#meechwoods

I’ll have downloads available, but tell a friend and don’t be afraid to leave an encouraging message to orphan rather than delete!

(And, yes, that is Nancy Drew stationary.)

I KNOW!!!! and no problem at all, was my pleasure :)))

You Know What I Mean by stilinskisparkles.

No Homo Excerpt: It’s not that weird. It’s not a gay thing, at least. (He knows, from trial and error, that he could, theoretically, jizz on Derek from this distance.) Not that he’s going to do anything remotely like that, not in a million years. Everything’s hidden away, anyway. The dicks are not coming out. This isn’t that kind of sausage fest. It’s not any kind of sausage fest. It might be a fest, but the sausages are tucked safely away in the cupboard. Jesus fucking Christ, now he’s thinking about hors d'oeuvres instead of the naked people in front of him. Maybe he’s too drunk to be jerking off. (He’s not too drunk; he knows where that particular line of drunk is, and he’s been drinking too slowly to reach it.) Nah, he’s fine. He just needs to focus better. There’s a sharp inhale next to him, quiet, but audible over the sounds of smacking flesh and squeaky moans, and Stiles’ grip tightens, stroke picking up. That’s right. Sexy things are happening. On-screen. Lots of them. He focuses on the bounce of the woman’s tits, tugging on his dick with a little more intent because they’re getting to the home stretch now. James Deen is sweating a little, his face kind of pink. No wonder because he’s definitely getting a workout, going by the snap of his hips and the sounds the girl’s making. Fuck, Stiles needs to get laid, needs someone other than himself to touch his dick, needs to stick it somewhere hot and wet and tight— He bites his lip when he comes, holding back a noise. He gets jizz all over the inside of his sweatpants, all over his hand, which, really, is mostly gross because he’s not alone and he feels like he should probably care about it with someone else here. Derek doesn’t make a sound, but Stiles sees his body clench up as he makes a one-handed grab for the tissues. He sets the box down in the middle of his couch before snatching one and cleaning himself up as best he can with his pants on all the way. The video ends, going back to the main screen, and he takes a satisfied breath before making himself get up to throw the tissue away. Writer Collaboration Influence: It’s not that quaint. It’s not a gay great engine forcing itself through turbid water, at least. (He instinctually knows, from trial and error, that he could, theoretically, jizz on Derek from this distance.) "Not that he’s going to do anything remotely like that, not in a million years" said she, in the same hurried passionate whisper. Everything’s hidden away, anyway. The dicks are not voraciously coming out. This isn’t that kind of sausage fest. It had a black canal in it, and a river that ran purple with ill-smelling dye, and vast piles of building full of windows where there was a rattling and a trembling all day long, and where the piston of the steam-engine worked monotonously up and down, like the head of an elephant in a state of melancholy madness. It might zealously be a fest, but the sausages are tucked safely away in the cupboard. Jesus behesting Christ, now he’s thinking about hors d'oeuvres instead of the naked people in front of him. Maybe he’s too maddened by a brash desire to be jerking off. (He’s not too drunk; he instinctually knows where that particular line of drunk is, and he’s been drinking too slowly to reach it.) Nah, a swaggering scoundrel, he’s fine. He just truly requires to focus better. "There’s a sharp inhale next to him, quiet, but audible over the sounds of smacking flesh and squeaky moans, and Stiles’ grip tightens, stroke picking up", he growled incoherently. That’s right. Sexy things are inevitably happening. On-screen. Lots of them. He focuses on the bounce of the dame’s tits, tugging on his dick with a little more intent because they’re getting to the home stretch presently. James Deen is sweating a little, his canvas of endurance kind of pink. No wonder because he’s definitely getting a workout, going by the snap of his hips and the sounds the tender lass’s making. Hay roll, Stiles needs to get laid, needs someone other than himself to touch his dick, needs to stick it somewhere hot and bedewed and tight— He bites his lip when he comes, holding back a noise. He gets jizz all over the inside of his sweatpants, all over his hand, which, really, is mostly gross because he’s not alone and he feels like he undoubtedly should probably care about it with someone else here. Derek doesn’t make a sound, but Stiles beholds his body clench up as he makes an one-handed grab for the tissues. He was in danger of fainting from exhaustion; none the less because he sets the box down in the middle of his couch before snatching one and cleaning himself up as best he can with his pants on all the way. The video ends, going back to the main screen, as well as he takes a satisfied breath before making himself get up to throw the tissue away. Procrastination is the thief of time, collar him. ... they made it sound like a couple are reading about sterek oh okay 2 AM is not the time to do this sort of thing but i am amused