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Stiles had learnt this trick over the years.When his father asks for an ounce of Whiskey while he’s completely focussed on trying to crack a case, he doesn’t pay attention to how much Stiles actually puts in the glass.So every time the boy was particularly curious about a case that his father was being tight lipped about, he asks his dad if he can do anything to help.“If you could pour me an ounce of whiskey it would be a big help, baby.” A nickname he became particularly stubborn about keeping after his wife’s death. Even outside of comforting his baby boy, when the boy would crawl into bed with him with big watery eyes, then as he got older, when he could snuggle particularly close, so close he could feel his baby’s whole body against his own. The only thing that changed with the nickname was that when he was comforting his son, he would specify MY baby. MY baby boy.As Stiles got older though, he persisted with calling his father ‘Daddy’ and silently wished that the man would call him HIS baby, HIS baby boy, all the time.He had learnt this trick over the years.“Is there anything I can do to help, Daddy?” the 15 year old boy would ask his father.“Just an ounce of whiskey, baby.”and he would fill the glass all but to the brim.The whiskey hit his father fast, and he was already rambling without even realizing he was speaking out loud.Then another full glass when he asked for another ounce.Then after 2 glasses, Stiles would be able to slip into his father’s lap without protest. Then he’d get his daddy’s hands automatically go to his waist, fitting there comfortably as if they were perfectly sculpted to be together.Then he would be able to nose at his daddy’s jaw and neck and get a pleased hum in return as well as his daddy moving his head back to give more access before curling back around to lazily capture his son’s lips and forget any and all protest about the boy in his lap that he can vaguely remember that he helped to create 15 years ago, that he made with his deceased wife, grinding his hips down against his own. That the boy who calls him daddy in a literal sense is getting him hard while he’s far drunker than he remembers getting. He only had 2 ounces right?Stiles learnt this trick over the years.The trick that lets him get his daddy’s pants off along with his own. That lets him present himself fully to his father as he lewdly sucks on his finger in order to show off his pretty little ass hole as he fingers himself open letting out high pitched breathy moans scattered with ‘Daddy’ and cuss words his sober father would scold him for.A trick that lets him watch his father’s reactions to seeing his gorgeous baby boy fuck himself open on his fingers to prepare for his cock. The same cock that helped to create him.Stiles had learnt this trick over the years.Where he can feed his daddy another full glass of whiskey before he sinks himself down on his daddy’s big thick cock.Where he can split himself open on his Daddy’s dick, his inebriated dick that was far too easy to get hard after he’d fed his daddy 2 other full glasses of whiskey when he’d only asked for an ounce.Where he can ride his daddy while the man, drunk enough to not fully comprehend who he’s fucking up into and drunk enough that he won’t remember this as fact in the morning. That if he does remember it’ll be just hazy enough to be passed off as a purely sinful dream that he knows he’s going to hell for. He dreamt of fucking his baby boy. His son. He dreamt of letting his son suck his entire cock into his mouth, the sinful fact that his baby boy didn’t have a gag reflex in the slightest. He dreamt that he gripped his baby’s hips and pounded his hard cock right up into him. That his son looked so perfectly blissed out with his eyes rolled back into his skull, with drool dripping out of his mouth, incoherent moans and pleas to go faster and harder, his son squirting his cum all over his lean chest and his father’s muscled form from chasing criminals all day. He dreamt that his son, who calls him Daddy in a literal sense, had tears streaming down his cheeks as he screamed for his daddy to fuck him harder, to get him pregnant, to fill him up, to fill his tight little hole.He knew he was going to hell. Stiles knew what he was doing and he didn’t plan on stopping, now when he could enjoy his daddy’s cock stuffing his tight little slutty hole. Not when at least once a week he could either be riding his daddy or being bent over the table and stuffed so full of the perfect cock and the hot searing seed that he loved.Stiles had learnt this trick over the years.One that lets him get the perfect fill of quality time with his daddy and the perfect way to make him and his daddy feel so good.One that his daddy finally caught onto at the age of 17.One that isn’t even necessary anymore.One that he still uses sometimes just for fun even though he gets to be filled so perfectly every night without even needing to ask.Now that his daddy caught on.Now that his daddy pulls him into his room and fucks him right into the mattress every night.Now that his daddy, his sober daddy, fucks him on every surface in the Stilinski household, and even almost every surface in his office at the station.Now that his daddy is completely aware of every single sensation he gives his baby boy.Now that his daddy is truly his.