#*w:kinktober2022
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♝Pairing: Stisaac
♝Characters: Isaac Lahey, Stiles Stilinski
♝Tags: blow jobs, hand jobs, daggers, pining, oblivious!Stiles, hunter!Stiles, canon divergence
♝Words: 3983
♝ Kinktober 2022 - Knife Play
ao3
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trust fall
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"How disappointing."
Stiles has no idea who this alpha is or where he has come from. All he knows is that he doesn't want him and his potential pack to stay in Beacon Hills any longer than he already has and that he’s probably not easy to deal with judging by the tense line of Peter's shoulders.
"Really, Peter? That's what the mighty Hale pack came to be?" The alpha, Keith if Stiles remembers correctly, sneers. "You, your bastard son—" Jackson tenses next to Peter, fingers curling into tight fists, his knuckles turn white "— your nephew's beta, and…" Keith stops, eyes catching on Stiles as if he's seen them for the first time tonight. "And what are you, doll?"
Doll?
Stiles goes rigid, anger pulsing through his veins. "What did you just call me?"
"Ah." Peter tuts at the comment or Stiles' reaction. It's hard to tell with him. But as Isaac shifts a little closer, Peter pats Keith's shoulder as if they're old friends. "He's best not to trifle with."
Stiles cuts his gaze to the former alpha. They're not here to save Peter's ass. Stiles has agreed to come tonight because he owes him a favor for having helped with the nogitsune. Jackson most likely joined him because he learned that Peter is his father two months ago, and he doesn't want to lose him again so soon. Isaac tagged along because, well, Stiles isn't exactly sure why he did, but he's not going to complain.
Keith brushes Peter's hand off like an annoying beetle and uses his impressive height of 6 foot 8 to look down on Stiles. Considering his status and size, Keith is probably used to people backing down. But Stiles has always been dangerously stubborn. After surviving a nogitsune, he won’t be scared by an alpha with a superiority complex. So, he merely stares back, hands in the pockets of his hoody, firmly clasping the Chinese ring daggers he got from Chris.
“I told you—”
“Peter,” Keith cuts him off, for the first time sounding impatient, “when I told you I’d visit, I expected you’d have something to offer to an old friend.” Whatever their relationship might be, ‘friends’ is the last word Stiles would have used for them.
“He’s not here to be dealt away.” Isaac puts a hand on the small of his back. It’s a subtle but possessive gesture.
And noticeable enough for Keith to raise a brow. “You don’t have to settle for a pack of omegas, doll.”
“Stiles,” Isaac warns.
But Stiles really has never been all that good at listening. “Did nobody tell you,” he wonders, pushing the sheath off the dagger in one swift movement, “that dolls kill?” Without any hesitation, and accompanied by the sound of exasperation from Peter, Stiles slams the dagger to the hilt into Keith’s side. The yellow wolfsbane takes effect almost immediately, and the mighty alpha falls to his knees in front of Stiles. “If you survive this, I want you to go back where you came from.” Smiling, Stiles shakes off a bit of blood and wolfsbane and then places the tip of the dagger right underneath the alpha’s jaw. “There is nothing here for you.”
“Fox,” Keith spits.
“You make it sound like an insult.” Stiles pats his cheek ever so gently before merely pushing the werewolf over. It will never not be satisfying to see people with huge egos fall. Most of the time, they deserve it. Twirling the dagger around his index finger, Stiles turns to Peter. “You need new friends, you know that?”
“Tell me about it.” Peter sighs dramatically.
Jackson rolls his eyes. “Can we go now? I’m supposed to pick up Danny in an hour.”
Stiles hums in agreement and turns around, catching Isaac staring at him in the process. At his hand holding the dagger specifically. “Something wrong?”
Blinking rapidly, Isaac shakes his head. “Starvin’.”
“Oh, I could eat something as well.” Stiles sheaths the dagger again and pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Let’s go.”
— — —
At first, Stiles wasn’t sure if what he heard were footsteps. This Airbnb and its noises are still very unfamiliar to him. When Peter called him a couple of nights ago, this was the only available accommodation in Beacon Hills he could stay for longer than two days. After all, if he’s back in town anyway, he might as well spend some time with his dad. But when he stepped out of the shower and onto the soft bath mat, the sound could not have come from him.
He towels himself down haphazardly — he doesn’t want to be mauled while naked — and slips into his jeans and hoodie. Good thing he’s been carrying the daggers around with him since losing it on the alpha last night. That’s what he gets for calling him ‘doll’. Stiles huffs, slipping his fingers through the ring, and grabs the dagger. He probably should stock up on yellow wolfsbane, just in case.
The patio door is open, and Stiles isn’t entirely sure if that was his doing or not. He opened it before he decided to shower, but he could have sworn that he’s closed it again. He wouldn’t be that stupid. Would he? Maybe not stupid but certainly forgetful enough.
Stiles stops just outside of view, watching the shadow shift and move with the person standing outside the door. It looked strangely familiar. Especially what seems to be curly— Stiles rolls his eyes and steps forward. He reaches around the door, curling his fingers into a soft sweater. Without further ado, he yanks Isaac inside.
Yelping, the werewolf stumbles. He manages to twist onto his back before he hits the floor.
Out of principle, Stiles straddles him and presses the dagger to his throat. “And you’re dead.”
Isaac chuckles, but it sounds slightly nervous. To be fair, he’s been looking at him a little differently ever since Stiles attacked that alpha with a dagger. It’s not unreasonable. Stiles acted a little rash. He probably should’ve ignored the condescending behavior, that would have been a smarter decision, but he’s never claimed to make rational decisions. He’s a great planner, but in the heat of the moment, he slams a wooden baseball bat over a giant werewolf’s head.
“Sorry,” Isaac mutters, squirming a little underneath him.
Stiles lets out a breath, trying to make it sound like a chuckle. He’s pretty sure that failed. There’s a frustratingly huge part of him who wants to have Isaac squirming underneath him for an entirely different reason — a part he should have locked away a couple of years ago. “What are you doing here?” He quirks a brow.
Clearing his throat, Isaac pulls his shoulders up in an awkward shrug. “Checking in on you.”
“Aww, that’s so sweet.” Stiles means it even though he’s hiding that behind a mocking tone. Knowing Isaac is worried enough to keep an eye on him makes him feel weirdly protected despite knowing that Stiles isn’t exactly in need of protection. He is capable of defending himself — then again, there’s nothing he would be able to do against a pack of werewolves. He might not even be able to hold off a single alpha werewolf without his daggers and a bit of good old wolfsbane.
“So,” Isaac swallows heavily, Adam’s apple moving just above the blade, “you usually run around with your daggers?”
“Only after threatening an alpha,” Stiles replies, cocking his head a little to the side. “Why?” He glances at the dagger pressed against soft skin again. There is something weirdly… hot about this whole thing. Stiles is dimly aware that maybe he shouldn’t think it’s hot as hell that Isaac is pinned down— or rather, lets himself be pinned down by nothing more than a dagger to his throat.
Isaac swallows again, shifting underneath him a little as well. It’s then that Stiles notices why Isaac seems so nervous. He’s hard. Heat flushes all of his body. Isaac is hard. He is hard underneath him. Isaac’s bright eyes widen in a panic, and he pushes Stiles off a little clumsily, the dagger nicking his throat slightly. “Sorry,” Isaac mutters, turning away. It’s almost comical how his head swivels back and forth between the door to the bedroom and the door leading to the outside. They’re not the same, but they probably look eerily similar for a werewolf who’s about two seconds away from dying of embarrassment.
Slowly, Stiles gets to his feet. “Isaac.” Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. They talked about Allison just last night, and Isaac clearly still has feelings for the late huntress. It’s hard to blame him. She was ripped from him when they’d hardly started a relationship — and then he had to hear her say how she still loved Scott. He’s using Allison’s daggers because Chris gave them to him after he finished training.
Isaac doesn’t turn around, but his shoulders are a tense line. “Listen, I’m sorry. I—”
Stiles crosses the room, and — despite knowing better — runs the tip of the dagger over the nape of Isaac’s neck. Goosebumps spread over the werewolf’s neck and arms. Huh. “What do you want me to do?”
“I— it’s…” Isaac clears his throat again and turns around slowly. “The dagger, it’s—”
Smirking, and ignoring every single warning bell, Stiles presses the dagger against Isaac’s throat again. This time, he’s pushing him not quite as gently as he possibly could have and forces the other boy to walk backward until he hits a wall. “It’s fun, isn’t it?” Stiles wants to kiss him, but he buries the urge. Kidding is different. Kissing is reserved for people you love. It’s an odd thing to think about, but it’s something he cannot shake. Blowing someone in the restroom of a club isn’t very intimate if you keep kissing out of the equation. Stiles can do that. He absolutely can. He will not be slapped in the face by feelings he's totally not having any longer.
Nope.
Isaac swallows again, and there is something so fucking tantalizing about watching his skin move against the blade. It looks like their interests align more than a little. Eventually, Isaac nods again.
"I could make you feel even better." Stiles has no clue where this courage comes from. He doesn't have an issue doing anything like this with a stranger at a club, but with someone he knows? Someone he's got feelings for? Feelings that probably aren't reciprocated? That's a disaster waiting to happen. "But you'd have to open your pants for that."
To his surprise, Isaac follows the instruction, eyes darkening in the process.
Stiles shudders at the sound of a zipper being opened and can't help but look when Isaac pushes his pants down. They’re doing this. They’re doing this because there is Isaac’s cock, hard and shiny and beautiful. This is— a terrible idea. But it’s not like he is known to make good decisions when it comes to his love life. He’s quite literally the worst.
But fuck it.
Fuck it.
Without breaking eye contact, Stiles sinks to his knees. Now, being face to face with Isaac’s dick, he’s a little intimidated by it. His anxiety is always out to get him. It’s wonderful. Stiles won’t let it ruin this moment, though — no matter how wrong this might be. He swallows and tilts his head back up, making sure Isaac is looking at him. “You trust me, right?” Stiles raises his brows. Kneeling between Isaac’s legs, he looks up at the werewolf. He never expected to have a dagger in his hand while blowing someone, but that’s exactly why this question is more than a little important.
Licking his lips, Isaac nods very slowly. “Still kinda thinking about—” he cuts off, shaking his head very vehemently. “No, I trust you.”
Stiles traces the tip of the dagger up the inside of Isaac’s thigh. The werewolf above him stiffens, but he doesn’t pull away. Most importantly, his dick twitches in response. Stiles smirks, locking eyes with Isaac again, whose cheeks turned a darker shade of red. First, he’d considered doing something else, but now he is more than content with making Isaac feel very good. After all, the wolf was — more or less subtly — lurking near him to make sure he’s not about to get jumped by a pack of angry werewolves. It’s a very sweet gesture. “Good.” Stiles scoots a little closer and wraps his fingers around Isaac’s cock, feeling his own twitch in response to the slightly nervous moan above him. Strangely enough, he gets the feeling as if Isaac isn’t as experienced in the matter as Stiles imagined him to be. “You can stop me at any time, okay?” He runs the knife down again, leaving a soft white line in its wake. “For anything.” And up again. Slow and steady with just enough pressure that it all but breaks skin. “Unless you’re coming. You’re going to do that in my mouth, got it?” He nudges the tip of the dagger against sensitive skin. It catches, barely drawing a drop of blood.
Isaac bangs his head against the wall, moaning loud enough for neighbors to hear.
Good.
Stiles brings his mouth up to Isaac’s cock, brushing his lips against the tip. He’s smirking a little and purposefully not looking up even though he can feel the wolf’s heavy gaze on him again. There’s a subtle tremble in the other boy’s legs. Briefly, Stiles wonders if this is going to last long. He kind of hopes it doesn’t. Knowing he can bring Isaac to the edge in no time would be absolutely breathtaking. Stiles shifts his grip a bit, dragging his thumb over the underside of Isaac’s cock as he parts his lips to take the tip into his mouth.
“Fuck.” Isaac’s curse is something between a moan and a groan.
The noise sets Stiles' nerves on fire. Giving a blow job isn't something he necessarily hates, but it has never been this fun, this fucking hot to know he can make Isaac come undone with his mouth, hand, and a dagger pressed against his thigh. They should do this more often. Stiles removes his hand from the equation, placing it on Isaac's hip again. He'd rather get used to his size before the other boy does something unexpected. Although Stiles doubts it. Not with the dagger pressed against him. He swirls his tongue around the tip, moaning a little at the taste of precum.
Isaac's fingers curl and uncurl, as if he's considering grabbing Stiles' hair. It's adorable, really, that he's not doing anything without permission. Maybe it’s not that Isaac’s innocent, maybe he’s more so respectful of boundaries. Whoever ends up dating him is going to have a wonderful boyfriend.
Stiles stomach twists.
Don’t think about it.
Stiles pulls off and looks up at Isaac. "You can grab my hair," he says, tapping a finger against his hips, "or pull it. I don't mind." You could do everything to me. There’s an edge of bitterness cutting into his pleasure, and Stiles hopes Isaac isn’t paying any attention to his chemosignals. Grinning a little, he leans forward and takes his cock back into his mouth. Only a second later, fingers curl tightly into his short strand. There you go. Stiles hollows out his cheek, taking more of Isaac into his mouth. He struggles a bit with coordinating his hands and mouth, especially when he's doing something different with all of them. For now, he should probably focus on his mouth the most, and on relaxing his throat. Part of him wants Isaac to fall in love with him, but it’s stupid. They both know why this is happening.
He’s a hunter.
He’s using Allison’s daggers.
Stiles is fucked up for using this to his advantage. He’s fucked for allowing this to happen. But he couldn’t say no. He couldn’t stop — still can’t. Not with the noises Isaac makes — his little punched-out moans — or the way his fingers tighten in Stiles’ hair every single time he takes more of his cock into his mouth. He’s going to hell for this. He is so going to hell for this.
But it’s too late anyway. Stopping now wouldn’t undo how far they’ve gone. Might as well go all the way.
Stiles shifts the dagger in his hand, pressing the flat side against Isaac’s thigh, more of a reminder that it’s still there, but also to keep the other boy pressed against the wall — even though they both know that he wouldn’t be able to hold him if Isaac actually wanted to do something. His dick twitches at the thought. Fuck. Stiles closes his eyes. Isaac. Focus on Isaac. That’s what counts. Stiles decides on letting the tip of his cock touch the back of his throat a few times. He can feel the muscles in Isaac’s legs tighten, probably fighting the urge to just thrust his hips forwards.
The fifth time, Stiles doesn’t stop there. He relaxes his throat and focuses on deep breaths through his nose. It’s not the first time he deepthroated someone, but he wouldn’t exactly call himself an expert — or someone who enjoys doing it all the time. His gag reflex is a little too sensitive for that. But Stiles moves his open mouth down the length of Isaac’s cock, breathing through his throat trying to actively work against him until he’s pressing his nose against Isaac’s crotch. The noises he’s rewarded with are worth fucking everything.
Isaac half curses, half moans. Stiles is half sure he's heard his name somewhere in that string of sounds, but he's not sure, and he's too afraid to look up. He's afraid to find Isaac standing there with his eyes closed, imagining somebody else, while his imagination is playing tricks on him.
Stiles pulls back. The hold Isaac has on his hair is slightly uncomfortable, but he doesn't mind. Not at all. For all he cares, Isaac could hold him in place and use his mouth and throat. But Isaac wouldn't do anything like that without Stiles' permission. The last thing he wants to do is talk, however, so Stiles keeps his mouth occupied, putting everything he's learned into this blow job.
Listening to Isaac slowly lose his mind is the hottest thing Stiles has heard in forever. He is saying something or babbling rather. It's impossible to say if Isaac struggles to form a coherent sentence, or if Stiles' brain simply can't comprehend a single word. Both are more than likely.
Either way, Stiles can't ignore his own dick any longer. He struggles with his belt, button, and zipper. Regretting he didn't change into his sweatpants like usual. When he finally gets his hand on himself, Stiles moans around Isaac’s cock.
"Stiles, Stiles." His name sounds like a prayer on Isaac's lips.
Stiles almost came because of that. He whimpers softly, trying to move his own hand in some sort of rhythm, but he struggles to focus on everything all at once. He takes another breath through his nose, his own hips rocking forward involuntarily, as he takes all of Isaac again, and when his nose presses against Isaac’s crotch again, the grip on his hair tightens painfully. Isaac's cock pulses on his tongue, knees buckling slightly, as he's coming down his throat.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Tears sting in his eyes as he's gagging on Isaac's dick.
"Stop."
Stiles blinks, trying to look up but the angle is fucking awkward, and Isaac isn't letting go of his hair — and it's hard to stop his throat from working when there's a cock shoved down it. He's spreading his precum over his cock, trying to focus more on his pleasure than the slight discomfort.
Isaac all but yanks him off. Drops of his cum give Stiles a taste of what he's missed out on. "Stop. Stiles," Isaac sounds just as breathless as Stiles feels. "Stop. You said—" Isaac tilts his head back, forcing Stiles to look up "— you said I could stop you at any time." His accent’s become thicker, almost like he can’t really control it.
Confused, Stiles draws his brows together, but he stops chasing his climax anyway. Instead, he just kneels there, looking up at Isaac staring down at him, wondering what he looks like to him now that this is over. Licking his lips, Stiles drops the dagger next to him.
Isaac's gaze cuts to it for all but a second.
"Please," Stiles whispers, squirming a little.
Isaac releases his grip on his hair and offers him a hand. "Come on, up."
There's absolutely no way Stiles will be able to stand. He can feel his legs from being stuck in a kneeling position for too long, and he's still uncomfortably hard. "Isaac," Stiles whispers, running his hands over his thighs.
"Fine." Isaac drops to his knees, grabbing Stiles' jaw. "This works as well." And he kisses him. He fucking kisses him. Stiles is sure his heart is about to explode. Isaac curls a hand around the nape of his neck, pulling Stiles closer to him.
The position is a bit awkward, his thighs trembling now that he's more upright, and Stiles hates the way the muscles in his thighs start to ache. But Isaac deepens the kiss, wraps his long fingers around Stiles' dick, and— fuck everything else. He's kissing Isaac as if his life depended on it, and maybe it does. Just a little.
"Bloody hell," Isaac breathes, pulling away from the kiss. His fingers are skilled, and his movements secure. There’s nothing of the restraint he showed in the beginning. "That mouth of yours." He chuckles, almost as if to himself, and drags his thumb over the head of Stiles' dick. "That blow job made me want to write my vows."
Stiles grabs Isaac’s arm and shoulder, holding onto him. He needs to fucking breathe, but it's so incredibly hard right now — and Isaac talking really does not help at all. Swallowing heavily, he tips his head forward and watches Isaac’s hand move on him, thumb swiping over the tip of his dick, spreading more precum. His grip tightens. Stiles can feel Isaac’s muscles work. He bites his bottom lip.
“I know you’re close,” Isaac says softly, and Stiles cannot tell if his words are what makes him notice his orgasm rolling in, or if Isaac convinced his body. “Come on, Pretty Boy, let go.”
And just like that, Stiles is coming all over Isaac’s hand. Even though his blunt nail digs into the other boy’s arm, trying desperately to hold onto him, Stiles collapses against him. Breathe. Breathe. His poor brain struggles with its most basic tasks right now.
Isaac wraps his arm around Stiles’ shoulders, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Just so you know,” he whispers, lips so close it’s like he’s painting the words into Stiles’ skin, “I usually go on a date first.” The Cockney accent hides behind an American one again.
Stiles raises his head, squinting at Isaac. “What?” Once his brain works better again, he really needs to ask why he’s fighting his accent so much. It’s kind of hot.
Chuckling, Isaac grabs his chin again. "I usually go on a date first." He pecks his lips, ever so gently, and Stiles is pretty sure he's about to combust.
But he's still not entirely sure he heard him right. Unless… maybe it's just small talk?
“Soo… dinner?”
Stiles snorts out a laugh, and Isaac draws his brows together, looking almost offended at the reaction. Offended not hurt. Seems like he knows exactly how Stiles is feeling about him. Fucking werewolves and their supernatural noses. “More like takeout and a movie,” he replies, grinning at Isaac. He feels stupidly giddy. It’s annoying.
“Oh, I like that better.” Isaac kisses his nose. "Let's do that instead."
#stisaac#isaac lahey#stiles stilinski#teen wolf#stiles x isaac#isaac x stiles#kinktober 2022#*tv:teen wolf#*w:kinktober2022#*w:complete#*s:stisaac
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♞Pairing: Steo
♞Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Theo Raeken
♞Tags: a/b/o - dynamics, alpha!theo, omega!stiles, knotting, rough sex, canon divergent, nogitsune!stiles
♞Words: 3400
♞Kinktober - A/B/O
ao3
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sugar and spice (and everything nice)
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Stiles crouches on the edge of the stage, watching the crowd move to the music. Cute couples trying to figure out how to slow dance, best friends purposefully stepping on each other's feet, all to a disgustingly boring song. All of them are still so innocent — and so lucky because they don’t know yet how extremely obnoxious it can be to have an alpha. Theo is great for the most part, but Stiles still wants to rip his head off half the time they’re together.
“He thinks people don’t sexualize athletes, huh?” Brett leans against the stage, arms folded and black shirt snug against his bicep. When it came to potential mates, Brett was on the list as a failsafe. He’s been the ‘if we don’t find anybody else by thirty’ alternative. Theo has always been his first choice, even if Stiles tried to ignore it in the beginning. He loves that pain in his ass more than he can comprehend. Theo knows that. He still hates Stiles working with Brett more than his own parents — and that’s saying something.
Kira clicks her tongue, balls of her feet knocking against the stage in no particular rhythm. “Give him a break,” she says, cocking her head to the right, “I wouldn’t mate with a nogitsune either.”
“Fair point.”
Stiles whacks the back of Brett’s head. “I love you too.” Sighing, he crosses his arms over his thighs. “We’ve been hired to teach these kids a few dances for their prom night. Theo needs to get his shit together.” Not that Stiles is entirely innocent, but that doesn’t change the fact that they keep fighting over the same stupid shit — Stiles’ job. But Theo knew that. Stiles has been working on this since before he’s presented as an omega, and certainly long before they even got together. It’s not like Stiles hid his nature. Theo knew exactly what he was getting into, and he still wooed Stiles for almost two years.
“Brett snorts. “You say that as if High School students aren’t the horniest people on the planet.” For someone who calls himself his best friend, Brett is entirely unhelpful.
“Don’t act like you aren’t enjoying Theo flipping his shit,” Kira notes without looking away from the dancing crowd. “You started this with yesterday’s choreography.”
Stiles throws his hands in the air. “It’s our job.”
“Personally, I don’t remember touching our partner’s leg as part of the choreography,” Brett deadpans.
Stiles needs better friends — or rather, he needs people who know him and let him get away with his bullshit. Instead, his best friends are an absolute angel and a reformed lacrosse jock. It’s like having two Jiminy Crickets on his shoulders. “You don’t usually complain when I improvise a little.” Brett’s choreographies are amazing, but he encourages Kira and Stiles to work with each other as much as possible.
Shaking his head, Brett hoists himself onto the stage. “I might just change my mind if it means I Have to walk home.”
“Theo’s gonna come.” As much as his dear alpha loves to bitch and moan, he’d never actually let Stiles walk anywhere at night. Omega nogitsunes are just rare enough to catch unwanted attention wherever he goes — not necessarily to claim him. Stiles would probably end up in a fucking zoo for a shitton of money. It’s a good thing he’s usually around alphas when he’s not with Theo. It’s not that he specifically chose his best friends to be alphas. They just happened to both present as one. It did make things a lot easier after hitting 21, that’s for sure.
Brett merely sighs. He’s probably mostly pissed that they’re at Beacon Hills High instead of Devenford Prep.
“Oh, look.” Kira points in the direction of the gym’s entrance. “Our ride’s here.” And she drops off the stage without another word. Seems like she’s looking forward to their ride home. Contrary to popular belief, Stiles and Theo know not to carry their discrepancies to the outside world. They like to fight, yes, but they know how to behave themselves in front of other people. They’ll probably drive home in uncomfortable silence. It’s not exactly pleasant, but much better than with people yelling at each other.
Theo leans against the doorframe, talking to Natalie and Coach Finstock. He looks as if he’s completely relaxed, but even from a distance Stiles can see that his boyfriend is pissed off. They didn’t separate on the best terms today, something Stiles usually tries to prevent. It’s something his father taught him, knowing exactly how it feels to lose someone in the middle of a fight. So, yes. Maybe he feels a little guilty now that he sees him.
Brett breathes in deep, even moving his hand a little as if to fan the air towards him. “Damn, the fresh scent of regret.” He pushes off the stage, smirking at Stiles over his shoulder. “What a beautiful thing.”
“Oh, screw you.” Stiles jumps to the ground, head held high. Just because he feels bad for having to leave before making up to Theo does not mean he’s wrong. His point still stands. If Theo wants someone who is his tame little omega with no life then he should just end their relationship. It’s not like Stiles tricked Theo into anything. They’ve known each other before they eventually presented and got together. To be fair, their friendship has already been a rollercoaster with Stiles being a fox and Theo being a wolf. So, it’s absolutely no surprise their relationship is as tumultuous as it is. That still does not change the fact that Stiles will not become Theo’s little house omega. He has a life. He has a career. He is not going to put that on hold just because Theo is so fucking jealous he’d rather lock Stiles up in the basement so nobody can look at him. He’s a dancer, for fuck’s sake. He has always been a dancer.
When they reach the entrance, Theo is merely holding out his hand while still deep in conversation with Finstock about the current state of the lacrosse team. Theo has never been on the lacrosse team, but Finstock probably doesn’t care.
“Are we still on for Sunday?” Natalie asks.
Stiles slips his hand in Theo’s, unable to hide his smile when his boyfriend squeezed his hand tightly. “Yes, of course.” When Natalie contacted them, wondering if they could maybe give the students a few dance lessons in preparation for prom night, they also agreed on a lunch date. Sunday was the only day his father managed to get off work. They haven’t seen each other in a couple of months with all of their schedules as full as they are.
“Wonderful, I’ll see you then.” Natalie smiles at them, then hurries off to the stage. The dance lesson is officially over.
Theo doesn’t offer Finstock a ‘goodbye’. He tugs on Stiles’ hand, grip all but painful, and drags him off to the car.
Kira and Brett follow in silence.
— — —
“I don’t know what you want from me,” Stiles snaps, throwing his bag into one of the chairs near the window front.
Theo slams the door shut behind him. “I want you to behave for once in your life!”
“Behave?” Stiles echoes, whirling around in disbelief. “I’m not your fucking dog, Theo.�� He understands that he’s overdoing it sometimes, even though touching Kira’s leg during a choreography to a flirty song isn’t what Stiles would consider ‘overdoing it’. He’s a fucking dancer. It’s called doing his job. "If you want someone who worships your every step maybe you shouldn’t have wasted your time with me, and instead mated with Tracy."
Theo narrows his eyes, watching Stiles for a few seconds. His tense posture relaxes a bit, almost like he regrets ever bringing it up. “You know that’s not what I want.”
“Then stop telling me what to do, Theodore.” The hotel room feels way too small for the two of them right now, but he isn’t going to leave — at least not completely. “I’m going to take a shower,” he says in a low voice. Because if he cannot leave, he’s simply going to end this discussion differently. “Maybe you should use that time to take a fucking walk and calm down.” There are a lot of things Theo lets him get away with; Stiles ordering him around isn’t one of them.
As expected, Theo slams him against the large window front. “What did you just say?”
Stiles can feel the glass vibrate at his back. His body reacts to this treatment almost immediately, and he knows Theo has noticed it as well. “I said,” he snarls, even though there is absolutely no need to repeat his words — they both heard what he said, “take a fucking walk and calm down.”
Red bleeds into Theo’s eyes. “You better watch that pretty mouth of yours.”
“Or what?” Stiles shoots back, even though he already knows the answer. Because it’s part of their routine, it’s part of their way to make up. They will fight, they will fuck, and then, after spending all of their anger and energy, they’ll finally be able to talk. They will have a few good weeks, maybe months, and then they repeat their little song and dance. Their natures clash, but their souls connect. It’s the classic tale of two people who cannot live with or without each other.
Theo grabs him by the throat, his thumb pressing against his pulse point. “Or I’m going to fuck it.”
Stiles laughs. “I’m not sure if that’s supposed to be a threat or a promise.”
Growling, Theo all but tosses him to the ground.
The second Stiles’ knees hit the expensive rug in front of the bed, his omega nature clashes with his nogitsune. It’s an endless internal struggle that’s driving Stiles up the wall in the best and worst possible way. Part of him wants to please his alpha, show him how good he is, how perfect. The other part wants to bring Theo down with him, watch him crumble or blow up. In retrospect, he can’t blame Kira or others who say they’d never mate with a nogitsune. It takes a special person to keep him under control, and perhaps Theo is the only person who ever could.
Theo prowls over to him, quietly growling the whole time.
Stiles struggles with wanting to lash out and wanting to make himself as small as possible. It pisses him off even more, pushing him deep into a rabbit hole of anger and guilt — but his body reacts despite both feelings. He can feel his dick harden, can’t stop thinking about Theo fucking him senseless. “Fuck you,” he snaps after a short while, mostly to fill the silence hanging heavily between them.
A chuckle follows his insult. “You really think you can just run that pretty mouth of yours whenever you want, huh?” Theo licks his lips and opens his belt. “Are you that desperate for my cock down your throat?”
Stiles is not proud of the wanton sound leaving his mouth, or that his boxer briefs are already damp. They’re in the middle of a fucking fight. Theo threw him to the floor, and yet his fucking body prepares to be fucked by his alpha. Stiles absolutely loathes it. Yet at the same time, he can’t get enough of it. He swallows heavily and straightens his spine, moving himself to his knees. It’s not the first time it would happen exactly like this — Stiles on his knees, Theo wrapping the belt around his neck as a substitute for a collar and leash. This one, like all of Theo’s belts, has a small hole punched into it so Theo can fasten the belt tight enough to be noticeable without choking Stiles.
That’s something he prefers to do by hand.
But Theo has something else in mind. “Hands behind your back.” He’s stepped so close that Stiles’ nose bumps against the obvious erection poorly hidden by jeans. Looks like he’s not the only one conditioned to get horny whenever their fight is reaching its climax. It’s an interesting combination, and even though Stiles is more than aware this isn’t the healthiest of relationships or conflict resolutions, it works for them. Probably so much better than it should be.
Stiles whimpers, but he puts his arms behind his back and tries his hardest to stay unmoving even though Theo presses deliciously against him.
“If you think,” Theo says in a very low voice, pulling the belt tight, “I’ll reward you for acting the way you did today and yesterday, you’re wrong.” There’s a cold edge to his voice, but his dick more than betrays Theo’s words. He loves Stiles sucking him off just as much as fucking him senseless. “You want to be seen?” Without checking if the belt is too tight — it isn’t, Theo knows it isn’t because he’s done this more than enough times to have perfected it — his dear alpha yanks him to his feet. “Fine, let’s give them a show.” Without any more explanation, Theo shoves him onto the bed.
Stiles falls onto it face first, grumbling into the pillows before twisting his head to the side. It’s pretty apparent who is the “them” Theo was referring to. They’re on full display for the building on the other side of the street. There are lights on in one of the offices. If they just so happened to look out of the window, they’d see something they probably didn’t sign up for.
Theo makes short work of Stiles’ jeans, pulling them down with his boxer briefs. “Look at that,” he croons, pressing two fingers against his wet hole for all but a second, and Stiles whines at the loss before he can catch himself, “your body knows who you belong to.” Humming appreciatively, Theo opens his zipper.
Stiles watches Theo in the reflection of the windows, pressing his lips into a thin line. There will be no foreplay today. Neither has the patience for it, even though his fucking boyfriend makes a show of stroking himself lazily. “Screw you,” Stiles spits, twisting his hands uselessly. Neither is in the right mind to be nice or affectionate either.
Theo grabs his hips and pulls him back towards him. “Watch it.” And that’s all the warning he gets before Theo presses against him, and the tip of his dick pushes inside without any resistance.
Stiles’ knee-jerk reaction is to twist away, but Theo doesn’t give him any wiggle room. His hands are on his hips, blunt nails digging into his skin, and pushes into him in one long thrust. There is zero time to adjust. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s an uncomfortable stretch since Theo isn’t exactly on the small side. Stiles loves it. Way too much. Yet at the same time, he hates how his body betrays his anger; how desperate it is for Theo and his stupid dick playing him exactly the way he needs it. Stiles curls his fingers into tight fists, wishing he was strong enough to break this belt. He also knows it’s there for a reason because the part that doesn’t want to please Theo wants to fucking hit him — something he’s done before, something he still feels horrible about.
But Theo knows how to handle his nogitsune. Theo knows to handle all of him.
Just like Stiles knows Theo struggles not to move. He can feel the muscles in his thighs tremble a little. If anybody on this planet could match Stiles’ stubbornness, it would be Theo, and he’s trying to teach him a lesson. Stiles breathes in through his nose, forehead pressed into the pillows, and grinds his teeth so hard his jaw hurts. The second he opens his mouth, he is either going to lash out or beg Theo to move, move.
Move.
He doesn't want to do either.
It's Theo who cracks first, cursing audibly before pulling back, and with a snap of his hips, he buries himself deep inside him again. Then he pauses.
Again.
Stiles bites into the pillow to stifle a moan. Betraying his earlier words, Theo isn’t exactly punishing Stiles for his behavior. Theo wants Stiles to enjoy himself every time they have sex — if it’s during his heat or an argument, it doesn’t matter. Stiles can angrily bite into pillows for as long as he wants, they’re both aware that he wants to tell Theo how well he takes care of him, how he’s a good alpha, how he’s his alpha. It’s the type of submission that makes Stiles want to pull his teeth out.
Theo keeps fucking him, hands never straying from his hips. It's a slow pace. Agonizingly slow. Littered with too many pauses. Theo fucks him like he has all the time in the world — like they don’t have dinner plans in two hours. And although Stiles isn’t exactly hating what’s going on, this is Theo’s form of punishment. He’s doing this to fuck the attitude out of him. Slow and steady. That’s always been this asshole’s motto. They would not be together if it weren’t.
And it works.
Like it does every time.
Stiles moans.
Theo chuckles, shifting just the smallest bit behind him. The jeans scratch against Stiles’ exposed thighs, making him squirm. “Are you done now?” Theo asks, sounding ever so innocently — like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. His question is accompanied by a sharp snap of his hips. This time, he hits Stiles’ prostate.
And it makes Stiles bite the pillow for an entirely different reason.
“Hey.” Theo reaches for him, curls a hand around Stiles’ throat, and pulls up toward him. “It’s time,” he breathes right into Stiles’ ear, “to stop acting like a bitch before I treat you like one.”
“No.” Stiles shakes his head, trying to find a single strand of thought while Theo is buried inside of him at this angle. It's not the first time just having Theo's dick inside of him causes his brain to malfunction. He sucks in a breath. "Hotel," is all he manages to say — and that, somehow, causes Theo to bark out a laugh.
Without hesitation, Theo pushes him back into the pillows. "You really think," he asks and finally, finally, he starts fucking him in earnest, "I care about who hears you?" His fingers move to Stiles' jaw, making sure he's not able to muffle his sounds again. "Let them," Theo stresses his words by fucking him harder.
His dick is throbbing. Stiles twists his hands uselessly. He needs to— fuck. "Theo," he moans, but speaking is hard with the way Theo fucks him like he’s meaning to make him remember it for the foreseeable future. "Please.” His muscles tighten, and he’s rushing towards his orgasm embarrassingly fast. The knot pressing against his rim with every thrust doesn’t help either.
Theo all but yanks him back up again, turning his head enough so they could look at each other. “Stiles,” he whispers, continuing to slam up into him, “I love you.” The hand around his throat tightens just enough to make breathing a little harder. At the same time, Theo’s pushed his knot inside of him—
And that’s when his orgasm slams into him. His vision whites out as pleasure cuts through every single inch of his body. He comes hard with Theo’s name on his lips. He’s dimly aware that Theo stopped moving, holding onto him even tighter. As boneless as he feels right now, that’s probably a good thing.
Chuckling, Theo peppers a few kisses onto his shoulder. “Pretty sure they heard that multiple floors down.” The belt finally drops between them.
Stiles groans in relief, but he also uses his newfound freedom for evil. “Shut up,” he says weakly, elbowing Theo in the chest. They just fought because of his attitude.
Huffing out a laugh, Theo kisses his cheek. “You’re lucky I love you.”
Stiles grins, turning his head enough to kiss him on the mouth. “I love you too.” So much more than Theo is aware of. “I will still blame you when we’re late for dinner.” Because Lydia will be absolutely livid if they don’t make it on time.
“I can handle her,” Theo whispers, carefully moving them so they can lie down.
---
#steo#stiles stilinski#theo raeken#teen wolf#stiles x theo#theo x stiles#kinktober 2022#*tv:teen wolf#*w:kinktober2022#*w:complete#*s:steo
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♫ Pairing: Steddie
♫ Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley
♫ Tags: mild dom/sub, hand jobs, getting together, pining
♫ Words: 3202
♫ Kinktober - Clothed Dom/Nakes Sub
ao3
---
(not so) innocent
---
“Okay, but—”
“Steve.” Robin raises both hands fast enough that her beer should’ve spilled all over her fingers. But even the beverage knows not to interrupt an exasperated Robin Buckley. “I’ve seen you pick up an — admittedly quite large — amount of girls since working at the video store. How hard can it be? Give Eddie one of your stupidly brilliant smiles full of Harrington charm and the man’s knees are gonna turn into pudding.”
Steve has a hard time believing that anything could turn Eddie’s legs into pudding, but he’s also survived shit he never thought he never thought existed; so, who is he to judge, really? Groaning, Steve runs his fingers through his hair. If he’s perfectly honest, he’d rather face Vecna again than risk having his heart ripped out. Besides, all the evidence he has of Eddie being into guys is Robin’s gut feeling — and his bandana, if his dear best friend is to be trusted.
“Oh good god, have you been this stressed the first time you asked out a girl?”
Steve grimaces a little. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then no.”
Robin snorts. At least one of them is amused by his inability to flirt with Eddie Munson. It should not be that hard. But Nancy’s ‘bullshit’ is still ringing in his ears. It cut deep. Not because he still loves her, but because he was happy, and she played him for a fool. She treated him like his parents do and then turned around to make it his fault. Despite being friendly now, Steve would lie if he said it did not scar him.
“Hey.” Robin pokes his chin. “Just ask him.” Her smile is one of her rarer, softer ones, and she straightens Steve’s collar unnecessarily.
“Okay, but how exactly do I politely ask him to slam me against a wall and make out with me?” It’s not something Steve ever considered to be interested in until Eddie did just that – well, the first part. They haven’t exactly gotten around to making out seeing that Eddie threatened to cut his neck open with a broken bottle.
Steve still can’t believe that was one of the hottest things to ever happen to him.
“Use your words.” Robin pushes her beer into his hand. “Turn on your Harrington charm. You’ve got this.” Getting with Vicky changed Robin’s whole perspective on love. It’s exhausting.
Steve is insanely jealous.
“Now, go get your man.” Robin pats his cheek and slips out of the kitchen, where they’ve been hiding out to talk about Steve’s little crisis.
He grimaces and sips on Robin’s beer. She won’t drop this tonight or ever unless he’s putting in some form of effort. So, a little liquid courage is probably going to make this a little easier. Maybe. If he’s lucky. Biting the inside of his cheek, Steve surveys the pool area. It’s quite the odd mix of people with Eddie’s gang — minus the kids, of course, something Dustin sees as the single greatest offense ever — a few of Nancy’s as well as Vicky’s friends. Even Jonathan and Argyle decided to swing by. It’s a very sharp contrast to the people Steve used to party with.
Eddie, however, is nowhere to be seen.
That’s entirely unhelpful.
Steve sips on the beer again and pushes away from the counter. Well, Eddie wouldn’t have left without telling him. Maybe he went up to the bathroom. He’s going to grab some snacks, be the perfect host, and somehow manage to get Eddie alone. He’ll also have to figure out how to not sound like a fucking idiot while testing the waters. “Bowls.” Steve puts the beer down and rubs his temple. “Bowls, bowls, bowls.” His mother’s bimonthly desire to rearrange the whole kitchen is seriously annoying.
“Above the sink.”
Right. “Thanks.” Good thing Eddie knows his kitchen better than— Steve whips around. Eddie. “Hey.”
The grin on Eddie’s lips is the smallest bit unnerving. “Hi there.”
Something about his tone and body language tells Steve that Eddie has not just stepped into the kitchen. There is no passing the kitchen when you go to the bathroom. “Sooo,” Steve drawls, trying to casually lean against the counter — as if that somehow made Eddie potentially hear his conversation with Robin go away, “how long have you been standing there?”
Eddie’s grin widens. “Longer than you’d like.”
Fuck.
“That’s what I was worried about.” Steve runs his fingers through his hair. This is not how he wanted this to go. In a perfect world, he’d be extremely smooth instead of awkward. But luck hasn’t been on his side for a while. “Okay, Eddie, listen. I—“
“Does it have to be a wall specifically?”
Steve blinks. “What?”
“Well…” Eddie looks almost sheepish as he steps closer ever so slowly. “You want me to slam you against a wall and make out with you. But I’m wondering,” his voice drops so low, it’s barely audible over the noise from outside, “if we can maybe improvise?”
What?
Steve opens his mouth, but the question seems to have been very much rhetorical because before he can even think about an answer, Eddie has him pinned against the counter, hands on his hips, and he kisses him. Without any hesitation.
Shit.
Shit.
Steve groans. He’s dreamed about this for so much longer than he’s ready to admit. His hands fly to the back of Eddie’s head, fingers curling into the curls to hold him in place. He can feel Eddie laugh much more than he can hear it, and the vibration hits him like nothing. Steve groans again, and this time Eddie slides his tongue past his lips.
It sends his head spinning.
And then he snaps back. “Wait,” Steve mutters and pulls just enough away that he can speak properly, “the others—”
Eddie quirks a brow. “What about them?”
What about them? That’s a good question. It’s not even that Steve would be bothered if they saw him kissing Eddie. He doesn’t care what they think because he knows the one that matters won’t have an issue with who he’s in love with — who he likes. He really needs to slow down. He’s got to be normal about this for once.
Eddie kisses the tip of his nose when Steve doesn’t reply. “Robin used her right as your best friend and kicked them all out.” He kisses the corner of his mouth, pulling him closer. “You’re having a migraine.”
Steve smiles a little. Robin could have embarrassed him by telling everyone he was throwing up or having diarrhea. He loves her. More than she might be able to understand. “Well,” Steve says slowly, grinning at Eddie while his heart is potentially trying to run away from him, “since I’ll be dealing with you…”
Eddie crashes their mouths together again. There’s another chuckle before he pulls away for a retort, “don’t get bratty on me, Harrington.” The words are painted against his lips. His voice is dark and rough and the hottest thing Steve has ever heard. He never thought a voice could get to him as Eddie’s does right now.
But he stands corrected.
Steve pushes away from the counter and wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist. Kissing him— being kissed senseless, Steve tries to walk them over to the stairs, but they’re bumping into everything and refuse to separate. Eddie’s hands roam over his body, settling mostly onto his ass and keeping their crotches deliciously close.
They’ll never make it upstairs.
When Eddie bumps against the couch, he spins them around. Without warning, Steve finds himself pinned against the cushions with the other boy on top of him. He’s into girls, he really is, but there's something about having Eddie on top of him that makes this whole experience a thousand times hotter than anything he’s ever done before. It’s a little surprising if he’s being honest. Eddie is his size. His body is firm and lean, and he easily pushes Steve’s legs apart to slip between them.
Steve is both overwhelmed and very much into the way Eddie takes control of the situation. It’s also more than a little unexpected. Eddie didn’t seem like someone this forward.
Looks like Steve was wrong about that.
And he’s not going to complain — especially not when Eddie grinds their hips together in a way that makes Steve’s mind melt. He gasps into the kiss, mesmerized by the sensation of Eddie’s erection moving against his own. It’s then that movements become a bit more hectic. They’re pressing against each other. Kissing and biting. Hands exploring unfamiliar bodies. They’re taking the edge off, trying to satisfy this first hunger.
Not long after, Eddie takes control back. His hand slips under Steve’s shirt, and he pushes him against the couch, keeping him there without any problems. Either Eddie is a lot stronger than he looks, or Steve is more willing to do whatever the other wants him to than he first realizes. Eddie sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. His fingers fan out over Steve’s abs, rings cool against his skin. The sound he makes in the back of his throat goes straight to Steve’s dick — something that does not escape Eddie’s attention.
He pulls away with a shit-eating grin and drags his thumb over Steve’s swollen bottom lip. “If somebody told me,” Eddie whispers, his voice deliciously rough, “I’ll have King Steve writhing underneath me, I’d have declared them insane.”
Steve huffs out a breath.
“Don’t huff at me.” Eddie leans down to kiss the corner of his mouth before leaning away and sitting back on his leg. Tipping his head to the side, Eddie studies him. There’s still obvious hunger in his eyes.
So Steve isn’t sure why this distance is happening. “Why did we stop?”
“Because I wanna savor this.”
Steve twists a little, not entirely sure what to make of this. “Savor this?” To be fair, if Steve were in charge, somebody would be missing clothes already. But Eddie is an amazing kisser. It’s addicting, and so very hard to stop. Steve licks his lips — heartbeat picking up as dark eyes follow his tongue — and props himself onto his elbows. “You wanna go slow?”
“Absolutely not.”
That doesn’t make sense, or does it? “What?” Steve sits up, regretting his choice of pants a little more right now. “Is this about your bandana?”
Eddie’s brows vanish under his messy fringe. “My bandana,” he echoes, but it’s obvious he knows exactly what Steve’s talking about. “You wanna know about my bandana?” It’s the dirty grin that gets to him, and the way Eddie’s eyes catch on his obvious erection for a little longer than necessary. “I don’t think you’re ready for that, sweetheart.” Eddie chuckles as if enjoying a joke only he is in on. “I don’t wanna ruin your innocence.”
Innocence.
Heat rushes into Steve’s cheeks. He’s not sure if it’s because of indignation or embarrassment. Either way, he kicks Eddie’s thigh softly. “I’m not innocent.” Steve has enough experience to be considered an expert. Well, at least when it comes to women. But he knows what feels good to him, he surely can use that to figure out what Eddie enjoys. It’s sex. It’s the one thing he’s really good at.
“If that were true,” Eddie says, and his grin grows impossibly bigger as he curls his fingers around Steve’s jaw in a strangely mind-melting way, “you wouldn’t have asked me about my bandana now.” He leans closer, close enough that they should be kissing, but they don’t — and Eddie makes sure it stays that way. “Would you, King Steve?”
Steve cannot shake his head. He swallows then breathes, “no.”
“I’m going to have so much fun with you, Steve Harrington.” Eddie kisses the tip of his nose again then suddenly pulls away. “Get up.”
“What?”
“Get up.” Eddie gestures for him to move.
Even though Steve is confused, he follows the command and slips off the couch. His legs feel a bit like jelly, but he shifts onto the spot Eddie indicates anyway — the second he does, he feels strangely exposed because Eddie is looking at him. He doesn’t say a word, just cocks his head to the side, eyes darting across his body as if he’s looking for something. Steve pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans to stop himself from fidgeting. The last time he’s been this nervous was when he ended up face-to-face with a Demogorgon for the first time. It doesn’t help that Eddie looks at him as if he wants to eat him alive.
Steve licks his lips. “So—”
Eddie leans forward, snatching the words right out of Steve’s mouth when he looks him dead in the eye. “Strip.” The authority in Eddie’s voice is unlike anything Steve would have suspected. Then again, maybe he should have. He is the leader of his little club after all, and with everything Dustin told him— “Steve,” Eddie coaxes him out of his thoughts. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Strip.
Steve clears his throat. He shouldn't be this fidgety because of such a request. There's never been an issue in the locker room or the showers. What is it about Eddie that makes him so insanely nervous about being looked at? He's attractive. He knows he is.
Okay.
Steve grabs his shirt by the nape of his neck and pulls it over his head. When he sees Eddie again, his eyes have gone from searching to studying. It's like he's trying to remember every part of him, every single mole and hair and imperfection.
Eddie leans back, eyes heavy and hooded. He spreads his legs. The way he's palming himself through his jeans is more than inviting.
But Steve stays where he is because Eddie said so. He keeps undressing because Eddie told him to. He’s never been very good with orders, but something about this whole situation, about the way the other boy sounds and looks at him. Somehow Eddie makes him feel like the single most attractive human in the world. So, he gets rid of his shoes, and socks and wiggles out of his jeans and boxer briefs together.
And it's really only when he is standing in front of the couch completely naked that Steve is glad they don’t have any neighbors. He’s still very much on display, Eddie’s intense gaze makes sure of that. Steve shifts a little, resisting the urge to cover himself up. It's not that he’s insecure. Steve knows he’s not unattractive, but Eddie is— Steve swallows. Eddie is just staring at him. Not saying a single word; and if not for the fact that his erection is visible in his jeans, Steve would have been extremely anxious.
Eddie leans back, legs spread, and still fully clothed. It’s infuriating but strangely hot at the same time. He indicates for Steve to come over, and he starts to move before he even fully registers it. “Look at you,” his voice is a husky whisper, and leans forward a little, grabbing Steve by the back of his thighs. “You’re so cute.” He grins, curling his fingers around Steve’s cock without breaking eye contact. “And I don’t mean cute in an ‘I’d like to pinch your cheeks’ way.” He’s pumping him so fucking casually it melts Steve’s brain. “I mean cute like I wanna bend you over the couch and have my way with you.”
Steve moans. He’s not entirely sure if it’s because of his words or how Eddie drags his thumb over the tip of his dick.
“You’d like that, Stevie?”
Fuck.
“Yes,” he breathes, running a hand through his hair. This isn’t his first hand job, not even close, but something about Eddie’s fingers and the rings and— fuck. It feels way too good.
A little too good.
Eddie lets go of his dick and pulls Steve closer by his thigh. “Come on, baby,” he whispers, fingers ghosting over his skin. “Sit on my lap.” His voice is barely anything more than a husky whisper. He knows what he’s doing, or maybe Eddie just knows what all of this is doing to Steve. Either way, it works.
Fuck, it does work a little too well.
Steve follows the command, shuddering as the rough fabric of the jeans scratches the inside of his thighs. He wraps a hand around the nape of Eddie’s neck and kisses him again, highly aware of the other boy’s hands roaming all over his naked body. The girls he’s been with have never been as bold as Eddie is right now. They wrapped their arms around him to hold him close. But Eddie’s hands are everywhere. He is raking his nails over his back and sides and squeezing his ass, easily causing Steve to melt into him in the most delicious way possible.
Eddie’s all-but-dominant behavior is everything Steve never knew he needed. Something about it makes Steve a lot more confident in the situation. He slips a hand between them, working Edie’s belt and pants open without any trouble. He slips his hand into the boyer shorts and wraps his fingers around Eddie’s hard cock.
Eddie groans into the kiss. His grip on Steve’s ass tightens momentarily. “Fuck,” Eddie breathes, letting go of Steve’s side to grab his dick.
Even though the angle is a bit odd at first, Steve pretty quickly gets used to working Eddie in a way that coaxes the most delicious noises out of the other boy. Steve cannot get enough of it, the rough fingers on his cock, the jeans scratching his thighs, Eddie’s little noises — everything is too much and not enough all at once.
“Eddie,” Steve moans.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t fucking know. He just— “Eddie,” he breathes, feeling his orgasm build and build and— “Eddie, please.”
Eddie slaps Steve’s hand away and wraps his long fingers around both their dicks.
Steve holds onto Eddie’s shoulders and watches the other boy’s skilled fingers work on them. It’s so fucking hot — the way Eddie just knows, the way their dicks slide against each other in the tight grip.
“Come on, baby,” Eddie whispers, squeezing his ass again. “Come for me.”
And that’s all it takes. Steve comes with Eddie’s name on his lips, spilling his release all over his hand and rings — his fucking rings.
Eddie follows not long after, meaning Steve’s name unabashedly. It’s a sound to die for.
Steve leans their foreheads together, trying to catch his breath.
Sighing softly, Eddie wraps his arms around his waist and pulls Steve a little closer. “Next time,” he says, dragging a finger down his spine, and Steve shudders in his arms, “I’ll bend you over this couch and fuck you until the only word you can remember is my name.” Eddie nudges their noses together, a gesture so out of place together with his words. “Got it?”
Steve nods, heat flushing his cheeks. “Yeah, got it.” And he can’t fucking wait for it either.
“That’s what I want to hear.” Eddie kisses him again.
Next time. Steve’s heart hammers against his chest, and he cannot help but grin into the kiss. Next time.
#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#stranger things#steve x eddie#eddie x steve#kinktober 2022#*tv:stranger things#*w:complete#*w:kinktober2022#*s:steddie
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♞Pairing: Steo
♞Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Theo Raeken
♞Tags: established relationship, mentions of mental health issues, CNC, consensual somnophilia, mentions of sexual assault, blow jobs, anal fingering
♞Words: 4584
♞Kinktober - Somnophilia
ao3
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falling apart
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Theo slips into their shared apartment, shaking out the umbrella before deciding to drop it in the hallway. It has been raining all day, almost like someone is trying to set the mood. Because Stiles is aware that this conversation is never going to end well — even when Lydia promised him a bunch of times that Theo would understand, that he would know, and that he would never blame Stiles for what happened.
It’s not as comforting as he thought it would be.
Stiles chews on the side of his finger and bounces his leg, watching as Theo walks over to him. He looks way too good in uniform. There were days when Stiles didn’t allow him to get changed before dragging him into the bedroom. They maybe had sex three times in the past two months. Theo never pushed him, but it wasn’t hard to tell that he’s getting increasingly more annoyed — not because of the lack of sex, but because of the lack of conversation.
“Hey,” Theo smiles when he sees Stiles waiting for him at the dining table. It’s a genuine and beautiful smile, and it’s still there after he kissed him on the lips. “You didn’t need to stay up.”
Stiles swallows around the lump in his throat and squeezes his hands together. “I know.” It’s something he used to do when everything was fine. Lately, he hasn’t gotten out of bed at all. His grades are suffering too. Rafael is probably not going to be happy about it when he learns about that. He needs to fix it.
But first things first.
“We need to talk.”
Theo’s smile falters. For a painfully long second, his expression turns cold, slipping back into his blank mask. It took him forever to lose it.
Stiles doesn’t want to be the reason for its return, but he doesn’t know how to start this conversation. He can barely think it, saying it out loud is going to take a lot more strength than he has right now. Swallowing heavily, he rubs his hands on his jeans. “Something happened.”
“Something…” Theo trails off and pulls a chair out to sit down. “Something happened?”
Stiles jumps to his feet, not entirely sure what to do. “Yes…” He bites his bottom lip. Part of him wants to run out of the room and into the rain. He just wants this shit to be gone, to be washed off him. But the rain won’t be able to do what all those hot showers couldn’t do. So, he walks. Up and down. Back and forth. Fingers tightly knitted into his sweater. Theo’s eyes are heavy on him, but he’s quiet, giving Stiles the time he needs. As grateful as he is, part of him wishes Theo would push him to talk.
For the first time in roughly six years, Stiles wishes he’d still drink. Alcohol would probably help him through this right now. But he didn’t reach for it in the past two months, so he’s not going to do it tonight. He’s not going to do it ever again.
“Do you remember Scott’s birthday party?” Stiles rubs his hands together, not daring to turn around. “You couldn’t get the night off.” To be honest, he is pretty sure Theo didn’t actually try to find somebody else to cover his shift. Even Stiles has considered not going, but his guilty conscience won out — and it’s not like he expected Scott to invite Matt to his birthday party. Not after how he treated Allison during high school.
Theo clears his throat. “I remember you feeling sick the day after.”
Actually, Stiles hasn’t left the bed for four days under the guise of food poisoning. He wonders how this must have looked for Theo. First, he was sick for a few days then he pulled away both physically and emotionally. Maybe Theo’s always known something happened. Taking a deep breath, Stiles turns to face him. “I was sick.”
“Did you drink?” Theo’s face is a carefully constructed mask.
Stiles didn’t even consider that as an option, but he understands why Theo would jump to that conclusion. “No.” He twists the fabric in-between his fingers and looks at the ground. “Do you remember Matt?”
“Matt?” Theo furrows his brows.
“Matt Daehler?”
That seems to clear it up. “Ah, the weird creep who stalked Allison, right?” Theo raises a brow in question, but within the blink of an eye, his whole mood changes. “What did he do?” Without warning, Theo gets to his feet.
Stiles flinches, involuntarily stepping away although Theo has never lost his temper on him. He hasn’t lost his shit on anyone in years. But Theo hasn’t looked this feral in just a long. It was too easy to forget how dangerous he could be if he wanted to. Stiles takes a deep breath. He can do this. He can tell Theo what happened, what he thinks had happened. “He—” But he can’t do it.
“Babe,” Theo’s voice is unbearably soft, “what did he do to you?”
Shaking his head, Stiles looks away again.
But it seems like Theo doesn’t need him to spell it out. His eyes widen slightly. “You being sick. The nightmares,” Theo whispers as everything seems to click into place for him, “you pulling away from me.” He works his fingers through his hair, taking a step towards Stiles before he goes two back again — like he’s completely unsure what to do right now. It’s something Stiles never thought he’d see. “I thought you were beating yourself up about drinking at Scott’s party.” His fingers curl into tight fists. “I’m so fucking stupid.”
“Theo, no.” Stiles crosses the distance between them and grabs his left wrist with both hands. “This isn’t your fault.”
“Did you report him?”
Stiles shakes his head. “No. I… no.”
For a few seconds, Theo doesn’t move. He’s just looking at Stiles, confused and overwhelmed and still so lost, somehow. And Stiles knows Theo thinks he’s failed him in some way. Stiles knows Theo is thinking back to that day, thinking back to how he told Stiles nobody could cover his shift even though it wasn’t true. Theo is blaming himself. Theo thinks he could have stopped this, but Stiles was surrounded by all of his friends.
Nobody noticed. Nobody saw anything.
Theo turns away from him. “I’m going to call the police.”
“No, Theo.” Stiles yanks him back towards him, grabbing both of Theo’s hands even though he knows full well that if he wanted to, his boyfriend would have no issue pulling away. “Theo, don’t.”
Theo narrows his eyes. “He cannot get away with this.”
“And I can’t tell my dad.” Just the thought of going to his dad, or anyone at the department really, to turn Matt in, makes him sick. “I can’t.” Everyone working there is his family. He grew up with most of them. Fuck, almost two-thirds of the deputies working under his dad watched him grow from an awkward middle schooler to a grown-ass man. They got him through heartbreak, homework, and the death of his mother. “And it’s not like I have any evidence either.” It’s been two months, and even if it weren’t. Matt used a condom. He made sure Stiles wouldn’t fight him off. There might have been drugs in his system, but that doesn’t help him now.
Theo works his fingers through his hair. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Theo.” That Theo wanted to call the police before deciding to kill Matt puts into perspective how far he’s come since the Dread Doctors. There used to be a time when not even Stiles was able to stop him. But things have changed now.
Theo sinks back onto a chair and pulls Stiles towards him, fingertips rough from work. There’s no doubt in his mind that he would kill Matt the next time he saw him whether there are people around or not. He’s proven more than enough times that he’s fiercely protective over the few people he actually does give a shit about. “What do you want me to do then?”
That’s a whole other beast, one Stiles isn’t sure how to talk about quite yet. “Just don’t tell anyone.”
“Why…” Theo trails off, brushing a knuckle against his jaw. “I’m going to sound like a dick, but I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”
“Because it’s Matt.” Stiles pulls his hands away and crosses his arms tightly over his chest. If he could, he’d make himself disappear. But he promised Lydia to tell Theo. Fuck, he promised himself. Besides, Theo deserves the truth. “I’ve known him since kindergarten. I thought— I thought…”
Theo hooks a finger into the pocket of Stiles’ sweatpants. “You thought you wanted it.”
“It’s— it’s Matt,” Stiles says again as if that would explain his reasoning fully. Maybe it did. Partially at least. Because Matt was a bit of a creep, yes, but he’s never been violent. Stiles didn’t even know he was into guys, considering for how long he’s been trying to convince Allison to date him instead of Scott. “I don’t know what I did.” Other than not talking to him much, that’s nothing new. They’ve never been friends.
“You didn’t do anything.” Theo pulls him onto his lap, curling his arms around him. Despite everything, this proximity will always make Stiles feel safe and at home. “It’s not your fault.”
Stiles leans back and closes his eyes, smiling a little when Theo pulls him impossibly closer. For the first time in a while, he doesn’t have the urge to fill the silence. It’s not heavy with secrets. Not quite, at least. There’s still something Stiles wants to ask, and that needs a little more context. He opens his eyes again, watching Theo look at their reflections for a little while. They look like they’re from different worlds. The firefighter with perfectly styled hair and a uniform that seems to have been tailored for him, and the college student who hasn’t put on actual clothes in what feels like forever.
Cracking a smile, Theo kisses his shoulder again.
For a moment, Stiles hesitates. The request makes him a little nervous, but the truth is out of the bag. He takes another deep breath. “I think he put something in my drink.”
“Babe, you don’t have to—”
“I wasn’t awake,” Stiles interrupts him. Now that he’s started talking, it’s hard to stop. Deep down he knows he should’ve confessed earlier. Deep down, he knew he didn’t cheat on Theo. But that lie was easier to accept than the reality. “I hardly remember anything.” He swallows. When he looks at their reflection now, he sees Theo looking up at him. His arms tighten around Stiles’ waist. “I was pretty much blacked out, and he… used that to his advantage.” Stiles wishes he had any idea how to properly phrase his request, how to ask for something he can’t remember, much less explain. “I would like you to do that.”
Theo stiffens. “What?”
Okay, maybe he should have tried to ease Theo into this a little better. It might make sense for Stiles, but that doesn’t mean his boyfriend understands what he’s going for, and he would understand it if Theo didn’t want to do it. It is a lot to ask. “I just…” Stiles rubs his hands over his thighs, trying to get his strength back. “I want you to…” But he can’t. He can’t say it because saying it out loud makes him feel off.
“You want me to fuck you while you’re knocked out because of drugs,” Theo deadpans, and that’s probably a good thing. After all, one of them has to say it out loud.
Pressing his lips into a thin line, Stiles nods.
Theo leans back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair. That’s not the expectation Stiles has hoped for. Not that he really hoped for anything considering his request. Theo didn’t tell him to fuck off. That’s probably a good sign. Well, it’s at the very least not the worst of signs. “It’s… quite the request.”
“I’m aware.” Stiles doesn’t feel necessarily uncomfortable about the request in the first place. They’re not beyond trying new things, no matter how kinky they might be. It’s the reason behind the request that makes him fidgety. “I just hope that it’ll give me control back.” Over his life, but especially over his nightmares. “If you’re not comfortable—”
“No, I’ll do it.” Theo kisses his shoulder almost absentmindedly. His arms around him tighten just enough that Stiles looks at him. “But we’ll have to talk this through.”
“Yeah.” Even though Stiles sits constantly on Theo’s lap, he’s never felt small. Today, however, it’s very different. He trusts Theo, more than he’s ever trusted anyone in his life — except for his dad — but it’s still a lot of power he gives to him.
Theo leans his temple against his upper arm. “Do you want to know when it happens?”
Swallowing drily, Stiles shakes his head.
“Okay.” Theo is silent again, brushing his thumb up and down Stiles’ thigh. “Where do you want it to happen?”
“A car.” Stiles bites his bottom lip, ducking his head a little. His response probably came a little too quickly.
Theo sucks in a deep breath. Judging by the way his fingers tighten in Stiles’ shirt, he’s trying very hard to keep his anger in check. “He did it in his car?”
“I… think so.” Stiles bites his bottom lip, staring at their reflection in the window. “I don’t remember much. But there are bits and pieces.” He recalls lying in the backseat at one point, Matt above him, Stiles reaching for something in the legroom. All he wants is to get rid of these memories, or at least balance them out with better ones.
“If I do this,” Theo says, catching Stiles’ eye in the window, “promise me to talk to your father about it.”
“Theo—”
“Babe, I can’t keep this secret. I’m going to kill him.”
Maybe that would be for the best. Stiles bites his bottom lip, resisting the urge to curl further into himself or hide his face in the crook of Theo’s neck to avoid looking at himself. His reflection just became his friend again. After years of therapy, Morrell helped him get over the guilt he carried around after what the nogitsune made him do and what happened to Donovan. Killing Donovan set him back very far. But he relearnt that his body belonged to himself. Matt took that away again. He made it so much worse. Stiles thought about talking to Morrell about what happened to him, but with his past and general mental state, he wasn’t entirely sure if she’d have to report what had happened to his father.
Stiles twists his fingers into his sweatshirt. “Okay.”
— — —
Theo did not push him to report Matt, but he made sure not to let Stiles forget about it — much to his annoyance. But Stiles also gets that Theo is trying to help him. It doesn't take too long until Stiles asks Theo to come with him when he talks to his father. It was one of the worst conversations he’s ever had in his life, but what followed was absolute hell. Matt defended himself, of course, insisting that Stiles consented to have sex with him. Objectively, it was the smartest defense. It’s not like Stiles had any proof. The whole thing came to a standstill with his word against Matt’s until the people attending Scott’s birthday party were questioned.
It was Kira’s statement that ultimately tipped the scale. Apparently, it was she who wanted to take Stiles home in the first place. She even had a text message she sent to Scott to back it up. She’s had a bad feeling about Stiles’ overall condition, and the way Matt kept approaching him the whole evening. But Scott begged Kira to stay, even convinced her that she doesn’t have to worry about Matt, promising that he’s a little socially awkward, but not “a bad guy”. Scott corroborated the statement after being invited the second time for questioning.
Stiles feels like he should be relieved. It’s probably the best ending for his situation, but Stiles still goes to therapy twice a week. He has to start all over again, feeling like he did right after the nogitsune incident. The nightmares stuck around. They got worse too — worse enough that Theo talked to his boss and made sure he could sit out on night shifts for a while.
A week or two after Matt was finally put into prison, Stiles started being interested in sex with Theo again. A lot of sex, actually. It’s nice. But Theo doesn’t follow through with his half of the promise. Stiles talked to his father, Matt is behind bars, but Theo seems to be purposefully avoiding going through with Stiles’ request despite using Theo's truck a whole lot more — short trips to the lake, the drive-in theater, and restaurants. It's nothing special, but Stiles is expecting something every time they go out together; especially since Theo isn't someone who'd ever go back on his word or break a promise.
Not when it comes to him.
"You got everything?" Theo slips onto the driver’s seat and pushes a bottle of water into Stiles’ hands.
Nodding, Stiles takes a sip. It’s fucking early, and he’d rather have slept for a couple of hours longer. But they're about to go on a trip to San Diego. Theo surprised him with a luxurious bungalow by the ocean. They’ll have a lot of time alone together, for sex and to lounge at the beach — and it might be a good time to talk about Stiles’ request again. Maybe Theo forgot about it. Their lives have been stressful after all. Or maybe Theo just wasn’t comfortable with it, which is fine… if only he told him. Stiles wants to do it, but he would never force Theo to do something he’s extremely uncomfortable with. Maybe they could work their way up to it.
The engine rumbles to life. “Tired?”
“It’s four am.” And he didn’t exactly sleep all that much. He never does before a trip. There’s always the risk of something going wrong. Coupled with his nightmares, his nights end up being way too short for his liking most of the time.
Theo chuckles. It’s a soft sound, one Stiles can never get enough of. “It’s a bit of a drive. You can sleep.”
Huffing out a breath, Stiles takes another huge swig. As comfortable as Theo’s truck is, road trips are the worst. The concept of sitting still for almost eight hours is driving him up the wall. Sleeping will probably be the only thing that will keep him sane and their relationship intact. Even Stiles’ dad was ready to throw him out of a moving vehicle — so far they’ve never made it to Poland without an argument unless Stiles took a couple of sleeping pills so he’d miss most of the flight. “Next time,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders before sinking deeper into the seat, “we’ll go by plane.”
“Sure, babe.” Theo reaches over and squeezes his leg. His hand stays there, thumb drawing small circles on his thigh. “Try to sleep. I’ll wake you for breakfast.”
Stiles caps and uncaps the water bottle, studying Theo’s face for a few seconds. “How are you going to wake me?”
Theo squeezes his leg in warning. “Sleep.”
Huffing, Stiles takes another sip of water before dropping the bottle in the middle console. “Fine,” he mutters, folding his arms and sinking into the passenger’s seat. “Whatever.” They’re in a car for a while. Being in a car was part of the whole deal. It was only fair to ask. He hasn’t said anything about it in almost half a year. “You know, if you don’t want to—”
“Stiles,” Theo cuts him off sharply, “I’m not going to discuss this with you at the start of an eight our drive.”
“I get the feeling you don’t want to talk about it at all.”
“For the love of—” Theo presses his lips into a thin line and takes a deep breath. “Babe, please. We can talk about it all you want.”
“Just not right now.” Stiles wishes he’d sound less bitter. It’s not an easy request, and he shouldn’t be a dick about it if Theo doesn’t want to do it. He can’t blame him. It won’t change anything between them. They have their boundaries, and Stiles is the last person who’d push Theo’s. It’s just that he agreed, and months have passed. Sighing, he leans his head against the window and places a hand on top of Theo’s. The last thing he wants is to start this vacation with an argument.
Theo intertwines their fingers. “I love you.”
Stiles hums softly and closes his eyes. “I love you too.”
— — —
Stiles comes to in fits and bursts. Someone moves near him. There’s a light above him. Then there isn’t. Someone touches him. Somewhere. Everywhere. Stiles blinks his eyes open. Someone talks. Does someone talk? He squeezes his eyes shut again. It's like he can't wake up. Not really. Stiles forces himself to take a deep breath.
There’s an ache between his legs.
Something’s wrong.
He blinks his eyes open again. The light is back, and Stiles focuses on it, tries to figure out why it seems so familiar. Like he’s been here before. Has he been here before? Where is here even? Stiles squints and blinks again.
A car?
Yes.
Something presses against him, into him. Stiles jolts. A sob catches halfway in his throat, and he pulls his leg back, ready to kick. But his movements are sluggish. Fingers curl around his ankle before he has the chance to do anything.
“Babe, Stiles.” The fingers inside of him don’t vanish, but they stop moving. “It’s me. Babe, it’s Theo.”
Stiles squeezes his eyes shut again, trying to sort through the chaos in his head. Theo. Theo. Right. Stiles lets out a breath. “Fuck.” This is— this is— Stiles can’t tell how he’s feeling about it, about being hard despite being sore, weirdly exposed, feeling used. His stomach contorts. Fuck. Fuck.
Lips brush against the inside of his leg. “You’re okay.” Theo presses kisses to his shin, his ankle, and his calf.
Biting his bottom lip, Stiles tilts his head to the side. When he opens his eyes, Theo is looking back at him, eyebrows drawn together. His heartbeat picks up, and his body relaxes. Theo did it. He really did go through with it. Stiles started to doubt him. Now he felt a little bad about it. “Hey,” he whispers, reaching out for his boyfriend.
“Hey, babe.” A smile catches on the corner of Theo’s mouth, and he leans into the car, allowing Stiles to run his fingers through his hair. “You okay?”
Stiles nods. “Yeah. A bit… mushy-brained.”
Chuckling, Theo kisses the side of his knee. “I can make that worse—” he kisses the inside of his thigh “— if you want me to.”
"Yes," Stiles whispers, and Theo's reaction makes him feel better about the whole thing, "Please." He clenches around Theo's fingers, moaning quietly. He's sore, and it begs the question of what Theo did to him before he finally woke up — but that’s probably something he can focus on after. Because right now Theo kisses his way up Stiles’ thigh, beard scratching his sensitive skin. Pleasure zaps up his spine. He probably shouldn’t be this close already, but his body is too attuned to Theo and his touches.
His warm breath ghosts over Stiles’ wet skin. His fingers drag over his prostate, slowly but firmly, and Stiles bucks his hips, a low whine stuck in his throat. He feels already way too close — and when Theo wraps his lips around the tip of his dick, Stiles comes almost then and there.
“Fuck.” Stiles takes a deep breath, trying to calm down at least a little bit. He wants to enjoy this for as long as he can. His fingers tighten in the short strands, mostly to have something he can hold onto as Theo starts moving his head and fingers in the same agonizingly slow rhythm.
Just like he promised, Theo turns his brain to mush. He's humming and swirling his tongue, and taking more and more of Stiles into his mouth. His fingers twitch, and he's fighting the urge to stop Theo from moving — as much as Stiles enjoys Theo fucking his mouth, he's well aware that it's not the same the other way around.
Not that it matters. Because Theo plays his body like a fiddle, two fingers massage that little bubble of nerves inside of him. A moment later, Theo deepthroats him, swallowing around his cock.
And that did it.
Stiles comes with Theo’s name on his lips, whole body tensing. His muscles aching. Hips bucking against Theo's unwavering grip. He's dimly aware the fingers digging into his skin might leave bruises.
Part of him hopes they do.
Theo pulls his fingers out before the sensation becomes too much.
Stiles whines a little at the loss, feeling himself clench around nothing. But Theo's tongue is still playing with his dick, and that's getting too much quickly. His hips twist away, and he pulls on Theo's hair, who quickly redirects his attention from his dick to Stiles' mouth. Theo's clothes drag against his oversensitive dick, but he doesn't care — not when their kiss is downright filthy.
Theo pushes his own cum into his mouth, holding himself up by grabbing Stiles' hips. There is something extremely hot about tasting himself on Theo's tongue. His dick twitches, but Theo pulls away before this could lead anywhere.
“Wait.” Stiles tries to sit up, but his brain is still muddled, and his arms have no intention to cooperate. “You… what about you?”
Grimacing a little, Theo offers him a hand and carefully pulls him up. His pants are still open, and there seems to be a wet spot on his grey boxer briefs. “This wasn’t…” he grimaces again, this time looking a lot more uncomfortable than mere seconds ago. “You were out a lot longer than I thought you would be.” Theo lets go of his hand, gaze darting everywhere but Stiles’ face. “So, I… well.” His cheeks flush slightly.
Stiles bites his bottom lip. “I haven’t seen you blush in ages.” There really isn’t a lot that could somehow make his boyfriend feel ashamed. To be fair, Stiles was sure there is nothing. Apparently, he was wrong. “You know it’s fine, right?”
Theo lets out a breath. “I don’t…” he grimaces, and although it’s pretty obvious that he’s not the biggest fan of the whole situation, he’s clearly trying to avoid saying it. The thing about Theo is, he’d do something just to make Stiles happy, even if he hates it. “I don’t mind the whole… you being asleep part of it. But, no drugs.”
Cupping Theo’s cheek, Stiles scoots a little closer to the edge of the backseat. “Thanks for doing this.”
Theo huffs out a breath. “I’d do anything for you, you know that.” He runs his fingers over his cheek, kissing him softly. "And I'm planning to spoil you for the next week," he whispers against Stiles' lips.
Stiles chuckles, pulling away a little. "Let's not waste any more time then."
#steo#stiles stilinski#theo raeken#teen wolf#stiles x theo#theo x stiles#kinktober 2022#*tv:teen wolf#*w:kinktober2022#*w:complete#*s:steo
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♜Pairing: Briles
♜Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Brett Talbot, Isaac Lahey, Danny Mahealani, Jackson Whittemore
♜Tags/Warnings: wall sex, anal sex, locker room sex, college au
♜Words: 3681
♜Kinktober - Wall Sex
a/n: This is a sequel to bad habits but you don't necessarily have to read it to understand this story.
ao3
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old habits die hard
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"Absolutely not."
Isaac blinks, staring at him a little dumbfounded. "But—"
"The last time you," Stiles says, pointing from Isaac to Danny and ultimately to Jackson, who looks highly offended, "tried to set me up on a date, I had to report a stalker." At that, all three of them have the decency to look a bit awkward — even Jackson, which is saying a lot. The guy restored and hardened his ego in London before coming back to the US to study. Stiles was extremely surprised when he ran into the three of them at the campus coffee shop at six in the morning. He thought all of this had to be one giant coincidence, but it turns out that Isaac and Jackson ended up living together in London with Danny and his family moving there after the whole Alpha Pack debacle — and now, they’re back in the States.
Probably only to be a pain in his ass.
Danny shakes his head. “You can’t be hung up on Number 28 forever.���
“It’s time you throw the hoodie out.” Jackson tosses his lacrosse ball from one hand to the other.
Stiles stiffens. “No.”
“You don’t have to throw the hoodie out,” Isaac says, glaring at Jackson. They all know why he held onto the hoodie and what it means. They all know what Stiles went through. The topic came up pretty early in conversation when Jackson wanted to drag them to a party he and his fraternity was planning. The fraternity Jackson and Danny are members of is known for parties that include a shitton of drugs, so Stiles that he wouldn’t join them and why. Even though he’s been pretty good about staying away from drugs and alcohol for almost three years, he really doesn’t want to push his resolution.
Jackson lets out a breath. “Okay, you don’t have to throw it out.”
“But you gotta move on.” Danny twists his lacrosse stick, studying Stiles through its net.
It’s not that he’s still crying himself asleep over Brett, but he can’t forget him. Not really. And yes, the hoodie probably makes things a lot more complicated. Still, it helps him during hard nights — when the nightmares come and the temptation is high. The hoodie doesn’t smell like Brett any longer, and even though it’s not as big on him any longer since Stiles built a few muscles himself, it still feels like a warm hug, like coming home. It makes him feel safe.
Stiles scrunches up his face. “Why do I have to date?” he asks, gesturing towards his friends again, “not one of you is in an established relationship.”
"But we have sex regularly."
Isaac smacks the back of Jackson's head hard enough that even Danny winces. "Shut up, Whittemore." He turns to Stiles with a sigh. "I’ve been livin’ with him for four months now. He’s a good lad.”
“I wanted to do a background check,” Danny tells him, sounding almost a little offended that he wasn’t allowed to.
“Cyber stalkin’ my roommate is a bit too far, innit?” Isaac sounds exasperated enough that Stiles is pretty damn sure this conversation must’ve happened at least five times already. Which means they are pretty serious about the whole thing. Sighing, he returns his attention to Stiles. “You don’t have to marry him. I was just thinkin’ that you might be good for each other even if you’ll only hook up.” They weren’t this insistent about the girl who ended up stalking him, so maybe giving this guy a shot is worth it — even if there won’t be any sparks, they could end up becoming friends.
Something he desperately needs more of since the ones he currently has constantly get him into trouble.
Stiles massages his eyebrows then he sighs. “Fine.” He sure as hell hopes he won’t regret this. “But if he ends up being a creep, I will turn you into a fur coat.”
“You’re recyclin’ jokes,” Isaac informs him dryly. “I think you should take a nap.”
— — —
Stiles chews on his hoodie string as he walks toward the lacrosse pitch. It's the first game of the season, and he has no idea who is part of the new team. After his high school lacrosse experience, Stiles decided that it's better to stay far away from this sport.
It's unlucky that all of his friends are into lacrosse. As is the dude Isaac is trying to set him up with. The only good thing about this is that Stiles can see him before he's going on a date with him. If he figures out his name, he'll be also able to do some research on the guy.
Isaac's head pops up, and he waves him over. Perks of being friends with the captain and co-captain. That means he usually gets the best places to sit.
"So?" Stiles pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
Isaac tugs the string from Stiles' mouth. "Number 21," he says, nodding in the direction of the pitch."He's about to snatch the captain title, so, Jackson's mood is accordingly."
"And you want me to date him?"
"He's a great guy." Isaac shrugs, nudging him with his elbow. "Seriously. This will not be a Malia disaster."
Stiles squints at Number 21. He's tall, which is very nice, and by the looks of it, he easily runs circles around Jackson. Of course, his mood is terrible. If this works out, Jackson will be a pain in his ass about dating his direct competition. But that’s just Jackson. He’d never make Stiles stop dating anybody unless they’re a truly terrible person.
Stiles pulls his shoulders up. “I can’t imagine Coach would replace Jackson as a captain.”
Number 21 misses his shot completely.
Isaac huffs and tugs on the net of his lacrosse stick. “Is this dude trying to make an ass out of himself?”
“You sure this is the same guy you wanna set me up with?” Stiles quirks a brow, smirking a little. “You made him sound very different just yesterday.” Because apparently Number 21 is super hot and extremely talented in lacrosse. Sure, everyone’s got a bad day, but that shot is one even Stiles would have made — and that’s saying something.
Jackson yells something across the pitch, but Number 21 pulls his helmet off and turns around.
Oh.
Oh.
Stiles takes a step back. “I— I gotta go.” He takes another step back, forgetting the bags on the ground, and in his haste to get away, he almost falls onto his ass. Wouldn’t that have been wonderful? Exactly what he would need right now.
“Wait— what?” Isaac stares at him in confusion. “Why?”
“I just…” Stiles gestures vaguely in the direction of Brett fucking Talbot crossing the pitch in long strides. “Listen, I’m sorry. I just gotta go.” Without another word, he spins around and all but runs past the bleachers. He can’t do this. Nope. Nope. This is the worst fucking thing that could have happened to him.
“Stiles, hold on!” That’s Isaac calling out for him, probably confused at the spike of panic piercing his scent.
He shouldn’t run. It’s so stupid that he cannot face Brett after almost two years of being apart. He should be over it. They weren’t even dating. But Stiles still has Brett’s hoodie, and he never said goodbye — neither did Brett. When Stiles returned from rehab, his father had told him they were moving. So, they did. He had bought a house in the middle of nowhere Minnesota. Stiles finished his senior year in a small town with a population of a thousand if he counted the animals. It had been three months of fucking torture, but he’d finished school at the top of his class, got his scholarship for Yale, and ran into Isaac, Jackson, and Danny.
Meeting those three again has already been so much of a coincidence, how is there anything left for Brett Talbot? He never mentioned Yale. He considered community college. Looks like Satomi finally got through to him.
But couldn’t it have been another fucking university?
“Stiles!”
Nope. Nope. Absolutely not.
Stiles slips through the doors. If he’s quick enough he can cross through the lobby and get to his car before Brett manages to sniff him out again. The stench of the locker rooms should cover him long enough — and once he’s home he’ll look into other universities. There is absolutely no way he is going to face Brett and get his heart broken again. Zero. Zilch. Nada. That’s going to throw him back way too far.
He has to burn the hoodie.
Or mail it back.
Oh god. Fuck. Brett probably knows Stiles kept the hoodie. He most likely wants it back.
“Stiles!” Brett grabs him by the back of his sweater and yanks him back.
Before Stiles knows what happens, he finds himself shoved into the locker room. A lock clicks. “This is— I totally can explain this,” Stiles says, his voice a bit higher than he would have preferred. Whenever he dreams about meeting Brett again, everything is a lot happier, he doesn’t run away like a deer catching the scent of a hunter, and Brett is not almost strangling him with his sweater. He’d very much prefer the imaginary scenario right now.
Brett adjusts his grip and slams Stiles against the door. “I fucking knew it.”
“Okay, listen… I—”
But Brett cuts him off. By kissing him. On the mouth. Hard.
What the fuck?
Brett pulls away again, grip loosening on Stiles’ sweater. “Sorry,” he whispers, pressing his hands next to Stiles’ head. “I’m sorry. It’s just… Isaac had your scent all over him. It was driving me insane.”
Stiles curls and uncurls his fingers, unsure what to do with his hands, and laughs nervously. “Well,” he mutters, and he’s not even fucking sure what the hell he wants to say.
Brett lets out a long breath. “I fucking missed you,” his voice is quiet, hardly a whisper, and he leans their foreheads together. It’s quite a shock. The last time they’d seen each other, Brett could hardly look at him. Now, it’s almost like he cannot possibly bring himself to create any sort of distance. “I thought I was over you, but then I caught your scent on him.” There’s a laugh cutting through the silence of the locker room. “God, I hated him. So much.”
Stiles hears people yelling in the distance over the blood rushing in his ears. “Isaac didn’t mention that.” And he doubts the locker rooms right before the first lacrosse game of the season isn’t the best time or place to talk about this and the past and them.
Brett laughs softly. “I was a piece of shit.”
“Pretty sure Isaac doesn’t hold a grudge.” Stiles raises a hand and cups Brett’s cheek. “I’ve missed you.” And it only now hits him how much he really missed the other boy. There’s been something between them. Undeniably. Brett would have never let him keep his hoodie if there have not been feelings involved. Stiles wouldn’t have kept it for almost two years.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” Brett says, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist to pull him closer. “When I heard you moved away…” he trails off and shakes his head. “The moment I caught your scent on Isaac, I looked everywhere for you, and then he told me he had a friend, and he’d like to set me up with them.” He presses closer and crowds him against the door. “I hope it’s you. I knew it was you.” And he kisses him again. Almost desperately.
Stiles kisses him back with all he has, curling his fingers into Brett’s brown strands. There’s no way he’s letting him go again. No way in fucking hell. Stiles parts his lips to meet Brett’s tongue.
Brett grabs his ass, grinding against him.
“Wait.” Stiles breaks the kiss, pulling away, and clearly inviting Brett to kiss his neck instead, “wait, wait. The lacrosse game—”
“Starts in thirty minutes.” Brett sucks the skin between his teeth and then kisses the spot. “We have time.”
“Brett—”
Brett kisses his way back to Stiles’ mouth, playfully biting his bottom lip. “I’ll make it worth your time.” He wiggles his brows and kneads his ass with a fucking smirk — knowing there is no way in hell Stiles can or will say no. How could he when he’s wanted this for years? When he dreamed about this? When he couldn’t get over that one time they fucked? He never stopped wanting Brett.
He grabs Stiles by his thighs and hoists him up in a very rude display of strength, pressing his back against the door.
Asshole.
Stiles crashes their mouths together and parts his legs for the werewolf’s knee. A moan catches in the back of his throat as he grinds against Brett’s thigh. Someone is going to come to look for Brett if he isn’t going to be back on the field anytime soon. As much as Stiles would like to, they really do not have the chance to drag this out. “Please,” Stiles moans into the kiss, “please, tell me you have lube in your gym bag.”
Chuckling, Brett pulls away. “Who do you think I am?”
“You don’t want me to answer that question.”
Brett squeezes his ass. “I see the bleach blonde hair and tattoos don’t mean you're a whole new person.”
Rolling his eyes, Stiles pokes the werewolf in the side — very delighted about the fact that Brett twists away from him. Looks like someone’s ticklish. “Get the lube, Talbot.” Stiles will file that information away for later.
After one more kiss, Brett pulls away and hurries across the room to ruffle through his bag. Stiles watches him briefly, biting his lip, trying to work through his relief of seeing Brett wanting him still, of having Brett back, of getting the chance to start over new after ruining everything the first time. Then he fumbles with his belt and jeans and grins when Brett is pulling him away from the door, muttering “doorknob” before slamming him against the cool wall right next to it. His mouth is on Stiles’ neck, sucking skin between his lips and teeth, working a mark into Stiles’ skin that has Stiles moaning, has his fingers stumbling over opening his pants.
But he manages and pushes his pants and boxer briefs down.
Brett kisses the abused skin and looks down. There’s a grin on his lips, but his hand brushes past his dick, focusing on the edge of a tattoo and dragging his index finger over the tail of a black phoenix inked into his skin. He traced the dark lines up and up, over his hip where he grabs him and spins him around.
Stiles laughs.
Brett swallows the sound with a kiss. One hand curls around his throat, two fingers pressing against his cheekbone. Two different fingers covered in lube massage Stiles’ hole. They don’t have time. Not enough to drag this out. Both fingers slip inside up until the first knuckle.
Stiles moans into the kiss, pleasure zips up his spine despite the uncomfortable feeling of the stretch. It doesn’t hurt, it’s just a bit much at once. But they don’t have time, and Stiles doesn't mind it if it stings or hurts. He doesn’t mind it rough. He doesn’t mind pain. It’s something he learned during rehab. So, when he got the urge to hurt himself, Stiles made an appointment with a tattoo artist. He doesn’t crave it, doesn’t always gain pleasure from it — but right here, right now, things are different.
They don’t have time, and Stiles wants to feel everything Brett does so he knows this isn’t a dream. Whining softly, Stiles presses against the finger. “Please,” he breathes into the kiss.
Brett doesn’t need to be asked twice. He moves his fingers, scissoring them, searching for that bundle of nerves that’s promised to turn Stiles’ brain into mush — and he finds it, quickly. Stiles moans, holding onto Brett’s arm with his left hand, fumbling for purchase against the wall with the other.
They don’t have time, but Brett massages his prostate until Stiles begs him to stop because he’s way too close to coming already, until he doesn’t trust his legs to hold him any longer, until breathing
Chuckling, Brett presses his lips to Stiles’ ear. “You’re so fucking hot,” he whispers, and he pulls his fingers out, kissing Stiles again to distract him from how empty he feels. Brett nudges Stiles’ foot, a silent command to spread his legs further.
And he does, breaking the kiss to catch his breath, shifting around until his shoulder is pressed against the wall and he could look over his other. It’s a bit awkward. It’s also uncomfortable. This doesn’t need to be perfect. It just needs to happen. They need to get it out of their systems. They need to know they’re here, they’re them. A promise of a future. A promise of together, of you and me, of us.
Brett rips a condom wrapper with his teeth and rolls it over his dick. It’s less messy, Stiles knows, but he doesn’t like it. The bottle of lube is opened again. Stiles cranes his neck further, watching Brett’s hand add more lube to the condom as quickly as possible. When he’s satisfied, Brett drops the bottle of lube and the wrapper then presses the head of his dick against Stiles’ ass.
Stiles takes a deep breath and closes his eyes as Brett grabs his hips again; one hand’s wet, the other is not. It’s an odd sensation that is quickly replaced by Brett pushing into him. Stiles groans, crossing both arms over the wall to lean his forehead against it. He breathes through the pressure, pushing against Brett. It’s perfect, and it’s too much, and there is a zap of sharp pain that makes him curse.
Then Brett is inside of him, pressing his closed mouth against the nape of Stiles’ neck. It’s a gesture he would appreciate on any other day, but they don’t have time, and Stiles doesn’t want to have Jackson complaining for the next two weeks that he stole one of the team’s best players. He also doesn’t want to be the reason Brett might miss out on becoming team captain.
He raises his head and reaches back, curling his fingers around Brett’s wrist. “Fuck me.”
Brett doesn’t need to be asked twice. He pulls back and snaps his hips forward again. It rocks Stiles’ whole body. He moans, scrambling for support with both of his hands. Brett wraps one arm around Stiles’ waist, slipping his hand under his shirt. His fingers press against his abs, thumb finding the rest of the phoenix tattoo, tracing it absentmindedly. Brett wraps his other hand around Stiles’ dick, just tight enough that Stiles fucks into it with every of Brett’s hard thrusts.
Stiles isn’t going to last long. Not like this. Not with the brutal pace Brett fucks him with. He promised himself never to get addicted to anything else ever again, but this? Fuck. Stiles has been addicted to Brett, and it’s never going to stop. Especially not now. There’s no way. Stiles moans, and he couldn’t care less if anyone hears him. Them. Because Brett is moaning too, and sometimes, Stiles catches his name rolling off his tongue.
“Brett,” Stiles breathes, grabbing the other boy’s forearm because he doesn’t trust the wall, or maybe, he doesn’t trust himself enough to hold on, “Brett.” He can’t catch his breath for long enough to say it.
But Brett understands him anyway. He tightens his fingers on Stiles’ cock, jerking him off in tune with his thrusts.
Stiles presses his cheek against the cool wall. His body tightens. Brett drags a nail over the lines of ink near his hips. He fucks him, cock hitting that bundle of nerves inside of Stiles. There’s no doubt he tapped into his werewolf strength, just a little, just enough to shock Stiles to his core with every thrust.
And then his orgasm hits him. Despite having built for a bit, Stiles is overwhelmed by the explosion of pleasure. His thighs tremble, and he’s not sure if he could stand without the wall and Brett’s arms around him right now.
Brett comes not long after him, dick twitching deep inside of him, and weight pressing Stiles further against the wall. They’re holding each other up for as long as it takes to catch their breaths and regain control over their bodies.
It doesn’t take too long.
Because they don’t have a lot of time.
Brett pulls out, and Stiles whimpers at the feeling then swats at the other boy when he presses a kiss to the top of his head. His steps are soft. Groaning quietly, Stiles leans his head against the wall and looks down at himself. His hands are clean so he grabs his sweater. Clean as well.
A shower turns on in the other room.
Stiles pushes himself away from the wall and pulls his pants up. He can’t wait to sit for the next 90 minutes. He’s working on his belt when Brett walks back, drying his wet hand on his pants. He grins, and Stiles is a little jealous of all that werewolf stamina. “Asshole,” Stiles mutters, for no reason at all.
Snorting out a laugh, Brett kisses him again. It’s a bit softer now and Stiles can’t help but close his eyes. He curls his fingers into the jersey, pulling Brett closer. He’s not going to fuck it up this time. He’s not. Smiling, he pulls away. “I still have your hoodie.”
Brett kisses the corner of his mouth. “Good,” he whispers, leaning their foreheads together, “because it’s still not a present.” But they both know Brett is not going to ask for it back.
Stiles runs his fingers through Brett's hair. Some habits are impossible to quit, but Stiles doesn't mind. Not this time.
#briles#stiles stilinski#brett talbot#teen wolf#brett x stiles#stiles x brett#kinktober 2022#*tv:teen wolf#*w:kinktober2022#*w:complete#*s:briles
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♜Pairing: Briles
♜Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Brett Talbot
♜Tags/Warnings: public sex, anal fingering, anal sex, canon divergence, college au
♜Words: 3416
♜Kinktober - Sex in Vehicles
ao3
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wilder nights
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Stiles curls his hands tightly into Brett’s hair, moaning into the kiss. The rumble he hears in response is undoubtedly a chuckle. He probably would have retaliated if he weren't pinned between the bus window and an extremely hot werewolf. But he is kind of occupied with something else.
Brett slips a hand under his ass and pulls Stiles onto his lap without any effort at all. It’s infuriatingly hot — it’s even hotter that Brett is hard. But that also means they should probably stop. Brett, however, has very different plans. He grinds up against him, breathing heavily into his mouth. “Fuck,” he whispers, biting Stiles’ bottom lip with a grin. “I should’ve done this earlier.”
Stiles pulls away. “Snuck me into your team’s bus?” Because that’s where they are right now — and not at all alone. Devenford’s team is in here with them, including the coach and the bus driver, listening to classical music in the front of the bus. It’s still too close, and there is the rear-view mirror too. They’re hidden, not invisible.
“Make a move.”
“Aww, did you have to gather courage first?” Stiles grins, brushing his fingers down the nape of Brett’s neck.
The noise he makes can only be described as the human equivalent of purring. It’s quite endearing. “You’re hard to read.” Brett slips his hands into Stiles’ sweatpants and squeezes his ass unabashedly. “And a little scary.”
“You’re scared of humans?”
“No.” Brett kisses him again. “Just you,” he whispers against his mouth.
The last thing Stiles expected was for Brett to consider him hot and scary. It’s a compliment, really — especially coming from a werewolf. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to ignore the fact that they’re in a bus full of Brett’s teammates. If kissing Brett wasn’t so fucking addicting… or Brett’s hand in his pants so very distracting, or the way he grind their hips together so— fuck.
Stiles' grip on Brett’s hair tightens. “Fuck,” he breathes, pulling away. “We probably should stop.”
Brett raises his brows. “Do we really, though?”
“Talbot, we’re in a bus full of people,” Stiles says with a shake of his head. No matter how much they try to keep their voices down, there is not enough room between them and the rest of the team. “Your best friend is like two feet—”
“They’re all asleep.”
“The driver is not.”
Brett grins at him. It looks a little dangerous in the dim light of the bus. “We just have to be very quiet.”
“We just have to be—” Stiles cuts off with a shake of his head. “The motel is like two hours away.”
Brett wraps his arms around his waist, keeping him as close as their positions allow. “I can’t wait that long,” he whispers, nosing the crook of Stiles’ neck,” not when you smell like this, like me.” He kisses a trail up his neck, up to Stiles’ pulse point, and sucks skin between his teeth. That and the way Brett rolls his hips make it almost impossible to say no.
He’s still trying, “we’re right behind your buddies, we can’t do that here.”
“We shouldn’t,” Brett mutters, grinning up at him. “But we can.”
Stiles stares at him. It would be kind of hot. And if they are really quiet— Stiles can't believe he's even considering this. Because he should not. This is a terrible idea. It’s a terrible, horrible idea. Unless… unless maybe it’s not. It could also be one of the hottest experiences he’s ever had. Not that this should be a reason to say yes. There are other ways to have some spicy fun. Other people do not have to be involved… or even witness them having sex. Like, at all.
And yet.
“I’m so going to hell,” he mutters.
Grinning, Brett pulls him back into a kiss. When Brett started hitting on him, Stiles never expected to find himself on a bus with his college’s lacrosse team about two weeks later — and he certainly did not expect to end up having sex with him inside of said vehicle. All he can hope for is that all of his teammates either have a very deep sleep or listen to loud music. Then again, Brett probably wouldn’t ask him if heard anything.
Hopefully.
“I have lube,” Brett mutters into the kiss and presses the little package into Stiles’ hand. This whole thing was planned before Brett even asked him if he wanted to join this trip. It is kind of hot. “It’s probably easier if you do it yourself.”
Stiles snorts out a quiet laugh. “Romantic.”
“Listen,” Brett’s voice is soft as he brushes his fingers through Stiles’ hair, “the other stuff is for the motel.”
Shit. This isn’t going to be another hook-up for Brett. It’s kind of what he expected if Stiles is totally honest, and it would have been fine. Stiles didn’t exactly go into this expecting a long-term relationship with Brett fucking Talbot. Looks like they both had very different expectations. Even though he expected otherwise, Stiles would lie if he said he wasn’t thrilled about it. He’s very much into the idea of showing Brett off and holding his hand, going on dates with him, and cheering him on while wearing his jersey.
Stiles kisses him quickly. “I have high expectations.” He gets off Brett’s lap and gets into a mostly comfortable position next to him. Everything about this is awkward. He’s kneeling on one leg while also hunching over a bit to look less suspicious. The last thing he needs is the driver to notice he’s still awake and watch him. It also doesn’t help that Brett is watching him as he pushes his sweatpants and boxer briefs under his ass.
“Can you…” Stiles trails off, licking his lips, and squirts lube onto his index and middle finger. “Stop staring at me.”
“Why?” Brett whispers, leaning closer to steal another kiss, “am I making you nervous?”
Stiles hates to admit that he’s hit the nail on the head, and Brett can probably smell that. Not that Stiles is about to say that out loud. He prefers to keep a bit of his dignity intact — not that there is much to save right now. Stiles has done a lot of things he’s not proud of, and working himself open in a bus full of people is certainly quite high up on that list. It’s not going to be something he’ll tell his friends about, that’s for sure.
He lets out a breath, pushing his middle finger against his rim. “Can you grab a towel or something?” Anything, really, that’s going to cover Stiles up a little while he’s going to sit on Brett’s lap — and that’s stopping him from staring.
“Right.” Brett turns away from him and reaches for his gym bag sitting above them. The fact that he had lube in the pocket of his hoodie is more than a little telling.
Stiles can already tell that this guy is going to push him far out of his comfort zone. It’s not bad, per se. He just didn’t expect to be shoved off a cliff. Shaking his head, Stiles pushes the tip of his middle finger in. He gasps quietly, biting his bottom lip. The sound most likely wasn’t audible over Brett trying to get his bag down. Still, he’s not going to risk it. He also doesn’t want to drag this out too long.
By the time Brett sits down again, Stiles has worked a second finger inside of him. His thighs are trembling a little, and he puts his free hand on the back of his seat, gripping it tightly. He’s trying his best to stay quiet, to keep his breathing in check. But it’s hard. Anticipation, pleasure, and anxiety form a cocktail in Stiles’ body that makes him want to make a sound, to release whatever is building inside of him. Instead, he grinds his teeth together and watches Brett rifle through his bag, pushing things back and forth.
“Fuck,” Brett mutters eventually and huffs out a breath.
Stiles stills his fingers and takes a breath, staring at the other boy. “What?”
Scrunching up his face in what could only be described as annoyance, Brett turns to him. "I didn't pack any condoms."
Stiles blinks. "What?" There's no way he just worked two fingers into himself for nothing. He pulls them out slowly, and he almost whines at the feeling, wiping his lube-slick fingers on Brett's sweatpants just out of principle.
"We don't really need them." Brett raises a brow when Stiles flicks him off. "For obvious reasons. Also, I'm a werewolf." That's a fair point. It's not like Brett could get or transmit anything. So, fucking without a condom wouldn't necessarily be an issue or a bad decision. They'd just need a bit more lube.
But there's also another problem. “People—” Stiles licks his lips. Just talk. “People are going to check this bus,” he whispers, “after we leave.” And it's not like sex is particularly clean. Their clothes aren’t the issue. They can change in the bus restroom. It’s the seats that are going to be an issue. A very huge one. People know who sat here.
Brett merely hums.
That is not the response Stiles expected. He pokes Brett’s bicep. “Do not ruin it.”
“Ruin it?” Brett presses a quick kiss to his shoulder, still struggling to get the blanket out of his gym bag. “I won’t ruin any seats. I’ll just come inside you,” the smirk is almost devious as Brett grabs him by the neck to pull him close, brushing their lips together. “Problem solved.” He kisses him again, thumb pressing against his jaw.
Stiles leans towards him, capturing Brett’s bottom lip with his teeth then he pulls away. “Get the blanket ready, Talbot.”
“So bossy.” Brett steals one more kiss before sinking back against his seat. He curls one hand into the blanket, and the other hovers in the air, almost as an invitation to grab it.
Stiles surveys the bus. This is stupid and risky, and they can be lucky they’re mostly on backroads instead of the freeway. Terrible idea. Absolutely fucking terrible. He shakes his head and lets out a breath. “Okay.” Nobody moves. Nobody seems to be awake. Hopefully, the driver is too busy humming to his classical music to notice him moving around in the back.
Carefully, he gets up and pushes his sweatpants a bit further down. He bumps against Brett as he shifts his legs, almost making him fall on his face. He’s not entirely sure how he’s supposed to do this. Getting completely naked would most definitely be a lot easier, but he’s absolutely not going to do that.
“Okay,” Stiles breathes and presses a hand against the window, trying to find some sort of purchase. Car sex looks always so much easier in the movies. Well, to be fair, they’re usually fucking in a car without the risk of waking someone up who’s sleeping right in front of him.
Brett presses a kiss to his neck. “I can hold you, relax.”
“Leave me—” Stiles reaches back, finding purchase on the backrest of Brett’s seat. This is— Stiles can’t believe he’s doing this. But he does. He’s actually about to fuck Brett Talbot while he can hear his teammates sleep. A hand appears on his waist, gently guiding him a little. It takes a couple of seconds until he’s feeling the blunt pressure against his hole. Stiles wonders if now would be a good time to announce that he’s never had a cock inside of him before. Fingers? Yes. Toys? Absolutely. He’s curious enough. But Brett feels bigger than his toys, and the angle is awkward, and—
The head pushes in.
Brett’s hand clasps over Stiles’ mouth before he can make a sound. Thank fuck for werewolf hearing. His moan is thoroughly muffled while Brett tries to cover up his curses by biting into Stiles’ sweatshirt.
Being spread open like this is both hot and a little uncomfortable. Stiles certainly would have preferred for time and location not to be an issue, but it makes the whole thing a lot more exciting too. Who would have thought? People told him college would be exciting. This, however, exceeds all his expectations.
Brett’s fingers twitch as Stiles lowers himself onto him. The hand covering his mouth is a lot more helpful than Stiles thought it would be. There’s absolutely no way he could have been silent throughout all of this. Not when Brett feels so fucking heavenly inside of him.
When Brett is finally buried balls deep, Stiles pulls his hand away from the window and closes his eyes.
Brett muffles a groan that still sounds way too loud in Stiles’ ears. But nobody moves, nobody stirs, and for a little while, the only sound Stiles can hear is Beethoven’s 9th symphony.
“Fuck,” Brett breathes eventually, “you’re so tight.”
Stiles pokes Brett’s hand with his tongue.
Chuckling, Brett pulls it away. “You sure you can be quiet?” he asks in a low voice, biting at his jaw playfully, and shifts to grab the blanket he brought onto the bus.
The movement makes Stiles gasp. He’s not really used to this stretch, and at this point, he can’t decide if he wants Brett to move or not. This was a terrible idea, absolutely and utterly terrible. How the hell did Brett manage to rope him into this? He takes a deep breath, trying to cling to the bit of sanity he still has left.
Fucking hell.
Brett tosses the blanket haphazardly over them. It is supposed to hide them in case someone goes to use the restroom, but when the soft fabric hits his cock, Stiles has just enough brain power left to bite his bottom lip. This is going to be something. An adventure. One that can go so very wrong in a single second. It’s probably best not to think about it. He closes his eyes and leans his head against Brett’s.
“Come on, Gorgeous.” Gorgeous. This guy is going to be the death of him. “You gotta relax for me.” Brett brushes his lips against the side of Stiles’ neck. “I’ll make you feel so good.” A hand slips under the blanket, fingers curling around his cock firmly.
Stiles takes a deep breath through his nose. All of this, everything Brett does feels a million times better than it should.
“Your foot,” Brett utters, nudging his leg a little, “can you put it on here?”
Stiles gets the hint. Pressing a bit closer to Brett, he sets his right foot on the small radiator near the floor. That, somehow, makes the feeling of Brett inside him even more, and Stiles turns his head to kiss him. That should keep his mouth occupied.
Slowly, Brett starts to roll his hips with slow and short thrusts. Stiles tries to move with him, but his leverage is awkward, and he’s scared to bump into the seat in front of him. Instead, he tightens his muscles — judging by the way Brett groans into the kiss, it didn’t only feel fucking amazing for Stiles.
The whole thing is painfully intimate, almost a little too gentle for Stiles’ liking. But all of that is easy to ignore because Brett knows what to do with his dick, his mouth, and his hands. He pumps him firmly, thumb teasing the tip of his cock every now and then.
Properly kissing Brett becomes complicated embarrassingly fast.
Brett bites his bottom lip with a chuckle then pulls away a little. “Feel good?”
Stiles nods breathlessly. Pleasure builds inside of him, making him feel as if his blood is mixing with molten lava. The warm blanket, Brett’s body, his clothes — it’s so fucking hot. In every sense of the word.
“Good,” Brett breathes, catching Stiles’ bottom lip with his teeth once again. Figures that he’s into biting. Stiles wonders if he’d enjoy being bitten too. Next time. He’s going to figure this out next time. “Fuck, you feel so good, Gorgeous.” If Brett had any idea what this fucking pet name did to Stiles — he makes a noise in the back of his throat, unable to help it. “Like you're made for me.”
Stiles nods slowly. “I am,” he breathes, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “Yours. Just yours.” He doesn’t even think about what he’s saying. They hardly know each other. They’ve hardly been fooling around for two weeks.
But fuck, Brett’s reducing him to a babbling mess with his words and the way he’s just so fucking deep inside of him all the time.
Brett grabs the back of his neck, holding him close to his face. “Mine,” he whispers, dragging his thumb over the tip of Stiles’ cock. "I like the sound of that."
Stiles' whole body is humming with pleasure. Being silent becomes harder and harder with every shallow thrust, with every move of the skilled fingers working him. Hearing Brett talk doesn't help.
"You know," he whispers, almost breathes against Stiles' mouth, "I'm going to tell everyone you're mine now. And I'm going to mark you." He kisses him, just for a second, and then he switches hands, pressing his right to Stiles' mouth and wrapping the other around his dick. He's rolling his hips faster, and part of Stiles wishes he could fuck him harder, faster, make him remember him tomorrow every time he sits down on those stupidly hard bleachers.
Brett isn't done. He presses his mouth to the shell of Stiles' ear.
Stiles feels the smile, the hot breath ghosting down his neck. He tastes the precum on Brett's fingers too.
"When we're at the motel," he whispers, painting the words against Stiles' ear, "I'm going to spread you out on the bed." Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "I'm going to mark you in places people can see, and in those only you and me know about."
His orgasm is like a gut punch. It hits him without warning, and he’s never been so glad that Brett presses his hand harder over his mouth, silencing him as best as he can. His muscles tighten, and he arches his back, pressing his shoulder against Brett. For a second, he doesn’t feel anything but pure and perfect bliss.
The next thing he notices is Brett fucking biting his shoulder. Stiles is about to elbow him, but then he realizes that Brett is coming too. Fucking hell. He can feel his dick pulse, can feel how he’s being filled, and fuck, fuck. This is the hottest fucking thing that’s ever happened to him. This is so much better than everything he’s tried by himself.
Brett pulls away and kisses his shoulder. “Sorry,” he mutters before carefully lifting Stiles off of him. Almost as if he’s weighing nothing, he holds him up with one hand and wraps the blanket around Stiles. “Restroom, go.”
His legs aren’t exactly excited about the rush, but it’s not like Stiles can argue with what’s going on. He slips into the tiny restroom and tosses the blanket at Brett before locking the door. His cheeks are flushed. It’s the first thing he sees when he catches sight of himself in the dimly lit mirror. He really just had sex with Brett Talbot in a bus full of people — in a bus he technically isn’t even allowed to be on. There’s no denying it either considering the cum running down his inner thigh.
Fuck.
Lydia is going to have a field day with this. If he tells her. Stiles probably shouldn’t tell her, but he’s ninety percent sure he will not be able to keep this a secret. Fucking hell, what is Brett doing to him? Stiles bites his bottom lip, glancing one last time at his flushed face, before gathering paper towels to clean himself as best as he can. Good thing he panic-packed more than enough clothes. He flushes everything down the toilet before slipping out of the door again.
The blanket vanished, Brett is clothed, and nothing looks in any way suspicious. Brett grins at him, patting the empty spot between the window and him. “We still have a bit over an hour left,” he tells him once Stiles sits. “We should use that to recharge.”
Stiles yawns and curls against Brett as best as he can. “We should.”
Brett kisses the top of his head before settling against him as well.
#briles#stiles stilinski#brett talbot#teen wolf#brett x stiles#stiles x brett#kinktober 2022#*tv:teen wolf#*w:kinktober2022#*w:complete#*s:briles
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