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The first time, he was five.
“Stiles, get in the bathtub.”
Stiles clenched his fists and shook his head. “No!”
“Stiles, it’s bath night and you’re dirty. You need to take your bath.”
Stiles remained steadfast in his refusal. “I don’t want to!”
Deputy Stilinski sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Scott’s mom says that Scott never complains about taking a bath.”
Scowling, Stiles crossed his arms and glared at the floor. “I don’t care.”
His dad crouched down. “When Scott doesn’t complain, it’s very mature of him. Don’t you want to act grown-up like Scott?”
Stiles wrinkled his nose. He hated it when his parents used the “Don’t you want to be more like Scott” strategy. Sure, Scott was the best friend he would ever have, and he was really cool and all of his classmates’ parents admired how calm and mature he acted - especially compared to Stiles, who was a hyperactive handful at the best of times. But Scott wasn’t as smart as Stiles was, and taking baths was dumb. It was boring and it wasn’t any fun. Also his dad always got soap into his eyes no matter how hard he tried not to.
“I don’t care about stupid Scott. I don’t want to take a bath.”
His father sighed. “For goodness’ sake, Stiles, you’re dirty. Just get in the tub.” He reached out to grab under Stiles’ arms, presumably to pick him up and forcibly put him in the bathtub, but Stiles wasn’t going to let him. He darted away from the Deputy’s outstretched hands and swiftly opened the door to the bathroom just enough, wiggling through the opening and racing through the hallway, not caring exactly where he was running to as long as it was away from the bathtub.
“Stiles!” his dad called after him, and he heard his father clumsily get to his feet and open the door fully, stumbling into the hallway and towards the sound of his son’s pattering footsteps. “Son, get back here!”
Stiles didn’t listen to him, eyes flitting back and forth. He took the turn at the end of the hallway and ran into the living room.
Where his mom was sitting at the couch next to a woman, holding a glass of wine and talking. Stiles froze, staring at the stranger, eyes wide. His mom and the woman turned to look at him, and the woman covered her mouth with her hand and turned away, struggling to stifle laughter. His mother stood and went over to him.
“What are you doing out here, Gummy Bear?” she asked, kneeling in front of him with a look of concern, but the corners of her mouth were twitching like she was trying not to smile. Stiles stared over her shoulder at the strange woman, who was still laughing, but still looking away from him. He heard his dad skid to a stop at the entrance of the living room.
“Claudia, I was trying to give him his bath, but he…” His dad noticed the stranger and stopped. “Hello, Nicole,” he said politely, if a bit harried.
Stiles looked into his mother’s eyes and hunched his shoulders in embarrassment. “I… I don’t want to take a bath,” he whispered.
His mom smiled sympathetically and reached out to rub his head. “Sorry, Bear, but it’s bath night.” She put her hands under his arms and lifted him effortlessly, carrying him past his dad and into the hallway. “And you can’t just stand around naked.”
Claudia poked his side jokingly, and Stiles wrapped his arms around her neck and stared at Nicole, who was still giggling on the couch as his dad tried to make small talk.
He took his bath after that without a struggle. He sat quietly as his mom washed his hair, gazing past her at the foggy mirror.
When his mom used the shampoo suds to spike his hair into a Mohawk and he didn’t laugh, she put her hands on either side of his face and gazed into his eyes. “Are you alright, Stiles?”
Stiles pouted. “She laughed at me,” he muttered quietly. His mother smoothed his soapy hair down and smiled at him.
“She laughed at you because you were cute,” she told him, tapping his nose with her finger. Then she proceeded to rinse the suds out of his hair, keeping the soap out of his eyes.
Stiles shut his eyes tight anyway as the water ran down his head. He knew his mom was lying to him. People didn’t laugh because things were cute. They laughed because things were funny.
[ . . . ]
The second time, he was twelve.
His dad had to work overnight at the station and his usual babysitter, Mrs. McCall, had taken Scott out of town to visit his grandparents for a week. The babysitter that his dad had hired on short notice was a seventeen-year-old girl named Maddie who had agreed to babysit for no less than fifteen dollars an hour because it would cause her to have to miss her friend’s party. His dad had consented to the salary. He’d had no other options.
“Be good, son,” the Sheriff said, giving his boy a hug before leaving. “Don’t make her have to give you a time-out.”
“God, dad, I’m not a baby,” Stiles complained, pulling away from the hug and glancing sideways at Maddie, who was pretty and had strawberry-blonde hair and reminded him a little bit of a girl in his class.
“Alright,” his dad said, straightening and brushing imaginary dust from his pants. “Just remember, bed at nine. I’ll be back around six tomorrow morning. Maddie, you can help yourself to anything in the fridge and the guest bedroom is clean, I changed the sheets this morning. If anything goes wrong, you’ve got my work number.”
“Oh my god, dad, we’re fine, just go.”
“Yes, thanks, Mr. Stilinski,” Maddie said. “Your son is in good hands.”
The Sheriff lingered for a second before nodding and turning to leave. “Alright. Love you, Stiles.”
Stiles rolled his eyes exaggeratedly for Maddie’s benefit. Maddie waved as the Sheriff left and stood smiling in the doorway until he had pulled out of the driveway and disappeared down the street. Then she turned to Stiles.
“I’m going to my friend’s party,” she said. Stiles stared at her in confusion.
“But my dad’s paying you extra to stay with me,” he said. Maddie shrugged.
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Then she smiled. “You can come with me if you don’t tell your dad.”
Stiles gawked in astonishment. She was willing to take him to a party? Him? Geeky, awkward Stiles? “Sure,” he agreed, voice cracking. He cleared his throat and repeated himself, this time with his voice a couple octaves lower. “I mean, sure.”
“Great,” Maddie said, twirling her car keys in one hand. She nodded towards the door. “Put on your shoes.”
Stiles scrambled to obey her, barely able to believe his luck.
The party was at a house about fifteen minutes away. Stiles babbled the whole ride there, about school, and his dad, and Lydia Martin. “You look sort of like her,” he said, glancing up at Maddie’s eyes, which were fixed on the road. “I mean, you’re, like, super pretty.” His voice cracked again and he coughed. “Um, pretty.” He blushed.
“What?” Maddie said distractedly. “We’re here.”
“Oh,” Stiles said. “Okay.”
“Just,” Maddie said, turning to look at him. “Just, my friend Rachel says it’s okay for you to come, just try to stay quiet and as out of the way as possible.”
Stiles slumped in his seat, disappointed. He’d sort of thought that maybe he was going to get to hang out with Maddie. “Okay.”
“Good,” Maddie smiled. “Now come on.”
A girl with brown hair opened the door and greeted Maddie with a smile. “You’re late!” she said. Her eyes glanced down to Stiles, who was standing a little behind Maddie, trying to subtly make himself look taller and more manly. “Is this the kid you’re supposed to babysit?”
“Yeah,” Maddie said. “Stiles, the Sheriff’s son. He won’t be a problem, he promised he won’t try to talk to anyone or anything.”
The girl stared at Stiles, grinning. “No, he’s cute,” she said. “We’re playing Truth or Dare, he can join in.”
Maddie shrugged, frowning a little. “Sure, I guess.” She moved past her friend into the house, and the girl smiled widely down at Stiles as he entered behind her.
There were seven girls and five boys at the party, and no parents. Stiles hadn’t had anyone other than Scott and Mrs. McCall over for his birthday since his mother died, because she always used to be the one to write invitations to his whole class, so this was the biggest party he had been to in a few years. And it was the first party with no chaperone. Before, he had been excited. Now, staring at all the older teenagers, he felt suddenly nervous.
“Maddie’s here,” the girl said. “And this is Stiles. She’s supposed to babysit him tonight.”
“You’ve always been so incredibly responsible,” a blonde girl said sarcastically, laughing. A tall boy was hugging her from behind and rubbing his hand up and down her stomach. Stiles watched as the girl laughed and the boy’s hands moved up to her chest. The boy smirked at Stiles, and Stiles blinked.
“You’re late, so it’s your turn,” the brown-haired girl said, sitting down at an open spot in the circle of teenagers. “Truth or dare?”
Maddie moved to sit down next to her, and Stiles uncertainly hovered in the doorway until one of the girls spotted him and patted the ground at her side.
“You can sit next to me, Stiles,” she called him over. Stiles walked towards her and anxiously sat down.
“Truth,” Maddie said, responding to her friend’s question.
“God, Maddie, only pussies choose truth,” the tall boy said, and Stiles stared at him and gulped. Everyone looked so old and tall and grown up. The boy who had spoken even had what his dad called a five-o’clock-shadow.
“So I’m a pussy,” Maddie laughed. “Truth.”
The girl tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Maddie,” she said, “tell us how you lost your virginity.”
Maddie laughed and shoved her friend. “Rachel!”
“You’ve got to answer honestly,” the blonde girl reminded her.
“You all make me tell you every time we do this.”
“Because it’s a great story,” Rachel teased.
“What’s so great about it? It’s just a typical cherry-popping.”
“You’re so modest, just dish it out.”
Maddie sighed and playfully rolled her eyes. “I was fifteen…”
“Damn, girl,” one of Maddie’s friends whistled.
“Oh, shut up, Steph, you were the first person I told. Anyway, I was fifteen and my parents had taken me on a vacation where she reunited with some of her college friends. One of her friends had a son, and he was really hot and they were also staying at our hotel. He hung out a lot with me and our moms, and one night he asked me to walk along the beach with him.” Maddie recounted the story as though it was rehearsed, like it was something she dictated often to her friends. Listening to it, Stiles felt his body get a little hot. “There was a full moon and everything, and he was acting really sweet. We came to an open stretch of sand away from the hotel so no one would see, and he laid me on the ground and started to take off my swimsuit.” She paused, blushing. Stiles was also blushing and shifted uncomfortably, trying his best to discretely fold his hands in his lap, but he saw a boy, the tall one with the five-o’clock-shadow, gazing at him piercingly from across the circle.
“And here comes the best part,” Steph whispered loudly, and there were a few scattered giggles. Maddie reached her hands up to cover her face.
“Oh, don’t laugh, it was awful. He stuck his dick in and started moving, and he put his hands on my boobs and I reached down to help him out and… And he came the second I put my hand on his balls and he moaned… He moaned my mother’s name.”
There was a collective outburst of laughter and Stiles shifted uncomfortably because he was still trying to cover his crotch-area without anyone noticing. Damn puberty. Scott didn’t have this many issues. Scott had puberty under control about seven days after it started. Scott was never the teenage boy popping unwanted woodies while he was answering a question on the chalkboard in front of his whole Algebra class. No, Scott was the one who had to (very generously) walk in front of Stiles on the way to fourth period three days in a row because the video they were watching in his Science class starred a moderately attractive redhead and no matter how hard Stiles tried, he just could not settle his awkward boner.
He tried to think about something else; this was embarrassing enough when it happened while he was doing his math homework, or in the middle of Science class. In front of all these older teenagers, it was mortifying. The boy across the circle was still looking at him.
“You do look like your mother,” Rachel said, laughing at Maddie’s story. Maddie shoved her again.
“Not in that way, gross! Let’s not mention it ever again.”
“Until next time,” Steph whispered and Maddie glared at her.
“Anyway, who’s next?”
The boy across the circle, still staring at Stiles, spoke up. “How about Stiles?”
Stiles gaped at him, shrinking back and shaking his head. Suddenly he didn’t have any need to disguise his crotch - nothing works to kill the mood like unadulterated terror - but he pulled his legs even tighter against himself anyway. “That’s alright, I’m okay, I’m not-”
“Come on, Stiles,” the blonde girl cajoled.
“You guys, I dunno,” Maddie said doubtfully.
“It’s fine, Maddie,” Rachel said. “Stiles can do it. He’s not a little kid or anything.”
“He’s only twelve,” Maddie protested, and Stiles frowned, fear turning to self-righteous objection (with a tad of nervousness).
“No, I can do it,” he decided. He wasn’t a little kid. If Maddie was old enough, he was too.
Tell that to the knot in his stomach.
“Atta boy,” the boy across the circle said.
“Shaun,” Maddie warned.
“Come on Maddie, he’s a man, he can think for himself.” Stiles looked around at all of the teenagers, who were staring at him intently and smiling eagerly. He nodded.
“Yeah, I want to play,” he said. Shaun smiled.
“See, Maddie? Now Stiles, truth or dare?”
Stiles stared at him. Only pussies choose truth. “Dare,” he said.
Shaun grinned. “Okay, guys, he chose dare. What are we gonna dare him to do?”
The blonde girl leaned over and whispered into Shaun’s ear. Shaun’s grin widened. “That’s good, Sam.” He turned back to Stiles. “I dare you to take off your clothes and spend the rest of the game naked.”
Stiles could feel everyone staring at him. His face paled visibly. “Oh come on, Shaun,” Maddie said. “He can’t do that.”
“Sure he can,” Shaun said, smiling at Stiles. “He’s a man, isn’t he? What does he have to be ashamed of?”
Stiles swallowed. The teenagers all stared at him, looking taller and older than ever. Shaun’s eyes looked hard and cold, his smile looked mean. What would he do if Stiles refused? Would he beat him up? Would he tell everyone at school that Stiles was a pussy? He couldn’t run away, or he’d look weak.
“Well, Stiles?” Shaun asked. “You’re not a pussy, are you?”
“Shaun,” Maddie said lowly, but Stiles shook his head, getting shakily to his feet.
“No,” he whispered. “I’m not a pussy.” His voice cracked. He didn’t try to fix it. At least he no longer had any reason to cover his groin. That was one good thing.
He nervously pulled his shirt over his head. He refused to look at any of the teenagers’ faces as he sucked in his stomach and started unbuttoning his pants, his hands shaking. There were some giggles from the girls as he pulled them down around his ankles and stepped out of them.
He stood in his briefs for a few moments, breathing shakily.
“Go on.” He heard Shaun’s voice as if he was far away. He hooked his thumbs in the elastic waistband and, after a second, pulled them down.
There was a collective eruption of laughter from the teenagers, and Stiles felt his face heating up as he blushed, the heat spreading to his neck and chest. He sat quickly, crossing his legs and hunching over, putting his hands in his lap and trying to will away the prickle in his eyes. They were all laughing except for Maddie, who was telling Rachel to shut up. When he glanced up at Shaun, the older boy was smiling at him with the same cold eyes.
“Who’s next?” the blonde girl, Sam, asked.
Stiles sat silently through two more turns of Truth or Dare. Ben was dared to make out with Steph, and Hannah had to get Andrew off through his shorts. But Stiles didn’t have any issues with unwanted boners anymore, not with everyone able to see. He wryly removed “exhibitionism” from the list of potential kinks in his head.
Stiles felt Shaun’s eyes on him the entire time, until Maddie finally stood and told Rachel that they were going to have to leave early because she had to study for a test.
“Come on, Stiles,” she whispered gently, putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and guiding him to his feet, his hands still held in front of his crotch. She handed him his clothes and stood in front of him, mostly blocking him from view of the others as he put them on. He didn’t bother with his underwear, immediately tugging on his pants and stuffing his briefs into his pocket before pulling on his shirt.
“Bye then, Maddie!” Rachel called to her as Maddie led him out of the room. “See you Monday!”
“Bye, Stiles,” Stiles heard Shaun call, and he felt cold.
Maddie drove him home in silence and told him that he could eat anything and stay up however long he wanted before immediately retreating into the guest bedroom.
Stiles stood in the kitchen for a while, staring at the floor. They had laughed at him.
He heard his mother’s words, echoing in the back of his head. She laughed at you because you were cute.
But they were laughing because they thought it was funny.
He scrubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands and refused to cry as he went up to his bedroom.
[ . . . ]
The third time, he was almost fourteen.
For his birthday, Scott’s mother had allowed Scott to bring one friend with him on a road trip to the beach. “One friend” had always been Melissa McCall’s way of saying “Stiles,” because though she knew that Stiles was Scott’s best and only friend, it didn’t hurt to pretend that Scott had others to choose from.
Although even if Scott did have other friends, it wasn’t like he’d choose anyone other than Stiles. They were BFFs.
Once they got to their hotel, Scott had found, much to his delight, that Melissa had booked two rooms: one for herself, and a double for Scott and Stiles. Scott was excited to be able to sleep without his mother – he could watch TV, eat, and play games with Stiles late into the night – and Stiles didn’t mention the fact that Mrs. McCall probably wanted a break from Scott as much as Scott wanted one from her, or the fact that her room had a queen-sized mattress and that he’d caught her making bedroom eyes at a handsome man in the lobby. Stiles was Scott’s bro and he wasn’t about to tell him that he was pretty sure that his mom was aiming to have some sexy times during their vacation. It was Scott’s birthday, for Christ’s sake.
Their first evening was spent going out for barbecue and then buying dessert and snacks to bring back to the hotel room for a healthy few hours of gaming and then movies. Scott and Stiles woke up the next morning sprawled haphazardly on their beds, Doritos crunching as they rolled over and an empty bag of Skittles on the floor between them.
“Oh my god,” Stiles moaned, rubbing his hands over his face and struggling to stand up. “That was one wild night.”
“Totally,” Scott agreed earnestly. “I’ve never beat you at a Pokémon battle before! That was like, seven wins last night!”
Stiles smiled and clapped Scott’s shoulder. “Happy birthday, buddy.”
“Thanks,” Scott smiled. Then he frowned. “Hey, what do you mean by-”
“Nothing, Scott, nothing,” Stiles hummed as he stretched and removed his wrinkled shirt and jeans. “Are we swimming this morning?”
“Yeah, dude, mom said we can go down to the beach after we get our free breakfast. No point in staying at a B&B if we don’t get what we paid for, right?”
Stiles nodded and changed into his swim trunks, then pulled on a tee-shirt and moved into the bathroom to brush his teeth because, hygiene. Midnight Skittles and cool-ranch Doritos don’t do good things to your breath.
At the continental breakfast, Stiles and Scott both filled up with muffins, donuts, cereal, and a piece of fruit apiece. When Melissa gave them the okay to leave, Stiles snagged himself a croissant and buttered it as they exited the back of the hotel and walked down the small path leading to the sandy beach.
“Dude, you look like you’re about to jump out of your shorts,” Stiles said to Scott through a mouthful of flaky pastry. “I know it’s your first time at the beach, but seriously.”
“But Stiles!” Scott objected. “It’s even prettier than in pictures!” They could see the sand and the water a couple hundred feet in front of them. “The water, the sand, it looks so beautiful and serene!”
“I’m going to ignore your quite manly and poetic description of the ocean in all its beauty and captivate you with three simple words: girls. In. Bikinis.”
Scott turned to Stiles with sparkling eyes. “Do you think any of them will talk to us?”
Stiles looked between skinny, asthmatic Scott and his gawky, awkward self and nodded decisively. “Absolutely.”
Scott raced onto the sand in excitement and then immediately turned back and raced onto the shaded path, wincing a chorus of “Ow, hot, hot, ow.”
“That’s what towels are for, bro,” Stiles said, handing Scott his beach towel from the bag he was carrying at his side. “You run as far as you can and then stand on your towel until you recover.”
“Ah,” Scott said, nodding at his towel. “Alright.”
“How about we try to make it over to that abandoned sandal first, and then see where we want to go from there?” Stiles asked, pointing to the lone black sandal discarded in the sand. Scott nodded and grinned.
They hopped awkwardly from foot to foot across the sand, laughing and pausing occasionally to stand on their towels and recover. Eventually, they made it to a space of sand about fifty feet up from the water and spread out their towels. They helped each other apply sunscreen to their backs because Melissa was very clear about the fact that she wanted them to return sunburn-free. Then Stiles raced Scott into the water.
They dove eagerly into the foamy surf and proceeded to kick water at each other like little kids because they were way too familiar and comfortable with each other for their own good, especially when bikini-clad girls were around to witness their immaturity.
When Stiles spotted a couple of said bikini-clad girls giggling in his and Scott’s direction, he stopped his roughhousing and nodded slightly towards the girls when Scott looked at him questioningly. Scott smiled nervously and smoothed back his hair, and Stiles glanced down to make sure his trunks weren’t sagging.
They were. He quickly tugged them up a bit because sorry, no, he wasn’t all that comfortable yet with showing off his happy trail to the world. He wasn’t some sort of physical embodiment of self-confidence like Jackson Whittemore or Danny Mihaelini. He had no delusions about his lanky body or less-than-muscled abdomen and if he was showing all of that to the world in nothing but his swim trunks, he’d at least keep his private parts private for as long as he could, thanks.
The girls giggled a bit more and Stiles grinned widely and ran his fingers through his buzzed hair, looking over at Scott and shrugging, nodding towards them with a ‘what the hell’ expression that Scott nervously accepted, following Stiles as he waded through the water back up to the beach where the girls were waiting expectantly for them.
“Hey girls,” Stiles said, “My name is Stiles and this is my buddy Scott.”
The blonde one giggled and batted her eyelashes at them. “My name is Lydia, and this Kristy.”
Stiles smiled and nodded and looked at Scott, prodding him to speak with his eyes. Scott was silent, smiling awkwardly in a way that made him look like he was passing gas. Stiles rolled his eyes. “Well, Lydia, and Kristy, how about we have some fun?” He gestured out to the expanse of blue and the girls nodded, and Stiles and Scott parted for them as they waded out past them into the ocean, somehow managing to look graceful with smoothly swaying hips even with the two feet of water impeding their progress. Stiles glued his eyes to Lydia’s butt, which was moving back and forth beneath that thin layer of black-and-white stripes that was her bikini bottom. He nudged Scott in the arm and whispered “Dibs on the blonde.”
Scott easily agreed. He was a bro, and it probably hadn’t taken him more than a second to take the step linking blonde-bikini-Lydia to strawberry-blonde-math-whiz-Lydia, who wouldn’t give Stiles the time of day, let alone a great view of her nearly naked ass.
To the shock and amazement of Scott and Stiles, Lydia and Kristy didn’t act like aloof hard-to-get higher-than-thou-art classy chicks like the majority of the girls at their school. Instead, they giggled and laughed, and joked around with them, splashing around almost as childishly as Stiles and Scott had been when they had first seen the girls up on the beach. It was sort of great, and after a while Stiles and Scott managed to relax a bit and not act like two nervous geeks trying to pick up chicks way out of their league.
Until Stiles was preoccupied and Scott warned him too late about the wave, and it hit him from behind, knocking him face-first into the water. Stiles scrambled in his disorientation, trying to find a foothold in the sand, until he finally managed to stand shakily and immediately brought up his hands to rub the saltwater out of his stinging eyes. He didn’t realize that he felt a little too much of a breeze down there until a couple of seconds later, and by then it was too late.
He stared down at where his swim trunks weren’t in horror for all of a second before sinking quickly down to his chest in the ocean, covering his junk with both hands. Kristy and Lydia were laughing uproariously, leaning on each other for support.
Stiles felt his stomach twist into knots. It would have been one thing if Kristy and Lydia were giggling and blushing, but they were full on spilling-their-guts laughing.
“Dude!” Scott said, wading quickly over to him. “Where are your shorts?”
“I don’t know!” Stiles said. “The current pulled them off or something.”
“Help me look for them,” Scott said, and if anything can be said about Scott it was that the kid was loyal; Stiles was crouching naked in the ocean and instead of laughing, the first thing his friend did was try to find his trunks. If he hadn’t been in the nude, Stiles would have given him a full-on hug.
“Here,” Lydia said, snickering, holding out her hand. Stiles’ trunks were hanging, dripping, from her grasp.
“Thanks,” Stiles managed thickly, taking them from her and quickly pulling them back on underwater, silently grateful that he didn’t lose his balance.
He tried to continue hanging out with the girls, but he felt sort of out of it for the rest of the morning. They left each other for lunch, and on the way home Scott asked about it.
“Dude, Stiles, you still upset that Lydia and Kristy saw you with your pants down?” Scott asked. Stiles rolled his eyes.
“No, Scott. Because having two hot girls who we were really getting along with laughing at my naked penis is actually really appealing to me and in no way injures my self-esteem.”
Scott put his hand on Stiles shoulder for a second in comfort. “Come on, man, don’t be like that. They were just embarrassed. I’m sure they weren’t trying to be mean.”
“Just shut up, Scott,” Stiles said. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Let’s just go fuel up with some ground beef and curly fries.”
Scott dropped it because he was a bro, but Stiles continued to mull it over in his head on their way back up to the hotel. He knew what embarrassed laughter sounded like. He could have understood embarrassed if he hadn’t seen their faces, if they hadn’t been almost falling over with glee. No. They hadn’t been laughing because they were embarrassed. They laughed because they thought it was funny.
[ . . . ]
The fourth time, he was fifteen.
Lacrosse season had started, and Stiles and Scott were both elated to have made the team. The only problem was that as members of the team, they were required to shower after practices. Like, actually required.
Showering had never been a problem in P.E. because for some reason you weren’t required to shower after class, even though it meant all of the insecure teenagers who were too self-conscious to shower reeking of sweat for the rest of the day and stinking up the other classrooms. No, for some reason showering was only required if you were a member of a school sports team. Lacrosse was one of those.
“Dude,” Stiles complained quietly to Scott. “This isn’t fair.”
“I know,” Scott replied nervously, looking around at the bigger, stronger, upperclassman members of the team, who were all casually undressing. They were taller, more muscular, and all-around manlier than either of the two freshmen.
“Look,” Stiles hissed, jerking his head at a junior who was sauntering by on his way to the showers. “He actually has chest hair. Chest hair, Scott. Dude, I can’t even grow a moustache!”
Scott glanced down at his hairless, bare chest. He had removed his jersey and was dawdling in his jock shorts. Stiles had removed his lacrosse pads and had yet to advance from there.
“Moustache?” Scott fingered his upper lip, where Stiles had jealously noted some dark hairs were starting to come in.
“There has to be some law against this,” Stiles moaned, slamming his forehead into his locker. “Some law that will allow me not to shower with Jackson fucking Whittemore.”
“Stilinski!” belted Coach Finstock, and Stiles spun around to see the man walking towards him, whistle in hand. “What are you and McCall doing out of the showers? This isn’t tea time, you can’t just sit around in your undies and make small talk. Come on, ladies.”
“Yeah, Stilinski,” jeered Jackson Whittemore from his locker. Stiles glanced over to him to see his sneer. “What are you so afraid of?”
“But Coach,” Stiles whined, and Finstock leaned in and blew his whistle.
“That’s it, Stilinski,” he said. “If you and McCall aren’t in those showers in three minutes, you’re getting detentions. That’s a fact, princess. I want you two smelling like sunshine and daisies before you leave this locker room.”
He turned around, saw Jackson’s sneer, and jabbed a finger in his direction. “Wipe that smirk off your face, Whittemore, and take your clothes off.”
Jackson rolled his eyes and started undressing as Coach Finstock made his way back to his office. Stiles had no choice but to undress as well.
Stiles glanced sideways at Scott as he yanked off his jersey. Sure, Scott wasn’t all abs and pecs like most of the other dudes on the team, but at least his stomach was flat. Stiles didn’t have any delusions about his physique, and most of the time he didn’t care. Much. It wasn’t like girls (or guys) were lining up to get a piece of him anyway. His not-slender stomach didn’t have to do any scaring away when his personality already did that.
Scott had finally removed his jock shorts and was awkwardly attempting to look casual as he hunched his shoulders and covered his junk with his hand, reaching for a towel. Stiles decided to treat his clothes like a Band-Aid and take them off as quickly as possible so as not to prolong the torture.
His jersey was off. Just his pants and jock shorts to go. It couldn’t be that bad, all the guys were showering. Plus, while the majority of the team were large, bulky, and hairy, they were also pretty decent guys.
Scott had wrapped his towel around his waist by the time Stiles’ jock shorts hit the ground, and by that time Stiles was the only one who hadn’t yet been naked. He decided that, in the future, being in the nude while everyone else was as well was preferable to being in the nude alone. Because when he was naked with everybody else, his penis was camouflaged amidst all the rest. Like a tree camouflaged in a forest (remind him never again to use a penis forest as a simile). By himself, he was pretty much on display for any asshole with an ego to boost.
There just so happened to be one in the room that also had a vendetta against Stiles.
“Wow, Stilinski,” Jackson laughed on his way to the showers. He hadn’t bothered with a towel, flaunting his six-pack abs and admittedly well-endowed physique that really wasn’t fair on a freshman, because freshmen were supposed to be skinny and awkwardly proportioned with patchy body hair, like Stiles. Not Greek Adonises with muscles carved from stone and model-esque figures, like Jackson fucking Whittemore. “Have your balls even dropped yet?”
Stiles gaped at Jackson, so affronted that he dropped the towel he was reaching for. Of course his balls had dropped! He was fifteen fucking years old! He’d hit puberty, like, two years ago, and he had leg and armpit hair and everything and his penis was average at least, he knew that, he’d fucking measured it with a ruler every day for a month when he got his first pubes. Yeah, he’d gotten a little carried away, but at least he’d had the peace of mind of knowing that his junk was fantastically average, thanks. Plus, if his dad’s awkward and embarrassed explanations about puberty had any truth behind them, he’d be growing a bit more before he was done.
And yet Jackson was laughing at him as he strutted away, leaving Stiles flushing and trying to decide whether or not baring his ass to the locker room was worth bending over to pick up his towel. He didn’t have to debate very long because Scott – lovely, kind, beautiful Scott – bent and picked it up for him.
“Dude,” Scott said. “Don’t fucking listen to that asshole.”
Stiles knew he should do as Scott said and ignore Jackson’s douche-y laughter. Jackson Whittemore was an asshole who had bullied Stiles since the fourth grade when their teacher had liked Stiles better than him and, for the first time ever, Jackson wasn’t the teacher’s pet. Jackson was the fucker who had it out for Stiles just because he had the hots for his girlfriend, even though Stiles couldn’t help it (Lydia Martin was a freaking genius wrapped in a package of perfect, how on earth could he not be attracted to that).
But Stiles was standing next to Scott in a humid locker room with Jackson fucking Whittemore laughing at him and a few older teammates glancing at him with wry smiles. He grabbed the towel from Scott’s offering hand and quickly wrapped it around his waist, wishing that he could wrap it around his chest as well because fuck if he wasn’t insecure about every single part of his body at that moment, but he wasn’t a girl so that wasn’t an option.
Scott was his oldest and dearest friend and they’d had baths together as children and they changed in front of each other during sleepovers because that’s what best friends did, and Stiles had never felt uncomfortable being naked in front of Scott. But, then again, he’d never felt so exposed in front of him. It was different, now, and he didn't even want Scott looking at him.
Scott looked hurt as Stiles walked away towards the showers without looking at him or saying anything, but Stiles didn’t give a flying fuck. Apparently, his penis was some sort of gigantic fucking hilarious joke that he didn’t get the punchline of, and he really wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone about it.
Jackson was a douchebag. Stiles had known that for years. He really shouldn’t be so upset that Jackson had pretty much told the entire locker room that Stiles had a tiny dick, which was completely untrue. Anyway, girls always say size doesn’t matter, right?
But Stiles had grown accustomed to people laughing at the sight of him naked, and this was the last straw. Seriously. If people really thought his naughty bits were so goddamn funny, hence forth he was going to deny the world of the joke that was Stiles Stilinski’s naked bod. He’d wait until the locker room was empty to shower, and he’d wear his towel while he did it if he had to.
He might be funny, but he was so not letting anyone laugh at him again.
[ . . . ]
Sheriff Stilinski went out of town to visit a friend who lived out of state two weeks before Stiles’ eighteenth birthday. It was the first time his father had ever trusted him enough to be alone in the house for more than twenty-four hours – usually if the Sheriff was going to be gone for an extended length of time, Stiles stayed with Scott and Melissa – but Stiles had managed to convince his dad that he was almost a legal adult and he’d be going off to college in less than a year and he needed to learn a bit of the responsibility that comes from being on your own. The Sheriff had relinquished after informing his son that if there were any parties, he’d be paying for damages out of his own pocket, and that Stiles wouldn’t be getting any favors from his father’s position if he was caught drinking underage.
Not that Sheriff Stilinski thought there was the faintest chance that Stiles would throw a party, let alone that enough people would come to cause any trouble. But he said it because it was a required aspect of being a parent, whether or not your child happened to be a social pariah with friends that you could count on one hand.
So he had left Stiles on his own, with a food allowance and a strict warning that he, under no circumstances, was to miss any school.
Stiles was euphoric.
The house was empty. He had it completely to himself. He could do anything, anything he wanted. He could eat messy food on the couch. He could watch TV while he did his homework. He could drink the milk out of the carton. He could walk around in his boxers, pick his nose whenever he wanted, hell, he could even jack off at four in the afternoon with his door open and no one would care. Not that his dad was ever home at four in the afternoon anyway, but it was still a liberating feeling.
It took a few days to get used to the freedom of literally being able to do whatever he wanted, but by Wednesday Stiles was burping like a champion and scratching his balls unabashedly as he sprawled in front of the television watching whatever he damn well wanted, whether it be Breaking Bad or Dance Moms.
For dinner that night he had Funyuns (wouldn’t want to forget his vegetables) and a heaping bowl of steaming Beefaroni, and when he spilled it all onto his crotch, no one was there to make fun of him when he cried (fuck you, it was hot). He cleaned up the couch as best he could – it wasn’t too bad because he’d had the self-control to keep his knees together and contain the burning Beefaroni in his lap – and then sprinted upstairs to the bathroom to remove and wash his lacrosse jersey and boxers to the best of his ability.
The jersey cleaned up fine, but the boxers were ruined unless he didn’t mind a stain that made it look like he’d had a really gory period. After a quick shower, he examined his thighs and his junk for third-degree burns, but they were just tinged pink and sore. He draped his jersey over the side of the bathtub to dry and tossed the ruined boxers in the trashcan, then rubbed himself dry and exited the bathroom without bothering to bring the towel, which he knew would just end up lying on the floor of his bedroom.
He jogged to his bedroom because even if no one was in the house to see him streaking through the hallway, old habits are hard to break. The door was ajar, and he entered, immediately moving towards his dresser for a new pair of boxers. However, a few steps into his room, he heard a thump and then a series of smaller thumps and then a small clank and turned to see Derek Hale standing near his bed, looking like he’d just stumbled backwards and knocked into his bedside table and knocked something onto the floor.
It took a couple seconds for Stiles to register that Derek was avoiding eye contact, and that his eyes were flitting around the room like he was searching desperately for anything to look at that wasn’t Stiles, and that his ears were red. It took a moment more for Stiles to realize that he was completely naked and Derek Hale was in his bedroom.
“Shit!” Stiles exclaimed, immediately cupping his junk with both hands and turning away, but then Derek could see his ass and that wasn’t much better. He searched frantically for something to cover himself with and saw the pile of his dirty clothes that had been discarded on the floor near his door. He bent over and grabbed a handful of clothes and held them in front of his crotch, effectively shielding his dick at the very least as he hunched his shoulders and gaped at Derek, who was still standing, frozen, across the room.
“Shit, Derek!” sputtered Stiles. He glanced around and saw that his bedroom window was wide open, the blinds pulled up. “Learn to use the front door!”
Derek was still avidly avoiding looking anywhere near Stiles, his face beet red, his eyebrows drawn furiously together. The red tint of blush was spreading down his neck to his chest. “I, uh,” he started, then bent to pick something up from the ground and awkwardly held up a thick, old-looking leather-bound book. “I brought this for research.” His voice was low and gravelly, and he cleared his throat. “It’s, uh, it’s about, uh…”
He clamped his mouth shut, his jaw flexing, and didn’t finish the sentence. Stiles gaped at him, feeling a breeze from the window cool his drying hair, which he knew was spiked up in every direction. Derek’s eyes flicked up and connected with his for a moment, then they went down to where Stiles’ hands were holding the bundle of clothes in front of his groin, and, if it was possible, his face blushed even redder.
“But I can see you’re naked- I mean, busy,” Derek muttered, backing up towards Stiles’ open bedroom window, his hands clamped tightly around the book. “We should do this when you’re not. I’ll come later. I mean, I'll come back later.”
Stiles removed a hand from shielding his crotch, reaching out towards Derek in supplication or something, and one of the clothing items in his grip fell to the floor. It was just a sock, and to Stiles’ relief nothing was uncovered, but Derek stumbled backwards, eyes widening in shock. His knees hit the windowsill and buckled, and Stiles just watched as Derek literally fell out of his bedroom window.
There was a series of thuds and bumps and then a collective crash of snapping branches, as Derek had obviously landed on one of the bushes below his room. Stiles heard a groan and ran to his window, dropping the clothes that had covered his crotch and leaning out, staring down at Derek, who was lying spread-eagle on his back, one leg draped over a smushed bush.
“Dude, are you okay?” Stiles called out, and Derek hazily looked up at him. His leather jacket was pinned beneath his back, his shirt rucked up and showing off a toned midsection. No limbs appeared to be more crooked than they should be, but Stiles knew they would heal soon even if any were broken.
It took a moment for Derek’s eyes to focus, and then instantly he was on his feet, brushing off his back and butt and pulling down the hem of his shirt and once again adamantly looking anywhere but at Stiles.
“Anything broken, Mr. Alpha, besides your dignity?” Stiles asked, and Derek shook his head, continuing to brush off his pants. He leaned down to once again pick up the book that he had dropped.
“I’ll come - back - later,” he growled, turning the volume over in his hands to check for damage, as it had landed open in the grass.
“Don’t run off on my account!” Stiles yelled, but Derek had already turned and loped off to sulk in the trees out of his line of sight. Stiles was left standing naked at his open window, the breeze stirring his hair and hitting his bare thighs in a way that was entirely uncomfortable, though maybe actually didn’t feel that bad. He could understand why girls wore short-shorts.
After a moment he realized that he was, in fact, standing naked at his window, and turned quickly back to his dresser to find a pair of boxers. He grabbed his Batman ones and pulled them on over shaky legs, then turned and walked over to fall onto his bed.
“Fuck,” he moaned into his pillow. “Shit. Fucking shit.”
His head felt light and fuzzy. Derek Hale had just seen him in his birthday suit. He’d just fallen out of his window after seeing Stiles in his birthday suit.
Derek Hale had just seen Stiles in his birthday suit, then proceeded to blush and stammer and speak in a growly voice and accidentally fall out of his window.
He certainly hadn’t laughed.
Stiles removed his face from where it was buried in his pillow and let out a shout of laughter. He giggled to himself and curled around his pillow, laughing until his sides ached.
“Take that, Jackson,” he finally yelled at his ceiling minutes later, sprawled out comfortably on his back. “Just be sorry you never had a chance at this piece of motherfucking jailbait!”
He was still lying in his bed thirty minutes later when his phone buzzed with a text from Scott.
Dude, the text read, why did derek just aggressively ask me when your birthday is?
Stiles laughed, because it was fucking hilarious.