When the Beacon Hills lacrosse team made a bet with the Beacon Hills cheerleading squad, Stiles should have recognized the smirks on the girls' faces and stopped the whole thing right there.

Stiles starts bringing drumsticks to Pack gatherings, sitting himself on the edge of the group to tap out maddening rhythms on his knees as the werewolves train. The first time he’d pulled them out, spinning one stick in a showy twirl between his fingers, Derek had actually staggered a little, missed a basic move, and ended up on his back blinking up at fucking Jackson, of all people.

So the first time Stiles got Derek on his back, worked him open and pressed inside with the long exhale of a perfect fit, he wasn't expecting the sound. Sure when they exchange handjobs, or blowjobs, or any other kind of orgasm, Derek can get a little vocal – sometimes even demanding in a hesitant sort of way – but the deep moans, the sharp grunts, the cursing and the constant use of Stiles' name was not expected.

Is it even possible for penises to develop Stockholm syndrome?

Short fics originally posted to my Tumblr, edited and collected here.