It takes Stiles four days to notice something’s wrong. Well it’s not like jerking off three times a day is unusual behavior. The third day, he has his usual good morning session, comes straight home from Lacrosse and jerks off without even taking off his jeans because it’s laundry day tomorrow and it’s not like he’s got standards. And everyone jerks off last thing at night; it’s like a glass of warm milk for your dick. Stiles has been hit by a jerking off curse. He might not make it through May unscathed.

Derek smirks at her, eyes hooded as he leans closer still, until his lips are brushing her ear. His breath fans hotly over the curve of her neck and Stiles shudders, knuckles going white as she clasps them together between her legs. “Touch yourself,” he whispers, the curve of his lips a shade too wicked.

It’s a game. It’s a game to see how loud he can be and not have anyone but Nicky hear him, a game to see what he can do without anyone but Nicky noticing.

Ever since he’d come out to his devout Roman Catholic family, Johnny had been told he was going to Hell. Seeing Simon “Ghost” Riley on his knees in front of him, looking like Lust incarnate, has him thinking Hell suits him far better than Heaven anyway. His blonde hair catches the fluorescents like a halo, and Johnny now knows exactly what the legends meant when they said the devil has angelic eyes. OR: Johnny needs proof that the aphrodisiac drug sample they're retrieving is real, so he tests it the only way he can with the resources he has: on himself. It's real, alright - he figures that out pretty quick.

Tim gets off on getting off in public, and Jay happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. …Or, actually, maybe it's exactly the right place at the right time.