Types of people who romanticize small town life:
- People who didn’t grow up in small towns
#THE LOCALS AREN’T QUIRKY #THEY’RE RACIST
whos planning on getting high tomorrow?? not me because im not a DISAPPOINTMENT TO JESUS
16. having some “private time” and the other accidentally walking in
"Goddamnit, Stilinski,” Boyd seethes through his teeth, coming with a jerk into the fleshlight, the muscle in his arm quaking.
Stiles just stands there in the middle of the loft gawking, dropping his book on the floor so it thuds open.
He thought he was going to be alone all day, finally alone and he wasn’t even trying to keep an ear out, was just going to mate the fleshlight, get all those post full moon urges out of him.
"I didn’t—" Stiles starts stammering and then gasps "Is that a fleshlight?!"
Caught off-guard, he’s knotting the thing before he can slick it off him.
“Fuck,” he breathes and seizes with it, body flashing white-hot with pleasure. Knotting orgasms come strong and electric, shoot like bright bolts through him and make him clench his teeth, arch and arch into the fleshlight as he goes off again and again.
"Oh shit, what—?" Stiles chokes out, stinking like fear and arousal all at once.
"I knotted it," Boyd growls at him, his fangs dropped. And then he’s coursing with it again, face twisting up. He can’t fumble-hold onto the fleshlight for long because it hurts too much, his sensitive dick lurching and pumping too hard inside the fleshlight’s soft suction. He claws up his alpha’s couches trying to bear it, to stand the feeling of being knotted fast. The fleshlight bounces on his leg as the strong spasms of his cock lift it.
Eyes closed against it, he tries to catch his breath between orgasms and then inhales sharply when he feels the fleshlight grasped and tugged slightly.
Stiles is hunkered down in front of him, breathing shallowly, mouth slack.
"Stiles," Boyd says, voice gravel and Stiles angles the fleshlight just how he needs it and then—oh fuck yes—rolls it right around Boyd’s knot, teasing him.
Boyd rolls his hips in counter-point, groaning.
"God, let me just—" Stiles breathes and starts gently twisting the fleshlight down on his further, chafing his knot, making it harden up on instinct, making it swollen.
“Stiles,” Boyd begs and then arches and arches, coming his brains out, his knot humming with it. There’s so much come, it drips out the bottom of the fleshlight all down Stiles’ arm.
"Fuck your come is hot, dude,” Stiles hisses and Boyd’s eyes close in pain, come surging so strongly out of him it patters the inside of the fleshlight noisily, starts squelching like porn sounds.
He sleeps. Comes awake with a whimper when he feels the fleshlight just barely tugged off him, his knot popping out, still fat. It’ll probably stay swollen like this for the rest of the day.
Drained, he rolls his head to watch as Stiles drops on the couch beside him and starts scrabbling to open his fly, teeth in bottom lip.
He barely gets the fleshlight on his own, needy dick before he’s giving these harsh, sharp gasps for breath and pressing up on his heels into it, orgasming, adding to the hot mess Boyd left inside.