And… Derek’s cock betrays him. Straight up like a flagpole. There’s even a ti pating where the head of the werewolf’s cock is pressing against the fabric.

ot kill. Derek tried to stutter out an excuse as to why he ying on Stiles, only to realise that he was in his underwear, and his hands were bound above him.

“Hush, I get it.” Stiles says, “You’re too broody to go out and actually fueone so the slightest gla a naked guy gets you rock hard.” Stiles straddles the bench, giving Derek a clear view of his bulge. This is very bad. “You dont’ have to be ashamed about it…” Stiles puts a hand on Derek’s thigh.

“Stiles… what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Derek says, trying his best to be intimidated. Stiles is still only clad in his jockstrap, and damn Derek wish he didn’t look so fuckable. The last thing he needed was to pop a boner in front of Stiles.

“Well, I could ask the same thing of you, buddy.” Stiles smirks, “I mean, that tent in your pants when you passed out retty clear indicator of what your iions were.”

He gently fondles Derek’s fuzzy balls, moving downwards and rubbing his hand against the man’s hard taint. He even moves further south and rubs a finger against Derek’s pucker. The werewolf growls, trying to dissuade Stiles fr to finger h

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“Stiles, don’t!―” Derek shouts but it immediately transforms into a low moan as Stiles takes the head of Derek’s coto his mouth, moving so that he was lying on his stoma the bench, his ass clearly visible to Derek.

“What… no… I wouldn’t―” Derek stammers. This is bad.

“Lemme help with that,” Stiles says, still lookiremely smug as he pulls Derek’s cock out through the slip in his boxers.