Stiles, Red In The Face From Obviously Trying To Hold Back A Laugh, Approached The Older Werewolf. With

Stiles, red in the face from obviously trying to hold back a laugh, approached the older werewolf. With the Bestiary in hand, he tapped on Peter’s broad shoulder.

“Hey Peter?” he asked, his voice cracking as he struggled to maintain composure.

“Hmm?” Peter answered, casually looking back at the human, his interest already piqued.

Stiles held out the ancient-looking text, putting on his cutest puppy look. “Can you please read this passage?” he asked. “I’m having a little trouble.”

Peter scoffed and rolled his eyes, but on the inside he was melting at the look Stiles gave him. “Fine,” he sighed, grabbing the Bestiary, not-so-subtly allowing his fingers to graze Stiles’s. He studied the mysterious looking writing, unsure as to what it meant. “Um, cranius reductus frazos imperatum...?”

A slight shudder ran through the werewolf and he swayed on his feet a little bit. He blinked away the stars that filled his vision, seeing that Stiles’s smile had grown exponentially, and he couldn’t help but grin back.

“What is it...” Peter asked, but trailed off when he heard the way his voice sounded like he’d been sucking on helium. “*Ahem, what’s so funny... what’s wrong with my voice?”

The werewolf confusedly looked around the room, his eyes stopping as soon as he saw his warped reflection in the mirror on the wall.

“What happened to me?!” he roared/squeaked when he saw that his head was the size of a pomegranate. He held his hands up in front of his face in shock, freaked out over how humongous they appeared to him with his changed perspective. Everything in the room looked bigger and much farther away. His shoulders seemed as if they’d broadened outwards and his chest was much thicker... however, he knew that it was all a trick of his changed perspective. Everything was the same. His head was just tiny.

Stiles finally lost his composure and burst out into hysterics. “Deaton taught me that little spell!” he laughed, holding onto his sides as the tiny-headed werewolf glared at him. 

“You better fix this!” Peter growled as he tried to look intimidating. However, with his tiny head and his high-pitched voice, he felt more ridiculous than anything.

“Don’t look so mad, Peter. It should wear off by tomorrow morning... I hope.” 

Dylan O’Brien sat back in the leather chair, enjoying the cool A/C as he waited in the office for the producers to return. He’d been called in to talk about a role in a TV show, which sounded nice, but the actor was more into movie roles. However, his manager had convinced him to hear them out.

The door opened and the producer, a buff looking older man, sauntered back into the room. “Hello there, Mr. O’Brien,” he warmly smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, and please call me ‘Dylan’,” the actor blushed.

The produced nodded as he took a seat on the other side of the large, wooden desk. “Very well, Dylan,” he grinned. “So let’s cut to the chase: we want to reboot Teen Wolf, and we would really like you to reprise your role as Stiles.”

Dylan bit down on his lower lip and twiddled his thumbs in front of himself. “Yeah, that sounds interesting, but canonically I believe the character of Stiles would no longer be a teenager, so I don’t really see myself fitting in well…”

The producer cleared his throat. “Oh, I didn’t quite explain it very well,” he hurriedly said. “This is more of a spin-off than it is a reboot. We’ve been doing a lot of research into the fanbase and I’m sure you’re well aware of the ‘Sterek’ phenomena. The show will be a hit if we focus it on you and Mr. Hoechlin’s character, and how the two of you develop your werewolf-human relationship.”

Again, Dylan wasn’t convinced. “I know Tyler’s busy with other projects, and I don’t think that he would be too keen—”

“He’s already on board!” the producer interrupted.

Dylan jerked back. “Really?” he gasped. “But I thought Superman & Lois was doing well?”

The producer nodded and pressed a button on the desk. “It was, but we managed to convince him to join our project instead,” he explained, the sounds of approaching footsteps audible on the other side of the office door. “He was a little apprehensive about being typecasted as a werewolf, but now he can’t imagine anything but playing canine characters.”

Dylan thought that that was an odd phrase, but before he could say anything, the door opened up.

“There he is now!” the producer cheered. “Tyler, come see Dylan!” He clapped his hands, making the actor cock his eyebrow in wonder.

“Woof! Woof!” Tyler Hoechlin barked like a dog as he scampered into the room on all fours. The older man was completely naked, letting his bulky muscles flex for the two other men in the room to see. He’d even let his chest hair grow out, and his hairy ass wiggled to and fro like an excited dog. More surprising to Dylan was the large dildo that stuck out of Tyler’s ass, sticking straight in the air and wagging back and forth like a makeshift tail. Tyler’s tongue lolled out of his mouth and when his eyes landed on Dylan’s horrified face, he lit up and hurried over.

“Wha—?!” Dylan panicked, speechless at the sight before him. He’d worked with Tyler for years and never before had he ever seen the man behave in such a manner. It didn’t take him long to know that there was something else afoot, his heart starting to race wildly in his chest.

“Woof!” Tyler excitedly barked as he rested his arms on Dylan’s lap, leaning forward to lick his face like a happy little puppy.

“Aww, he missed you,” the producer cooed, taking in the sight as if a grown man with a dildo stuck in his ass and licking another man was a normal sight to see.

“What did you do to him?” Dylan cried out, pushing against the man’s buff, hairy chest, only earning a whimper. 

However, his panicked fingers accidentally brushed against a protruding nipple, making the man-dog shudder. His bulky muscles tensed up and he rolled over on the ground onto his back, his large cock hardening to its full impressive length of eight inches. He held his arms close to his sides as a dog does on its back, looking at Dylan and whimpering with want, his hard cock bobbing in the air.

“Mr. Hoechlin here originally tried to turn us down, saying that he wasn’t interested in playing a werewolf again,” the producer mused. “So we had one of our departments convince him that he was made to play wolves. Right, Tyler?”

At the sound of his name, the man-dog flipped back over onto all fours and happily barked. “Woof! Woof!” He then felt his canine urges and crawled back over to Dylan, propping himself up as he began to hump his leg, grinding his hard cock against the shocked actor.

Dylan was too shocked to stop the man-dog from humping him, turning instead to stare down the producer who relaxed behind the desk. “Turn him back!” he demanded.

“He already signed the contract,” the man shrugged. “He’s stuck like this, so if you really wanna be a good friend, you’d join in on the project. It seems he’s taken a real shine to you. Besides, this is an interesting dynamic we’d like to explore on the show.”

Before he could answer, Tyler tensed up. “Arrooooo!” he howled as he came, shooting his load all over the other man’s jeans. When he was spent, his tongue hung out of his mouth and he panted, staying put at Dylan’s feet.

Dylan didn’t know what to do. Tyler Hoechlin was one of his best friends, and seeing him hypnotized to act like a dog all the time was a horrifying fate. As he stared down at him, Tyler looked up and wagged his tail.

“Fine,” Dylan sighed. 

The producer smiled widely. “Great!” he cheered. “We’ll send you the script tomorrow. For now, why don’t the two of you bond? I mean after all, he is your dog now.” He handed the actor a leash and a black, studded collar.

Feeling as if he were dreaming, Dylan affixed the collar around Tyler’s neck and snapped the leash on. The man-dog immediately jumped up on all fours and barked wildly, bouncing around like a dog who was excited to go for a walk. When the two men left the office, Tyler kept pulling at the leash, nearly dragging the smaller Dylan behind him.  Dylan was trying to piece together all that had happened, unsure if he were dreaming or not. His previous coworker was acting like a dog, and he appeared to either have no control over it or the old Tyler was completely gone, replaced by this man-dog. Dylan tried to look deep into Tyler’s eyes for any indication that he was in there somewhere, but all he saw were the loving and admiring eyes of a puppy staring back up.

“Woof!” Tyler happily barked when the two of them exited the building, sticking his nose into the air to sniff the outside breeze.

“Shit!” Dylan hissed when he realized that he was walking a naked man with a dildo shoved in his ass outside in public for all to see. The sidewalk was full of people coming and going, and the two men were out in the open. Despite being the one in control of his body and being fully clothed, Dylan’s face was cherry red with embarrassment for his friend.

However, nobody seemed to look twice. Some people did a double-take, only to comment to their companion that they’d seen the actors from Teen Wolf, not even caring to mention that Tyler Hoechlin was naked and wagging a footlong dildo back and forth like it was a damn tail. Someone even walked too close to them, and Tyler responded by placing himself in front of Dylan, puffing out his hairy chest and growling, baring his teeth.

“No!” Dylan scolded, tugging on his leash. “Bad dog!” He winced at his words, but shook it off and led Tyler to his car. Tyler leapt into the passenger seat, positioning himself like a dog in the small seat. Dylan hurried into the driver’s seat and sped off, eager to get his friend out of view from prying eyes.

Tyler leaned over as he drove, nuzzling against the other man and licking his face again.

Needing to focus on the road, Dylan sighed and rolled down Tyler’s window, somehow knowing that Tyler would lean his head out like a dog. He looked over at his man-dog of a friend, vowing that he’d take care of him.

“Don’t worry Tyler,” he promised the man-dog, “it’ll be okay.” He moved pat him on the shoulder, and at the slightest touch, Tyler’s cock shot to life.

“Peter! There you are! We’ve been looking all over for you!” Stiles exclaimed as he stomped into the gym, heading over towards the weight pile where the shirtless werewolf was working out. He was ready to chew him out for being M.I.A. for several days, but froze in his spot when he looked over the older former alpha.

Instead of his usual dapper self, Peter was a hulking beast. The shirtless stud sat on the bench and lifted dumbbells, his inflated biceps bulging to the size of bowling balls and without a doubt being no longer able to fit in his tailor-fitted shirts. Speaking of which, his cumbersome pecs were enormous, ballooning out from his chest to the point where they obscured part of his neck and to where his erect nipples were pointing straight downwards. Even his abs were pronounced and his waist seemed pinched inwards before meeting a pair of raggedy cargo shorts that he would normally never be seen dead in. This over-muscled Peter was nothing like the arrogant werewolf Stiles was used to, making his jaw drop in wonder and confusion.

Peter looked over at the surprised Stiles and flashed him a smile, yet his eyebrows were worriedly knitted together. “Yeah Bruh,” he said, his voice sounding deeper than usual, “all you had to do was check the gym. Ya know I’d here workin’ on my pump!”

He set one of the dumbbells down and flexed a giant bicep in front of Stiles’s wide eyes.

“Feel it,” he teased, leaning closer towards the small human. The cocky smirk that the werewolf wore did not at all match the panicked look in his eyes, which seemed to be silently pleading with Stiles.

“Um, maybe later,” Stiles mumbled, cocking his eyebrow at the muscle man. “Anyways, Peter, why have you been here? I’ve never known you to ever go to the gym once. In fact, I seem to recall you calling guys who go, and I quote, ‘Stupid Muscleheads’.”

“Peter wouldn’t say that,” an unknown voice said.

Stiles looked over to see another muscled up stud sauntering over to the weight pile, clad in nothing but spandex shorts and a yellow tank top that had the sides cut in a way that allowed his hairy, beefy chest to be prominent displayed. The unknown bodybuilder stopped right by Peter and patted his broadened shoulder.

“Peter here lives for working out,” the man laughed. “All this guy’s good for is buildin’ muscle and fuckin’. Right, Peter?”

Peter looked straight into Stiles’s eyes, and the pleading look that they conveyed made the human’s stomach churn slightly. However, the buffed up werewolf bellowed out, “Hell yeah! I love to build up this mass!” To punctuate his point, he made his inflated pecs bounce, the massive mounds leaping up and slamming back down with power, sending a ripple throughout his huge muscles.

Stiles immediately knew that this bodybuilder was behind Peter’s new body and attitude. However, he kept his lips sealed when the man looked over at him, smirking.

“You know what?” he said. “I think Peter’s done for the day. You can take him home.” He turned down to the new muscled up werewolf. “See you tomorrow for your workout.”

“Wait— what?” Stiles called out as the unknown man walked away, leaving him all alone with the bodybuilder Peter.

The newly transfigured Peter stood up, looking about twice as wide as he was before. His large arms rested on his flaring lats, being stuck at an odd angle. His thighs were so large that they rolled around each other with every step, turning his walk into a waddle. He must’ve put on at least one-hundred pounds of solid muscle, completely warping his formerly lean body into a body that oozed muscle and roids.

“Um, should you go get dressed first?” Stiles asked, figuring that he should at least take Peter to Derek or Deaton to try to see what was wrong and how they could help him.

Although the embarrassed look in Peter’s eyes looked like he wanted nothing more than to cover up his new bulk, he shook his head. “No way, Babe,” he chuckled in his deep, slow voice. “I gotta show off these gains wherever I go!”

When the two of them exited the gym doors and were out on the public street, Peter’s face turned bright red with blush as the citizens of Beacon Hills turned to look at his massive, inflated form. He was normally used to people looking at him in admiration due to his designer clothing and charming demeanor, however, now they were marveling at his massive size— some of them drooling with lust while others looking in disgust.

Peter, much to his horror, felt himself throw both of his massive arms up above his head, forming a double biceps pose for all to see. His mouth stretched out into that cocky grin he was forced to wear, and despite himself, he hated that he was getting so incredibly turned on by showing off his vast form to the onlookers… but that paled in comparison to how rock hard he got at the thought of smothering tiny Stiles with his giant pecs, his heart racing at the thought.

“Don’t worry, Peter,” Stiles said as he grabbed a hold of the werewolf’s beefy hand to lead him to his Jeep, “we’ll figure out how to change you back.”

He helped Peter into the passenger seat, trying to hold back a smile when the seatbelt completely disappeared into the cleavage of his giant pecs. When Stiles got into the driver’s seat, he stifled a laugh when he had to lean to the side a little bit due to the hyperbolic broadness of Peter’s shoulders.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just a little too buff for your ride, Little Man,” Peter boasted, and Stiles knew that was his way of apologizing for the inconvenience his size created.

“It’s cool,” Stiles reassured him, patting him on the hand. As he did so, he felt Peter grab a tight hold of it.

Instead of his eyes looking panicked, Peter’s eyes actually looked pleased as he stared down at the little human by his side. “Ya know,” he playfully growled, “I can show ya another muscle of mine.” He winked and gestured down at his shorts.

Stiles’s eyes nearly exploded as he saw the giant arm Peter’s cock had become. It snaked down his leg, looking about as thick as Stiles’s forearm.

Peter flirtatiously bounced his pecs, looking at Stiles expectantly.

“Well,” Stiles hummed, flooring the Jeep in the direction of his apartment, “I guess we can fix this a little later.”

-- -- --

[Photo Source: https://www.deviantart.com/doryfan1/art/Muscle-Morph-Ian-Bohen-1-544217699]

Tyler's been doing some extra squats to fill out that supersuit of his.

“I just need some space so I can think,” Stiles muttered, offering a small, sad smile. “I just wish that you were less reserved with us.” He turned and walked away, leaving Derek behind.

The werewolf sighed and shook his head, pinching the skin above his nose in irritation. He’d just had a fight with his boyfriend, Stiles, because it was their anniversary and Stiles was mad that Derek hadn’t been more “Involved”… whatever that means. Derek was more on the reserved side and he absolutely despised PDA, especially since he was supposed to be a tough alpha werewolf. He didn’t want to hurt Stiles’s feelings, but he knew that rival packs would look down on an alpha acting all lovey-dovey with another man. He had to protect his tough guy image if he wanted to protect his territory.

He’d tried explaining that to his boyfriend when he’d refused to hold Stile’s hand as they walked along the Pier, only causing an argument.

“Man, that was painful,” he heard another man’s voice from behind him.

Derek turned around to glare at a pale, skinny guy who reeked of the sickly aroma of magic, making him bare his teeth at him. “What do you want?” he growled.

The guy held his hands up in front of himself in mock defense. “I’m just a friend,” he playfully pouted.

Derek sniffed at the air and growled again at the sugary stench that wafted off the smaller guy. “You’re a trickster,” he spat, puffing out his muscled chest and stalking closer threateningly. “Now get the fuck out of my territory before I end you.” He leaned in closer, baring his elongating fangs to intimidate the trickster.

The tricker shrugged his thin shoulders. “Fine,” he nonchalantly muttered with a flick of his wrist as he turned around. “But just know that I came with a peace offering, but forget it. Enjoy knowing that you lost Stiles forever.”

The werewolf stiffened and fought the whimper that threatened to escape his lips. No matter how tough he had to look, Derek wanted Stiles by his side as his mate, and he knew that he had to work hard to win him back. He would never admit it to him out of fear of looking like a sap, but Stiles was his world.

“Wait!” Derek called out, rushing forward and placing a hand on the slender trickster’s shoulder. “Help me, how?”

The trickster smirked, sending a shiver down Derek’s spine. “Follow me,” he whispered, leading the werewolf into the mens’ bathroom, which was empty. Once they were out of sight of the other pier patrons, the trickster dug through his backpack and pulled out a hot pink tank top.

“What’s this?” Derek asked as he examined the offered fabric.

“It’s a tank top,” the trickster answered matter-of-factly. “It will help you reconcile with your need to over-exaggerate your masculinity and win Stiles back.”

“How?” Derek asked, looking over the tank top. He even sniffed it, wincing at the cotton candy scent that wafted off it in waves.

“You don’t think wearing hot pink in public will help with your overcompensation?”

That did make sense. “Alright,” Derek muttered as he peeled out of his black t-shirt and leather jacket.

The muscled up alpha werewolf squeezed his massive bulk into the tight-fitting fabric that was skintight, making it look as if he’d simply spray painted his torso the bubblegum color instead of wearing a top. The hunk fought the grimace that threatened to appear on his gruff face as he stared at his reflection in one of the bathroom mirrors. From top to bottom, the hot pink shirt was plastered on Derek’s bulk. His massive pecs practically spilled out over the top swoop, only the bottom third of them being covered by the bright neon fabric. Derek cringed when he could easily make out the faint outline of his nipples thanks to the thinness of the tank top. The straps were so thin that they practically disappeared within his looming traps and round shoulders. Even the bottom of the bright tank top was skintight, wrapping around his waist in a constricting manner that showcased his chiseled abs. When he raised his powerful arms, the bottom pulled upwards and stopped above his navel, looking like a cut off, making the macho man blush.

The smooth fabric of the tank top sent a tingling sensation across Derek’s skin, and the werewolf’s senses were assaulted with the sugary stench.

“There you go!” the trickster clapped, a wide smile on his face. “Now you can go win back your boyfriend.”

Derek didn’t quite understand the plan. Sure, wearing pink was stereotypically less masculine, but he doubted that would be enough to get Stiles back. Putting a hand on his hip, he looked over his reflection in the mirror. 

“Like, how is this even supposed to help me win back my man?” he asked, his voice taking on a higher octave while also having a new feminine inflection on his words. The werewolf’s eyes widened at the words that left his mouth and he slapped his hand over her his lips.

“It works!” the trickster cheered.

Derek knew that it wasn’t possible. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Like, testing…” he trailed off as his heart fell at the overly gay sounds he uttered. “Like, what did you even do to me?!” He wanted to lean threateningly towards the trickster, but instead he twittered his hands in a fret and stomped his feet, making his bulky muscles shake with the movement.

“The tank top eliminated all of your masculinity,” the trickster explained. “Oh, and the best part is that only Stiles can take it off. Bye!” He snapped his fingers and seemingly evaporated into thin air.

Derek’s stomach fell as he grasped the full weight of the situation. “Oh em gee! I hafta find Stiles, like, right now!” he chirped, wincing at the words that left his mouth. He rushed towards the bathroom door, wailing when he walked with his arms tucked at his sides and his pecs pushed outwards. With every mincing step he took, he waved his bubblebutt from side to side, seemingly advertising it.

He burst through the door, his face feeling red hot when the large crowd of people at the pier stopped to look at the alpha werewolf in the hot pink tank top.

The old Derek would’ve growled at them and yelled at them to fuck off, but the tank top forced him to giggle nervously. “Like, why is everyone staring at my sexy body?” he playfully whined, feeling himself bounce both of his large pecs tantalizingly. He could hear and feel everything he did, he just didn’t have any control.

He slapped his hand over his mouth and shuffled his feet down the pier in the direction Stiles had left. As he walked, he felt an odd tightness in his jeans and it wasn’t long until he heard a loud RRIIIPPPPPP!

The werewolf froze and looked over his shoulder, screaming as he looked at the massive bubblebutt that had torn its way through the back of his jeans, the inflated globes on full display for the entire pier to see.

He tried to shield his massive ass from view with his hands, but it was so big that the attempt was futile. “Like, what is even happening to me?!” he panicked.

Derek felt an odd weight on his chest and the werewolf nearly passed out when he looked down to see his pecs starting to slowly inflate like balloons. The muscle mounds packed on more meat, rounding and jutting out from his torso. His nipples grew larger and sprang out of the tank top, hardening as the ocean breeze blew over them.

“Oh no! My muscletits!” he cried, grabbing at them in horror, not even caring how he’d just referred to them. He had no idea that the tank top was going to change his body, taking his previously masculine muscles and warping him into some curvy-looking himbo.

He hurried down the pier, bristling at the feeling of his asscheeks and pecs bouncing with every step he took. Despite himself, the sensations of his larger additions sent ripples of pleasure throughout his body, and he felt as if he were rock hard. For some reason though, the trickster must’ve made it so that no one around thought that a man running around the pier with his inflated ass hanging out for all to see was indecent.

Finally, Derek saw that familiar red jacket and his heart fluttered in his chest… and his cock painfully throbbed.

“Babe!” he yelled out, blushing since he never referred to Stiles as anything but his name. He picked up speed and and hurried to his boyfriend, placing a tender hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

Stiles turned around, his expression going from confusion to complete shock at the sight of the warped alpha werewolf. “Derek?” he gasped. “What happened to you? Y-you look like a…”

“Like a slutty himbo,” Derek finished for him, wincing at his words, but brushing it off. “Look, Babe, I like totally ran into this trickster who gave me this cute little tank top, and it made me all sooooooo gay. And it made my ass and muscletits grow.”

“That’s not all it did,” Stiles muttered, gesturing down at the werewolf’s crotch.

Derek looked down and felt feint at the barely present lump in the front of his jeans. Although he was as hard as ever, due to being the presence of his hot boyfriend, there was barely any sort of bulge in his pants. Not caring who saw, the werewolf unbuttoned his jeans and peeked into his boxers, staring at the three inch tiny cock that he possessed.

“Like, that’s totally unfair!” he whined, stomping his foot in frustration, making his bubblebutt bounce like crazy.

“Why would you do this?” Stiles wondered aloud.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Like, I didn’t do it on purpose, Babe!” he explained, moving his hands a lot as he spoke. “The trickster told me it would help me win you back! I had to stop acting like some macho douche so that I could get your sexy ass back.”

Stiles jerked back. “Wait, you did this for me?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yes!” Derek huffed, stomping his foot again. “Like, Babe, I’m totally in love with you!” He leaned forward and wrapped the smaller man in his arms, shoving him against his muscletits. It felt so good to have Stiles in his arms and his breath against his inflated pecs only turned Derek on even more, and he unconsciously wiggled his hips, grinding his little nub against his boyfriend. It didn’t take long before the werewolf tensed up and shrieked out, “Oohhhh!” An embarrassingly small amount of cum squirted out, and Derek blushed both at cumming in public and at the realization that his stamina had been reduced to mere seconds.

“I love you too,” Stiles admitted, and Derek felt his nub start to throb all over again.

“Well, Babe, you gotta like, take this cute tank top off me,” he chirped. “It’s like the only way to get back to my boring body.”

Stiles nodded and grabbed the bottom of the hot pink tank top, yanking it off from the horny, himbo, ditzy werewolf.

As soon as he he felt the ocean breeze across his chest, Derek let out a sigh of relief.

Stiles just stared at him, his jaw hanging low and his eyes wide.

“What?” Derek asked, confused, his voice still high. He looked down at himself and wailed out in frustration.

His pecs were still inflated, capped with the larger and perpetually erect nipples. His bubblebutt was the size of two basketball strapped to his back and they formed a near right angle from his back. Worse was that his cock was still a tiny nub, and when he grabbed at it in disbelief, he shuddered and came, his stamina still small.

Derek grabbed at his hair in frustration. “Like, how am I even gonna make it looking like this?” he gestured down at his caricature of a body, paling at the thought of having to spend the rest of his days with inflated pecs and ass and a shrunken cock. His new ditzy behavior only made things worse, and the alpha shuddered at the thought of rival packs coming to his territory and him not being able to scare them away.

Stiles placed a hand on his broad shoulder, and Derek frowned as his three incher throbbed with want, invisible from his sight due to his inflated pecs. “If it’s any consolation,” Stiles offered, “I still think you’re really hot. And maybe I could try being the top.”

Derek stifled a moan, so incredibly turned on at the thought of his boyfriend fucking his giant butt. His unconsciously flexed his cheeks and grabbed a tight hold of Stiles’s hand. “Okay,” he sighed, “let’s go home then, Babe.”

Stiles smirked, keeping the pink tank top in his other hand. “And maybe you can wear this while we do it?” he asked, a hopeful smile on his face.

Derek tried to force a scowl on his face, but he couldn’t do it. Instead he playfully bounced his muscletits for Stiles, feeling the muscle mounds bounce a lot more than they used to. “Maaaaaybe,” he teased, his nub already oozing at the thought.

Congrats to this hot stud who won both biggest and smallest in show!