Chapter 1: Chapter 1
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.
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.
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.
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.”
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
As much as Stiles pushed, and he did push, mostly with his hand on his dad’s crotch, John had pulled away from Stiles not long after they confirmed that they loved each other. It would have felt like a rejection, if not for the fact that his dad had pulled him back in a hug the moment they were a little bit more dressed.
At least, they were both wearing loose jogging pants. The weather was warm enough to allow them to get away with it, and Stiles was all too thankful for the sun’s rays slipping through the foliage as it allowed him to feel his dad’s warm hands as they grabbed him by the hips.
Because the second breakfast had been made and put onto plates, Stiles had found himself effortlessly lifted in the air, before being pulled into his dad’s lap. Neither of them said a word as John rearranged his gangly limbs until they were both sitting comfortably, and John had an arm curled around his waist.
Looking down at where John’s hand lay splayed over his tummy, Stiles felt himself flush a little when he realized how much bigger his dad’s hand looked when it was laid out like that, over his skinny body.
But as much as Stiles wanted to see how his dad’s hand looked like as it gripped his dick, it seemed that John had endlessly more patience than him. Either that, or he was amusing himself by letting Stiles’ imagination run wild.
For John, it wasn’t a fully conscious decision that had led him to stop their morning revelations and explorations. Though feeling Stiles squirm in his lap as the boy tried so very hard not to say what was on his mind was a welcoming feeling.
No, welcoming wasn’t the right word. Arousing. Yeah, arousing worked, John mused as his dick twitched where it was pressed against Stiles’ ass.
It was a little harder for him to switch his mindset, that was all. At least, that’s what John was trying to tell himself. Just yesterday he had been very consciously keeping himself at arm’s length from his son - except for when Stiles wanted a hug because he wasn’t a bad parent, he wasn’t - and then suddenly his world got turned upside down when he woke up and his feelings, his bad wrong feelings, were returned.
He should put a stop to this. He could still put a stop to this. Tell Stiles that what they both wanted was wrong in every way possible, that they shouldn’t explore this attraction between them any further.
It was John’s responsibility as a sheriff and as a father to stop it.
Of course that all shot out of the window when he pulled his son into his lap for breakfast and held him close as the boy squirmed against him. A quick, unnoticed glance down the front of Stiles’ body confirmed his suspicions.
His darling boy was once again hard, only this time Stiles was trying his best not to buck up against John’s hand. Which had traveled down his son’s tummy just a little until it was pressed against the low waist of Stiles’ jogging pants.
At this point, John wondered where he got the guts to keep kidding himself. He couldn't put a stop to this, not anymore. He’d gone too far down the rabbit hole already, and as long as Stiles didn’t get hurt, John wasn’t sure he could take putting distance between him and his son again.
As evidenced by him pulling Stiles in his lap.
Chewing on the last bit of breakfast he had been eating automatically, John made sure to keep the hand still on Stiles’ tummy motionless as he tried to get an idea of how the boy was doing.
Stiles had been squirming pretty much the second they had sat down for breakfast, and it had only been once they had started eating that Stiles had stopped trying to convince John into foregoing all of his control with his squirming.
Such restraint - though it was likely more losing hope of anything happening than actual restraint - deserved to be awarded.
When Stiles’ Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the last bite of his breakfast, John finally let his hand wander like he’d been wanting to do since they sat down. It was a good thing he had waited to make the next move until Stiles had finished his breakfast, because the stifled gasp would have been enough to make him choke on a piece of bread.
And that would have ruined the mood.
“Daddy?” Stiles questioned softly as he tried to look over a shoulder, before wiggling a little in surprise when John’s fingers dipped a little inside his pants.
When nothing had happened the moment they sat down, even though he was pulled on his dad’s lap, Stiles had expected that nothing would happen. No matter that his dad seemed to be as much into him as he was.
“Shh,” John pressed a kiss behind Stiles’ ear before he hooked his chin over Stiles’ shoulder, looking down even as he wrapped his other hand around Stiles’ hip. Letting his hand slip from Stiles’ jogging pants, John hooked both his thumbs behind the elastic, pulling the material down without warning.
The band got caught somewhere halfway down Stiles’ bottom, but it was more than enough to put Stiles’ cock and balls on display. The air was only just warming after a nippy morning wind, making his cock twitch a little at the sudden exposure to air.
Stiles let out a squeak of surprise at the sudden movement, before abruptly turning a little to hide his face in John’s bicep, as much as he could given his current position. John let it happen for now as he let go of the waistband, making sure it rested on Stiles’ upper thighs, below his balls.
As Stiles seemed to be seriously attempting to crawl inside of him, face a fiery red, John trailed his hand away from Stiles’ thighs, until he could wrap his hand slowly around Stiles’ cock.
And he could. John found himself fascinated by the way his hand could comfortably wrap around Stiles’ thin cock, with room to spare.
A choked noise had John turning his attention a bit more to his son and how he was feeling, only to see Stiles stare at his cock, like he’d just been doing.
“Daddy…” Instead of questioning, Stiles’ tone was a little breathless this time, and John could feel his son’s cock twitch a little in his hand.
“I know. Christ, I know.” John’s voice sounded raspier than he’d expected, but how could he not be as affected by his boy as Stiles was by him. He also couldn’t help but compare himself to Stiles, because his son looked just so - so small with his hand around him.
If he were to guess, Stiles’ dick - which was fully hard by now just from having his dad’s hand wrapped around it - was about 4” and a little on the skinny side. Compared to his own cock, which was a little over 7” and well, proportionally thicker, Stiles’ was - Christ, Stiles was perfect .
Thumbing over the head of Stiles’ dick, John grinned as Stiles spasmed a little in response. One of Stiles’ hands shot down to grasp at John’s wrist, fingers digging in as John lazily rubbed the pad of his thumb across Stiles’ sensitive cockhead.
“Daddy, daddy stop, too much, daddy-” Stiles trailed off with a whine as John squeezed a little, twisting his wrist as his son started squirming again. Only this time Stiles’ hips were thrusting up into his hand a little and John knew that it wouldn’t take much longer for Stiles to finish.
“It’s alright.” John whispered softly, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ neck even as he pushed his nail against the slit of Stiles’ dick, delighting in the whimper that got him. “Just let go, it’s alright. Daddy’s here, everything’s alright.”
Stiles’ hips stuttered a little when John called himself his daddy. It wasn’t new, not really. Stiles had called him daddy before, and John had reacted as any dad would. This was so very different though, and it was enough to cause a thrill to shoot through him.
When his dad suddenly squeezed his hand tight around him again, thumb pressing just below the head of his dick on the next upstroke, Stiles couldn’t help but cry out, spasming a little as his cock jerked, come spilling over John’s hand as he came.
“There you go, kiddo.” John said, even as he stared down, looking at the come covering the better part of his hand. Teasing Stiles with another few pulls on his softening dick, John finally let go once Stiles started squirming again, pushing a little on his wrist because of the oversensitivity.
Letting go of his son’s dick - he just jacked off his son, he should probably be feeling more guilty than he was - John was just about to wipe his hand off on the picnic cloth they had breakfast on, when Stiles stopped him by grabbing his wrist again.
John let Stiles pull on his arm, groaning when he saw Stiles lifting his hand up until his come-covered fingers were on the same height as Stiles’ face.
When a pink tongue flicked out, tasting the come on his pointer finger, John buried his face in Stiles’ neck with a groan. That seemed to encourage Stiles, as he wrapped his lips around John’s finger and slowly sucked it in, teeth scraping over the pad of his finger.
The moment Stiles started actually sucking on his finger, tongue flicking out past his lips to catch every drop, John latched on to where Stiles’ neck and shoulder met. He worried the skin gently between his teeth, sucking what would surely be an impressive hickey on Stiles’ throat.
When Stiles considered the finger clean enough, he let it slide out of his mouth with a pop. Moving on to kitten-lick the rest of the come off of John’s hand, Stiles didn’t stop licking and sucking up his own come until John’s hand was glistening with saliva instead.
John was hard enough to hammer nails by now, hips moving almost uncontrollably in a slow rhythm against his boy’s ass. He was fairly sure that if given a little more time, he could come in his pants like a teen just from having Stiles drink his own come while sitting on his lap.
His son, though, just seemed intent on being a delightful minx, even though he was understandably awkward and a little unsure in his movements.
Before John could pull Stiles up his lap a little more, just so he could press more firmly against Stiles’ ass and rut himself to completion, Stiles wiggled loose from his grip.
Not that it was hard to do, because the moment he felt Stiles try to move, he let go. Because even though they were apparently doing this, John would never force his son to do anything he didn’t want or didn’t feel comfortable with doing.
He needn’t have worried about Stiles moving away though. The moment Stiles had been let go, he had slipped off of John’s lap and turned around, lowering himself until he was kneeling in front of John and between his slightly spread legs.
Leaving Stiles free to let his eyes wander to John’s still covered dick. Which seemed to get even harder at seeing the position his son was now in, something he hadn’t thought possible.
“Can I see it, daddy?”
With a strangled noise that might’ve been an answer, John nodded mutely even as his hands went to pull his own pants down a little. He tugged at the material until it was bunched beneath his ass, tucking the waistband behind his balls so - Christ - so his son had full access.
His enthusiastic movements had made Stiles blink and grin a little, seeing that his daddy was as affected by this all as he was. Before freezing a little as he came face to face with a cock that almost seemed to be twice the size of his.
A glance down at his own, softening dick confirmed that. Intellectually, he had known that even for his age, he was a little smaller than average. And he knew that his dad would have a grown man’s dick.
He knew, but now he knew . Could actually see the difference. Stiles might have felt a little inadequate, if he hadn’t just had an orgasm where his daddy seemed more than happy to worship his dick.
But still. His daddy’s dick was right there. Right there in front of him. In actual real life, not in one of his recurring fantasies.
Stiles couldn’t really help reaching, curiously dragging a fingertip up his daddy’s cock, prodding carefully at the purple-colored head. That got him a groan from John, through a glance up revealed that his daddy was looking at him with lidded eyes, even as John’s hands were clenching on his thighs.
No matter how tempted John was to grab his son by the neck and tip his head down so that he could trace those lips with his cock and leave a trail of pre-come behind, he would not be rushing Stiles.
As far as John was concerned, now that they had both figured out that they wanted the same thing, they had all the time in the world to slowly explore it in every way.
A moment later, his mind blanked when Stiles’ thin fingers wrapped around his cock. At hearing a low whine, John looked down worriedly, only to see Stiles stare with wide eyes at his own hand. Where the tips of his fingers failed to touch as they circled his length.
“It’s alright, kiddo.” John gasped a little as Stiles’ other hand also grasped him, covering most of the head of his cock with almost too light a touch. “Go at - Jesus Christ - go at your own pace, alright?”
John should probably stop taking the Lord’s name in vain, but he could hardly be blamed when Stiles had just squeezed the head of his dick, in a move clearly just learned and copied from the handjob he had gotten.
Stiles was slowly sliding one hand up and down John’s shaft while he poked and prodded at the head of his dick with his other hand, before also closing around the shaft and giving John a two-handed handjob.
Forget own pace, John was going to come embarrassingly fast if Stiles kept this up. Which it seemed like he would be.
When Stiles actually leaned down and licked the pre-come off the tip of his dick , John pulled back a little with a grunt, grasping the base of his dick even as Stiles pulled away with a frown and a pout.
“Close your eyes, Stiles.”
Stiles froze from where he had just been about to shuffle back, looking up at his dad’s raspy tone. He had thought that he had done something wrong, even though he didn’t think he had. But a glance at John’s face revealed that no, he hadn’t done anything wrong.
Not unless ‘anything wrong’ looked this close to bliss.
Blinking a little, Stiles decided to close his eyes as his dad asked, having an idea where this was going.
“Want to open your mouth a little for your daddy?”
A shudder went through Stiles’ body as he processed the request, and his mouth dropped open almost immediately. It caused John to chuckle a little at his boy’s enthusiasm, before he started stroking himself with a groan.
The reason he had pushed Stiles off was that he had been close to coming, and now having his son kneeling between his legs, head tilted back, eyes closed and come-slick pink lips parted, only brought him closer to the edge.
John wasn’t surprised that it only took him another couple of pulls before his orgasm hit. The first spurt of come landed on Stiles’ cheek, who twitched a little at the feeling. The next few spurts hit his chin and lips, one streak going across the bridge of Stiles’ nose.
Just the sight of his son like this, kneeling trustingly and face covered in his come, had his cock give one more twitch, last bit of come dripping onto Stiles’ lips.
A pink tongue immediately flicked out to lick the come from his lips, making John groan at the sight.
When Stiles didn’t feel anything more cover his skin, he opened his eyes so he could look at his panting dad, before he lifted a hand to his face, slowly dragging a finger through the mess of come on his cheeks.
Popping a finger in his mouth to suck off the come, Stiles heard John groan again, before he felt a lightly trembling hand card through his hair, slowly petting him even as Stiles started to clean his face with fingers and tongue.
“Good boy. You did so well, Stiles. Just perfect.”
Stiles preened a little under the praise even as he sucked the last bit off come off his finger. The second he was done, he found himself lifted off his knees by his dad and pulled back on John’s lap.
John’s arms immediately wrapped around him, hugging him close. Stiles answered it by wrapping his arms around his dad’s waist and burying his face in his neck.
Neither of them spoke for a long time, but they didn’t need to. They could just be together for now, just breathe and relax.
They retired to the river not too long later, after Stiles complained a little about his face feeling sticky. He had been too flushed to complain when his dad had responded by pulling off both of their jogging pants, before fairly throwing him in the river, following him after.
Stiles breached the surface with a lot of sputtering, mock-frowning at his dad who was leaning against the rocky side, water coming to just below his broad shoulders.
Swiping a hand down his face, Stiles grimaced when it still felt a little sticky even after his involuntary dunk, and went back underwater, rubbing his cheeks. When he came back up the second time, he felt cleaner again.
He had liked the feeling of his dad’s come on his face, liked it a bit more than he was ready to admit, but he could do without the stickiness after that.
Now that he was clean again, Stiles swam over to where John hadn’t stopped staring at him with a soft look, bumping his head against his dad’s chest with a grin.
The grin faded a little when John’s arms curled around him, and he let out a squeak as he was pulled rather abruptly into an embrace.
While he was a teenager and raring to go again - had been before his dad had thrown him into the cold water - John didn’t look like a round two was his motive for the hug. He didn’t look worried, not really, but more contemplative.
Stiles wasn’t a fan of the small frown furrowing his dad’s brow, though, not at all. It looked too much like John was regretting what they had done, and that is not what he wanted to happen.
This time, that single word sounded more worried than inquiring, and it caused John to look at his on, frown easing as he saw Stiles trying - and failing - not to look worried.
“You know you can’t tell anyone, right kiddo?”
For a moment, the silence between them was only broken by the occasional bird chirping as Stiles blinked slowly.
That’s what his dad was worried about? That he’d tell people about what they were doing?
“I wouldn’t, daddy. They’d - I don’t want to leave you.” He’d be taken away if it ever got out and his dad would get sent to prison, went unsaid but not unheard.
Just the thought of having to leave his dad had Stiles bury his face deeper into John’s chest.
A sudden stray thought hit Stiles, and he leaned back a little, eyes wide as he looked up at John.
“Do you-do you not want to do this, daddy?” Something in Stiles tensed as he waited for his dad’s answer, hoping that their conversation wasn’t heading that way.
What they had just done wasn’t something family was supposed to do, Stiles was well aware of that. For a long time, he had thought his crush on his dad would eventually fade away, and even when it turned out to be full on love, Stiles still kept it hidden as carefully as he could. It wouldn’t have been fair for him to put pressure on their relationship as father and son if his enormous crush managed to stay noticed.
He had never in a million years thought the crush - the all-encompassing love - could be reciprocated. He never imagined he’d actually get to kiss his dad, get to be together intimately like they had just now.
But they did. And they had. And now it sounded like his dad was scrambling back a little. It hurt, and Stiles wasn’t too sure that if his dream suddenly had suddenly become a nightmare, he’d be able to get over it.
Not easily. Probably not ever.
As for John, it didn’t take him very long to notice that his son was silently working himself into a panic, and he mentally cursed when he realized that he was at fault.
He knew damn well that Stiles had the amazing ability to make the worst out of anything and everything. Especially his own damning thoughts.
“Hey, no, look at me, kiddo.” John grasped Stiles’ chin, gently tilting it a little so he could look his son in the eye. “Look at me. Take a deep breath in, there you go. Hold it for me...and let it out. Good. And in again.”
John talked Stiles through his breathing for a long couple of minutes, gently bringing him back down from the panic attack that had been building steadily.
“You with me again, kid?”
Stiles nodded slowly, sagging back against John as his mind cleared a little again. His thoughts were silent for now, no longer pulling him into a downward spiral.
“Let me get one thing straight, alright? I very much want to do this. I love you, Stiles.” John’s voice sounded raw, and Stiles felt an arm wrap around his waist underneath the water, pulling him closer to his dad’s chest. “Lord knows I love you more than I should. And people, well, society wouldn’t understand. And they’re not wrong in that.”
“Daddy-” Stiles tried to protest, only for John to shush him gently.
“No kiddo, you have to understand that what we just did, is-it’s a form of abuse, Stiles.”
“Dad, no!” Shock was the prevalent emotion on Stiles’ face. “No, you didn’t abuse me! You haven’t hurt me, you wouldn’t!”
John just crushed Stiles tighter against himself, closing his eyes as he rested his chin on Stiles’ head.
“You’re both a minor and my son , kid. It’s sexual abuse no matter how you look at it. Society would also say coercion and manipulation were involved. There’s abuse of authority-”
“ Dad .”
John stopped talking at the sob coming from Stiles.
“Dad.” Stiles hiccuped a little as he tried his best to keep the tears at bay, voice muffled from where his face was still buried in John’s chest. “Please stop talking. Please .”
“Kid-” John stopped himself from continuing whatever he had been about to say, and just closed his eyes tightly.
Damnit, that was not at all how he had wanted that conversation to go. He hadn’t meant to drop what had been running through his mind ever since he first starting thinking less than pure thoughts about his son on Stiles.
He had just assured Stiles that he loved him, before then turning around and, what? Telling him that because society thinks it’s abuse, it is abuse?
“I’d never hurt you, Stiles. Never. You’re my kid, I love you too much for that.”
That had Stiles lift his head a little until he could look up at John. The tears that were gathered in his eyes were like a punch to his gut. Especially knowing that he put them there.
“So don’t. Just-just say you don’t want to-just-”
Just say you don’t want me , went unsaid but not unheard. And that, John couldn’t let Stiles think that. Even though he had very much just implied that he would put it all to a halt.
“I want you. That’s what I was trying to explain. Poorly. I want you so damn much, Stiles. I want to hold you, hug you. I want to have dinner with you, go to the movies together.”
Stiles had mostly stopped trembling, staring at his dad as some of the hopelessness and self-loathing was tentatively starting to go away again.
But John wasn’t done just yet.
“I want to kiss you, undress you and fuck you. And just because society doesn’t want me to, does not mean I won’t do whatever you’ll allow me to. I just won’t ever hurt you.”
“You won’t” Stiles’ voice was nothing but a whisper.
“I need you to tell me if I ever do. Promise me that you’ll tell me.”
It was an easy promise for Stiles to make, and the last of the insecurity finally dissipated, making way for nothing but pure relief and a light happiness.
His dad wasn’t rejecting him. Thank god .
John sighed softly, his body slowly loosening from where it had been tense, his grip on Stiles no longer having that desperate edge to it.
“We go at your pace. Tell me to stop, and I will.”
“No, repeat it, Stiles. Tell me you will.”
“I’ll tell you to stop if I need you to.” Stiles said slowly, watching as those simple but meaningful words finally had his dad relax completely again, sagging a little in the warming water.
“Don’t do that to me again, dad. I can’t lose you. I can’t.”
John smiled down a little sadly on Stiles.
“I won’t, kiddo. I won’t.”
Because that? That had been his very last attempt for either of them to back out, to stop what they had started before it truly got anywhere.
He wasn’t going to do that to himself or Stiles again, the doubt and near threat of society. Besides, Stiles clearly got the point.
If either of them told anyone about their relationship, they would likely never see each other again.
And neither of them wanted that.