against his own, to slip just the head of his cock between the boy’s soft, pink lips.
To be sure, he spent more time than was healthy for his own peace of mind thinking about just that, but John still adored just spending time with his son. He loved how enthusiastic Stiles got whenever a new Disney movie came out, or when he was playing Pokemon on the new handheld system he had begged his dad for.
He loved it whenever his son got lost in a research binge, only coming up for air to tell his dad with wonder in his voice what he’d just learned.
He hated it whenever his son came home from school with a bruise gained from roughhousing, but he loved the smile when he talked about his day.
Just like his mind wasn’t always deep in the pits of hell, John didn’t just apply his hobby to his darkest secret. He had been taking pictures for years now, and though lately Stiles had been the naughtier subject of some of those, it wasn’t like that for all of them. Not even half of them.
Ever since he had first picked up a camera, John had taken pictures of whatever he saw that he even remotely liked, or whenever the light shined off of an object just right. It wasn’t his fault that one of the subjects he loved to look at was his son, so these days, he found himself snapping a picture of his son playing in the yard, his son’s curious face as he was researching something new, the way his son looked as he was licking a lollipop - granted, that one was a guilty pleasure picture again.
Some of the pictures in the secret album John devoted to his son were naughty, that was for sure.
But most, most were innocent. Most were of random moments in the day when he just looked at his son and it hit him, once again, just how much he loved his boy.
--
The thing is.
The thing is, for years, he kept it in check. Well, not so much in check, as in his own bedroom and in his pants. He never touched his son in ways a father shouldn’t. Sure, his hugs lingered a little longer than they probably should, but hugs didn’t harm anyone.
He kissed his son on the cheek a lot more often than most dads, but there wasn’t anything wrong with that. He just showed Stiles how much he loved him, no matter what. It wasn’t like he touched his boy where he shouldn’t, even though he so desperately wanted to.
But then his son discovered the wonders of porn and forgot to close his laptop one day.
John was ashamed to admit that he knew just when his son was about to have a little personal fun. Stiles would eat his dinner and dessert a little faster than normal, begging off on watching some tv, even if one of his favorite shows was one, before rushing upstairs. His boy wasn’t subtle, not at all, but it did give John time to have his own spent some shameful alone time with himself and the thoughts of what Stiles was doing at that very same moment.
After enough time had passed, and fair enough, after John had managed to stop himself from orgasming until he was in the shower, he went upstairs to check in on his undoubtedly sleeping and come covered son.
How Stiles hadn’t yet realized that his dad’s showers always coincided with the days he got off, John didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
The first hint he got that something was different today, was that when he opened his son’s door, careful not to make a sound, he realized there was more light in the room than usual. For a short moment, he thought Stiles might still be awake, but the second his eyes fell on his son, he saw that Stiles’ eyes were closed and his breathing had settled in a restful pattern.
Slowly, ignoring the now familiar shame curling in his tummy, John entered the room, closing the door most of the way behind him.
The first time he had walked in and saw his son like this, John hadn’t been inside for long, moving with extreme care lest he made a noise that would wake him up. But what he had noticed a few times later that if Stiles was really tuckered out, he slept through the noise of John walking across his room, the rustling of clothing as John readjusted his suddenly tight pants, or the click and shutter of the Polaroid camera going off.
He’d wake up when John loudly closed the door to the bathroom, but little noises didn’t so much as make him stir.
Creeping closer to the bed, John for once didn’t have much difficulty dragging his eyes away from his son’s limp cock and the way his come was drying on his fingers and his tummy. A quick glance at Stiles’ face revealed him to be asleep still, and John finally allowed himself to look at the laptop he had gotten his son just months ago.
It was open beside his son’s head, and a breath got stuck in John’s throat as he saw the open website.
He recognized that site. Of course he did, how could he not? He had found himself watching some of those same videos more than once, especially the ones with young, pale twinks whose torsos were dotted with moles.
The site blinking up at him from his son’s laptop screen was called Daddysboy, one of the few websites John had found whose main audience seemed to be people who were heavily into incest. The actors seemed fully invested in making the viewer believe they were actually father and son.
The ending credits of the video his son had been watching while getting off had been paused, the title screaming up at John’s frozen face.
Underaged twink fucked by his daddy.
Well.
John hurried out of the room before he could do something so stupid as wake his son and reenacting the contents of that video with him.
Even so, he could feel his resistance crumble even more.
His boy was too tempting for his own good, and if John had been a lesser man, he would have long since taken advantage.
But now, now the only thing holding him back, was that he didn’t want to hurt his son. If Stiles even made the slightest move towards him, however, John couldn’t make any promises that he’d deny those advantages.
Who was he kidding? If Stiles approached him, John would be too weak to deny him even a single thing, and he’d definitely be too weak to deny himself any longer.
--
John wasn’t the only one who had his head in his hands, stomach twisting in knots until he felt like throwing up. Most of his deputies couldn’t look at the crime board they were taking down anymore either.
For the past three weeks, the sheriff’s station had their hands full with a case that hit way too close to home for the parents amongst them. From the moment the first tiny body had shown up, they had all barely left the station.
The first body had been a horrific find, leaving the hiker who found the mutilated four-year-old in therapy for what would possibly be the rest of her life. If the sheriff and his deputies thought that processing that crime scene would be the worst part of the job, they soon found out just how wrong they were.
Two days later, another body showed up, this one of a seven-year-old whose face had been left so mutilated that it took them another four days to identify her. By her dental records.
Little Casey had been kidnapped three years ago four towns over, and she had long since been thought dead. For her body to now turn up in Beacon county, reopened not just her case, but also all other cases that involved kidnapped kids.
The first boy was identified not soon after to be Teddy Morris, reported missing six months ago.
The sheriff’s department had immediately started a hunt for whoever it could be who was behind these kidnappings, mutilations, and murders. None of them saw much of their own families, but considering the news of such a horrific find could hardly be kept out of newspapers, no one was left to wonder why their husbands or wives, or mum or dad, didn’t come home for days on end.
It took them three weeks, three long weeks, to follow the trail of breadcrumb evidence back to its source, an old ranch owned by an old woman who had never been able to get kids by herself.
The mentally disturbed woman had been kidnapping kids for years, trying to get herself the perfect child that way, only to become unhinged and angry when their features didn’t match hers the way she wanted to, mutilating them before dumping their bodies.
The only reason the sheriff’s department found the first two bodies, was because the old woman had run out of space in her freezer, and started to leave them in the preserve for the animals to get to them.
They were lucky the hiker found little Teddy before the animals could, as it was the evidence they found on their first crime scene that eventually led them straight to the woman.
Seven children.
The woman had taken at least seven children over the course of at least three years, though they suspected she had kidnapped more. They had yet to overturn her backyard, but their colleagues still at the crime scene seemed sure that they would find more bodies buried beneath the wilting flowers.
In three weeks time, they closed more cold cases than they had in a while, but none closed with a positive note.
“Sheriff, go home.” One of his deputies sat down beside him, hand coming to rest on his trembling shoulders. “Go home to your kid, John.”
“I need to-” John started motioning to the crime board, to the piles of evidence that needed to be filed and put away, but the deputy cut him off.
“What you need is to go home and be with your kid, sheriff. We’ve sent the other parents home as well. We’ll get it all cleaned up here, but for the love of god, please go home.”
Looking around his station, John took in the fact that yes, the few deputies that were also parents had already left, been shooed out by their colleagues to go home to their own kids, where they could reassure themselves their kids were alive, were fine.
“I’ll be back tomorrow.” John sighed, moving to stand up, only to pause as the deputy snorted a little.
“No, you won’t. You’re taking a two week holiday. We’ve already signed off on it. Go home, spend some time with your kid. We can handle the clean up here, alright?”
Normally, John would protest being manhandled into anything, especially into taking time off while his deputies would have to work harder, picking up the slack caused by him leaving for a while.
But...but one of the bodies they had found had looked a bit too much like his son. It could have been his son that had been kidnapped and abused by this woman, he could have lost his son like too many other parents had lost their children, only knowing what happened to his boy once they found his body.
So he didn’t protest his sudden days off. He let himself be driven home by a deputy that didn’t live too far away from him, let himself be dropped off in front of his house.
He stumbled inside in a bit of a haze, gaze almost immediately dropping to where his fourteen-year-old kid was approaching him worriedly.
Stiles opened his mouth probably to ask him what had happened, knowing the case his dad had been working on, only for the question to get stuck in his throat as John dropped to his knees, dragging him in a tight hug.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, instead Stiles just curled his arms around the back of his dad’s head, trying to silently reassure a trembling John.
After a few minutes of silence, of letting his son’s presence calm him, John looked up.
“We’re going camping.”
That wasn’t what he had meant to say, not really. But John was suddenly hit with the need to get out of here, to get out of Beacon Hills for a little while, to just be with his son and nothing else, to just be able to ignore the horrible world they lived in for a little bit.
Stiles blinked a little, to no surprise. They had never really been able to go on a holiday, not with the town needing his dad here for his job. And he understood this, really, so the sudden announcement of a holiday away from home caught Stiles by surprise.
“What about-” Stiles cut himself off before he could finish, not wanting to mention the case everyone knew his dad had been working on for these last weeks.
“It’s finished.” John sighed softly, tension draining out of him even as he pressed his face against his son’s stomach. “We arrested her.”
The case was over. Stiles didn’t have to lay awake every night, wondering whether he’d soon get a visit from a deputy to inform him that his dad had been killed, wondering like he did every time his dad had a big case like this.
The tension that had built up in Stiles over the last three weeks drained out of him, and his fingers trembled a little in sudden relief as he dug them in his dad’s shoulders.
“So, camping. Where to, dad?”
--
In theory, camping was a great idea. He got to spend some time with his son, without the station interfering in their nights in, calling him into work at an ungodly time of the day because someone had been killed or because coach Finstock’s house had been TP-d again.
In practice, however, camping was perhaps a little bit less relaxing than expected. Yes, he got to spend some time alone with his kid, but therein also lay the problem. He got to spend time alone with his kid.
With the kid he regularly had fantasies about, the kid he had not very innocent dreams about, the kid whose lips he imagined wrapping around his dick, the kid who he wanted to love in ways a dad definitely should not love his son.
And now he had planned two weeks of camping with his son, in a forest in Oregon, with no one around to stop him but himself if it came to it.
It was only once they were already in the forest, setting up the single tent they brought, that it hit John. They had brought enough non-perishables to get through their camping trip without having to resupply unless they decided to gorge themselves. They had put up their camp near one of the clear water streams that were littered all around the area so they could clean themselves, and John had bought the tent that only had enough place for one blow-up mattress between the two of them.
He had planned this camping trip as if it was a trip between a new couple, excited to explore each other under the guise of going on a trip to hike and see nature. The realization had been almost enough to make him turn around again, but the excited look on Stiles’ face was the only thing that stopped him from doing just that.
His two week holiday was about to turn into a two-week test of his restraint.
His restraint was tested the first day in when Stiles spotted the stream in his exploration of the clearing they had set up in, and immediately rushed to his dad’s side to beg for his swimming gear.
At least the boy hadn’t just dove straight into the water only to have to strip down later, John thought with mild despair even as he dug into their suitcases for Stiles’ swimming wear.
Only to silently swear to himself once he found the speedos in his son’s size, realizing that he had once thought it a brilliant idea to buy his son the piece of cloth tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination once it became wet.
He was apparently all for the self-torture these days.
John turned his back to his son so that he could change, and only turned around once he heard the splash of Stiles jumping into the stream. Well, at least his son had remembered to lay a folded up towel near the stream for when he wanted to get out, John thought even as he had a hard time dragging his eyes away from where Stiles was rubbing water out of his eyes.
“Come on dad!” The little tempter shouted even as he paddled around on his back. “Get in!”
And he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, it was bad enough that his son was barely dressed and wet, adding himself to the mix could only spell disaster for him.
So of course he found himself changed into his swimming shorts a minute later after some more urging from his son. Carefully keeping his eyes away from Stiles, John lowered himself into the water slowly, a little surprised to find that it was deep enough that the water came to his collarbone.
It was only when he was submerged that he dared look at Stiles again, only to sputter in indignation as he immediately got a faceful of water courtesy of his son.
Wiping the water from his face, John grinned at Stiles, whose smile wavered a little at seeing the mischievous look he normally wore reflected on his dad’s face.
“So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?”
Before Stiles could attempt to swim away, John grabbed his hips and lifted him out of the water - only faltering a little at suddenly finding himself face to his son’s crotch - before throwing Stiles away from him.
Hearing the delighted shrieking, John managed to pack little John away for now and let himself just release the last of the tension left over from the job.
Over the next hour, the two Stilinskis alternated between annoying each other in the stream or swimming long laps up and down the stream. When the sun started going down and the weather started cooling a little, they finally left the water to dry off.
John found himself very happy that he had had the forethought to place an extra towel on his pile of clothes, as he wrapped one around his hips immediately to hide his growing erection when he saw the fabric of Stiles’ speedo leaving nothing to the imagination.
Tonight was going to be a hell of a night with that image burned in his mind’s eye.
Scratch that, John thought later that evening after they had played a couple of games and spent about half an hour reading before going to bed. Tonight was going to be hell because his son was pressed up all against him.
He had either overestimated the size of an inflatable double bed, or forgotten what an octopus his son was. When the boy had been much younger and John hadn’t been quite as tempted as he was these days, they had slept together quite often after the boy had a nightmare, and John had woken up most mornings with his son either on top of him or their limbs all tangled together.
So it came to be that falling asleep wasn’t an issue. They fell asleep on their own sides of the bed, with enough space between them to fit another slim person. The both of them were pretty tuckered out from the last few weeks and fell asleep easily.
The morning, however. The morning was the issue.
John woke up slowly, the sounds of nature waking up registering in his sleepy thoughts first. A close second, a very close second, was hearing his son whimpering softly, face buried in John’s chest.
Just as John was about to speak up, thinking that Stiles might be having a nightmare, he felt the boy’s hips stutter against his lower stomach and oh. That was not the feeling of someone having a nightmare.
Before he could stop himself, John trailed the hand that had come to rest against his son’s upper back slowly downwards, until his palm was resting on Stiles’ lower back. The movement didn’t seem to have been enough to wake his son, but it had caused his hips to stutter again.
Carefully pressing down with his palm, John gently controlled the irregular thrusts of Stiles’ hips against him, ignoring the shame curling in his gut as he did so.
His boy was whimpering and moaning softly as he rubbed his dick against John's abs, and John could feel a small wet spot dampening on the front of Stiles boxers, could feel the outline of Stiles’ dick as he rubbed himself against John whilst dreaming.
John should really put a stop to this. Should pull his hand back and wake Stiles up, or at least carefully turn around and pretend he hadn't noticed.
He definitely shouldn't be getting hard at just feeling his young son rubbing against him, listening to his high-pitched whines as his thrusts became even more erratic.
Well, whatever John thought he should do soon became a moot point. Because he was looking at his son's face as the boy got off against him, he saw the exact moment Stiles started waking up.
Stiles' eyes blinked open sleepily, blindly moving his hips against the solid surface in front of him. Looking up, his eyes popped open in sudden surprise at seeing the soft, blue eyes of his dad looking down at him, and Stiles' couldn't have stopped the last stutter of his hips, gasping out a shocked "Daddy!” even as he came.
Normally Stiles would almost immediately drop back to sleep for a little bit after an orgasm but... But he'd just rutted against his daddy, and he knew you weren't supposed to do that.
He didn't want his dad to look at him like he'd surely do now; disappointed and disgusted.
Stiles was not so silently freaking out, and he tried to move out of John's grip on him. As he moved, his hand brushed over the front of John's boxers, feeling his dad's hard dick pressing against the thin fabric. Stiles froze, eyes growing wide as realization rushed through him.
His daddy liked it.
John was carefully not looking at his son anymore, gritting his teeth as he tried to get his hard-on under control, to no avail. There was only a smidgen of his previous ironclad control left, and if his son didn't back off, he wasn't sure what he was going to do.
Possibly enact one of the many scenarios he'd only been dreaming about so far.
"Daddy?" John felt his resolve shattering at the wonder and hope in Stiles' voice. "Did you like that?"
Glancing down, John almost hoped that he'd see disgust in his son's eyes, but when he didn't, when the hope and innocent want was very clear in his eyes, he gave up.
"Yes I did, son." John rasped, gently thrusting a little against the hand that was still resting on his dick, with only the flimsy material of the boxer shorts between them.
“So I didn’t-I wasn’t doing something bad?”
John closed his eyes against the familiar feeling of shame welling up, and it took him a bit to stop his hips from moving.
“You weren’t son. I’m the one who is in the wrong.”
“But it feels good?” Though Stiles managed to sound innocent and inquisitive, John knew just how much Stiles knew both his own body and what he wanted. At least, going by the videos the boy seemed to be watching and the fact that he still hadn’t taken his hand away from John’s cock.
He was surely going to hell for not pulling his son’s hand away the second it brushed against him.
“Does it feel good when you touch yourself?” John asked instead of answering because if he was already on his way to hell, why not reserve one of the good seats while at it.
Stiles nodded, a little distracted as he looked down their bodies at where the head of John’s dick was poking out just a little above the elastic band.
“It feels even better when someone else touches you.” John grunted a little as one of Stiles’ fingers poked at the exposed part of his dick curiously.
Unable to stop himself - no, that was a lie - unwilling to stop himself any longer, John curled his arm around Stiles’ slim waist and pulled him close against him, trapping the boy’s hand between their bodies even as John felt Stiles’ half-chubbed up dick prodding at his abs once more.
Stiles let out a small gasp of surprise at the sudden movement, before letting out a little whimper as his dad gently thrust forward against his trapped hand. His cock twitched with interest, filling with blood once more until he was once again hard.
Though this time, he was definitely awake and with his actual dad, instead of just dreaming of a scenario much like this.
Stiles wasn’t sure when he’d first started fantasizing about his dad when he was getting off. He would like to say that it was only a very recent development, but in truth, it wasn’t. Of course, at first he had tried to think about pretty girls like Lydia Martin as he got off, but it wasn’t long before he realized that those fantasies didn’t work for him.
The first few times he tried to think of pretty girls, he would inevitably find himself distracted only to realize, two unrelated research topics later, that he had been trying to masturbate, not figure out what textiles the Romans used to make tunics.
It was after this had happened one too many times - three, because he wasn’t that patient - that Stiles started scouring the internet. And stumbled across the deep well of infinite porn just a google search away.
After that, it didn’t take too long for Stiles to figure out that if he imagined men bigger than him - a fair bit older than him as well, though it took him a while to admit that to himself - he could get himself off in no time.
So that’s what he did. Look for pictures and videos that made him hard, and come even harder. Then, when he’d finished or woken up again, he’d erase the history of his internet searches, before doing it all again the next time he wanted to get off.
He wasn’t sure when the men started to get older and older until he one day he realized that the site he almost religiously returned to catered to those people interested in incest. More specifically, father and son incest.
Stiles wasn’t ashamed to admit he had a bit of a freak out that day, a freak out that only got bigger when he realized that the men he’d been fantasizing about all looked suspiciously like his actual dad.
He wasn’t just playing out the videos in his head with imagining himself in place of the young boys, he was imagining that he was doing those things with his dad.
It was all in his head, of course. But that didn’t stop him from feeling a little guilty, ashamed of himself, as he masturbated to the thought of his dad having sex with him.
It was - he knew it was wrong. He knew it would never happen, because it was his dad, and the world wasn’t a porn video. But surely, thinking about it wouldn’t hurt? He wouldn’t act on it, he’d just keep it all to himself.
At least, that had been the plan right up until he’d woken up from a wet dream, glancing up to find his dad looking at him with a soft sort of wonder in eyes, and coming in his boxers while calling his dad ‘daddy’.
That had not been part of the plan. Not that there had been any plan, but if Stiles had a plan, this would definitely never have been part of it, ever.
His dad’s response, however, had not been what Stiles expected. He’d expected, if not disgust, to be scolded at least. To get a lecture on why it was wrong to do what he just did.
What he hadn’t expected, was his dad’s guilt over his own response. He hadn’t expected that his dad would get hard because of him, would be excited and interested in exploring the same taboo Stiles was interested in.
John seemed to carry enough guilt about wanting him, his son, in a way a dad probably definitely shouldn’t, that Stiles felt alright with letting go of his own guilt. For now, at least.
“It’s okay, daddy.” Stiles whispered softly, burrowing into John’s chest as his dad stilled at his words. “Love you.”
Silence stretched between them for a long moment, neither of them moving away from each other, before John let out a deep stuttering sigh.
John’s head dropped down a little until his chin was resting on top of Stiles’ head. His voice was rough, raw with emotion when he finally spoke up again.
“I love you too son. God, I love you so much.”