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Tohias
It's All Just So Ridiculous

[CHAPTER 3]

If Stiles had ever gone into the pleasure business, he'd like to think he'd be good at it.

He'd be that guy that wasn't exactly the most attractive rent-boy around but he'd be known for his star quality skills in between the sheets and magnetic personality on the streets. They would request him personally because – for reasons lost on both him and his clients – his satisfied bed partners would kinda start liking his blabbering, pale, mouthy charm.

But in reality…Stiles would probably be fired for being unbearably awkward.

Because he really didn't know what to do.

He knew the mechanics obviously since he and Malia had a healthy physical relationship but…this was different.

He wasn't with his girlfriend in the comfort of their bedroom and the sound of the TV in the background filling the air with ambient noise. He wasn't fumbling and learning something new and exciting with a partner equally as willing. He wasn't doing something that felt right.

There was nothing natural about sliding his naked body up against someone whose limbs was harder and leaner than he was used to.

There was nothing normal about the feeling of silkbed sheets between his legs, much too sleek and expensive than his threadbare blanket at home.

There was something distinctly distracting about watching his own hands thread away his father's gun holster from his hip and quickly dropping it on the floor like the leather would burn him if held onto it for too long – like if he did it all fast enough, it would be easier to compartmentalize.

He pushed back the feeling of intense weirdness when he started to unbuckle his father's belt.

But before he could complete his task, the Sheriff quickly stopped his fingers from moving any further. Suddenly Stiles' naked body was wrapped in white sheets covering his bareness in one quick spread and he was unbelievably thankful for it.

Confused, he watched his father move away and disappear into the bathroom only to come back a moment later with something in his palm.

"Give me your hand."

"The cameras –"

"Don't worry about that and give me your hand."

Stiles blinked down and realised the cut on his finger and starting bleeding again.

Wordlessly he watched his dad wipe away the blood with a damp wad of toilet paper and slowly wrap the sticky band aid on his wound. Honestly the cut didn't deserve much attention, it was shallow and it would have stopped bleeding with or without the band aid but he was relieved to have a moment to breathe.

When it was all done and the stained tissue were thrown somewhere on the floor, his dad still didn't let go of his hand.

"Lie back on the pillow."

"What?" Stiles asked, startled by the sudden command.

"It's alright, just lie back and let me worry about the rest."

There was a moment where Stiles was going to argue but he realised that his father was taking charge of the situation and he was remarkably relieved of it. So he shuffled back onto the unnecessarily large bed and made himself comfortable against the wall of pillows. He wearily watched his father crawl onto the mattress but instead of coming closer, the Sheriff sat by Stiles' feet and stayed there.

Slowly, his dad took one of Stiles legs and began to rub gentle circles deep into the base of feet. His large hands pushed and kneaded the heels and worked in between the webbing of his toes and repeated the motion.

"What are you doing?" Stiles managed to ask.

"Giving you a massage." The older man answered in a matter-o-fact tone.

"I can see that."

"You need to relax."

"I am relaxed." Oh, he knew that was a lie.

"Your hands are shaking."

Stiles quickly tucked his fingers in the safety of his blankets and scowled. "I'm fine."

"Then indulge me." His dad replied while switching his ministrations to the other feet.

"Hey this is backwards, I'm supposed to be servicing you, not the other way around."

"Stiles, can you just let me do this?"

"But –"

"Stiles."

He locked eyes with his dad and couldn't help but note the familiar stress lines in the corner of his eyes were deep and his lips were pressed thin while his shoulder bunch harshly together, like the way they did when his dad was pouring over impossibly hard case files late into the night.

So Stiles just nodded and leaned back into the pillows.

The Sheriff's hands crawled up his calves and made their way to his knobby knees where the joints ached from scrubbing floors in his short stint as a janitor. He breathed out in relief as the dull pain began to disappear with each circular drawl of his father's fingers.

"I used to do this for you when you hit your growth spurt – kicked me off the couch more than once with those gangly legs of yours just so you could order me to give you a massage."

"I kicked you off the couch because you were falling asleep with those case files lodged up your nose." Stiles closed his eyes at a particularly nice press at the back of his knees. "I was doing you a favour."

His dad snorted softly as he dug deeper into his muscles.

Stiles sighed as his dad pressed higher up his legs, large warm hands dragging out some of the stress he's accumulated in the last few days from playing spy. There was a lingering smell of sugar and warmth and something like ozone filling his mind that made him sleepy but not tired and Stiles had to bite back another sigh as his father rubbed circles into his skin.

Without much thought, Stiles pulled up the sheets higher so his dad could access more of his bare thighs.

But after a few seconds Stiles could no longer feel his father's ministrations.

"Hey why'd you stop?"

When he opened his eyes, he noted there was a peculiar look on his father's face but it was replaced by a quick cough and averted eyes.

"I think that's all for now." His father cleared his throat again and shifted back.

Frowning, Stiles sat up and realised why his dad wasn't looking in his direction.

It was his legs. Maybe the massage worked too well because at some point Stiles had relaxed and spread his legs a little too far apart to help with his father's ministrations. But now it looked inappropriately open and he had unwittingly lifted the sheets perhaps a little too high. While nothing private was showing, the edges of the blankets were bunched around his waist only an inch shy of showing everything underneath. He decidedly looked disgracefully wanton, like those Victorian whores he'd seen in so many films.

Flushing red, Stiles shut his legs closed and surreptitiously pulled the sheets down to regain some modesty.

He couldn't smell the sugar anymore but he was starting to smell his embarrassment. Whatever calm they both had momentarily gained was gone and Stiles desperately wanted to lift the atmosphere into something more breathable.

Making a quick decision, Stiles crawled towards his dad and sat behind him.

"What are you doing?" His dad asked turning his head just enough to eye him.

Stiles tightened the sheets around his waist so they wouldn't fall off and placed both hands on his father's shoulder.

"Giving you a massage." Stiles answered simply. "It's only fair I return the favour and so far I'm coming off as a pretty bad rent-boy."

"You not a rent-boy." His father's words were quick and clipped.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Dude I know, I'm just saying that if I was, I think I could do better than this, so just sit back, relax and let me do my magic."

Before his dad could say anything, Stiles felt around for those stress knots sitting in his shoulders and dug down. The Sheriff made a pained huff but stayed still as Stiles tackled each hot spot in his father's battered and high-strung muscles. He pressed with his palms and kneaded with his fingers till slowly those sore knots began to ease into something less like stress tumours.

Stiles knew his father worked hard and being one of the only officers that actually knew about the monsters that went bump in the night meant his dad was under even more strain than most. Not to mention that in the eyes of the higher departments, the Sheriff's unsolved cases were starting to look increasingly unimpressive.

It was because of stuff like that, that made Stiles do stupid things like go undercover in a brothel without telling his dad.

His father deserved way more than just stress lines and grey hair.

"You know…you could retire soon if you wanted." Stiles suddenly commented.

His father who had been slowly slumping against him sat up again twisted his neck to look back at him. "What?"

"Retirement." He repeated. "You know, playing golf and going fishing whenever you want."

There was a moment of confused silence then his father turned back around and answered. "I'm lousy at golf and you know I can't fish to save my life."

Stiles dragged his palms deep into centre of his dad's back and the Sheriff hissed.

"You can take a vacation far away and spend your days doing something you do like."

"Like I'm going to leave you here with a bunch of werewolves and an apocalyptic army of supernatural creatures raining down on Beacon Hills by yourself."

His father huffed out in a lazy sigh as Stiles kneaded his lower back, pulling and pressing at the tension coiling underneath his father's skin.

"I'll go with you."

His father didn't say anything more except groan when Stiles circled his thumbs into the dimples of his back.

"How about Europe? We can go to Poland like mom always wanted to." Stiles continued.

"You can't stand the cold." The older man countered.

Stiles shrugged and added, "Then let go to Asia. You can like totally buy an entire meal for only three dollars in Thailand, which means both of us will ever have to cook again. Two birds, one stone."

His dad huffed out a little laugh and groaned again when Stiles dug deep into his sides.

"You'd never let me eat anything there." He sighed again. "You'd probably find out ways to convince me that everything has too much grease or MSG."

"Well they do have a lot of MSG and I'll probably have to monitor your intakes of salts and sugars but you can totally balance that out with lots of exercise." Stiles argued.

"I get plenty of exercise chasing after you." His dad grinned.

"How about New Zealand? You know their seasons are backwards? We should totally have Christmas on the beach where we'll go gloriously red."

His dad shifted out of his reach and suddenly his was looking at him with sharp eyes.

"Stiles…what's this all about?"

"Nothing. I'm just saying that maybe you should consider relaxing a bit more. Retirement could be good for you, you're not young anymore you know?"

There was a moment where his dad just looked at him puzzled but then the man sighed and held his gaze.

"Stiles I'm not going to New Zealand, or Thailand or Europe." His dad said quietly. "And I'm not retiring till I'm ready."

Stiles looked at the silk beneath his thighs and clenched his teeth.

"Till you're dead you mean."

Suddenly his father's palms were cupping the side of his neck, lifting his head so he wouldn't be able to avoid his dad's gaze.

"Stiles look at me." His father ordered gently. "What's going on with you?"

Stiles yanked away and managed to stop himself from falling over the edge of the mattress in his haste.

God it was so fucking hot in the room, Stiles just wanted to tear the sheets of his body, nudity be damned.

"Why? Why can't you retire and move away? It's not like it'd be hard." Stiles gritted out.

"Because you know that's never going to happen." His father replied with that infuriating calm that Stiles found personally insulting.

"Why?!"

"Because you'd never leave your pack behind." His father said gently. "And because I will never leave my pack behind. And the only person in my pack is you."

And the answer was so simple that Stiles knew it to be the truth, even though he wanted to whack his dad for it.

The older man leaned forward to reach for him but Stiles edged away again.

His dad sighed. "You're a protector. That's who you've grown to be, even though some part of me wishes you weren't so damn brave but this is the price we pay for being who we are. You can't remove me from danger any more than I could remove you from it. It's not your fault and it's not mine either."

Stiles was no longer looking at the mattress and now he was just staring at the patchwork of scarred skin and healed wounds running down his dad's torso like some kind macabre painting made of flesh. And he knew there would be more in the future, more added to that collage stitched onto his father's skin. And that was the worst part.

"That's the place where the Oni stabbed you with their poisoned blades." Stiles suddenly pointed out.

They both looked at the Sheriff's abdomen.

"And that's the place where you got shot by hunters when you were trying to protect me. And that other scar was when you got systematically electrocuted for three days for information about me."

Stiles blinked away the helpless fury and crippling impotence he'd always felt for being hopelessly human.

"Dad, you say we're pack but the truth is I'll probably the reason why you'll end six-foot under next to mom!"

The strange smell of sugar and ozone thickened and Stiles just wanted to hurtle something breakable against the wall.

"Stiles, you need to calm down. The cameras are –"

"Can't you see that if you die, I'll have no family left?!" Somewhere in the back of Stiles' head, he knew he was being too loud and he was ruining their charade of 'faking it' but for some reason he couldn't lower his voice or temper his raging anxiety. "We're locked in a room that's owned by a person that may or may not be a supernatural serial killer that can make their victims lungs explode from the inside out. I can't have you here with me. I can't have you killed because of me!"

His father inched closer but didn't touch him.

"You don't need to protect me Stiles." He finally said. "I'm your father. It's my job to protect you."

Stiles suddenly barked out an unattractive laugh that sounded more like a cry.

"Yeah, you're my father and look at where we are: in a brothel with me naked in your bed."

Stiles knew he shouldn't have said it.

It wasn't supposed to sound like a dirty accusation but it was like there was suddenly no filter from his brain to his mouth anymore. Not that there ever was one.

The creases in his father's face deepened and his blue eyes turned more like grey steel when he stared at Stiles with hurt, guilt and anger.

"You think I want this? You think this is easy?"

His father's cold voice was so bizarre and unfamiliar that it cut through his thoughts like a hot guillotine.

"You think it doesn't pretty much destroy whatever paternal instincts I have left to see my son crawl back home night after night with his skin hanging off his body by bloody strips and bullet holes in your clothes every time I do the laundry? Do you think it's easy holding my tongue when you run off with your wolves and don't call for days on end, having me tear my hair out wondering if you're dead in gutter somewhere? Do you think I can face going to your mother's grave to tell her that I sent her son to die just the other week again and I still couldn't do a damn thing to stop it!?"

His father's sudden volume had him jumping back in alarm and suddenly Stiles couldn't shake off the feeling of overwhelming vertigo.

"Dad –"

His vision was blurring together.

"I haven't been able to call myself you father for years. I don't need you to remind me exactly where we are."

It all just smelt like thick syrup, cloying his nose and eating his mind.

"Stiles?"

He barely noticed when he half collapsed into his father's arms.

"Stiles!"

Then his vision went black.

o

When Stiles woke, the first thing he wanted to do was kick of his blankets because it was much too hot and he rather not sweat out before he had the chance to get to school, but instead of finding his quilt, Stiles was covered in a blanket of hot skin and hard muscle.

Naturally he flailed about in alarm, his knees knocking together and his head colliding against the other's collar bone with a painful thwack.

"Stiles. Stiles are you okay?"

He shook off his dizziness and blinked up at the face attached to that torso that had too much skin for his liking.

"Dad?"

"How'd you feel?"

Stiles rubbed his eyes and fidgeted against the pillow and he looked around the room.

Some part of him was convinced it was all just a nightmare concocted from eating bad takeout but his eyes scanned the locked door and his red boxers on the floor and he knew life wouldn't make it that easy for him.

Stiles closed just his eyes again and groaned.

"God, please tell me I'm dreaming."

His father just ran his hand across his forehead and pressed his fingers to his pulse. "Stiles look at me. What happened?"

He had to think for a minute because Stiles' wasn't too sure he actually remembered. But then he did, and it wasn't cool. "Balls. I can't believe I fainted. Actually fainted."

"Are you sure that's all that happened?"

"I dunno, I just…I just got really dizzy and I couldn't stand the smell. Fuck is it just me or is really hot in here?"

There was a sigh from above and Stiles staunchly ignored his father's face.

They didn't speak for a few short moments till Stiles gaze up and asked, "Why are you on top of me?"

The Sheriff leaned away and shrugged of the thin sheets off his back.

"It's for the cameras. When you collapsed I had to make it look like everything was alright so I pushed you back on the bed and well…made it look like we were busy. It's only been a minute since you went down."

Stiles blinked.

"Oh." He coughed. "Good thinking."

There was another awkward pause.

They didn't look at each other and it didn't help that he had their last conversation swirling around in his head and wanted to apologize but didn't quite know how to start.

In the end his father decided for him.

"Look I'm sorry about before." His dad slumped a bit and turned to look at the wall to the left.

Stiles shook his head. "Everything you said was true, so…I'm sorry too."

"I still shouldn't have yelled at you, shouldn't have said those things…it wasn't like me." His dad finished quietly.

Stiles scratched his neck trying to hide his shame and added, "Yeah…I don't think that was entirely us back there but we're good yeah?"

The Sheriff nodded. "Yeah, we're good."

They weren't.

Not even close, not with Stiles naked with his dad's thighs pressing him from both sides and he felt like he was running a freakin' fever and his skin felt unbelievably sensitive.

It was the pheromones, Stiles thought, it had to be. He wrinkled his nose as the scent of syrup thickened in the room and the way it made his skin flush with uncomfortable warmth. He eyed the clock on the wall as it struck midnight and Stiles knew they had to start even though he wanted to delay the inevitable further.

In the end Stiles gave a weak laugh and scratched the back of his head and met his dad's eye with false bravado.

Now or never.

Of course the next words out of his mouth were as graceful as ever. "So...doggy style first?"

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NOTE: The chapter was supposed to be longer with the entire story wrapping up but my laptop malfunction and I lost a far bit of the writing so I had rewrite everything. So my heart could only muster the first half of the resolution.

However your reviews have been the fuel to my rather indecent fire burning my hedonistic thoughts.

This is for you guys.

TOHIAS