Leftovers

Hello all-- I have to say, it's fun when you guys lobby for your favorite couples. The lobbying for SuperBat was FIERCE today-- via this link RIGHT HERE  as was the lobby for Cartinski, with some awesome pictures. I'm going with the Cartinski-- and if you had any idea how many times I flipped back and forth, you'd think I'd gone mental.

But Cartinski it is-- hopefully because there will be some rockin' sex in the Cartinski and there would have been angst only in the SuperBat. YAY for rockin' sex.

*  *  *

Derek held tight to the iron rail of the bed, and tried very hard to let Stiles have his way.  

"But this feels good, right?" Stiles had two fingers in the tight and achy place, and his mouth hovered over the engorged and dripping thing, and Derek was going to break his damned bed, he really was.

"Feels. Great."  He spoke through gritted teeth and pressed both feet on the bed as he arched his hips. 

"Mmm...fff..."  Stiles was trying to talk with his mouth full, and Derek whimpered. 

"Fuckin' really?" he begged. 

Stiles released his cock with an audible pop. "Yeah--after this, I think we should totally go over to my dad's house and eat turkey."

Derek's erection started to lose some of it's... erectness. "Stiles, really?"

"Oh! Wait! Let's finish here first!" And then, there was blessed, blessed silence, because Stiles had his mouth full and Derek was coming down his throat. 

And when Stiles rose up to thrust slowly into Derek's body, Derek let go of the bed and pulled him down into a kiss, while they were joined. And then another. And then another. And one more for good measure. that's right, just kiss all the talk right out of him while they fucked, so that way, Stiles would forget the whole leftover plan.

Derek didn't think he could take the smell of sex and turkey for one more meal.

*  *  * 

"Is it good?" John Stilinski asked nervously. "I mean... you know. Is it tasty?"

"Mmmf..."  Carter made a sound of orgasmic completion and chewed rapturously on the pan-fried turkey and dressing sandwich, with cranberry mole` as a spread.  "This," he said after a swallow, "this is the most amazing thing I've ever tasted."

John grinned. "Yeah?" Oh, he was pleased. Stiles used to eat pour Cheetos in the mixing bowl, add milk and call it breakfast cereal. John had been pretty sure he'd picked up some cooking skills since his wife died, but until this holiday season, that had been pure speculation on his part.  And Carter was so appreciative of a home cooked meal, which was decent of him. John understood the cafe at Eureka was the equivalent to a five star restaurant, so when Carter made sexy-yum-yum sounds over a turkey sandwich and potato bombs, John wanted to make sexy-yum-yum sounds over Carter's cock.

"This is seriously good," Carter confirmed, digging in again. John took a bite of his own sandwich and he had to admit-- not half bad. "And I'm so grateful to you for cooking. I will buy anything for you on the way home from work, if only you keep making food like this."

John felt a blush creep up. "Well, not this-- this is sort of holiday special. We need to keep everything else a little healthier, you know?"

Carter shook his head, but yeah, he knew. They were at that age where taking care of themselves was important--and that included taking care of each other by remembering to eat right and exercise.  

"Yeah, John, but that's what holidays are for-- a little bit of decadence, right?"

John smiled shyly, still not able to take the really decadent things they did in the bedroom in stride. "Yeah," he said, trying not to fidget like a teenager. "It's always nice to indulge."

Carter bit neatly, leaving the complete half of his sandwich on his plate. He chewed quickly and swallowed, then leaned near to John and whispered, "There is pumpkin whipped cream in the refrigerator, and I know just what to eat that off of."

John gaped at him, completely T-boned by the suggestion at all. Pumpkin whipped cream? Who made such a... where did Jack want to put it?

Twenty minutes-- it took twenty minutes for that question to be answered to their complete satisfaction, and by the end of it, John was leaning over a kitchen chair with a pillow between his knees and the floor, while Jack thrust manically into his ass.  He buried his face in the chair seat as he came, the mess on his stroking hand a combination of hot spend and the remnants of once-frozen pumpkin flavored whipped cream that he didn't want to think too much about.  Carter took three more thrusts and then cried out, his own spill just as stick and confused as John's. 

Carter collapsed across his back and nuzzled his ear, laughing softly as they recovered.

"That was awesome," John panted. "And the whipped cream was low fat."

"So glad you liked it," Carter purred. He pulled back from John, probably to stand up, and their skin stuck unpleasantly. "But now I think a shower is in order."

"But you haven't finished your sandwich!" John laughed.

They stood up and wiped off-half-heartedly with the T-shirts they'd been wearing before sex broke out over the late dinner John had cooked after Carter's shift had gone long. Carter went in for a sloppy, whip-cream and John sank into him, fake sugar and pretend cream forgotten.  Together they clung, happy and sexed out and full of food. 

"Tell you what," Carter laughed, kissing John's temple. "You go up and start showering, and I'll be up after I clean up down here."

"I get to show--"

"You cooked! Anyway, I'll bring up a plate and we can eat the rest of our sandwiches while we're watching TV in bed. It's almost eleven!"

John grimaced. "that's hardly healthy."

"Indulge me," Carter said, and his eyebrow waggle was wicked enough to prompt John up the stairs.

"Yeah, fine-- just bring extra napkins," he muttered.

"Heh heh heh..."

"You're incorrigible!"

"And you keep feeding me and fucking me as a reward!"

John kept walking up the stairs, naked and happy and more than ready for his shower, thinking about how really glad he was that his son had moved out and that Stiles and Derek weren't due to visit until the next day.

*  *  *

"What's wrong?" Stiles asked.  He was naked, Derek was in their bed, and they were all ready to do the happy thing. "Dad's cooking tonight was great-- someone else cooked and we get to have sex-- why is Mr. Happy sleeping?"

Derek couldn't answer him. "Confused," he said, feeling like the word had been forced out of him. "My dick is so confused." 

God, was it ever. The smells at Stiles dad's place had gone from turkey to sex to something sweet and synthetic mixed with the sex. The jizz on the wall from a few weeks before had turned into turkey sandwich in the bedroom and fake pumpkin spice in the kitchen.

Derek had eaten his own weight in dinner and dessert, and now... when their night was wrapping up into their usual conclusion, Derek's olfactory senses and his sexual senses were...

"Confused," he whimpered.  

Stiles just gazed at him, from between his legs, teasing Derek's softened cock with a single finger.  "Yeah?" he asked, his smile wicked.

"Little bit," he said honestly.

"Well, let's just suck the confusion away," he cracked. And then he proceeded to do just that.  

Well FED

Sorry this is actually Saturday-- Mate and I needed to go birthday shopping last night for Zoomboy and I couldn't quite fit in Nano, edits, and Fanfic Friday. And Soccer Saturday.  I hope you forgive me-- and I hope you enjoy. Someone *aherm* Asked specifically for Cartinski today. I'm thinking SuperBat or Stucky next week, but in the meantime, *glares* You know who you are.

*  *  *

Carter wore his old FBI sweatshirt when they went running.

John really hated it when he did that.

Because as much as Carter made a lot out of being a dumb guy in a smart world, the fact was, John Stilinski had endured his share of the feds barging into his territory from the get go. "You! You Sheriff Stilinski! You've had six kids disappear in two months-- what kind of amateur bullshit shop you been running here in the sticks? That's okay, Sheriff, us feds will come clean it up and we'll kick some dirt over your shitty department on our way out!"

Yeah-- Stilinski didn't have a lot of good memories of the FBI, Scott McCall's father primary among them.

Schmuck.

So the FBI sweatshirt was just a reminder that Carter's job in Eureka was not your average run of the mill job, and that Carter had needed to aspire to Quantico before he'd been placed there, and that John Stilinski really was just your average run of the mill law enforcement joe.

In a town full of werewolves.

They'd been running for a good four miles before Carter said something.

"What's that?"

"What's what?"  John was proud-- since they'd been running together-- and fucking in the shower when they were done-- his wind had gotten much much better.

"Something's following us," Carter said, turning around for a second.  He was so graceful-- they were running through the cross country trail in the woods... that cross country trail. In those woods. Usually turning your back as you ran was a guarantee that you would either trip on a fallen tree branch, fall into a trap, get impaled by an arrow, spear, or Kanima spine, or get eaten by a bear.

Carter turned back around and Stilinski continued to scan their surroundings anxiously.  He hadn't written off that bear.

"You just spotted that now?" Stilinski asked, hopping lightly from fallen tree branch to rocky outcropping to forest floor. "God-- how have you lived so long?"

"In a quiet little town where quantum mechanics try daily to kill me," Carter retorted. "So stop being an ass."

"I"m just saying--" Stilinsky actually spotted the leaf covered pit this time and managed to shove Carter around the giant oak and away from it, "--quantum mechanics aren't actively seeking you out and trying to kill you personally because they don't like the way you smell."

"Was that a--"

"Leaf covered pit-- God, don't ask me what was on the bottom, that shit's serious.  Look out!"

The branch was suspended backwards, so as soon as Carter hit the tripwire it would whip back--and it was big enough to break a few ribs if that happened. Stilinski knocked Carter sideways and...

Caught the fucking branch in the side.

He went sprawling, and Jack scrambled up to help him.

"Scott!" Stilinski wheezed, too out of breath to make much noise. "Goddammit Scott!"

"Motherfucker!"  Cater was kneeling next to him, and his dismay when the red-eyed wolf who had been tracking their movements straightened into a very naked human, was almost comic.

"Sherif Stilinski!" Scott cried, running to his side.

"What in the fuck was all of that?" Stilinski panted.  He closed his eyes and took stock. Yup-- oh yeah. Those ribs were definitely cracked. He could barely breathe.

"There's a whole druid pack invasion... thing going down," Scott apologized. "I wasn't sure how much they'd done, so, you know--"

"You followed us to make sure we were safe," Carter supplied, which was good because Stilinski still couldn't talk.

"Yeah."  Scott smiled at him, that kid's goofy, crooked grin totally hiding the savvy, iron-willed leader beneath. "Nice to meet you, Sheriff Carter. Stiles has told me a lot about you."

Stilinki closed his eyes.

"Yeah?" Carter asked, sounding wary. "Like, uh, what?"

Scott sucked air through his feet. "Let's just say I know what you sound during some of the most private moments of your life," he apologized.

"Crap."

"Yeah, during then too."

Stilinski let out a gasp and then a moan. Fucking ribs. He was going to have to have them lift him up from the torso, and hope his ribs didn't pop through his lungs.  Carter gave up mentally flailing at Scott and turned towards him with that sweet little furrow between his eyes.

"Did you hear that? Your son knows what I sound like when I'm on the potty. I'm thrilled."

"You're loud," Stilinski said. "Now can you help me up or not?"

"Not yet," Scott said.  He was still naked, which Stilinski had gotten used to, given how many werewolves lived in Beacon Hills.  He hadn't realized how new it was to Carter until he saw Carter's eyes widen as Scott scooted from Stilinski's shoulder to his side, gently nudging Carter out of the way.

"Uh..." Carter mumbled in protest. "So you're naked and... uh..."

"Dude!" Scott muttered, elbowing Carter a little more to the side and burrowing under Stilinski's sweatshirt until he could place cold paws... arm, hands... on Stilinski's tender ribs.  "He's literally as old as my father."

"Older," Stilinski gasped, heat building in his side.  "By two years, goddammit."

"Yeah. And more my dad than my dad. Now shut up and let me work--"

Stilinski could feel it now. Stiles had told him Scott could do this, but until that blissful heat, that almost chemical release from pain permeated his flesh and bones, he hadn't realized what a tremendous power it really was.

The pain eased, and John felt tears slide down the corners of his eyes, his relief more overwhelming than the cracked ribs.

"Wow," he said after a moment.  Scott gave a little grunt and sat back on his heels. "That was... that was awesome. Thanks, Scott."

"Not a problem, Sheriff.  Next time, I'll try to get there before the trap goes off."

Carter glared at him and nudged him out of the way again. "Next time, how about tell us where the bad guys are setting traps, and we'll maybe run in Eureka."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding? Stiles is experimenting with chronochromatic technology today. You could walk across a green line and end up in 1793. No thank you. I mean, seriously. I'd rather deal with the traps.  Are you okay now, Sheriff?"

John nodded and pushed himself up.  "Much better now-- appreciate it."

"Good. I'm going to turn wolf now and lead, okay?  I think I know where most of the traps are, but be alert."

Stilinski took Carter's offered hand up, and he submitted to a quick pat down to make sure he was okay, and then they were on their way.

It wasn't until they made it back to the road that would bring them home that Scott turned around and took off, presumably to contact the rest of the pack and let them know about the traps.  As soon as he was out of sight, Carter muttered, "Asshole."

"What?" Stilinski said, surprised. "He helped us out!"

"Nothing," Carter mumbled, glaring mulishly as they ran up the stairs home.

"Seriously--mmmf..."

Carter was all over him, mouth slanting over his, hands all over his body, checking-- intimately-- for anymore bruises, any broken bones, any hurts.

"I"m fine," John panted. "But sweaty-- are you sure you want to--"

Carter yanked his sweats down, right there in the hallway, and pulled John's cock into his mouth.  Stilinski groaned and threw his head back agains the wall with a thud. "Carter, I'm..."

Carter pulled him so deeply, Stilinski's cock bottomed out in his throat, and Stilinski was suddenly very, very close to coming.  Carter slid a spit-slicked finger between his bottom cheeks and into his asshole, and Stilinski beat feebly at the wall at his back.

"Jack!" he panted. "I'm going to... I"m gonna..."

Jack pulled back long enough to say, "Come. So I can fuck you. And you can come again."  And then he sucked Stilinski's cock back into his mouth, into a haven of heat and wet and pressure.  His finger stretched and twisted and white fire rushed Stilinski's spine, blinding him as he cried out in orgasm and sagged against the wall.

Carter swallowed--but not enough. Come spilled over his lips and glazed his chin as he glared up at John and ordered him to "Turn around!"

John, weak and confused in the aftermath of climax found himself facing his own hallway wall, hands out, legs spread, as Carter breached him unceremoniously from behind.

His howl of pleasure echoed off the wall.

Carter pounded him without words or mercy, thrusting hard, deep, and fast, until Stilinski was hard again, until every crash against his prostate left him white-blind and shouting, and his next orgasm threatened to burn every nerve ending in his cock, balls, and taint forever.

Then Carter started muttering. "Let that naked kid--" thrust "--fucking touch your body--" pound "--while I'm right there like I"m not a thing--" fuck "--and not think it's gonna drive me fucking crazy!"

"Carter!" Stilinski screamed, that terrible balefire of come tearing through his body and spattering against the wall.

"John!"  Carter snarled, and then he grunted and screamed and bit John's shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise for days.

Stilinski collapsed against the wall, feeling spend spilling from his body, down his cheek, down the back of his thigh.  Carter collapsed on top of him, and together they panted until their breathing stilled and talking became a thing again.

"I can't believe you were jealous," John said when he could manage it.

"I can't believe that naked werewolf touched you when I was right there."

"He's got a boyfriend. OR a girlfriend. Or both," Stilinski laughed, body liquid and boneless. "I can't keep track. And he's a kid. And he's--"

"I don't care," Carter breathed in his ear. "I'd want you if I was twenty-three and perfect. I'd want you if I was him. I finally found you-- nobody else gets to touch you."

Stilinski hooted into the wall in disbelief. "You're the only idiot who wants to touch me. I can't believe you got through Quantico with those detecting skills. Jesus."

Carter growled and wrapped his arms around Stilinski's waist, undeterred. "I got through Quantico because I don't give up easy," he growled. "I don't give up at all."

"Awesome."  Stilinski leaned back against him, content for a moment, and not even freaking out about washing the come off the wall.  "But you know, there is something you could do to make sure every werewolf for miles knows you've staked your claim."

"Yeah?" Carter asked, some of his usual humor restored. "Enlighten me."

Stilinski started to chuckle, feeling the evil in his bones. "Let me wear your jogging shirt." Heh heh heh. "It's a smell thing. I swear."  He had no idea.

Carter knew it. "You just want my shirt."

John nodded and closed his eyes, safe and secure and joyful. "Yeah. I want your fuckin' shirt. Right now I need it to wipe off the jizz off the wall before Stiles or Derek walk in."

"Shit!" Carter muttered, but he pulled the shirt off, and they made it to the showers before anybody was the wiser.

*  *  *

Derek and Stiles were actually living in Eureka, but they still visited on Sunday mornings for breakfast.

This particular morning, Stiles brought bran muffins for the old people and doughnuts for him and Derek, unaware that Derek had snuck three eclairs in the box so the "old people" would continue to like him and let him molest Sheriff Stilinski's baby boy.

"Dad! Sheriff Carter!" Stiles called, and Derek heard them in the kitchen, probably calling a greeting over coffee, but he could smell something... something...

Mmm...

He wandered for a moment from Stiles's side and snuffled the air along this stretch of hall and... mmm... Jealousy sex... right here.  

He wanted to pant.

He wanted to rut. 

He really wanted to grab Stiles by the scruff of the neck and bend him over the couch.

But... *snuffle snuffle snuffle*  Yeah. Old people sex. Didn't bother him-- didn't bother most werewolves.

But Stiles, it would bother.

He'd have to keep this knowledge to himself.  But that was okay.  That morning, he'd have the extra eclair.

That evening, he'd have the boyfriend screaming over their own kitchen table.

Sunday mornings rocked. 

Fanfic Friday: Knotty-- Cartinski

Okay-- I'll be honest. I put out a vote for who wanted what fanfic, and the results were frighteningly even.  The choice was Stucky, SuperBat, and Cartinski, and let's just say… split. Like a trident. So, my deciding factor?

Has nothing to do with the vote.

I'm writing a category romance for Dreamspinner Press-- a Dreamspun Desire.  And the thing with these is it's all about the simmer, and when I get to the sex, well, it's got to be three flames at the hottest. No raw animal rutting for my sweet tamale boy and his gentleman caller, no-- it's all going to be washing languorously onto love's transcendent shore.

I really needed to write some serious fucking.  Which left me with SuperBat or Cartinski.  And since the last SuperBat left us in a place where I needed to actually plot in order to get to the sex, I'm going for the Cartinski.  If you may recall, John had just fled Beacon Hills because it was the full moon and he didn't want to see mad raw-dogging all over the backwoods.

So he fled to Carter's house--and to a man blissfully unaware of what most shapeshifter writers have to grapple with all the time.

It's sort of a knotty problem, actually… *runs screaming from all of the spit wads flung after that horrible pun*

*  *  *

Carter liked the way John handled his children.  He was kind to his oldest--the boy who wasn't his but whom he'd raised like a son for the last six years--and sweet and adorable with the little girls.  He asked them all earnest questions, and when he got answers way above his pay grade and IQ, he didn't even raise his eyebrows.

Well, Stiles had a job in Eureka-- odds were good he was used to being baffled by offspring by now.

But finally-- finally--the kids were in bed, and Carter had a chance to talk to the house.

"Sarah?" he asked cautiously, leading John into the bedroom.  "Sarah--are you here?"

"Yes, Jack," Sarah said, her voice warm and seductive.  John gave a little gasp of surprise.  "Is there someone with you tonight? Someone not Allison?"

"You know there is."  Carter kept his voice firm. "Sarah, this is John Stilinski--we're dating."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days," Sarah said primly.

"No, Sarah, the kids are calling it sex, and we'd like to have some-- but without the kids being able to hear us do it. Can you make sure that happens?"

There was a sullen silence. "But Sheriff, your relationship with Allison may not be completely severed. There is still hope. Nathan may possibly have changed after his time as nothing but anti-matter, and there is no guarantee that she'll be able to live with him--"

Carter groaned and rubbed the back of his neck.  "Sarah, what is Allison doing right now?"  He knew the damned house was tracking her across town-- because she'd given him updates on the night that Allison had decided to go back to Nathan.

"Allison's respiration is accelerated by thirty percent, her endorphins are high, and she appears to have blood flowing to several erogenous zones upon simulation… oh."

"Yeah, Sarah. My ex-wife is getting lucky. Any way I can get lucky too?"

"No sound will leave the room, Sheriff, but if the children are alarmed or need you, I will allow you the option of answering."

"Thank you, Sarah. So, unless it's an emergency--"

"I shall pretend I'm not here."

"Perfect."

Carter usually stood and looked up at the ceiling when he was talking to the house, so he finished up and turned to see how John took his relationship with the sentience that watched over his family.

John was under the blankets, fully clothed, with the covers over his head.

"Uh… John? Stilinski? You okay?"

"The house will see me naked," he said, like this was something Jack hadn't thought of at least a thousand times over the last ten years.

"Yes, but she doesn't judge," he said kindly. "And I will get to see you naked too, so there's that."  He liked John naked. John Stilinski took care of himself-- he was a little stocky in the chest and a little knobby in the knees, but mostly, he was serviceable muscle.  Carter liked that in a male lover-- just like he enjoyed a smile and a sense of play and the ability to switch hit.

"Nobody is ever going to see me naked ever again," John said, like he'd just decided. He remembered to kick off his boots though, before hauling his knees to his chest under the comforter, so Carter took heart.

Quickly, he stripped off his clothes and kicked off his shoes.  "Let me in," he demanded, pulling the edge of the blanket up.  "C'mon, let me play in the blanket fort-- it's cold out here!"

"Sheriff, it's 78 degrees inside the house-- if you would like me to heat it up--"

"Not now, Sarah, you're missing the point."

"I shall refrain from speaking, sir."

"Now you understand."

"That house sees us!" John mumbled, sounding a little hysterical. "There are werewolves fucking all over Beacon Hills and a house is going to see me naked!"

"Well, she's getting a load of me naked, so could you let me in the blanket fort?" Carter begged, and he reckoned John did love him because he held the blanket open just long enough for Carter to dive in.  "Thank you," he mumbled as John closed the blanket over the other side of his hips and made sure they were both tucked in like mummies.

"I need to lose ten pounds," John said seriously.  "And work out more. Lots more. LIke two hours a day. "

"Hon," Carter said, stroking his cheek in the close space of the blanket fort, "you're fine."

"Carter, the house is going to see that I'm fat! Can't you hear her? She's going to say, 'But Sheriff, your current partner is far less desirable than your last one. Can you not see that he has at least ten pounds more body fat and is closer to a heart attack than Allison so you should probably not ever have sex with him again!"

Carter buried his face against John's stubbled neck and giggled.  "Seriously?  You're going to let a house tell you not to get laid?"

"Sheriff Carter, your current partner can't get an erection right now, perhaps you'd like me to play some mood music. Does Sheriff Stilinski enjoy smooth jazz?"  John's voice cracked at the end of a rusty impression of Sarah's measured tones, and Jack pushed himself up on John's chest and started unbuttoning his official uniform shirt.

"Would smooth jazz work?" he asked sliding the shirt off John's shoulder.

John rolled under the fort and helped him out a little.  "I hate smooth jazz. Who can get laid listening to the saxophone?"

"Well then, there will be no smooth jazz played here tonight," Carter soothed.  He started working on John's belt, and was relieved when John grudgingly lifted his hips to let his khakis be pushed down to the bottom of the bed.

"Small mercies," John grumbled.  Carter slithered back up under the blanket fort and then rolled right on top of John, knowing that John Stilinski could take his weight--and anything else dished out to him.

"John Stilinski?" Carter said, undulating his hips so their bodies could get familiar and hard.

"What, Jack Carter?"

"I'm glad you're here tonight."

"I wish we were in Beacon Hills," John said honestly. "But we wouldn't be having sex there either. There is literally a wolf howling and fucking on every street corner."

Carter laughed--not because he didn't believe him, but because it was a funny thing to be afraid of. "Well then-- who says we're not having sex here?" he asked.

John glared at him--but he also brought his hands to Jack's hips and held him tight so they could buck up against each other.  "I think we have to be nak--"

Ah, Carter had been dying to kiss him again, since that first one outside in the car. John opened for him, warm and male and a little bitter--the pizza had been burnt.  Carter plundered anyway, and lost himself in the hardness of John's hands against his ass, the strength of John's chest, and the no-bullshit way he accepted the reality of two male bodies mashed together.

Carter was getting hard--but so was John--and Carter rolled off of him in order to scoot down and shuck his boxers down past his knees.

"Guess what?" he asked playfully, peering at John under the blanket.

"I'm hard," John muttered, knotting his fingers in Jack's hair.

"And naked," Jack said, lowering his head and slurping, hard, and the pre-cum leaking from John's cock.

John bucked, sensitive, probably, surprised into sudden arousal and easily ramped higher.  Or maybe--the little slut-- Jack's big male lover sort of secretly got off on knowing they were being watched, and was just afraid of knowing that about himself.

Which made him even more dear.

Carter lowered his head and raised it, sucking hard and squeezing at the base and teasing the slit with his tongue, gratified when John groaned.  Oh yeah-- one of the best things about John--when he was ramped, he was greedy and unashamed about it. When John bent his knees and spread his thighs, begging to have all his parts played with, Carter took that for what it was. He dribbled spit on the two fingers wrapped around John's cock and then shoved them none-to-subtly where the sun doesn't shine, and was thrilled when John came.

Judging from John's shocked cry, he was thrilled too--and maybe over his knowledge that the house could hear them too.

Carter swallowed, slimy and sweet, and continued to suck, until John was hard again, but oversensitive.

"John?" he said clearly, still stroking John off.

"Yeah?" Oh good-- he sounded loopy and relaxed and still aroused. Perfect. 

"I'm going to throw the covers back and grab the lube from the drawer, okay?"

"Lube?" he asked, still sounding a little  out of it.

"Yeah," Carter said, practically purring. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't see straight, okay?"

"The house…"  John muttered, but Carter thrust his fingers into John's orifice again, and he forgot what he was going to say as he arched his hips off the bed and beat feebly at the mattress.

Carter was already in the open air and reaching for the lube. "The house can't have you," he said, meaning it.  Just a little bit of lube, there we go, right along Carter's shaft.

He shifted on the bed, kneeling between John's knees, and thrust in.  John threw his head back about the pillows and screamed-- loudly--in pleasure, and Carter didn't monitor his own voice as he thrust forward and grunted from his gut.

Ah, Gods, yes. Loud sex--it was almost more of a turn on than sex with the lights on, because he and John spent so much time trying not to disturb the werewolf with hyper hearing who often was having sex in the same house.

Carter took a lot of joy in pounding into John Stilinski's ass, throwing his hips forward, letting his orgasm build at the base of his spine.  When John finally gave another whimper and scratched at Carter's shoulders, Carter's climax hit him like a storm.

His cry of pleasure cracked through the room like thunder.

The comedown was awesome too, and Carter pulled the blanket up over both of them in deference to John's returning sensibility that the house was watching.

"Hey," Carter said, sliding until they were chest to chest, the blanket pulled over their shoulders.  "What's knotting?"

John actually stopped looking wildly around the dimly lit room. "Knotting?"

"Yeah-- you said the werewolves were knotting when you drove up.  What does that mean?"

John dug deeper into the bed and stopped looking around the room completely. "Nothing," he muttered. "Not a damn thing. Are you ready to go yet? I'm ready to go again. Who's gonna top? I say you. You're good at topping--"

Carter stopped him with a kiss, one that was designed to rev them just a little bit more.  "Okay," he mumbled. "I got it. You'll tell me some other time."

John hummed and kissed him harder. "Yeah, fine," he said. "Maybe I'll top this time."

*  *  *

"Ouch," Stiles said.

"I'm sorry," Derek muttered, burying a mortified face into the back of Stiles's neck.

"Ouch."

"I don't know what to say-- it'll take twenty minutes to go down."

"Ouch."

"Stiles, I wanted you to top--"

"I was wrong. Jesus, Derek, can't you think of anything that will make it go down quicker?"

"No-- I've tried everything. Sports scores, saggy butts, kittens--"

"Well look at it!" Stiles begged. "Isn't it going down a little."

Derek didn't even try to look at it. He just groaned into Stiles's back some more. "Baby, looking at it gets me hot again!"

"Oh God. Derek, what's going to happen if my dad gets home and we're still stuck here?"

Oh… oh God. Derek's sweaty embarrassment turned to sweaty panic just that fast.

"Oh no," he whispered.

"Oh yes!" Stiles crowed, slithering out form under Derek as quickly as he could now that the swelling at the base of Derek's cock had gone down.

"Oh thank God," Derek murmured, rolling to his side. He glared at Stiles. "Next time," he threatened.

"Yeah," Stiles said, nodding fervently. "I hear you. Next full moon, I top!"

Everything We Learned in School Is Bullshit

Okay-- first I'll clarify the statement I made on Twitter--

The other day, when I thought the apocalypse was starting as I sat on the toilet, apparently what was really happening was that the local SWAT Team was serving an eviction notice, and issuing condemned building notices to be taped in the windows.  Apparently that day one of the idiot assholes next door was standing on the roof trying to get away. (Kids, seriously. Don't do drugs. It makes you stupid.)

Anyway-- that was exciting, and then I went to aqua, which I did today, for that matter.  And when I got back today, after picking up the kids, there was a construction crew boarding up the house.

"So," I said, walking up to the two construction guys with Geoffie in my arms.  "Uh, how bad was it?"

"We've seen worse," one of the guys said. Then he looked around.  "But there was a lot of heroin needles in there. That was pretty bad."

"Oh," I said, not surprised. "Any, uh, meth cooking?"

"Yeah--but not much, like from a while ago."

I nodded, thinking that explained why three weeks ago my eyes had been burning and the "buyer" activity had increased outside the house. That was just about the time we'd all started calling the cops.

"So the house wasn't--"

"There's some broken windows, and a lot of drug paraphernalia, but its pretty sound."

I left the boys to work while we unloaded groceries in the house, but inside I was just so, so grateful.  They were gone. The place had been boarded up. The meth-cooking squatters are gone.  And you know what else I found out?

The guy across the street, who's sort of a curmudgeon with an iron fence and dogs?  Apparently his son in law is in charge of evictions in this locale. Which explains how it happened so fast.

So we don't have to gather the family and move, and I, for one, am very very grateful.

All that being covered, I do believe I promised a little bit of Cartinski!

*  *  *


"Sheriff Stilinski!" Derek said in a panic. "Sir, did you forget what day it is?"

John stared at him from his desk for a moment, nonplused. "Tuesday?"

Derek made a sound of impatience-- which was something he rarely did.  In fact, most of the time he treated John with sort of an exquisite courtesy, as though believing his boyfriend's father wasn't just going to go batshit on him with a shotgun wasn't ever in the cards, but Derek would do everything in his repertoire to try to keep it from happening.

Impatience, from Derek, meant that something was dire.

"Derek?" he asked hesitantly. "Uh, what's wrong with Tuesday?"

Derek glowered and slid into the room, closing the door behind him. Yeah, sure, Parrish knew about the supernatural nature of Beacon Hills, but Derek had left before that happened, and he didn't trust easily.  "It's the night of the full moon, sir," he said, eyes darting as though he were trapped. "And we're in a time of peace right now, which means…"  He gestured at John to make the leap and catch up.

John stared at him in horror because he was already there. "Oh, dear lord," he muttered. "Fuck. Carter is staying in Eureka tonight--I'll try to get over there and sleep in his spare bedroom or something."  Carter was watching his children-- John wasn't going to intrude on his boyfriend's child time, but… but the full moon, during peace time. Ugh.

Derek nodded. "I knew you could see reason-- are you going to warn anybody else?"

The Sheriff looked up outside his window and watched as all of the non supernatural deputies began to shift uneasily, standing up and putting on their jackets and making to get the hell out of dodge.  All of the supernatural deputies looked up at the clock with an air of long-suffering. He knew they didn't turn furry if they didn't want to--but apparently they just made shit too intense for the everyday average guys who were fine facing bullets but apparently not so great with the full moon.

"I think they already know," he said dryly. He stood up and started to gather his jacket, his keys and his cellphone. He paused at the door. "So, uh, Stiles…" he asked delicately, and he was not reassured when Derek licked his lips, his stunning blue eyes hooded and ripe with something John did not want to think about directed at his baby boy.

"Stiles and I are gonna be fine," Derek murmured. "But you should probably find a safe place to hole up, okay?"

"Yeah," JOhn muttered, hoping he wasn't really abandoning his town to Babylon. "Sure. Back tomorrow morning."

He tore out of there like the fiends of hell were after him.

One of the first things that Carter had done was outfit his Jeep with bluetooth speakers, so he could talk to someone without looking at the phone. John hated new technology, and he wouldn't have used it if Carter hadn't rigged it to interact with his phone whenever he was in the car.  The fact was, he didn't know how to not use the phone in the car anymore, and once he'd muttered to himself, "Dammit, I need to talk to Jack!" and had found himself actually talking to Jack while he'd been out on a call.

So he was relieved when he slid behind the wheel, turned the car on and said, "I need to speak to Carter."

"I'm sorry, Carter is out on a call."

John groaned. "He needs to get this message, dammit-- like right now!"

"This unit understands, Sheriff Stilinski. But Carter isn't able to be reached--"

"Can I leave a message?" he asked, not sure what he could say.

"At the tone, leave a message.  Beeeep!"

John took a breath.  "Carter, it's the full moon. Every werewolf in Beacon Hills is in heat. I'm coming to your place--I'll sleep in the car in the front of the house if I have to, but please, don't make me watch werewolves fucking. Hang up, car."

There was no dial tone.

"Dammit, car, hang up."

Bupkiss.

"This call is over!"

"Message deleted."

John let out a little sob and decided to spend his energy getting to Eureka as fast as he could.

He passed not one, not two, but three werewolf couples, fornicating in the woods as he drove.  The last one was Scott-- he was sure it was Scott, he'd recognize that werewolf anywhere, and Scott was was viciously humping a young pup of a male werewolf as the Sheriff passed the border from Beacon Hills to Eureka.

Wow, that was uncomfortable, but John figured it made him lucky on two counts. Count one, Stiles had been going on forever about how Scott and Liam had needed to get together, and apparently the big werewolf orgy under the moon was their time.

Count two, it hadn't been Derek in human form, fornicating with John's son in public.

Dude, it was pretty much John Stilinski's lucky day right there, anybody would say that oh yes they would.

but that didn't stop John from speeding through Eureka, taking the turnoff to his boyfriend's house with enough speed to slide the back end right into a tree.  It didn't even phase him-- he got control of the Jeep and continued to race down the road until he saw the glimmer of the forcefield that would keep him out until Carter got home.

Well, John understood that Carter's teenage son was there, babysitting the daughter Jack had helped raise and the one he'd spawned but hadn't.  John was all for keeping them safe-- and he'd never even met them.

He came to a halt and cut the motor, sighing with relief.  Then it hit him.

God, he was hungry. And wide awake. And he had nothing to do until Carter decided to come home.

Goddammit. He was about to become the world's most bored man. He functioned on four hours of sleep for Christ's sake-- what was he supposed to do, just sitting outside, in woods where no werewolves fucked? It was just so… so peaceful, out here, and so quiet… and so… so un-werewolf-infested and…

*  *  *

Jack saw him, sleeping in the front of his Jeep as Carter pulled up.  He looked rumpled and tired and dear.  Carter's car had tried to tell him he'd had a car, but Carter had been neck deep in mad scientists trying to turn the town's water supply into grape jelly, so he hadn't been able to answer.

Now he figured that had probably been a pretty important phone call.  He parked his own car and hopped out, tapping on John's window.  John startled awake, looking disoriented and hostile fora moment, and then he rolled down his window.  "Sorry," he mumbled. "I fell asleep."

"I gathered," Carter cracked, grinning. God, he looked delicious, eyes opening and closing as he tried to orient himself, square jaw a little slack from sleep.  "So, what's the deal?"

"It's the full moon," John mumbled, frowning. "It was horrible--"

"Casualties?" Jack asked, suddenly afraid. He hadn't heard that the full moon caused more deaths, but that was because until he and John hooked up, nobody from either town talked to each other!

"No!" John protested. "Sex! It was all over the damned town! Werewolves humping everywhere! And they howl, and they don't care where they're shoving their things… and they knot. It's not a myth-- they knot even human, and all the humans apparently love it because they're all screaming, 'My God, do that more!'"  John shuddered and sank into his seat.  "So," he finished. "You know. I'd rather sleep in front of your house than go back to that."

Carter adjusted himself and stared at his boyfriend with big eyes.  "I'd, uh, rather take you inside, introduce you to the family, and see if Sarah couldn't activate the sound proof walls."

John stared at him, lean mouth slightly parted, and Carter took the opportunity to stick his head in the window and plunder. Ah, sleep and grumpy Sheriff. Carter loved that.

Carter pulled back from the kiss and smiled, thinking that his own night had just looked up considerably. "So," he said, feeling smug and self-satisfied, "how about we go inside and I feed you, and we introduce you to the kids, and then put them to bed."

John squinted at him, apparently two sentences back. "Sound proof walls?"

Carter grinned lasciviously. "Sheriff Stilinski, I really don't know what knotting is. HOw about sometime this evening, you tell me, okay?"

Oh! Carter could tell by the flush that washed his cheeks that he'd caught up with him now.

"Fine," John m uttered. "I'll tell you what it means-- but I won't demonstrate!"

Jack threw his head back and laughed. It was going to be a very good night!

FanFic Sunday?-- Interlude

Okay folks-- has been a LOOOONGGG GRL, but I enjoyed myself very much. Had dinner tonight with Ethan Day, and spent the afternoon visiting with Chicken, surviving San Diego traffic, and visiting her cat. Huzzah!

But I miss writing and I miss home and since my eyelids are drooping, I'm going to pitch a little John/Jack interlude about home.

*  *  *

John Stilinski's first day back at home was pretty forgettable-- mostly because he was so drugged he forgot most of it.  The next day, Stiles and Derek were around to help while Carter went and cleared out his inbox and made sure Jo could handle everything for the moment.

John awoke that night, still recovering from the humiliation of his potential son-in-law helping him to the bathroom--because there was a once-strange man rattling around his room.

"God you're loud," John mumbled. "It's a good thing Eureka's perps are all marshmallows, or you'd be dead."

Carter snorted. "Yeah, well, it's a good thing all your perps are werecreatures--with the gas you've passed since I've walked in here, you could kill them all dead."

Stilinski scowled. "Fucking pain meds. They knot up my insides like nothing else. Nungh."

Carter came to his bedside and touched his cheek carefully. "Here--let me go text Fargo that we need something easier on your stomach, and it'll be here in the morning."

"Wait--no! I don't want any special…"

But Carter was slipping into the hall with his phone, leaving John in the dark.

The better to fall asleep, right?

He woke up again, and Carter was lying next to him, one careful hand under Carter's blond sad, the other one lying gently on John's waist.

"This is nice," John mumbled. "How long's it last."

"Most nights," Carter mumbled back, kissing his neck.  "I only stay at Sarah the house when I'm watching the kids."

John grunted and allowed his touch, letting the gruff healing steal through him. "Too bad this house couldn't be Sarah. Derek and Stiles keep telling me they're cleaning shit downstairs, but it sounds like a fucking construction zone."

Carter made a noncomittal noise, and John fell back asleep.

The next morning the underground vacuum tube that Carter had ordered installed began to work. The first item shuttled between Eureka and Beacon Hills was John's non-binding pain meds.

The second thing was a drawing from Jack's daughter that she'd done for her childcare worker.

The third thing was a missive from Allison asking if the system worked well enough for Jack to get off her back and come back to work.

John answered that one with a hand-made thank you note.  And a promise to Stiles and Derek to never, ever, ever ship any of Beacon Hills's freaky assed trouble to their sweet marshmallow neighbors in Eureka.

.. or Was it Left? (The rest of yesterday's fic)

And we start with our intrepid heroes right before poor John gets put in the hospital, shall we?

* * *

 John thought that, if she hadn't ripped Carter's heart out, he might actually have liked Allison, Carter's ex.

Or at least she would have been his type.

"I'm sorry, Carter," she said acerbically, "you want me to what?"

"The alternative energy whatsis ," Carter said bluntly. "You need to drop it. One of our guys is out there with some sort of weapon, and his son and his son's friends can't protect themselves with it up."

The pretty woman with the amazing dark eyes and lovely dark skin frowned. "But the only way that thing would be a problem for anybody is if…"  She frowned at John.  "Your son's a supernatural being?"

John grimaced. "Not since his junior year in high school," he said apologetically. "But all his friends are werewolves."

"And his boyfriend," Carter said helpfully.

"Yeah him."  John didn't even want to think about his uneasy friendship with Derek Hale right now.  "They're running for their lives-- can we maybe take down the barrier so they can get away?"

"And figure out who's got a laser that converts to plain old bullets when it passes the barrier," Carter said, all business. "This guy is trying to kill innocent--"

John made a noise.

"They're innocent," Carter insisted, "People!"

"Well," Allison said with an indulgent smile, "since you're worried, we can put someone on it. But remember, this is Eureka, Jack-- we don't really get casualties here."

"Yeah, well people drop like flies in Beacon Hills," John snapped, "so maybe we could get a move on!"

Allison's head snapped back liked he'd hit her, and suddenly she looked actually concerned.  "Oh… yes. You're right. I'm sorry… here…"  She hit a button at her desk. "Fargo!"

Five minutes later, John was standing in a situation room with green X's and red X's and Carter and Allison standing together and finishing each other's sentences.

Fucking wonderful.

"So," Carter said tersely, "this spot here is the power source for the cross-preternatural-atom-smasher thingie--"

"And it's not working well,"  Allison muttered. "It wasn't well designed. It may just break down by itself--"

"Well we can't count on that!" John protested. "You people may have that kind of luck, but believe me, it doesn't run in Beacon Hills!"

"I hear you," Carter said distractedly. He was busy tracing the line with his fingers. "Okay-- that's the barrier, and it's part of his defenses-- if we destroy that--"

"But you can't just destroy it, Carter," Allison said, her tone lecturing and familiar at once. ""You have to shove something in here-- see?  This part right here?  That will complete the circuit.  And then get out of there because it won't take much to overload and short out. Now, Peterson--"

"The werewolf employee you fired," Carter supplied helpfully.

"Hey-- we didn't fire him because he was a werewolf--"

"But he didn't know that, so now he wants to kill all the fucking werewolves to prove something to you--"

"I'm sorry!" Allison exclaimed. "Look-- we had no idea there were so many of them. We didn't expect that barrier to catch anything, you understand? We're going to have to hire the guy who designed it back--we thought it was nuts!"

"We live forty miles away," John snapped, out of patience with their banter. "Forty goddamned miles. Somebody could have looked up our crime rate to see if maybe there wasn't something there. So right now, we've got to go put a… what? Something non-conductive in there, and we've got to do it before the… hey-- wait-- what's that?"

"That's Peterson," Allison said, assessing the infrared scans. "And he's tracking something."

"That's it!" John turned and stalked to the doorway. "I am going to go commandeer a goddamned car and get out there. That is my son he's tracking, and if it's not my son, it's his friends or his boyfriend, and basically kids I've known my whole life. So you people stay here and design kill jars for Tinkerbell, and I'm going to go save my kids."

He was halfway to the opulent elevator that would take him to the equally impressive atrium/foyer of the company when Jack appeared at his elbow.

"Jesus, John-- way to make an impression!" Carter laughed.

John cast him a sour look. "Are you sure she's gone back to her first husband? Because you two were pretty freakin' cozy. Maybe you can man the situation room and watch me become a little dot on the screen too.  Wouldn't have to move away from this madhouse if your boyfriend's a little dot on the screen, right?"

"John…" Carter soothed. "You know it's not--"

"Yeah. I get it. Not that easy. You've got kids. I get it. I've got kids, and your people are trying to kill them, and I'm not happy about that."  The elevator dinged and the two of them trotted down the steps and toward the entrance.  "I would really love it if nobody ended up dead, because believe me, it doesn't always go that way in my corner of the hell mouth, okay?"

Carter bumped shoulders with him. "Yeah, John. I get it. Let's go save your kids."

*  *  *

Stiles jumped his bike over a tree stump and around a big tree.  Behind him, he heard the weapon fire, and a bullet-- or laser bullet or whatever--ripped into the giant redwood he'd just used as shelter.  Another shot sounded, and he heard a yip of pain.

"Derek!" he shouted, just as Derek rounded the corner, barreling full speed. God, he wasn't sure how long the two of them could keep this up.

Sometime in the last hour, Scott and Liam had recovered their werewolf powers and for a moment, they'd distracted their pursuer while Stiles had tried to gain ground.  But he'd heard the gun report, and a couple of yips, and then silence, and his heart was pounding in his chest with worry.

God-- not Scott. Not Liam. They were probably just healing-- right?

Derek seemed to be able to shake the plain lead bullets that the laser was shooting, so they should-- right?

The barrier that had crippled Scott and Liam at the beginning had been fading in and out-- it was weird. It was like the power source was malfunctioning, and Stiles was beginning to hear a fluctuating, piercing whine as they ran.

But beyond the worry and the hope, there was the other worry and hope, and that was that they were being herded somewhere. There was a destination in mind. That was good, because Stiles knew his dad was coming to help. If there was a destination in mind, that meant his father wouldn't just be blindly wandering the woods trying to find running kids and wolves and asshole with a weapon, his dad could find them. 

It was a hope.

It was a hope that bloomed full grown when he steered the bike out into a clearing--and then turned and  stuck to the inner perimeter of the forest, because any idiot knew he was a sitting duck in the middle of the clearing.

The clearing was full of long grasses, with some sort of big machine whirring in the middle.  Oh, yeah-- probably the power center for whatever the barrier was. They were going to have to destroy that thing in a hot hurry, weren't they?  Stiles tried not to hit trees and brush while he scoped out the big scary machine, and it wasn't until he got about a quarter of the way around the perimeter--debris being shot around his head, that he realized that Derek was pretty fucking wily.

As soon as they'd burst into the clearing he'd sunk to his stomach, and while Stiles was dodging bullets and debris--

Derek was stalking their attacker-- but Stiles wasn't sure it was on the safe side of the barrier. What would happen if the thing went up-- would Derek be rendered helpless and naked for a few vital moments, like Scott had been?  God, what would happen if their attacker got caught in the barrier if it fluctuated up while they were struggling.

Oh hell-- not attacker-- he wasn't alone like they thought.

Attackers. 

Derek lunged at the guy with the gun and they both heard a "Don't worry, Dad! I'll amp up the barrier! He'll never live!"

Stiles panicked.

Wolf sounds and gun sounds were echoing throughout the clearing, and Stiles steered his bike through all of that deadly openness---

And was almost broadsided when a little electric police car burst in through a barely-visible dirt road.

The car screeched to a halt in front of the cement block holding the freaky machine, and Stiles's dad jumped out of the passenger side of the car, holding…

A baseball bat?

"Dad!" Stiles called out. "Dad-- what are you--"

The weapon fired-- but it was aimed inside the barrier, so a very effective laser shot out and cut the electric car in half.

"Aw crap," Carter muttered. He pulled out the weapon in his holder and went running in the direction of the trigger happy sonofabitch who killed his car.

"Stiles get down!" John called. "And call Derek off that guy-- Jack'll get him. He's a--"

"Dad!"

They could all hear the full snarling cacophony of a full-on werewolf fight.

"Dad, you're one of them!"

"Oh Jesus, save us all," John muttered.

"Crap!"

John and Stiles both looked up in time to see a kid in his late teens pick up the fallen weapon by the struggling furry bodies of Derek and a werewolf John had never seen before.

"Derek, no!"  Stiles cried out, and at that moment, the fluctuating whatever it was next to John gave a giant fuzzy red throb.

The two struggling werewolves because two struggling naked men, and Carter drew up short, exclaiming, "Oh that's not pretty!"

And the kid with the gun stood there with his finger on the trigger, his chin quivering. "Dad…"

Okay.  John recognized an opportunity when he saw it. He grabbed his bat-- Stiles's bat, actually, it was in the back of his car-- they'd passed it on the way.

Stealthily he made it to the power thingie, which was designed pretty much like any bad-guy's machine ever, with a big sparking gap in the middle that would fit a baseball bat perfectly. (John wondered if maybe Eureka wasn't a giant supernatural node exactly opposite of Beacon Hills's energy signature, because if this had been in Beacon Hills, it would have A. Looked a lot less simple and a lot more sinister, and B. Been guarded by something deadly that John had never heard of. No wonder Carter thought he could do anything-- his town pretty much cake-walked the hard stuff.)

He drew near the hydro-atomic-preternatural-energy-whatever and pulled out the bat, never taking his eyes off the kid.

Who apparently had gotten over his shock at finding out his father was a werewolf and had decided to kill them all.  And Stiles was the person closest to him, so that's where he aimed.

"Hey, asshole!" John called, and he couldn't miss the panicked look Carter gave him, or the way he stopped sneaking up on the kid and looked from John to the kid in back in agony. Tackle him, or shoot him? Tackle him or shoot him?  What a terrible choice.

Maybe John could save him.

"Look! You may want to take cover," John called out, edging closer to the reactor, "Because I don't know what this is going to--"

He shoved the bat into the space, and then hauled ass--toward the kid with the gun.

"Mister, what did you do?"  The kid asked in a panic.

"Michael, run!"  said his father, naked and disoriented on the ground.

"Don't talk to me!" Michael shouted. "You told me they were horrible, and you're one of them?"

The gun leveled toward Derek and Peterson on the ground again, and Stiles threw himself in front of both of them.

Jack leveled his weapon at the back of Michael's head and said, "Michael, put the gun down!"

MIchael looked behind him to see what the new threat was, and John shoved Stiles out of the way, hissing, "Get Derek out of here before that thing goes!"

Stiles grabbed Derek, who was staggering now, wobbling on his two feet, and looking behind him in confusion. Together they started shambling toward the forest, and just as John heard Stiles shout, "Scott! Liam! Get out of here, we don't know what's going to happen when that thing goes!", Michael leveled the weapon at John…

And the generator for the barrier shorted out, sending a shockwave of preternatural and hydro-atomic energy rocketing around the little clearing.

And the gun went off.

And that was the last thing John could remember.

*  *  *

And now he was loopy in the hospital, and everybody was taking responsibility for the fucked up kid and the dad who didn't want to be a werewolf.

And John just wanted Carter to stay.

"Scott's okay, you know," Carter said quietly, when John wandered off.

"Yeah," John smiled. "You said. Love that kid like I love my son. Don't want the werewolves to get killed. Is that so bad?"

"No."  Carter held his hand up to his lips.  "You know… Allison was by while you were out."

Ick. "Wonderful. Did you practice reading each other's minds and trade parenting pro-tips?"

"No," Carter said again. "We talked about how easy it would be to pave a road between Eureka and Beacon Hills off the main drag."

"Why would you do that?" John asked suspiciously. "Don't you have a talking house or something?"

"Yeah," John conceded. "And Sarah really loves my family. But.. you know. I could, maybe, hang out there when it's my turn with the kids, but…"

John swallowed. "So… like shared custody. I get shared custody of you with your stupid electronic town."

"Do you not want any custody at all?" Carter asked, and John looked up and saw his blue eyes held the same expression they had when Carter had propositioned him in the bar, those months ago.

They held hurt.

"Of course," John muttered. "Full custody would be nice. Full custody would be…"  Suddenly he started to chuckle, low and evil. "So that talking house," he muttered. "Would that be… you know… vacant, when you're not there with the kids?"

"Yeah?" Carter said doubtfully. "Why?"

"Cause I bet a werewolf and his boyfriend could live there. What do you think."

Carter nodded, and relaxed. "I think that sounds really good."  He closed his eyes then, and held John's palm to his cheek. "Almost as having you better sounds. You ready to get out of here? They say you can go home tomorrow."

John rolled his eyes, falling asleep already. "You're gonna make a shitty nurse, Jack Carter," he said distinctly.

"You're the idiot who's putting himself in my care," Carter murmured. "You have only yourself to blame."

Of course he did.

John closed his eyes and dreamed of waking up next to a man, an equal, a partner.

Dreamed of making love to that person at night.

Dreamed of making a life and a home in a way he'd never suspected.

Dreamed of Jack.


*  *  *

Okay-- probably not next week, when I'll be at GRL, but the week AFTER, we'll see Jack nursing John back to health.

And Then the Wolf Zigged Right

 Okay guys-- I was hoping I'd finish this installment tonight, but it's been something of a day, on the tail end of something of a week. I'm going to hit you with my best shot and hope for the best, okay?  (Turns out my best shot was not much. Sorry!  Maybe I'll add more to it tomorrow.)

*  *  *

"It was not," John Stilinski said muzzily from the hospital bed. "Not Jack's fault, not Stiles's fault…"

"Dad!" Stiles said, at the same time Jack squeezed his hand.

"znice," he mumbled. "So nice my son loves me. Would be even better if there wasn't such a big fuss everyone trying to get killed. That would be real frickin' nice."

"I'd have to agree with that," Derek muttered, sending Stiles a dark look.

"I was not trying to get killed!" Stiles retorted. "What I was trying to do was keep a certain werewolf from getting killed!"

"So was I," John said happily. "Me too! Scott--I was trying to keep Scott from getting killed."  He sobered, all business.  "We know Scott," he said, looking at Carter like Carter would find this totally okay. "He's Stiles's best friend-- good guy. Alpha werewolf. Lost his girlfriend in high school, very sad."

"Not as sad as him trying to date all those women when he's nuts bout Liam," Stiles muttered.

John shook his head like he was trying to wave that way. "I don't want to know about Scott's sex life," he begged. "I know way too much about yours."

"Well right backatcha," Stiles snapped, and Derek was a dear and smacked him on the back of the head.

"That's your fault,"Derek hissed. "Now let's make sure your dad's alright so he can talk to Carter!"

John smiled at his son, feeling like the whole world was a big balloon, and nodded. "Fine," he said, still stoned. "I like Carter. He's okay."

Stiles grunted and glared some more, but Derek nudged him meaningfully.  Stiles sighed and kissed his dad on the cheek. "Get better, Dad. We'll check with you a little later, okay?"

Sheriff Stilinski nodded, and then stared at Carter for a moment.  "You're staying, right," he said, eyes big.

Carter pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "You asked," he said after a sigh-- but he was still squeezing John's hand.

"You like me," John said loopily. "Can't ditch a bozo who likes me."

A corner of Jack's mouth quirked up. "Yeah, neither can I--but I'm telling you, Johnny boy, it's a rough sell when you jump into a hydro-electron atomic capacitor with nothing more than a baseball bat."

John nodded. "I'll be honest-- I was going for the guy with the gun."

"Yeah, I figured when the capacitor went off. You were damned excited about running in font of that thing, do you know that?"  Jack shuddered, and it was John's turn to squeeze his hand.

"We'll have to agree to disagree," he slurred, but Jack shook his head.

John groaned inwardly. He had the feeling Jack was not going to forgive him easily for how it all went down.

* * *

Priorities

Okay-- I am extremely pleased and surprised and flattered at how many of you REALLY love the Cartinski (as a reader has dubbed it) dynamic. (You can chime in as to whether you like that or John/Jack, actually-- I've been calling it John/Jack.)

One reader hath gone above and beyond and made me many many memes with our heroes on it, so I need to write at LEAST enough more episodes to use some of those up.  And I'm not arguing with that-- I like my middle aged dads. Have one myself, actually-- it's just nice to see the appreciation runs deep :-)

Enjoy!

* * *

The silence in the hospital room stretched long and thin.  Stiles sat near the head of the bed, arms crossed, glare focused at the top of Jack Carter's blond head.

Jack sat on the other side of the bed, elbows on his knees, blue eyes glued to the pale face of Stiles's father, as John Stilinski breathed steadily in and out.

Derek Hale stuck his head into the room.

"Stiles--"

"No."

"Stiles!"

"No!"

Derek stalked into the room, right into Stiles's body space, and bared his teeth. His canine teeth.

"Stiles."

Stiles's head snapped back and he stared unhappily into Derek's blue eyes.  "Derek, you can't possibly mean--"

"I do," Derek growled. "Can't you smell them?"

Stiles looked away from those bright blue, innocence-killing eyes.  "I don't have your nose, oh mighty wolfen warrior," he snapped.

Derek let out a sigh and leaned his head until his wrinkled brow touched Stiles's.

"Please tell me you're not just being an asshole."

Stiles darted his eyes to where his father lay, heavily bandaged, and fought for breath.

"Derek, it's my dad."

"I know."

"But…"

"But he's not just yours anymore."

Stiles let out a growl that sounded surprisingly like Derek's.  "I do not agree with that assessment."

Derek sighed. "I don't care if you agree or not. I can smell them, Stiles. Like Scott can smell me and you. It's a big deal."

Stiles let out a little whimper. "It was my fault--"

Derek shook his head. "So wasn't."

"It was--"

"It wasn't."

Both of them looked, surprised, to where Carter was still sitting at John's side. Tentatively, like he was afraid of his audience, Carter reached out a battered finger and stroked the back of John's knuckles as they lay on the sheet.

"Wasn't your fault, Stiles," he rasped. "Was mine."

Stiles and Derek let out identical sighs.

"It wasn't," Derek murmured to him.

"No, no--wasn't," Stiles agreed.

"Then you need to leave the room."  Derek wasn't a wolf anymore, but Stiles was actually more impressed than ever.

*  *  *

Stiles was the one who discovered that the boundary between Eureka County and Beacon Hills did weird shit to the supernatural.

He'd been out with the others on his mountain bike while Scott, Liam, and Derek were running in their furry forms.  They were further out behind Derek's property than Stiles, at least, could ever remember being, when Scott leapt over a log in his path…

And sparked blue, landing on the other side of the log in his human form, naked and fucking surprised.

Liam went leaping right over the damned log, but Derek stopped, executing some sort of ninja flip to keep himself clear.

For a moment, the woods were silent, as Stiles stared at his naked friends and they stared back.

"The fuck?"

"I feel…"  Scott mumbled, standing and wobbling a little.  "I feel…"  He put his hand out, like he was leaning on a wall, and howled instead as his hand sparked blue again.  they all watched as his paw turned furry, with claws on one side, and then turned pink and raw and human when he pulled it back.

"Oh," Scott mumbled, looking at Stiles in panic. "This is… bad."

And then they heard the gunshot, and the blue laser came out of nowhere, missed Scott by inches, and blew the log he'd jumped over into splinters.

Stiles and Derek looked at each other, and did the couple-sympatico thing that they did sometimes.  Scott and Liam were naked and confused, and Stiles and Derek were not-- somebody needed to distract fire.

Stiles grabbed Scott's phone from his pocket and threw it across the invisible veil.  "Scott!"

Scott's attention snapped forward and he caught the phone with werewolves instincts, and Stiles shouted, "Call my dad!"

And then he and Derek started screaming and yelping at the top of their lungs, and the blue laser bolts followed them through the forest, towards the rubble of Derek's old house, as they screamed back through the forest.

*  *  *

Carter's cock, thick and wide, was stretching John's ass so wide, so sweetly, he lost the ability to brain words.

"Nungh…"  He pounded on Jack's shoulders, trying to beg for faster, for harder, when Jack was just moving slow as syrup.

Jack chuckled and lowered his head to blow in John's ear.  "You really like this, don't you?"

Oh, Lord. Everything had faded into the pressure and burn in his asshole, the swollen ache of his cock, and the smell and texture of Carter's lovely body as he drove hard and slow into John.

"Ungnungh…"

In John's whole life, he couldn't remember when sex had taken him so far outside himself, immersed him so totally into this other world with the person inside his body.  He clenched Jack's shoulders harder, so physically needy for pleasure, it was like those long years without any joy had never existed at all.

Carter chuckled more, his breath short, and started to move a little faster.

"Ah… yes…"  John closed his eyes, afraid they'd tear up.  How embarrassing, crying from pleasure, crying in front of another man.

But Carter grabbed a handful of John's hair and forced his head back. "No hiding," he growled, and John nodded.

"Okay… just… just… don't stop…"

Carter nodded, his jaw set, and the deliciously slow lovemaking that had become their afternoon suddenly sped up, huge and fast. Lightning and thunder, rolled through John's body, blinding him, deafening him, to everything but Jack's harsh pants in his ears and the euphoria rushing through his blood.

Whoosh!

Like wildfire, the climax rushed them both, and Carter whooped just as John gasped.  Carter's cock pulsed with orgasm, and John moaned, spraying cum over his stomach and chest.  The world stopped, for just that breath, and then Carter fell to the side of him, his spend rushing out all over John's ass, and John let out a groan and threw his arm over his eyes.

The sound that issued from John's throat then was pure joy.

"Good?" Jack asked, tracing a pattern between John's nipple and his belly button.

"You've killed me," John laughed, so replete he wasn't sure he could move.

Then Carter licked his nipple and he laughed, pulling his knees up to his chest.  Carter laughed too and continued to play, tickling behind his knees and his ribs and his tender stomach. John rolled to his side, laughing like a kid, and Carter stopped tickling him long enough to rest his chin on John's upper arm.

"I like this," Carter said soberly.

"I'm not complaining."  John smiled into Carter's pretty blue eyes, feeling winsome and young for the first time in forever.

"I'd like more of this," Carter said.  He smiled. "I'm not a smart man…"

"But I know what I like," John finished for him. Yeah, he'd heard all about Carter's job in Eureka. Carter never said it, never mentioned the times he'd seen something that the rest of the world hadn't, but John was truly coming to believe the world would have been destroyed a couple of times over if Carter wasn't doing what he was doing.

"I'd like more of this," Carter said softly.

"How do we do that?"  Seriously.  "I'm up to my ass in werewolves, Jack. You live in a sentient house that would probably try to eat me if I ever came over."

"I don't share," Carter responded, grimacing.  He sighed. "Yeah, I know. Pretty dreams, right? You and me, setting up house. I mean…"

Allison had left him while pregnant with his child. Carter had two stepchildren, Zoe, and a one year old in shared custody, and all of those people were in Eureka.  He wasn't just going to walk out on them--and John didn't want them to.

"It's forty miles too far," John sighed.  He brightened after a moment. "But, you know, Derek and Stiles might move to Eureka, and maybe Scott can move the base of ops--"

Carter was shaking his head. "No-- no, I don't think so. We had this weird influx of druids one year, and Fargo set up this sort of supernatural border patrol--"

John swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Wait-- what does it do?"

Carter shrugged. "I don't know--but whatever it did to the druids, they left us the hell alone."

John groaned, suddenly seeing all the ways this could go south, just as his cell phone rang.

He picked it up and Scott McCall shouted through the speaker, his voice pitching and yawing as, it sounded like, he swung from form to form.

Carter started throwing on his uniform, which had been strewn around their usual hotel room in anticipation of a long lunch, saying, "Oh man, that can't be good."

John was pulling his writing pad and pen out of his shirt pocket, while he threw the shirt over his shoulders.  "Okay, okay son-- calm down. Now give me the nearest landmark--"  He put his hand over the receiver and glared at Jack.  "They are in Eureka, Carter, and someone is chasing them with a laser, dammit!

"Aw crap," Jack muttered, pulling on his boots.

*  *  *

Jack drove while John conferred with Scott on one phone, and pulled out Carter's other phone to call Parrish.  "The guy with the gun is on the other side of the barrier," he snarled. "But we don't want to shoot him with real bullets if we can help it-- according to… Sherriff Carter, that blue laser will only blow things apart if they're supernatural."

"So Derek's toast?" Parrish asked, as though making sure.

John closed his eyes. "No-- Derek is not toast."  He thought of Stiles, try ing to mountain bike faster than a glowing laser gun.  "My son-- my son is most likely toast."

"Your son is not toast," Carter snapped.  "Here-- give me my phone--"

"You're trying to drive!"

Carter grunted.  "Car!"

"Yes sir?"

"Call Allison."

"Your former wife no longer resides in your resid--"

"She's at the company ruling the world with her husband, dammit. Now poke her, and tell her we need to put that damned border ray on hold!"

"Sir, are you sure she'll take your calls?"

"Tell her my boyfriend's son is in danger, dammit, and use those exact words!"

The car shut up long enough to go have it's conversation, and John looked at him.

"Carter, did you just out yourself to your whole town?"

Carter shrugged. "Allison knew," he said, almost defensively.

"That's really brave," John said, his body remembering the way that possession had rolled through it.  This man was so much more than the dumbest employee in Eureka.

To be continued… 

(Sorry guys-- tired-- I'll continue this next FRiday.)

We Shall Never Speak of This Again

Wherever Sheriff Stilinski went with his new "friend", he didn't get back until the shadows were dripping golden through Stiles's bedroom window.

Stiles and Derek were just getting out of the shower when they heard him come through the door, calling, "Guys! Guys! I've got some pizza here!"

Derek half-laughed in the middle of pulling his freshly laundered shirt over his head. "You know, your dad is pretty awesome."

Stiles nodded and pulled his boxers on. "You've got clothes for tomorrow?" he asked. "I mean, now that I did laundry?"

Derek nodded. "Yeah, but--"

"Then stay. Again. For dinner."

"Stiles--"

"Your place sucks. It's big and broody and lonely. Lots of women slept there who either tried to kill you or died. Stay here."

Oh Lord. So easy. Would be so easy just to stay here and pretend they were one happy family.

When John Stilinski called out again it was from the foot of the stairs. "Are you telling me neither of you have an appetite?"

"Be right there, Dad!" Stiles called from his door. "What kind of pizza?"

"I brought three--combination, with anchovies, and pepperoni. Derek can eat them all if he feels like it, because I had a big salad with chicken for lunch."

Stiles's grunt did not sound like he was buying it. "Why would you do that without me nagging?"

"I had lunch with another middle aged man, Stiles. Do you think we both don't check cholesterol?"

"Huh. Yeah, give us a minute."

Stiles closed his door and checked over his shoulder to see if Derek was clothed.

And Derek smacked him in the face with a T-shirt and sweats. "Stop tormenting him," he said. "And yes, I'll stay until tomorrow."

Stiles's grin was so happy/evil, Derek tried really hard to pretend he didn't know what he'd just signed on for. Stiles was going to make him ask "the question".

*  *  *

John Stilinski was still befuddled over the events of the night before.

Well, not really befuddled. Bemused. 

Well, not really bemused.  AROUSED. 

Yes, he probably should have been entering the viagra years, but every time he'd thought about what he and Jack had done in the muted quite of his bedroom the night before, his erection grew both uncomfortable and embarrassing.

Which explained how a trip to Eureka to take Jack out to lunch had gone on a lot longer than either one of them had planned.

Because last night…

They'd both taken off their shoes before they entered the kitchen, and John had listened carefully before they padded up the stairs.

Oh, thank God. Not a sound--just the unmistakeable smell that was probably werewolf sex, because Stiles had been pretty active with boys and girls before Derek, and John had never been quite that… overwhelmed with pungency until Derek.

"Oh my God…" Jack whispered behind him. "It smells like… like sweat sox and elephant semen."

John chuckled as they passed Stiles's room and dragged Jack unselfconsciously down the hall.

"The sweat sox were my son's," he admitted. "The other thing--"

"Werewolf sex?"

"Saying."

John stopped in his doorway and frowned. "Wait a minute-- how do you know what elephant semen smell--"

Jack kissed him again, that same assertive sweetness that he'd given in the car, and John melted against the doorframe.  Fumbling, he reached behind him and opened the door, backing up so Jack could come in and shut the door behind him. He pulled back long enough to turn on the lamp near his bed, hearing the snick of the lock just as he looked up.

Jack was walking toward him with definite intent, unbuttoning the cuffs of his blue dress shirt as he walked.

John was suddenly, acutely aware that he was forty-seven years old. Yeah, sure, he went running more mornings than he didn't, and he worked out his upper body when he could--but still. Time didn't tell kind lies. He knew his chest hair was a little gray and his ass wasn't as tight as it had been and--

Carter finished unbuttoning his shirt and drew near, close enough for John to feel his heat. His rough hands cupped John's cheeks and he made John look at him.

John was really starting to like those crinkles in the corners of his eyes.  "What?" he asked, his voice shaking a little.

"You tell me."

John looked down to the neck of Carter's tank. His chest was muscular and broad, and he only had a few blonde hairs in the center.

"You've got a really nice chest," he said, feeling pathetic.

Carter laughed softly and lowered his head, kissing him behind the jaw. "You've got really nice eyes," he said, brushing John's ear with his lips.

"Backatcha… oh…"

"And I like your laugh," Carter continued, nibbling down the side of his neck.  "And your kindness…"

"Mmm…"

Carter was unbuttoning the front of John's shirt, and John had lost track of why they were telling each other stupidly nice things--but that didn't mean he was going to drop the ball.

"You've got a really nice smile," John mumbled, as Carter kissed down his chest. They were both wearing tanks under their blue dress shirts, which was sort of funny, really, but John didn't feel like laughing.

Particularly when Carter shoved the dress shirt off his shoulders and then lifted his tank up by the hem and pulled it over his head.

"You like my smile?" Carter asked, his eyes glinting wickedly in the lamp light.

"Yeah," John said, comfortable again in his own skin. He raised a hand and rubbed Carter's abdomen under his tank. "I really like your smile."

"Do you like my teeth?" Carter teased, and John frowned.

"Sure-- they're part of a smile right--ooooh…"

Carter lowered his head to John's chest and nibbled gently on his nipple.  John's hand flailed for Carter's shoulder, and Carter licked the the nipple, and then nibbled again, and then nipped.

"Ahh…"  John's hands flailed, finally finding purchase on Carter's hard biceps. He squeezed hard, knowing he couldn't hurt, couldn't bruise, and he realized there were unexpected good things about being with a man.

Carter chuckled and licked over to his other nipple and John groaned and sat down hard on the bed.

"Lay back," Carter ordered.

So easy. Just do what this kind, funny man asked him to and touch back. Run his hands down the smooth skin of Carter's back, knead his chest, enjoy the little catches of breath he made when John hit something particularly sensitive.

And keen as Carter paid copious amounts of attention to a part of John's body he'd thought had fallen off years ago.

John's hips were arching off the bed, and Carter's hand at his groin made him ache. "Oh God!" he breathed. He reached awkwardly down between them, trying to reach Carter's groin to see if he had an erection that could pound nails.

Carter pulled back and laughed.  "YOu want to do this like gentlemen? I'll show you mine and you show me yours?"

John had never felt like a nervous virgin before--like Stiles, he'd pretty much thrown himself into sex with a sort of practical joy. You had to have it, right, or your dick would fall off? (He'd actually heard Stiles say that to his first girlfriend-- if he hadn't used that line on Stiles's mother, he would have smacked the kid in the back of the head.)  But he felt like a nervous virgin now.

"Yeah," he said, trying not to hide. "But, uhm, can we do it under the covers."

Jack's laugh and smile were enough to make John's stomach flip.  "Yeah, sure."

"God--your dimples--fucking lethal."

Carter chuckled some more as he stood and gave John a hand up. John had to turn his back to strip, he was so embarrassed. By the time he'd gotten naked and scrambled under the covers, Jack was naked too. He stood next to the bed and held his hands out before doing a little turn and presenting himself again.

His stomach was the washboard stomach John had once possessed in his youth, and his chest was just as wide and wonderful as it had felt under John's hands.  His skin was a sort of natural gold, even the pale part of his hips and thighs.  And now that John had taken that inventory, he could move down to the thing that scared him the most.

"Oh."

Yeah. It was big. John couldn't seem to come up with a comparison-- was it bigger than his? Longer? Wider? Or did all the bigness come because it was probably going to end up inside John's-- uh, either way, it was wide and thick and long and erect. 

Basic sex mechanics seeped into John's brain. "Uh, that's for me?" he asked, confused.

"Yeah, John. I, uh, don't normally spring one of these for someone I'm not excited to see."

John bit his lip again and whooshed the covers down, exposing his pale, middle aged glory for Carter to inspect.

Carter didn't. He slid into bed next him, and caught his mouth in another knee-melter of a kiss. John was glad he was lying down, seriously. And then Jack threw his leg over John's hips, and blew his mind.

OH God, two male naked bodies, sliding together, their chests touching, their groins… oh God. Carter's cock was touching his. It was the most amazing, wistful sort of foreplay.

John wanted to touch it!  He reached down between them, not so awkwardly this time, and grabbed him, appreciating the size and texture of him in his palm. He closed his fingers and squeezed, stroking up toward the head, and then he rubbed his thumb.

"Oooh…" he breathed. "Skin's so soft…"

Carter's pained chuckle made him flush, and then Carter's hand on John's erection, doing exactly what John was doing to Carter, made him groan.

STroke… stroke… stroke stroke stroke stroke stroke… oh God! A man's hands were on him, a man was touching him, kissing him, and his body was vibrating, swelling, aching, and climax was rolling in his thighs and his stomach--

"I'm gonna come!" he gasped.

"Come…" Jack whispered. "We've got the whole night…"

"Ahhh…"  Oh, it had been so long. His testicles tightened up between his thighs, and the edge of Jack's thumb caught on his slit, just as his fingers tightened around John's crown and…

"Ohhh…" He whimpered into Jack's mouth and Jack captured the sound.  Oh… oh God… Ohhhh…. Oh, he'd forgotten what climax at someone else's hands felt like. A hand job, naked bodies, a passionate kiss--apparently these things were the same no matter who was giving them.

Or maybe because the person giving them was giving them right.

John melted into the mattress, aware that Jack had continued stroking him through the slickness of come.  After a moment, when his dick had swelled again, and he was hard and tight and a little tender, he grunted and pulled his hips back.

"That was amazing," he breathed, smiling at Carter with a sort of innocent gratitude. "What can I do to… you know…"

"YOu ever given a blow job?" Carter asked, his hips twitching with a little bit of urgency.

"Nope."  John grinned. "But I'll try anything once." He rolled his hips and moved his body until he was eye level with Jack's chest. "But first, I'd like to try these…"

Male nipples were tiny and hard, and he liked them very much. He especially liked the throaty sounds Jack made when he nibbled on them, and he understood why the other man had spent so much time there. But John had a goal now, and he kissed his way from nipple to nipple, staying just long enough to make Carter grab his shoulders and keen with frustration.

"You know what you are," Carter mumbled and John kissed his way down a mildly furry abdomen to a perfectly shaped, bald cockhead.

"A middle aged man learning how to give head?"

"A prick tease," Carter said, then he leaned his head back and gave that appealing, throaty laugh just as John licked his crown.

The laugh turned into an "ooooh…" and John realized he was enjoying the hell out of this. His own cock still tingled, and it was already aching. And the taste of the pre dripping from Carter's cock had really flipped his switch.

He didn't even have to think, didn't have to feel, didn't have to have the big epiphany about, "Oh my God, I'm touching a guy's dick with my mouth!" because he wanted to taste that again. 

He carefully positioned his teeth and lips and tongue and sucked Carter in like he was pulling on an extra thick popsicle.

Jack's hushed grunt and his fingers scrabbling in John's hair were enough to keep John hard for hours. Oh, man, this was power. It had been power with a woman and it was just as powerful with another man. He was doing something for Carter, something important, something huge. 

He pulled up his fist and started stroking, using his lips and tongue together. He wasn't a pro or smooth or sophisticated--he was what he always had been: serviceable and competent.

He could tell by Carter's increasingly frantic tugging on his head that he was about to cum, and suddenly, he didn't want to pull away. He was lost in it, in giving someone pleasure, in doing something, something of importance, even if it was making this charming, kind man climax.

"John… coming…"

John's response was to move his hand and lower his head and bottom out as best he could.

Jack bit his own shoulder and grunted, and poured into John's mouth, the saltiness and bitterness enough to make John gag a little, and spill some out of his mouth. It puddled in a mess over Jack's balls, but John didn't have time to be embarrassed, because Jack  pulled him up by the shoulder.

"C'mere," he muttered thickly. "Here…"

John went, proud and aroused and thrilled, because… oh yes! There was Carter's mouth, and his tongue exploring, tasting again, and John answered, the shyness and hesitation gone. He'd do anything-- everything-- because doing it with this man felt so right.

The kiss went on, and on, and on, until they were both thrusting against each other's groins some more, and Jack pulled back with a gasp.

"So," he panted, a sleepy, sated, aroused smile on his face. "Round two?"

"God, yeah," John answered. "Who does what?"

Jack's smile was sin itself, and his voice made John's cock even harder…

* * *

Derek went down the stairs first, knowing Stiles would wait a scant five minutes before crashing the supposed ten minutes of talk time he'd given for Derek to answer the all important question.

God, he didn't want to do this.

"Derek!" Sheriff Stilinski said, sounding genuinely happy to see him. "Come get the pizza before it becomes, you know, tepid."

Derek smiled a little, recognizing Stiles's sense of humor and dorkiness wrapped up in the stolid, no-bullshit man he'd once been so contemptuous of.

"Tepid pizza is better, sir," he said gravely, and was rewarded by John Stilinski's quick grin.

"That should be on a T-shirt," he answered, just as gravely. "Where's Stiles?"

Derek sighed. He couldn't go through with this. "Waiting for me to ask you the most embarrassing question of all times, sir."

Sheriff Stilinski paused in the act of getting plates out from the cupboard. "Oh hell. Could we not?"

"He's relentless. You know he's relentless."

"Even if I give the answer, you know what's going to happen--"

"Squeamishness? Weirdness? Having your name dragged into my sex life for at least another month? Yes sir, I know."

"Oh God."  John shook his head and set the plates on the table, very carefully not looking at Derek. "So why are you--"

"Because if we get it out of the way now, I'll get my boyfriend back sooner. So, uhm, do you mind?"

"Jesus. I swear-- if I wasn't going to see the guy for as long as humanly possible, I'd say it wasn't worth it--"

Derek rubbed the back of his neck. "You know he'll be awful, right? He'll be asking that nice Sheriff Carter until the poor guy runs screaming from the house--"

"Yes. Yes I know."  John grabbed napkins and a glass bowl and put them both on the table, and then took the salad out of the plastic thing and put it in the glass bowl.  "Dammit. Fine."  He turned and balled the salad bag up and pitched it into the trash can by the sink. "Both of us. Happy?"

Derek thought about it.  Both. For some reason that canceled shit out. "Best answer we could hope for-- thank you sir."  Then he turned his head and shouted over the stairs. "Stiles, they both topped! Now stop being a child and get down here and eat!"

"OH my God! You told him I told you to ask!"

Derek met John's eyes and for a moment they were both in complete agreement.

"We shall never speak of this again," Jon said gravely.

Derek nodded his head. "A-fucking-men."