Chapter Text
Stiles hadn’t slept over at Scott’s house since the fifth grade—not because it wasn’t something he wanted to do, but because sleepovers just weren’t as fun as they used to be. Back then, a sleepover meant conquering the challenge of staying up past midnight without passing out. It meant getting to swallow down hoards of junk food that would ultimately result in a dramatic stomachache sometime during the night. It meant hanging out with friends. That was about it.
But sleepovers became significantly less exciting once the challenge of staying up past midnight was no longer that much of a challenge, but rather—normal everyday life. Plus, Stiles’ stomach had matured a lot since the fifth grade and he could quite happily pack away an entire large pizza and a whole 2-liter of strawberry cola without as much of an unsettled stomach gurgle. And it wasn’t like Stiles didn’t already see Scott everyday at school and at lacrosse practice.
However, Stiles’ father’s annual police taskforce conference rolled around and it meant that his dad would be jetting off to Colorado for a few days because that’s where the conference was—and he was meant to be the event’s guest speaker. Normally, the whole conference thing meant that Stiles would have the entire house to himself. But thanks to an outbreak of home burglaries in Beacon Hills, John insisted that Stiles spend the remainder of the week at a friend’s house. Sure, Stiles was a bit bummed, but he was excited to see what sleepovers could be like at the age of eighteen. Plus, he didn’t have a problem helping keep his own father’s mind unhindered by worry.
Stiles parked his jeep in front of Scott’s house and hopped out. He reached back inside of his jeep and grabbed hold of his overnight bag’s straps, tugging at it from where it was slouched over in the backseat of the jeep. Eventually, Stiles was able to pull the bag free from its positioning—grunting out with strain as he found himself truly battling against the bag’s ultimate weight. But that’s what was to be expected when packing an “overnight” bag with much more than just a standard night’s necessities.
Lugging the bag up the length of Scott’s driveway and all the way up to the front door of the house took Stiles way longer than he would have liked to admit, but he was still successful, nonetheless. He was only slightly winded and broken out in a moderate amount of sweat. Still—beating at the front door with heavy, frantic knocks was like crossing the finish line of a marathon.
The front door was eventually pulled open around the thirtieth or fiftieth knock to reveal Scott McCall in all of his typical puppyish glamour. He was smiling cheek-to-cheek—clearly excited about having a sleepover, despite the fact that it was supposed to not be “cool” at the age that the two of them were. But who the hell stuck to the status quo, anyways? Stiles and Scott were self-certified rebels.
Scott was wearing a regular maroon tank-top that hugged the ridges of his pecs and abs nicely. It also happened to show off the bicep tattoo that Scott was still very much proud of having inked on his body. He was also wearing a pair of tight sweatpants that also showed off another thing that Scott was surely equally as proud to have. A nice dick! Even Jackson Whittemore—the preppy bitch boy jock at school—felt obligated to stop and stare whenever Scotty dropped his towel.
But even though Scott was tatted, Stiles was certain that he had his best friend beat in the “my parents would kill me for having this” department. Stiles had a straight-barbell nipple piercing in solid silver through his left nipple and he had to admit that despite the initial pain of the piercing, it would definitely gave him an edge up in the hotness competition with the other guys at school when he revealed it. A tattoo was nice—and pretty hot. But not even the most popular guys at school had their nipple pierced, at least none of the guys that Stiles scoped out.
“Dude, you could have called to tell me that you were here.” Scott said, beaming down to the massive overnight bag that was settled at Stiles’ feet. “I would have helped you bring in your luggage.”
“Yeah—well, it wasn’t that hard to do.” Stiles huffed, rubbing at where the bag’s straps had dug into his shoulder blade.
Scott chuckled. “I guess you’re just naturally sweaty and out of breath.”
“In that case—” Stiles squinted dejectedly, kicking the bag with one of his feet to nudge Scott’s attention down to where it remained on the porch. “—I’ll see you and my bag inside.”
Stiles breezed past where Scott was standing in the threshold of the door, patting the werewolf on the firmness of his chest for extra encouragement as he stepped into the warmth of the house. All the while, Scott snickered and shook his head—beating himself up for stepping right into Stiles’ quick wit. He reached down and picked up Stiles’ bag with ease, thanks to his enhanced werewolf strength, figuring that it would be just a little funny to place the bag on top of Stiles while he was sleeping to see if he’d be able to get up or not.
Once inside, Scott dropped the bag off upstairs in his bedroom and then returned downstairs to find Stiles rummaging through the content of the fridge. It was already six-thirty in the evening, so yeah—it was time for dinner. But there was nothing worth salivating over in the fridge considering the fact that the McCall residence was a good couple weeks overdue for a grocery haul.
“Shit.” Stiles groaned, cradling his stomach with one of his arms. “Should I have picked up some pizza on the way over here?”
“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Scott reassured. “Derek’s about to get off from work and I told him to pick up some Chinese take-out for dinner and to get some snacky shit for the next few days.”
Stiles grimaced, shutting the fridge door. “Okay, but like—his idea of ‘snacky shit’ consists of vegetables, steamed chicken, and protein shakes.”
“He better fucking not.”
Derek was Scott’s older brother. He worked downtown at Champ, which was the most popular gym in the entire city. And not only did Derek work a gym, but he also looked and acted the part of somebody who did fitness of the living. For starters, he only ate healthy food. Secondly, Derek was a total fucking beefcake. When he wasn’t at the gym working, he was at the gym working out his muscles—and it really showed. Like, sure—Derek was also a werewolf, like Scott, which definitely helped when it came to fat-burning and muscle definition— but not even the other werewolves Stiles knew looked quite as good as Derek.
And maybe it was because looks weren’t everything. Yes, Derek had it going the fuck on. He had gorgeous muscles and a perfectly sharp stubbled jawline, as well as striking bright eyes and an ass that you could bounce a dime on. But Derek also had a captivating personality and way that he carried himself. He was obnoxiously heterosexual, but not like the loud frat guys that frequented the local bars. His heterosexuality was more obnoxious in the way that he always worked out, smelt like smoky, earthy deliciousness, drove a dope car, and had a majorly hot girlfriend.
Stiles knew that if there really was some kind of higher power, it had the cruelest sense of humor. Because really, who in their right mind could look at Derek and think, “oh yeah, let’s make this man really good looking and addictively interesting in every kind of way…but he’s straight”. It was ridiculous and Stiles was just lucky that he had honed his skill of oogling Derek from a safe distance without ever letting Scott know that his own bestie had the hots for his big bro.
◭
Twenty minutes later, there was an extremely loud commotion downstairs at the front door of the house. There were loud bangs and audible disgruntled mumbles. Scott and Stiles booked it downstairs from where they had been lounged around in Scott’s shared bedroom—waiting around for their dinner delivery—because it was obvious as to who was causing all of the sudden commotion. After all, disgruntled mumbling was practically Derek’s brand.
“It’s about damn time.” Stiles jeered, bouncing over to where Derek was standing in the foyer with plastic takeout bags in his hands. “I guess we won’t be put to bed hungry tonight, Scotty.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Derek grumbled, shooting Stiles one of his famous glares as he shoved the bags into Stiles’ hold and then pushed past where Scott was standing expectantly.
Scott playfully bumped up against Derek’s shoulder, catching his attention. “Bad day at work or something?”
Derek only grimaced in response—letting the inherent boldness of his expressive eyebrows answer what he considered to be a stupid question. Scott just raised his hands in surrender, pleading to not get pummeled. He figured that there really wasn’t any point in trying to pull information out of his older brother. After all, Derek liked to keep to himself, that’s just how he was. He was a broody shit and all of that pent up steam rarely came out to play.
Stiles watched as Derek made his way upstairs. He tracked the careful bounce of Derek’s ass as he took his steps, taking mental snapshots of the curvature of Derek’s ass, the broadness of his shoulders, and the shape of his back muscles that pressed through the back of his tight shirt. He couldn’t help but think that it was unfair somebody could look hot from the front and from the back.
“Eat upstairs of down here?” Stiles asked, pushing an eggroll into his mouth. The majority of the food was still in the plastic takeout bags, but Stiles was hungry and eggrolls were too tempting.
“Uh—upstairs.”
Stiles nodded in agreement as Scott pivoted at led the way upstairs. Both of Stiles’ hands were full with takeout and there was still a half-eaten egg roll stuffed into his mouth, hanging out the corner of his lips like a cigar. But it was the best that Stiles could do to avoid losing his precious food as he kept up the casual conversation.
“Are you sure Derek isn’t going to get all pissy with us for eating in his bedroom?” Stiles asked, slightly mumbled.
“It’s not just his room.” Scott said, rounding the wooden threshold of the bedroom. “So—Derek can get fucked.”
Luckily for both Scott and Stiles, Derek wasn’t even in the bedroom to complain about the unwanted company. He was across the hallway in the bathroom, taking a post-work shower that probably wouldn’t do much to flood away his bad attitude. But at least that it meant there weren’t be any brotherly screaming or passive aggressive remarks for a good fifteen minutes or so. It gave Scott and Stiles plenty of time to eat their dinner and watch some TV in peace.
The two settled on Scott’s side of the bedroom and eagerly opened up the couple bags of takeout—pulling out the plastic utensils and cardboard containers. Scott hopped up and sat down atop his mattress, which was embarrassingly cluttered with clothes and papers that had been previously stuffed inside of his backpack at one point in time. Yes, his side of the room was messier than the prim and phenomenally organized side that belonged to Derek. And sure, to complete outsiders, even the slightest glimpse of Scott’s mess would unnerve an appetite.
Luckily, Stiles’ stomach was just as strong as his ability to annoy the living shit out of Derek. He didn’t mind Scott’s messy room—considering the fact that his room back at his own house was nearly just as tossed around. But all of the mess left no room whatsoever to sit on Scott’s bed, so Stiles opted to take a seat on the bedroom floor, just below where Scott was hoisted up. Stiles sat with his legs crossed, Chinese food containers tucked in-between his calf muscles, with his back pushed flush against the horizontal length of Scott’s twin-sized bed.
As the two ate their dinner, Scott flipped through the channels of the TV that was situated on the dresser across the room and right next to Derek’s bed. Unfortunately, there really didn’t seem to be anything even remotely interesting to watch. So Scott settled on a random rerun of a Twilight Zone episode that seemed as though it had the potential to evolve into something entertaining. But seeing as how Stiles was almost done with his meal and Derek’s shower time was coming closer to a close, it didn’t really matter seeing as how they’d get booted back downstairs when Derek returned to do his nightly yoga stretches.
Stiles finished off his last eggroll with a couple hefty swallows and then set his bag of empty containers to the side. He looked down around where he was still seated, down to the random articles of Scott’s discarded clothing—carefully trying to pick out a t-shirt or pair of shorts that could function as a napkin for his own greasy fingers. After all, all of the clothes on the floor needed to take a dip in the nearest laundry machine and Scott wasn’t going to mind a few grease stains anyways.
Eventually, Stiles caught sight of a striped red and white t-shirt—something that he had never actually seen Scott wear before. He reached out and tugged at the fabric, pulling it into his grasp before using it to wipe off his fingers, hands, and lips. But then as he went to toss away the dirtier version of an already dirty shirt, Stiles found himself caught on the sight of what looked like some sleek and fancy new tablet device that had been previously covered by Scott’s dirty clothes.
Stiles set his “napkin” to the side and then reached over to pick up the tablet. It was extremely lightweight in his hands, almost like he was holding air. The tablet was about the size of a standard iPad, but it definitely wasn’t manufactured by any tech company that he knew about. There was something incredibly advanced and futuristic about the minimalistic sleekness of it all. Plus, the entire tablet was somewhat transparent. It was like a slab of thin tinted glass, yet had a few buttons and no sharp edges.
As Scott remained invested in watching TV and continuing with his dinner, Stiles analyzed the tablet as best he could. He tilted it around and looked at it—through it, even—at different angles. He ran his fingertips across the screen, held it up to his ears, and even decided to take a whiff of it for good measure. After all, he was the son of a sheriff and it was always important to cover all of your bases when presented with a new mystery. It wasn’t Stiles’ fault that he was naturally inquisitive.
But then Stiles’ thumb accidentally slid across one of the sleek buttons that were located at the bottom of the tablet’s front—sparking the mysterious device to awaken from its slumber with a soft, hummed note. And then just as suddenly as it turned on, it started to speak with a robotic, yet calming male-toned voice. It sounded nearly human, yet mixed with just a tinge of robot. Still—the automated voice was more human-sounding when compared to any other AI voices.
“Welcome to MORPH.” The voice noted calmly.
A loading page popped up with what appeared to be an acronym—M.O.R.P.H—centered on the screen. The page looked like it was some kind of high-tech alien software, with brightly pulsing honeycomb wiring and a crisp view at what was clearly some kind of galaxy starburst clouds. And yet, the picture was so crisp and high quality that it didn’t even look like a picture. It didn’t look like something that could be displayed on a video screen. It looked like a window into something beyond Earth, like Stiles could reach out through the tablet screen and touch the stars.
“Hey, what the FUCK?” Scott screamed out, throwing his Chinese food off of his lap. He made a mad scramble off his bad—grabbing at the tablet that Stiles kept firmly in his hands. “Give it back. Stop! Don’t—touch anything. Give it to me, Stiles.”
Stiles laughed childishly, purposely holding the tablet out of Scott’s grasp with one hand whilst using his other hand to push into Scott’s chest, keeping him away from getting his mysterious device back. “Ooooh, Scotty—whatcha hiding on here? Hmm? Are you some kind of closeted drug dealer? Is this your top secret access to the black market?”
Through Scott’s loud clamoring and frantic movement, Stiles looked down to the screen to see that the loading page’s loading bar had progressed rather quickly. It was booting up quicker than his laptop back at his house—that was for sure. And after a couple more seconds, the progress bar hit 100% and flashed black for a moment, before flashing back on with an entirely new page—one that was certainly more interesting, yet just as confusing as the first one.
It seemed to be the homepage to a much larger network named “M.O.R.P.H”. At the top of the homepage, there were three simple options to click—HOME, PROFILE, and ABOUT. But at the very top right-hand corner of the page, there was a tiny profile picture of Scott with the words, “Welcome Back, Scott” typed out. A warm welcome—obviously, Scott had used “M.O.R.P.H” previously…if his desperate attempt to get it back into his clutches hadn’t made that obvious enough.
On the homepage, there was a spinning graphic of the planet Earth with flickering white lights occasionally flashing around on the various landmasses. Available subjects, Stiles guessed. The device was obviously some kind of special alien Google, so he thought. But the weird part about the homepage was that it also provided the ability to click on “recent searches”, “saved searched”, and “clear history”, as well as it provided a search bar for typing in names. But strangely enough, there was already a name typed out in the search bar—Derek Hale—Scott’s older, jerkier brother.
“Dude, what even is this?” Stiles scoffed with a laugh, taking in every detail that he could pull from the tablet’s interface.
Scott huffed out dramatically—kicking in just a bit of his werewolf strength in an attempt to push Stiles’ arm out of the way. Stiles was a human, so it shouldn’t have been a challenge, but it really didn’t help. Stiles practically became an immovable obstacle when he wanted to be stubborn. Of course, Scott was well aware of his best friend’s less fun qualities, but it didn’t make being on the receiving end of Stiles’ stubbornness any more tolerable.
“Stiles—just fucking give it back to me and stop being such a dick.” Scott grit his teeth.
“Nah, no way.” Stiles laughed. “Just tell me what it is or I swear to God I’ll release my inner five year old and tattle on you to your mom—or your brother. I’ll let you pick, but only if you tell me the secrets of your obviously illegal technology right now.”
“It’s not illegal.” Scott noted dejectedly, halting his attempt to reclaim the tablet from Stiles’ grasp. He composed himself and rolled his eyes, looking up at the ceiling as if to help him find even the slightest bit of strength to actually find words to say to Stiles.
Stiles kicked away from underneath where Scott loomed over him, scooting back on his ass across the carpeted floor to put some distance between the two of them. And then he held the tablet up to his chest, crossing both of his arms in front of it so that he could hold it like a really precious book that a schoolgirl in an anime would hold. Scott just looked uneasy about the whole thing and almost looked like he was about to cry, but Stiles didn’t fold—he waited around for an explanation.
“It’s—a tablet.” Scott started, only to get immediately interrupted by a loud, overly dramatic and sarcastic gasp from Stiles.
“A tablet?!” Stiles asked theatrically. “No way. I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“It’s called ‘M.O.R.P.H’.” Scott shifted around on the heels of his feet, crossing his arms whilst avoiding direct eye-contact with where Stiles was looking up at him, expectantly. “It lets you—like, change people…around. Who they are and how they are.”
Stiles raised a single eyebrow, confused by the very confusing explanation. “Change people? Like, Hacks their instagram and changes their bio around into something they totally wouldn’t write themselves?”
“No—like, it changes their minds. And bodies. It’s like when you start a new MMORPG and the first thing you have to do is create your character, and there’re all those sliders and options for customization. Except, this is real life.”
Stiles tried to study Scott’s face, but all he could see was worry and embarrassment, which wasn’t really much to go on. So he looked back down to the tablet’s homepage and clicked on the option that read: “ABOUT: What is MORPH?”. Immediately, the screen brought up another page that looked like some futuristic dictionary entry about M.O.R.P.H—though it was very simplistically and intellectually written.
“Change…features, personality…sexuality…morals…” Stiles read through the tablet’s supposed capabilities, breathing the occasional word or two underneath his breath as he did so. And then he looked back up to Scott—still confused, yet getting closer to seeing the whole picture.
“So you can literally just search up somebody—anybody—and turn them, let’s say, from shy to confident?” Stiles asked. “Or like—from 5 foot 4 to 6 foot 3? Or like—straight…to full on gay?”
“Yeah.” Scott admitted, almost solemnly.
“So then why do you…have Derek’s name saved up into the search bar?”
Scott knew that he could try to lie, but Stiles would catch on. He was far too perceptive and never passed up the opportunity to launch a full on investigation into even the tiniest thing possible. And well, the tablet wasn’t some minuscule thing. It was huge—a box of genuine intrigue and mystery—and Stiles wasn’t going to drop it until he got to the bottom of it.
“I mess around with his settings sometimes.” Scott blurted, recoiling just slightly with a bite at his own bottom lip. But then he pressed forward with the rest of his explanation. It wasn’t going to get any easier. “I fuck him…sometimes, I make him gay and way sluttier than he actually is…and he takes it…but I swear I reset his settings back to normal afterwards. He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t know—so, come on, please. You can’t tell—wait…”
Scott’s hypersensitive nose caught a whiff of arousal—extremely potent and eager arousal, wafting up straight from where Stiles was sitting down on the ground. He tuned his hearing in to the sound of Stiles’ heartbeat, only to hear it pumping fiercely with what seemed to be excitement. Not only that, but Scott could literally hear Stiles’ breathing change, he could smell Stiles’ interest peak strong and unapologetically. It was unmistakable—Stiles was turned on to the whole thing.
“Wait—are you getting turned on over this?” Scott’s worry immediately began to dwindle down. He couldn’t detect even the slightest bit of shock or fear or disgust from Stiles’ body. Even after being told that his best friend uses alien technology to fuck his big brother—Stiles wasn’t running for the hills.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Stiles shouted cheerfully. He jumped up to stand from where he had been previously curled up on the floor guarding the tablet with his arms, springing forward to grab at the sides of Scott’s shoulders. “Don’t play with me right now. I could fucking blow my load right now, Scotty—I swear, touch it!”
Scott immediately looked down in-between the tight space of where their individual bodies were practically pressed right up onto one another. And sure enough, he could see a massive bulge pulsating inside the dense denim of Stiles’ jeans. And without even really thinking through Stiles’ words—without figuring out as to whether or not he was just exaggerating—Scott reached down and splayed a palm across Stiles’ bulge, feeling the boy’s heat strike powerfully against the skin of his hand.
“Shit.” Scott breathed, unable to pull his eyes away from where they were beamed down to where his hand was placed against his best friend’s throbbing dick.
“See—I told you.”
“You’re not weirded out by this?” Scott asked, looking up into the amber of Stiles’ eyes. “I just told you that I use this magical tablet to fuck my brother and you’re—hard…as fuck, Jesus fucking Christ, you’re hard and I’m touching your dick.”
“Derek’s the hottest guy I know, besides Jackson.” Stiles said with a snorted laugh. “I would fuck Derek if he were my father.”
Scott looked back down to where Stiles’ cock pulsed in his hand. “I would have told you about this tablet sooner if I knew you were so—open.”
“Well, I know about it now.” Stiles acknowledged, raising the tablet up to hold in-between his and Scott’s chests. He looked down at the screen and clicked up onto the available option of: “PROFILE: Change Profile”.
Scott’s profile was the first thing to register on the tablet’s screen, but only because it was obvious that Scott was logged into the tablet’s system. But still—the profile was an amazing sight to behold. It provided a profile picture for Scott, which had clearly been uploaded by Scott himself on account of how dorky and sickeningly adorable he looked. But the profile also provided a streamlined list of important details pertaining specifically to Scott—full name, age, weight, eye color—just standard things.
But that wasn’t what caught Stiles’ attention. In addition to simple information, the M.O.R.P.H profile for Scott also provided things that were a bit more personal. It included Scott’s sexuality, his species, his address, sexual positioning preference, and most surprisingly—his dick size. Which—Stiles had always kind of figured all thanks to a few curious wandering gazes in the locker rooms back at school—but according to the tablet, Scott’s dick was eight inches, cut.
“Yeah, it lists everything.” Scott noted smartly. “And that’s not even the best the tablet can do. There’s so much you can do with this.”
“Wait—I want to see what my profile says.” Stiles said eagerly.
“Just click back over to the homepage—” Scott started, but Stiles was already two-steps ahead of him. His eagerness knew no bounds and Stiles was clearly comfortable with the interface.
“Have you ever looked me up on this thing before, Scotty? Ever been curious about anything in particular, hmmm?” Stiles joked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Stiles clicked over to the homepage and down to where the search bar was located. Once he backspaced Derek’s name out of the way, he typed in: STILES STILINSKI, immediately searching the name to see if anything would come up. And sure enough, he was the only Stiles Stilinski available in the United States. It wasn’t a surprise, his name was very unique. But what was surprising, even after being told what the tablet had the power to do, was that the search came back with Stiles’ full name—first, middle, and last.
“Holy shit!” Stiles snickered, raising one of his hands up to rest on his nipple. “It knows that I have my nipple pierced? I just fucking got that—nobody knows.”
“M.O.R.P.H does, apparently.” Scott said, looking down to where Stiles was casually rubbing at his own nipple. “And wait—what? You pierced your nipple?”
Stiles bit at his lip. “Yeah—I thought it’d look pretty hot. It added a whole different level of sensitivity too, though. Like, when I pinch at it, I swear my dick twitches. Like, is that even possible?”
“A nipple-to-dick wiring?” Scott rubbed at the back of his own neck, pondering what was probably the dumbest question in the history of questions. “I don’t know. I guess?”
Scott reached out and lightly swatted Stiles’ hand out of the way so that he could thumb over where the outline of a barbell piercing stuck through the fabric of Stiles’ shirt. With his second hand, he brought it back down to splay over where Stiles was hard in his pants. Scott thumbed at Stiles’ nipple and waited for a moment to see if Stiles’ dick would twitch in response—and sure enough it did.
“Oh my fucking god, it did.” Scott snorted, thumbing slightly harder.
Stiles swallowed hard and then playfully shoved back against Scott’s sturdy chest. “Ha, stop it. There’s only so much nipple play I can take before I bust. Trust me, I know.”
“Whatever, freak.”
Stiles and Scott looked down to the tablet’s face and just stared for a moment—unable to figure out what they were supposed to do with it. Scott knew what he would like to do with it, and it seemed like Stiles wanted to do the same kind of shit with it, too. But even though Stiles responded positively to the revelation, Scott couldn’t help but feel just a tad bit curious as to whether or not Stiles would back down and end up weirded out.
“So—you said that you change around Derek’s settings and make him fuck you.” Stiles noted, clicked backwards to the homepage—gearing up for a new search. “Do you think we’d be able to change him up just enough so that he’d fuck both of us without question?”
Scott blinked away the momentary shock that no—Stiles really wasn’t weirded out, not even the slightest. “Uh, yeah—but do you mean that you wanna get fucked by him…or you want to actually fuck him?”
“Fuck him.” Stiles clarified, typing Derek’s name into the search bar—hitting the search button. “Like, balls deep in your big bro. Oh fuck, do you think we could make him blow us first?”
Scott grabbed the tablet out of Stiles’ hands. “Dude—we can make him do anything we want and just reset him after we’re done. He won’t even fucking remember.”
Stiles gave a couple excited hops in place where he was standing and then stepped around to stand beside Scott so that they could both look on to the tablet to see what was happening. Derek’s profile had quickly loaded up with all of the same standard profile information that had been displayed for both Scott and Stiles’ individual profiles, but naturally—Stiles was curious as to a few key pieces of Derek’s info.
“Are you fucking—holy—Derek’s cock is nine and a half inches? And that’s his base stats? You didn’t raise that number up?”
“No. Derek’s just big-dicked blessed.”
Scott clicked over to the available options that were listed underneath Derek’s profile picture and then selected the “edit profile” option. Immediately, all of the available information that was listed for Derek turned into editable text boxes that could be erased and rewritten. So Scott clicked down to where Derek’s sexuality was listed as “straight” and deleted it, replacing his sexuality to read: “gay”. And then just as quickly as he edited the first bit of Derek’s person, Scott erased Derek’s sexual positioning preference from reading: “top”, so that it could be replaced with the word “bottom”.
“It was that easy?” Stiles asked, watching as Scott confirmed his changes to Derek’s base information. “He likes guys now?”
“And he likes it up the ass now.” Scott brought his hand up—palm splayed open, enticing Stiles into a victorious high-five.
Just then, Scott and Stiles heard the sound of the shower shut off from across the hall. They froze in place with the tablet in their hands and listened to the sound of the shower curtain’s metal hooks scrape open across the shower rod, as Derek’s whistling continued. Derek was finished washing up…but Scott and Stiles still had a few more things that they needed to change within Derek’s programming for their own benefit.