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Mating Games Round 2 Challenge 3: Non-Penetration

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1.
Warnings:
Pairing: Malia/self, one-sided Malia/Marin

"Do you know why you're here Malia?" Marin asked, looking up from her notes.

Malia picked at her sweatpants with a frown, "Because my Dad thinks I'm crazy."

"Are you?" she asked.

Malia glared at the woman, "No."

"Do you want to expand on that?" she asked mildly.

"No," Malia answered.

Marin sighed, "If you don't open up, there's only so much I can do to help Malia."

Malia glowered into her lap. She couldn't really tell this woman she'd been a coyote for eight years, that she killed her mother and sister, that her father had rejected her reality. Well fine, she could, but it wouldn't help her in getting out of here.

"What are you thinking about Malia?" she asked gently.

"I hate myself," she said, deciding it was close enough to her current thoughts.

"Why's that?' Marin asked sincerely.

Malia swallowed and looked up at the woman, "I ruined everything. I was finally back with my Dad and we could have had a normal life, but I..."

"But you what?" Marin asked after a moment of silence.

"But I'm no good for that," Malia answered.

"Can you tell me one thing you like about yourself?" Marin asked.

Malia shot her an incredulous look.

"Well? Can you?" Marin pressed.

She didn't like the skin she was in, she didn't like who she was, what the hell was there to like about herself?

"No," she answered after a few minutes, feeling ashamed, there was nothing.

Marin thought for a moment, before briskly picking up her pen, "You have a single, do you not?"

Malia's eyebrows furrowed, "Yes, my roommate... switched."

Marin nodded, "Okay, I'm going to give you an assignment before our next independent session and I want you to take it seriously. Okay?"

Malia answered slowly, "Okay..."

Marin smiled, "I want you to masturbate, I want you to try and love your body Malia. Loving yourself will be difficult, but this should be an easier place to start. Can you do that for me?"

~~~

Malia laid in bed that night after lights out, considering her assignment. She wondered suddenly when she had stopped thinking of her as Ms. Morrell and switched to her first name. It was a pretty name, she was a pretty woman, and Malia was ready to bet she didn't have any problems loving herself. And as her mind began to imagine just how she would do it, her hand inched under the elastic of her pajama pants to touch herself.

She had been curious, but she hadn't tried it before, guilt at the self-indulgence stopping her. But when asked to do it, that Marin had asked her to do it, made it seem okay.

In her mind's eye, she could see Marin standing at the edge of her bed with her clipboard and pen, taking notes of her movements.

Good, now touch your nipples Malia.

She did with a gasp, they had hardened into little peaks and she squeezed them tightly. A mix of pleasure and a little sting of pain ran through her, arousal burning under her skin. Her breasts were heavy and warm in her palms, and she looked at the imaginary Marin, wondering what her breasts felt like.

She gave her a smirk, but didn't move other than to take a few more notes, Lower now.

The backs of Malia's nails drifted down her sides, flaring at her hips, and wider down to the tops of her thighs. Her splayed fingers rubbed her inner thighs, and her breath came quickly now.

Your vulva, she said and it almost sounded affected. The tone warmed her more, and spreading her legs unnecessarily wide, she cupped her vulva. She could smell herself now, and she wondered deliriously if Marin could. If Marin would be into that, if she'd want to delve into her.

Keep touching yourself.

So Malia rocked the heel of her hand back, pressing against her pubic mound and when her hips jumped her clit sang at the motion. She did it again quickly, and her fingers pressed down between her soaked lips. Her middle finger made a home between her inner labia, with her index and ring squeezing her outer lips together, and the heel of her hand kept rocking sensations through her.

Just like that, the voice said, and Malia came with a groan. She fell asleep with a smile, and definitely did not think about how awkward their next meeting might be. (She was still excited for it.)


2.
Warnings: underage (17 years old)
Pairing: Sterek

Derek is five years old when he first meets Stiles. He's experiencing his first shift - nails sharpening into claws, eyes burning amber - when a screech fills the basement. Derek claps his palms over his ears in vain, squinting at the intermittent beacon of light as a big, baby-blue box appears.

Derek starts hyperventilating. He's alone, he's confused, he's scared. His panic attack is on the verge of rupturing into uncontrollable tears, when the box opens and a man steps out.

"Aw shiiiiii-ps!" the stranger says when he sees Derek, and then he's kneeling down, clutching at Derek's shoulders. "Breathe with me, Derek."

Derek wants to know how this man knows his name. He isn't allowed to talk to strangers, or let them touch him like they're family, or have panic attacks, but Derek is five years old and he doesn't know how to stop.

"Well done," the man smiles as Derek's breathing evens, his rise and fall matching the steady heartbeat of the stranger; a beat that, Derek suddenly realises with regained clarity, is not of one heart, but of two.

Derek jerks away. His skin burns where the man's hands had held him tight. "Who are you?"

"A friend," the man says with a smile, but Derek think he looks sad.

"Thank you," Derek says, because even though he's a stranger, he's been raised to be polite.

A blinding grin lights up the man's face, and when he says, "You're welcome," Derek can't help but smile too.

*

Derek is eleven when he finally learns Stiles' name.

"You're real," Derek says, staring at him with intense, disbelieving eyes. "I thought you were a dream."

"Have you been dreaming about me, Derek?" the man grins, far too gleefully. Derek scowls, and the man's smile falls. "Whoa, you're like ten years old. That was far too inappropriate. Bad Stiles."

"Eleven," Derek snaps. "What's a 'Stiles'?"

The man throws his head back and laughs. "Dude, did I not mention that last time? Obviously not. I'm Stiles."

Derek snorts. "That's a stupid name."

Stiles starts laughing again, harder and louder, peals of joy radiating from that smile that stretches on forever.

*

Derek is seventeen, and he's met Stiles a total of six times. It's not enough; every meeting is more infuriating than the last, with Stiles monologuing about the universe and time travel and destiny and R.O.S.C.O.E. ("She's my baby, Derek. Her paintwork's faded, but she used to be a gorgeous royal-blue. Those were the days.")

Derek knows who it is before he even opens the door - he recognises the spice and electricity, a discordant noise of smells that make his heart beat to the tune of R.O.S.C.O.E.'s engines - but he can also smell sulphur and darkness.

Derek knows instantly that something is wrong.

It's in the shape of Stiles' eyes: where they're normally warm and affectionate, all they hold is bright, empty dazzle. It's beautiful, and foreign, and cold.

"Sorry to bother you," Stiles says, gesturing wildly at a smoking R.O.S.C.O.E. on the Hales' front lawn, "but my ride broke down. Do you have a toilet plunger I can borrow?"

Derek stares in silence for so long that Stiles - typically - starts rambling again, until Derek cuts him off. "You don't know me," he says numbly.

Stiles' frowns, his eyes jumping over Derek's face. Over the years, Derek's started to understand Stiles' frenetic body language, and right now he looks hungry.

"No, I don't," Stiles shakes his head. Then he smirks, shark-like and unrecognisable. "But that can be rectified."

*

(Derek has his first panic attack in twelve years, and Stiles has no idea what to do.

"Derek? That's a stupid name. Are lots of people here called 'Derek'?")

*

"Come on," Stiles whispers, biting at his ear as his hand grips Derek tight, so wet and dirty and good. "Come for me, Derek."

Derek whines when he comes, white mess dribbling onto his stomach as Stiles moans into his shoulder, chanting Derek's stupid, stupid, stupid name like a prayer.

*

Stiles doesn't say goodbye. He never does. Derek catches the tail of his departure, the familiar screech of R.O.S.C.O.E. waking him up.

Derek rushes to his window, and stares as the royal-blue paintwork fades from sight.

*

Six months later, Derek fucks Kate Argent, and he fights every wave of panic until he can breathe easy again.


3.
Warnings: dub-con
Pairing: Stiles/Peter

"Oh, good. You're awake," Stiles said, cackling in delight.

Stiles.

The same Stiles who had left Beacon Hills five years ago under the pretext of recovering from severe nogitsune trauma, who had broken Peter's heart when he'd fallen off the face of the earth instead, and who was Peter's mate, only, Peter had never had the chance to claim him.

Peter lunged toward the sound of Stiles' voice only to be jarred sharply in place. He was naked and bound so tightly that he could barely move. His wrists were shackled and chained to a steel bar overhead. He was kneeling on a table, his ankles and thighs expertly bound, his knees wantonly spread open. There was rope around his cock and balls, too, and his member was red and erect, beading with pre-come.

"Oh, good. You're back," Peter retorted, pulling at the chains. They held firm, with very little give, but also, curiously, there was no wolfsbane. The bonds were temporary, at best. A little effort on his part, and he would be free.

"Did you miss me, Peter?" Stiles asked, dragging a chair over. "I missed you. I was in Bogota when I realized, but I wasn't ready to come back. I was in Rzeszów by the time I figured out how you'd gotten under my skin."

"Care to enlighten the rudely-awakened?" Peter asked, shifting his weight to get more comfortable. Unfortunately, that meant spreading his legs even more, his cock sticking straight up, a dull ache spreading through his groin.

"Parking garage," Stiles said amiably, depositing the chair in front of the table. He'd changed -- broader of shoulder, leaner in the way a body was kept well-fed and exercised, but still starving, somehow. The oversized plaid shirts, baggy jeans and sneakers were gone, replaced by a thin, too-small charcoal Tee, well-worn black leather pants, and knee-high buckle boots that were a dark crimson shade. "You could've bitten me then. Turned me. You didn't care about consent with anyone else. It wasn't because I was worthless. It was because I was."

"I could've told you that," Peter said mildly. Stiles stepped up on the chair and onto the table, positioning himself in front of Peter. He unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. He took out his half-hard cock.

Peter stared at it until Stiles dug his hand through Peter's hair. The sting of the pull was gloriously painful.

"I'm not a nice boy anymore, Peter. I'm broken. Blood on my hands. Chaotic Evil. I do what I can to survive. The whole nine yards. Do you still want me like this?" Stiles asked. His eyes were hard, his fingers tight in Peter's hair.

Giving Peter the choice, just like Peter had given him one, long ago.

"More," Peter croaked, delirious on Stiles' raw scent. He buried his nose in Stiles' crotch. He took Stiles into his mouth, feeling Stiles growing harder on his tongue. He sucked him slowly, savouring scent and sound, taking more and more until Stiles' cock hit the back of his throat.

Stiles held him like that until he choked. Peter pulled back, gasped for air, and continued without hesitation. Stiles did it again, holding him in place until tears stung Peter's eyes. And again, murmuring, "This is how it's going to be, Peter. You can't have me any other way."

Peter was pulled off with a painful yank of his hair, forced to look up. Peter's voice was hoarse, but he managed, "Any way that I can."

Stiles smiled, his eyes softening. Peter rubbed his cheek against the spit-slick cock, opening his mouth when Stiles guided himself in. Peter tried to bob his head, but Stiles held him firm. Stiles thrust his hips shallowly, fucking Peter's mouth for what seemed like hours. Peter's jaw ached, but he didn't care. He meant it.

He would take Stiles any way that he could have him.

Stiles thrust harder, deeper. The noises he made were addicting. When Peter heard a hitch in Stiles' breath, he tightened his lips around Stiles' cock and sucked, winning himself a strangled groan and come pulsing down his throat.

Stiles pulled out when he was done, cradling Peter's face with tenderness. He knelt, meeting Peter's swollen mouth in a hungry, claiming kiss, his hands drifting down to release Peter's leaking cock from the rope.

The mere flutter of fingers was all Peter needed before he came, hard and blinding, purring in satisfaction at Stiles' gentle, "Good boy."


4.
Warnings: None
Pairing: Danny/dildo

Danny made sure his bedroom door was locked before he opened the plain package. His hands slipped on the paper, but he managed to open the package eventually. The dildo was bigger than he was expecting, and definitely brighter. The colours had left a lot to be desired but he'd decided blue was the least offensive on balance. The bright blue looked ridiculous, but thankfully he didn't need to see it to use it. That thought made Danny was suddenly impatient, fumbling for scissors to open the plastic package.

The dildo felt – odd – in his hands. Thick and weighty and wonderful. Danny put it down on the bed, shoving the packaging onto the floor and shucking his trousers.

Danny lay down on the bed, taking a deep breath. He ran his hands over his body, tugging on his erection once to bring it to full hardness. He picked up the dildo and squeezed it once, wondering how like the real thing it was.

Danny had made plans, lots of plans based on videos furtively watched on his laptop half under his bedsheets, muffling his groans with his fist. His skin had been tingling ever since he opened the package, anticipation making him vibrate.

He moved his hands down to his cock, trailing the head of the dildo along the length of his erection, hissing at the cooler touch. His cock jerked as he imagined doing this with a real cock, hot skin against his own.

“Fuck,” he breathed, fumbling for the lube from his bedside drawer table. He coated his hand and the dildo, lube dripping over the bedsheets in his haste. Danny shrugged, he could do his own laundry, besides, he didn't think he could stop now.

Danny rubbed his erection with the dildo once more, shuddering as it left a slick trail – like precome, he thought. There was no way he was going to last long enough to fuck himself, he thought.

He swallowed and lined his cock up with the dildo, wrapping his hands around them both. Danny groaned at the feeling of the thick hard cock against his own and his thrust up a little, feeling the ridges on the dildo rub against him.

Danny watching himself slowly stroke a hand up the length of the two cocks, smearing precome around both of the heads.

“Fu-uck,” he breathed again. He lifted his hips and moved his hand in counterpoint, closing his eyes against the friction. He wasn't going to last, balls already tight against his body. His muscles were tense, and thrust, short, hard jabs that shocked him. Danny couldn't slow down if his life depended on it, he was just glad his bed wasn't squeaky.

He forced himself to watch as he felt his orgasm crash over him, watching himself come all over the dildo. That made him jerk and come more until he was so over-sensitive even the act of removing his hand made him whimper.

Danny wiped his hand, panting. He ran a finger along the dildo, scooping up the come. He was going to do that with a real cock one day, and it was going to be epic.


5.
Warnings: reference to torture, mild dub-con
Pairing: Derek/Stiles

Of course Stiles was the one who found him. Strung up in silver, skin carved open with malice and wolfsbane, Derek thought perhaps he was already dead. Every nerve ending was lit up as though burning from the inside.

“I’ve got you.” Stiles gripped him around his middle, took his weight and yelled for the pack.

“Don’t touch me,” Derek whispered, voice hoarse with screaming.

“I’ve got you.” Stiles repeated the words into his throat until the others came.

Derek healed slowly, skin soon unblemished once more. The damage was in his soul though. The marks Kate left on him healed. It was the memory of her touch that haunted him.

He flinched when anyone came too close. Growled, snarled, pushed them away.

Stiles wouldn’t go away.

Derek woke up, several times, to Stiles wrapped around him, arms and legs encasing him in a cocoon as though he was going to keep the world away from him.

“Don’t touch me,” he would whisper, voice rough with fear.

“Shut up,” Stiles would tell him, rubbing his face into Derek’s neck. “I’m not her.”

“I know.” He allowed Stiles to stay.

This morning was different. Derek froze when Stiles pushed his t-shirt up, rested his palm on the quivering flesh of his abdomen. “Stop.”

“No.” Stiles ran his hand up Derek’s torso and back down again. “I’m not going to stop. I’m sick of thinking about her hands on you. I’m going to wipe out every memory of her touch.”

He shuffled down on the bed, hot breath on Derek’s skin. Derek shivered. She’d done that before she’d sliced into him with silver and delight.

Stiles pushed his shirt up further, pressed a tender kiss to Derek’s sternum. Right between his ribs where his heart beat strong and frantic. He lifted his gaze, looking right into Derek’s eyes. “You okay?”

Derek made a wet sound. “No.”

Stiles moved his mouth to one nipple, sucking softly, carefully. Derek couldn’t stop the noise escaping.

“Good?” Stiles moved slowly across to the other nipple, lavished it with the same care and attention. Derek fought to keep his body still. She’d liked it when she’d managed to coax an unwilling response.

“No,” Derek lied.

“Liar,” Stiles’ smile was a brand against his abdomen. He pushed a hand into Derek’s sweatpants, rubbed his thumb over the tip of Derek’s cock. “She’s not here.”

He pressed his face against Derek’s belly, cheek soft as silk, hot as iron. Derek shuddered when he turned and licked the muscles across his torso. “Don’t hurt me.” Derek thought that perhaps this time he was praying.

“You need this from me, to heal.” Stiles’ murmured, lips following tongue up and down the expanse of Derek’s abdomen and belly. His fingers wrapped around Derek’s cock, keeping up a rhythm that Derek’s hips were unable to resist.

“Please.” Derek wasn’t sure what he was asking for. Release. Forgiveness. She had taken so much.

“She will never touch you again.” Stiles spoke his vow into Derek’s stomach, breath burning as he kissed every inch of golden skin. “You’re mine. You’re ours.”

“Yes,” Derek groaned, finally starting to believe. “Yours.” Stiles’ hand moved faster, stripping Derek’s cock in unhurried, careful movements, eyes steady on Derek’s.

“You are my alpha. I am yours.” Stiles repeated the words the pack had exchanged before She took him.

“I am your alpha, you are mine.” Derek responded as his body surged beneath Stiles’ mouth and hands.

“I will never not find you.” Stiles kept up his pace, saw Derek’s breath hitch, hips stutter.

“I believe you.” Derek met his amber gaze, let Stiles’ magic wash over him, drench his battered soul.

“Good.” Stiles’ smile was a benediction. “Now, come for me.” He twisted his wrist, at the same time licking a long, damp line from the tip of Derek’s cock to the dip at his throat, all the while watching Derek’s face.

Derek kept his eyes locked with Stiles’ and obeyed. They smiled softly at one another as Derek’s heartbeat settled slowly.

“She’s dead.” Stiles gave him this final gift. “Scott and Chris found her. Ended it.”

Derek watched him silently for a moment. Then, “Thank you.”

Stiles shrugged propping his chin on Derek’s chest. “Eh, I just showed them the way.”

Derek shook his head. “You found me.” He reached up to run his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “You saved me.”

Stiles turned his head to press a kiss into Derek’s palm. “Always,” he promised.

And Derek believed.


6.
Warnings: secondary werewolf characteristics (claws and teeth)
Pairing: Stiles/Derek

Sweat collected in the hollows of Stiles' back, dripped from his hairline, and beaded along his upper lip. His tongue swiped over his lips every few seconds, collecting it. His eyes squeezed shut, his blood rushing through him, making him flushed all over.

He was harder than he'd ever been in his life.

A tear slipped from between his lashes, slid achingly slow over the high arch of his cheek before splashing against the corner of his mouth.

His breathing ratcheted up, short, bursting gasps of air that dried out his mouth. "Derek, fuck!"

A light, tingling touch ghosted down his spine, scratching lightly over his skin in a razor-thin line, raising the hair on the back of his neck when it came to rest against the twitching, aching rim of his hole. A choked sob rolled up from his chest when he realized it was a claw. "Oh god! Please, please!"

When the claw moved away, Stiles wailed in dismay, only quieting when he felt Derek's chest pressing up against his back, sliding easily along his sweaty skin until their shoulders were flush against each other and his mouth was right there at Stiles' ear.

"Shh." Derek breathed the sound over the sensitive places on Stiles' neck, goosebumps prickling across his body. "This isn't about you, remember?"

But it was. Oh god, it was, because every nerve ending in Stiles was alight, tuned in to Derek's slightest movement. The bed creaked, dipped, and Stiles rolled with it, boneless with want.

The click of a cap, the bubbling squirt of lube, and the shush of slick skin sliding against dry had Stiles arching his back, thrusting his ass at Derek, who just laughed, the sound dark with humor.

"You don't think I'm going to fuck you, do you? No, Stiles, your little ass can't take that again. Not tonight. It's still all puffy and swollen from earlier. I have to let it rest, heal up, so I can use it again tomorrow."

Stiles choked on a moan, Derek's words dripping into his ears and going straight to his cock, which twitched and pulsed out a drop of precome onto the sheets. His ass tightened involuntarily, stealing his breath when the low ache that had been lingering in the background of his consciousness bloomed into a dull throb of pain. But even that made him harder, remembering the pleasure-pain of Derek sliding into him for the first time.

"Derek."

"Do you know," Derek said, "if we had sex every day for a year, we'd never get through everything I want to do with you. But this? I've thought about this so many times. Sliding my dick over your skin, marking you with my scent, as mine."

Suiting word to deed, his dick slipped into the crease of Stiles' ass, rubbing all along it, the head glancing over Stiles' rim, soothing the ache while simultaneously making it worse. It was slick with lube, and Stiles let out a whine knowing that he'd missed seeing Derek's fingers wrapped around his cock, slicking it up until it was shiny and wet.

Derek's hands planted in the mattress on either side of Stiles, and he could see the way Derek's claws were growing from the tips. He bit his lip, rocking his hips up into Derek's downward thrusts, shivering with every pass of Derek's dick over the top of his crack.

"Do it," he whispered, voice rough with want as he rutted mindlessly down into the sheets before hitching his hips back, tightening his ass cheeks to give Derek that extra bit of friction. "Get your scent all over me. Let everyone know I'm yours. Please, Derek, let them know I'm your bitch."

"Mine," Derek growled, the sound full of teeth and primal need.

Some instinct had Stiles tipping his head to the side, stretching out the line of his throat, wordlessly begging for something more. When it came, when Derek's teeth sank into his skin, denting his flesh without breaking it, something just clicked, sliding into place.

Derek's come painted Stiles' ass cheeks, slid down his crack, dripped from his lower back and thighs. Even after Derek finished coming, he didn't stop moving, just kept rutting against Stiles, rubbing his scent all over Stiles. It was that thought, the thought that he was marked, Derek's scent indelibly etched into his skin, that made Stiles' toes curl up as he came, shouting Derek's name.


7.
Warnings: blowjobs
Pairing: Derek/Stiles

Derek shoves Stiles against his bedroom door hard enough to rattle the wood. It's meant to be threatening, but Stiles stopped thinking of Derek as threatening about the same time as he realized he was attracted to guys as well as girls. Derek's hands are tight in the front of Stiles's shirt. If he held any tighter, he'd probably rip it, though judging from the way Derek's glaring at him, he wants to rip something. Preferably Stiles.

Then Derek does the strangest thing. He sniffs the air and gets an expression like he'd just smelled sulfur. He drops Stiles like Stiles is fire and backs away, eyes wide. "Are you...?" Derek glances down at Stiles's crotch and yes, Stiles has the most awkward boner in the history of awkward boners.

Stiles blushes. "Sorry," he says, but Derek's already out the window and gone before the word's halfway out of his mouth.

"Well, that was unexpected," Stiles says to his empty room.

Derek is scarce after that. Any research requests he has for Stiles go through Scott and Stiles never gets told not to come along – well, sometimes by Scott, but never by Derek. He doesn't get threatened or pinned against walls or any of that.

He kind of misses it.

Worst of all, he barely sees Derek and that's a true crime, because as much as he has an unrequited thing for Derek, he thought they were bros and now they're not. He tries to pass a vague apology through Scott, but that gets him nowhere. He wheedles Derek's number off of Boyd but his texts go unanswered.

All of that changes when he wakes up the morning of his eighteenth birthday – can one a.m. even be considered morning – to find Derek crawling through his window with his eyes glowing Alpha red.

"You..." Derek says, and that's all he says before he's crawling on top of Stiles. Derek's hands find his face and then they're kissing like the world is about to end.

"What?" Stiles asks the moment he's allowed to breathe.

"Do you know..." Derek says, punctuating the words with a soul-searing kiss that involves more tongue and teeth than Stiles knows how to handle. "...how hard it is..." Derek maneuvers the covers off of Stiles. They end up in a heap half on the floor. "...when you..." Stiles is all the way hard. Derek sniffs, his nose pressing against Stiles throat, but this time he doesn't back away. "...and you weren't legal..." Derek spits the word out like it's a curse.

"Legal now," Stiles gasps. "Totally legal."

Derek sits back and stares down at him. His eyes flash red again and he smirks. "I know."

Then Derek is diving down, his fingers finding the waist of Stiles's boxers and pulling. Stiles's cock springs free and he blushes. He can't help it. No one's ever seen him like this and Derek just looks for a good long minute before opening his mouth and swallowing Stiles down like he's trying to save a dying man. Stiles might be dying. He's not sure. It feels a bit like dying with Derek's mouth warm and wet around him, sucking, swallowing.

He can't help it. He comes, embarrassingly quick, but this is the first time anyone's ever put their mouth on his dick and it feels incredible, amazing, so many words that he can't think of because mouth on dick unf.

When he comes back to himself, he's panting and Derek is sitting back again, licking his lips and looking incredibly satisfied.

"Best birthday present ever," Stiles says.

Derek sits back on his heels. He's obviously hard, his erection straining against his jeans. He smirks. "How'd you like to put that mouth to good use?"

Stiles takes one look at Derek's face, then looks down at his cock and he's sitting up, moving so fast he nearly breaks the sound barrier. He's dreamt about having Derek's cock in his mouth – what it would feel like, what it would taste like, the sounds Derek would make when he comes – and now he gets to try it.

Best birthday ever.


8.
Warnings: N/A
Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Licking his lips, Stiles crawled up the bed and straddled Derek's waist, grinning. "So, since we already know we're taking a shower right after this because the contractors are finally done and I want to feel all eight of those showerheads, is it okay if I come on your chest?"

With a grunt, Derek gripped Stiles' ass and pulled him closer. "At least this time you asked." He let his right hand move to grip Stiles' cock, stroking it softly and letting his thumb circle around the one mole that dotted his shaft. "I can't believe you're into chest hair."

Softly gasping, Stiles arched toward Derek. "It's your chest hair. I like it. Like that you're not waxing just to give yourself your pain anchor. Wanna rub my dick in it." He suddenly shut his mouth tightly, his eyes wide as they met Derek's.

Artfully raising one brow, Derek pulled Stiles further forward so that his balls were resting against Derek's sternum. "Go ahead."

"Dude, seriously?" Stiles didn't pause to wait for an answer; leaning forward to press his length through the patch of chest hair that decorated Derek and letting out a throaty groan.

Lifting his knees and settling his feet against the bed, Derek reached over Stiles' thigh to drag his fingers over his own cock, pressing a finger against the tip and sliding it under his quickly retreating foreskin to circle around the head, keening with pleasure from the sensation.

Stiles' eyes shut for a moment as he rutted against Derek's pectorals, dragging a line of precome up to the man's throat and sliding back down through it. "Fuck, Derek. You wanna lean your head down just a little and give me some tongue?" Derek pressed his chin against his chest and let his mouth drop open, tongue slipping out and catching against the tip of Stiles' cock with his next thrust. "Oh, god. Yes. That!" Stiles started to thrust faster, wincing at the friction, but loving the strange intimacy of the act. The way his cock collided with Derek's tongue on each thrust, sometimes sliding up to brush against his lips, was amazing, too.

He hadn't prepared for anything long and drawn out, but Stiles was still surprised at how quickly he came, the first pulse of come catching on the corner of Derek's mouth, but the rest directed against his chest hair and slowly smeared around with the last of Stiles's thrusts. He could still feel the steady movement of Derek's arm moving against his thigh, so Stiles slid back down to Derek's waist and reached a hand back to cup at Derek's balls, rolling them between his fingers and cupping them up against the base of Derek's shaft so that the edge of Derek's hand brushed them on each of his strokes. He met Derek's gaze, trying to match his intensity, and was rewarded a moment later with the feel of warm wetness against his back that cooled all too quickly. "Shower," Derek said suddenly, his hand moving to Stiles' back and rubbing in some of the come.

"Yes, dear," Stiles said with a wide grin, yelping at the soft smack against his ass that Derek delivered immediately afterward. Totally worth it.


9.
Warnings: none
Pairing: Derek/Lydia

Lydia loves the chafing on her inner thighs. The irritation lasts a couple days. She holds out for a couple more before going to him.

Every single time.

Every single time Derek's waiting for her, need in his eyes. If he truly didn't want her, she wouldn't press him, but one kiss is all it takes.

The start wasn't very memorable. He saved her from a demented troll, took her to his loft to tend to her scrapes. In gratitude, she kissed him.

Derek spent a good half hour with his head between her legs.

Lydia returned the favor, and it was the beginning.

"You can fuck me, you know," she moans, head thrown back on the pillows of his bed, skirt around her waist, panties around one ankle as Derek licks and sucks her towards her third orgasm. Not ceasing lapping her swollen clit, he looks up at her from beneath hooded eyes, then squeezes her ass in his strong hands and lifts her hips from the bed.

He never fucks her. Never puts anything inside her. That he can bring her off again and again without fingers in her cunt amazes her. His tongue and lips and even his teeth are so talented.

And his beard leaving red marks on her inner thighs, her labia, her ass, that just makes her quake.

As Lydia comes again, he finally lets her go, settling her gently on the mattress. She's a quivering mess, sopping wet and sticky and so sensitive, but also rejuvenated.

"I want your mouth," Derek growls. That he'll do. He won't fuck her cunt or her ass but he'll fuck her mouth. She has no clue why, but, frankly, he's so good at cunnilingus, she's willing to forgo anything else.

Smiling, Lydia wriggles her way down the bed, eyes fixating on the thick bulge in Derek's jeans as he straddles her body and waits for her to reach him before unbuttoning and unzipping. With a grunt of relief, he takes out his cock, and Lydia licks her lips. The sight of it never fails to make her salivate. Hard, he's about eight inches long, and thick, and he's uncut, something new for her, but she quickly got used to it.

Taking the shaft in one soft hand she guides the tip to her lips, and Derek leans forward to take the back of her neck in one hand, lifting her head.

The first several times she blew him, he hesitated to thrust, to take charge, until she placed his fingers in her hair, glared at him, and told him to fuck her mouth.

He no longer hesitates because he knows just how much she loves it.

And she only ever has loved it with him which is something he doesn't know. They never talk about what's between them or what they had with others.

They rarely talk at all.

Derek thrusts his hips and Lydia relaxes his throat and he fucks her the only way he will. Digging her fingers into the tangled bedding she just takes it, moaning and licking and humming around his dick. Knowing he's been hard and on edge for over thirty minutes, she knows he won't last long, so she just opens up for him. When she feels his fingers tighten, leaving bruises on her neck, she concentrates, closing her throat around the tip of his cock. Derek's eyes flash blue, his fangs distend, but he doesn't let his claws out. He's always so careful not to let his wolf hurt her, but he can't hold in the howl when he comes.

As he pulls out, Lydia chokes a bit, and she swallows what she can, but a bit of cum spills down her chin with saliva. As he lowers her head to the mattress and moves off her, Lydia delicately wipes her face clean with a corner of the sheet, then goes to her knees to press herself against his back.

Looking over his shoulder at her, Derek comes as close as he does to a smile and she presses a kiss to his cheek.

In a little bit, she'll get dressed and head home to clean up and resume her normal life...until the red marks on her thighs fade, her clit starts aching from want again, and she can't stay away.

Maybe some day he'll come to her first, though it doesn't really matter. He's always there for her.


10.
Warnings: N/A
Pairing:Derek/Stiles

"Stiles!" Derek’s hand snaps out, catches Stiles around the wrist, stopping him running.

Derek cocks his head, listening, eyes scanning the treeline. Stiles notes the calm in Derek's posture, the way his shoulders relax the barest amount. It’s clear they've escaped immediate danger.

They slip into an opening in the mountainside, a rocky cave that’s pitch dark in its depths. Stiles chokes in a breath of musty air.

“There’s moving water in here,” Derek says. “That means there’s an outlet.”

Stiles leans against a rock as Derek surveys the area. Each of his moves are ginger, but fluid. Even now, he’s unable to contain his lethal, predatory grace.

“We’ll be safe here.” He moves back to Siles. “I need time to heal, then I’ll carry you out if I have to.”

Derek's fingertips ghost over Stiles' flank. The claw marks are deep, but not enough to cause worry.

"I’m okay," he says. "We're alive. Holy shit." His breathing’s ragged, words choked, but Stiles doesn't care. They're afuckinglive.

Carefully, Derek removes Stiles' shirt. He moves his hands down Stiles' front, barely touching as he scans for more injuries.

He seems relieved when his gaze meets Stiles', more relaxed and sure. It causes desire to bloom bright and hot in Stiles' belly.

Derek’s a mess, all scraped skin and fresh blood, gashes across his bare chest that Stiles knows he wouldn’t have survived himself.

He licks his lips, watches Derek's eyes flick to his mouth. They almost died. Driven by adrenaline and the idea there never would’ve been a chance at all, Stiles cups a hand around the back of Derek's neck, pulls him into a soft kiss.

Derek hesitates, but then hooks his fingers into the top of Stiles' jeans. He kisses along Stiles’ jaw and down his neck, licks the scraped skin of his shoulder, then blows cool air against it, soothing the sting.

Stiles breathes out something between a surprised laugh and a wanton groan. His hands explore Derek, slicking through sweat and blood, slowing to drag across taut muscles.

Derek steps closer, fits himself into the space between Stiles' legs, fingers circling Stiles' wrist below bruised skin.

"No," Stiles says abruptly, knowing Derek intends to take some of the hurt away. "I don't--I want it." It means he's alive, this is real. Stiles will keep the pain as a reminder he isn't dreaming.

Derek kisses him again, rocks forward, and Stiles can feel how hard he is, even through all their layers of clothes.

"Keep doing that," Stiles says.

He does it again, the friction causing little sparks of light to burst behind Stiles' eyelids.

The rocking of their hips goes from slow, languorous slides to rough jolts of pleasure, each shift of bruised body only adding to the sensation, amplifying the feel of every touch.

Stiles presses a kiss to the hollow of Derek’s throat. A crescendo of breathy moans and stilted syllables echo off the rocks of the cave. Stiles chokes back a groan, shushes Derek with lips and tongue as he rolls his hips.

Stiles tips his head to look at Derek, to say something, though he doesn't know what. Derek's eyes are dark, pupils eclipsing irises, leaving only a sliver of familiar green. His lips are pink, glistening, kiss-swollen and so soft in contrast to the feel of his hands on Stiles.

Stiles shifts again, rutting against Derek, sliding his tongue into Derek's mouth, begging with nothing more than the move of his body and the taste of his tongue.

"Please," Derek whispers, branding the plea into Stiles' skin with a hot kiss.

Stiles hooks a leg around Derek's hip and Derek's hands slap against the rocks beside them, bracing himself as he thrusts more determinedly.

The friction is perfect, but it's Derek’s expression that causes heat to coil at the base of Stiles' spine; lips parted, face tipped down, but eyes still trained on Stiles'.

With a few more thrusts, hard cocks dragging against one another, Stiles’ orgasm crashes through him like a tidal wave. He clings to Derek, whimpers against his lips as it rocks through him, then Derek is coming, too, groaning into the kiss, grip tight around the back of Stiles' thigh as he holds him up.

"Definitely gonna feel this later," Stiles says after a moment.

Derek looks pained, his fingers sliding back to Stiles' injured side. "Let me," he says.

Stiles shakes his head. He still wants the aches and pains. Just for a little while longer.


11.
Warnings: Underage
Pairing: Isaac/Stiles

After everyone else left the locker room, Isaac walked over and tapped Stiles on the shoulder. "You said you wanted to talk?"

Stiles turned to face him and frowned. "Yeah, actually, I do."

"Well, I'm here, so talk," Isaac said with a shrug. He figured Stiles had a problem with him and though it didn't really bother him, he figured they may as well get it out into the open.

"I wanted to tell you to check your attitude--"

"My attitude?" Isaac interrupted, but Stiles put up his hand.

"I wasn't done. You need to realize that I'm Scott's best friend and have been for years."

Isaac felt suddenly defensive, though he wasn't entirely sure why. "I'm in his pack. You wouldn't understand what that means since you're not a wolf."

Stiles shook his head. "Scott and I are practically brothers."

"I don't know about that. I'm the one that lives in his house, you know." Isaac flashed Stiles a satisfied grin.

"You've really only known him for what, a few months? I know more about him than you ever will, so you may as well stop trying."

Isaac took a step forward toward Stiles. "Wait, so you're saying you don't want me to be friends with him? That's not going to happen."

"No, just that you should stop trying to act like you're a better friend to him than I am."

"Can I help it if maybe I am?" Isaac shrugged. "It's not like you can fight beside him or anything. You just help him from the sidelines like a glorified cheerleader."

Stiles glared at Isaac in silence for a moment. "You know what? On second thought maybe this was a bad idea. I hadn't expected this would turn into some sort of 'whose dick is longer' contest." He turned to walk away but Isaac put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"That could be one way to solve it," Isaac suggested.

Stiles faced him and frowned. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"As you said, 'whose dick is longer'? Could solve our problem."

Stiles stared at him again but after a few seconds, he nodded. "Okay." Stiles undid his belt and started to unzip his jeans. "Hard, I'm guessing?"

"Of course," Isaac answered as he turned away and undid his own pants. "But we only get thirty seconds to get it there." There was no objection from Stiles, so Isaac looked up at the clock on the wall while he tugged lightly on his cock. He had no trouble getting it hard, not needing the full thirty seconds. When the time was up, he turned around. "Time's up, Stiles."

When Stiles turned both of them were instantly fixed on the other's cock. "I-- I guess you should come stand next to me," Isaac instructed and Stiles walked over and did as instructed.

"It's still hard to tell," Stiles said looking down at them. "They're so close." He looked over at Isaac and then focused his eyes back on their cocks. "I have an idea, though." Isaac looked up as Stiles moved to stand in front of him. He took a step forward so their cocks were side-by-side in opposite directions.

"Looks like I win," Isaac commented with a grin.

"Not so fast," Stiles said in objection. "You've got a bit of an advantage." Stiles reached down and put two fingers on Isaac's cock, slowly sliding back his foreskin. "There. Even."

Isaac felt a jolt of excitement run through him at Stiles' touch and he reached down to hold Stiles' hand where it was. He looked Stiles in the eye and gave him a small smile as he started to stroke both of their cocks along with Stiles.

"Oh, fuck," Stiles muttered as their eyes stayed fixed and the stroking picked up in speed and intensity. Isaac wasn't sure why, but he felt an urge to lean over and kiss Stiles. He decided against it, worried it might ruin this moment.

"I--" Stiles' comment was cut off as they both let out a deep breath and a groan at the same time. Isaac continued stroking as they each came onto the other's leg. When they finished, Isaac reached over and grabbed a towel out of his locker to clean them up while Stiles laughed.

"What's so funny?" Isaac asked.

Stiles shrugged. "Well, it just occurred to me that I think we both win."

Isaac dropped the towel and pulled Stiles into a kiss. "I guess we did."


12.
Warnings: Implied non-con via pack bond
Pairing: Stiles/Derek

There’s a ritual to join a werewolf pack. It’s drinking some nasty smelling tea under the light of a full moon. Stiles can’t stop laughing about it. Scott just tries to remind himself that Derek can be trusted, and this will keep Stiles safe.

*

It’s late. They’ve been battling another monster of the week, and Stiles is exhausted. All he wants to do is crawl into bed and sleep for a year.

He almost has a heart attack when he sees the dark shadow in the corner. He breathes easier, though, when Derek steps forward, a strip of moonlight falling across his face.

“Jesus, fuck, Derek. What is wrong with you? Were you raised by– You know what, never mind, I know the answer.”

Derek rolls his eyes, which is a typical Derek response to anything Stiles’s perceives as mortal danger.

Whatever. Douches will be douches.

“I’m just here to make sure you got home alive,” Derek says.

“Well, here’s me. At home. Alive. Your alpha duty has been done. Goodbye now.” Stiles makes a shooing motion with his hands.

Derek stares at him.

“I’m just going to go to bed. Seriously, I can manage that much on my own,” Stiles says.

“I want to make sure. Strip.”

There’s no reason to do it. Stiles likes Derek, but only in a “you’re sarcastic and we have a semi-friendly antagonistic relationship that involves saving each other’s lives” way. Not in the “I’m going to strip right in front of you” way.

But he wants to. With Derek there, nothing feels more natural. He pulls off his t-shirt, then pushes his jeans to the floor. He feels the skin of his stomach. It feels good to touch.

When Derek says, “You sleep in the nude, don’t you,” it feels perfectly natural to push his boxers off as well.

He crawls into bed, laying on his stomach and letting Derek sit next to him, one hand resting on the small of his back, right above his buttocks.

“Go to sleep,” Derek murmurs.

Stiles eyes feel heavy. They start to droop, and when he wakes up, he won’t think anything is wrong.

*

It happens again, two days later, Derek asking Stiles that wouldn’t he be more comfortable doing his homework while sitting in Derek’s lap? Wouldn’t he feel better with no shirt, no pants, no underwear?

And Stiles feels drugged, because it’s good to do what Derek says. He feels like he’s losing himself, and he doesn’t care. He wants to let go.

And a week later, he’s at Derek’s loft and Derek says, “You look tense. If you jerked off, I bet you’d feel so much better.” So he does, in Derek’s bed, while Derek watches. And Derek’s right.

He does feel better.

*

Derek shows up the next time Stiles’s father works a double.

“You know what you’ve always wanted to try?” he asks.

Stiles hums. He can feel the euphoria setting in already.

“You’ve always wanted to suck my cock.”

And that’s how Stiles finds himself on his knees, his nose pressed into Derek’s skin and Derek’s cock lodged in his throat. He thought he had a gag reflex, but apparently Derek can make that go away too.

He’s never had a dick in his mouth before. The taste is musty and a little bitter, but it’s not bad. He’ll grow used to it, come to crave it.

He works feverishly, trying to keep Derek’s cock as far in his throat as he can while Derek moans and gasps for breath above him, urging him on, telling him he’s wanted this for months, couldn’t wait to get him on his knees since the ritual under the full moon.

Stiles moans when Derek comes, swallowing when Derek tells him to.

He’s already wanting more.

Derek slides down the wall and pulls him into his harms, stroking one hand through his hair while he catches his breath.

“You were so good for me. You deserve something special, something very nice. Know what I’m going to give you?” Derek asks.

Stiles doesn’t, but he knows he wants it if Derek wants it.

“My cock in your ass, pumping you full of come, knotting you up nice and tight and breeding you full of my pups. Don’t you want that?”

Stiles is already pulling off his clothes and spreading his legs as Derek climbs over him.

Yes. That’s exactly what he wants.


13.
Warnings: Knots (but not knotting) masturbation and voyeurism
Pairing: Stiles/Derek

Stiles’s head fell back against the mattress.

“Damn it, Derek! Again?” Stiles glared at Derek, who was standing by his desk.

“Call me crazy, but I’m beginning to see a pattern.” Stiles sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. “You always stop before the pants come off, so spill.”

Derek huffed. “Stiles, it’s not you-”

“Oh, you are not pulling the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ card on me. Is it because I’m a dude? The age thing? The fact I’m human? Is it because you wear tight jeans and can’t…?”

“No! It’s not. It’s the knot.”

“The knot? The knot?” Stiles’s eyes widened and trailed down Derek’s chest to the bulge in his jeans. “You mean, your dick…?” Stiles curled his fingers, forming a loose circle in the air. Derek’s face reddened, but he nodded. “Oh, man, I gotta see this!”

“Stiles, no! It’s… different.”

“So? You think it’s going to freak me out?”

Derek glared at Stiles from below his lashes.

“Come on; it can’t be that bad. Let me see!” Stiles outright stared at Derek’s crotch.

“Now? But –”

Stiles rolled his chair closer to the bed. “Yes, right now. Here, in fact.”

Reluctantly, Derek lowered himself into the chair.

“No!” Stiles yelled, reaching to open his nightstand drawer.

Derek paused. “No?”

“Pants off. Everything off.” Grumbling, Derek unbuttoned his fly and pushed his pants down past his hips.

“I guess I don’t have to worry about buying you sexy underwear for Valentine’s Day. Here.” Stiles passed over the bottle.

“It’s not something like strawberry, is it?” Derek squeezed a gob of lube into his hand, tossing the bottle onto Stiles’s bed.

“I hang out with werewolves, remember? I can’t have my junk smelling like cheap lip gloss. Now, let’s see this thing!”

“Why do I even bother?” Derek opened his legs wide on the armless desk chair.

Stiles leaned forward. “Because you love me.”

Derek snorted. “Debateable.”

Derek started from base, sliding upwards, covering his cock with slick lube, then increased to a fast rhythm, stroking with a tight fist.

“You’re… thick.” Stiles leaned in closer, watching Derek’s cock fatten under his fingers. Stiles wanted to trace the veins with his tongue, feeling the blood pulsing and Derek’s cock twitching under him.

“Do you need help? I can...” Stiles swallowed thickly, trying to moisten his dry mouth.

“Pants. Take ‘em off.”

Stiles scrambled to follow Derek’s request. Grabbing the lube, Stiles popped the cap with his thumb. “No.” Derek’s voice was husky. Broken. “Just - open your legs. Let me see.”

Stiles felt his heart race under Derek’s steady gaze, not unlike the first time Derek had pinned Stiles up against his own bedroom door.

“God, Stiles. I can smell how much you want me. I - Ah!” Derek’s free hand gripped the seat of the chair, tightening, as Stiles watched the base of Derek’s cock swell impossibly large.

Stiles dropped to his knees, scooting closer to Derek. Reaching out with one finger, Stiles traced around the curve of the bulge. “Wow, that feels hard.” Derek whimpered. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” Derek choked out, tightening his grip on the seat with his free hand. Stiles could hear the fabric rip.

Stiles leaned in closer, nose touching Derek’s knot, taking in a deep breath of sweat and musk and causing Derek to growl. Stiles looked up at Derek’s face from under his lashes.

“Stop?”

“No.” As if to invite Stiles to explore more, Derek moved his hand, clutching the chair on the other side and leaving himself completely open.

Stiles grasped Derek firmly, sliding his fingers down toward Derek’s knot. The thing was huge. But that didn’t make Derek less hot in Stiles’s eyes, or make Stiles want him less. Stiles leaned in and licked down around the knot and up along the underside to the head.

Twisting his hand around the bulge, Stiles felt Derek twitch in his hand, before Derek’s eyes burned bright blue. Without warning, come spraying onto Stiles’s face.

“Stiles! Shit. I’m-”

Laughing, Stiles wiped a gob of come off his cheek. “It’s fine, just... not what I was expecting. Umm... how long can it stay hard like this?”

Derek shrugged. “Minutes. Hours. Depends on the… circumstances. Stiles, I understand if you...”

“Stop! I want to. We can work up to your knot, Derek. We just have to get creative.”

And research. Lots of research.


14.
Warnings: potential dub-con
Pairing: implied Derek/Stiles

The first time it happens, Derek hasn’t even been back in Beacon Hills for a day. He’s lying in a bed made up of the remnants of Laura’s clothes, and a mound of old blankets that smell so strongly of smoke that Derek has to strain for the few precious whiffs of her scent that he can manage.

It’s wrong, in the wake of her death, for Derek to feel anything but grief, so he isn’t prepared for the wave of lust that crashes over him like a tidal wave, sudden and inexorable.

When the phantom touches start, it’s both a torture and a relief. The touches are less than feather light, yet somehow more. The sensation of slick and hot has nothing to do with Derek’s reality, or his need, a rhythm that is point and counterpoint with his own hand on his dick. The duality makes him feel oversensitive, and Derek isn’t sure what to think of it, isn’t sure how to get what he needs, or who to beg for it.

He shouldn’t have worried though. The whole thing is over quickly, sputtering out with a finality that reminds Derek of the days when he was a kid, and he couldn’t touch himself often enough, or get enough of the floating high that came from a good orgasm.

Derek falls asleep that night with an unexpected but welcome ease. He won’t experience another restful night like that for a long time to come.

~

The touches come again and again, and if there’s a pattern to them, Derek never quite figures it out. After days and weeks of fighting for his life, fighting to fucking keep it together, sometimes it’s the only thing that helps him feel any amount of peace. He wonders what it all means, wonders if he’s cursed. He wonders even more at the fact that he apparently doesn’t care.

Until one day he does figure it out.

Just as confusing to him is the Stilinski kid. He’s not sure what it is about him that has Derek circling around him like he does. He has to be careful, because he’s found himself more than once staring up at the Stiles’ house unsure how he got there, drawn in during a moment of inattention. If anything, now that he’s an alpha, the instinct behind it has only grown stronger. He’s probably weak for how little he tries to fight it.

’just trying to keep the human safe’ he tells himself, knowing it’s a lie.

He’s equally unsure what it is about this particular night that has him sneaking up to peer into Stiles’ widow.

The room is dimly lit by a blue computer screen, and as Derek watches, Stiles clicks something and then stretches in his seat. Derek doesn’t need werewolf senses to pick up on the sudden onslaught of moans and slapping flesh.

Stiles immediately flails, and the volume settles lower.

Derek really should leave.

Except…The now-familiar arousal begins to spark in Derek’s groin. Like always it’s quick to come on, leaves Derek wobbly and breathless, but more than that, rocked by the implications. The timing isn’t a coincidence. He forces himself to look inside Stiles’ window again—not a hardship after all—and he’s riveted by the motion of Stiles’ hand. Derek knows that motion. He can feel each up stroke as it plays out across his own skin. It’s too dim to pick out the details, but he doesn’t need to see Stiles’ other hand, to know that it’s sneaking down to cup his—their?—balls. It’s intense, like a blindfold has been removed, and Derek can finally get the visual cues to match the sensations he’s grown so intimate with over the last few months.

Like always, it’s over almost embarrassingly fast, leaving Derek with an uncomfortable wet spot, and Stiles, in his room, reaching for a box of tissues.

Even when his sense of equilibrium returns, however, Derek doesn’t move. He knows what this means, realizes that maybe he always knew what it meant. Although, who fucking else but Stiles could Derek possibly be mated to? It’s his life after all, and for Derek? Nothing is ever meant to be easy.

Derek watches as Stiles stands up from his chair, and the way the light catches at Stiles in that moment makes him look… older and alluring.

It’s like catching a glimpse of a future that Derek thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can be ok with.


15.
Warnings: Incestuous Overtones
Pairing: Cora Solo, Derek/Reader's Choice

Derek’s fucking someone downstairs.

Discretion isn’t a possibility in the loft in normal circumstances, especially for werewolves, but then shame is one of their more human emotions. Moreover sexual shame within the safety of the pack is meant to be something of a non-issue, except for maybe the bitten. For born wolves experience has already taught them that the sight, sound, and heavy scent of sex is not so much an illicit experience as it is a reassurance of life well lived. For every salty sweet taste of it to their heightened senses there’s also the weight of trust, growth, and joy.

That didn’t make it any less annoying.

Even stripped down to a tank top and underwear it’s still too damn hot. Cora just wants to sleep. She’s tired, tired damnit! Every limb trembling from the kind of bone deep exhaustion that comes with pushing herself past physical limits, from training until her mind was nothing but white fuzz instead of black smoke and screams.

A stifled gasp floats up from the general direction of the spiral staircase and she groans in exasperation, covering her face with a pillow. She can’t tell who is sucking her Alpha’s dick at first then decides she doesn’t really want to know. The wet smacking is obscene enough and she doesn’t really want to be able to picture it later in all it’s high definition glory.

Cora huffs, silently cursing him for taking so long to get laid, and shoves the pillow away. She slides a hand down to test and finds the thin material of her panties already wet. After a few tense moments of her idly playing with her slick bits and Derek’s hitched breathing he tells their guest, “Enough.”

Yeah, really,’ Cora thinks.

She grunts irritably and grabs the pillow again, tucking it firmly between her legs. Rolling back over onto her belly and she nuzzles the bedding, taking deep breaths. It doesn’t smell like her really, instead it smells like Derek. It smells like pack, lavender, and sex. It smells safe.

For the moment she is safe. Everyone is safe, and some of the tension that she’s carried for as long as she could remember eases. It drains from her shoulders and down the length of her spine to pool in a hot little knot where her clit is, begging to be worked out. So Cora shifts to fold the padding more to her liking, adjusts it so it can press more solidly against her and before long she’s rocking her hips in lazy little circles.

Maybe it’s all the ‘fuck me’ pheromones in the air, maybe she just needed it, but it’s not very long before Cora’s groaning softly into the sheets. The pressure is satisfyingly consistent against her clit and she shifts one last time to properly mount it. The slap of her hand hitting the wall seems too loud but she doesn’t care because it’s so good and she needs something to brace against.

Someone’s screaming behind Derek's palm. Cora can hear them, smell the salt of their tears as the furniture bangs and rattles in a vicious rhythm. She needs to come, feels hot with it as she works herself over on Derek’s bedding, his scent thick against her tongue. Every flex of her hips sends a jolt of pleasure that leaves her gasping, the cotton a sweet wet ruin against her slit.

She’s going to come soon, Cora can’t even think about what’s happening downstairs beyond the fact that her alpha is too. She thrusts harder and the bed creaks in protest until her orgasm breaks over her in weak, syrupy pulses. It’s not enough though and Cora snarls, dissatisfied. There’s no knot for her to clench down on, no hard friction fucking her open where she needs it most. She maybe loses time as she mounts the pillow again and again, hungry for it.

It’s not until Derek’s footsteps are slow on the stairs when finally, finally it’s enough. She wails as the fifth orgasm hits and it leaves her shivering and weak as a newborn kitten. She still struggling to catch her breath, cheeks flushed red with effort, as he gently slides the pillow out from between her thighs and replaces it with a fresh one. It’s cool against her cheek and she murmurs in sleepy contentment as Derek settles into bed behind her. For the moment they are pack again and they fall asleep like that, comforted.


16.
Warnings: none
Pairing: Derek/Stiles

“Is it too much to ask for someone to just have sex with me already?” Stiles asks. Derek side eyes him, eyebrow game strong. “What?”

“We’re here,” Derek tells him, parking and turning off the car. “Get out.”

“I honestly don’t know why I got paired with you tonight,” Stiles says as they climb out. “Dark alleys and a dangerous succubus lurking about. With you as protection, I might as well be dead already. By the way, your mom car sucks.”

“Next time drive your own,” Derek says. The alley looks deserted. Refuse and puddles of dirty water every few steps, an overflowing dumpster against one of the buildings. Derek walks straight into the darkness.

“I’m doing my part to help the environment,” Stiles says, hot on his heels, and managing to stomp in every puddle, effectively splashing himself and Derek. “Now someone should do their part and fuck me already so I don’t end up on death’s doorstep. Again.”

“Jesus Christ. I should have hired you a hooker for the night,” Derek complains.

“Really?” Stiles asks.

“That’s just what I need,” Derek says. “Another hit on my record so you can get your rocks off.” Stiles can’t see his face, but he bets his chin is set in that stony, judging expression he gets; eyebrows lifted and eyes ready to roll if Stiles makes one more comment, which of course, he does.

“Why don’t you have sex with me then?” Stiles asks. Derek turns to look at him over his shoulder, doesn’t look affronted, only annoyed. “I’m not asking for much, dude. Just put your dick in me and we’ll call it a day.”

“I don’t fuck virgins,” Derek divulges. He doesn’t even wait for Stiles to respond, just turns back around to keep walking, and Stiles picks up his pace to catch Derek’s arm in his grip.

“Please, Derek. Put me out of my misery,” Stiles begs. “Just slip it on in, do-the-do, and we’re done.” Derek at least has the decency not to laugh. He looks down at Stiles’ fingers wrapped around his wrist. Stiles is about to pull his hand away, because Derek’s bitch face is running on autopilot tonight.

He grabs Stiles’ by the collar and hauls him closer, gets right in his face, and Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, ready for whatever punishment Derek has planned for him. He feels Derek’s nose skate down his jaw instead, breathing him in and then pushing him up against the dirty brick wall.

“God, you really are aching for a dick, aren’t you?” Derek asks, unbuttoning Stiles pants and then working the belt open on his own. “Get it out,” Derek orders, and Stiles fumbles with his zipper, pulls his dick out right through the hole in his boxers. “I can smell it on you.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say. Derek’s got him up against a wall, whispering hotly against the skin of Stiles’ cheek. Stiles is already hard, and when he looks down, Derek’s got his fat dick in hand, pulling at it. There’s too much skin at the tip, and at first Stiles doesn’t realize that it’s because Derek’s uncircumcised. Derek draws it back though, revealing the red tip of cock.

“Fuck,” Stiles moans. Derek reaches forward, taking Stiles in hand, making him gasp. When he puts the tips of their dicks together, Stiles can’t help but say, “I’m pretty sure this isn’t how it works.”

“Shh,” Derek says, precome a sticky line between them when he can’t hold both their dicks steady. “Hold yourself,” Derek tells him, and Stiles obliges, wrapping his hand around it. “Keep it lined up with mine.”

When he does, Derek pushes the extra skin forward and Stiles watches as first the tip of Derek’s cock disappears in its sheath, and then Stiles’ gets covered as well. Derek continues to pull his foreskin forward until it’s covering a good inch or two of Stiles’ dick.

“Come on,” Derek urges. “Move your hips.” Stiles surges forward, back and forth, watching his cock disappear into the skin of Derek’s, seeing its outline.

“It looks like they’re kissing,” Stiles whines, feeling his balls get heavy at the sight. When he slides his cock back, out of Derek’s sheath, it’s shiny with their slick and just like that he comes.

“This is why I don’t fuck virgins,” Derek grumbles, continuing to slide his skin back and forth over Stiles’ come covered dick until he shoots his load too. “Fuckin’ hair-trigger.”


17.
Warnings: None
Pairing: Allison/Lydia

Not that Lydia has to choose, but if she did, she thinks she prefers this: Allison’s smooth curves under her hands, the slide of soft skin against hers when she presses their bodies together and arches upward into a kiss.

Allison’s generally perfect, but especially like this, dress rucked up around her middle, naked below the waist, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. Lydia would be an idiot not to want her, and that’s the last thing anyone could conceivably accuse her of being.

They’ve been kissing for what feels like hours, ever since Lydia bluntly announced, “I’m bored of studying,” and Allison glanced at her with that look that let her know her meaning hadn’t gone misunderstood.

She’s a slight weight holding Lydia down on the bed, and Lydia trails her fingers up the sides of her hips and then back down again, brushing against the swell of her bottom. Allison pushes back into the touch, shivering a little. She sometimes gets bashful, lets her hair fall forward to obscure her face as though she doesn’t want Lydia to see her, but there’s no doubting the wordless request for more in the way she trails her lips down Lydia’s neck and pants against her throat, clenches her fingers in Lydia’s hair.

Lydia wants to taste her so badly that her jaw aches with it. If Allison were Jackson or Aidan, she thinks, she wouldn’t even have to ask, but she’s not, and Lydia’s all the more grateful for it.

“Come up here,” she murmurs, purposely keeping the question out of her voice, and when Allison looks at her uncertainly, Lydia pats her hip and tugs on her arm to get her to move. She stops when she’s straddling Lydia’s waist, and that’s pretty, the dark, fine hair of her mound stark against the creamy skin of Lydia’s abdomen, but it’s not what Lydia wants.

“More,” she says, and pulls at her arm again. Allison understands then, knee-walking herself up Lydia’s body until her thighs are on either side of Lydia’s face, just where she wants her.

“Oh my God,” Allison says, faintly, and Lydia smiles indulgently, kisses the insides of her thighs to wind her up more.

Her voice goes several octaves higher when Lydia nips and sucks her way inward, working her way closer until she can brush her lips against Allison’s outer labia. The sound just makes Lydia bolder, and she tugs Allison’s hips down firmly so she’s properly sitting on her face, giving her the perfect angle to dart her tongue out to taste her, flicking once against her clit and making Allison stiffen over her with a small keening noise.

Lydia’s own T-shirt sticks to her lower back as she goes to work, sliding her lips through that hot slickness, running her tongue over and around Allison’s clit, then down lower to push ever so slightly into her slit when Allison rocks her pelvis forward encouragingly. She can feel the uncomfortable clamminess of her shorts against her crotch as her own cunt clenches and her clit throbs in sympathy. Rather than rub one out, though, she distracts her fingers by sliding them up Allison’s torso, cupping her little breasts and pinching her nipples through the lace of her bra.

"Oh God," Allison says again, hips working more intently now, tight, little circles that keep contact between Lydia’s mouth and where she wants it most. “God, Lydia, oh my God.”

Lydia can’t answer with Allison riding her face, but she concentrates on licking her all over, alternating between quick circles of her tongue and closing her lips around the bud of Allison’s clit to suck forcefully, just the way Allison likes. She’s blazing hot and leaving smears of perfect wetness all over Lydia’s cheeks and chin, but Lydia doesn’t stop sucking and licking and sucking until she feels Allison go shock-still and a sharp cry wrenches free of her throat. Then she shudders and a fresh gush of fluid surges out of her.

Allison gasps and slumps forward, catching herself against the mattress at the last second. Her thighs are still twitching with aftershocks. Lydia laughs, pleased, and wipes her mouth against her forearm. She helps Allison wriggle her way back down until they’re close enough to face level so she can kiss Allison’s still-slack mouth.

Lydia thinks she likes Allison’s postcoital kisses most of all, the way her mouth clings lazily, breath uneven and lips uncoordinated. But just, you know, if she had to choose.


18.
Warnings: none
Pairing: Chris/Derek
Derek was enthusiastic at first when Chris suggested roleplaying. It sounded exciting, fun, something slightly naughty and therefore thrilling.

"What do you have in mind? Doctor and patient? Fireman rescue? Teacher and student?"

"How about role reversal?" Chris said. "You be the hunter, and I'll be the prey."

Again, exciting, fun, maybe even a little wrong too, which made it oh so right. Derek was picturing a naked hunt around the house with lots of prowling and shrieking and a "reward" for bagging his "trophy" at the end. How could he have forgotten that Chris took everything too seriously?

First, they had to go to the sporting goods store, where Chris outfitted Derek with proper hunting clothes, camouflage with flashes of bright orange so he wouldn't get shot by other hunters. ("But why is this necessary? We're not actually going out into the woods on hunting grounds, are we?" Of course they were.) Then Chris armed him with a big game rifle and wouldn't let him stop practicing until his firing stance was deemed to be acceptably perfect. ("But I'm not actually going to shoot you, am I? ...Wait, am I? This isn't funny, Argent, answer me. There is no way I'm shooting you for real. Am I?!?!" At least Chris finally relented on that one and agreed to no live rounds.)

When it came time to act out his little fantasy, they went deep into the woods and Chris got a ten minute head start.

It took Derek almost two days to find him.

"You have got to be kidding me," he muttered on the morning of the second day, scowling to himself, tired and hungry and cold from spending the night outside. Even with his superhuman wolf senses, Chris was proving elusive. Derek tried to track him by scent but he knew all of the tricks, doubling back on his path, travelling through water, climbing up trees, at one point somehow jumping a deep gully that even Derek himself almost couldn't make it across.

When he finally caught up with Chris late in the afternoon, he couldn't be entirely sure that Chris hadn't taken pity on him and deliberately allowed himself to be found. He was sitting on a log, whittling a bit of wood and whistling to himself, after all.

"I don't know what the hell you were thinking, but this. Is. Not. Sexy." Derek growled.

Chris looked up casually and smirked. "What? I said we should play hunter and hunted. I just did what I would do if I were being hunted." He tossed Derek the little wood carving he'd made with his pocket knife. It was, of course, in the crude shape of a howling wolf. "Don't even pretend like you're not impressed."

Derek had to revise his previous statement. It was a little sexy.

But attractive as Chris being lethally competent was, it wasn't conducive to actually having sex, not if it was going to be like a freaking two-day survival camp. So Derek pointed out, "You didn't say play hunter and hunted, you specifically said role reversal. That might be what you would do, but it isn't what I'd do."

Chris quirked an eyebrow in interest. "Oh? And what would you do?"

"Oh, I don't know, a big sexy hunter like yourself after me, I'm not sure I'd work that hard not to get caught," Derek replied, matching his faux casual tone.

So the next time they played the game, Derek convinced Chris that they should stay relatively close to home, reminded him that he was supposed to be thinking like Derek, and thankfully it took him less than two hours to track him down this time.

The little smartass still made it obvious that Derek only caught him because he allowed him to. It was a dark night and there were no people out, but still—he was splayed fully in the open, mostly naked, slowly fisting his cock.

"That's not what I would do!" Derek spluttered.

"You said to imagine a big sexy hunter like me," Chris said in a deadpan. "It was too much, I couldn't control myself. Now, are you going to complain or are you going to jump on me?"

Derek wasted no time throwing off his hunting gear and claiming his rightful prey.


19.
Warnings: Sex shop crack, I guess.
Pairing: Scisaac with a hint of Sterek

Dividing the sea of vibrators in front of him, Derek frowns at Lydia. “Are you sure the voices said, 'Adult Emporium?'”

“It's the perfect environment for a succubus.”

“Maybe they said, 'Consult Herbarium,' though?” Stiles chimes in. “Or, I don't know, 'Insult Barbarian?' Are we sure it's a succubus?”

Lydia scrunches her nose, but a loud crashing noise catches their attention. Dodging the butt plugs, the group bumps into Allison at 'Lotions and Potions.’

Two aisles down they find Isaac standing amidst a pile of DVDs, some of which are still avalanching from the shelves like lemmings on the big jump.

“I . . . secured the porn section,” he mumbles, his face adapting a darker shade of beet. “I'll go check, um, uh—”

“Fetishes and BDSM,” Allison provides, flashing her dimples. “Scott's already on it.”

“Go find him,” Lydia huffs. “He should be able to keep you out of trouble.”

Isaac retreats, and the other four start a systematic search: the guys take dildos and plugs while the girls inspect the lingerie.

For Derek, however, the search is more like torture. Between slapping the back of Stiles' head for shoving edible undies in his face—“Run, now, if you want to live.”—and watching the boy touch everything with fascination (and lean, beautiful fingers), his annoyance transformed into something . . . exciting. He wouldn't go as far as to say he's actually in any way intrigued by anything—but he wouldn't deny it, either. He focuses on the “Area 51 Love Doll,” happy to see something that's a total turn-off.

Lydia meets up with them again as Stiles is examining—“That's an anal douche. Do you really need that?”—when Derek gives a low, threatening growl.

“I can smell you a mile off, and it's not funny. Get your hands out of each other's pants and be helpful.”

“We're totally chaste, dude,” Scott yells from the back of the store at the same time as Isaac bites out a choked, “Oh my God!”

“They sell chastity devices here?” Lydia asks, intrigued. “I mean—is it safe? Have you secured the area?”

“Very safe,” Scott replies. “Very secure.” He snickers, and Isaac whimpers. A moment later, Scott emerges, all goofy grin and mischief.

“I hate my life,” Derek mumbles. This place is the perfect breeding ground for those tiny fuckers called pheromones and—does he catch a scent of Stiles right there?

“Dude, are you trying to lick the wall?”

Derek straightens. “Do you smell of cum?”

“Touché. So. We may have figured out how to summon the succubus. Isaac volunteered—”

“Volunteered my ass.”

“—to be a decoy—”

“That was a joke, right?”

“—and all we need to do is—”

“Scott?”

“—wait.”

“Is that what I get for sucking you off? Because I'll never do it again. Never in this life. I swear. Do you hear me?”

“What's wrong with him?”

“Nothing. He's just . . . immobilized by the wonders of bondage tape.”

“I'll kill you, Scott. I'll kill you, and then I'll clone you and kill your clone.”

“And I may have left him a little . . . on edge.”

“How does bondage tape keep a werewolf in check?” Stiles asks, suspiciously excited. “Just . . . for the record?”

Scott shrugs. “I'm the Alpha, dude.”

For a moment, Isaac's complaints—“Why do you always come on my scarves?”—are the only sound. Then, as if on cue, the group disperses, chatting and giggling. And Derek—Derek prays for any deity available to smite him. Because teenagers in a sex shop warrant a death wish.

Rescue comes in the form of the Sheriff a mere five minutes later.

“Stiles?”

“Dad. Hey! It's so good to see you!”

“What are you all doing here in the dead of night? And what the hell is that on your hand?”

“Nothing?” Stiles hurries to hide the hand in question—the one that's incidentally stuck in a fake pussy. “We're . . . um . . . you know. Like . . . that thing we do. When . . .”

“When there's nothing else left to do,” Allison jumps in. “You know, that thing that requires absolute . . .”

“Professionalism,” Derek growls. Not that they'd shown any.

A few days later, when the confusion has worn off and the message has become clearer, the pack finds itself at the aquarium. Nobody says it: succubus and octopus aren't that far apart. And it's better to fight an enchanted cephalopod than to deal with a sex demon.

Or something.


20.
Warnings: Sex toys
Pairing: Cora/Lydia

“If you’re going to break into my house, at least try not to look like a creature of the night!” Lydia says, running a brush through Cora's tangled hair.

“I am a creature of the night,” Cora points out. “So are you.” But she submits to the soothing rhythm of the brush, to Lydia’s fingers braiding her hair, more at peace than she's been since leaving Argentina.

“You need earrings,” Lydia declares. “The ones in my nightstand will work. Find them while I get my make-up bag.”

Cora doesn’t care about earrings or make-up, but she rolls across the bed and opens the bottom drawer of the nightstand. Instead of earrings, she finds condoms, trial-sized packets of lube, and a white plastic wand capped by a soft, round head. A cord runs from the bottom of the wand and out the back of the nightstand. Lydia emerges from the bathroom just as Cora lifts the wand.

“Wrong drawer!” Lydia says, embarrassment spiking off her, though her expression is carefully neutral.

“Is this a vibrator?”

"Well, obviously!”

Cora bristles. It’s not that she’s a stranger to vibrators, exactly. Her last girlfriend had a vibrating dildo. But the foam-rubber tip of the wand is bigger than her fist.

“How do you . . . ?" Cora forms a circle with her hand, crudely pumping two fingers through it.

Rolling her eyes, Lydia drops onto the bed beside Cora, taking the vibrator and flipping on the switch. The hum fills the quiet room.

“Put it on your nose,” Lydia suggests. “It sounds weird, but you can feel how strong it is.”

Cora does. She can’t help the tiny, startled noise she makes. The vibration is intense, but from this close, there’s no way to ignore the honey-sweet scent of sex and Lydia permeating the porous tip. Before she can think better of it, she’s flicking her tongue out against the vibrator, chasing the salty-sweet taste beneath the chemical plastic.

Lydia’s gaze turns sharp, calculating. A trickle of cinnamon-hot arousal drifts off her. “It feels amazing against your clit,” she says. Her voice is lower. Throaty.

Cora licks her lips. “Show me.”

The air between them feels charged now, potent with possibility. Lydia is wearing a dress. When she spreads her legs, Cora sees the dampening crotch of her panties.

Pressing the wand between her thighs, Lydia sighs in pleasure. Cora finds herself staring at the hard peaks of Lydia’s nipples beneath her thin dress.

"Why don't you take your panties off?"

"It's too intense!” Lydia gasps. “I need the cloth as a –oh! – barrier!”

She clearly has this down to a science, is already trembling beneath the wand’s steady hum. Perspiration darkens her hairline. The air is hot, thick with sex. Cora’s mouth waters. She wants to bury her head between Lydia’s legs, taste the juices squelching beneath the vibrating head.

Her hand closes over Lydia’s on the handle. "Let me," she says. Lydia hands the wand over, pulling her dress up over her head and unfastening her bra.

It’s heady how the slightest movement of the wand can reduce Lydia to incoherent tremors. She’s spread out before Cora, all creamy skin, heaving breasts, and sweat-slick curls, riding orgasm after orgasm in breathy, gasping waves. Cora wants to taste every inch of her, slide her fingers into the soaking panties to feel how hot and slick she is.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Cora growls, switching the vibrator to her left hand to unbutton her jeans. Kicking free of them, Cora drags her t-shirt over her head. Wearing only her sports bra and cotton panties, she straddles Lydia, grinding down so that the vibrator is trapped between them, sparking pleasure against her clit.

“Yes!” Lydia sobs. “Fuck yes!” Surging up, she mouths at Cora’s nipple through her sports bra, hands tearing through Cora's hair, ruining the braid. Leaving the vibrator to buzz between them, Cora draws Lydia into a desperate kiss. They fall back to the mattress, kissing frantically, while the hot wings of pleasure beat faster and faster, surging up through Cora’s body until she thinks she might black out.

Afterwards, she can’t stop touching Lydia, nuzzling between her breasts to breathe in her scent, combing through her soaking pubic hair to feel the hot, engorged skin of her vulva. Lydia sighs dreamily, snuggling closer.

"I changed my mind," she murmurs into Cora's shoulder. "Break in whenever you want."

Cora smooths down her sex-tangled hair, and smiles.


21.
Warnings: Second-hand embarrassment
Pairing: Sterek

“Derek,” Stiles groans, face pressed into the mattress as Derek teases him, tongue darting around his hole but failing to press in. “I’m getting old over here, fuck. C’mon.” There’s a brush of stubble against his ass, then a quick, stinging slap.

“Don’t rush me,” Derek says, pressing a kiss to the hollow of Stiles’ back. “You’ve been gone for three months. I’d like to take my time.”

“I’d like you to take me,” Stiles says, shaking his ass, just a bit, and looking over his shoulder. Derek’s hair is standing in spikes from Stiles’ fingers, his mouth swollen and wet. He leans forward and capture’s Stiles’ mouth in a hungry kiss, groaning. Derek pulls back, then puts his hands on Stiles’ hips, squeezing tight enough to bruise.

“Finally,” Stiles sighs, leaning his shoulders into the mattress, ass in the air. Derek runs the head of his dick over Stiles’ hole, still fucking teasing, and then a door slams downstairs.

“Stiles! I’ve got burgers from Johnny’s, and they gave me extra curly fries. C’mon, get down here before it gets cold.”

Derek pauses, and Stiles looks over his shoulder quickly, eyebrows raised.

“No,” he whispers, suddenly serious. “No, we are not going to stop. Not even for extra curly fries. You put that dick in me, and you do it now.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, grip loosening, “your dad’s downstairs. He’s going to hear us.”

“I do not care,” Stiles says, pressing his ass against Derek’s cock. “You fuck me, and you fuck me now.”

Derek groans again, then lines himself up, rutting against Stiles’ ass. There’s a slight burn, a pressure that Stiles arches up into, the head of Derek’s dick pressing, giving...

“Stiles! C’mon, I’m not kidding. Don’t make me come up there.”

“Fuck me,” Derek says, pulling back, his hands leaving warm memories on Stiles’ hips. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I love you, but I can’t… Not with your dad downstairs.”

Stiles groans, flopping bonelessly onto the bed.

“Why?” He asks into the mattress. “What did I do in another life to deserve this? All I’ve ever asked for is to have a good time, in many different positions, and instead? My super hot boyfriend, who I haven’t seen in three months, is leaving me with the world’s worst case of blue balls, because my dad decided that it’s a good idea to have family bonding night while I’m trying to get fucked.”

“You’d best watch your language, kid.”

Stiles screams, flailing as he falls off the bed, hard. He’s definitely got a scrape on his butt now, but that’s not nearly as important as pulling the blankets from the bed to cover himself.

“Dad, what’re you doing in here?”

“Well, I figured my son would want the extra curly fries I brought home,” he says, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. “But, instead, I find him in bed at six in the evening, bare-ass naked and saying some things that, frankly, a parent should never hear their child say.”

Stiles gapes at him, still clutching his blankets to his crotch.

“So, get yourself dressed and come downstairs to eat. I’m not letting my burger get cold waiting for you.”

He leans off the doorway and starts heading down the hall. Stiles presses his face into the blankets with a sigh.

“Oh, and tell Derek to get out of the closet. I got him a cheese steak.”

There’s a long pause - a pause so long that Stiles graduates college, gets a mortgage, and starts talking about 401K’s - and then Derek’s voice comes out of the closet, muffled but clearly his.

“No peppers?”

“No peppers.”


22.
Warnings:Underage (characters are 16)
Pairing: Allison/Lydia

Allison was used to small towns. Small towns and small minds. Her dad sold weapons for a living and, well, sometimes the sort of people who bought the kinds of weapons he sold had ideas. About how things were and how they were supposed to be.

Beacon Hills was just another small town on the list. That was why she wasn't surprised at all when she sat down for lunch with the pretty, popular girls and several minutes later someone near her said to someone else, "Did you see what Molly's wearing today? Can she look any more like a dyke?"

But she was surprised when Lydia snapped her gaze away from her boyfriend, who was sitting with the other lacrosse players, and immediately narrowed her eyes at the girl.

"Excuse me?" Lydia asked sharply. "What was that?"

Speaking a little louder, the girl repeated herself. "She looks like a dyke. Because she's wearing plaid." By the end of her sentence, her voice had fizzled into uncertainty.

"Don't be stupid," Lydia snapped. "Lesbians look just like everyone else. It's not actually a fashion choice."

The next day at lunch, Lydia dropped her (very small) purse on the girl's seat and said, very insincerely, "I'm sorry, this seat's taken. You'll have to sit somewhere else," when she tried to join them.

She thought she'd figured it out when she found out about Danny, who everyone knew was gay but who played varsity lacrosse and was Jackson's best friend. He looked relaxed, happy, like he'd never felt the tight knot of fear that surrounded the secret in Allison's chest, hidden beneath everything else. He looked like he'd always belonged.

He looked like he felt safe.

"I think I'm a lesbian," she whispered.

The movement of the brush over Allison's toenails paused for a moment, then resumed. "I thought you liked Scott," Lydia commented, cool and casual.

"Bisexual," Allison corrected. "I think I like girls too."

Lydia nodded. She didn't sound weird or freaked out or disbelieving. Allison had known she wouldn't, but seeing it for sure still made a knot of tension relax inside her. "Have you ever kissed a girl before?"

"No."

"Would you like to?" Lydia set the nail polish aside and looked up at her. Allison was suddenly aware of the brightness of her lipstick and the soft, ticklish thrill of having Lydia's perfectly manicured fingers wrapped around her foot. "Jackson doesn't mind."

Lydia was a very good kisser. Her lips were warm and smooth. She didn't slobber into Allison's mouth the way boys sometimes did. She smelled a little bit like flowers and tasted mostly like lipstick and she made a low, encouraging sound when Allison brought her hand up under Lydia's shirt. Her body was soft beneath Allison's hands, possessing none of the hard muscle Allison was used to instead.

With her words and hands, Lydia showed Allison how to pleasure her. She cupped her breasts and taught Allison how to drag her teeth across them, just hard enough to leave red marks against Lydia's pale skin. She shivered as Allison explored her body.

Then, she crawled between Allison's legs and stroked her tongue against against Allison's clit with expert movements. She was much better than the boys Allison had done this with, adjusting her pace and speed with every sound Allison made. When she finally shuddered and came, Lydia waited just long enough for her to catch her breath before dipping her head and coaxing another orgasm out of her, quick, surprising, and nearly as powerful as the first.

"If I'm not tired, I usually try for at least three," Lydia informed her, mouth flushed from their kissing and slick with the signs of Allison's pleasure. Allison felt a hot rush of heat at the knowledge that she was the reason Lydia's vivid red lipstick was smeared messily across her mouth and chin. "Do you want to?"

Allison pulled her up and rolled them over. "Not yet," she said and pressed her face to Lydia's, breathing her in. "Let me try now."


23.
Warnings: BDSM
Pairing: Stiles/Derek

Derek pauses at the door to the playroom, black key card clutched tight in hand.

"Safeword?" he asks. There's an alien lack of warmth in his voice, like they'd somehow travelled back ten years to when Derek only felt contempt for him.

"Red," Stiles says promptly. “For both of us.”

"Good." Derek leans in like he's going to reward him with a kiss but stops just short of Stiles' lips. "If you say anything else, this is going to be worse for you."

Stiles shivers and nods. They'd done silent scenes before, but Derek knew what a challenge they were for Stiles. "Am I allowed to make noise?"

"Yes," Derek says as he unlocks the room and manhandles Stiles over to the chair in the corner. The back of it reclines nearly flat from the V-shaped seat that gave Derek easy access to everything.

"Strip," Derek orders. "And get up there." Derek toes off his own shoes and slips on a pair of buttery leather gloves he likes to wear outside of the bedroom just to make Stiles crazy. Stiles hurries out of his clothes and scrambles into the chair, planting his feet in the stirrups and his arms wide in the attached crossbar. Derek fastens the padded restraints and steps back, leaving Stiles bereft and vulnerable.

"You thought you were going to make me punish you tonight?" Derek asks. He sounds amused, but Stiles knows him well enough to hear the anger beneath. "Make me so pissed at you that I'd beat you and fuck you?"

Stiles bites his lip, struggling to stay quiet, as Derek slides a black sleeping mask over his head.

"What you forgot," Derek says, "is that I'm in charge here, not you. You tried to make me angry, but you forgot anger is my anchor. I'm not giving you what you want."

Derek adds what feel like a pair of earmuffs to Stiles' head. After a moment of silence, Stiles realized that they were noise canceling. He couldn't see Derek and couldn't hear him coming.

His dick twitches with interest, and that's when Derek strikes.

The smack on his thigh is mild by their standards, but intense from the surprise. Stiles tenses, waiting for Derek to continue, but he backs off instead. He chews his lips, wishing Derek had given him a gag so he wouldn’t be tempted to ask where he’d gone, but that was probably part of the punishment.

He can take it, though. Stiles isn’t worried; he has a high pain tolerance, and it feels good when the air conditioning kicks on and washes over his whole body. He’s just starting to relax into the sensations when Derek stops again.

Time stretches until Stiles can no longer tell how long it’s been when something freezing and cold touches one of Stiles’ nipples. He whimpers and Derek snarls, an Alpha sound even with a Beta behind it and loud enough to overcome the headphones. Stiles quiets and tries to be still as the ice cube – he recognizes it now – drags from nipple to nipple, down his sternum and, finally, rubs against his balls and around his ass and back again. When Stiles thinks he can’t take it anymore Derek withdraws again, leaving him shivering and alone and on the edge of tears.

When they finally fall Derek kisses both his cheeks. His mouth follows the same path as the ice to warm up what had been frozen and then burn it with his werewolf body heat. Derek nurses at his nipples until they’re aching as much as Stiles’ dick, which is hard and leaking precum. When Derek brushes his gloved hands down his dick, Stiles thinks he might come then and there, but he can’t get any friction thrusting his hips uselessly in the air.

Derek holds them down until they bruise and then – finally, when Stiles is choking on a sob – takes Stiles into his mouth. He doesn’t even have to suck or lick before Stiles is coming like a bomb going off in the world made of nothing but Derek’s touch.


24.
Warnings: Mild Ds themes, undernegotiated kink maybe
Pairing: Stiles/Derek

Stiles looks down at Derek, kneeling on the floor and looking up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“I, um,” he scratches the nape of his neck uncertainly, feels jittery, rubs his feet together, wiggles his toes; he feels more naked, more exposed than he's ever felt since he started having sex with Derek. Feels as out there as he can be, standing on the middle of a field waiting for something to happen. “I don't think I'm getting what's going on here?”

Derek frowns a little, then, seeming to come a bit out of this haze that seems to be enveloping him; Stiles sees him fidget, notices the way his dick jumps a little with the motions, heavy and fat already between his legs.

“If you don't, if you don't want to do this we don't have to,” he says, voice gruff but vulnerable in that way that Stiles has learned to expect here, in these moments where Derek feels like he can lay himself bare in front of Stiles without fearing being spurned or manipulated, used for all his openness.

It's... It's always heart stopping, the knowledge that Stiles holds that much power over Derek, that Derek is trusting him with so much, placing so much in Stiles' hands for Stiles to just... do.

It makes Stiles want to do good by him. Makes him want to be good, to not fuck this up.

He puts his hand on Derek's face, drags it over his chin and bites his lip at Derek's responsiveness, at the way he blinks his eyes closed and his eyelids flutter, at the way he nuzzles into the touche, whole body seeming to melt onto Stiles' touch.

He takes a deep breath and then he says, voice low and careful.

“It's not that I don't want to, buddy, I'm just-- I'm just unclear on what's going on here? Words, remember? We have talked about giving those a try.”

Derek looks up at him then, up through his eyelashes, and he brushes his lips over the palm of Stiles' hand, wet and soft.

It tingles, makes Stiles' dick stir, makes it twitch, makes him want to press the palm of his hand against it to make it behave; or to just get his fist around it to jerk himself fast and punishing until he's coming all over Derek's face, all over his chest. Derek likes that, likes being covered in Stiles' spunk because he's a big weirdo with a thing for the scent of Stiles' come, for the weight and taste of it.

Derek's eyes go down to Stiles' junk, to where Stiles is tenting his underwear and starting to soil the front of it, giving it a big, wet, filthy spot; Derek's nostrils twitch and he makes this choked whining sound that has Stiles' other hand going to Derek's shoulder, just to hold himself upright.

“I want you to wreck me,” Derek says, and he leans forward, gets his mouth all over Stiles' clothed dick, mouths at it hungrily, “I want you to--,” he seems to have trouble articulating himself and he just buries his face nose first on Stiles' junk, tongue lapping at the wet spot over the tip of Stiles' dick, making him gasp.

“You want me to what?” He prompts, raking the nails of the hand that's on Derek's shoulder up to his throat before he lies his hand there, just a reminder of Stiles' presence at the base of Derek's throat.

“I want you to use me,” Derek gets out finally, hiding his face from Stiles' view, the muscles of his arms tightening next to his body; Stiles sees Derek's hands clenching and unclenching behind his back, where he's holding them together tightly, “I want you to do whatever you want to me.”

Stiles' heart stops there for a second, and he's about to take a step back, to say no, but Derek looks up at him with clear and determined hazel eyes, resting his head on Stiles' thigh.

“I trust you.” He croaks out, like this is taking him so much effort. “And I want you, and I want you to trust me.”

Stiles' throat feels dry at that.

He breathes deeply a few times to ground himself, and finally he nods.

He moves the hand that had been resting at the base of Derek's throat, splayed and aimless, until it's a loose circle around it.

Derek groans.

Stiles' breath stutters as he nods again, and licks his lips.


25.
Warnings: none
Pairing: Allison/Kira

Allison's head tips back, dark hair spilling around Kira's fingers, and her laughter is a light, happy thing that wraps around them both and banishes the shadows into the corners. It's a silly thing to think, Kira knows that, but she likes it. She likes the way thinking it makes her feel, like she's mixed into that sound, curling around Allison's body and skimming over her skin.

She smiles to match Allison's, tips forward, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the curve of Allison's breast. She lingers there, inhaling the scent of them together, and letting her head swim with it. She's not supposed to be here, they aren't supposed to be together, and she's going to celebrate every single second of it.

Somewhere, across town, Allison's parents and aunt are looking for Kira's family. They're hunting something they don't understand and Kira almost feels sorry for them. They don't know what Beacon Hills is, there's no sanctuary within it for hunters, much less who protects it.

Allison's mouth on hers, hands tight in her hair, yanks Kira out of the thought. "Not here," she says, breath hot on Kira's skin, "Not now."

She's right, she always is, and when she bites at Kira's lip, fingers sliding between her legs, Kira can forget anything.

*

Her mom knows about them, presses her lips together, her disapproval more about Allison's parents than her gender and that shouldn't be depressing, but it is. Kira can feel the kitsune's power now, thunderstorms make her skin sing, and she wants to be normal, even if normal means that.

Mom just smiles, sad and understanding, but Dad at least makes an attempt. Sure, there's a twinkle of laughter in his eyes when he forbids her from seeing Allison, but it's the thought that counts and Kira loves him all the more.

She sneaks out anyway and grimaces when Dad gives her a thumbs up through the window.

Seriously.

*

Leaves crunch beneath their feet as they press against the giant oak. Allison pushes Kira into the bark, drops to her knees and grins up, "Don't move," she says, eyes bright with something that makes Kira's breath catch in her chest.

The fall air's cold against her skin as Allison works her tights down, but Kira ignores it. Just plants her feet until Allison lifts one leg and drapes it over her shoulder.

Kira looks at the sky and hopes that Derek's gone into town. When Allison puts her mouth to her, licking a slow, torturous path along her cunt before sucking her clit, there's no chance of staying quiet and she'll never be able to look him in the eye ever again.

Allison sucks, hard, and Kira keens.

The sound echoes through the trees and, the next time she sees him, Derek's cheeks hint at red.

*

She's not sorry.

*

Kate's dead, Derek's uncle with her, and Kira doesn't know what to do. She hides at her door, listening to Mom talk to Derek's sister, their voices quiet and serious, words like 'war' and 'retaliation' get thrown around and Kira's heart beats so loudly in her ears that she almost misses the sound of her window closing behind her.

Almost.

Allison's face is pale, streaked with mascara from her tears, and Kira kisses her when she can't think of anything to say.

Except then she's mumbling, "You're freezing" and pulling Allison closer.

"I couldn't go home," Allison says into her neck. "Can't ever."

She won't have to. Kira doesn't say it, doesn't dare, but she thinks it so fiercely that it doesn't even matter.

*

Allison doesn't warm up until they're locked in the bathroom together, the shower's hot water beating down on them both as Kira presses Allison against the wall, fingers moving in a lazy circle over her clit.

It's her turn to go to her knees now, ignoring the shower as she licks over Allison's skin, makes her cry out and go weak.

They started a war tonight. She knows that, Allison knows that, and there's never been sanctuary for a hunter in this town. Not in all the centuries her mother's protected it.

Especially not for an Argent.

Not until now.

Chapter Text

26.
Warnings: Bondage
Pairing: Stiles/Derek


There was no feeling like the restriction of movement, of his limbs bound by rope, knotted intricately over his body. With his elbows bent and pointed towards the ceiling, his wrists tied behind his back, he watched as Stiles jacked him off slowly, languidly.

“You’re doing so well,” Stiles said, his voice grounding Derek, keeping him from slipping into subspace. Derek knelt on a mat, his thighs tied to his shins, the rope biting. He’d have marks where they pressed against his skin, at least for a short time. He yearned to be marked. Derek’s muscles contracted as he neared his orgasm. He let out a strained whine as Stiles backed off, keeping him on the edge. Derek groaned as Stiles trailed his fingers up Derek’s chest, his thumb teasing at a nipple, already sensitive from Stiles mouthing at them earlier, teeth marks all but vanished. “I’m not done with you yet,” Stiles said, his mouth hovering close to Derek’s, his eyes on Derek’s lips before captured a kiss.

Derek wished to touch, to taste. He couldn’t do anything but accept what was given to him, his trust falling completely into Stiles’ hands. When the kiss ended, Derek saw that Stiles’ pupils were blown wide, his mouth wet. He left a trail of kisses down Derek’s neck and chest, his face burying itself against Derek’s arm pit as he cupped Derek’s ass, spreading his cheeks apart as his tongue lapped at Derek’s armpit, breathing him in. Derek moaned, his head dropping forward as he thrust his hips forward, seeking friction.

Stiles’ mouth on his nipple once more, his teeth raking across it, had Derek close to coming, so close. As if he knew, Stiles pulled back, his hands leaving Derek completely.

“Please,” Derek said, his eyelids heavy, his cock dripping precome onto the mat. Stiles was hard, his cock hanging neglected between his legs.

“Please, what?” Stiles asked, licking his lips.

“I need to come.” Stiles shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting into a sly grin.

“Do you trust me?” Stiles asked, his fingertips trailing down Derek’s side, then down his thighs, bumping over the ropes. Derek let out a shuddering sigh as he nodded his head, closing his eyes as Stiles raked his nails over his hairy thighs, then up his stomach, setting Derek alight.

“Yes,” Derek said as Stiles captured his lips once more, his hands cupping Derek’s face.

“Then I will make you come,” Stiles promised. Stiles made his way onto the mat, laying down flat on his back. “Come here,” Stiles urged him, pulling at Derek’s thighs. It was difficult, moving forward, lifting himself up enough so that he knelt straddling Stiles’ shoulders, facing away from him. Stiles’ tongue against his entrance, licking a strip from his balls to his hole, had Derek shaking, his hands clenching behind his neck as he tried to break free from the ropes. He panted as Stiles ate him out, his tongue relentlessly lapping at him.

Derek concentrated on Stiles’ body, at his own flexing muscles, the dip of his pelvic bones, the trail of hair leading down to his cock that smeared precome across his stomach as he worked Derek open with his tongue. Derek wished to taste, to have Stiles heady scent in his face. He wished to bury his face against Stiles’ armpits, his crotch. He yearned to touch him.

“Oh, fuck,” Derek said as Stiles reached a hand around him, taking Derek’s cock into it, stroking him as he fucked him with his tongue. Derek moved against him, rolling his hips, fucking into Stiles’ hand as he rode his tongue. His climax tore through him as Stiles stroked him through it, milking him for everything as he spilled onto Stiles’ bare stomach, over his cock.

When Stiles extracted himself from beneath Derek, he stood before him, close enough that Derek could bury his face against Stiles’ cock, brush his nose against his hair, breathing him in, licking at his own come before taking the head of Stiles’ cock into his mouth, moaning as Stiles thrust shallowly, fucking his face. He held onto the back of Derek’s head, grunting as he came down Derek’s throat. As he pulled out, Derek licked at his head, savoring every drop of come.

“I’ll always take care of you,” Stiles murmured, his fingers carding through Derek’s hair. Derek closed his eyes, leaning into it.

He knew Stiles’ words to be true.


27.
Warnings: humiliation, dub-con (Derek is sort of an unwilling participant), evil Argent plans (I think that covers it)
Pairing: creepy!scientist!Stiles/alpha!werewolf!subject!Derek

The sheath the blank faced nurse so clinically slides down his soft cock is see through. That's the only thing different during this session.

Three times a month, always during the full moon, Derek is dragged into the lab. He's stripped naked and strapped down to the same table by the same people and has the same milking machine attached to his dick. Every time he's electrocuted until he flashes his fangs and then they turn the machine on. He hates how he fights less and less as the experiments progress.

Derek knows what they want out of him, out of this sick experiment. Every part of him fights against the idea of his sperm being used to impregnate an unwilling alpha female. He doesn't want to be a father. But more than that, he hates the idea of his child, any child, being in the hands of these megalomaniacs.

Speaking of which.

The lab door quietly, Stiles' glasses glinting under the bright lights as his gaze sweeps over the pristine lab. Derek's stomach does a treacherous flop when Stiles' sharp eyes linger on him a second too long before moving on to the others.

"Leave." He says simply, hands in his jeans pockets. Derek glares harder at Stiles' nose because if he didn't, he'd stare at the denim clinging to scientist's thighs. And he can't. He can't show any weakness against Stiles. Derek's already shown too much weakness around Stiles.

Stiles waits for the others to leave before locking the door. He takes his time walking over to the seat placed in front of Derek. Derek clenches his fists, hating the way his cock is already starting to chub up. He wants to close his eyes in shame when Stiles realizes this, the corner of Stiles' mouth quirking up in amusement.

"You can't wait can you?" Stiles says softly, picking up the remote placed next to the single seat. Derek scowls harder instead of answering. Stiles' smile grows, thumb pressing a button which has the machine coming to life.

The sharp pain of his claws cutting his palms is enough to keep Derek from jerking his hips forward - into the lazy pumping action and towards Stiles. His stomach swoops, cock hardening to it's full length quickly when Derek realizes why they'd changed the sheath from metal to see-through.

"Look at you." Stiles whispers, falling down into the chair like his legs have grown weak. Derek sucks in a greedy breath, clenching his teeth when he smells nothing but Stiles and Stiles' lust. The heady scent intensifies with the milking machine's pace, ripping a low keen out of Derek.

Metal scraps against the floor. The jarring sound makes Derek crack an eye open, then the second when he realizes Stiles has stopped himself from getting out of his seat. And the way the scientist is holding his arm so tightly against himself implies he just tried to reach for Derek.

Derek opens his mouth, not sure what he's about to ask when Stiles pushes the machine up to it's top speed.

It's nothing like fucking someone, being milked this way. But the heavy gaze staring at his red cock, the way Stiles is sitting with crossed legs and smelling so heavily of arousal makes it better and worse. Derek strains, slamming his eyes shut and fucking into the pump when he feels his knot forming.

In the darkness of his own mind, Derek imagines tearing Stiles' skinny jeans off. Imagines fucking Stiles against that stupid chair he always sits on. Imagines Stiles shamelessly begging for his knot, wanting to be bred.

That does it for him. He comes in a heady rush, biting down a roar as the sheath tightens around his knot, to the point of pain. The machine slows down but doesn't stop, fulfilling its purpose to milk him dry. And Stiles? Stiles is smiling sweetly at him.

"Did you think about me?" Stiles asks. The flush which heats his ears gives Derek's answer away. Stiles chuckles, causing the shameful color to sink lower. "That's what I thought."


28.
Warnings: heat, restraints used during heat, dubcon
Pairing: Peter/Lydia

Peter's been smirkingly unbearable for days, fielding curious questions from the bitten wolves who will never go through a mating heat. Scott's eyes widen at his flippant stories about past heats, how he once almost pulled the foundations down when they tried to chain him at the old house.

"And that's why we use reinforced steel, kids," he winks.

He pushes up from his sprawl on the couch, insouciant, and struts into the kitchen.

He's plucking grapes and popping them in his mouth when Lydia tests a theory: she runs just the barest edge of her fingernail through the hair on his arm.

He responds exactly how she thought he would, better even. With a full-body shudder and blush, his throat noticeably ruddy. His eyes slip shut as he shivers, so responsive.

"Lydia," he growls, the wolf deepening his voice.

"Hm," she says, and grabs an apple. She glances back as she leaves the room, sees the stressed clench of his shoulders.

Two days later, she slips into the abandoned loft.

She picks a book from Derek's shelf and peruses it for a while, shaking out her hair every now and again, letting her scent drift.

When she thinks it's been long enough, she drops the book and wanders downstairs.

She hears the metal shaking all agitated before she sees him.

He's waiting for her, shirtless and chained to the wall. He's mouth-breathing so heavily, his chest heaves with it.

"Goddamnit, Lydia," he mangles through sharp teeth.

She gives him an eyebrow, risen and unimpressed.

Then, with no warning or shame, she lifts her dress right off over her head.

And stands there in blue lace underwear, no bra. Lets him look his fill.

"Uhnnn, gorgeous--" he breathes, hips lifting sharply at the air, once. Twice.

She laughs at him, the kind of laugh she reserves for little boys at school. She moves closer as she slips her underwear off, as she spreads her dimpled knees, shows her rich, pink cunt to him. She uses her sharp-nailed fingers to V open the tight bud of herself, lets him see where her sex gets darker, hungrier. Shows him her tiny, humid center.

She teases a knowing finger around and around her hole, getting everything shiny-wet as she bares down inside, wringing emptily.

He stares fixedly, jaw gone slack. His hips start to move in tandem with her finger. His eyes go red when he growls "Open my fly."

She does, frees him while he makes the chains groan. His bared cock looks livid with blood, dying to be fucked.

"That's it, baby. That's it," he croons, shifting his hips up towards her, offering. She sighs and leans down. Down. His eyes widen as she does it, but she just blows air all over that trembly red flesh. He hisses.

She puts one hand to his bare shoulder, presses his knee down with her other hand and moves to straddles him.

"Oh baby girl, yes," he groans, dropping his head back, submitting.

She lifts up and poises there over him. Settles just enough so his cockhead, a hot ember of flesh, nudges at her delicate, slick cunt lips.

"Yes, Lydia, mate with me," he breathes feverishly, but she just presses a little kiss to his jaw and whispers "Mmmm, no."

And lifts away.

He can't seem to believe it, just stares in horror as she moves to the opposite wall.

"This what you need?" she asks him, opening her small sex again. He whines high, arching.

So she starts slowly rubbing her clit out in a selfish orgasm, her body undulating just out of his reach while he struggles, chains scraping.

He falls apart after a while, delirious in his hunger, his hip flexor going crazy, fucking the air.

She knows how much he wants to be inside her, can see it in the way his glazed eyes follow her cunt, the way his nostrils flare at her scent.

When she comes, she tries to show him. She spreads herself, whimpering. Tries to show him the inner twitch of each spasm.

"Need you, need you," she lies, pouting, watching the muscles in his thick neck strain as he pulls and pulls, desperate for her.


29.

Warnings: Erotic Asphyxiation
Pairing: Derek/Stiles

There's static at first. Noise that fills his head as he's rocked back and forth, up and down.

There's a voice, raised in anger. "Damn it, Stiles, breathe."

He gasps. It hurts. Light flashes as his eyelids flutter open. It hurts too, so he closes them. He sucks in another breath, reaches for his throat to ease the pain. A sheet has been laid over him. It sticks to his belly, wet with semen.

"Awkward," he rasps. He opens his eyes again, squints at the glow of his lamp, registers Derek's blurry shape above him.

"You can't do that," Derek says. "Ever again."

Stiles turns his head. A belt drags on the pillow beside him, sliced through, probably with a claw. "Sure," he whispers.


Stiles opens a drawer and pulls out a rope. He wraps it around his hand, shudders as it slithers across his skin.

It worked before, came loose when it was supposed to. It'll stop the itch beneath his skin that jerking off alone doesn't ease.

He tries not to think about the belt, tight like a hand around his throat the moment before he slipped, when he was coming harder than ever before.

"Do you trust me, Stiles?"

Stiles jumps. Ropes and scarves and old magazines spill out over the floor. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Keeping you alive," Derek says, crouching beside the tangle. He takes the rope, pulls it through a fist. "Do you trust me?"

"No. You're a creeper who hides in bedrooms."

"And you strangle yourself to get off." Derek lets the rope drop. "Does it have to be a rope?"

Stiles stares at Derek's hands. He imagines those fingers wrapped around his throat, pressing against his windpipe, cutting off his air. He swallows hard as his cock stiffens. "No," he chokes.

"Do you trust me?" Derek repeats.

Stiles looks up. Unable to speak past the lump in his throat, he nods.


Stiles' hands twist in the sheet as Derek's fingers compress his windpipe. He hasn't touched his cock, doesn't need to. Precome wicks through the front of his pants, his balls are drawn up tight and if he moves he'll come untouched.

Derek kneels behind him. He clears his throat, a mix of impatience and discomfort.

Pulse pounding in his temples, Stiles shoves his hand into his pants. Two strokes and he's coming, thrashing and crying out as he soaks the fabric through.


A week later, Derek's hard against Stiles' lower back. Stiles rasps for air, jerks his cock. When he comes, there's a whispered curse in his ear, heavy breath on his skin. When Derek leaves, his skin is flushed and he won't meet Stiles' eyes.


"I want to lie down," Stiles whispers.

Derek swallows. Moments pass. "Okay," he says.

Derek straddles Stiles' thighs, stares at his hand wrapped around Stiles' throat. "This okay?" he breathes.

Stiles nods. He opens his jeans, lets his hand rest on his bare belly. His eyes roll back in his head as Derek slowly increases the pressure on his throat and his cock starts to strain against his briefs.

"Your scent," Derek says.

"Wha—?"

Derek's pupils are blown wide. "So good. The way you look. The noises you make." His eyes move down Stiles' body. "The sound of your heartbeat." His eyes flick back up. "Show me."

Stiles rasps as he tries to breathe. He pulls out his cock, strokes slow, almost comes when he sees how hard Derek is, how the front of his jeans strain against thick length.

When their eyes meet, Stiles can't look away. He jerks his cock and gasps. His face heats, skin pounding with each beat of his heart.

Derek's grip tightens. "Beautiful," he whispers, shifting to grind his cock against Stiles' thigh.

Stiles breathes in tiny gasps. His back arches off the bed as his orgasm builds. His skin tingles, the sensation growing until it feels as if every part of him is burning, until every muscle, every fiber is tight enough to snap.

"Come on, Stiles," Derek hisses. "Show me, come for me."

Stiles' cells spark into flame. A rush of heat spills over his hand, onto his stomach in an unending release.


There's a warm hand on the back of Stiles' neck, wet kisses on his bared throat. He exhales a soft moan and twists his fingers into the front of Derek's shirt to pull him up.

"So good." Derek licks into Stiles' mouth and takes his breath away again.


30.
Warnings: Zombie AU

Pairing: Stiles/Derek

"Close the door, close-" Stiles said roughly, hands not releasing Derek's jacket lapels. A satisfied noise escaped him as Derek did his best to close the door with his foot, unwilling to let Stiles get far enough away to break the kiss.

"Stiles, we can't-" he began, in an entirely unconvincing display of resistance, his fingers wrapped over the back of Stiles' neck.

"It's clear," Stiles assured him between kisses. "No zombies, god, get this off, get- just-"

Derek's fingers tightened against Stiles' skin as the human found the buckle of his belt, fumbling the latch undone with adrenaline-shaky hands. Stiles didn't even bother pulling it from the loops, just dove right back in for the button of Derek's jeans, the grate of the zipper coming undone the only warning Derek received before Stiles' warm palm was sliding under the clothing.

It had been a long time since either of them had found a place so devoid of the undead that they could both let their guards down at the same time. Even now, with Stiles practically pressing him up against the door of the abandoned classroom, lips hot on his, Derek had his ears tuned for the scrape of a dragged foot or the rattle of a useless drawn breath. It was getting harder to hear anything beyond the pattern of Stiles' heart.

His head fell back against door and he bucked his hips into Stiles' touch, silently begging for more- more contact, more friction, more pressure, more more more. Sometimes he wished Stiles would take the bite, if only so that he could smell the raw desire roiling off of Derek, urging him not to take his time. A cold nose ghosted over the curve of his throat, chased by a warm tongue, and Derek shivered.

"Okay," Stiles murmured, breath licking across the cool stripe left behind. "I got you."

Shifting, Stiles backed off just enough to get Derek's briefs down, freeing his cock. A guttural sound escaped Derek as Stiles wrapped a hand loosely around him and began to stroke, his forehead pressed to Derek's collarbone so that he could watch his own movements. He didn't get away with it for long before Derek couldn't stand not having more of Stiles exposed.

It was safe here, safer than they'd been in months- he couldn't hear anything at all inside the building aside from their own harsh breathing. They would have time to put clothing back on, if he just- Stiles halted with a laugh as Derek huffed a frustrated noise at how his shaky hands were rendering him unable to unbutton Stiles' shirt. He batted Derek's fingers away and made short work of them, opening the front but leaving it over his shoulders.

Good enough, Derek thought, slipping his hands under the fabric and splaying his fingers over Stiles' bare ribs.

"Pants," he breathed, nuzzling into the crook of Stiles' neck and breathing him in. Maybe Stiles couldn't smell the desire thick in the air between them, but Derek could. Stiles was quick to obey, both of them letting out groans of relief when he pressed forward, wrapping his hand around both of them. For just a second, Stiles hesitated.

"Still clear?" he asked, voice rough.

Derek pushed into his hand, sliding his cock against Stiles', and said, "Yeah, yes. Whole building."

"Good."

With that, Stiles began to move again, stroking over them both, lips on Derek's neck, sucking in marks that healed almost instantly. Derek tried to keep an ear out for the undead, but after a few moments, he was lost in the heady sound of Stiles' heartbeat, the rhythm of his hand, the tiny, pleased noises he made as they moved together, chasing release. Stiles' free hand tightened on Derek's arm, and Derek leaned his weight back against the wall.

The way Derek's name slipped from Stiles' lips as he came, caught on a gasp, was all Derek needed to push him right over the edge as well. For a while, they stood there in silence, Stiles leaning some of his weight on Derek. It was only when Derek heard the scrape of a shoe at the entrance of the school that he nudged Stiles up, kissing his jaw, his cheek, seeking out his lips for one more stolen moment of happiness.

"We gotta go," he said quietly. He didn't have to warn him what was coming; Stiles would know what the tone meant. The zombies were never far anymore.

31.
Warnings: Underage (characters are canon ages, post 3b), consensual use of restraints
Pairing: Chris/Lydia

They go to the coast, far from Beacon Hills, when the pressure of responsibility or the crushing weight of loss become too much. Once a remote training camp for Hunters, the cabin has only required slight modifications to suit their needs.

Chris hadn't heard from Lydia in over a month, but when a text came through late the previous night, saying only need you, he began packing immediately.

Now, Lydia is suspended from the second highest hook on the rig, her hands bound at the wrists in padded cuffs. She's positioned just high enough that she can barely touch the ground on wobbly tiptoes.

Black rope criss-crosses her body, standing out in sharp relief against her milky skin. It loops around her waist and travels down between her legs in a series of intricate, perfectly placed knots. Each time she squirms in her restraints the rope rubs against her clit, eliciting a soft whine from her perfectly painted mouth.

Chris knows Lydia struggles with her need to submit when life gets to be too much. It's taken longer than usual but she's finally found her headspace.

He rewards her with a kiss, a chaste press of dry lips, then sweeps her hair over one shoulder. The ends drag lightly against her breast and his fingers follow their path, caressing the curve as her skin pinks under his touch.

"Okay?" he asks.

Lydia's eyes are unfocused when she opens them, but she nods.

His hands cup the fullness of her breasts and he rubs a calloused thumb over each nipple. Her breath hitches but she remains still, so Chris bows his head and takes one rosy peak between his lips. He laps at it, nibbles lightly, traces it with his tongue. He switches his attention to her other nipple while pinching the first to full hardness.

He can feel the heat emanating from Lydia's body but other than a flutter of eyelashes, she remains still. Sometimes the rope is enough—or a blindfold, or a few swats with a crop—but tonight Chris knows she needs more.

Lydia's eyes follow him and she sucks in a breath when he moves to retrieve the clamps from the table.

"Too much?" he asks.

She shakes her head, then lifts her chin as if to challenge him.

Chris smiles at her defiance. He takes each nipple between his fingers, pinching them to firm peaks before quickly screwing each clamp into place. The silver chain connecting them rises and falls with her accelerated breathing; it looks beautiful against her flushed skin.

"Enough?" he asks.

She nods again, but only after a moment's hesitation, so Chris tightens each clamp another half-turn. His finger trails down the valley between her breasts, then hooks on the chain and pulls.

Lydia gasps, eyes flying open. Her body shakes and she teeters for balance when her movements cause her clit to rub against the knotted rope between her legs. Chris pulls the chain again, watching the silver glint in the moonlight streaming in through the open window.

A breeze ruffles Lydia's hair and Chris wonders if the cool air washing over her heated skin feels like a blessing or a curse. Either way, she's ready now, unable to withhold the litany of soft moans and involuntary movements.

Chris wishes Lydia could see herself, so beautiful like this.

He drops to his knees before her and pulls the knotted rope aside, then buries his face in damp curls and breathes her in. He licks her open, laps at the wetness coating her thighs with broad strokes of his tongue. Her skin is so delicate; he knows she'll feel the abrasions from his beard for hours afterwards.

Lydia wraps a leg around him, trying to pull him closer, but she has no leverage like this. Chris blows warm breath over her clit, circles it with his tongue.

She's so close, trembling with need, but still she holds back. Chris ignores his own hardness, though he desperately wants to pull her legs around his waist and lose himself in her wet heat.

But theirs is not a passionate romance. Not now, not in any conventional sense, and they're not here for him tonight.

"Let go, Lydia," he murmurs against her skin. "I've got you. You're safe."

He sucks her clit back into his mouth, then bites down gently and tugs on the silver chain with a sharp flick of his wrist.

Her body seizes, head falling back between her suspended arms.

She screams.


32.
Pairing: Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski

“Is there enough for another bowl?”

Scott squinted at what was mostly stems and seeds in the baggie. “Maybe a hit? Got any papers?”

“Nah.” It was mostly a lie, but Stiles wasn't about to go all the way to his bedroom to dig out his Zig-Zags.

“You can have it,” Scott said, passing the bowl, which was indeed woefully less than half full.

Stiles shook his head. “Nuh uh, I'm not greedy. Come 'ere, bro.”

Understanding his intent, Scott scooted across the couch cushion. “You know this barely does anything for the blowee.” Scott giggled. “Blowee.”

Stiles flicked his lighter and lit the weed, inhaling through the pipe. It tasted a little off because of the herb they added for Scott to get high, but it was worth it to be able to smoke up with his best friend again. He gathered the smoke in his mouth then covered Scott's lips with his own and exhaled. Stiles pushed his tongue into Scott's mouth, and they shared a slow kiss to chase the last remnants of smoke.

They flopped back and put their feet up side by side on the coffee table.

“Your feet are weird,” Scott said. “Your second toe is taller than your big toe.”

“S'not weird,” Stiles huffed. “It's called Morton's toe.”

“Your toe's named Morton?” Scott giggled again.

“But if that one's named Morton, what's the other one named?” Stiles wondered, staring at his right foot. “Maybe it's Morton Jr.”

“Wouldn't they be twins?” Scott asked.

“Morton and Mortonina?”

“It's a girl toe?”

“Why couldn't my toe be a girl toe?”

“I dunno. Would you name your dick Stilesette?”

“Why not? What do you call your dick?”

“Little Scott.”

“Not Scotty? Beam me up an organism, Scotty. Warp speed, Scotty.”

Scott grinned. “See, you can't say stuff like that with Stilesette.”

“Fuck. Now I'm getting hard.” Stiles gestured to the growing situation in his shorts.

“Seriously, dude?”

“What can I say? Stilesette knew you were talking about her.”

“Aw, she likes it when I talk about her.” Scott reached his hand over and cupped Stiles' dick. “Don't you, Stilesette?”

“Stop teasing my dick.” Stiles weakly tried to bat Scott's hand away.

“I was just saying hello!”

“Well now you're gonna have to do more than say hello or I'm gonna have to do something about it, because I'm not gonna sit here with a boner for the rest of the afternoon.” He lifted his hips enough to shove his shorts off and then reached his hand down the front of his briefs.

“Stop it,” Scott said, his eyes trained on Stiles' crotch. “If I watch you jerk off, then I'll get hard and have to jerk off.”

“We wouldn't want that now, would we, Scotty?” Stiles said with a smirk, far too pleased knowing the effect he had on Scott.

“Fine,” Scott said.

Then Scott, with Herculean effort, kicked off his own shorts, threw his leg over Stiles', and pulled himself up to straddle Stiles' lap. He pressed his hips down and forward. His cock started to get hard as he rubbed against Stiles. The fabric between them gave some friction that helped along the process.

“Yeah,” Stiles groaned. “Right there.”

Scott nuzzled into Stiles' neck, because holding his head up was a lot.

“Tickles,” Stiles laughed.

Scott licked Stiles neck. In retaliation, Stiles grabbed Scott's ass in both hands, urging him to go faster and stay focused on the mission at hand. Taking the hint, Scott rolled his hips, lining their dicks up at that angle where the heads were rubbing in just the right way to make Stiles' eyes roll back in his head and moan.

Scott felt Stiles tense underneath him and smelled the come before Stiles groaned with relief.

“Want me to finish you off?” Stiles waggled his fingers in Scott's face. Without letting Scott answer, Stiles licked his hand, reached into Scott's boxer-briefs, and started stroking up, twisting his wrist.

Scott fucked into Stiles' hand until he was soon spurting his release. Scott climbed off Stiles' lap, nearly missing kneeing him in the groin.

“Little Scott happy now?” Stiles rolled his head over to look at Scott.

“Very,” Scott said with a sigh. “We should go get tacos.”


33.
Warnings:AU, rimming
Pairing: Derek/Stiles, Jackson/Stiles, Lydia/Stiles, Stiles/Derek/Jackson/Lydia (sort of)

Drink the painted wolf, taste the dragon’s chill
Open death’s door without passing through
Light the spark that burns a ring ‘round them all
United and strong, bound for all time

“Sex magic,” Stiles says. “Without actual sex.”

“Exactly.” Deaton’s smile is inscrutable. “You understand perfectly.”

Actually no, Stiles doesn’t understand at all, but he realizes that doesn’t matter: this is what he has to do, else the four kingdoms will fall. Sex magic without sex. This is his life now.

Destiny sucks.

#

The wolf shifts to human, back decorated with the swirl of Hale’s emblem: the painted wolf.

Stiles steps into view, approaching with hands up. Hale turns, eyes glowing blue and teeth long as he snarls. Stiles tries to smile. “I need your help with a matter of state. It won’t take long, and I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

Teeth recede, claws still present. “Go on,” Hale growls.

“The Stilinski kingdom respectfully requests to drink the painted wolf of Hale,” Stiles says slowly. He falls to his knees, licking a stripe from root to tip on Hale’s rapidly thickening dick.

“Yes,” Hale hisses, and Stiles relaxes into it, working his dick with hand and tongue. Saliva lubricates his twisting stroke, rolling over the head and down again until Hale is coming into Stiles’s open mouth. The taste puts fire in his veins and it’s fucking brilliant.

Maybe this’ll work after all.

“I’m Derek.”

Right. Names. That’s polite. “Stiles.” He smiles. “I need you to be at my father’s castle in three days, at dawn.”

Stiles desperately wants to get off, but it’s not time yet. All he can do is walk away and hope Hale will show up on time for the grand finale.

#

Stiles forgot what a dick Prince Whittemore is. “Look, if there was another option, I’d take it,” Stiles says bluntly. “But you’re the only dragon I know, so get on your knees and bare your ass. Trust me, you’ll like it.”

He hesitates, so Stiles adds, “You get partial credit for saving the kingdoms. Just be at my place two days from now, at dawn.”

Jackson drops his trousers and bends over, spreading his legs. Stiles sighs in relief.

He touches his tongue to the tightly puckered hole, licking cautiously. It doesn’t taste as bad as expected, and it is cold, but it warms quickly under his ministrations. He teases and pokes, opening Jackson slowly, until Jackson presses back, begging for more. Stiles reaches but Jackson bats his hand away, taking his own cock in hand, letting Stiles focus on the wet path of his tongue, licking down to his balls, teasing the sensitive perineum. He has his face buried in Jackson’s ass when Jackson goes tense and spills over the ground.

Stiles breathes in the magic, letting it settle deep inside his soul, shivering under his skin.

He leaves without another word.

#

Princess Lydia is the easiest, ordering him to his knees and spreading her legs. She shoves him to her crotch. “Do it well,” she snaps. “I expect nothing but the best.”

Stiles licks at her slit, coaxing slick liquid as she sighs, fucking his face with shifting hips. He teases her clit, circling around, then matching the pattern on her lips as she opens for him, wet and hungry. Her words turn from snappishness to begging him to fuck her. He murmurs, “Open the door without going through,” and suckles at her clit until she comes in a flush of wet energy, filling him to the brim and beyond. He might explode; he rolls to his feet quickly, stepping back before she can touch him.

“Tomorrow at dawn, my place,” he tells her, then flees.

#

As the sun peeks over the hill, Stiles stands naked in the courtyard surrounded by wolf, dragon, and death herself. He jerks his cock and turns in a slow circle; the magical ties he created wrap around him, sliding over his skin, stroking him.

They move closer, fingertips touching skin, then hands, circling his rim, slipping along the length of his cock; he can’t help but whine and hungrily thrust into their touch.

“Derek, Jackson, Lydia… I bind us against our enemies. We stand strong together, or not at all.”

He comes under their touch, splashing them with his fluid, sealing the contract. Four virgins, four orgasms, and by prophecy they are bound.

They lean into each other, shivering from the magic and loathe to relinquish gentle touch. At last they and their kingdoms are safe.


34.
Warnings: Daddy kink
Pairing: Stiles/Isaac (one-sided), Chris/Isaac

Stiles had long since learned how to pick out the scariest YouTube videos and not watch them. It was like some kind of porny sixth sense. And why was he looking up how to deepthroat instead of his normal daddy porn, he couldn’t really say. It’s not like he had anyone to be… practicing with… He clicked on a decidedly un-scary looking one with a lot of hits, lowering his gym shorts and palming his dick lazily as he clicked past the annoying advertisement.

He was giving himself a tug when the sound of a familiar voice snapped his attention up, making him nearly fall out of his chair. There right smack in the middle of the screen was Isaac, smiling comfortably with hair curling up at the edges, holding an enormous dildo and speaking right into the camera. And… what. What the what what.

Stiles’ mind reeled for a minute, unable to comprehend the weirdness. Isaac. On YouTube. With an instructional video. On how to deepthroat. Then Stiles’ brain shut up when Isaac hinged his mouth open and just swallowed down around the dildo, and holy fuck was that hot. Stiles watched with huge eyes as the toy just kept sliding in as Isaac fed it down into his throat. He could even see the muscles fluttering as Isaac swallowed, and it was at that moment that Stiles realized that he still had his dick in his hand. And it was still hard. And he was stroking it, quite rapidly.

And okay, it was an instructional video, not porn. And it was Isaac. But Stiles still stiffened up as he watched those stretched lips, spurting out all over his stomach and shorts as his orgasm bubbled up warmly from his belly. He sat there panting for a moment, hand sticky and face red. It wasn’t really the weirdest thing he’d orgasmed to, but it was definitely up there. He reached for the kleenex, pushing down any residual feelings of awkwardness at whacking it to his friend’s instructional video and resolving to give Isaac hell for it tomorrow in Econ.

***

“I found something on the internet,” Stiles said with a waggle of his eyebrows, and Isaac just rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe not Stiles’ best opening statement. He tried again. “An instructional video.”

That got Isaac’s attention. The blond looked at him curiously, as if daring him to say it outloud while Finstock yelled at Greenberg in the corner about missing assignments.

“Did you like it?” Isaac said, quirking his lips slightly, his cheeks turning a ruddy red. Stiles hadn’t really been expecting that reaction.

“Dude, I’m not gross,” Stiles whispered, propping up his book so Coach couldn’t see them. “But who are you blowing?”

Isaac laughed lightly and Stiles found himself looking at Isaac’s lips, mind shooting back to the way they’d wrapped around that fake cock. He quickly looked down, accidentally jabbing himself in the leg with his pencil in the process and biting his fist to keep from hissing.

Coach swept down the aisle, effectively cutting off their conversation, and Stiles did his best to look like he was paying attention. When the bell rang, Isaac bolted before Stiles could badger him further, and Stiles spent the entirety of his lunch period going over with Scott every single person Isaac could possibly be boning.

***

It wasn’t until a few days later that Stiles finally put the puzzle pieces together. He was leaving the school late, his backpack strap getting stuck in his locker and requiring a custodian to come and pry it open. As he walked out into nearly empty parking lot he saw Isaac heaving his equipment bag into the back of the black SUV that Mr. Argent drove, the man himself leaning against the side of the car with an easy smile on his face.

It was when Isaac passed him that Stiles’ jaw dropped down to his chest. Because that definitely was a playful smack on the ass, Isaac jumping forward slightly, his grin visible even from this distance. He hopped into the passenger seat, the car squealing off into the distance while Stiles gaped after them, thoughts tumbling. All of them involving Isaac on his knees, cock deep in his mouth, moaning the word Daddy over and over as Mr. Argent fisted tightly in his curls.

Stiles watched the video nine times that night, and came twice.


35.
Warnings: uncle/niece incest, implied underage, xeno/bestiality
Pairing: Cora/Peter

The Hale house was full of secrets.

There'd been a fire, Cora knew. It had been years ago. She was too young to remember, but their family had been bigger then. They'd lost grandparents, a few cousins and her mother's youngest brother.

Laura sometimes talked about before, how the forest had been filled with laughter and children's voices. She'd scritch their dog's neck and say, "Do you remember, Pete?" She'd give Pete a sad sort of look.

Cora always found that odd. Her mother had always said that Pete -- who looked more like a wolf than dog, really -- came to live with them just after the fire. Even if Pete wasn't a dog, he wasn't able to remember the 'glory days' of their house filled with relatives any more than Cora was.

Pete wasn't a typical pet.

No one really mentioned it. It was just something Cora grew up knowing. Pete wandered in and out of house, never wearing a collar, never a leash. No one ever worried about him getting lost or into trouble. He'd come back with a bloody muzzle and Cora's mom would say Pete didn't need dinner that night.

Cora wasn't stupid. She figured he was a guard dog that her family got after the fire, hoping to stop a tragedy from happening again.

It explained why he followed Cora everywhere, like on hot summer days when she'd sneak away to skinny dip in the stream. But he also stood watch at the oddest times: when she was in the shower or when she slept. She stopped being surprised to see his bright blue eyes staring at her.

As she got older her mom started to drop hints that maybe she was getting too old for Pete to follow her around quite so much.

She started having to lock the bathroom door when she was in the shower.

She missed Pete always there at her side, the way his soft fur would rub against her bare legs as she tried to towel off. She hated how he whined just outside the door like he was missing her too.

Shutting him out of her bedroom didn't seem to matter. As long as she left her window open, Pete somehow found his way in after her mother wished her goodnight, and he'd disappear before sunrise.

She wasn't sure how he did it -- and she couldn't ask her mother because her gut said her window would get bolted -- but Pete was there every night on the other side of the locked door, even though her room was on the second floor.

Maybe it made her sound like silly little girl, but it made her feel special that Pete loved her so much that nothing would keep them apart.

He started to sleep in her bed, now that the locked door meant her mother wouldn't check in on her in the middle of the night. It gave Cora a thrill to be so rebellious.

She loved curling around Pete in the night; she couldn't understand why her mother didn't want her to have that. He was a warm, soft pillow for her to wrap her legs around. It felt good, in ways she couldn't explain. Sometimes she would wake up from a feverish dream, rubbing herself against him.

It felt right.

One night she woke, tingly and hot all over, to find Pete's muzzle between her legs.

She knew she smelled different there sometimes. Pete liked that. Sometimes, she was wet. Pete liked that too. He'd press his nose right up to her panties until she laughed and pushed him away. It always made her feel a little funny low in her belly.

Tonight she didn't feel like pushing him away. She wasn't sure why she wasn't wearing panties, but she was bare beneath her nightie and Pete's tongue was licking her where no one was supposed to touch.

She spread her legs wider on instinct, letting him taste her, letting him make her feel good.

He didn't stop, not when her thighs began to tremble, or when she clutched the sheets, confused, squirming as her whole body shook.

In the morning, she vowed never to tell a soul what Pete did for her.

Pete was the family protector. Every day he watched over the house for them.

And every night he kept Cora warm and safe in ways her mother would never understand.


36.
Warnings: Semi-public sex
Pairing: Derek/Stiles

If you asked Stiles, he'd say it all started with the free popcorn.

"No."

"Come on, Derek."

"No."

"Seriously?"

"Do you need me to start saying it in different languages?"

"Oh, god, yes. That’d be so hot."

"Stiles!"

Stiles huffed out a laugh. "Fine, sorry. But don't you want free popcorn? There’s even complimentary seasoning." He grinned, trying to look as innocent as possible.

"You're just using me for the popcorn," Derek finally said.

"Nu-uh. Come on, dude, we're here seeing a movie anyway. Might as well take advantage of 'date night', no?"

"Except we're not actually on a date."

Stiles snorted. "Semantics. Come on, big guy, time's a-wasting."

He held his hand out for Derek to grab then, praying that this wasn't about to backfire spectacularly.

Derek stared at him, eyes narrowed and calculating before letting out an extremely exaggerated sigh and grabbing Stiles’ hand with a little more force than strictly necessary.

***

"Why are we sitting at the very back of the theater?"

"Because it gives you the best vantage point and most people prefer the middle. Plus, if we get into any shenanigans back here, we’ll be less likely to get caught.” Stiles wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Derek rolled his eyes, but couldn’t quite hide the amused smirk that briefly lit up his face. Stiles grinned in response and set to work balancing the huge popcorn bag on his knee so they could both reach it.

***

After about the tenth time their fingers brushed against one another in the popcorn bag, Stiles felt Derek lean in close.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” he accused.

“Doing what?”

“Touching my hand.”

Stiles swallowed, tried to keep his heartbeat steady. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

“And...what if I was?”

For a minute Derek just stared, like he wasn’t sure what to make of Stiles’ comment. And then, after what felt like hours, “Well that changes things then.”

Stiles wasn’t sure who leaned in first, but when their lips touched, he felt a spark of electricity course through him, and it didn’t really matter.

***

They were in public. Fuck, they were in public, but Stiles didn’t care, not when he was sitting in Derek’s lap, so close to his dick. He fumbled twice with the button on Derek’s jeans before he finally got it undone, tugging down the zipper and slipping his hand into Derek’s boxer-briefs. Derek let out a low moan into Stiles’ mouth as Stiles wrapped his fingers around Derek’s dick, giving it two quick strokes, immensely thankful for the movie’s background noise.

“Fuck, Stiles, we’re in public,” Derek groaned, pulling back.

But Stiles held him close and continued to jerk him off. He rubbed his thumb back and forth across the head of Derek’s dick and delighted in the full body shiver it elicited. “Don’t care. No one can see us, anyway.”

Stiles pressed a kiss to the corner of Derek’s mouth and ground back down into his lap, seeking some friction for his own erection. Derek groaned again and tilted his head to slot their mouths together properly, pushing his tongue into Stiles’ mouth and quickly turning the kiss filthy. One of Derek’s hands wrapped around the back of Stiles’ neck, holding him in place, while the other rubbed him through his jeans while Stiles arched into the touch. Even with two layers between Derek’s hand and his dick, it felt amazing, like all of his nerve endings were on fire in the best way possible.

The movie continued to play in the background as Derek rocked his hips into Stiles’ hand in jerky little motions, and Stiles couldn’t resist pulling back just a fraction of an inch to whisper, “You’re so good, can’t fucking wait to wrap my mouth around your dick, to feel you inside me.”

And then Derek was coming into his hand, panting against Stiles’ neck. Stiles stroked him through the aftershocks, until Derek tugged at his wrist, pulling Stiles away from his sensitive dick. Stiles was still hard, dick straining against the confines of his jeans when Derek finally slipped his own hand into Stiles’ pants, bringing him off with only a few quick tugs. Everything went fuzzy for a few moments from the force of his orgasm, before Stiles found himself coming back down to earth.

***

“Did you plan this?” Derek asked later, as they attempted to make an inconspicuous exit from the theater.

“Would you be angry if I said yes?”

Derek smiled, and Stiles took that for the answer it was.


37.
Warnings: n/a
Pairing: Chris/Derek

Chris stepped into the hot spray of the shower first, leading Derek in after him but blocking the water from direct contact. The abrasions on Derek's chest were almost gone, but the long gashes in his back were still open and slowly trickling with blood. They would close eventually, but there was no point in aggravating them further.

He pushed Derek down to sit on the built-in shower seat. Derek never was particularly steady on his feet after a rough fight, and Chris would rather not worry about 200 pounds of werewolf cracking his head open on the marble floor.

Grabbing one of the ultra soft washcloths and some shower gel, he worked it up into a good lather and began the painful process of washing Derek's slowly-recovering body. He ran the cloth over Derek's shoulders and arms first, massaging the aching muscle, cleaning off the remaining dirt to reveal smooth, tanned skin underneath.

He took his time with Derek's chest and stomach, moving slowly down his legs, one hand covered by the soapy washcloth, the other bare, digging his fingers into Derek's tense muscles, and loving the feel of Derek's coarse hair against his own tired hands.

He pressed a soft kiss to the inside of Derek's knee as he lifted his foot, and washed his toes carefully, placing tiny, sucking kisses on each toe as he finished.

Forcing Derek to stand, he rinsed Derek's back carefully, using just his hand and clean water to soothe and rinse the skin between the shrinking slashes across his shoulders.

When Chris reached for the cloth again to move to Derek's lower back, Derek stopped his hand and turned. He laced their fingers together and rested his forehead against Chris's with a deep sigh.

Chris knew what was coming before Derek even opened his mouth to speak.

"Stop," he said, pushing his head against Derek's to get his attention. "Don't apologize," he said a little more gently. "You did what was right for your pack, and you came home to me. That was the deal. There's nothing to apologize for."

Derek's remaining tension flowed out of him in an instant.

The kiss that followed should have stayed simple, subdued, but Derek's taste, the feel of his firm body against Chris's own, the knowledge that he was home, safe, alive, always made it harder for them to keep things innocent.

Derek pulled him closer so they were pressed together from chest to thigh, and Chris's hands reflexively went to Derek's waist to stop him from pulling away.

"I can't— I mean, I won't get hard—too much blood loss—" Derek said, "but I want you to mark me. I need to smell you on me."

Chris dug his fingers harder into Derek's sides when Derek took his dick in hand, using soapsuds to smooth the way. It didn't take long for Derek's strong, meaty hand to get him hard.

Derek shuffled back, just enough to get a few inches of space between them, but not so far that Chris couldn't still feel the heat of Derek's body against his chest. With Chris's cock in one hand, and his own in the other, Derek brought their dicks together, the tips just barely kissing.

Water dripped down his forehead as he watched his cock disappear inside Derek's foreskin. Derek was right about the blood loss—his dick remained soft—but it meant that his foreskin could stretch to cover almost half of Chris's cock. He was breathless at the sight of their dicks merging, the feeling of heat and soft skin covering his dick.

"Shit, Der," he moaned. Derek sped up his movements, pulling his foreskin back and forth over Chris's cock. He could feel the head of Derek's dick nosing against his own inside their little cocoon, and his heartbeat ratcheted up even higher.

The realization that Derek still wanted this even though he couldn't get hard, even though he wouldn't come, finally pushed Chris over the edge, making him come inside Derek's foreskin, leaving a sloppy mess between them.

Derek reached behind him and shut off the water before any of Chris's come washed away. He fell to his knees and took Chris's cock in his mouth, sucking him through the remainder of his orgasm. Chris spasmed with aftershocks as he watched Derek squeeze his come out of his foreskin and spread it over his chest and stomach, covering himself in Chris's scent.

"Always," Derek whispered. "I'll always come home to you."


38.
Warnings: none
Pairing: Chris/Lydia

“Lydia,” her mother said. “Quit dallying and play your music properly. It is always such a fuss with you.”

Tired of practising the same section, Lydia let her fingers slip over the keys. Her mother heaved a deep sigh into her embroidery.

As the window was open, the sound of hooves on gravel drowned out the soft sounds of music. Lydia stopped abruptly, shot up from her seat, nearly stepping on the hem of her dress in her rush to the window.

“Allison!” Lydia cried, leaning out the window, waving frantically.

Allison looked up and beamed, waving back. Lydia rushed from the drawing room and hurtled down the stairs, nearly running into one of the maids.

She threw the door open before anyone else could and wrapped Allison into a crushing hug.

“And I just sent you a letter!” Lydia said as she pulled back. “Did it arrive before you left? Oh, nevermind, I will send you a new one. What would you do with week old news?”

Allison’s father stepped up behind them, wearing his dark blue waistcoat, and Lydia smiled. “Good day, Mr Argent.”

“Miss Martin. Lovely as always.”

She threw him another smile as she grabbed Allison by the elbow and pulled her inside.

 

 

~

“Are you really throwing us a dance? That’s very generous of you,” Allison said as dinner was served.

“Oh, it’s the least I could do, dear. I’ve called on all of our neighbors, of course.” Her mother took a sip of wine.

“Mother, tell me you did not invite him.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, of course I did.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Mother thinks I should let myself be courted by this dreadful boy who used to push me into the mud when we were children. And is utterly dim-witted.”

Mr Argent’s lip quirked in amusement.

 

 

~

Lydia escaped into the drawing room, finding it cool and empty. Her fingers swept over the piano keys. Dancing with Matt truly had been torture.

“He really is quite dreadful.” Mr Argent’s voice was low as closed the door behind him.

Lydia was not born yesterday. She recognized the way Mr Argent had been looking at her all evening, eyes burning into her neck as she accepted every invitation to dance. It had settled into her stomach like a warm knot, excitement and terror all at once.

She shouldn’t.

“Dreadful,” she agreed.

He kissed her with confidence, his hand brushing at her jaw. This, unlike her first awkward kiss, turned her insides to liquid as she pressed close, opening her lips under his. She moaned softly when the tip of his tongue traced her bottom lip.

“Mr Argent,” she said, pulling away slightly.

He paused and looked at her, his hair slightly mussed from her fingers, and she gave in. Pulling him back in, she let herself be pushed against the grand piano as he licked into her mouth.

She let out a startled sound when he hoisted her up onto the closed lid, her feet brushing the keys, and pushed her skirts up around her waist. The green silk slid softly across her spread thighs. He looked at her, eyes intense, as he pulled down her drawers and slid her shoes off, leaving her only in her stockings.

For a moment she stopped breathing as he watched her, fingers finding the bare skin above her stockings. And then he pulled her forward, leaning in to press kisses to her inner thigh. She shook, hands curling around the edge of the piano.

When his lips touched her folds, she threw her head back and whimpered. She’d never thought—

Her legs shook when he buried his head between her thighs, tongue moving in quick flicks making her stomach tighten. She moved her hips against his mouth, her hand coming to grip his hair.

“Ssh, Miss Martin,” he said as he pulled away for a brief moment.

She realised she’d been moaning and bit her lip to keep it back. If anyone were to walk in and find Mr Argent with his face obscured by her skirts, tongue talented and indecent…

Chris,” she gasped as the tension shattered inside of her and her leg slipped onto the keys, making a discordant sound.

 

 

~

“Play us something, won’t you, Lydia?” her mother said as they all retired to the drawing room late in the evening.

Mr Argent leaned against the window pane. “Yes, Miss Martin. Please do.”


39.
Warnings: Oral knotting, heats, minor hair-pulling
Pairing: Sterek

“You want to be mine,” Derek says; it’s not a question.

Stiles laughs brokenly.

“I already am,” he replies. “You just have to - you have to let me be.”

In truth, Stiles has belonged to Derek since he was sixteen, sitting the front seat of a cop car. The two of them have been in a strange dance ever since and the revelation of heats - given only after Scott went into heat - only makes it stranger.

Heats last a week without a partner, Derek tells them, though the effects can linger longer. With a partner, it narrows down to a few days. Stiles asks, “who’s your partner?” only to realize that Derek didn’t have one; he hasn’t let himself since Kate.

Stiles lets it stay that way until a few years later when Derek goes through a particularly bad heat. It lingers for two weeks and when it’s finally over, Stiles corners him.

“You can’t do that again,” he says. “You barely made it this time. Let me be your partner.”

Derek does.

It’s not what Stiles imagined. They fuck for hours, days. They fuck until they can’t anymore; until Stiles is too sore and Derek can’t get it up. He never seems satisfied after, not like Scott after a heat with Kira. When Stiles gets up the nerve to ask Scott, he finds out why.

Knotting.

“That’s the point of a heat,” Scott says, blushing. “Mating.

Stiles never brings it up; Derek has made his feelings on the matter clear. There’s no tenderness in their joining, no cuddling or lingering. When the heat is gone, so is Derek. Even if it’s the middle of the night. Even if Stiles is asleep.

Waking up alone feels a little worse every time, until Stiles knows that it can’t go on that way. Something has to change.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Derek says quietly. The heat has started to show, his cheeks pinking and hands trembling. “Werewolves -”

“They mate for life; I know.” Stiles smiles a little, stepping closer. “I want you for that long if you’ll have me.”

Reaching forward, Derek reels him in the last few inches, their lips meeting clumsily. His skin feels feverish, the heat getting worse, but Derek doesn’t rush like he usually does. They’ve kissed a thousand times but never like this; never this slowly, never with so much care.

Stiles’ chest aches. He whispers against Derek’s mouth, “stay this time. Please; I don’t want to be alone again.”

Derek groans and nods, licking back into his mouth as his hand creeps under Stiles’ shirt, resting against the small of his back.

“Okay,” he agrees softly.

It’s no big declaration but Stiles didn’t expect one; just that is enough.

He crowds Derek against the wall, sinking to his knees. They’ll have time for words later but for now, Derek is in heat and Stiles is there for a reason.

“I’m going to blow you,” he says, licking his lips. “And then you’re going to take me upstairs and fuck me until we can’t move.”

Derek shudders as Stiles unbuttons his jeans and pulls his cock out, swallowing him down. Derek gasps, his hips bucking as Stiles begins to move.

There’s no finesse but Derek doesn’t seem to care. His fingers are buried in Stiles’ hair, rubbing his scalp, pulling hard when Stiles does something he likes. They’re both keyed up but Derek especially and it doesn’t take long before Stiles feels the base of his cock swelling.

He’s never felt the knot before; Derek has always been careful to hide that part of him. It pushes against his lips now, making him groan. He pulls off, licking the crown of Derek’s cock.

“Do it,” he begs, glancing up. “I want you to.”

Derek doesn’t ask - can’t ask - and Stiles doesn’t elaborate, drawing him back in. The noises coming from Derek become increasingly more desperate, his knot growing slowly. Finally, Stiles takes in a deep breath and sinks down, down, until his lips are stretched wide and he can feel the knot behind his teeth, swollen full.

Shoving a hand down his own pants to fist his own cock, Stiles swallows and Derek cries out, his hips jerking to grind his cock deeper into Stiles’ throat. Tears spring to Stiles’ eyes but then he feels the cock on his tongue twitch, spurting into his mouth, and he finds his own release as he swallows again, his skin tingling. He’s been knotted.

I’m yours.


40.
Warnings: underage (Stiles is 17)
Pairing: Stiles/Derek

Stiles moaned, almost whining, because his hand was getting tired and crampy and he couldn't get the right angle, couldn't push himself over the edge. It'd been a long few days and he was tired, exhausted, too wired to sleep but too worn out to get a good wank going.

Derek sat whimpering quietly in a corner, hands nowhere near the sympathetic boner Stiles was sure he had. “You could come over and help me out,” Stiles said, breath coming too quickly for the sarcasm to shine through.

“I could, but then your father is going to cut off my hands.”

Stiles glared at him halfheartedly. “My father is a man of the law, buddy. Besides, he wouldn't do anything to hurt me.” He willed Derek to look at him, and surprisingly, Derek did. “You get that he wouldn't do anything to you, right? Because you're, you know, my-” Stiles faltered a little over what to call Derek. They'd been kissing and saving each other and snarking like an old married couple. Boyfriend seemed somehow childish and inadequate. “You're mine.”

Derek groaned, smashing the back of his head against the wall. “You can't just say things like that.”

Oh, well, that was. That was something. Stiles grinned. “Come up here and I'll show you exactly how possessive I can be.”

“Stiles,” Derek whined, “you're seventeen.”

Stiles flailed dramatically back into his pillow, completely fine with the fact that his dick was waving around like Mr. Floppy. “Oh my god, I know. You don't have to rub it in. Some rubbing would be nice though.”

Derek gave him the grumpy eyebrows. “Stiles.” And the crossed arms of doom, uh-oh.

Stiles crawled over to the edge of the bed. “Look, we'll never do anything you don't want to do, okay? I can stop with the, you know, the teasing, trying to get you in my pants, all that.” He made a gesture that was supposed to encompass all that and more. “We never have to do anything more than we've already done if you're not into it.”

Derek sighed and came closer on all fours, which should be ridiculous and rife for dog jokes, but it somehow wasn't. "It's not about that, " Derek said, looking pained but very earnest. "Believe me, it's really not a question of not wanting you, but you're seventeen and there are laws in place for a reason."

Stiles snorted. "They're meant to stop teen pregnancies in California, overwhelmingly targeting the poor and disenfranchised, and criminalizing teenage sexuality. Instead of investing in comprehensive sex education they decided to be racist, classist assholes. I wrote a paper on it for AP calc once."

Derek grinned. "You would."

"So wanna make out?"

"Always."

Stiles surged forward, kissing Derek hard. He pulled back just enough to lean their foreheads together. "There are a lot of things we can do without breaking the law."

"Stiles, I-" Derek almost choked on whatever emotion had him gripped tight. "I don't want to be Kate. I don't want you to regret this like I did."

Stiles smiled, held his hands out for Derek to hold on and pulled the werewolf up on the bed. "Not possible. Like, at all."

Derek kissed him, all gentle warmth and affection when Stiles pushed him back against the bed. “The things I want to do to you, fucking is just this tiny part of it.” Stiles felt giddy and powerful at the way Derek was pliant underneath him. He placed small kisses from Derek's jaw down to his neck. Derek shivered, fingers twitching where they were buried in Stiles' hair.

“Stiles, please...”

His hand drifted down to Derek's crotch, feeling heated flesh underneath the constricting denim. “What do you want, Derek?”

“Touch me.”

Stiles closed his eyes to the sight of Derek looking desperate and debauched. “Oh my god.” He scrambled to undo the buttons and free Derek's cock. “God, you're so fucking hard.” Stiles wrapped his hand around the length of it and gave it a few experimental pulls, making Derek moan. “You could come like this, couldn't you? Just my hand making you feel so damn good.”

Derek bucked up, precome dripping from his cock. Just that was enough to get Stiles close to the edge, watching Derek fall apart – because of him. “Come for me,” Stiles whispered into Derek's ear, giving the lobe a tiny lick. “Come for me.”

Derek spilled all over his hand and Stiles grinned. “Good boy.”


41.
Warnings: Dom/sub, face fucking, facial
Pairing: Derek/Stiles

Laura drops a thin file on his desk. "For you."

"No," Derek says, not even bothering to glance up.

"I can't do it, I'm already overbooked."

"Cora, then."

"Nope. He's a total greenie, and Cora's only been training a year."

"Erica –"

"On her honeymoon with Boyd."

"Peter."

"Doesn't want anyone over the age of thirty-five. Or creepy."

Derek rolls his eyes. "I'm not doing it, Laura. I don't take clients anymore."

Laura reaches over to open the file. "Stiles Stilinski, age nineteen."

Derek stares at the picture in the file, blinking at the kid's bright eyes and smug smirk.

"Fine," Derek snaps, slamming the file closed and shoving it back across the desk. "Set up an interview."

*

Derek stares at the kid sitting in the armchair across from him. The picture hadn't done him justice; he's gorgeous, with a scattering of moles, hair perfect for holding, and a pair of lips Derek wants to ruin with his dick.

"So, Stiles," Derek says, scanning the pre-interview survey about preferences. "Have you ever done anything like this before?"

Stiles nods his head, nearly vibrating with nerves. "Yeah, I mean – just a little? Figured I'd see how much I really liked it."

Derek feels a flutter of excitement in his stomach like he hasn't in a long, long time. "Okay. I think we'll do a trial run. One time, and then – if we're both happy and want to continue – we'll negotiate a contract. Sound good?"

"Yeah." Stiles flicks his tongue out over his bottom lip and nods. "Sounds perfect."

*

When Derek enters his personal room at the club, Stiles is already there. He's naked and kneeling on the floor, staring up at Derek with wide eyes. Derek makes a noise of approval but doesn't comment otherwise.

"We're starting small. I'm going to fuck your face."

Stiles' eyes go dark and his dick begins to fill against his thigh. He nods, glancing between Derek's already hard dick and his eyes. Derek smirks and steps forward, using his thumb to press down on Stiles' bottom lip. His mouth opens so prettily, and Derek has to bite back a groan as he slowly threads his dick into Stiles' mouth. It's hot and wet, the bottom of Derek's dick sliding deliciously over Stiles' tongue.

Derek keeps one thumb hooked in Stiles' mouth and brings his other hand up to bury in Stiles' hair. He tightens his grip and Stiles whimpers. Derek goes slow, rocking almost gently, holding him in place as his rhythm gradually increases.

When Stiles' eyes go bright and glassy Derek pulls out, ignoring the resulting whine from Stiles. He hooks the fingers of his free hand under Stiles' chin and pulls his head back so that Stiles is looking him in the eye.

"Do you want to continue?"

"Please yes," Stiles breathes, and Derek's dick twitches.

"I'm going to go harder this time, and not stop until I come."

Stiles nods, opening his mouth again when Derek presses the tip of his dick to his soft lips.

This time, Derek only holds back a little. He grips Stiles' hair and fucks into his mouth, hips hitching and rolling as his dick slides into the glorious, wet heat over and over. Stiles doesn't struggle, lets Derek use his mouth, his lips quickly becoming red and swollen and spit sliding down his chin.

Derek pushes in deep and holds himself there. Stiles chokes a little, eyes watering and spilling over as he fights for breath without moving, nose nearly buried in the hair at the base of Derek's dick. Derek groans at the sensation of Stiles' throat fluttering around the head of his dick, and yanks himself out, not bothering to stop his orgasm.

Stiles' mouth is open as he automatically draws in a stuttering breath, and Derek comes all over his face. A thick splash of it lands across the bridge of Stiles' nose, some in his mouth, and more on his cheeks and forehead.

"Oh, god," Stiles gasps, entire body tensing as his eyes roll back. Derek looks down to see him coming, dick twitching without a single touch to it, spurts of hot, white liquid trailing down to cover his balls.

Derek loosens his grip on Stiles' hair and cards his fingers through it, smiling slightly when Stiles leans forward and rests his temple on Derek's thigh. He's already planning what he wants to do to him next time.


42.
Warnings: None
Pairing: Stiles/Lydia

Penetration is fun. Being fucked is fun. Fucking is fun. But shit, son, imagine if that was the only thing you ever did in bed? He would be bored.

She kisses down his body, red hair tickling across his chest. When she hits the start of his pubes she scrunches up her nose and nuzzles in. His dick is only half hard, still flat against him.

"Do you trust me?" She asks, running her nails down his chest. She's not gentle, scratches a nipple making his dick twitch in anticipation.

"Of course," he answers, because this is his queen, this is his everything, he always trusted her, even when he shouldn't, even when she barely know he existed.

He was lucky, he's not an idiot, that she grew, he grew, and they grew into something. That's not a euphemism, it's just--them, a moment like this.

She shimmies up him, more graceful than it should be, less graceful than she normally is. Her stomach passes by his face and he takes the opportunity to kiss and lick, drag his lips over the pale white skin of her stomach. I love you I love you I love you, he says, with every kiss.

Her legs are soft and warm near his shoulders, mattress dipping with her weight, pulling his head a little back.

"Do you want a pillow?"

"Yes. Please."

It's cool on his neck, he loves the cold side of the pillow, and it lifts him up enough that he's ready.

He can smell her cunt, can see glistening lips just above his face. It's his, he gets to do this, no one else, not ever again.

Unless they both want it.

She cards her hands through his hair, messing it up as she sinks down onto his face. She's not sitting on him, not really, not yet, but her cunt is right there. She's so neat, she's always so neat, and as he noses along her lips there's nothing but the barest hint of hair brushing against him.

Just enough to give the good kind of friction.

As she spreads her knees a little further her lips part and everything is her. He closes his eyes, concentrates on his task. Every breath he tries to draw comes through her, dragged through her slick cunt.

He licks and sucks, fucks her with his whole face. She's so hot on him, hot and damp, it's the most intimate kind of kiss, and she's dominating them like she always does.

Her hips lift, the air of the room is cool on his damp face. Damp with her, the smell on every gasping breath he takes in.

She gives him barely a moment before she's grinding down onto his face. He gives it everything he's got, feels her riding his mouth, his nose. The dips and ridges of his face getting her off as surely as his tongue and mouth.

He lifts his hands, blindly searching and she grabs hold of them, uses it as leverage to ride him harder, ride him faster.

He thighs tighten around his face as she comes, hands painfully tugging at his hair. She settles back onto his chest, grins down at him.

"You look the picture of debauchery."

He grins back up at her, his dick's hard, but he can wait.

Afterwards, when her breath has settled he rolls them over, she parts her legs and he slots so easily between them. His dick is straining as he thrusts up between her puffy cunt. He did that, the dripping, hot place that he gets to fuck into.

Her lips slide along his dick, she squirms as his dick hits her oversensitive clit, soft now, fucked out. He loves the sight of his dick peeking out of her slit, loves her squirms as he thrusts harder, faster, catches all the sensitive bits of her cunt.

If he was inside he wouldn't get to do this, wouldn't get to see her squirm like he does when she hits his prostate too soon after he's come.

He can kiss her like this now, her mouth tastes like her now, too. Her cunt, his dick, their mouths, all the same, the specific taste of them, of sex, of being adults, of living their lives.

Fuck normality.

When he comes he stutterfucks her cunt, jizz splattering her stomach. She's hard again, clit pressing against his dick, just waiting.

The night's not over, it's only just begun.


43.
Warnings: infidelity
Pairing: Cora/Lydia, background Lydia/Jackson

Lydia had always disliked Cora. They've run in the same circle for years, ever since Stiles and Derek got together, but between them it's always been sharp barbs and subtle insults. Cora was just too sure of herself, too clever, too condescending - everything Lydia herself worked to be. Around Cora, Lydia felt fake, plastic - like her carefully constructed persona was completely transparent to Cora's luminous brown eyes.

"Babe, what do you want to drink?" Jackson asked her, sliding out of the booth.

"Dirty martini, Tanqueray," she answered, without looking at him.

"Nice lap dog you've got," Cora commented. "Is he always that obedient?"

"Jackson knows better than to bite the hand that feeds him," Stiles said, snickering.

"Oh, do you reward him with treats when he follows you back home?" Cora asked, all faux-innocence. "That doesn't sound like much fun for you."

"I have fun," Lydia threw back, and as she said it she knew how pathetic it sounded.

"Uh huh," Cora said, eyebrow raised.

"Whatever," Lydia muttered, and left for the bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror, leaning on the counter, and stared at herself - what was it about Cora that brought out the worst in her?

The door opened.

"It's occupied," Lydia said, before she whirled around saw who it was. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Jackson can't handle you, sweetheart," Cora said, moving forward so that Lydia had to push herself back against the counter.

Lydia never had trouble saying no - said it often to Jackson, in fact - no trouble pushing people away, establishing dominance over a situation. But something about Cora made her feel trapped and vulnerable, like Cora knew a secret about her.

So she just looked into Cora's predatory eyes as Cora pressed their bodies together against the counter. Didn't say anything when Cora's surprisingly strong arms hoisted her up onto the ledge, or when Cora ran her hand up Lydia's bare thigh. Her heart was beating fast and she felt dizzy from the drinks and the adrenaline, but there was no mistaking the fire of arousal spreading up from Cora's fingertips.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Lydia repeated, but weakly, less a demand and more a genuine question.

"What I want to do," Cora said as her hand went up Lydia's skirt, brushing a touch over Lydia's panties, so light and teasing. "What I always want to do with you. What are you doing, Lydia?"

"I... don't know," she breathed out, and Cora leaned forward, running her lips and tongue softly down Lydia's neck, her hand resting just a layer of cotton away from where Lydia wanted her - yes, wanted her. "Maybe what I want to do."

She was rewarded by a bite on her neck and a firm press on her cunt, enough to make her gasp.

"Yeah, I like that noise," Cora said, pulling back just enough to hook her fingers on the edges of Lydia's underwear and pull them off.

Then Cora crouched down and - Lydia was in a dirty bar bathroom, her friends were outside, she was perched precariously on a sink counter with a girl she hated (or, thought she hated), but none of that mattered, not when Cora was taking her time running her fingers up and down, back and forth across her clit, fingers from both hands, maybe, as she held Lydia open. Not when she leaned in and added her tongue, wet and so so warm against her, undulating gently in contrast to the more firm pressure she kept up with her finger.

She couldn't help it, she was so close already, so she leaned down and grabbed Cora's hair - maybe to pull her away, maybe just needing to hang on to something - but Cora just laughed softly and redoubled her efforts.

She cried out, too loud, as she came and came - Cora didn't stop, and it felt like her orgasm wasn't stopping and she felt suspended in this moment in time forever.

Then Cora was fixing her hair in the mirror behind Lydia, looking remarkably composed, and reality came rushing back in.

"Don't you want..." Lydia trailed off.

Cora's smile was genuine now, not sharp or fake. She leaned in to kiss Lydia and it was surprisingly sweet and gentle, even as she tasted like Lydia still.

"Give me a call when you're ready for something real, sweetheart," she said, and the door swung closed after her, leaving Lydia alone.


44.
Warnings: none
Pairing: Derek/Stiles

Stiles sheds it all, walking up the stairs: the stress of finals, the exhaustion of a long drive. With each step closer to Derek's apartment, the muscles in Stiles' shoulders ease and his smile grows. Anticipation helps him skip up the last flight of stairs and he all but bursts through the door, arms spread wide, only to find—

—Derek asleep in his cozy chair. Stiles' good mood falters.

"I know I'm later than we planned," he mutters, easing out of his hoodie, toeing off his shoes, "but what happened to your superior werewolf senses? Shouldn't you have heard me from two miles away?"

Derek doesn't budge.

Stiles skins out of his jeans and tiptoes closer. "Or you could be faking it in the hopes I'll ravish you to wake you up. Which is a plan I'm okay with." He comes to a stop next to Derek's stretched-out legs and inches one foot over them. Derek remains unfazed, even as Stiles shuffles forward and drops to his knees, straddling Derek's lap. Derek has his arms crossed over his chest and his eyebrows furrowed, but his hair's kind of flat on one side and there's a drying trail of drool at the corner of his mouth which makes him more adorable than threatening. Stiles is gentle, peeling away one of Derek's hands, enough for Stiles to lean in close and bump his nose into Derek's cheek.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty." He's close enough for his lips to brush over Derek's beard. Derek stirs, and Stiles uses it to lean in further, to rub his cheek against Derek's. Underneath him, Stiles feels Derek's cock begin to chub up.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you, do you?" Stiles says it directly into Derek's ear, his hands skimming down a broad chest, searching for smooth skin. There's a zing when he finally gets there, fingertips skating over soft abs and softer hair. They push on, lifting Derek's henley with them, and there's a delightful hitch to his breath as Stiles tweaks one nipple, then the other. After Stiles gets Derek's shirt off, there's a hint of a smile on his lips and Stiles has to kiss it.

By now, Derek is hard, and Stiles sits up on his knees to give himself enough room to get Derek's dick out. It's just like Stiles remembers it: velvety warm with a rosy pink tip. It's not leaking yet, but soon. Stiles brushes over the head anyway, drags his thumb around the inside of the foreskin then gives Derek a few slow pumps.

"I knew it would be hard," Stiles says, torn between watching Derek's cock and his face, "being away from everybody I care about. But it didn't really hit me until it happened. I wanted so badly to come back for my dad and Scott and you, but I was having fun, too, which made me feel like a traitor."

Stiles quickens the rhythm of his hand, and is rewarded with a blurt of precome and a grunt from Derek, his hands falling to Stiles' thighs.

"Just makes this a little sweeter, though, doesn't it?" Stiles is hard now, too, and his hips rock in time with his hand. The chair is big, but with the way Derek's slouched in it, Stiles is in a precarious position on the edge. He props one hand on Derek's chest for balance, which gives him the perfect excuse to toy with Derek's nipple and get his head in the game.

"C'mon," Stiles murmurs. "I need to see you come." That gets Derek grunting, hips hitching into Stiles' grip in slow waves that Stiles matches with his own body. With his legs bare, Stiles can feel the body heat through Derek's pajamas and he leans over, hand tightening around Derek's dick on each upstroke, to latch on to Derek's neck. Sharp teeth are what tumble Derek into orgasm, his hands clamping down on Stiles' hips. Stiles rides it out with his mouth open, until Derek's breath rushes over his ear and he lets Stiles go.

"Good job, baby," Stiles says between licks; his hand is a mess, but Stiles is not one to waste an opportunity.

Derek grumbles and tugs Stiles in for a proper kiss. "Don't call me baby," he mutters into Stiles' mouth.

"I wasn't talking to you," Stiles says.

"Then who—" Derek stutters and his eyes narrow. "Were you talking to my dick that whole time?"

It's an effort not to laugh.


45.
Warnings: non-con
Pairing: Nogitsune!Stiles/Melissa McCall

"Good decision, Melissa," Stiles says, when she slides her panties off.

No, it's not Stiles. It's not. It's not him pushing her knees apart, just like it's not him tilting his head to one side as if contemplating a tricky problem.

Or a menu.

His tongue slides across his lower lip, and she closes her eyes.

"Oh no, I don't think so." A nail scratches lightly down her inner thigh, and she shivers. "Open your eyes."

He's watching when she does. Of course. She keeps her eyes fixed on the top of Stiles's untidy head as his face dips between her thighs. His nose rubs through the soft hair, tickling, then putting pressure in just the right place. His tongue follows it up, teasing her clit, flicking back and forth while his thumbs part her lips.

The thought of Stiles seeing her like this is-- it's more than she can stand.

"Wet already," he says then, amused, and Melissa feels her cheeks flush.

"He knows how much you like having your pussy licked," he says. "You should watch your conversations when he's around, he's an experienced eavesdropper."

Melissa can't even remember that conversation, but there are times at work when they let off a bit of steam, and the talk gets a bit racier than usual. It could have been any time, he's often at the hospital with Scott, and--

"He didn't even understand what it meant then, but he remembered it."

And oh god, it was when Stiles was that young? Melissa blinks a tear away. She won't give him the satisfaction. She won't.

Stiles's tongue laps greedily at her cunt, warm and slick.

"You have no idea how many times he's jerked off thinking about doing this."

It shouldn't make any difference, make it any worse, because Melissa was already wondering how she'd ever be able to look Stiles in the eye again. But somehow it does. And the thought of it, of Stiles frantically thrusting into his own hand thinking of this, sends a jolt of pleasure through her that she's not proud of.

"His fantasies are going to be a lot more realistic after this!" It's Stiles's laugh that brings her back to the truth of the situation, that compounds her humiliation. How can he laugh just like Stiles? It's more than the voice, it's the attitude, the-- the something.

No wonder he fooled them all.

"He's going to know how delicious you taste." Stiles's lips suck on hers, on her clit, seal themselves over her cunt and drink her in as if he can't get enough, and she can't help it, her breath catches and her hips thrust towards his mouth even as he keeps talking. "How you moan when you come, because you're going to come, aren't you, Melissa? You're going to come with his face buried in your wet little pussy, you're going to make him all sticky with you, smear your juices all over his chin, his nose, so he'll have the scent of you on him when I let him back in."

And she does, is the thing. She arches her back and she comes, just like he says.

"Or maybe," he says, smirking and rubbing the damp smears on his face deeper into his skin, "I'll go and see Scott first."

Melissa sits up as her heart thuds painfully in her chest. "You said you'd leave him alone. You said if I-- you said you wouldn't--"

"Oh, Melissa." He shakes his head sadly. "I said I wouldn't kill Scott. I didn't say I wouldn't take the opportunity to cause a little more strife."

"Chaos, strife and pain," she says, her voice bitter. "That's all it's about for you, isn't it?"

"Those are what you might call the main courses." Stiles's fingers pinch at her tender clit, less gentle now. "But embarrassment, shame and humiliation make pretty good starters."

"You--" But she stops when his hand reaches up, squeezes one of her breasts through her thin shirt.

"Stiles has a lot of different fantasies about you, Melissa," he says. "Why don't I tell you about a few more?"


46.
Warnings: None
Pairing: Sterek

“You’re still driving home this weekend, right? Because the library’s carnival fundraiser is on Saturday and Parrish and Hale got roped into volunteering. They’re both dreading it. Councilwoman Kelley - you remember her, right? the scary octogenarian who “runs” city hall? - gave them a lecture about children’s literacy rates in cities without libraries and how young strapping men like them would surely be a big draw. I want to go just to see if they manage to get themselves out of it. And to take pictures.” His did chuckles. “I haven’t seen a kissing booth since college.”

“Wait. Back up. Did you just say Derek Hale got emotionally manipulated into working a kissing booth?”

“Yeah, she had them both signed up and committed before either were able to get a word in edgewise.”

“Hmmm...”
~~~

The carnival is crowded, but the kissing booth is easy to spot because of the gaggle of girls surrounding it. Stiles had no clue Beacon Hills was home to so many young girls and wonders where they all were while he was in high school. Ignoring him, probably. His dad is already taking pictures with his camera phone and chuckling. Stiles is certain the pictures will be tacked up to the office board before the day is over.

Stiles pats the money in his pocket. “I’ll be right back.” He takes a fortifying breath.

“Where are you going?”

“To support my local library, dad.” He gives him a salut as he gets in Derek’s line, turning to avoid the incredulous expression he’s sure is on his dad’s face.

Derek spots him right away and gives a quick, confused raise of his eyebrows before turning his attention back to the girl at the front of the line, which is moving at a decent pace.

When Stiles reaches the front he pulls out his wad of bills, now sweaty and crumpled, and places them in front of Derek. He can feel his cheeks burning and grins through the embarrassment. “What’ll $50 get me?”

Derek looks at him in surprise and Stiles hopes the tinge of pink on his ears is from too much sun. “Uh...”

“Make it good, big guy.”

Stiles hears some of the girls giggle and coo as he leans over the counter and nuzzles Derek’s jaw, but he ignores them and savors the slow drag of whiskers that tickle his cheek. Derek’s pulse races beneath his lips and Stiles feels his own heart answering its quickness. He grins when he feels Derek’s palm grip the back of his neck, giving in to the moment and keeping him close.

Everyone can see them and he doesn’t care, because he’s the one who feels Derek shiver against him, the one who can smell his pretentious, too-expensive shaving gel. It’s familiar, intoxicating, and Stiles has been addicted for years.

He kisses the jut of Derek’s jaw and then moves to face him head on. Derek looks gorgeous like this: backlit by the sun and focused solely on him. The edge of the counter cuts into his stomach when finally leans forward and presses a slow kiss onto parted lips. He breathes in Derek’s exhale and closes his eyes, falling into the kiss. He slides his fingers into the inky thick of Derek’s hair and takes the quiet groan that slips from his mouth when Stiles nips his lower lip.

Derek’s hands cradle his face and the brush of thumbs against his cheekbone feels rough juxtaposed with the wet silk of Derek’s lips. He forgets where they are, forgets everything under the scrape of Derek’s teeth along his lip and his perfect, perfect kiss. He clutches at Derek’s biceps, wishing the counter weren’t between them, because he’s wanted to kiss Derek for ages. He wants to kiss Derek forever.

A pointed cough breaks them apart and Parrish is looking both uncomfortable and amused. Stiles shrugs at him, unconcerned, because he’s just had the best kiss of his entire life and he’s high on the hope that it’s the first of many.

Derek scratches the back of his head and has trouble making eye contact, which is okay, because Stiles is certain he’ll climb through his window tonight. He clears his throat and finally meets Stiles’ eyes. “Thanks for supporting the local library.”

“Anytime, buddy.”

He goes to find his dad, who is actually only a few feet away and looking a little green. Awkward, but still worth it.

“Kid, I don’t want to know.”


47.
Warnings: sexual dysfunction
Pairing: Derek/Stiles

“How long?” Stiles asks.

There’s no judgment in his voice, but Derek’s flaccid cock is condemnation enough. “Since Jennifer.”

Mercifully, Stiles doesn’t voice exactly how many years that’s been, but he does ask, “Never, or…?”

“Only when I’m by myself,” Derek says, wanting to crawl under the covers and die. “Sometimes not even then.”

“It’s not—”

“I should get going,” Derek says, rolling up to his feet in one quick movement.

*

“Why did you run away last night?”

Derek is immediately hit by a wave of guilt. Stiles had been so hard, leaking over Derek’s hand, and Derek didn’t even have the decency to try to get him off. “I’m sorry,” Derek blurts.

“You’re—” Stiles cuts himself off. “We need to talk about this in person. And before you freak out, I’m not breaking up with you.”

*

“Please don’t apologize again,” Stiles says, handing Derek a mug of tea. “If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me. I took things too fast.”

“Stiles, I ripped the fly of your jeans.”

Stiles goes pink, heartbeat kicking up a notch. “We didn’t talk about anything. I just moved back into town and we… I forget, sometimes. Everything you’ve been through.”

“I guess I should have told you. But I was hoping, maybe with you…”

Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t think this is about me. You seemed pretty… invested.”

“I was. I am.”

“Okay. Then we’ll figure it out.”

*

It’s not like Derek can’t get hard at all. Everything Stiles does feels good, Derek just never gets close to coming. Surprisingly, Stiles doesn’t expect Derek to talk everything to death. He takes a more hands-on approach.

“Ffffffuck, you feel good,” Stiles groans as he rubs his whole body against Derek’s. But every time Derek reaches for Stiles’ cock, he presses Derek’s wrists down to the bed.

Stiles’ hands go everywhere, fingers dipping into the groove of his spine, teasing over the shells of his ears. When he rubs roughly over Derek’s nipples, Derek feels his cock start to swell. Stiles has to feel it, too, but he pays no attention.

Derek’s hard-on ebbs and swells again, then again, but Stiles continues to ignore it, and Derek’s busy kneading Stiles’ perfect ass. Finally, when Stiles’ arms are shaking, Derek yanks Stiles down, rocking against him until Stiles is rutting into the crease of Derek’s hip. When Stiles comes, he moans like he’s dying.

*

Derek comes so close, particularly when Stiles spreads him open and flicks his tongue over Derek’s hole. This time, Stiles licks in and twists, and Derek suddenly realizes that he’s achingly hard.

He scrambles up and fumbles for the lube, but he’s already starting to soften by the time he gets it open. Stiles still sucks Derek’s wilting cock as long as Derek will let him, but before long Derek pushes him away and turns over to curl up facing the wall.

Stiles doesn’t say a word, just presses a kiss between Derek’s shoulder blades.

*

Derek likes it best when they’re fully clothed but wrapped around each other like horny teenagers on the couch. It’s easiest to get hard like this, with just enough friction to make his nerves sizzle. But when Stiles reaches a hand down between them to palm at Derek’s erection, Derek freezes. Stiles just pulls back with a grin. “I have an idea.”

Derek tries to avoid getting his hopes up, because he’s sick of feeling disappointed while Stiles has his hands all over him. Except after Stiles draws Derek’s cock out, he takes Derek’s hand and brings it between their bodies. “You just… do whatever feels good.”

He swoops back in and claims Derek’s mouth with a hard kiss. Derek’s hips surge up and he’s too busy trying to keep up with Stiles to focus on what his hand’s doing. Stiles is like quicksilver, sucking on Derek’s tongue one second and biting at his jawline the next. Derek doesn’t even notice the way his own hand speeds up or the low burn starting to build in his gut.

Not until Stiles groans right up against Derek’s neck and all of a sudden the tension breaks and he’s coming, oh fuck, he’s coming, and Stiles’ hand wraps around Derek’s to feel the way he wrings out each precious spasm of pleasure. It lasts forever, like his body’s been storing it up all this time, and he’s gasping, skin breaking out into goosebumps.

Stiles’ arms tighten around him. “Perfect,” he whispers.


48.
Warnings:
Pairing:Scott/Isaac

Isaac’s mind reels at the bombshell Melissa has just laid on him. She wants to formally adopt him. Honestly, it should be an amazing day. But his feelings for Scott get in the way. He knows that just because Melissa adopts him doesn’t make Scott and him brothers, but he still feels weird.

Isaac wants to get his feelings out in the open, so he can move past them - hopefully.

He waited until Melissa left for her shift before he stood up to go and have the most awkward conversation of his life. But he’s too nervous and stops.

He starts to turn around when he hears a long, breathy moan come from the room.

It’s not the first time Isaac has heard Scott masturbating. Usually, he tries to respect Scott’s privacy and listens to his iPod or goes out for a run. But he couldn’t make himself ignore it now. This would be the last time he could let him thing about Scott this way. It would probably be the last time he could indulge his fantasies.

He gets closer and presses his ear to the door. Now he could hear the unmistakable sound of skin on skin. He could just imagine Scott slowly stroking his cock. Isaac’s palms were already starting to sweat and,God, he wanted in that room. He had to go now before he did something he would regret.

But before he could even take one step away, his world changed instantly.

“Isaac.” Scott called out huskily.

Isaac felt his knees buckle and had to grip the door handle to keep from falling. He held on to it tightly. Was Scott thinking of him?

“Isaac, please…”

Isaac’s breathing is shallow as he crack the door open and takes a peak. He almost blacks out.

Scott’s legs are spread open. One hands twists in the sheets. He works the head of his cock and thumbs the slit.

Scott gasps. Isaac bites his lip so hard he draws blood.

“Oh, God, Isaac I want...I want your cock…”

Isaac can’t think of anything other than Scott on that bed as he walks into the room and hastily begins to undress. The boy of his dreams - quite literally - wants him. His alpha - his strong, brave, amazing alpha - is lying on that bed whimpering, begging, pleading for him. Isaac hasn’t felt such a feeling of strength and confidence since he was first turned.

As his pants hit the ground, Scott is finally drawn free from his pre-orgasmic fugue and stills his hand. He looks up and his eyes widen, but Isaac doesn’t stop walking towards him.

Scott’s cheeks are an alarming shade of red and he sits up and tries to draw the sheets around him. “Oh, God Isaac this is so embarrassing. I’m so...I know what this looks like, but-”

Isaac sits on the edge of the bed and cuts Scott off with one look.

Scott bites his lip and looks down briefly. “Isaac…”

Isaac leans over and steals Scott’s breath with a kiss. Isaac devours Scott’s mouth. Scott stiffens briefly, but soon gives himself over to the power of Isaac’s embrace. He buries his hands in Isaac’s hair.

Isaac swallows Scott’s whimpers as he licks into Scott’s mouth. Scott tries to brush his tongue against his, but Isaac dominates the kiss and leaves no doubt to who is control right now as he hovers over Scott.

Isaac finally breaks the kiss and stares into Scott’s eyes. “Lay back.” He whispers against Scott’s mouth.

Scott nods and does what he’s told.

Isaac maps every plane of Scott’s body with his hands first, before slowly lowering himself and kissing every inch of Scott’s exposed skin. By the time, he reaches Scott’s cock, it’s leaking pre-cum and he knows Scott’s close. He looks up. “What do you want?”

Scott looks embarrassed briefly. “L...lick my hole.”

Isaac smiles as he moves Scott’s legs back and buries his face in Scott’s ass. He licks a long stripe up before he quickly sets about driving his tongue into Scott over and over. It’s not long before Scott is coming.

Isaac barely has to touch his cock before he comes as well.

They’re both breathing heavily.

Scott grins up at Isaac. “I don’t think brothers do that.”

Isaac grinned. “We are definitely not brothers.”


49.
Warnings:
Pairing: Chris Argent/Peter Hale

He doesn’t remember exactly when it started; first it was the slight shifting in his seat as they talked, then it was licking his lips and closing his eyes, then it was pressing his heel against his swelling erection, then it was cold showers as he desperately hung up the phone, and finally it climaxed with him accidentally sighing Peter’s name while sliding the zipper of his jeans down.

And that’s how it started. Exactly. The sliding of his zipper and Peter Hale stopping mid sentence on the phone, then saying, “You know, werewolf hearing picks things up even over the phone.”

He froze, eyes widening and his heart thumping painfully in his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Christopher,” Peter said and Chris could hear the grin on the other end of the phone as he stretched his name out, he could hear the smugness and God help him he tightened his hand around the base of his cock as Peter chuckled.

“Peter, just,” he breathed and started to pull his hand away then stopped when Peter began talking over him.

“You should finish, Argent. Listening to me, imagining me there. Is that what you do when we hang up?” Chris closed his eyes, raised his hips and slid his jeans over his hips. “Is that why you call me, every Thursday? Is that why I can hear your pulse jackrabbiting across the phone, why I can hear the rustle of denim sliding over your thighs?”

“Shut up, Hale,” he replied, after too long of a pause. He swallowed the breathe that wanted to escape, then wrapped his hand back around his cock.

“Tell me, Chris,” Peter’s voice dropped to a seductive curl, a whisper that made Chris’s legs fall farther apart. “Next time, tell me and I’ll come and watch. I’ll watch you pull that ugly blue shirt off.”

“Black,” Chris swallowed, then slowly unbuttoned the shirt he’d been wearing, slid it off his shoulders and let it fall on the floor behind him. “And then what would you do?”

“Depends,” and how had Peter’s voice gotten even deeper? “Is your shirt off, Argent?”

“Yeah,” he whispered and shut his eyes, shame and arousal mixing together.

“Good boy.” And he’ll go to the grave before he admits to the shiver that those two words caused him. “Now I want you to slide two fingers in your mouth, moan for me, Chris. Slide your tongue between them. So good.

“Can you imagine if I was there? If I was standing in front of you? What would you do, Chris? Would you open your mouth as fast if it was my cock instead of your fingers? Would you moan like that for me?”

He bit down on his fingers, then moaned as he got harder. Because he would. Right now, he’d slide to the floor and happily wrap his mouth around Peter Hale. He’d latch onto his thighs, dig his nails into Hale’s ass; he’d lick slowly from base to tip then swallow him whole until he was gagging for breath.

“I bet you would. I bet you’d be a good little hunter for the big bad wolf,” Peter chuckled, “I bet you’d let wrap my hand around the back of your head, his my fingers in your hair, and fuck into that tight mouth of yours. I bet you’re harder now than you were when we started.”

“Peter,” Chris growled, his hand already jacking his cock in tight, slow motions.

“Ah,” Peter grinned, “Already getting yourself ready? I can hear it, Chris. I can hear your hand pumping that cock, I can hear the slide of skin against skin. You can’t stop yourself from wrapping that fist around yourself? But you’re not going to come yet, are you?”

Chris spread his legs, let his head fall back as he slowed down, closed his eyes, “And why is that?”

“Because I’m at your front door,” Peter whispered and Chris heard the door open. “And I want to watch as you come.” He heard Peter slowly, slow fucking slowly, climb the stairs and he slowed his stroke to the beat of Peter’s feet. “I want to watch you spread yourself out and slid a finger into that ass, as you fuck yourself like you want me to fuck you.”

The door to the study opened and Peter closed it behind him, his eyes flashing red before he stepped forward. “But I will, Christopher.”


50.
Warnings:None
Pairing:Derek/Stiles

“This,” Derek panted, pressed naked and wanting against the cold stone of his loft’s wall, “might be my favorite of your magical exercises.”

Stiles made a noise of agreement, but Derek couldn’t quite bring himself to open his eyes to look at the undoubtably smug expression on Stiles’ face. There was too much happening with Derek’s body, and that’s all the focus he could spare for now.

“Which one of these do you like the best?” Stiles asked, voice low and dripping with power and arousal. “Which ribbon?”

Derek moaned and shuddered at the feel of silk running over his skin. Stiles was about three feet away, not quite touching him, but letting the ribbon do his work for him. Technically, it was an exercise in focus and moving multiple objects at once, but it hadn’t taken long for it to devolve. Derek had taken one look at the dozens of lengths of ribbon in the air and let his imagination wander. Stiles, observant bastard that he was, had taken it - rather creatively, of course - from there. Now there were too many points of contact to really separate the sensations anymore, but Derek tried.

The twists of red fabric around his wrists were probably the easiest to focus on. They circled slowly but insistently, not quite hurting Derek, but certainly making their mark. The friction was inescapable and delicious, but not his favorite.

A looser but more intense, and more directed, tease of sensation was happening over Derek’s chest. That length of ribbon didn’t spin, but rubbed, peaking Derek’s nipples into sore peaks. It was delicious and ridiculously arousing, but a bit too dry for Derek’s taste.
At one point, there had been a length over his eyes, but Derek had objected to that rather quickly. Blindfolding, as it turns out, was definitely not a favorite. It was perhaps even a squick.

Tightest and most frustrating was the length that wrapped itself around the base of Derek’s cock. As much as he appreciated that ribbon’s function as the thing that kept him from coming without Stiles actually having touched him, it wasn’t exactly pleasant.

Finally, there was a length of silk wrapped around his neck, tight enough to turn his already tortured breath to a mere rasp. It left him lightheaded and more hard than he could ever remember being, and Derek didn’t want it to stop anytime soon.

“Around my throat,” Derek gasped out, opening his eyes to see Stiles’ reaction.

It was worth the effort.

Stiles’ eyes lit up and his mouth quirked into a pleased, hungry grin. “I agree,” he said darkly. “I think it’s my favorite, too.” The ribbon tightened fractionally, and Derek cried out, biking his hips as adrenaline and lust coursed through him.

Please,” Derek whispered as loud as the ribbon would let him. He tried to pull himself away from the wall to get at Stiles, to beg for touch and release, but Stiles’ magic held him fast.
a
Fortunately, however, Stiles didn’t seem interested in torturing him. Derek slammed his eyes shut as the ribbon around his cock loosened and starting rubbing in all right ways. It wasn’t as good as as Stiles’ hand, but it was perfectly matched to the other touches ravishing Derek’s body.

“Come on, Derek,” Stiles commanded, tightening all the ribbons at the same time. “Time for you to ruin my silk.”

With a cry and a momentary but total lapse in awareness cause by pure pleasure, Derek did.

Chapter Text

51.
Warnings: underage, first time, slight wolfing out
Pairing: Isaac/Boyd

“Who was that?”

Isaac lost interest in the answer to his own question when he felt the usually restrained young werewolf shudder under his hands.

“Message from Derek,” Boyd said. “He wants us for training.”

He’d chucked his phone onto the pile of their shirts and leather jackets which laid next to the couch. Boyd had the apartment for himself because his parents had moved to Ohio three years ago and never visited. Isaac hadn’t asked him why because Boyd didn’t make him talk about his nights in the freezer, either, and they were just fine like that for now.

“Right, let’s ignore him. I mean, he’s only going to kill us,” Isaac muttered, leaning in.

They were probably both terrible kissers, but neither of them had anything to compare to and Isaac, for his part, liked this. He also liked Boyd bucking against his thigh because Isaac was rock-hard in his pants and it’d be kind of embarrassing to finish before his was-he-his-boyfriend-now even started.

Making out was great, but one-handedly opening the button of Boyd’s jeans wasn’t so easy when he was concentrating on the taste of Boyd’s mouth. Of course, Boyd had it under control as usual and Isaac was in equal parts jealous and thankful as he easily undid Isaac’s belt and slid his fingers down the front of his trousers, taking him in hand and...

“Ngh,” Isaac mumbled. That felt lots better than doing it himself.

Isaac ran his lips down Boyd’s throat and redoubled his efforts even as he started moving against Boyd’s palm. However, the button only gave when he heard a ripping noise. Both Boyd and Isaac glanced down.

“Sorry,” Isaac said with a lopsided smile, dropping the button he’d pulled off on the ground.

Boyd just raised an eyebrow and yanked Isaac back down. The phone beeped again, unheard.

Isaac soon found his fingers slick with Boyd’s precum and his head swimming as Boyd was giving him firm, measured strokes that had Isaac eagerly thrusting into his hand. He barely registered the prick of too-long teeth on his shoulder when Boyd bit him – but Boyd’s yelp was harder to miss.

When Isaac looked up, alarmed, Boyd’s eyes were molten gold. “Watch your claws!” He said, voice half growl. Isaac quickly let go and so did Boyd, since his nails were looking rather sharp, too. The lanky werewolf caught his breath, glancing at the other beta. Healing factor or not, that would have hurt. This werewolf thing was turning out not to be that great a deal on many levels.

“What now?”

“We need to calm down.”

“I don’t have a lot of experience,” Isaac said slowly, “but I’m pretty sure that’s not the point of this.”

Boyd opened his mouth and closed it again with a reluctant nod. Isaac considered leaning down between Boyd’s legs. However, fangs and claws were equally unattractive near a cock.

He was still thinking when Boyd wrapped one arm around him, pulling him close.

“We have to... line up,” he said, stumbling over the phrasing.

Isaac understood, though, and quickly did, almost slipping off the couch cushions with his knee while he did so.

Carefully, fingertips pointing away, Boyd’s hand made a half circle around their cocks, holding them together. Isaac didn’t need instructions after that. Since he was on top, moving was easier for him. A snarl escaped him as he felt the damp friction and Boyd bared his sharp teeth as if in response, hips twitching upward.

Boyd came first with a huff and a rumble deep down in his chest. He kept holding them, his fingers wet, and Isaac knew he wouldn’t need much longer. As he felt the tension in his middle, there was another pressure building and when he spent himself, Isaac threw back his head and howled.

Boyd stared at him. Isaac was positive he’d never seen him look this amused before.

“Hey, I’m a werewolf, alright?”

“So am I.”

“You aren’t exactly talkative as a human, either,” Isaac argued.

Boyd smiled briefly before he cleaned them up with his discarded shirt and Isaac took the moment to watch him, feeling weirdly warm inside. Aside from some minor werewolf mishaps, they hadn’t done too bad for a first time and anyway, Isaac was happy it had been with Boyd.

The banging on the door broke through the amiable silence like a grenade.

“Boyd!” Derek shouted.

“We are dead,” Boyd noted, stoically resigned.

Isaac shrugged. “Worth it.”


52.
Warnings: Light bdsm
Pairing: Stiles / Lydia

“Good boy,” Lydia whispered, tightening the blindfold over Stiles’ eyes. It wasn’t often they played with power dynamics, and rarer still did Lydia take the lead, but it was Stiles’ thirtieth birthday and their seventh anniversary. Lydia wanted to give him something special. She pressed him back to the bed with one hand firm in the center of his chest.

Stiles twitched on the bed at the sound of her robe falling, body reacting instantly. It was a Pavlovian response, built from decades of want and fortified by knowledge. Stiles moaned low, putting his hands behind his head to resist palming himself through his jeans. When Lydia was in charge, he knew she didn’t like him taking initiative.

“Very good,” Lydia purred. He felt her hand tug open the first button on his jeans before easily pulling the rest apart and spreading the fly open. She stroked her fingertips up the length of him before tugging his hips up and jeans down. “So hard already. You can’t wait, can you?”

Clearing his throat, Stiles tipped his head back, arching his throat. “No,” he said, smile lifting one side of his mouth higher. “Always want you.”

Lydia chuckled and crawled up his body, hair tickling his bare chest. She perched above him, thighs spread across his waist. He could smell the scent of her desire. Her nipples brushed across his lips. Stiles opened his mouth and sucked one in, tugging hard the way she liked. He felt her squirm, pressing closer.

“So good with your mouth, my good boy,” Lydia said, pulling her nipple from his mouth with a moan. “It’s not my nipples I want you to suck, though,” she added, moving up his body again, pressing her knees into the bed over each shoulder and holding her soaking pussy just out of his reach. “If you suck me off well enough, you’ll get another surprise tonight.”

Stiles moaned, hands clenching at the bed. “Fuck, Lydia. Please.”

Lydia chuckled and, suddenly, Stiles was surrounded by her. She rolled her hips gently, before fucking herself down on his face. Stiles lifted his head, tongue out and flicking between the soft, soaking wet folds of her pussy. He moaned, sucking lightly on the outer lips before focusing on her clit. Stiles felt her shudder when he hit the right spot, his tongue sliding, pressing her open before pulling back to flick at her again and again. He waited until she arched her back before lifting his head clear of the bed and sucking her clit into his mouth until he felt her thighs shaking with orgasm. He hummed, causing her to cry out when her orgasm crested and left her panting, braced above him.

Stiles moaned when Lydia levered herself up and off. She tugged at his blindfold and he looked up at her blinking against the light. Stiles beamed, “Do I get my other surprise?”

“Of course, you did so well,” Lydia said, running her finger over his lower lip. “You have to do the work this time, though.” She piled up a couple of pillows and tumbled herself to the bed beside him. “Come fuck my tits, Stiles.”

Stiles jerked at her words, eyes huge when he stared at her breasts. “Fuck, really?” he asked, stripping off his boxer briefs and fighting his urge to stroke himself off.

“Don’t forget the lube,” Lydia replied, cupping her breasts together, scarlet nails a contrast to her pale skin.

Thanking every deity he could think of, Stiles grabbed the lube and straddled Lydia’s hips. She didn’t offer this often and he planned on taking advantage of her generosity. Stiles trickled some lube over her breasts, rubbing it in and slicking her up. He curled his fist briefly around his cock, scooting forward and sliding his dick in the warm tunnel her breasts made.

“God, Lyds,” he moaned. Stiles braced his hands on his thighs and rocked his hips forward, cock coming so close to her mouth. It didn’t take long before he was shaking, orgasm building fast.

“C’mon baby,” Lydia whispered. “One-time offer...come on my face.”

Stiles went rigid while his mind caught up to her words, eyes blowing huge while he stared down at her and obeyed her command. He shot his come all over her throat and face, moaning at the sight she made and the love he felt for her.

“Happy Birthday, Stiles,” Lydia said, tongue flicking out and licking him from her lips with a smile.


53.
Warnings: Age Difference
Pairing: Chris/Stiles

Chris gets clawed by a wendigo in Lonerock. Makes him limp for just inside a month.

Stiles says it makes him look hot, even if it’s likely to get them both killed.

+

They watch a girl die in Wichita. She has brown hair. Stiles grunts, punches him in the shoulder, says, “Suck it the fuck up. You don’t know her. She’s just a dead girl.”

So is Allison. He doesn’t see much difference, all said and done.

+

Stiles never changes his phone number. He keeps it charged, keeps it loud, stares at the word ‘Dad’ most days until it fades to darkness.

Chris doesn’t ask, doesn’t want to accidentally push him home when he doesn’t know how to function without him at his back.

It’s selfish but he’s come to terms with being a lot worse than that.

+

He says it in Reydon. Pushed up behind a barricade and on his last round. Says, “I should’ve taken you away, like Isaac. Should’ve gotten you out of this before it changed you.”

Stiles laughs, hoarse and strangled. “So you would’ve done it after I got possessed and killed a bunch of people? Ship. Fucking. Sailed.” He throws him that roguish look he sometimes does. The one that says he’s about to do something epic and stupid. “Douche,” he punctuates with a grin.

+

They survive. Make a career of it really, surviving where no one else does.

Sometimes they get calls, panicked voices who’ve heard stories. Sometimes they follow the road, Stiles resting his buzzed hair against the window and watching his hand roll through the breeze.

Stiles’ phone an inconsistent soundtrack to their wandering.

+

Chris yanks up Stiles’ shirt in the motel room with a gruff, “Let me see.” Gets mad because it’s easier than the thing making his throat feel tight. It’s deep. Deeper than he thought. Potentially deeper than he can heal. He works his jaw. “I told you, down.”

Stiles chuckles but it’s weak, not enough breath in him to fill it out. “Then it would’ve barreled down on you. This death wish has gotten old. A lot like you, Gramps.”

“It’s not a death wish.”

Stiles shrugs. Chris can see what the movement does to his insides. “Death agenda then.”

+

For twelve days, Chris thinks he’ll die. Stiles’ chest is covered in a splotchy flush and cold sweat. His sleep is restive, his breaths rattling, his consciousness nonexistent.

Chris waits.

+

Stiles wakes up, tells him to, “fucking shower already,” and throws one of the pillows at him.

Chris’ lips twitch. He kicks off the dresser and starts the shower.

He tells himself he isn’t surprised when Stiles clambers in five minutes after him. Tells himself it doesn’t send a thrill up his spine. Tells himself it’s only Stiles who wants it when he bends Chris over, soaps up his crack and gets himself off between the cheeks of his ass.

The feeling of Stiles pressed up against him, of teasing so close to the idea of being fucked, has him coming hard against already sullied tile.

Stiles cleans him up after, letting his fingers caress his crack, press light pressure to his hole before pulling away. Chris has to bite his lip to keep from asking for what he really wants.

+

The car breaks down in Odessa and Chris springs for a bike.

Stiles smirks, bites Chris’ scruff. “This your way of telling me you want me riding bitch?”

+

It takes to the border of Mexico for him to answer. Says, “Stay and I’ll give you whatever you want.” He means to make it poetic, means to give it some subtlety. Instead he vomits his heart up at the feet of a man wholly incapable of dealing with anything so fragile and it doesn’t even feel reckless.

It’s what he wants, spelled out in black and white. Summarized in one word—Stay.

Stiles squints at him, sun orange, heat leaving them both in an impossible sort of stupor. He throws his phone into the Rio Grande and says, “It’s a long list so gird your loins.”

His mouth slides into a smirk. It doesn’t look hardened and mean. It looks old, like he’s trying on something he forgot he owned. It reminds Chris of a boy who ran with wolves, before he got in over his head. They wade across the river. Stiles’ laughter is sharp and bright, voice warm when he snarks, “Keep up, Gramps.”

Chris intends to.


54.
Warnings: -
Pairing: Danny/Ethan

Danny followed Ethan to the showers, quickly ridding himself of the rest of his clothes as Ethan turned the water on and stood under the spray, not hiding the fact that he was staring. Ethan’s cock was already half hard and he stood there lazily stroking it as Danny made his way over to him.

As he got closer, Ethan let go of his cock and pulled Danny into his arms, the human quickly forgetting about Ethan’s strange behavior as he was kissed. Ethan slid his hands down Danny’s sides, and pulled him forward, both of them moaning as their cocks brushed together. “You looked so fucking hot when we were on the field,” Ethan mumbled, trailing kisses down Danny’s neck. “So fucking hot.”

Ethan suddenly spun them around and pinned Danny against the wall, kissing him roughly. Danny moaned and pulled Ethan closer, grinding his cock against Ethan. “Fuck, Ethan,” Danny groaned, his body burning where Ethan touched him, where he kissed him.

Ethan dropped to his knees, kissing down Danny’s chest and stopping just above Danny’s hard cock. He looked up at him, eyes filled with desire and lust, and ran his tongue along the underside, Danny gasping and grabbing Ethan’s shoulders tightly, fingers digging in as his cock was engulfed.

Danny leaned his head back against the wall, moaning as Ethan began to bob his head. He closed his eyes, running a hand through Ethan’s hair. There had been other boys before Ethan, and boys when they broke up but none of them ever made him feel as good as Ethan did. Nobody ever made him feel as loved.

Ethan ran a hand up his thigh and cupped Danny’s balls, playing with them. Danny groaned and bucked his hips, the hand in Ethan’s hair gripping a little too tightly. They hadn’t had sex since before Ethan left and Danny was ready to explode already.

Ethan’s mouth left his cock and his hand quickly replaced it as he mouth at Danny’s balls, sucking on each one and driving Danny crazy. Danny prayed no one else was in the school because he couldn’t keep quiet. “Ethan,” he whined, feeling like he was about to burst. “Ethan, please.”

The wolf mouth went back to Danny’s cock, bobbing his head and moving his hands to cup Danny’s butt, pulling him forward.

Danny opened his eyes and looked down at Ethan who was looking up at him. He gave a soft moan as he watched his cock slip between Ethan’s lips. That was a sight he would never tire of.

He knew what the wolf wanted him to do. He moved his hand to the back of Ethan’s head and held him in place. He gave an experimental thrust and Ethan moaned softly, reaching between legs to stroke his own cock. Danny slowly began to fuck Ethan’s mouth.

Ethan was moaning, the vibrations from it making Danny want to come right there, but he held back just for a little bit longer. He picked up speed and fucked Ethan’s mouth with more force, watching the wolf fall apart underneath him, moaning and jerking himself off faster.

When he felt like he was about to come, he pulled his cock out of Ethan’s mouth and pulled Ethan up and into his arms. He wrapped a hand around both of their cocks and kissed him, tasting a little bit of himself on Ethan’s lips.

Ethan’s hand joined his and it only took a couple of more strokes before they were coming, calling out each other’s names. Ethan stroked them until it became too much and Danny pushed Ethan’s hand away.

Ethan wrapped his arms around Danny and led him back into the spray of water to wash the come and sweat off of them. “Come over this weekend,” Danny said. “My parents are going to my aunt’s and we can be alone. You can fuck me.”

“What if I want you to fuck me instead?”

Danny smiled and gave Ethan a kiss. “Then I’ll fuck you.”


55.
Warnings: Twincest, bondage, whipping, pain kink, orgasm denial
Pairing: Aiden/Ethan

Aiden was in one of those moods, which was perfect, because it resonated with Ethan: he liked the games, messing with people’s heads and being big, bad and scary. He hadn’t minded killing their old pack, but there had been others whose deaths hadn’t been so well deserved. His need to be punished wasn’t going to atone for the innocent lives Ethan had snuffed out, but when he felt their weight dragging him down, he needed this: needed to feel weightless, to have an outlet just as intense on his body as the darkness clouding his mind.

If Ethan could count on one thing, it was that his brother could inflict pain. Aiden would feel some of that as well, through the connection they shared, but they both were able to take a beating. That was something they had learned from their deceased pack, while Deucalion had freed them by teaching them how to inflict it on others.

When they were together, Ethan no longer saw the care and worry Aiden showed when he was with Lydia. Aiden knew exactly what his brother needed, how far he could go and had no qualms filling that need. Ethan felt the cockring being tightened roughly, along with the little bullet vibe that Aiden had taped to Ethan’s balls. The vibrations against his perineum would be a delight if not for the fact that he wasn’t allowed to get off - at least not yet.

Ethan heard the creaking of leather, and almost longed for the touch of the whip. Aiden had strung him up for over an hour, and while his injuries had healed well enough, the constant strain on his shoulders had engulfed them in dull, unpleasant pain. His feet were close to the ground; he sometimes felt a stone brush against his big toes.

He screamed when the sharp pain bit his back, but the metal bar in his mouth turned it more into a muffled growl. His fangs bit into the bar as the beast showed himself, woken by the poison that covered the bullwhip: diluted wolfsbane burned in his bleeding wounds, preventing them from healing too fast. The instinct to break free took over but the chains holding him were too secure: only joined with his brother would he be strong enough for that.

It was time for Aiden to have some fun. He had gotten good with whips. Ethan felt it: strong, precise blows left deep red cuts. Aiden always found an area that was unscathed. While Ethan’s back seemed on fire, his cock was aching even more: the pain was exhilarating.

If he had the option, he’d beg for release, but this game had barely started. With one stroke, Aiden split his ass open in a horizontal line. Ethan shuddered; the impact made his cock bounce and he groaned desperately. Moments later, he felt the whip tighten around his neck and his head was pulled back. Aiden snarled into his ear. “Hmm, seeing all that blood…”

Ethan was still quivering with pain, yearning for release when he felt Aiden’s hand on his belly, drawing him closer until Aiden’s hard cock was against his ass. His brother ground into him, making him flinch when his erection rubbed over the open wound.

“The things I’m going to do to you.” Aiden’s words were more promise than threat.

Aiden’s breathing became heavier, and Ethan felt how the echo of his pain and the smell of his blood was arousing Aiden, how much Aiden liked having him under his control. All of that got them both closer to the edge.

With a sudden move Aiden pressed himself against his brother’s back, leaning on him, the strain of the bonds increasing under Aiden’s weight. His cock - wedged between them - shot a warm load upwards, mixing with the blood streaming down Ethan’s back. Ethan whimpered as he felt Aiden’s orgasm overtake him: the sensation echoed in his own cock. It was pain - and ultimately pleasure - both sweeter and more intense than anything someone who didn’t share a connection like they did could possible feel.

There was a lot more pain that needed to be inflicted and endured before it was time for the pleasure to take over and Ethan wouldn’t have it any other way. It was the darkness in them coming out - in ways that didn’t hurt anyone else.


56.
Warnings: Slight dub-con
Pairing: Stiles/Scott, Implied Stiles/Derek, Implied Scott/Allison

Scott woke up slowly to the feeling of Allison trailing kisses from his inner thigh to his groin under the sheets. He smiled to himself and closed his eyes again as he relaxed back onto the pillows. He was still a bit groggy and out of it because of the fight last night. Some old man –warlock as Stiles pointed out– was trying to switch bodies with a college freshman. Apparently, that was his version of eternal youth. Derek and he took care of it, and—

Fuuucck baby, just like that.” He groaned out when he felt wet warmth engulf his cock. Damn, Ally was definitely getting better at this, she was sucking on the head and licking him up from base to tip and doing this twist thing with her tongue to the head of his cock that had his breath hitching.

He was thinking about grabbing her and pulling her up to kiss her but then she took all of him in and started to deep throat and Scott lost all train of thought as he gripped the sheets, Ally hated when he pulled her hair but he could still see the sheets rising and falling with the bobbing of her head in the dark.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He was panting now. Jesus, Allison was going all out. “Keep that up and I’m not gonna la—“ Allison seemed to take that as her cue to start sucking harder and Scott closed his eyes and started thinking about how he was gonna take her so fucking hard after he recovered from this later. She began to swallow around his dick and the tightness was enough to bring Scott over the edge calling out her name while he emptied down her throat. Allison seemed to freeze but Scott was in his post orgasmic haze and barely noticed.

“What did you call me?” A voice that was definitely not Allison asked.

Scott froze and looked down at his lap to see Stiles staring back at him from under the covers with a look of pure shock and hurt combined. Scott started blinking harder and tried to process what the fuck just happened.

“Uh… you’re not Ally.” He murmured in his own state of shock and his voice sounded off but he didn’t really dwell too much on it. The bigger concern here is that his childhood best friend just blew him.

“No shit, Sherlock!” Stiles shouted and the look of shock was replaced with a look of fury. “What the fuck?!” He threw the sheets back and Scott looked away because Stiles didn’t have any clothes on.

Suddenly Scott was aware that he was naked, in bed, with Stiles and scrambled off the bed to get some pants on. He found a couple of sweat pants that weren’t his and shoved them on. Now that he was out of bed and looked around, Scott saw that he wasn’t in his apartment. “How did I get here?”

Stiles pulled a pair of boxers on and was giving him an angry and confused glare.

“Derek, what the fuck are you talking about?” He shouted.

“Derek? Stiles it’s me—“ Stiles cut him of by stabbing his index finger to his chest.

“Why the hell did you say Allison’s name when you came?” And his eyes were switching between being pissed and hurt.

Scott tried to put his hand on Stiles’ shoulder but his friend flinched away.

“No don’t touch me! Answer my damn question!” His heart was jack rabbiting out of his chest. Fuck, if he didn’t calm him down Stiles was going to have a panic attack.

Scott raised his palms up in surrender and backed away a step and bumped into something and turned around only to meet face to face with Derek. Scott flinched back but it was just a mirror.

He leaned in again was met with Derek’s face. His brown eyes were replaced with Derek’s hazel ones, his tan skin was now light, he ran a hand through the scruff on his face and let it drop.

What was his life?

Stiles was still shouting bloody murder when Scott interrupted him.

“Stiles! Freaky Friday!”

Stiles immediately shut up.

“Scott?” the question came out in a small voice.

“Yeah, buddy.”

“Oh my God, what is my life?!?” Stiles threw himself on the bed and put a pillow over his face. “This never happened, Scottie!” The statement came out muffled and Scott chuckled.

And this is why they’re best friends.


57.
Warnings: underage
Pairing: derek/isaac

The first weeks are rough.

And it’s not because Derek doesn’t like having Isaac around - it’s just that he’d forgotten how lust, dark and tangy, lingered beneath everything at that age.

Isaac leaves for school smelling like toothpaste, honey and wanting to fuck. When he sprawls on his bed, reading Derek’s old copy of The Picture of Dorian Grey, his cheeks are ruddy, mixing the scent of ripeness and musk (Isaac’s natural scent is cloves, and dirt. Spicy, packed earth.) with that of Derek’s favorite novel.

He can distinguish that book by scent because it belonged to an elderly woman in his apartment building in Queens - she’d always ask Derek to read to her while she pruned the potted herbs in her windowsill. It still smelt of basil, of rosemary - of the late Beta, Mrs. Marjorie Vanderkampf.

As they get more comfortable around each other - Isaac picking up the occasional plum for Derek at the store, Derek’s hastily scrawled reading suggestions stacked neatly on a corner of Isaac’s dresser - things get worse.

His nightly reading of The Iliad interrupted, Derek knows that if he were human, he’d never be able to hear Isaac’s stifled breaths, or the exhalation as spit-slick fingers press into puckered heat , but he isn’t. He lies in his own bed, atop a few shirts, including the stained henley Isaac has taken to wearing in the house.

Wouldn’t Isaac be embarrassed, knowing that in the morning Derek had heard him shudder to completion? Honestly, Derek is impressed it took this long - despite the purpledark of want that thrums around the boy, Isaac hasn’t touched himself since living with Derek.

Not wanting to scent shame on the person whose quiet laugh - hand over mouth, deeply dimpled - makes his palms itch, Derek touches himself.

He knows he’ll sound different to Isaac - no foreskin gliding over the head, choked groans deep in the back of his throat, rasp of coarse hair as he tweaks his nipples, fingers a tad too sharp on the sensitive peaks. And as he twists his wrist, he realizes he’d forgotten to listen for Isaac.

Derek stills, taking in Isaac’s broad shoulders, stretching the tee that definitely belongs to him. The gleaming pink of his cockhead peeks from his boxer-slit, one hand’s long fingers plucking at his bottom lip, the other pressed against the hot skin beneath his bellybutton.

All it takes is an extension of his arm, an unfurled palm.

Isaac is pliant in his arms - straddling Derek’s waist, he presses kisses to Derek’s temple, chin, neck. His hips rock back and down, breathy gasps hot against Derek’s chest. His curls are matted behind his ears, and at the nape of his neck.

Blueblackpurple spice hanging over both of them like a cloud, Derek presses his hands against the curve of the boy’s ribs, biting at the jut of his jaw, the tense cords between neck and shoulder. It isn’t difficult to push on Isaac’s chest until his back is flat against the comforter, and even less difficult to pull off both of their clothes until slender, pale thighs shake, limber hands scrabbling at the long lines of Derek’s back.

He surges forward into the soft, hot skin of Isaac’s hip, gentling as Isaac whimpers, drinks in the small sounds that change color when tongue touches clavicle, when callused fingers dig into the meat of Isaac’s thigh and the boy moans. As narrow hips become erratic in their movement, teeth scraping the underside of a jaw stronger than a boy his age should possess, Isaac bares his neck and sighs his name, thighs clenching as he spills between their bellies.

Isaac presses a long finger to his swollen mouth, eyes hazy as Derek takes in his sated form.

If Isaac were still human, he’d have bruises blooming on all his tenderest places.

And that sends Derek over the edge, thumbs digging into the softness below Isaac’s hipbones.

He wishes he could come again, as Isaac laps the mess from his gleaming fingers, all shy, big eyes while his tongue darts between his fingers. Instead, he draws the boy into his lap, licks the taste of them from Isaac’s hot mouth, lets their kisses turn lazy until their mouths are sore.

“Can I sleep here?”

Derek nods, doesn’t say forever, or let me learn with you. Just pulls those skinny hips into his, and tangles their legs together.


58.
Warnings:None
Pairing: Stiles and Derek

They’re standing feet apart. They’ve fought to die another day or maybe live for tonight. Derek’s so good at letting them know when he needs them. Stiles quips, argues, shouts, but he never asks straight up for what he wants.

“I need you, Derek.” His voice is raw and cracked. Stiles moves, an aborted attempt to touch Derek, but then he drops his hand back down. “And I don’t need anyone.”

Derek’s there before he finishes. He’s there with warm chapped lips. He smells like trees and dirt and everything that Stiles loves. Stiles hoodie hits the floor with a metallic slither from where his zipper lands. Pulling at the seams in Derek’s henley, he succeeds in freeing it from the waistband. He tries to get to skin, he just wants to feels something besides this fucking empty that he carries around always. Ever since he took a late night dip into a tin tub full of ice, the black that’s lived in his heart has been winning. And he’s tired of it.

Stiles backs up, pulls off his tee and reaches for Derek again. Derek cups his face, running his thumb over the shell of Stiles’ ear and Stiles shivers. The tender gesture isn’t what he expects. Stiles expects a deluge of heat, an avalanche. This, this is like a summer rain. This is like standing on the lacrosse field in the middle of summer with the smell of fresh cut grass and the leather of his gloves.

Derek’s on his knees and if he wasn’t so busy swallowing his tongue, he would say something so smart ass just to wipe the look off Derek’s face. Don’t be nice, he wants to whisper. Tear me apart, tear me to pieces and maybe you can put them back together again and I won’t feel like this any more. There’s a tug at the button on his jeans. Wanting to get the show on the road, Stiles takes a bracing breath and tries to smile down at Derek.

“Hey, big guy, let me.” Stiles’ hand is on the button now but Derek lays a hand over his.

“No.” And gently, he pushes Stiles’ hand aside.

Derek returns to the quiet ministrations only stopping to shuffle them both towards the couch. Stiles groans when Derek pushes his shoulders down. Derek pulls on one leg of Stiles’ jeans and then other. Dropping them on the floor, Derek hooks his fingers on the waist of his boxers and looks up questioning.

“Yeah, man, yeah.” He wants to get this fucking show on the road and he wants more of Derek’s skin. “You too.”

Derek smiles. It’s only that little crook up of his lip on the left side but it makes Stiles pause - stop - because he hasn’t seen enough of that. Maybe all of a sudden this isn’t about him, maybe it’s about them. It’s that maybe Derek has that black shit too only he didn’t have to sit in ice water to get it.

“Up here,” Stiles pats lightly on his chest.

Derek climbs up and just hovers until Stiles closes his eyes and leans up. Running his nose just to the side of Derek’s their lips brush. Stiles runs his hands up Derek’s sides; muscle, skin, ligaments, tendons, all of the important body parts are accounted for and they’re on beautiful fucking display. Crooking a knee, Stiles pulls Derek down. Shifting just right, he can feel their dicks brushing together. Stiles’ face is sore from Derek’s beard rubbing him like sandpaper but he wouldn’t stop a second of this. Derek wraps his hand around Stiles. And when Derek’s hand moves faster and then faster still, Stiles is lost in it. Closing his eyes, he pushes his head back. He breaks apart on the feeling of Derek breathing heavily in his ear. Shuddering over and over, he relaxes back, bones liquid and body sated. Belatedly, he reaches for Derek who only brushes his hand away.

 

Later they’re eating scrambled eggs with grape jelly on toast. They don’t act like anything just happened, but they don’t act like it didn’t happen either. It’s not till they’re standing side by side at the sink where Derek’s rinsing off their dishes, that Stiles finally asks.

“Why now?”

Frowning a little, Derek turns off the faucet and dries his hands on a dishtowel before cupping Stiles face in his hands.

“Because I need you too. And I don’t need anyone.”


59.
Warnings: Curse....that's it?
Pairing: Sterek

They kiss passionately walking up the stairs longer than they usually take, Stiles then stops Derek look at him in question, “Are we doing this on our first date?” Derek raise his eyebrows, “You asking this now after we dance around each all these years?” Stiles thinks awhile then nods, “Yeah, like I mean yeah like we both horny and all but like shouldn’t we slow down or something not that I don’t like this at all cause I do you know….” As Stiles babbling as usual Derek can’t help to look at Stiles beautiful mole that he always to trace with his teeth, tongue, mouth and hands just exploring Stiles body and make him writhe and whimper fuck that make him harder but seeing how Stiles want to take a little bit slow he can do that.

They stop kissing and get to Derek loft to ‘hang out’ though Stiles pretty much antsy he want to bang Derek so bad or Derek to bang him he can go both ways but it seems awkward since he suggest to take it slow probably that’s the worst idea, they were watching some Lifetime movies about some stuff but neither seem to pay attention then slowly Stiles get closer to Derek to get a nice heat or is he?

Then Stiles get closer, “So, I think the taking it slow not working…” Derek turn to him, “Really now?” Stiles bite his lips, “Yeah…” Stiles slowly get to Derek lap, “I mean we don’t have to have sex all the way but like maybe halfway or something…” Derek then smirks as he lay Stiles down on the tacky but comfort couch nibbling on Stiles ear as Stiles shiver, “Fuck….” Stiles breathe out

Then they start to rutting up against each other feeling each other erection, it feels so good to have the physical contact and just let out the feelings with Derek it always feel natural, hot and just sexy.

They seems to get lost with each other, Derek can’t help to kisses down Stiles body and pay attention to his nipples and just hearing Stiles moan for more, it turn him a lot and they may not going to have all the way sex but he is sure will make Stiles crave for more.

He pay attention to everything Stiles have to offer especially his dick, he want this to be a good one for him as he slides down and put Stiles on his mouth it’s everything just to make Stiles feel good and how Stiles pull on his hair but controlled it to make sure Derek is comfortable enough but it’s still hot and heavy the feeling of Stiles scent drive him insane since the first day till this day.

But Stiles want to return the favor, Stiles can never get enough looking at Derek not just about his great build up body but everything how he actually selfless deep inside just make him want Derek more for Derek good and faults, Stiles know Derek and him is getting close to climax and he want them to come together now they fully unclothed their cocks almost touching together and it’s just so powerful then he grab both his and Derek cocks and rub them together feel the good friction as they kiss each other mouth open then Derek pull him close kissing him properly hot and heavy, he don’t think he could ever get tired of how Derek kissing him and how Derek grab on his ass and pull the cheeks apart and that’s just the end of it, “Fuck…fuck…I’mma come D-derek!”
Derek breath heavily, “yeah, me too, come with me baby” Stiles hand thrust is getting slower but Derek put his hand on their cocks and he can feel stars just burst out, he cried out Derek name and lean on Derek shoulder basking the afterglow and they lay against each other, Stiles look up at Derek who looking at him with fond and he feel this can be a new beginning and hopes for more happiness and of course sex….all the way baby!.

“Baby, are you writing on your secret diary again?” Derek ask with his sarcastic shit voice, “oh my god, shut up it’s a diary it’s a journal! You ass butt!” Stiles yells as he close his ‘journal’.


60.
Warnings: pre-negotiated scene, mild D/s, car sex
Pairing: Erica/Boyd

Getting hot and heavy in the alley beside the club is a great place to be interrupted, so she tries to walk them, kissing and panting, through the parking lot.

Too bad her new reflexes don’t impart complete suavity.

“Umph, damn it, I almost took off the rearview mirror,” Boyd grouses.

Erica grimaces, “I was trying to aim for the side of the car.”

Their eyes meet for just a beat before the absurdity of the situation permeates and they burst out laughing.

Boyd wolfs out enough for his eyes to flare, "Now werewolves . . . and still dorky!"

Erica's peal of laughter trails off when she climbs up, wraps her legs around Boyd's waist, her arms around his shoulders, and leans in. The kiss starts tender and sweet. Erica lets herself bask in the warmth of his love before she opens her mouth and deepens the kiss.

In response, Boyd's gone from simply holding her hips to kneading her ass. Erica uses the rhythm as leverage to rub against Boyd’s front, getting him worked up again. She lets go of his shoulders to gently cup his face.

"Wanna take this party to the back-seat?"

"Excellent idea."

Erica leaps down and darts around to open the door for him. She gestures Boyd in, "After you, kind sir."

As he's climbing in she slaps his ass. When Boyd turns around, she simply smiles brightly. Erica leans up to grip the door frame and swing herself in, landing precisely on the seat in between his legs.

Erica smiles, "See? Not entirely klutzy."

Boyd reaches up to stroke her cheek, "Never doubted you for a second, hon," he says.

They kiss again and gently lay down across the backseat.

Boyd frowns, “I don’t think we can close the door like this.”

Erica smirks wickedly, “We’ll just have to stay clothed then, won’t we?”

Boyd searches her eyes to see if she’s serious and grins up at her when he can see she is. He chuckles, “Alright, I’m game.”

Erica leans in closer to kiss Boyd’s cheek and murmur, “Good,” then unzips his jeans.

“Whoa, I thought you said we were staying dressed!”

“We are, just wanted you to be comfortable.”

“Our clothes are going to get dirty.”

“I’m counting on it,” she winks at him.

Boyd just shakes his head but lets Erica do as she pleases. She carefully scoots up and tugs her skirt up to pool at her waist. The she grips his shoulders and thrusts down to rub her panty-clad crotch across his cock.

“Oh fuck, Erica!”

Boyd hardens enough to leak through his boxers. He scans around the parking lot as best as he can, and pants, “Aren’t you worried about someone coming over here?”

“That’s the best part. But you can always safeword if you want.”

Boyd looks reassured and sighs out, “No, it’s okay. But you’re gonna do the explaining if we get caught.”

“Planning on it!” she chirps, and then rocks down again, harder this time.

The frotting feels so good -- the friction from their clothes and the tight space of the car -- plus the urgency and thrill of being potentially caught makes this the hottest sex they’ve had yet. She’s getting better at reading Boyd, and she’s proud of herself for planning a scenario he enjoys as much as she does.

Erica wiggles a hand between their hips and firmly grips his balls and twists a little . . . and that’s it, he’s gone. She lets Boyd cool down while she fishes around under the seat for her clutch. She pulls out a package of tissues and her vibrator.

Boyd wipes himself down as much as he can, throws the used tissues into the trash bag, and leans in to pull her shirt up and snap open the front clasp of her bra to rub her breasts and tweak her nipples.

“Oh, that’s good, so nice, well done, love,” Erica praises.

He smiles and tilts his head as if he is soaking up her words. The sight makes her clit throb and she presses her vibrator down hard. Erica’s so inflamed and swollen with arousal that her orgasm comes quickly.

It’s not a deep one, but that’s okay, this scene will stay in the forefront of her mind for a while, and she can savor the idea of it . . . later, once they’re back at Boyd’s, safely in his room, before they get noticed by a beat cop.


61.
Warnings:None
Pairing: implied Derek/Stiles/Scott (nothing happens between any of them, however)

Stiles deserves this.

It’s the first morning of summer break but, importantly, the first one he’s had to himself in… too long.

Scott’s out with the pack doing decidedly wolfy, no-humans-allowed type things, and it’s otherwise way too early for anyone else to be up, so he figures he can take his time.

It’s nothing to turn over onto his belly and grind his morning wood against the sheets, letting out a little contented sigh.

He’s still half-asleep, eyes barely open in the morning light, his hips rubbing back and forth on the mattress, but as soon as he regains his full consciousness, it suddenly isn’t enough anymore.

He rolls over onto his back, reaching down to shove his sweatpants down enough to wrap a hand around his length and tug a few times, his back arching up into his fist and his mouth open on a moan. Reaching for the lotion on his nightstand blindly, he knocks at least three things onto the floor before letting out a triumphant noise when his fingers close around the familiar bottle.

Settling back into a comfortable position, he shifts around on the mattress a few times, before squeezing a generous amount out onto his fingers, and gripping himself again, tighter this time. He gives himself a couple of fast jerks, and the sound he makes is halfway between a groan and a whimper, the too-good pressure making his toes curl and his breath come in short, shallow pants.

His second hand trails slowly across his belly, the touches feather-light and teasing, enough to make his cock twitch in his grip and his breath hitch.

Once he starts to really get into it, fucking up into fist in earnest, the hand that was scraping along the trail of hair leading down to his groin drops down onto his balls, rolling them in his palms for a brief moment and whining when his cock spits out precome over his knuckles. He’s only just rubbing his hole to feel it clench and relax when he startles at the sound of the front door slamming shut.

“What the fu--”

“Jesus Christ, it reeks in here!” the laughter in Scott’s voice is evident as he clambers up the stairs loudly. With a final, dejected look at his dick, Stiles let out a long sigh and is pulling his pants back up just as Scott pushes the door open. He takes one look at Stiles’ unamused face, the bottle of lotion tossed haphazardly next to Stiles’ pillow and winces.

“I didn’t let you finish, did I.”

It’s not even a question, and Stiles shoots him a dry look.

Scott looks like he bit into something sour. “I’m sorry bro, want me to go?”

Stiles shakes his head.

“Nah, s’cool. What’s up?” he asks.

“Nothing really, just wanted to hang out,” Scott says, turning a wicked smirk onto Stiles. “Derek taught us how to tackle someone without hurting them today,” his voice had gone low, and Stiles shakes his head, even as Scott takes his hand and tugs him to a standing position. “It’ll be fun, trust me.” Scott cajoled.

“Scott, seriously, I am not comfortable with--oof,” he huffs out a breath when Scott, as promised, tackles him painlessly, and suddenly, he’s blinking up at Scott’s beaming face. “Okay,” he concedes. “That was pretty cool.”

“I don’t wanna say I told you so, but I told you s--” Scott pauses, cocking his head to the side, and Stiles stares at the window when it clicks open to reveal Derek, a stunned expression on his face.

“‘Sup, Derek,” Scott nods, not moving from where he’s leaning over Stiles’ frame, and Stiles watches in fascination as Derek’s eyes flicks between the two of them, before widening when he smells Stiles’ earlier arousal and comes to the wrong conclusion.

“You… Scott…”

He seems pretty lost for words, and Stiles smirks. It couldn’t hurt to play along, could it? So he curls his arms around Scott’s neck, pushes his hips up and arches an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Derek chokes, his cheeks flushing before he stuttered a few more times and pretty much threw himself out the window.

Stiles giggles. Thank god for Scott’s willingness to play along. He’s still laughing when Scott rolls off of him and says,

“You realize Derek smelt like he got hard when you pretended we were having sex, right?”

Scotts cackles loudly when the revelation leads to Stiles sitting bolt upright and falling off the bed in surprise.


62.
Warnings:Sibling Incest, Underage.
Pairing: Derek/Laura/Stiles
Title: Wet & Messy

They had planned this for weeks. Stiles would lay out on the queen sized bed the Hale twins shared. Laura would administer the Kanima venom to his tongue and Derek would strip Stiles of his clothing.

Stiles has one job in this --- Be a perfect, living fuck toy. With only the use of his mouth, Laura and Derek are free to do whatever they want to him.

Laura wastes no time getting her underwear off, and she plants her cunt right down on Stiles, seating herself on his face completely.

She smells exquisite, already a little wet from fingering herself on the car ride home from school. Stiles takes an exploratory lick before she starts rolling her hips on his face.

They develop a rhythm. She rocks down onto him and rubs her clit off onto his tongue and then rocks back up so he can take a breath. Within a minute she has saturated his chin, lips, nose and cheeks with her dripping pussy.

Derek is sitting at Stiles’s feet watching his sister ride Stiles. He’s letting the show get his cock hard. Seeing Stiles’s tongue darting back and forth on her swollen clit in-between breaths is making his cock dribble.

Stiles is usually self conscious about letting Derek look at his body. So Derek is using this opportunity to look his fill.

His body is lean and muscular. His skin is dotted like the night sky. It’s beautiful.

Derek shifts out of his jeans. He’s hard as nails, his dick slobbering and messy.

Derek starts at Stiles’s feet. He leans down to plant a kiss to his toes. Then he slots his dick over Stiles’s left foot, dragging his foreskin across the little hairs on his toes.

Stiles’s legs are moderately hairy. He’s got these skinny but muscled legs that turn Derek on so much. Derek makes his way slowly crawling up Stiles’s body. Stopping to bend down - concentrate his thrusts so they trap his cock between Stiles’s hot flesh and his own stomach.

When Derek arrives at Stiles’s dick, he sits back up and straddles his thighs. He looks up at Laura. The moaning and face-fucking has become erratic. She’s close. He can see in her glowing eyes, hear it in her heartbeat. She slows her rocking hips and looks at Derek rubbing his dick into Stiles’s soft cock, through his dark curls.

Derek’s dick spits out an obscene amount of precome onto Stiles’s belly at the moment that Laura comes on Stiles’s face.

When she’s really turned on she squirts, and this time with Derek so close to her and Stiles working his magic, she showers Stiles’s neck and chest, gripping her brother by the shoulders and slamming their lips together as she finishes her climax. She kisses Derek like she’s been hungry for his mouth all day.

The twins are fucking their tongues into each other's mouths when they hear Stiles’s heart jump. Laura is suffocating him. She breaks the kiss and dismounts from their fucktoy's face and Derek moves up Stiles’s body, to fuck that glorious patch of hair that sits in-between his pecs.

Stiles is giddy. His face saturated with come and piss and sweat. He’s absolutely wrecked and totally blissed out, laughing.

Laura moves to lay down at Stiles’s right side. Begins stroking Derek's back and runs her fingers down his ass, lightly playing with his hole while he fucks Stiles’s chest.

It’s Derek’s turn to come, and he’s close. But with Stiles so pliant and wonderfully submissive like this, he wants to do something he’s only ever thought about in his fantasies.

He moves off of Stiles’s chest and sits on his knees to the left side of his head. Derek maneuvers Stiles’s arms. He runs his fingers through that coarse hair in Stiles’s armpit. He sees Stiles’s eyes light up as he realizes what Derek’s about to do.

Derek places his cock in Stiles’s armpit, folds his arm down so that it’s trapping his cock there in a tight heat. Then Derek starts fucking him in earnest. It’s amazing. Feeling his wiry hair drag on each upstroke, smelling their combined scents. It’s an assault on Derek’s senses, and he comes, shouting, all over Stiles’s sweaty, wet pit.

Derek collapses, face planting right into that sticky wetness. He’s lapping and sucking his come out of Stiles’s armpit when he hears a combined whine from Laura and Stiles, so Derek joins both of their lips with his in a playful kiss.

/fin


63.
Warnings: violent sex, minor bondage
Pairing: Chris Argent/Peter Hale

Peter tugs against the metal. They're police-grade handcuffs, but that doesn't mean he couldn't break free if he wanted to. If he really wanted to get back to English class, he'd just break the chain, push Chris away from him, and walk out. The hickeys wouldn't last for seconds.

But sometimes it feels nice being bent over a sink in a boy's locker room closed off for renovations. Which is why Peter occasionally pulls a sink off the wall to warrant such renovations. It's his do you like me check yes or no note to Chris, who doesn't appreciate destruction but sometimes understands the need for it.

Other times, he brings the handcuffs.

His mouth is on Peter's neck, teeth dull and tongue wicked. Peter's face is crushed against the mirror, his breath hot on his own face and fogging in front of him. Chris has got hands on his belt, but they aren't doing anything. Draped across his back, whispering things in his ear like half-breed slut and you don't even wanna get out, do you?. Peter doesn't respond, just pushes his ass back against Chris' pelvis.

"God, just do something," he says, which gets his face slammed into the porcelain of the sink when Chris pulls him back and shoves him down. Doesn't apologize, just keeps touching him, keeps shoving him, keeps moving his clothes around without taking them off.

Peter loves it. He loves that he can feel his nose un-breaking while Chris' hand is in the same vicinity as his dick. He loves that he's too distracted trying to keep his balance to pull out of the handcuffs even if he wanted to. He loves that Chris has the strange ability to overwhelm him. He breathes hard but takes no air, some air, not nearly enough air, and he's dizzy with it.

"Chris," he moans when he's turned around and shoved to his knees. This is his favorite thing to do. The choice part of it is that Chris doesn't know, just puts him on his knees to look down on Peter. It's probably an Argent thing.

Chris pulls his hair, tilts his head back, and Peter opens his mouth. Instead of using it, Chris just pulls his dick out and rubs it against Peter's cheek. Peter turns his head to capture it between his lips but is jerked back into place. He growls and flexes and hears a snap, and suddenly his arms are up, hands on Chris, pulling him close and swallowing him in one go.

Chris shouts with surprise but bites down on his fist immediately after, gripping the sink behind Peter's head with a squeaking grip. In a moment, tries to put his hands back in Peter's hair, tries to put him in place but it's too late. Peter has him by the balls, pulling hunger and greed and abandon from Chris until he's thrusting into Peter's mouth, the least movement that Peter is giving him. He takes one hand from Chris' hip into his own open jeans. When he looks up, he can see that Chris wants to kick his hand away, keep him down, and Peter wants to smile at him.

He wants to suck dick more, so he doesn't stop. Doesn't stop sucking, swallowing, jerking, fist getting tighter as he gets closer and as Chris gets louder behind his fist. Peter watches Chris' face as he finishes in his throat, swallows and leans back to suck in deep, labored breaths as he finishes himself off. Savors the look on Chris' face. He shouldn't be able to make those judgmental looks that he always makes, like Christ, the guy just finished, how does he make that face when he's just finished.

He doesn't ever want Chris to stop looking like that, never wants to see him stop looking like he could own Peter Hale whenever he fucking wants to. Peter touches himself and thinks of this look, stares Chris right in the face while he wears it, and everything about cumming is exactly about being owned by Chris Argent.


64.
Warnings: cock worship, rimming, come eating
Pairing: Derek/Stiles

He starts with the feet.

Stiles uses his thumbs to dig into the soft arches and callused balls, formed from years of running in boots unsuitable for the purpose.

His fingers trace hard heels tapering into ankles, drifting to encircle thick, sinewy calves and thighs.

“Is this okay?”

Derek grunts, more or less.

Stiles presses a grin to the tip of Derek’s dick, hands roaming up to Derek’s chest. He peeks his tongue out from between his lips as he trails them down to where Derek’s balls lay. He stops, inhales the scent deep and full.

Derek pants, watches Stiles lick all his fingers before looping and twisting them delicately around his nipples.

What a sight he must be, hips rocking against the sheets, mouth wetly sucking Derek’s cock head between his well-built legs.

Derek holds back a moan.

“I wanna hear,” Stiles says, and takes Derek all the way, working him in his throat, but quickly comes back up when Derek’s hips begin to push him. “Tell me how I make you feel.”

Derek lets out a low whine then, when Stiles ducks his head to kitten lick the base of his shaft, lips at the skin under his balls. Without warning, Stiles shoves his face mercilessly into Derek’s cleft, tonguing his perineum and lapping at his pucker, causing Derek to roar and arch, legs tangling around Stiles’s neck.

Stiles hums, nearly coming when Derek clutches at his hair, reins himself in. He flicks at Derek’s nipples, turning roar to groan, continues to eat Derek out in a zealous fervor. He feels Derek shift to stroke himself and promptly slaps his hands away, taking Derek’s length for his own mouth, fucks Derek with his throat.

Derek might be saying his name, but all Stiles really hears are moans, deep and guttural, in sync with the way his tongue drags against that sweet spot right under his cock tip.

Hands grip Stiles’ arms, gently trying to pull him up.

“No,” Stiles wheezes, wiping drool from his face. “Let me take care of you first.”

The sounds Derek makes are such a thing of beauty Stiles pushes for more, bringing his hands to Derek’s ass to draw him closer, cock choking him deep, until Derek’s hips jerk in a wild fit.

He pulls away just enough for Derek to release a load in his mouth, some spilling out the corners of his lips. He comes in multiple spurts, but Stiles swallows all of it, drinking it from Derek’s cock, hands and mouth milking him of every last drop.

Stiles whimpers, rolling to show Derek his dick. “Look at how stiff I am. You did this, Derek, eating your come did this.”

Derek growls, driving their mouths against each other, licking come from between Stiles’ lips. He throws Stiles onto his hands and knees and hooks his arms under Stiles’, tucking his cock against the crevice of Stiles’ ass.

Stiles cries out, feeling Derek’s hand reach down to stroke his dick in unforgiving tugs as he ruts between his cheeks, and with the other, seizes Stiles by the chin, kissing and biting erratic bruises, trailing from puffy, red lips to pale nape.

He comes, unable to figure out which direction is up or down, the laws of Physics not applying to their bodies until, an eternity later, he becomes aware of Derek’s arms tight around his torso, bed beneath them.

Derek mumbles, uneven breaths puffing against his hair, “Good, Stiles.”

Stiles yawns. “Next time, we’ll pay our respects to your nipples.”


65.
cross-generational relationship, age gap, underage
Pairing: Peter Hale/Isaac Lahey

Peter got a hand in his curls and pulled, let his lips trail up the line of Isaac’s throat until he caught the lobe of Isaac’s ear between his teeth. He felt more than heard the little noise Isaac let out, high pitched and needy, nearly desperate.

Good, Peter thought as he straightened, taking a moment to enjoy the look of Isaac bent over the table, back bowed up by Peter’s grip on his hair, face red and flushed with arousal and shame. His hips moved in jerky little shudders, alternately pressing his erection into the edge and trying not to touch it. Over sensitive and over wrought already. The poor boy hadn’t even come yet.

Isaac clawed uselessly at the table, his eyes flashing yellow as his hips hitched into the table again.

“That must hurt,” Peter purred, running his free hand appreciatively over Isaac’s hip. Bone barely sheathed under smooth skin, flesh fever hot and taut. He slipped his hand lower, brushing against the waistband of Isaac’s jeans. Isaac’s hips twitched reflexively towards Peter’s hand and Peter tugged sharply.

“Ah, ah, ah. Lift your hips. There’s a good boy.” Peter slid his hand between Isaac and the table, pulling down Isaac’s fly and slipping his hand inside.

Isaac choked on a sob, his entire body shuddering and his claws sinking into the table top.

Peter blinked. “You’re close, aren’t you? Barely even touched and ready to come. You’d bend over for anyone if they asked, wouldn’t you? Do anything for a kind word -- or a cruel one.” Peter leaned down to breath wetly against Isaac’s neck. “But no one else gives it to you like I do, do they? Focus, Isaac. I’m not going to move my hand unless you answer. No one else gives it to you like I do, do they?”

“No, Peter.”

And true to his word, Peter moved his hand. Just once, stroking Isaac’s cock to the base and squeezing hard.

“Aaah! Please, Peter, please.”

“Please what?” Peter murmured, trailing kisses across the sensitive skin of Isaac’s shoulders, tongue laving at the traces of sweat. When Isaac didn’t answer Peter bit down hard enough to taste blood, fangs sinking into the skin of Isaac’s nape with a wet little pop and Isaac’s cock throbbing in Peter’s fist.

It gave Peter an idea and without warning he released Isaac completely, standing back and away as Isaac looked at him over his shoulder, desperation and fear playing across his face.

Peter enjoyed watching him struggle with himself, fighting the urge to throw himself bodily after Peter, to get the contact he needed. The touch he craved. Physical need warring with the urge to please, to stay where Peter put him and make Peter proud. It was delicious, but not as delicious as what Peter had in mind.

“Since you can’t seem to find a use for your tongue, I might as well. Come here.”

When Isaac stood, his cock jutting painfully through his fly, angry and red, Peter placed a hand on it gently. Not nearly enough pressure to satisfy but more than enough to make Isaac quiver. He balled his hands into fists at his sides, claws digging into flesh and scenting the air with his blood.

“You’re going to get on your knees and suck my cock until I tell you to stop. You’re not to touch yourself at all. You’re not to come, because after I’m done with your mouth I’m going to bend you back over the table and then I’m going to fuck you until you come from nothing but the feeling of my cock inside you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Peter.”

He looked so earnest, so vulnerable, that Peter took a moment to cup Isaac’s cheek. “You’re a good boy, Isaac.”

Peter stroked his thumb over the line of Isaac’s jaw and then pressed. Isaac folded obediently down, swallowing Peter to the root.

He threaded his fingers into Isaac’s hair, exerting just enough pressure to warn, to keep him there, throat fluttering around Peter’s dick as he fought to stay, to be still. Gagging a little even as Peter hummed with pleasure. “Such a good boy.”


66.
Warnings: Sex toys, public play, orgasm denial
Pairing: Peter Hale/Melissa McCall

”I was going to just kidnap you but then I saw you and I couldn’t help it, I had to ask you out. Can you blame me? You’re gorgeous, Melissa.”

So maybe she had been a bit lonely and more than a bit tipsy when she’d accepted his almost off-hand suggestion of a second date. No tricks, with full knowledge that the man who showed up at her door in a gorgeous leather jacket carrying flowers was also a previously murderous and insane alpha werewolf, now reformed via resurrection. (And the reason her werewolf son was spending the night curled up with his pack, far away from the house and potential interruptions. She had Derek on speed dial just in case, though.)

The fact that Peter Hale had proved out to be charming and intelligent and not a complete psychopath was – surprising. But not as surprising as the fact that their second date ended up with frantic making out and tearing of clothes that made her feel like a teenager again – in a good way - as she rode him in his car.

Melissa doesn’t know what to expect from their third date but it is certainly not this; Peter smirking slyly as he holds up a small package, asking her if she’d be up for a little game.

Half an hour later, her legs still tremble from the orgasm he licked out of her when he pulled off her red thong, only to slip it in his pocket and slide the lacy panties up her legs until the vibrator nested snugly against her still-tender clit.

There’s a flush on her cheeks that has nothing to do with the warm summer air, and a part of her is certain everyone knows what is going on under her sleek black dress despite the fact that there’s no outward sign of it, or the sleek remote nestled in Peter’s pocket.

He is the perfect gentleman when he leads her to their table with a hand on the small of her back, too warm to be human through the sheer fabric. Peter smiles when he pulls out the chair for her, his eyes full of genuine affection and no trace of the devilish smirk she knows is lurking just beneath the surface.

Peter Hale may be charming and suave but he is not a nice man.

Hanging on the edge of anticipation, her eyes straying to the pocket where she knows the remote hides from sight, Melissa nevertheless enjoys the meal. She almost forgets all about his game, the soft candlelight and gorgeous French food setting the mood for something romantic and sweet, not dirty and hot. Almost.

The first quick jolt of pleasure comes when she’s biting into her quail. Her soft noise is so easy to mistake for enjoyment of the dish, or so she hopes.

Peter smirks, and hits another button.

The jolt becomes a low-level buzz, almost soothing against her sensitive clit. Occasionally there’s a stronger pulse but it’s not too much, it’s good but not overwhelming, and she smiles at Peter over the rim of her wine glass.

Peter’s response is a devilish smirk and suddenly the buzz becomes a rhythmic thrumming, hard and fast like a tribal beat against her clit and she bites her lip to keep from crying out, has to close her eyes and clutch the edge of the table to stay still.

She can feel the wetness seeping out of her, staining her thighs and the tops of her stockings and she’s never been so glad to be wearing black than she is right now. The throb between her legs intensifies, getting her so close –

And it stops.

Melissa’s eyes flutter open and she sees Peter’s smug expression. Oh, you bastard.

“That’s all you got?” She arches an eyebrow and takes another sip of her wine to soothe her parched throat, cheeks flushed red.

Peter’s grin is absolutely feral.


67.
Warnings: Blood, rough sex
Pairing: Peter/Deucalion

“Peter,” Deucalion greeted, turning his nose up to the air, nostrils flaring, “New perfume?”

He hadn’t bothered to clean up before he had gone looking for the other wolf. Peter had known where he would be, and if nothing else, Deucalion would have smelled the darach’s blood and found him himself. Peter’s face remained blank as he approached the other man, eyes now clear and watching him intently, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He was a mere foot from him before his mouth curled into a vicious smirk, eyes flashing blue.

Deucalion didn’t even flinch as he reached out and took hold of Peter’s wrist, bringing his bloody hand up to his mouth to suck the kill from his claws. His features twisted as his eyes flashed red, and Peter lunged, refusing to let him have the upper hand this time.

Claws tore into flesh, shredding clothing and spilling blood as he went straight for the older man’s throat, teeth sinking into the base just shy of the artery he could feel pulsing beneath his tongue. Peter wasn’t the least bit surprised when he was torn away from the wound, but caught himself as he skidded backward, claws digging into the concrete to slow him before he launched himself at Deucalion again.

The two wolves tore into each other as they rolled on the ground, teeth digging into shoulders and claws gouging sides as they rutted against one another when one had control long enough. When Peter had Deucalion face down on the ground, he wasted no time in tearing his pants open, his own already shredded before he rolled his hips against his ass.

As his claws dug into the other man’s wrists, blood only mildly easing the slide of his cock against his ass while he snarled, Peter couldn’t help but think back over the years. The first time Deucalion’s hands had framed his face as he congratulated him on his first kill, with his blue eyes shining brightly in the night before those hands had wrapped around his throat. Teeth and blood and sex, and Peter couldn’t help but let out something between a moan and snarl when he tried to smother his own moan underneath him. It wasn’t perfect until he sunk his teeth into the back of his neck and Deucalion raised his ass for him. Peter knew he wasn’t going to last long as he fucked himself between his thighs, one set of claws digging into the demon wolf’s ass while his hand curled around his cock. That wasn’t the point of it.

It was a power trip; it always had been. Deucalion had taught him nothing was more important than the power you could get out of life, and if that meant getting bloody, even better. Only an alpha could match up to him, and that’s what Peter was, always had been, and they both knew it. It was what he had trained, (twisted), him for.
Deucalion’s thighs tightened almost brutally around him, and Peter thrust harder between them as he sunk his teeth deeper into the back of his neck, making him whine and snarl all at once. He dragged his hand roughly on his his cock, trapping it against his stomach as he did, and it was only a few strokes before he came over his hand. When he came, it was with his cum covered hand pressed to the underside of his cock between Deucalion’s thighs.

Peter licked at the blood trailing down his neck, savoring the shivery flinch that ran through the panting body underneath him. He watched the wounds knit themselves together as he caught his breath before pushing himself up. He straightened what was left of his clothing, dusting himself off before he let his eyes roam over Deucalion, who had rolled himself onto his back and was leaning casually on his arms, as if he hadn’t just been torn into and fucked. Peter ignored the dark twist of want that burned through his chest.

“You might want to see to that,” Deucalion quipped, nodding to the slower healing cuts and bites adorning his body, and Peter smirked in return.

“You might want to see to that scent of yours,” Peter replied. There wouldn’t be a werewolf within a half mile radius that wouldn’t be able to smell his claim all over the demon wolf.

And that was the point. He owned the demon wolf. Deucalion was his and his alone.


68.
Warnings: technically underaged
Pairing: Scott/Stiles

 

“You know what the worst part is? I keep thinking ‘I’m glad it wasn’t Stiles’. Scott whispered into his back, arms tight around his waist. They laid curled together in a way they hadn’t since they were kids, not since Stiles mom had dies, since Scott’s dad had left.

Scott’s voice was wracked with guilt “I loved her and all I could think after was it was almost you.”

“Hey,” Stiles turned in his arm pressing his bare feet against Scott’s legs “its okay.” He couldn’t stop feeling like it should have been him. He couldn’t say that to Scott though, not when he looked so lost. “Dude, I’m okay.” He tried to make it sound like the truth.

Clearly he failed; Scott gave him a sad smile and let his hand rest where Stiles heart was. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything had happened to you.” He searched Stiles eyes for a moment looking conflicted before leaning forward, his lips ghosting across Stiles in soft kiss.

Stiles jerked back, shocked “What was that?”

Scott looked pained but determined “Stiles I…”

“No, you can’t just kiss me. We can’t kiss, we don’t kiss.” Stiles heart was hammering in his chest, his lips still tingling and his legs still intertwined with Scott’s.

“I love you.” Scott finished softly actually looking afraid. “You’re my best friend and I’ve always loved you.”

“And I love you too,” Stiles felt off balanced “but you, with Allison, and Kira.” He tried to gesture with his hands to indicate his line of thought.

Scott just smiled “I almost lost you.” His hands tightened on Stiles and his voice softened “I don’t want to ever lose you.” He kissed Stiles again and this time he let him, mouth opening up at Scott’s coaxing. Scott moved over him, pressing their bodies together and deepening the kiss.

Scott,” Stiles gasped pulling back slightly moaning as Scott nipped at his bottom lip “Scott are you sure about this?” He got out in a rush. “Because the just bros thing, totally works for us and I don’t want things to not work for us.”

Scott was smiling wider, the grief in his eyes leaving as he looked at Stiles in amusement “I’m sure, I think things will always work for us.”

His mood was infectious and Stiles couldn't help the smile stretching across his own lips “Yeah, okay, sure…” Scott kissed him again, shutting him up and Stiles arched up into him. The weight of Scott’s body was solid warmth that Stiles hadn't known he'd needed until now. With Scott surrounding him things felt better somehow.

Scott shifted and Stiles groaned as his thigh pressed against Stiles hardening cock. “Okay, maybe we’re moving a little too fast.” Stiles gasped as Scott’s mouth trailed down his throat. Shit that was his teeth, and Stiles definitely liked that.

“Are we?” Scott asked wetly against his neck hand moving under Stiles shirt to press against his bare skin. His thigh pressed down harder, this time clearly deliberate and Stiles could feel him smiling against his neck.

“Shit,” he shivered, body straining against Scott’s “okay no, clearly no. Keep going.” He pressed himself up against Scott, straining against him. Scott laughed against his skin before moving his mouth back to his. He kissed him as they moved together, hips moving until Stiles felt himself come in his pants, which was both gross and awesome. Scott followed right behind him with what Stiles could swear was a growl.


69.
Warnings: Underage, past trauma
Pairing: Scott/Isaac

They've been trapped in the school's athletic closet for all of thirty seconds before Scott hears Isaac's breathing speed up.

"Isaac?" he says softly, and he hears Isaac exhale slowly.

The athletic closet isn't claustrophobic - it's big enough to house mats and basketballs and nets and all sorts of other sports equipment - but it's full. There are items all around them, and there are no windows. With the door shut and the handle broken off, even Scott feels a little unsettled. He can only imagine how Isaac feels.

Actually, he doesn't have to imagine. He can hear his heart racing plain as day.

"Scott..." Isaac says, and his voice is thick. "Scott, I don't like this. I don't..."

Scott slides a hand out immediately to rest against Isaac's chest. He covers his heart with his palm, trying to soothe him as best he can. "Hey," Scott says, his voice steady and calm. "Isaac, hey. You all right?"

"No." Isaac's voice shakes.

"Come on, you're fine," Scott says at once, crowding closer to him. "You're totally fine, yeah? I'm right here. Nothing bad's going to happen to you. Not when I'm here."

He can hear Isaac lick his lips, but he's trembling a little. Scott can feel it. Without thinking, Scott follows instinct - an alpha, trying to soothe his beta. He presses his forehead against Isaac's, holding him close. Their chests touch and Scott can feel Isaac breathing heavily against him, so he pulls him closer. He's practically wound around his friend, limbs touching every place they can reach, as if he's trying somehow to absorb emotional pain as well as physical.

And, somehow, it seems like it's working. Isaac's still breathing hard, his heart pounding, but he's not shaking anymore. Scott can feel one of Isaac's hands curling around his bicep, and even though Scott's fine, isn't scared at all, he feels his breathing pick up a little, too.

"Isaac..." Scott murmurs, and Isaac presses against him closer.

"Scott." It's a whisper, his name on a breath, and it makes Scott come undone.

He's rocking his hips up into Isaac before he can think better of it.

"Isaac," he breathes. "I've got you. It's okay."

Isaac nods, his mouth open against Scott's cheek as he ruts down against Scott. His breath is warm.

"Scott," he repeats, and a soft little groan falls from Scott's lips.

"It's okay. You're okay. It's okay."

It's like a mantra, the words falling off Scott's lips in a musical litany as the two grind together. Isaac's holding onto him almost desperately, as if he's afraid to let Scott go, and Scott's whimpering, little fireworks going off behind his eyes every time their hard cocks brush together.

"You're okay."

"I'm okay."

"I've got you."

And when Isaac tips his head to the side and murmurs, "Yours", Scott's teeth sink into his skin without a second thought.

When they're finished, left in a sweating, panting embrace, Scott mouths wetly over Isaac's shoulder and nods.

"Mine."


70.
Warnings: Forced Transformation, Spells, Abduction
Pairing: Chris Argent/Peter Hale

Peter was a werewolf under a spell and made into a dragon. By day he was a giant beast with red scales and broad wings, and by night he took a human form that was half covered in a smaller pattern of the red scales.

Chris was a king whose wife left him after their daughter Allison was kidnapped by Peter.

Allison had befriended Peter during her captivity, and when she was eventually freed from Peter’s castle by a kind-eyed boy named Scott, Allison asked Peter to come with them. He declined but offered to visit. On his first visit he got lost in the palace’s dark nighttime halls, and Chris found him there. After Allison explained the situation, Chris relaxed, and Peter fell in love with the lonesome king over the course of his visits. Chris was not oblivious and he took Peter into his bed, where they tangled together many nights a week. The spell Peter was under kept him from speaking, but that didn’t stop them.

“Peter,” Chris gasped into his skin, Peter’s hips rolling up into his own. He grabbed for Peter’s left hand and held him close, rocking back down into him. Peter’s right hand was flung out to the side, for it bore a set of five short but wickedly sharp claws, and he didn’t want to hurt Chris. Peter’s hot cock, scaled on one side and heated by Peter’s internal fire, fit neatly next to Chris’s with only their own fluid to ease the slide. Chris mouthed his way down Peter’s chest to take his nipple in his mouth, biting down harshly on it and wringing a cry from Peter. Peter bucked up into him and Chris leaned up to bite his neck. Peter spilled between them with a loud moan that verged on a roar. Chris clutched him tight and chased him over the edge.

“Peter,” Chris said after they’d come down, sticky and curled up together. “I’ve noticed you watching me for a long time, and I’ve noticed the way you watch me is…different. I have a question and I want you to be honest with your answer.” He looked over into Peter’s curious, glowing golden eyes. Chris tangled their fingers together. “Are you in love with me?” he asked. Peter froze for a long minute, and then he started to pull away, but Chris wouldn’t let him.

“No, listen,” he said, pulling Peter on top of him and cupping his face. “I’ve fallen in love with you over the past year. I’ve gotten to know you and I can see why you’re one of Allison’s closest friends. I just want to know. Yes or no?” Peter hesitated before nodding. Chris gave him a blinding grin and surged up into a rough kiss. He pulled Peter tightly against him, feeling their renewed erections slide together, and Peter took the hint and started rutting into him, fast and rough and too dry but made all the better for it. The scales melted from Peter’s skin, his golden eyes changed to blue, and fur sprouted along his jaw, over his limbs and down his chest. Peter cried with joy as the spell on him was broken. He took Chris’s mouth in a bruising kiss, murmuring his love into his mouth. Peter’s claws on both hands dug into Chris’s sides and, as Chris came against his belly, he threw his head back and howled, following his lover into ecstasy.


71.
Warnings:none although beware the angst
Pairing: Chris/Derek

Chris' back slammed into the wall, the rough brick scratching his bare arms.

"You almost died," Derek growled through gritted teeth.

Chris struggled against Derek's grip, but he knew it was futile. There was no way he could physically overpower a werewolf and he wasn't going to be using any of his hunter tricks against Derek. The wolfsbane up his sleeve would be overkill when Derek wasn't actually going to hurt him.

Derek's eye's flashed blue in anger. "You're being too reckless."

No, Derek wasn't going to hurt him. He was just going to lecture him and Chris wasn't in the mood. Although with the adrenaline flooding through him and Derek's close proximity he was starting to get in the mood for something else. "I got the job done."

"You've lost a lot, I've been where you are, but you don't—"

Derek had Chris' hands pinned to the wall, but his hips were free to move and he bucked forward, pressing his growing erection against Derek's leg. "I don't need a lecture."

Derek moved forward, trapping Chris entirely between the wall and his body. "What do you need then?"

Chris smirked when he felt the bulge in Derek's pants. "I think you know what I need."

Derek hesitated for all of a second before crashing his lips against Chris' and rolling his hips. Chris angled his hips so that his cock pressed against Derek's and rutted forward.

This was what Chris needed. Each thrust forward chased all thought out of his mind and for a few minutes he could just feel. The part of him that was still Gerard's son, Victoria's husband, and Allison's father knew that he was being reckless. He was getting off in an alley with a werewolf and it wasn't the first time either. He'd never have done this before, but there was no one to answer to anymore, no one to protect.

In fact, the only person left who seemed to give a damn about him wasn't even a person at all—at least not according to his family.

Chris was still thinking too much so he lifted his legs and wrapped them around Derek's hips, pulling the other man in as close as he could. Derek responded by grinding forward with more strength than an ordinary human and it was almost too much for Chris, but the pain was good. Pain drowned out thought as much as pleasure did and the harsh press of his zipper against his dick had him coming in his pants like a horny teenager.

As he came, Chris bit down hard on Derek's lip, lapping at the blood before the wound healed. The bite triggered Derek's own release and he shuddered against Chris.

Chris slowly dropped his legs, glad that Derek was still holding him against the wall because he wasn't actually sure that his knees could support him. He leaned his head back and laughed. "I feel like a teenager."

Derek dropped his head to Chris' shoulder. "I wish you'd stop acting like one. It's bad enough having to deal with Scott and Stiles when they're being stupid."

Chris sighed. Apparently he was going to get the lecture whether he wanted it or not. "Can you not? Or at least wait until I've had a shower."

"I just don't want to lose you too." Derek said the words blandly and without any inflection, but Chris sensed the underlying desperation.

He wished that he could give Derek some sort of reassurance, but he didn't have any hope left in him. They may both be survivors, but eventually their cards would be punched. It was inevitable and Chris wasn't going to lie to him. "You should know better than to get attached."

Derek let go of him and stepped back. He looked sad. "It's too late for that."

The last thing he needed was another person depending on him. It had never turned out well before and he didn't think he had it in him to even try again. Still, as much as he didn't want to risk more loss he wanted to be alone even less so he reached out and grabbed Derek's arm, pulling him out of the alley. "We can talk about it after we clean up."

Derek smiled at him and Chris realized he was probably in too deep already. There was no point in trying to keep Derek at arm's length anymore. It was going to hurt when Derek died either way.


72.
Warnings: Light bondage, magic as a sex aid
Pairing: Scott/Stiles/Derek

Scott lets the door close behind him with a sharp click. Entering the bedroom, he takes in the scene. Stiles is sprawled in the chair next to his bed, one leg hanging off the arm, wearing nothing but an unbuttoned flannel shirt. He’s idly stroking his half-hard dick and slowly twisting a nipple as he stares hungrily at the bed.

Scott follows his gaze, taking in the sight of Derek lounging there naked, his arms tied loosely to the headboard. Scott looks between Derek’s writhing hips and Stiles lazily stroking hand. The glitter in Stiles’ eyes is his only warning before he feels a phantom hand fondling his balls.

“Magic sexy times?” he says with a smirk.

“Magic sexy times,” Stiles agrees with a smirk, flicking his hand at Scott. “Now lose the clothes. I think Derek’s getting a little worked up.” Stiles’ smirk grows. He circles his fingers on the head of his cock, and Derek moans and strains against the ropes holding him down.

“Stiles!” he snarls, flexing his claws. His back bows, and he wails. Stiles’ hand speeds on his cock and his other hand trails down to his hole, teasing it as he arches in the chair. “Sc-Scott!” Derek growls. “Get your ass undressed, and get over here!”

Scott responds to that growl as he has since they started this, by growing rock hard in seconds and scrambling out of his pants. Taking a running start at the bed, he pounces on Derek and devours his mouth in a wet, filthy kiss. He loves nights like this. Nights when Stiles watches and participates at a distance, letting his magic take his physical place while he calls the shots from his chair.

Scott buries his teeth into the meat of Derek’s shoulder before asking, voice muffled, “Rules?”

Scott feels Stiles’ phantom touch as it strokes over his back down to his ass. He and Derek both whine when that touch disappears.

“No hands,” Stiles pants from behind them. “You can do whatever you want to him, Scott. But you can’t touch him with your hands.”

Scott growls, but he can work with this. He plants his hands on the mattress on either side of Derek, leans over him, and lets his mouth wander wherever it wants to. He nibbles and sucks his way across stubbled skin, paying special attention to the hinge of Derek’s jaw, making him moan and press into it.

He’s working his way down Derek’s writhing body, stopping here and there to sink his fangs into rock hard muscle and then lick the hurt away, when he feels Stiles’ magic start to touch him. His touch ghosts over Scott’s back, a single “finger” trailing down the center of Scott’s spine and stopping right above the crack of his ass. He shudders and moans as it slides over his hip and wraps around his cock, squeezing as it pumps him.

Derek’s growling and bucking hips recall his wandering attention, and Scott looks up at him. Derek’s eyes glint bright blue with challenge, and who is Scott not to answer that? Settling himself into the vee of Derek’s legs, Scott wraps his lips around Derek’s straining cock and starts sucking.

Derek bucks up into the warmth of Scott’s mouth, driving himself deep with every thrust. Scott just relaxes his mouth, letting himself be used as he settles between the feel of Derek’s dick in his mouth and Stiles’ magic wrapped around his own. He grunts and fucks down into seemingly thin air.

The pressure around his dick disappears, only for it to reappear at the top of his ass and work its way down to his hole, grazing it lightly as he works his throat around Derek’s cock. Stiles teases him, feathering his touch around his hole and dipping further back, pressing lightly at the skin behind his balls. Scott pulls off Derek and wails, his orgasm slamming through him as Stiles applies hard, firm, sudden pressure.

He lays there gasping, his face buried in Derek’s abs, vaguely aware of the slap of skin as Stiles jacks himself desperately. Scott looks up in time to catch the sight of Stiles as he arches off the chair, his come splashing across his chest. Derek whines and flexes beneath him, and Stiles grins dopely at them.

“Finish him,” he rasps. “Touch him.” He watches, eyes glittering as a few strokes of Scott’s hand has Derek coming all over his stomach with a sharp cry.


73.
Warnings: Public sex?
Pairing: Derek/Lydia

The music helped distract her.

It thumped through her body and made her feel like she was part of the writhing mass around her even though it was the last place in the world she wanted to be.

She was pressed up against the furthest wall away from everyone who were dancing and having all the fun they could, completely oblivious to the pain coursing through her heart. They were able to go on with their lives like nothing happened. Like no one close to them ever suffered.

But it wasn't working to make her feel better or nothing at all. Whichever came first.

Instead she could only think about the moment she knew Allison was gone. Slumped in that desolate hallway, helpless and paralyzed with fear and sorrow.

She shook her head and started to walk away, maybe the drive home would clear the cobwebs from her head.

But a hand pressed firmly against her back and nudged her, face first, against the wall. It was a warm hand, one she knew without looking even though she didn't know why she should know it.

The hand was replaced by a long hard line of firm, muscular body. He enveloped her from behind and she could feel his erection against her ass. She pressed her face against the wall and marveled at the coolness of the cement against her cheek, contrasting with the heat from behind.

"I don't know if this is the right time," she said in a normal tone, knowing he had no trouble hearing her.

"I know what you need," he replied, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

He moved away from her just enough to turn her around and then covered her again with his body. She grabbed him around the waist and pulled him as close as she could, trying to anchor him to her.

"We can't do this here," she said, meeting his eyes.

"No one will notice," he replied and reached out to pull her skirt up just enough to cover where their bodies pressed together.

She was wearing panties and expected him to pull them down but he just brushed over her with his hand lightly, then pressed his denim-clad cock against her.

"Oh," she whispered, letting her head fall back against the wall. She could feel the bass of the music even more now, with her whole body pressed against the wall and it seemed to match the pulse of her body that was speeding up.

He buried his face in her neck and started moving his hips against hers, knowing just how to thrust his erection against her clit so it hit right every time.

She lifted her right leg and wrapped it around his hip, opening their position and let her hands slip down his back to his waist where she held on and clenched at his shirt with every thrust.

He mouthed at her ear lobe and licked the shell, dragging breathy moans out of her that only he would hear.

She felt her panties grow damp against her skin, then her legs trembled and she came suddenly, unbelieving that he never touched her once under the elastic.

She dug her nails into his skin through his shirt and felt him tense against her, groin pressed against her for a long moment, then he pulled away and pushed her skirt down.

"Leave your window open tonight, Lydia," Derek whispered in her ear, before he disappeared into the crowd of dancers.


74.
Warnings: oral sex, mutual masturbation, instructive masturbation
Pairing: Kira/Lydia

Kira's not exactly sure how it starts. One minute they're talking about the right kind of bathing suit for their individual body types, the next their talking about studying, then Lydia is spread eagle in a on the end of Kira's lounge chair, feeling herself up through her bikini bottoms in the moonlight reflecting off the surface of her pool.

"Start slow," Lydia says, "first you just--hmmm." She purses her lips and tilts her head to the side like a dog, then reaches out to untie the neck string of Kira's bathing suit top and watches as it falls away. "Touch them softly, first, barely a whisper," she says, as she trails just her finger tips down the center of her chest, circling up around her breast until she gets to the center to her nipples.

Kira's squeezing her own breasts a little more firmly. Maybe too firm, maybe not firm enough. She's not sure, honestly. Lydia's the expert. "Like this?"

"More like," Lydia says, but doesn't finish. She just demonstrates.

"Oh. Oh." Kira answers.

Lydia smiles a little, just a half grin. "You see," she says. "Feel that?"

Kira lets out a shaky breath. "Feel what?"

"Feel how fucking wet you are? Just from me touching your nipples?"

Kira didn't even notice until Lydia takes two fingers and drags them down her chest, over he stomach, and all the way down to the wet spot on her panties. "Yeah, I do. I feel it."

"Good. Now put your fingers there."

"Where? On the--on the wet spot."

Lydia spreads her own legs, leans back a little, and presses her fingers on the wet spot of her own bathing suit. "Here. Be gentle. Just drag them slowly, up and down, up and down."

Kira does. "What next?"

Lydia leans back and spreads her legs wider, but first, she takes her bikini bottoms completely off. "This," she says, pulling her lips apart so Kira can see better, "is your clitoris, and this," she drags a finger down to circle at her hole, gathering wetness to drag back up, "is where the wetness comes from. Get your finger wet, then bring it back up to your clitoris. Then rub."

It feels good, when Kira does it, dipping the tip of her finger into herself and dragging it up, slick and slow, circling it around her clit and back down, over and over, sending little shocks of pleasure up her spine.

"How does it feel?" Lydia asks.

"Good. Pretty good."

"Only pretty good?"

"Yeah. Pretty good."

"Then you're doing it wrong," Lydia tells her. "Lay back, touch your nipples."

Kira doesn't even have the time to do it before Lydia is diving face first between her legs and making the same movements she told Kira to make with her fingers with her mouth, licking circles around Kira's clit and trailing her tongue down to lick near her hole.

"This better?" Lydia asks, and swipes her tongue over Kira's clit again.

Kira can't answer. The shocks are traveling up her spine again, like little pinpricks, until Lydia reaches up and threads their fingers together. Then Kira comes in waves.


75.
Warnings: Blood/Minor Gore, Canon Divergent/Fix-It
Pairing:Chris Argent/Peter Hale

Peter wasn’t expecting anyone. He was alone in his apartment, which he was fine with. Or he’d long since convinced himself that alone was better. Safer. It was why the knock startled him. He’d heard the feet, but he tuned most background noises out.

He pulled the door open and raised an eyebrow when his eyes met Chris Argent’s. He looked to be in pain, which Peter expected. He had just lost his child, but the pain looked physical. The scent of blood invaded his nostrils, causing him to frown.

“Something I can help you with?” He asked, voice cold. He didn’t care. He didn’t care that he was looking at a man who lost everything. He didn’t care that he was bleeding. He didn’t care.

The movement of Chris’ hand caught Peter’s eye. He looked down to see the large amount of blood that stained the front of Chris’ shirt. Chris’ hand shot out to grab Peter’s arm in a desperate attempt to steady himself.

Peter reacted on instinct, and reached out to steady Chris.

“What stupid thing did you do this time, Christopher?” He asked as he pulled Chris into the apartment and pushed him against the wall while kicking the door shut.

Chris closed his eyes and ground his teeth together in an attempt to keep quiet. The pathetic sound that escaped him gave away his pain.

Peter’s hands moved quickly. He pushed Chris’ shirt up to get a look at the damage.

“What the hell?” He asked, voice a little higher from the surprise.

Chris opened his mouth to speak. His eyes were open again, and it looked like he was trying to focus on Peter. “Only way,” he breathed. His voice was raw.

Peter looked from Chris’ face, still screwed up in pain, to his stomach again. It clicked in his mind what the idiot - asshole - had done. He brushed a finger over Chris’ hip. He was using his hand to support Chris’ weight and keep him from sliding down the wall.

“You could have died,” Peter said in a tone that was meant to be uncaring, but he couldn’t steady his voice.

“-worth it,” Chris said with a little gasp when Peter’s thumb brushed over skin again. He closed his eyes, and some tension seemed to ease from his muscles.

“Good to know.” Peter wasn’t sure why his words came out bitter. He didn’t care.

“Why are you here?” Not caring didn’t mean not curious. It also didn’t mean he couldn’t pull pain from the hunter. He sure as hell wasn’t dealing with a bleeding Argent in shock. He really wasn’t going to deal with daddy’s little girl when she recovered from whatever of her wound Chris hadn’t taken. This sort of thing wasn’t the kind people messed with. It always backfired. Chris was lucky to be breathing.

“You,” Chris said in a way that felt like a punch to the gut. He squirmed slightly, trying to get away from Peter’s grasp. He could handle the pain.

“Asshole.” Peter’s teeth ground together, and he nearly stopped the transference. He didn’t. He kept pulling the pain, trying to take some pleasure in the fact that he was in control right now, but he found none. He stared at Chris’ eyes, looking for something to give Chris away.

Chris kept one hand pressed against the wound. His other hand was steadying himself against the wall. He was apparently willing enough to trust Peter. His hand moved from the wall to Peter’s neck. He tried to pull him closer, but he didn’t have the strength.

Peter’s brain refused to process anything. He moved forward despite the lack of force behind Chris’ hand. Even with all the thoughts going through his mind, he was still startled when Chris kissed him. A shock of emotions and memories ran through him. Excitement, fear, happiness. Hands on his stomach, on his back, pulling him closer and touching him fanatically.

“I hate you.”

Peter didn’t move Chris’ hand, and he didn’t put any distance between them.

Chris watched him quietly. Peter found himself kissing Chris a moment later. This time the kiss was rougher, bruising and with too many teeth.


76.
Warnings: None
Pairing: Greenberg/Finstock

“So good,” she sighed as she spread her thighs a little wider above Finstock’s head. Giving him better access to lick her clit from where she was sitting on his face.

“Been waiting all day for this. You are so good at this..ah...” Greenberg praises Finstock as he give one particularly well placed swipe of his tongue along her clit.

“You know we still haven’t talked about my suggestion.” she says as she settles more firmly straddling his head her hands on the headboard.

“Wjkla supogggion walmkl thast?” she hears from between her thighs.

“Hmm, I didn't quite catch that babe?” Greenberg smiles and goes back to moving her hips in aborted little motions designed to drive them both crazy..

Finstock wriggles his arms between her thighs and lifts her off his face, showing a shocking amount of strength, as she lets out a surprised giggle, “I said: what suggestion was that?”

“You remember. what we talked about last week?” she curls up against his side and plays with his chest hair, “Fisting. Yes or no?”

“You want to talk about that now? I mean, we were in the middle of something.” Finstock gestures to the general vicinity of everything that is going on between them.

“I have every confidence in your ability to multi-task, Cupcake.” she says as she grabs his hand and places it between her legs. “Focus and you can achieve anything.”

“I love how you can make all of this motivational crap sound dirty.”

“What can I say? I have a special talent. Ah, yes, right there,” She taps his hand to make sure he keeps rubbing her clit just the right way.

“Back on topic. Fisting. Yes or no?,” she asks.

“Well, I haven’t done it since that time in Tahoe with Peter. He was a little off but dude knew how to use his hands.” Finstock says wistfully with a small smile on his face.

“I remember that. You couldn't stop talking about him for days.” Greenberg rubs her wet pussy against his fingers and sighs as he finds just the right spot that drives her wild.

“I think it could be fun and it’s not like we haven’t tried a lot of different things.” she moves to straddle his legs and he pulls up so she is resting against his cock all wet and ready for him.

“Mmm, nice” she wiggles against him and rubs her pussy against his the tip of his cock. Not quite pushing inside but tantalizingly close.

He flips them over and rubs the head of his cock against her clit. Back and forth until she clamps her legs around him and comes without a sound.

She flops back onto the bed, satisfied and smiles at him pulling him down into a long and slow kiss, “I love you. You know that right? Everything with you feels, you know, right.”

“Babe, as long as it’s with you I'm game for anything.” he stretches out across her and reaches for a condom.


77.
Warnings: language, beginnings of established relationship
Pairing: Lydia/Peter

***
It had been a long night and Lydia was drained and really was looking forward to nothing more than her favourite tea, maybe some music, and being in her comfy pajamas in bed. She was used to her fair share of long nights but there was a calm in the storm of craziness of Beacon Hills. "You really didn't need to follow me home. It wasn't that far and I can take care of myself," she said softly as she walked up to her door. Mom was gone as a teacher conference but she was used to being home alone now that her mom had taken back up to teaching.

Looking down at her, Peter smiled in that smirking way that he did though it seemed softer with her nowadays. "No I didn't but I wanted to. Besides we can't have you out at night alone. Who knows was creep in the night could come after you," he said moving behind her as she stepped to her door. He leaned in to kiss her softly, hands on her hips almost pulling her to her tip toes.

"No we wouldn't want that. Even though I have the biggest creeper out there," Lydia said against his mouth and turned around but glanced back with her own recognisable smirk and grin, teasing him.

Peter laughed and pressed against her as she dug into her bag for the keys. "Yes you do. Let's go inside and I can show you how creepy I can be," he said leaning in and breathing soft against her neck, his lips light on her skin.

Lydia turned around to look at him, an incredulous look on her face and she sigh, shaking her head. "What does that even mean Peter?" came her reply but with the bit of a smile too. Her hands moved over his chest and she moved up to kiss him again before leaving a trail along his neck. "Not tonight," she whispered and turned back around to the door.

Often Peter was at odds with his life and having Lydia Martin in it. She was brilliant and kept him on his toes but she also infuriated him a great deal as well. Part of him loved it, part of him wanted to put her over his knee. Something that didn't help the strong urge for her that he had too. "Just for a little while?" he questioned, hands moving to her hips and he pressed against her, hips rocking against her ass.

Smiling she pushed back against him, rubbing against his jeans, pretty sure she felt his arousal beneath them. Lydia leaned back against his chest as she grabbed for her keys, leaning up and kissed him. He kept grinding against her, one hand sliding up around her chest. "I cant let you in tonight because I'll never get any rest and I'm exhausted."

Peter growled because he excuse was not even the best she could come up with and he kept grinding against her and she wasn't helping by rocking against him. "I need you. Need you," he said, his voice low.

"I can feel you and how much. It feels good doesn't it?" she said, her own voice low too as they moved faster. "So good. Give it to it, just let go Peter. Come on, come Peter, come!" she gasped out.

His claws extended, slicing holes into her clothes and drawing the slightest bit of blood as he rutted against her harder and groped her as he came there on the front porch of her house. "Fuck me," he said as he slumped against her.

Lydia was breathing hard too as she unlocked her door and stepped away from him and turned around. "Good night Peter." She smiled as she shut the door.

"So going to pay you back for this," he growled, eyes flashing blue and heading home to clean himself up and possibly take a cold shower.

Chapter Text

79.
Warnings:Bondage, spanking
Pairing: Stiles/???


80.
Warnings: none
Pairing: Stiles/Derek


81.
Warnings: DICKS...
Pairing: Stiles/Derek


82.
Warnings:none
Pairing:sterek


83.
Warnings: calling on Cupcake
Pairing: Stydia


84.
Warnings: fem!slash
Pairing: Allison x Lydia


85.
Warnings: auto-fellatio
Pairing: solo!Stiles
Title: Self-Sucking is a Skill, Dammit!


86.
Warnings: Explicit
Pairing: Sterek, Deathan


87.
Warnings: None
Pairing: Scott/Stiles


88.
Warnings: None
Pairing: Stiles/Danny


89.
Warnings: None
Pairing: Derek/Stiles


Chapter Text

1.

"Do you know why you're here Malia?" Marin asked, looking up from her notes.

Malia picked at her sweatpants with a frown, "Because my Dad thinks I'm crazy."

"Are you?" she asked.

Malia glared at the woman, "No."

"Do you want to expand on that?" she asked mildly.

"No," Malia answered.

Marin sighed, "If you don't open up, there's only so much I can do to help Malia."

Malia glowered into her lap. She couldn't really tell this woman she'd been a coyote for eight years, that she killed her mother and sister, that her father had rejected her reality. Well fine, she could, but it wouldn't help her in getting out of here.

"What are you thinking about Malia?" she asked gently.

"I hate myself," she said, deciding it was close enough to her current thoughts.

"Why's that?' Marin asked sincerely.

Malia swallowed and looked up at the woman, "I ruined everything. I was finally back with my Dad and we could have had a normal life, but I..."

"But you what?" Marin asked after a moment of silence.

"But I'm no good for that," Malia answered.

"Can you tell me one thing you like about yourself?" Marin asked.

Malia shot her an incredulous look.

"Well? Can you?" Marin pressed.

She didn't like the skin she was in, she didn't like who she was, what the hell was there to like about herself?

"No," she answered after a few minutes, feeling ashamed, there was nothing.

Marin thought for a moment, before briskly picking up her pen, "You have a single, do you not?"

Malia's eyebrows furrowed, "Yes, my roommate... switched."

Marin nodded, "Okay, I'm going to give you an assignment before our next independent session and I want you to take it seriously. Okay?"

Malia answered slowly, "Okay..."

Marin smiled, "I want you to masturbate, I want you to try and love your body Malia. Loving yourself will be difficult, but this should be an easier place to start. Can you do that for me?"

~~~

Malia laid in bed that night after lights out, considering her assignment. She wondered suddenly when she had stopped thinking of her as Ms. Morrell and switched to her first name. It was a pretty name, she was a pretty woman, and Malia was ready to bet she didn't have any problems loving herself. And as her mind began to imagine just how she would do it, her hand inched under the elastic of her pajama pants to touch herself.

She had been curious, but she hadn't tried it before, guilt at the self-indulgence stopping her. But when asked to do it, that Marin had asked her to do it, made it seem okay.

In her mind's eye, she could see Marin standing at the edge of her bed with her clipboard and pen, taking notes of her movements.

Good, now touch your nipples Malia.

She did with a gasp, they had hardened into little peaks and she squeezed them tightly. A mix of pleasure and a little sting of pain ran through her, arousal burning under her skin. Her breasts were heavy and warm in her palms, and she looked at the imaginary Marin, wondering what her breasts felt like.

She gave her a smirk, but didn't move other than to take a few more notes, Lower now.

The backs of Malia's nails drifted down her sides, flaring at her hips, and wider down to the tops of her thighs. Her splayed fingers rubbed her inner thighs, and her breath came quickly now.

Your vulva, she said and it almost sounded affected. The tone warmed her more, and spreading her legs unnecessarily wide, she cupped her vulva. She could smell herself now, and she wondered deliriously if Marin could. If Marin would be into that, if she'd want to delve into her.

Keep touching yourself.

So Malia rocked the heel of her hand back, pressing against her pubic mound and when her hips jumped her clit sang at the motion. She did it again quickly, and her fingers pressed down between her soaked lips. Her middle finger made a home between her inner labia, with her index and ring squeezing her outer lips together, and the heel of her hand kept rocking sensations through her.

Just like that, the voice said, and Malia came with a groan. She fell asleep with a smile, and definitely did not think about how awkward their next meeting might be. (She was still excited for it.)


2.

Derek is five years old when he first meets Stiles. He's experiencing his first shift - nails sharpening into claws, eyes burning amber - when a screech fills the basement. Derek claps his palms over his ears in vain, squinting at the intermittent beacon of light as a big, baby-blue box appears.

Derek starts hyperventilating. He's alone, he's confused, he's scared. His panic attack is on the verge of rupturing into uncontrollable tears, when the box opens and a man steps out.

"Aw shiiiiii-ps!" the stranger says when he sees Derek, and then he's kneeling down, clutching at Derek's shoulders. "Breathe with me, Derek."

Derek wants to know how this man knows his name. He isn't allowed to talk to strangers, or let them touch him like they're family, or have panic attacks, but Derek is five years old and he doesn't know how to stop.

"Well done," the man smiles as Derek's breathing evens, his rise and fall matching the steady heartbeat of the stranger; a beat that, Derek suddenly realises with regained clarity, is not of one heart, but of two.

Derek jerks away. His skin burns where the man's hands had held him tight. "Who are you?"

"A friend," the man says with a smile, but Derek think he looks sad.

"Thank you," Derek says, because even though he's a stranger, he's been raised to be polite.

A blinding grin lights up the man's face, and when he says, "You're welcome," Derek can't help but smile too.

*

Derek is eleven when he finally learns Stiles' name.

"You're real," Derek says, staring at him with intense, disbelieving eyes. "I thought you were a dream."

"Have you been dreaming about me, Derek?" the man grins, far too gleefully. Derek scowls, and the man's smile falls. "Whoa, you're like ten years old. That was far too inappropriate. Bad Stiles."

"Eleven," Derek snaps. "What's a 'Stiles'?"

The man throws his head back and laughs. "Dude, did I not mention that last time? Obviously not. I'm Stiles."

Derek snorts. "That's a stupid name."

Stiles starts laughing again, harder and louder, peals of joy radiating from that smile that stretches on forever.

*

Derek is seventeen, and he's met Stiles a total of six times. It's not enough; every meeting is more infuriating than the last, with Stiles monologuing about the universe and time travel and destiny and R.O.S.C.O.E. ("She's my baby, Derek. Her paintwork's faded, but she used to be a gorgeous royal-blue. Those were the days.")

Derek knows who it is before he even opens the door - he recognises the spice and electricity, a discordant noise of smells that make his heart beat to the tune of R.O.S.C.O.E.'s engines - but he can also smell sulphur and darkness.

Derek knows instantly that something is wrong.

It's in the shape of Stiles' eyes: where they're normally warm and affectionate, all they hold is bright, empty dazzle. It's beautiful, and foreign, and cold.

"Sorry to bother you," Stiles says, gesturing wildly at a smoking R.O.S.C.O.E. on the Hales' front lawn, "but my ride broke down. Do you have a toilet plunger I can borrow?"

Derek stares in silence for so long that Stiles - typically - starts rambling again, until Derek cuts him off. "You don't know me," he says numbly.

Stiles' frowns, his eyes jumping over Derek's face. Over the years, Derek's started to understand Stiles' frenetic body language, and right now he looks hungry.

"No, I don't," Stiles shakes his head. Then he smirks, shark-like and unrecognisable. "But that can be rectified."

*

(Derek has his first panic attack in twelve years, and Stiles has no idea what to do.

"Derek? That's a stupid name. Are lots of people here called 'Derek'?")

*

"Come on," Stiles whispers, biting at his ear as his hand grips Derek tight, so wet and dirty and good. "Come for me, Derek."

Derek whines when he comes, white mess dribbling onto his stomach as Stiles moans into his shoulder, chanting Derek's stupid, stupid, stupid name like a prayer.

*

Stiles doesn't say goodbye. He never does. Derek catches the tail of his departure, the familiar screech of R.O.S.C.O.E. waking him up.

Derek rushes to his window, and stares as the royal-blue paintwork fades from sight.

*

Six months later, Derek fucks Kate Argent, and he fights every wave of panic until he can breathe easy again.


3.

"Oh, good. You're awake," Stiles said, cackling in delight.

Stiles.

The same Stiles who had left Beacon Hills five years ago under the pretext of recovering from severe nogitsune trauma, who had broken Peter's heart when he'd fallen off the face of the earth instead, and who was Peter's mate, only, Peter had never had the chance to claim him.

Peter lunged toward the sound of Stiles' voice only to be jarred sharply in place. He was naked and bound so tightly that he could barely move. His wrists were shackled and chained to a steel bar overhead. He was kneeling on a table, his ankles and thighs expertly bound, his knees wantonly spread open. There was rope around his cock and balls, too, and his member was red and erect, beading with pre-come.

"Oh, good. You're back," Peter retorted, pulling at the chains. They held firm, with very little give, but also, curiously, there was no wolfsbane. The bonds were temporary, at best. A little effort on his part, and he would be free.

"Did you miss me, Peter?" Stiles asked, dragging a chair over. "I missed you. I was in Bogota when I realized, but I wasn't ready to come back. I was in Rzeszów by the time I figured out how you'd gotten under my skin."

"Care to enlighten the rudely-awakened?" Peter asked, shifting his weight to get more comfortable. Unfortunately, that meant spreading his legs even more, his cock sticking straight up, a dull ache spreading through his groin.

"Parking garage," Stiles said amiably, depositing the chair in front of the table. He'd changed -- broader of shoulder, leaner in the way a body was kept well-fed and exercised, but still starving, somehow. The oversized plaid shirts, baggy jeans and sneakers were gone, replaced by a thin, too-small charcoal Tee, well-worn black leather pants, and knee-high buckle boots that were a dark crimson shade. "You could've bitten me then. Turned me. You didn't care about consent with anyone else. It wasn't because I was worthless. It was because I was."

"I could've told you that," Peter said mildly. Stiles stepped up on the chair and onto the table, positioning himself in front of Peter. He unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. He took out his half-hard cock.

Peter stared at it until Stiles dug his hand through Peter's hair. The sting of the pull was gloriously painful.

"I'm not a nice boy anymore, Peter. I'm broken. Blood on my hands. Chaotic Evil. I do what I can to survive. The whole nine yards. Do you still want me like this?" Stiles asked. His eyes were hard, his fingers tight in Peter's hair.

Giving Peter the choice, just like Peter had given him one, long ago.

"More," Peter croaked, delirious on Stiles' raw scent. He buried his nose in Stiles' crotch. He took Stiles into his mouth, feeling Stiles growing harder on his tongue. He sucked him slowly, savouring scent and sound, taking more and more until Stiles' cock hit the back of his throat.

Stiles held him like that until he choked. Peter pulled back, gasped for air, and continued without hesitation. Stiles did it again, holding him in place until tears stung Peter's eyes. And again, murmuring, "This is how it's going to be, Peter. You can't have me any other way."

Peter was pulled off with a painful yank of his hair, forced to look up. Peter's voice was hoarse, but he managed, "Any way that I can."

Stiles smiled, his eyes softening. Peter rubbed his cheek against the spit-slick cock, opening his mouth when Stiles guided himself in. Peter tried to bob his head, but Stiles held him firm. Stiles thrust his hips shallowly, fucking Peter's mouth for what seemed like hours. Peter's jaw ached, but he didn't care. He meant it.

He would take Stiles any way that he could have him.

Stiles thrust harder, deeper. The noises he made were addicting. When Peter heard a hitch in Stiles' breath, he tightened his lips around Stiles' cock and sucked, winning himself a strangled groan and come pulsing down his throat.

Stiles pulled out when he was done, cradling Peter's face with tenderness. He knelt, meeting Peter's swollen mouth in a hungry, claiming kiss, his hands drifting down to release Peter's leaking cock from the rope.

The mere flutter of fingers was all Peter needed before he came, hard and blinding, purring in satisfaction at Stiles' gentle, "Good boy."


4.

Danny made sure his bedroom door was locked before he opened the plain package. His hands slipped on the paper, but he managed to open the package eventually. The dildo was bigger than he was expecting, and definitely brighter. The colours had left a lot to be desired but he'd decided blue was the least offensive on balance. The bright blue looked ridiculous, but thankfully he didn't need to see it to use it. That thought made Danny was suddenly impatient, fumbling for scissors to open the plastic package.

The dildo felt – odd – in his hands. Thick and weighty and wonderful. Danny put it down on the bed, shoving the packaging onto the floor and shucking his trousers.

Danny lay down on the bed, taking a deep breath. He ran his hands over his body, tugging on his erection once to bring it to full hardness. He picked up the dildo and squeezed it once, wondering how like the real thing it was.

Danny had made plans, lots of plans based on videos furtively watched on his laptop half under his bedsheets, muffling his groans with his fist. His skin had been tingling ever since he opened the package, anticipation making him vibrate.

He moved his hands down to his cock, trailing the head of the dildo along the length of his erection, hissing at the cooler touch. His cock jerked as he imagined doing this with a real cock, hot skin against his own.

“Fuck,” he breathed, fumbling for the lube from his bedside drawer table. He coated his hand and the dildo, lube dripping over the bedsheets in his haste. Danny shrugged, he could do his own laundry, besides, he didn't think he could stop now.

Danny rubbed his erection with the dildo once more, shuddering as it left a slick trail – like precome, he thought. There was no way he was going to last long enough to fuck himself, he thought.

He swallowed and lined his cock up with the dildo, wrapping his hands around them both. Danny groaned at the feeling of the thick hard cock against his own and his thrust up a little, feeling the ridges on the dildo rub against him.

Danny watching himself slowly stroke a hand up the length of the two cocks, smearing precome around both of the heads.

“Fu-uck,” he breathed again. He lifted his hips and moved his hand in counterpoint, closing his eyes against the friction. He wasn't going to last, balls already tight against his body. His muscles were tense, and thrust, short, hard jabs that shocked him. Danny couldn't slow down if his life depended on it, he was just glad his bed wasn't squeaky.

He forced himself to watch as he felt his orgasm crash over him, watching himself come all over the dildo. That made him jerk and come more until he was so over-sensitive even the act of removing his hand made him whimper.

Danny wiped his hand, panting. He ran a finger along the dildo, scooping up the come. He was going to do that with a real cock one day, and it was going to be epic.


5.

Of course Stiles was the one who found him. Strung up in silver, skin carved open with malice and wolfsbane, Derek thought perhaps he was already dead. Every nerve ending was lit up as though burning from the inside.

“I’ve got you.” Stiles gripped him around his middle, took his weight and yelled for the pack.

“Don’t touch me,” Derek whispered, voice hoarse with screaming.

“I’ve got you.” Stiles repeated the words into his throat until the others came.

Derek healed slowly, skin soon unblemished once more. The damage was in his soul though. The marks Kate left on him healed. It was the memory of her touch that haunted him.

He flinched when anyone came too close. Growled, snarled, pushed them away.

Stiles wouldn’t go away.

Derek woke up, several times, to Stiles wrapped around him, arms and legs encasing him in a cocoon as though he was going to keep the world away from him.

“Don’t touch me,” he would whisper, voice rough with fear.

“Shut up,” Stiles would tell him, rubbing his face into Derek’s neck. “I’m not her.”

“I know.” He allowed Stiles to stay.

This morning was different. Derek froze when Stiles pushed his t-shirt up, rested his palm on the quivering flesh of his abdomen. “Stop.”

“No.” Stiles ran his hand up Derek’s torso and back down again. “I’m not going to stop. I’m sick of thinking about her hands on you. I’m going to wipe out every memory of her touch.”

He shuffled down on the bed, hot breath on Derek’s skin. Derek shivered. She’d done that before she’d sliced into him with silver and delight.

Stiles pushed his shirt up further, pressed a tender kiss to Derek’s sternum. Right between his ribs where his heart beat strong and frantic. He lifted his gaze, looking right into Derek’s eyes. “You okay?”

Derek made a wet sound. “No.”

Stiles moved his mouth to one nipple, sucking softly, carefully. Derek couldn’t stop the noise escaping.

“Good?” Stiles moved slowly across to the other nipple, lavished it with the same care and attention. Derek fought to keep his body still. She’d liked it when she’d managed to coax an unwilling response.

“No,” Derek lied.

“Liar,” Stiles’ smile was a brand against his abdomen. He pushed a hand into Derek’s sweatpants, rubbed his thumb over the tip of Derek’s cock. “She’s not here.”

He pressed his face against Derek’s belly, cheek soft as silk, hot as iron. Derek shuddered when he turned and licked the muscles across his torso. “Don’t hurt me.” Derek thought that perhaps this time he was praying.

“You need this from me, to heal.” Stiles’ murmured, lips following tongue up and down the expanse of Derek’s abdomen and belly. His fingers wrapped around Derek’s cock, keeping up a rhythm that Derek’s hips were unable to resist.

“Please.” Derek wasn’t sure what he was asking for. Release. Forgiveness. She had taken so much.

“She will never touch you again.” Stiles spoke his vow into Derek’s stomach, breath burning as he kissed every inch of golden skin. “You’re mine. You’re ours.”

“Yes,” Derek groaned, finally starting to believe. “Yours.” Stiles’ hand moved faster, stripping Derek’s cock in unhurried, careful movements, eyes steady on Derek’s.

“You are my alpha. I am yours.” Stiles repeated the words the pack had exchanged before She took him.

“I am your alpha, you are mine.” Derek responded as his body surged beneath Stiles’ mouth and hands.

“I will never not find you.” Stiles kept up his pace, saw Derek’s breath hitch, hips stutter.

“I believe you.” Derek met his amber gaze, let Stiles’ magic wash over him, drench his battered soul.

“Good.” Stiles’ smile was a benediction. “Now, come for me.” He twisted his wrist, at the same time licking a long, damp line from the tip of Derek’s cock to the dip at his throat, all the while watching Derek’s face.

Derek kept his eyes locked with Stiles’ and obeyed. They smiled softly at one another as Derek’s heartbeat settled slowly.

“She’s dead.” Stiles gave him this final gift. “Scott and Chris found her. Ended it.”

Derek watched him silently for a moment. Then, “Thank you.”

Stiles shrugged propping his chin on Derek’s chest. “Eh, I just showed them the way.”

Derek shook his head. “You found me.” He reached up to run his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “You saved me.”

Stiles turned his head to press a kiss into Derek’s palm. “Always,” he promised.

And Derek believed.


6.

Sweat collected in the hollows of Stiles' back, dripped from his hairline, and beaded along his upper lip. His tongue swiped over his lips every few seconds, collecting it. His eyes squeezed shut, his blood rushing through him, making him flushed all over.

He was harder than he'd ever been in his life.

A tear slipped from between his lashes, slid achingly slow over the high arch of his cheek before splashing against the corner of his mouth.

His breathing ratcheted up, short, bursting gasps of air that dried out his mouth. "Derek, fuck!"

A light, tingling touch ghosted down his spine, scratching lightly over his skin in a razor-thin line, raising the hair on the back of his neck when it came to rest against the twitching, aching rim of his hole. A choked sob rolled up from his chest when he realized it was a claw. "Oh god! Please, please!"

When the claw moved away, Stiles wailed in dismay, only quieting when he felt Derek's chest pressing up against his back, sliding easily along his sweaty skin until their shoulders were flush against each other and his mouth was right there at Stiles' ear.

"Shh." Derek breathed the sound over the sensitive places on Stiles' neck, goosebumps prickling across his body. "This isn't about you, remember?"

But it was. Oh god, it was, because every nerve ending in Stiles was alight, tuned in to Derek's slightest movement. The bed creaked, dipped, and Stiles rolled with it, boneless with want.

The click of a cap, the bubbling squirt of lube, and the shush of slick skin sliding against dry had Stiles arching his back, thrusting his ass at Derek, who just laughed, the sound dark with humor.

"You don't think I'm going to fuck you, do you? No, Stiles, your little ass can't take that again. Not tonight. It's still all puffy and swollen from earlier. I have to let it rest, heal up, so I can use it again tomorrow."

Stiles choked on a moan, Derek's words dripping into his ears and going straight to his cock, which twitched and pulsed out a drop of precome onto the sheets. His ass tightened involuntarily, stealing his breath when the low ache that had been lingering in the background of his consciousness bloomed into a dull throb of pain. But even that made him harder, remembering the pleasure-pain of Derek sliding into him for the first time.

"Derek."

"Do you know," Derek said, "if we had sex every day for a year, we'd never get through everything I want to do with you. But this? I've thought about this so many times. Sliding my dick over your skin, marking you with my scent, as mine."

Suiting word to deed, his dick slipped into the crease of Stiles' ass, rubbing all along it, the head glancing over Stiles' rim, soothing the ache while simultaneously making it worse. It was slick with lube, and Stiles let out a whine knowing that he'd missed seeing Derek's fingers wrapped around his cock, slicking it up until it was shiny and wet.

Derek's hands planted in the mattress on either side of Stiles, and he could see the way Derek's claws were growing from the tips. He bit his lip, rocking his hips up into Derek's downward thrusts, shivering with every pass of Derek's dick over the top of his crack.

"Do it," he whispered, voice rough with want as he rutted mindlessly down into the sheets before hitching his hips back, tightening his ass cheeks to give Derek that extra bit of friction. "Get your scent all over me. Let everyone know I'm yours. Please, Derek, let them know I'm your bitch."

"Mine," Derek growled, the sound full of teeth and primal need.

Some instinct had Stiles tipping his head to the side, stretching out the line of his throat, wordlessly begging for something more. When it came, when Derek's teeth sank into his skin, denting his flesh without breaking it, something just clicked, sliding into place.

Derek's come painted Stiles' ass cheeks, slid down his crack, dripped from his lower back and thighs. Even after Derek finished coming, he didn't stop moving, just kept rutting against Stiles, rubbing his scent all over Stiles. It was that thought, the thought that he was marked, Derek's scent indelibly etched into his skin, that made Stiles' toes curl up as he came, shouting Derek's name.


7.

Derek shoves Stiles against his bedroom door hard enough to rattle the wood. It's meant to be threatening, but Stiles stopped thinking of Derek as threatening about the same time as he realized he was attracted to guys as well as girls. Derek's hands are tight in the front of Stiles's shirt. If he held any tighter, he'd probably rip it, though judging from the way Derek's glaring at him, he wants to rip something. Preferably Stiles.

Then Derek does the strangest thing. He sniffs the air and gets an expression like he'd just smelled sulfur. He drops Stiles like Stiles is fire and backs away, eyes wide. "Are you...?" Derek glances down at Stiles's crotch and yes, Stiles has the most awkward boner in the history of awkward boners.

Stiles blushes. "Sorry," he says, but Derek's already out the window and gone before the word's halfway out of his mouth.

"Well, that was unexpected," Stiles says to his empty room.

Derek is scarce after that. Any research requests he has for Stiles go through Scott and Stiles never gets told not to come along – well, sometimes by Scott, but never by Derek. He doesn't get threatened or pinned against walls or any of that.

He kind of misses it.

Worst of all, he barely sees Derek and that's a true crime, because as much as he has an unrequited thing for Derek, he thought they were bros and now they're not. He tries to pass a vague apology through Scott, but that gets him nowhere. He wheedles Derek's number off of Boyd but his texts go unanswered.

All of that changes when he wakes up the morning of his eighteenth birthday – can one a.m. even be considered morning – to find Derek crawling through his window with his eyes glowing Alpha red.

"You..." Derek says, and that's all he says before he's crawling on top of Stiles. Derek's hands find his face and then they're kissing like the world is about to end.

"What?" Stiles asks the moment he's allowed to breathe.

"Do you know..." Derek says, punctuating the words with a soul-searing kiss that involves more tongue and teeth than Stiles knows how to handle. "...how hard it is..." Derek maneuvers the covers off of Stiles. They end up in a heap half on the floor. "...when you..." Stiles is all the way hard. Derek sniffs, his nose pressing against Stiles throat, but this time he doesn't back away. "...and you weren't legal..." Derek spits the word out like it's a curse.

"Legal now," Stiles gasps. "Totally legal."

Derek sits back and stares down at him. His eyes flash red again and he smirks. "I know."

Then Derek is diving down, his fingers finding the waist of Stiles's boxers and pulling. Stiles's cock springs free and he blushes. He can't help it. No one's ever seen him like this and Derek just looks for a good long minute before opening his mouth and swallowing Stiles down like he's trying to save a dying man. Stiles might be dying. He's not sure. It feels a bit like dying with Derek's mouth warm and wet around him, sucking, swallowing.

He can't help it. He comes, embarrassingly quick, but this is the first time anyone's ever put their mouth on his dick and it feels incredible, amazing, so many words that he can't think of because mouth on dick unf.

When he comes back to himself, he's panting and Derek is sitting back again, licking his lips and looking incredibly satisfied.

"Best birthday present ever," Stiles says.

Derek sits back on his heels. He's obviously hard, his erection straining against his jeans. He smirks. "How'd you like to put that mouth to good use?"

Stiles takes one look at Derek's face, then looks down at his cock and he's sitting up, moving so fast he nearly breaks the sound barrier. He's dreamt about having Derek's cock in his mouth – what it would feel like, what it would taste like, the sounds Derek would make when he comes – and now he gets to try it.

Best birthday ever.


8.

Licking his lips, Stiles crawled up the bed and straddled Derek's waist, grinning. "So, since we already know we're taking a shower right after this because the contractors are finally done and I want to feel all eight of those showerheads, is it okay if I come on your chest?"

With a grunt, Derek gripped Stiles' ass and pulled him closer. "At least this time you asked." He let his right hand move to grip Stiles' cock, stroking it softly and letting his thumb circle around the one mole that dotted his shaft. "I can't believe you're into chest hair."

Softly gasping, Stiles arched toward Derek. "It's your chest hair. I like it. Like that you're not waxing just to give yourself your pain anchor. Wanna rub my dick in it." He suddenly shut his mouth tightly, his eyes wide as they met Derek's.

Artfully raising one brow, Derek pulled Stiles further forward so that his balls were resting against Derek's sternum. "Go ahead."

"Dude, seriously?" Stiles didn't pause to wait for an answer; leaning forward to press his length through the patch of chest hair that decorated Derek and letting out a throaty groan.

Lifting his knees and settling his feet against the bed, Derek reached over Stiles' thigh to drag his fingers over his own cock, pressing a finger against the tip and sliding it under his quickly retreating foreskin to circle around the head, keening with pleasure from the sensation.

Stiles' eyes shut for a moment as he rutted against Derek's pectorals, dragging a line of precome up to the man's throat and sliding back down through it. "Fuck, Derek. You wanna lean your head down just a little and give me some tongue?" Derek pressed his chin against his chest and let his mouth drop open, tongue slipping out and catching against the tip of Stiles' sock with his next thrust. "Oh, god. Yes. That!" Stiles started to thrust faster, wincing at the friction, but loving the strange intimacy of the act. The way his cock collided with Derek's tongue on each thrust, sometimes sliding up to brush against his lips, was amazing, too.

He hadn't prepared for anything long and drawn out, but Stiles was still surprised at how quickly he came, the first pulse of come catching on the corner of Derek's mouth, but the rest directed against his chest hair and slowly smeared around with the last of Stiles's thrusts. He could still feel the steady movement of Derek's arm moving against his thigh, so Stiles slid back down to Derek's waist and reached a hand back to cup at Derek's balls, rolling them between his fingers and cupping them up against the base of Derek's shaft so that the edge of Derek's hand brushed them on each of his strokes. He met Derek's gaze, trying to match his intensity, and was rewarded a moment later with the feel of warm wetness against his back that cooled all too quickly. "Shower," Derek said suddenly, his hand moving to Stiles' back and rubbing in some of the come.

"Yes, dear," Stiles said with a wide grin, yelping at the soft smack against his ass that Derek delivered immediately afterward. Totally worth it.


9.

Lydia loves the chafing on her inner thighs. The irritation lasts a couple days. She holds out for a couple more before going to him.

Every single time.

Every single time Derek's waiting for her, need in his eyes. If he truly didn't want her, she wouldn't press him, but one kiss is all it takes.

The start wasn't very memorable. He saved her from a demented troll, took her to his loft to tend to her scrapes. In gratitude, she kissed him.

Derek spent a good half hour with his head between her legs.

Lydia returned the favor, and it was the beginning.

"You can fuck me, you know," she moans, head thrown back on the pillows of his bed, skirt around her waist, panties around one ankle as Derek licks and sucks her towards her third orgasm. Not ceasing lapping her swollen clit, he looks up at her from beneath hooded eyes, then squeezes her ass in his strong hands and lifts her hips from the bed.

He never fucks her. Never puts anything inside her. That he can bring her off again and again without fingers in her cunt amazes her. His tongue and lips and even his teeth are so talented.

And his beard leaving red marks on her inner thighs, her labia, her ass, that just makes her quake.

As Lydia comes again, he finally lets her go, settling her gently on the mattress. She's a quivering mess, sopping wet and sticky and so sensitive, but also rejuvenated.

"I want your mouth," Derek growls. That he'll do. He won't fuck her cunt or her ass but he'll fuck her mouth. She has no clue why, but, frankly, he's so good at cunnilingus, she's willing to forgo anything else.

Smiling, Lydia wriggles her way down the bed, eyes fixating on the thick bulge in Derek's jeans as he straddles her body and waits for her to reach him before unbuttoning and unzipping. With a grunt of relief, he takes out his cock, and Lydia licks her lips. The sight of it never fails to make her salivate. Hard, he's about eight inches long, and thick, and he's uncut, something new for her, but she quickly got used to it.

Taking the shaft in one soft hand she guides the tip to her lips, and Derek leans forward to take the back of her neck in one hand, lifting her head.

The first several times she blew him, he hesitated to thrust, to take charge, until she placed his fingers in her hair, glared at him, and told him to fuck her mouth.

He no longer hesitates because he knows just how much she loves it.

And she only ever has loved it with him which is something he doesn't know. They never talk about what's between them or what they had with others.

They rarely talk at all.

Derek thrusts his hips and Lydia relaxes his throat and he fucks her the only way he will. Digging her fingers into the tangled bedding she just takes it, moaning and licking and humming around his dick. Knowing he's been hard and on edge for over thirty minutes, she knows he won't last long, so she just opens up for him. When she feels his fingers tighten, leaving bruises on her neck, she concentrates, closing her throat around the tip of his cock. Derek's eyes flash blue, his fangs distend, but he doesn't let his claws out. He's always so careful not to let his wolf hurt her, but he can't hold in the howl when he comes.

As he pulls out, Lydia chokes a bit, and she swallows what she can, but a bit of cum spills down her chin with saliva. As he lowers her head to the mattress and moves off her, Lydia delicately wipes her face clean with a corner of the sheet, then goes to her knees to press herself against his back.

Looking over his shoulder at her, Derek comes as close as he does to a smile and she presses a kiss to his cheek.

In a little bit, she'll get dressed and head home to clean up and resume her normal life...until the red marks on her thighs fade, her clit starts aching from want again, and she can't stay away.

Maybe some day he'll come to her first, though it doesn't really matter. He's always there for her.


10.

"Stiles!" Derek’s hand snaps out, catches Stiles around the wrist, stopping him running.

Derek cocks his head, listening, eyes scanning the treeline. Stiles notes the calm in Derek's posture, the way his shoulders relax the barest amount. It’s clear they've escaped immediate danger.

They slip into an opening in the mountainside, a rocky cave that’s pitch dark in its depths. Stiles chokes in a breath of musty air.

“There’s moving water in here,” Derek says. “That means there’s an outlet.”

Stiles leans against a rock as Derek surveys the area. Each of his moves are ginger, but fluid. Even now, he’s unable to contain his lethal, predatory grace.

“We’ll be safe here.” He moves back to Siles. “I need time to heal, then I’ll carry you out if I have to.”

Derek's fingertips ghost over Stiles' flank. The claw marks are deep, but not enough to cause worry.

"I’m okay," he says. "We're alive. Holy shit." His breathing’s ragged, words choked, but Stiles doesn't care. They're afuckinglive.

Carefully, Derek removes Stiles' shirt. He moves his hands down Stiles' front, barely touching as he scans for more injuries.

He seems relieved when his gaze meets Stiles', more relaxed and sure. It causes desire to bloom bright and hot in Stiles' belly.

Derek’s a mess, all scraped skin and fresh blood, gashes across his bare chest that Stiles knows he wouldn’t have survived himself.

He licks his lips, watches Derek's eyes flick to his mouth. They almost died. Driven by adrenaline and the idea there never would’ve been a chance at all, Stiles cups a hand around the back of Derek's neck, pulls him into a soft kiss.

Derek hesitates, but then hooks his fingers into the top of Stiles' jeans. He kisses along Stiles’ jaw and down his neck, licks the scraped skin of his shoulder, then blows cool air against it, soothing the sting.

Stiles breathes out something between a surprised laugh and a wanton groan. His hands explore Derek, slicking through sweat and blood, slowing to drag across taut muscles.

Derek steps closer, fits himself into the space between Stiles' legs, fingers circling Stiles' wrist below bruised skin.

"No," Stiles says abruptly, knowing Derek intends to take some of the hurt away. "I don't--I want it." It means he's alive, this is real. Stiles will keep the pain as a reminder he isn't dreaming.

Derek kisses him again, rocks forward, and Stiles can feel how hard he is, even through all their layers of clothes.

"Keep doing that," Stiles says.

He does it again, the friction causing little sparks of light to burst behind Stiles' eyelids.

The rocking of their hips goes from slow, languorous slides to rough jolts of pleasure, each shift of bruised body only adding to the sensation, amplifying the feel of every touch.

Stiles presses a kiss to the hollow of Derek’s throat. A crescendo of breathy moans and stilted syllables echo off the rocks of the cave. Stiles chokes back a groan, shushes Derek with lips and tongue as he rolls his hips.

Stiles tips his head to look at Derek, to say something, though he doesn't know what. Derek's eyes are dark, pupils eclipsing irises, leaving only a sliver of familiar green. His lips are pink, glistening, kiss-swollen and so soft in contrast to the feel of his hands on Stiles.

Stiles shifts again, rutting against Derek, sliding his tongue into Derek's mouth, begging with nothing more than the move of his body and the taste of his tongue.

"Please," Derek whispers, branding the plea into Stiles' skin with a hot kiss.

Stiles hooks a leg around Derek's hip and Derek's hands slap against the rocks beside them, bracing himself as he thrusts more determinedly.

The friction is perfect, but it's Derek’s expression that causes heat to coil at the base of Stiles' spine; lips parted, face tipped down, but eyes still trained on Stiles'.

With a few more thrusts, hard cocks dragging against one another, Stiles’ orgasm crashes through him like a tidal wave. He clings to Derek, whimpers against his lips as it rocks through him, then Derek is coming, too, groaning into the kiss, grip tight around the back of Stiles' thigh as he holds him up.

"Definitely gonna feel this later," Stiles says after a moment.

Derek looks pained, his fingers sliding back to Stiles' injured side. "Let me," he says.

Stiles shakes his head. He still wants the aches and pains. Just for a little while longer.


11.

After everyone else left the locker room, Isaac walked over and tapped Stiles on the shoulder. "You said you wanted to talk?"

Stiles turned to face him and frowned. "Yeah, actually, I do."

"Well, I'm here, so talk," Isaac said with a shrug. He figured Stiles had a problem with him and though it didn't really bother him, he figured they may as well get it out into the open.

"I wanted to tell you to check your attitude--"

"My attitude?" Isaac interrupted, but Stiles put up his hand.

"I wasn't done. You need to realize that I'm Scott's best friend and have been for years."

Isaac felt suddenly defensive, though he wasn't entirely sure why. "I'm in his pack. You wouldn't understand what that means since you're not a wolf."

Stiles shook his head. "Scott and I are practically brothers."

"I don't know about that. I'm the one that lives in his house, you know." Isaac flashed Stiles a satisfied grin.

"You've really only known him for what, a few months? I know more about him than you ever will, so you may as well stop trying."

Isaac took a step forward toward Stiles. "Wait, so you're saying you don't want me to be friends with him? That's not going to happen."

"No, just that you should stop trying to act like you're a better friend to him than I am."

"Can I help it if maybe I am?" Isaac shrugged. "It's not like you can fight beside him or anything. You just help him from the sidelines like a glorified cheerleader."

Stiles glared at Isaac in silence for a moment. "You know what? On second thought maybe this was a bad idea. I hadn't expected this would turn into some sort of 'whose dick is longer' contest." He turned to walk away but Isaac put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"That could be one way to solve it," Isaac suggested.

Stiles faced him and frowned. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"As you said, 'whose dick is longer'? Could solve our problem."

Stiles stared at him again but after a few seconds, he nodded. "Okay." Stiles undid his belt and started to unzip his jeans. "Hard, I'm guessing?"

"Of course," Isaac answered as he turned away and undid his own pants. "But we only get thirty seconds to get it there." There was no objection from Stiles, so Isaac looked up at the clock on the wall while he tugged lightly on his cock. He had no trouble getting it hard, not needing the full thirty seconds. When the time was up, he turned around. "Time's up, Stiles."

When Stiles turned both of them were instantly fixed on the other's cock. "I-- I guess you should come stand next to me," Isaac instructed and Stiles walked over and did as instructed.

"It's still hard to tell," Stiles said looking down at them. "They're so close." He looked over at Isaac and then focused his eyes back on their cocks. "I have an idea, though." Isaac looked up as Stiles moved to stand in front of him. He took a step forward so their cocks were side-by-side in opposite directions.

"Looks like I win," Isaac commented with a grin.

"Not so fast," Stiles said in objection. "You've got a bit of an advantage." Stiles reached down and put two fingers on Isaac's cock, slowly sliding back his foreskin. "There. Even."

Isaac felt a jolt of excitement run through him at Stiles' touch and he reached down to hold Stiles' hand where it was. He looked Stiles in the eye and gave him a small smile as he started to stroke both of their cocks along with Stiles.

"Oh, fuck," Stiles muttered as their eyes stayed fixed and the stroking picked up in speed and intensity. Isaac wasn't sure why, but he felt an urge to lean over and kiss Stiles. He decided against it, worried it might ruin this moment.

"I--" Stiles' comment was cut off as they both let out a deep breath and a groan at the same time. Isaac continued stroking as they each came onto the other's leg. When they finished, Isaac reached over and grabbed a towel out of his locker to clean them up while Stiles laughed.

"What's so funny?" Isaac asked.

Stiles shrugged. "Well, it just occurred to me that I think we both win."

Isaac dropped the towel and pulled Stiles into a kiss. "I guess we did."


12.

There’s a ritual to join a werewolf pack. It’s drinking some nasty smelling tea under the light of a full moon. Stiles can’t stop laughing about it. Scott just tries to remind himself that Derek can be trusted, and this will keep Stiles safe.

*

It’s late. They’ve been battling another monster of the week, and Stiles is exhausted. All he wants to do is crawl into bed and sleep for a year.

He almost has a heart attack when he sees the dark shadow in the corner. He breathes easier, though, when Derek steps forward, a strip of moonlight falling across his face.

“Jesus, fuck, Derek. What is wrong with you? Were you raised by– You know what, never mind, I know the answer.”

Derek rolls his eyes, which is a typical Derek response to anything Stiles’s perceives as mortal danger.

Whatever. Douches will be douches.

“I’m just here to make sure you got home alive,” Derek says.

“Well, here’s me. At home. Alive. Your alpha duty has been done. Goodbye now.” Stiles makes a shooing motion with his hands.

Derek stares at him.

“I’m just going to go to bed. Seriously, I can manage that much on my own,” Stiles says.

“I want to make sure. Strip.”

There’s no reason to do it. Stiles likes Derek, but only in a “you’re sarcastic and we have a semi-friendly antagonistic relationship that involves saving each other’s lives” way. Not in the “I’m going to strip right in front of you” way.

But he wants to. With Derek there, nothing feels more natural. He pulls off his t-shirt, then pushes his jeans to the floor. He feels the skin of his stomach. It feels good to touch.

When Derek says, “You sleep in the nude, don’t you,” it feels perfectly natural to push his boxers off as well.

He crawls into bed, laying on his stomach and letting Derek sit next to him, one hand resting on the small of his back, right above his buttocks.

“Go to sleep,” Derek murmurs.

Stiles eyes feel heavy. They start to droop, and when he wakes up, he won’t think anything is wrong.

*

It happens again, two days later, Derek asking Stiles that wouldn’t he be more comfortable doing his homework while sitting in Derek’s lap? Wouldn’t he feel better with no shirt, no pants, no underwear?

And Stiles feels drugged, because it’s good to do what Derek says. He feels like he’s losing himself, and he doesn’t care. He wants to let go.

And a week later, he’s at Derek’s loft and Derek says, “You look tense. If you jerked off, I bet you’d feel so much better.” So he does, in Derek’s bed, while Derek watches. And Derek’s right.

He does feel better.

*

Derek shows up the next time Stiles’s father works a double.

“You know what you’ve always wanted to try?” he asks.

Stiles hums. He can feel the euphoria setting in already.

“You’ve always wanted to suck my cock.”

And that’s how Stiles finds himself on his knees, his nose pressed into Derek’s skin and Derek’s cock lodged in his throat. He thought he had a gag reflex, but apparently Derek can make that go away too.

He’s never had a dick in his mouth before. The taste is musty and a little bitter, but it’s not bad. He’ll grow used to it, come to crave it.

He works feverishly, trying to keep Derek’s cock as far in his throat as he can while Derek moans and gasps for breath above him, urging him on, telling him he’s wanted this for months, couldn’t wait to get him on his knees since the ritual under the full moon.

Stiles moans when Derek comes, swallowing when Derek tells him to.

He’s already wanting more.

Derek slides down the wall and pulls him into his harms, stroking one hand through his hair while he catches his breath.

“You were so good for me. You deserve something special, something very nice. Know what I’m going to give you?” Derek asks.

Stiles doesn’t, but he knows he wants it if Derek wants it.

“My cock in your ass, pumping you full of come, knotting you up nice and tight and breeding you full of my pups. Don’t you want that?”

Stiles is already pulling off his clothes and spreading his legs as Derek climbs over him.

Yes. That’s exactly what he wants.


13.

Stiles’s head fell back against the mattress.

“Damn it, Derek! Again?” Stiles glared at Derek, who was standing by his desk.

“Call me crazy, but I’m beginning to see a pattern.” Stiles sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. “You always stop before the pants come off, so spill.”

Derek huffed. “Stiles, it’s not you-”

“Oh, you are not pulling the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ card on me. Is it because I’m a dude? The age thing? The fact I’m human? Is it because you wear tight jeans and can’t…?”

“No! It’s not. It’s the knot.”

“The knot? The knot?” Stiles’s eyes widened and trailed down Derek’s chest to the bulge in his jeans. “You mean, your dick…?” Stiles curled his fingers, forming a loose circle in the air. Derek’s face reddened, but he nodded. “Oh, man, I gotta see this!”

“Stiles, no! It’s… different.”

“So? You think it’s going to freak me out?”

Derek glared at Stiles from below his lashes.

“Come on; it can’t be that bad. Let me see!” Stiles outright stared at Derek’s crotch.

“Now? But –”

Stiles rolled his chair closer to the bed. “Yes, right now. Here, in fact.”

Reluctantly, Derek lowered himself into the chair.

“No!” Stiles yelled, reaching to open his nightstand drawer.

Derek paused. “No?”

“Pants off. Everything off.” Grumbling, Derek unbuttoned his fly and pushed his pants down past his hips.

“I guess I don’t have to worry about buying you sexy underwear for Valentine’s Day. Here.” Stiles passed over the bottle.

“It’s not something like strawberry, is it?” Derek squeezed a gob of lube into his hand, tossing the bottle onto Stiles’s bed.

“I hang out with werewolves, remember? I can’t have my junk smelling like cheap lip gloss. Now, let’s see this thing!”

“Why do I even bother?” Derek opened his legs wide on the armless desk chair.

Stiles leaned forward. “Because you love me.”

Derek snorted. “Debateable.”

Derek started from base, sliding upwards, covering his cock with slick lube, then increased to a fast rhythm, stroking with a tight fist.

“You’re… thick.” Stiles leaned in closer, watching Derek’s cock fatten under his fingers. Stiles wanted to trace the veins with his tongue, feeling the blood pulsing and Derek’s cock twitching under him.

“Do you need help? I can...” Stiles swallowed thickly, trying to moisten his dry mouth.

“Pants. Take ‘em off.”

Stiles scrambled to follow Derek’s request. Grabbing the lube, Stiles popped the cap with his thumb. “No.” Derek’s voice was husky. Broken. “Just - open your legs. Let me see.”

Stiles felt his heart race under Derek’s steady gaze, not unlike the first time Derek had pinned Stiles up against his own bedroom door.

“God, Stiles. I can smell how much you want me. I - Ah!” Derek’s free hand gripped the seat of the chair, tightening, as Stiles watched the base of Derek’s cock swell impossibly large.

Stiles dropped to his knees, scooting closer to Derek. Reaching out with one finger, Stiles traced around the curve of the bulge. “Wow, that feels hard.” Derek whimpered. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” Derek choked out, tightening his grip on the seat with his free hand. Stiles could hear the fabric rip.

Stiles leaned in closer, nose touching Derek’s knot, taking in a deep breath of sweat and musk and causing Derek to growl. Stiles looked up at Derek’s face from under his lashes.

“Stop?”

“No.” As if to invite Stiles to explore more, Derek moved his hand, clutching the chair on the other side and leaving himself completely open.

Stiles grasped Derek firmly, sliding his fingers down toward Derek’s knot. The thing was huge. But that didn’t make Derek less hot in Stiles’s eyes, or make Stiles want him less. Stiles leaned in and licked down around the knot and up along the underside to the head.

Twisting his hand around the bulge, Stiles felt Derek twitch in his hand, before Derek’s eyes burned bright blue. Without warning, come spraying onto Stiles’s face.

“Stiles! Shit. I’m-”

Laughing, Stiles wiped a gob of come off his cheek. “It’s fine, just... not what I was expecting. Umm... how long can it stay hard like this?”

Derek shrugged. “Minutes. Hours. Depends on the… circumstances. Stiles, I understand if you...”

“Stop! I want to. We can work up to your knot, Derek. We just have to get creative.”

And research. Lots of research.


14.

The first time it happens, Derek hasn’t even been back in Beacon Hills for a day. He’s lying in a bed made up of the remnants of Laura’s clothes, and a mound of old blankets that smell so strongly of smoke that Derek has to strain for the few precious whiffs of her scent that he can manage.

It’s wrong, in the wake of her death, for Derek to feel anything but grief, so he isn’t prepared for the wave of lust that crashes over him like a tidal wave, sudden and inexorable.

When the phantom touches start, it’s both a torture and a relief. The touches are less than feather light, yet somehow more. The sensation of slick and hot has nothing to do with Derek’s reality, or his need, a rhythm that is point and counterpoint with his own hand on his dick. The duality makes him feel oversensitive, and Derek isn’t sure what to think of it, isn’t sure how to get what he needs, or who to beg for it.

He shouldn’t have worried though. The whole thing is over quickly, sputtering out with a finality that reminds Derek of the days when he was a kid, and he couldn’t touch himself often enough, or get enough of the floating high that came from a good orgasm.

Derek falls asleep that night with an unexpected but welcome ease. He won’t experience another restful night like that for a long time to come.

~

The touches come again and again, and if there’s a pattern to them, Derek never quite figures it out. After days and weeks of fighting for his life, fighting to fucking keep it together, sometimes it’s the only thing that helps him feel any amount of peace. He wonders what it all means, wonders if he’s cursed. He wonders even more at the fact that he apparently doesn’t care.

Until one day he does figure it out.

Just as confusing to him is the Stilinski kid. He’s not sure what it is about him that has Derek circling around him like he does. He has to be careful, because he’s found himself more than once staring up at the Stiles’ house unsure how he got there, drawn in during a moment of inattention. If anything, now that he’s an alpha, the instinct behind it has only grown stronger. He’s probably weak for how little he tries to fight it.

’just trying to keep the human safe’ he tells himself, knowing it’s a lie.

He’s equally unsure what it is about this particular night that has him sneaking up to peer into Stiles’ widow.

The room is dimly lit by a blue computer screen, and as Derek watches, Stiles clicks something and then stretches in his seat. Derek doesn’t need werewolf senses to pick up on the sudden onslaught of moans and slapping flesh.

Stiles immediately flails, and the volume settles lower.

Derek really should leave.

Except…The now-familiar arousal begins to spark in Derek’s groin. Like always it’s quick to come on, leaves Derek wobbly and breathless, but more than that, rocked by the implications. The timing isn’t a coincidence. He forces himself to look inside Stiles’ window again—not a hardship after all—and he’s riveted by the motion of Stiles’ hand. Derek knows that motion. He can feel each up stroke as it plays out across his own skin. It’s too dim to pick out the details, but he doesn’t need to see Stiles’ other hand, to know that it’s sneaking down to cup his—their?—balls. It’s intense, like a blindfold has been removed, and Derek can finally get the visual cues to match the sensations he’s grown so intimate with over the last few months.

Like always, it’s over almost embarrassingly fast, leaving Derek with an uncomfortable wet spot, and Stiles, in his room, reaching for a box of tissues.

Even when his sense of equilibrium returns, however, Derek doesn’t move. He knows what this means, realizes that maybe he always knew what it meant. Although, who fucking else but Stiles could Derek possibly be mated to? It’s his life after all, and for Derek? Nothing is ever meant to be easy.

Derek watches as Stiles stands up from his chair, and the way the light catches at Stiles in that moment makes him look… older and alluring.

It’s like catching a glimpse of a future that Derek thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can be ok with.


15.

Derek’s fucking someone downstairs.

Discretion isn’t a possibility in the loft in normal circumstances, especially for werewolves, but then shame is one of their more human emotions. Moreover sexual shame within the safety of the pack is meant to be something of a non-issue, except for maybe the bitten. For born wolves experience has already taught them that the sight, sound, and heavy scent of sex is not so much an illicit experience as it is a reassurance of life well lived. For every salty sweet taste of it to their heightened senses there’s also the weight of trust, growth, and joy.

That didn’t make it any less annoying.

Even stripped down to a tank top and underwear it’s still too damn hot. Cora just wants to sleep. She’s tired, tired damnit! Every limb trembling from the kind of bone deep exhaustion that comes with pushing herself past physical limits, from training until her mind was nothing but white fuzz instead of black smoke and screams.

A stifled gasp floats up from the general direction of the spiral staircase and she groans in exasperation, covering her face with a pillow. She can’t tell who is sucking her Alpha’s dick at first then decides she doesn’t really want to know. The wet smacking is obscene enough and she doesn’t really want to be able to picture it later in all it’s high definition glory.

Cora huffs, silently cursing him for taking so long to get laid, and shoves the pillow away. She slides a hand down to test and finds the thin material of her panties already wet. After a few tense moments of her idly playing with her slick bits and Derek’s hitched breathing he tells their guest, “Enough.”

Yeah, really,’ Cora thinks.

She grunts irritably and grabs the pillow again, tucking it firmly between her legs. Rolling back over onto her belly and she nuzzles the bedding, taking deep breaths. It doesn’t smell like her really, instead it smells like Derek. It smells like pack, lavender, and sex. It smells safe.

For the moment she is safe. Everyone is safe, and some of the tension that she’s carried for as long as she could remember eases. It drains from her shoulders and down the length of her spine to pool in a hot little knot where her clit is, begging to be worked out. So Cora shifts to fold the padding more to her liking, adjusts it so it can press more solidly against her and before long she’s rocking her hips in lazy little circles.

Maybe it’s all the ‘fuck me’ pheromones in the air, maybe she just needed it, but it’s not very long before Cora’s groaning softly into the sheets. The pressure is satisfyingly consistent against her clit and she shifts one last time to properly mount it. The slap of her hand hitting the wall seems too loud but she doesn’t care because it’s so good and she needs something to brace against.

Someone’s screaming behind Derek's palm. Cora can hear them, smell the salt of their tears as the furniture bangs and rattles in a vicious rhythm. She needs to come, feels hot with it as she works herself over on Derek’s bedding, his scent thick against her tongue. Every flex of her hips sends a jolt of pleasure that leaves her gasping, the cotton a sweet wet ruin against her slit.

She’s going to come soon, Cora can’t even think about what’s happening downstairs beyond the fact that her alpha is too. She thrusts harder and the bed creaks in protest until her orgasm breaks over her in weak, syrupy pulses. It’s not enough though and Cora snarls, dissatisfied. There’s no knot for her to clench down on, no hard friction fucking her open where she needs it most. She maybe loses time as she mounts the pillow again and again, hungry for it.

It’s not until Derek’s footsteps are slow on the stairs when finally, finally it’s enough. She wails as the fifth orgasm hits and it leaves her shivering and weak as a newborn kitten. She still struggling to catch her breath, cheeks flushed red with effort, as he gently slides the pillow out from between her thighs and replaces it with a fresh one. It’s cool against her cheek and she murmurs in sleepy contentment as Derek settles into bed behind her. For the moment they are pack again and they fall asleep like that, comforted.


16.

“Is it too much to ask for someone to just have sex with me already?” Stiles asks. Derek side eyes him, eyebrow game strong. “What?”

“We’re here,” Derek tells him, parking and turning off the car. “Get out.”

“I honestly don’t know why I got paired with you tonight,” Stiles says as they climb out. “Dark alleys and a dangerous succubus lurking about. With you as protection, I might as well be dead already. By the way, your mom car sucks.”

“Next time drive your own,” Derek says. The alley looks deserted. Refuse and puddles of dirty water every few steps, an overflowing dumpster against one of the buildings. Derek walks straight into the darkness.

“I’m doing my part to help the environment,” Stiles says, hot on his heels, and managing to stomp in every puddle, effectively splashing himself and Derek. “Now someone should do their part and fuck me already so I don’t end up on death’s doorstep. Again.”

“Jesus Christ. I should have hired you a hooker for the night,” Derek complains.

“Really?” Stiles asks.

“That’s just what I need,” Derek says. “Another hit on my record so you can get your rocks off.” Stiles can’t see his face, but he bets his chin is set in that stony, judging expression he gets; eyebrows lifted and eyes ready to roll if Stiles makes one more comment, which of course, he does.

“Why don’t you have sex with me then?” Stiles asks. Derek turns to look at him over his shoulder, doesn’t look affronted, only annoyed. “I’m not asking for much, dude. Just put your dick in me and we’ll call it a day.”

“I don’t fuck virgins,” Derek divulges. He doesn’t even wait for Stiles to respond, just turns back around to keep walking, and Stiles picks up his pace to catch Derek’s arm in his grip.

“Please, Derek. Put me out of my misery,” Stiles begs. “Just slip it on in, do-the-do, and we’re done.” Derek at least has the decency not to laugh. He looks down at Stiles’ fingers wrapped around his wrist. Stiles is about to pull his hand away, because Derek’s bitch face is running on autopilot tonight.

He grabs Stiles’ by the collar and hauls him closer, gets right in his face, and Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, ready for whatever punishment Derek has planned for him. He feels Derek’s nose skate down his jaw instead, breathing him in and then pushing him up against the dirty brick wall.

“God, you really are aching for a dick, aren’t you?” Derek asks, unbuttoning Stiles pants and then working the belt open on his own. “Get it out,” Derek orders, and Stiles fumbles with his zipper, pulls his dick out right through the hole in his boxers. “I can smell it on you.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say. Derek’s got him up against a wall, whispering hotly against the skin of Stiles’ cheek. Stiles is already hard, and when he looks down, Derek’s got his fat dick in hand, pulling at it. There’s too much skin at the tip, and at first Stiles doesn’t realize that it’s because Derek’s uncircumcised. Derek draws it back though, revealing the red tip of cock.

“Fuck,” Stiles moans. Derek reaches forward, taking Stiles in hand, making him gasp. When he puts the tips of their dicks together, Stiles can’t help but say, “I’m pretty sure this isn’t how it works.”

“Shh,” Derek says, precome a sticky line between them when he can’t hold both their dicks steady. “Hold yourself,” Derek tells him, and Stiles obliges, wrapping his hand around it. “Keep it lined up with mine.”

When he does, Derek pushes the extra skin forward and Stiles watches as first the tip of Derek’s cock disappears in its sheath, and then Stiles’ gets covered as well. Derek continues to pull his foreskin forward until it’s covering a good inch or two of Stiles’ dick.

“Come on,” Derek urges. “Move your hips.” Stiles surges forward, back and forth, watching his cock disappear into the skin of Derek’s, seeing its outline.

“It looks like they’re kissing,” Stiles whines, feeling his balls get heavy at the sight. When he slides his cock back, out of Derek’s sheath, it’s shiny with their slick and just like that he comes.

“This is why I don’t fuck virgins,” Derek grumbles, continuing to slide his skin back and forth over Stiles’ come covered dick until he shoots his load too. “Fuckin’ hair-trigger.”


17.

Not that Lydia has to choose, but if she did, she thinks she prefers this: Allison’s smooth curves under her hands, the slide of soft skin against hers when she presses their bodies together and arches upward into a kiss.

Allison’s generally perfect, but especially like this, dress rucked up around her middle, naked below the waist, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. Lydia would be an idiot not to want her, and that’s the last thing anyone could conceivably accuse her of being.

They’ve been kissing for what feels like hours, ever since Lydia bluntly announced, “I’m bored of studying,” and Allison glanced at her with that look that let her know her meaning hadn’t gone misunderstood.

She’s a slight weight holding Lydia down on the bed, and Lydia trails her fingers up the sides of her hips and then back down again, brushing against the swell of her bottom. Allison pushes back into the touch, shivering a little. She sometimes gets bashful, lets her hair fall forward to obscure her face as though she doesn’t want Lydia to see her, but there’s no doubting the wordless request for more in the way she trails her lips down Lydia’s neck and pants against her throat, clenches her fingers in Lydia’s hair.

Lydia wants to taste her so badly that her jaw aches with it. If Allison were Jackson or Aidan, she thinks, she wouldn’t even have to ask, but she’s not, and Lydia’s all the more grateful for it.

“Come up here,” she murmurs, purposely keeping the question out of her voice, and when Allison looks at her uncertainly, Lydia pats her hip and tugs on her arm to get her to move. She stops when she’s straddling Lydia’s waist, and that’s pretty, the dark, fine hair of her mound stark against the creamy skin of Lydia’s abdomen, but it’s not what Lydia wants.

“More,” she says, and pulls at her arm again. Allison understands then, knee-walking herself up Lydia’s body until her thighs are on either side of Lydia’s face, just where she wants her.

“Oh my God,” Allison says, faintly, and Lydia smiles indulgently, kisses the insides of her thighs to wind her up more.

Her voice goes several octaves higher when Lydia nips and sucks her way inward, working her way closer until she can brush her lips against Allison’s outer labia. The sound just makes Lydia bolder, and she tugs Allison’s hips down firmly so she’s properly sitting on her face, giving her the perfect angle to dart her tongue out to taste her, flicking once against her clit and making Allison stiffen over her with a small keening noise.

Lydia’s own T-shirt sticks to her lower back as she goes to work, sliding her lips through that hot slickness, running her tongue over and around Allison’s clit, then down lower to push ever so slightly into her slit when Allison rocks her pelvis forward encouragingly. She can feel the uncomfortable clamminess of her shorts against her crotch as her own cunt clenches and her clit throbs in sympathy. Rather than rub one out, though, she distracts her fingers by sliding them up Allison’s torso, cupping her little breasts and pinching her nipples through the lace of her bra.

"Oh God," Allison says again, hips working more intently now, tight, little circles that keep contact between Lydia’s mouth and where she wants it most. “God, Lydia, oh my God.”

Lydia can’t answer with Allison riding her face, but she concentrates on licking her all over, alternating between quick circles of her tongue and closing her lips around the bud of Allison’s clit to suck forcefully, just the way Allison likes. She’s blazing hot and leaving smears of perfect wetness all over Lydia’s cheeks and chin, but Lydia doesn’t stop sucking and licking and sucking until she feels Allison go shock-still and a sharp cry wrenches free of her throat. Then she shudders and a fresh gush of fluid surges out of her.

Allison gasps and slumps forward, catching herself against the mattress at the last second. Her thighs are still twitching with aftershocks. Lydia laughs, pleased, and wipes her mouth against her forearm. She helps Allison wriggle her way back down until they’re close enough to face level so she can kiss Allison’s still-slack mouth.

Lydia thinks she likes Allison’s postcoital kisses most of all, the way her mouth clings lazily, breath uneven and lips uncoordinated. But just, you know, if she had to choose.


18.

Derek was enthusiastic at first when Chris suggested roleplaying. It sounded exciting, fun, something slightly naughty and therefore thrilling.

"What do you have in mind? Doctor and patient? Fireman rescue? Teacher and student?"

"How about role reversal?" Chris said. "You be the hunter, and I'll be the prey."

Again, exciting, fun, maybe even a little wrong too, which made it oh so right. Derek was picturing a naked hunt around the house with lots of prowling and shrieking and a "reward" for bagging his "trophy" at the end. How could he have forgotten that Chris took everything too seriously?

First, they had to go to the sporting goods store, where Chris outfitted Derek with proper hunting clothes, camouflage with flashes of bright orange so he wouldn't get shot by other hunters. ("But why is this necessary? We're not actually going out into the woods on hunting grounds, are we?" Of course they were.) Then Chris armed him with a big game rifle and wouldn't let him stop practicing until his firing stance was deemed to be acceptably perfect. ("But I'm not actually going to shoot you, am I? ...Wait, am I? This isn't funny, Argent, answer me. There is no way I'm shooting you for real. Am I?!?!" At least Chris finally relented on that one and agreed to no live rounds.)

When it came time to act out his little fantasy, they went deep into the woods and Chris got a ten minute head start.

It took Derek almost two days to find him.

"You have got to be kidding me," he muttered on the morning of the second day, scowling to himself, tired and hungry and cold from spending the night outside. Even with his superhuman wolf senses, Chris was proving elusive. Derek tried to track him by scent but he knew all of the tricks, doubling back on his path, travelling through water, climbing up trees, at one point somehow jumping a deep gully that even Derek himself almost couldn't make it across.

When he finally caught up with Chris late in the afternoon, he couldn't be entirely sure that Chris hadn't taken pity on him and deliberately allowed himself to be found. He was sitting on a log, whittling a bit of wood and whistling to himself, after all.

"I don't know what the hell you were thinking, but this. Is. Not. Sexy." Derek growled.

Chris looked up casually and smirked. "What? I said we should play hunter and hunted. I just did what I would do if I were being hunted." He tossed Derek the little wood carving he'd made with his pocket knife. It was, of course, in the crude shape of a howling wolf. "Don't even pretend like you're not impressed."

Derek had to revise his previous statement. It was a little sexy.

But attractive as Chris being lethally competent was, it wasn't conducive to actually having sex, not if it was going to be like a freaking two-day survival camp. So Derek pointed out, "You didn't say play hunter and hunted, you specifically said role reversal. That might be what you would do, but it isn't what I'd do."

Chris quirked an eyebrow in interest. "Oh? And what would you do?"

"Oh, I don't know, a big sexy hunter like yourself after me, I'm not sure I'd work that hard not to get caught," Derek replied, matching his faux casual tone.

So the next time they played the game, Derek convinced Chris that they should stay relatively close to home, reminded him that he was supposed to be thinking like Derek, and thankfully it took him less than two hours to track him down this time.

The little smartass still made it obvious that Derek only caught him because he allowed him to. It was a dark night and there were no people out, but still—he was splayed fully in the open, mostly naked, slowly fisting his cock.

"That's not what I would do!" Derek spluttered.

"You said to imagine a big sexy hunter like me," Chris said in a deadpan. "It was too much, I couldn't control myself. Now, are you going to complain or are you going to jump on me?"

Derek wasted no time throwing off his hunting gear and claiming his rightful prey.


19.

Dividing the sea of vibrators in front of him, Derek frowns at Lydia. “Are you sure the voices said, 'Adult Emporium?'”

“It's the perfect environment for a succubus.”

“Maybe they said, 'Consult Herbarium,' though?” Stiles chimes in. “Or, I don't know, 'Insult Barbarian?' Are we sure it's a succubus?”

Lydia scrunches her nose, but a loud crashing noise catches their attention. Dodging the butt plugs, the group bumps into Allison at 'Lotions and Potions.’

Two aisles down they find Isaac standing amidst a pile of DVDs, some of which are still avalanching from the shelves like lemmings on the big jump.

“I . . . secured the porn section,” he mumbles, his face adapting a darker shade of beet. “I'll go check, um, uh—”

“Fetishes and BDSM,” Allison provides, flashing her dimples. “Scott's already on it.”

“Go find him,” Lydia huffs. “He should be able to keep you out of trouble.”

Isaac retreats, and the other four start a systematic search: the guys take dildos and plugs while the girls inspect the lingerie.

For Derek, however, the search is more like torture. Between slapping the back of Stiles' head for shoving edible undies in his face—“Run, now, if you want to live.”—and watching the boy touch everything with fascination (and lean, beautiful fingers), his annoyance transformed into something . . . exciting. He wouldn't go as far as to say he's actually in any way intrigued by anything—but he wouldn't deny it, either. He focuses on the “Area 51 Love Doll,” happy to see something that's a total turn-off.

Lydia meets up with them again as Stiles is examining—“That's an anal douche. Do you really need that?”—when Derek gives a low, threatening growl.

“I can smell you a mile off, and it's not funny. Get your hands out of each other's pants and be helpful.”

“We're totally chaste, dude,” Scott yells from the back of the store at the same time as Isaac bites out a choked, “Oh my God!”

“They sell chastity devices here?” Lydia asks, intrigued. “I mean—is it safe? Have you secured the area?”

“Very safe,” Scott replies. “Very secure.” He snickers, and Isaac whimpers. A moment later, Scott emerges, all goofy grin and mischief.

“I hate my life,” Derek mumbles. This place is the perfect breeding ground for those tiny fuckers called pheromones and—does he catch a scent of Stiles right there?

“Dude, are you trying to lick the wall?”

Derek straightens. “Do you smell of cum?”

“Touché. So. We may have figured out how to summon the succubus. Isaac volunteered—”

“Volunteered my ass.”

“—to be a decoy—”

“That was a joke, right?”

“—and all we need to do is—”

“Scott?”

“—wait.”

“Is that what I get for sucking you off? Because I'll never do it again. Never in this life. I swear. Do you hear me?”

“What's wrong with him?”

“Nothing. He's just . . . immobilized by the wonders of bondage tape.”

“I'll kill you, Scott. I'll kill you, and then I'll clone you and kill your clone.”

“And I may have left him a little . . . on edge.”

“How does bondage tape keep a werewolf in check?” Stiles asks, suspiciously excited. “Just . . . for the record?”

Scott shrugs. “I'm the Alpha, dude.”

For a moment, Isaac's complaints—“Why do you always come on my scarves?”—are the only sound. Then, as if on cue, the group disperses, chatting and giggling. And Derek—Derek prays for any deity available to smite him. Because teenagers in a sex shop warrant a death wish.

Rescue comes in the form of the Sheriff a mere five minutes later.

“Stiles?”

“Dad. Hey! It's so good to see you!”

“What are you all doing here in the dead of night? And what the hell is that on your hand?”

“Nothing?” Stiles hurries to hide the hand in question—the one that's incidentally stuck in a fake pussy. “We're . . . um . . . you know. Like . . . that thing we do. When . . .”

“When there's nothing else left to do,” Allison jumps in. “You know, that thing that requires absolute . . .”

“Professionalism,” Derek growls. Not that they'd shown any.

A few days later, when the confusion has worn off and the message has become clearer, the pack finds itself at the aquarium. Nobody says it: succubus and octopus aren't that far apart. And it's better to fight an enchanted cephalopod than to deal with a sex demon.

Or something.


20.

“If you’re going to break into my house, at least try not to look like a creature of the night!” Lydia says, running a brush through Cora's tangled hair.

“I am a creature of the night,” Cora points out. “So are you.” But she submits to the soothing rhythm of the brush, to Lydia’s fingers braiding her hair, more at peace than she's been since leaving Argentina.

“You need earrings,” Lydia declares. “The ones in my nightstand will work. Find them while I get my make-up bag.”

Cora doesn’t care about earrings or make-up, but she rolls across the bed and opens the bottom drawer of the nightstand. Instead of earrings, she finds condoms, trial-sized packets of lube, and a white plastic wand capped by a soft, round head. A cord runs from the bottom of the wand and out the back of the nightstand. Lydia emerges from the bathroom just as Cora lifts the wand.

“Wrong drawer!” Lydia says, embarrassment spiking off her, though her expression is carefully neutral.

“Is this a vibrator?”

"Well, obviously!”

Cora bristles. It’s not that she’s a stranger to vibrators, exactly. Her last girlfriend had a vibrating dildo. But the foam-rubber tip of the wand is bigger than her fist.

“How do you . . . ?" Cora forms a circle with her hand, crudely pumping two fingers through it.

Rolling her eyes, Lydia drops onto the bed beside Cora, taking the vibrator and flipping on the switch. The hum fills the quiet room.

“Put it on your nose,” Lydia suggests. “It sounds weird, but you can feel how strong it is.”

Cora does. She can’t help the tiny, startled noise she makes. The vibration is intense, but from this close, there’s no way to ignore the honey-sweet scent of sex and Lydia permeating the porous tip. Before she can think better of it, she’s flicking her tongue out against the vibrator, chasing the salty-sweet taste beneath the chemical plastic.

Lydia’s gaze turns sharp, calculating. A trickle of cinnamon-hot arousal drifts off her. “It feels amazing against your clit,” she says. Her voice is lower. Throaty.

Cora licks her lips. “Show me.”

The air between them feels charged now, potent with possibility. Lydia is wearing a dress. When she spreads her legs, Cora sees the dampening crotch of her panties.

Pressing the wand between her thighs, Lydia sighs in pleasure. Cora finds herself staring at the hard peaks of Lydia’s nipples beneath her thin dress.

"Why don't you take your panties off?"

"It's too intense!” Lydia gasps. “I need the cloth as a –oh! – barrier!”

She clearly has this down to a science, is already trembling beneath the wand’s steady hum. Perspiration darkens her hairline. The air is hot, thick with sex. Cora’s mouth waters. She wants to bury her head between Lydia’s legs, taste the juices squelching beneath the vibrating head.

Her hand closes over Lydia’s on the handle. "Let me," she says. Lydia hands the wand over, pulling her dress up over her head and unfastening her bra.

It’s heady how the slightest movement of the wand can reduce Lydia to incoherent tremors. She’s spread out before Cora, all creamy skin, heaving breasts, and sweat-slick curls, riding orgasm after orgasm in breathy, gasping waves. Cora wants to taste every inch of her, slide her fingers into the soaking panties to feel how hot and slick she is.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Cora growls, switching the vibrator to her left hand to unbutton her jeans. Kicking free of them, Cora drags her t-shirt over her head. Wearing only her sports bra and cotton panties, she straddles Lydia, grinding down so that the vibrator is trapped between them, sparking pleasure against her clit.

“Yes!” Lydia sobs. “Fuck yes!” Surging up, she mouths at Cora’s nipple through her sports bra, hands tearing through Cora's hair, ruining the braid. Leaving the vibrator to buzz between them, Cora draws Lydia into a desperate kiss. They fall back to the mattress, kissing frantically, while the hot wings of pleasure beat faster and faster, surging up through Cora’s body until she thinks she might black out.

Afterwards, she can’t stop touching Lydia, nuzzling between her breasts to breathe in her scent, combing through her soaking pubic hair to feel the hot, engorged skin of her vulva. Lydia sighs dreamily, snuggling closer.

"I changed my mind," she murmurs into Cora's shoulder. "Break in whenever you want."

Cora smooths down her sex-tangled hair, and smiles.


21.

“Derek,” Stiles groans, face pressed into the mattress as Derek teases him, tongue darting around his hole but failing to press in. “I’m getting old over here, fuck. C’mon.” There’s a brush of stubble against his ass, then a quick, stinging slap.

“Don’t rush me,” Derek says, pressing a kiss to the hollow of Stiles’ back. “You’ve been gone for three months. I’d like to take my time.”

“I’d like you to take me,” Stiles says, shaking his ass, just a bit, and looking over his shoulder. Derek’s hair is standing in spikes from Stiles’ fingers, his mouth swollen and wet. He leans forward and capture’s Stiles’ mouth in a hungry kiss, groaning. Derek pulls back, then puts his hands on Stiles’ hips, squeezing tight enough to bruise.

“Finally,” Stiles sighs, leaning his shoulders into the mattress, ass in the air. Derek runs the head of his dick over Stiles’ hole, still fucking teasing, and then a door slams downstairs.

“Stiles! I’ve got burgers from Johnny’s, and they gave me extra curly fries. C’mon, get down here before it gets cold.”

Derek pauses, and Stiles looks over his shoulder quickly, eyebrows raised.

“No,” he whispers, suddenly serious. “No, we are not going to stop. Not even for extra curly fries. You put that dick in me, and you do it now.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, grip loosening, “your dad’s downstairs. He’s going to hear us.”

“I do not care,” Stiles says, pressing his ass against Derek’s cock. “You fuck me, and you fuck me now.”

Derek groans again, then lines himself up, rutting against Stiles’ ass. There’s a slight burn, a pressure that Stiles arches up into, the head of Derek’s dick pressing, giving...

“Stiles! C’mon, I’m not kidding. Don’t make me come up there.”

“Fuck me,” Derek says, pulling back, his hands leaving warm memories on Stiles’ hips. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I love you, but I can’t… Not with your dad downstairs.”

Stiles groans, flopping bonelessly onto the bed.

“Why?” He asks into the mattress. “What did I do in another life to deserve this? All I’ve ever asked for is to have a good time, in many different positions, and instead? My super hot boyfriend, who I haven’t seen in three months, is leaving me with the world’s worst case of blue balls, because my dad decided that it’s a good idea to have family bonding night while I’m trying to get fucked.”

“You’d best watch your language, kid.”

Stiles screams, flailing as he falls off the bed, hard. He’s definitely got a scrape on his butt now, but that’s not nearly as important as pulling the blankets from the bed to cover himself.

“Dad, what’re you doing in here?”

“Well, I figured my son would want the extra curly fries I brought home,” he says, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. “But, instead, I find him in bed at six in the evening, bare-ass naked and saying some things that, frankly, a parent should never hear their child say.”

Stiles gapes at him, still clutching his blankets to his crotch.

“So, get yourself dressed and come downstairs to eat. I’m not letting my burger get cold waiting for you.”

He leans off the doorway and starts heading down the hall. Stiles presses his face into the blankets with a sigh.

“Oh, and tell Derek to get out of the closet. I got him a cheese steak.”

There’s a long pause - a pause so long that Stiles graduates college, gets a mortgage, and starts talking about 401K’s - and then Derek’s voice comes out of the closet, muffled but clearly his.

“No peppers?”

“No peppers.”


22.

Allison was used to small towns. Small towns and small minds. Her dad sold weapons for a living and, well, sometimes the sort of people who bought the kinds of weapons he sold had ideas. About how things were and how they were supposed to be.

Beacon Hills was just another small town on the list. That was why she wasn't surprised at all when she sat down for lunch with the pretty, popular girls and several minutes later someone near her said to someone else, "Did you see what Molly's wearing today? Can she look any more like a dyke?"

But she was surprised when Lydia snapped her gaze away from her boyfriend, who was sitting with the other lacrosse players, and immediately narrowed her eyes at the girl.

"Excuse me?" Lydia asked sharply. "What was that?"

Speaking a little louder, the girl repeated herself. "She looks like a dyke. Because she's wearing plaid." By the end of her sentence, her voice had fizzled into uncertainty.

"Don't be stupid," Lydia snapped. "Lesbians look just like everyone else. It's not actually a fashion choice."

The next day at lunch, Lydia dropped her (very small) purse on the girl's seat and said, very insincerely, "I'm sorry, this seat's taken. You'll have to sit somewhere else," when she tried to join them.

She thought she'd figured it out when she found out about Danny, who everyone knew was gay but who played varsity lacrosse and was Jackson's best friend. He looked relaxed, happy, like he'd never felt the tight knot of fear that surrounded the secret in Allison's chest, hidden beneath everything else. He looked like he'd always belonged.

He looked like he felt safe.

"I think I'm a lesbian," she whispered.

The movement of the brush over Allison's toenails paused for a moment, then resumed. "I thought you liked Scott," Lydia commented, cool and casual.

"Bisexual," Allison corrected. "I think I like girls too."

Lydia nodded. She didn't sound weird or freaked out or disbelieving. Allison had known she wouldn't, but seeing it for sure still made a knot of tension relax inside her. "Have you ever kissed a girl before?"

"No."

"Would you like to?" Lydia set the nail polish aside and looked up at her. Allison was suddenly aware of the brightness of her lipstick and the soft, ticklish thrill of having Lydia's perfectly manicured fingers wrapped around her foot. "Jackson doesn't mind."

Lydia was a very good kisser. Her lips were warm and smooth. She didn't slobber into Allison's mouth the way boys sometimes did. She smelled a little bit like flowers and tasted mostly like lipstick and she made a low, encouraging sound when Allison brought her hand up under Lydia's shirt. Her body was soft beneath Allison's hands, possessing none of the hard muscle Allison was used to instead.

With her words and hands, Lydia showed Allison how to pleasure her. She cupped her breasts and taught Allison how to drag her teeth across them, just hard enough to leave red marks against Lydia's pale skin. She shivered as Allison explored her body.

Then, she crawled between Allison's legs and stroked her tongue against against Allison's clit with expert movements. She was much better than the boys Allison had done this with, adjusting her pace and speed with every sound Allison made. When she finally shuddered and came, Lydia waited just long enough for her to catch her breath before dipping her head and coaxing another orgasm out of her, quick, surprising, and nearly as powerful as the first.

"If I'm not tired, I usually try for at least three," Lydia informed her, mouth flushed from their kissing and slick with the signs of Allison's pleasure. Allison felt a hot rush of heat at the knowledge that she was the reason Lydia's vivid red lipstick was smeared messily across her mouth and chin. "Do you want to?"

Allison pulled her up and rolled them over. "Not yet," she said and pressed her face to Lydia's, breathing her in. "Let me try now."


23.

Derek pauses at the door to the playroom, black key card clutched tight in hand.

"Safeword?" he asks. There's an alien lack of warmth in his voice, like they'd somehow travelled back ten years to when Derek only felt contempt for him.

"Red," Stiles says promptly. “For both of us.”

"Good." Derek leans in like he's going to reward him with a kiss but stops just short of Stiles' lips. "If you say anything else, this is going to be worse for you."

Stiles shivers and nods. They'd done silent scenes before, but Derek knew what a challenge they were for Stiles. "Am I allowed to make noise?"

"Yes," Derek says as he unlocks the room and manhandles Stiles over to the chair in the corner. The back of it reclines nearly flat from the V-shaped seat that gave Derek easy access to everything.

"Strip," Derek orders. "And get up there." Derek toes off his own shoes and slips on a pair of buttery leather gloves he likes to wear outside of the bedroom just to make Stiles crazy. Stiles hurries out of his clothes and scrambles into the chair, planting his feet in the stirrups and his arms wide in the attached crossbar. Derek fastens the padded restraints and steps back, leaving Stiles bereft and vulnerable.

"You thought you were going to make me punish you tonight?" Derek asks. He sounds amused, but Stiles knows him well enough to hear the anger beneath. "Make me so pissed at you that I'd beat you and fuck you?"

Stiles bites his lip, struggling to stay quiet, as Derek slides a black sleeping mask over his head.

"What you forgot," Derek says, "is that I'm in charge here, not you. You tried to make me angry, but you forgot anger is my anchor. I'm not giving you what you want."

Derek adds what feel like a pair of earmuffs to Stiles' head. After a moment of silence, Stiles realized that they were noise canceling. He couldn't see Derek and couldn't hear him coming.

His dick twitches with interest, and that's when Derek strikes.

The smack on his thigh is mild by their standards, but intense from the surprise. Stiles tenses, waiting for Derek to continue, but he backs off instead. He chews his lips, wishing Derek had given him a gag so he wouldn’t be tempted to ask where he’d gone, but that was probably part of the punishment.

He can take it, though. Stiles isn’t worried; he has a high pain tolerance, and it feels good when the air conditioning kicks on and washes over his whole body. He’s just starting to relax into the sensations when Derek stops again.

Time stretches until Stiles can no longer tell how long it’s been when something freezing and cold touches one of Stiles’ nipples. He whimpers and Derek snarls, an Alpha sound even with a Beta behind it and loud enough to overcome the headphones. Stiles quiets and tries to be still as the ice cube – he recognizes it now – drags from nipple to nipple, down his sternum and, finally, rubs against his balls and around his ass and back again. When Stiles thinks he can’t take it anymore Derek withdraws again, leaving him shivering and alone and on the edge of tears.

When they finally fall Derek kisses both his cheeks. His mouth follows the same path as the ice to warm up what had been frozen and then burn it with his werewolf body heat. Derek nurses at his nipples until they’re aching as much as Stiles’ dick, which is hard and leaking precum. When Derek brushes his gloved hands down his dick, Stiles thinks he might come then and there, but he can’t get any friction thrusting his hips uselessly in the air.

Derek holds them down until they bruise and then – finally, when Stiles is choking on a sob – takes Stiles into his mouth. He doesn’t even have to suck or lick before Stiles is coming like a bomb going off in the world made of nothing but Derek’s touch.


24.

Stiles looks down at Derek, kneeling on the floor and looking up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“I, um,” he scratches the nape of his neck uncertainly, feels jittery, rubs his feet together, wiggles his toes; he feels more naked, more exposed than he's ever felt since he started having sex with Derek. Feels as out there as he can be, standing on the middle of a field waiting for something to happen. “I don't think I'm getting what's going on here?”

Derek frowns a little, then, seeming to come a bit out of this haze that seems to be enveloping him; Stiles sees him fidget, notices the way his dick jumps a little with the motions, heavy and fat already between his legs.

“If you don't, if you don't want to do this we don't have to,” he says, voice gruff but vulnerable in that way that Stiles has learned to expect here, in these moments where Derek feels like he can lay himself bare in front of Stiles without fearing being spurned or manipulated, used for all his openness.

It's... It's always heart stopping, the knowledge that Stiles holds that much power over Derek, that Derek is trusting him with so much, placing so much in Stiles' hands for Stiles to just... do.

It makes Stiles want to do good by him. Makes him want to be good, to not fuck this up.

He puts his hand on Derek's face, drags it over his chin and bites his lip at Derek's responsiveness, at the way he blinks his eyes closed and his eyelids flutter, at the way he nuzzles into the touche, whole body seeming to melt onto Stiles' touch.

He takes a deep breath and then he says, voice low and careful.

“It's not that I don't want to, buddy, I'm just-- I'm just unclear on what's going on here? Words, remember? We have talked about giving those a try.”

Derek looks up at him then, up through his eyelashes, and he brushes his lips over the palm of Stiles' hand, wet and soft.

It tingles, makes Stiles' dick stir, makes it twitch, makes him want to press the palm of his hand against it to make it behave; or to just get his fist around it to jerk himself fast and punishing until he's coming all over Derek's face, all over his chest. Derek likes that, likes being covered in Stiles' spunk because he's a big weirdo with a thing for the scent of Stiles' come, for the weight and taste of it.

Derek's eyes go down to Stiles' junk, to where Stiles is tenting his underwear and starting to soil the front of it, giving it a big, wet, filthy spot; Derek's nostrils twitch and he makes this choked whining sound that has Stiles' other hand going to Derek's shoulder, just to hold himself upright.

“I want you to wreck me,” Derek says, and he leans forward, gets his mouth all over Stiles' clothed dick, mouths at it hungrily, “I want you to--,” he seems to have trouble articulating himself and he just buries his face nose first on Stiles' junk, tongue lapping at the wet spot over the tip of Stiles' dick, making him gasp.

“You want me to what?” He prompts, raking the nails of the hand that's on Derek's shoulder up to his throat before he lies his hand there, just a reminder of Stiles' presence at the base of Derek's throat.

“I want you to use me,” Derek gets out finally, hiding his face from Stiles' view, the muscles of his arms tightening next to his body; Stiles sees Derek's hands clenching and unclenching behind his back, where he's holding them together tightly, “I want you to do whatever you want to me.”

Stiles' heart stops there for a second, and he's about to take a step back, to say no, but Derek looks up at him with clear and determined hazel eyes, resting his head on Stiles' thigh.

“I trust you.” He croaks out, like this is taking him so much effort. “And I want you, and I want you to trust me.”

Stiles' throat feels dry at that.

He breathes deeply a few times to ground himself, and finally he nods.

He moves the hand that had been resting at the base of Derek's throat, splayed and aimless, until it's a loose circle around it.

Derek groans.

Stiles' breath stutters as he nods again, and licks his lips.


25.

Allison's head tips back, dark hair spilling around Kira's fingers, and her laughter is a light, happy thing that wraps around them both and banishes the shadows into the corners. It's a silly thing to think, Kira knows that, but she likes it. She likes the way thinking it makes her feel, like she's mixed into that sound, curling around Allison's body and skimming over her skin.

She smiles to match Allison's, tips forward, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the curve of Allison's breast. She lingers there, inhaling the scent of them together, and letting her head swim with it. She's not supposed to be here, they aren't supposed to be together, and she's going to celebrate every single second of it.

Somewhere, across town, Allison's parents and aunt are looking for Kira's family. They're hunting something they don't understand and Kira almost feels sorry for them. They don't know what Beacon Hills is, there's no sanctuary within it for hunters, much less who protects it.

Allison's mouth on hers, hands tight in her hair, yanks Kira out of the thought. "Not here," she says, breath hot on Kira's skin, "Not now."

She's right, she always is, and when she bites at Kira's lip, fingers sliding between her legs, Kira can forget anything.

*

Her mom knows about them, presses her lips together, her disapproval more about Allison's parents than her gender and that shouldn't be depressing, but it is. Kira can feel the kitsune's power now, thunderstorms make her skin sing, and she wants to be normal, even if normal means that.

Mom just smiles, sad and understanding, but Dad at least makes an attempt. Sure, there's a twinkle of laughter in his eyes when he forbids her from seeing Allison, but it's the thought that counts and Kira loves him all the more.

She sneaks out anyway and grimaces when Dad gives her a thumbs up through the window.

Seriously.

*

Leaves crunch beneath their feet as they press against the giant oak. Allison pushes Kira into the bark, drops to her knees and grins up, "Don't move," she says, eyes bright with something that makes Kira's breath catch in her chest.

The fall air's cold against her skin as Allison works her tights down, but Kira ignores it. Just plants her feet until Allison lifts one leg and drapes it over her shoulder.

Kira looks at the sky and hopes that Derek's gone into town. When Allison puts her mouth to her, licking a slow, torturous path along her cunt before sucking her clit, there's no chance of staying quiet and she'll never be able to look him in the eye ever again.

Allison sucks, hard, and Kira keens.

The sound echoes through the trees and, the next time she sees him, Derek's cheeks hint at red.

*

She's not sorry.

*

Kate's dead, Derek's uncle with her, and Kira doesn't know what to do. She hides at her door, listening to Mom talk to Derek's sister, their voices quiet and serious, words like 'war' and 'retaliation' get thrown around and Kira's heart beats so loudly in her ears that she almost misses the sound of her window closing behind her.

Almost.

Allison's face is pale, streaked with mascara from her tears, and Kira kisses her when she can't think of anything to say.

Except then she's mumbling, "You're freezing" and pulling Allison closer.

"I couldn't go home," Allison says into her neck. "Can't ever."

She won't have to. Kira doesn't say it, doesn't dare, but she thinks it so fiercely that it doesn't even matter.

*

Allison doesn't warm up until they're locked in the bathroom together, the shower's hot water beating down on them both as Kira presses Allison against the wall, fingers moving in a lazy circle over her clit.

It's her turn to go to her knees now, ignoring the shower as she licks over Allison's skin, makes her cry out and go weak.

They started a war tonight. She knows that, Allison knows that, and there's never been sanctuary for a hunter in this town. Not in all the centuries her mother's protected it.

Especially not for an Argent.

Not until now.

Chapter Text

26.

There was no feeling like the restriction of movement, of his limbs bound by rope, knotted intricately over his body. With his elbows bent and pointed towards the ceiling, his wrists tied behind his back, he watched as Stiles jacked him off slowly, languidly.

“You’re doing so well,” Stiles said, his voice grounding Derek, keeping him from slipping into subspace. Derek knelt on a mat, his thighs tied to his shins, the rope biting. He’d have marks where they pressed against his skin, at least for a short time. He yearned to be marked. Derek’s muscles contracted as he neared his orgasm. He let out a strained whine as Stiles backed off, keeping him on the edge. Derek groaned as Stiles trailed his fingers up Derek’s chest, his thumb teasing at a nipple, already sensitive from Stiles mouthing at them earlier, teeth marks all but vanished. “I’m not done with you yet,” Stiles said, his mouth hovering close to Derek’s, his eyes on Derek’s lips before captured a kiss.

Derek wished to touch, to taste. He couldn’t do anything but accept what was given to him, his trust falling completely into Stiles’ hands. When the kiss ended, Derek saw that Stiles’ pupils were blown wide, his mouth wet. He left a trail of kisses down Derek’s neck and chest, his face burying itself against Derek’s arm pit as he cupped Derek’s ass, spreading his cheeks apart as his tongue lapped at Derek’s armpit, breathing him in. Derek moaned, his head dropping forward as he thrust his hips forward, seeking friction.

Stiles’ mouth on his nipple once more, his teeth raking across it, had Derek close to coming, so close. As if he knew, Stiles pulled back, his hands leaving Derek completely.

“Please,” Derek said, his eyelids heavy, his cock dripping precome onto the mat. Stiles was hard, his cock hanging neglected between his legs.

“Please, what?” Stiles asked, licking his lips.

“I need to come.” Stiles shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting into a sly grin.

“Do you trust me?” Stiles asked, his fingertips trailing down Derek’s side, then down his thighs, bumping over the ropes. Derek let out a shuddering sigh as he nodded his head, closing his eyes as Stiles raked his nails over his hairy thighs, then up his stomach, setting Derek alight.

“Yes,” Derek said as Stiles captured his lips once more, his hands cupping Derek’s face.

“Then I will make you come,” Stiles promised. Stiles made his way onto the mat, laying down flat on his back. “Come here,” Stiles urged him, pulling at Derek’s thighs. It was difficult, moving forward, lifting himself up enough so that he knelt straddling Stiles’ shoulders, facing away from him. Stiles’ tongue against his entrance, licking a strip from his balls to his hole, had Derek shaking, his hands clenching behind his neck as he tried to break free from the ropes. He panted as Stiles ate him out, his tongue relentlessly lapping at him.

Derek concentrated on Stiles’ body, at his own flexing muscles, the dip of his pelvic bones, the trail of hair leading down to his cock that smeared precome across his stomach as he worked Derek open with his tongue. Derek wished to taste, to have Stiles heady scent in his face. He wished to bury his face against Stiles’ armpits, his crotch. He yearned to touch him.

“Oh, fuck,” Derek said as Stiles reached a hand around him, taking Derek’s cock into it, stroking him as he fucked him with his tongue. Derek moved against him, rolling his hips, fucking into Stiles’ hand as he rode his tongue. His climax tore through him as Stiles stroked him through it, milking him for everything as he spilled onto Stiles’ bare stomach, over his cock.

When Stiles extracted himself from beneath Derek, he stood before him, close enough that Derek could bury his face against Stiles’ cock, brush his nose against his hair, breathing him in, licking at his own come before taking the head of Stiles’ cock into his mouth, moaning as Stiles thrust shallowly, fucking his face. He held onto the back of Derek’s head, grunting as he came down Derek’s throat. As he pulled out, Derek licked at his head, savoring every drop of come.

“I’ll always take care of you,” Stiles murmured, his fingers carding through Derek’s hair. Derek closed his eyes, leaning into it.

He knew Stiles’ words to be true.


27.

The sheath the blank faced nurse so clinically slides down his soft cock is see through. That's the only thing different during this session.

Three times a month, always during the full moon, Derek is dragged into the lab. He's stripped naked and strapped down to the same table by the same people and has the same milking machine attached to his dick. Every time he's electrocuted until he flashes his fangs and then they turn the machine on. He hates how he fights less and less as the experiments progress.

Derek knows what they want out of him, out of this sick experiment. Every part of him fights against the idea of his sperm being used to impregnate an unwilling alpha female. He doesn't want to be a father. But more than that, he hates the idea of his child, any child, being in the hands of these megalomaniacs.

Speaking of which.

The lab door quietly, Stiles' glasses glinting under the bright lights as his gaze sweeps over the pristine lab. Derek's stomach does a treacherous flop when Stiles' sharp eyes linger on him a second too long before moving on to the others.

"Leave." He says simply, hands in his jeans pockets. Derek glares harder at Stiles' nose because if he didn't, he'd stare at the denim clinging to scientist's thighs. And he can't. He can't show any weakness against Stiles. Derek's already shown too much weakness around Stiles.

Stiles waits for the others to leave before locking the door. He takes his time walking over to the seat placed in front of Derek. Derek clenches his fists, hating the way his cock is already starting to chub up. He wants to close his eyes in shame when Stiles realizes this, the corner of Stiles' mouth quirking up in amusement.

"You can't wait can you?" Stiles says softly, picking up the remote placed next to the single seat. Derek scowls harder instead of answering. Stiles' smile grows, thumb pressing a button which has the machine coming to life.

The sharp pain of his claws cutting his palms is enough to keep Derek from jerking his hips forward - into the lazy pumping action and towards Stiles. His stomach swoops, cock hardening to it's full length quickly when Derek realizes why they'd changed the sheath from metal to see-through.

"Look at you." Stiles whispers, falling down into the chair like his legs have grown weak. Derek sucks in a greedy breath, clenching his teeth when he smells nothing but Stiles and Stiles' lust. The heady scent intensifies with the milking machine's pace, ripping a low keen out of Derek.

Metal scraps against the floor. The jarring sound makes Derek crack an eye open, then the second when he realizes Stiles has stopped himself from getting out of his seat. And the way the scientist is holding his arm so tightly against himself implies he just tried to reach for Derek.

Derek opens his mouth, not sure what he's about to ask when Stiles pushes the machine up to it's top speed.

It's nothing like fucking someone, being milked this way. But the heavy gaze staring at his red cock, the way Stiles is sitting with crossed legs and smelling so heavily of arousal makes it better and worse. Derek strains, slamming his eyes shut and fucking into the pump when he feels his knot forming.

In the darkness of his own mind, Derek imagines tearing Stiles' skinny jeans off. Imagines fucking Stiles against that stupid chair he always sits on. Imagines Stiles shamelessly begging for his knot, wanting to be bred.

That does it for him. He comes in a heady rush, biting down a roar as the sheath tightens around his knot, to the point of pain. The machine slows down but doesn't stop, fulfilling its purpose to milk him dry. And Stiles? Stiles is smiling sweetly at him.

"Did you think about me?" Stiles asks. The flush which heats his ears gives Derek's answer away. Stiles chuckles, causing the shameful color to sink lower. "That's what I thought."


28.

Peter's been smirkingly unbearable for days, fielding curious questions from the bitten wolves who will never go through a mating heat. Scott's eyes widen at his flippant stories about past heats, how he once almost pulled the foundations down when they tried to chain him at the old house.

"And that's why we use reinforced steel, kids," he winks.

He pushes up from his sprawl on the couch, insouciant, and struts into the kitchen.

He's plucking grapes and popping them in his mouth when Lydia tests a theory: she runs just the barest edge of her fingernail through the hair on his arm.

He responds exactly how she thought he would, better even. With a full-body shudder and blush, his throat noticeably ruddy. His eyes slip shut as he shivers, so responsive.

"Lydia," he growls, the wolf deepening his voice.

"Hm," she says, and grabs an apple. She glances back as she leaves the room, sees the stressed clench of his shoulders.

Two days later, she slips into the abandoned loft.

She picks a book from Derek's shelf and peruses it for a while, shaking out her hair every now and again, letting her scent drift.

When she thinks it's been long enough, she drops the book and wanders downstairs.

She hears the metal shaking all agitated before she sees him.

He's waiting for her, shirtless and chained to the wall. He's mouth-breathing so heavily, his chest heaves with it.

"Goddamnit, Lydia," he mangles through sharp teeth.

She gives him an eyebrow, risen and unimpressed.

Then, with no warning or shame, she lifts her dress right off over her head.

And stands there in blue lace underwear, no bra. Lets him look his fill.

"Uhnnn, gorgeous--" he breathes, hips lifting sharply at the air, once. Twice.

She laughs at him, the kind of laugh she reserves for little boys at school. She moves closer as she slips her underwear off, as she spreads her dimpled knees, shows her rich, pink cunt to him. She uses her sharp-nailed fingers to V open the tight bud of herself, lets him see where her sex gets darker, hungrier. Shows him her tiny, humid center.

She teases a knowing finger around and around her hole, getting everything shiny-wet as she bares down inside, wringing emptily.

He stares fixedly, jaw gone slack. His hips start to move in tandem with her finger. His eyes go red when he growls "Open my fly."

She does, frees him while he makes the chains groan. His bared cock looks livid with blood, dying to be fucked.

"That's it, baby. That's it," he croons, shifting his hips up towards her, offering. She sighs and leans down. Down. His eyes widen as she does it, but she just blows air all over that trembly red flesh. He hisses.

She puts one hand to his bare shoulder, presses his knee down with her other hand and moves to straddles him.

"Oh baby girl, yes," he groans, dropping his head back, submitting.

She lifts up and poises there over him. Settles just enough so his cockhead, a hot ember of flesh, nudges at her delicate, slick cunt lips.

"Yes, Lydia, mate with me," he breathes feverishly, but she just presses a little kiss to his jaw and whispers "Mmmm, no."

And lifts away.

He can't seem to believe it, just stares in horror as she moves to the opposite wall.

"This what you need?" she asks him, opening her small sex again. He whines high, arching.

So she starts slowly rubbing her clit out in a selfish orgasm, her body undulating just out of his reach while he struggles, chains scraping.

He falls apart after a while, delirious in his hunger, his hip flexor going crazy, fucking the air.

She knows how much he wants to be inside her, can see it in the way his glazed eyes follow her cunt, the way his nostrils flare at her scent.

When she comes, she tries to show him. She spreads herself, whimpering. Tries to show him the inner twitch of each spasm.

"Need you, need you," she lies, pouting, watching the muscles in his thick neck strain as he pulls and pulls, desperate for her.


29.

Take My Breath Away

There's static at first. Noise that fills his head as he's rocked back and forth, up and down.

There's a voice, raised in anger. "Damn it, Stiles, breathe."

He gasps. It hurts. Light flashes as his eyelids flutter open. It hurts too, so he closes them. He sucks in another breath, reaches for his throat to ease the pain. A sheet has been laid over him. It sticks to his belly, wet with semen.

"Awkward," he rasps. He opens his eyes again, squints at the glow of his lamp, registers Derek's blurry shape above him.

"You can't do that," Derek says. "Ever again."

Stiles turns his head. A belt drags on the pillow beside him, sliced through, probably with a claw. "Sure," he whispers.


Stiles opens a drawer and pulls out a rope. He wraps it around his hand, shudders as it slithers across his skin.

It worked before, came loose when it was supposed to. It'll stop the itch beneath his skin that jerking off alone doesn't ease.

He tries not to think about the belt, tight like a hand around his throat the moment before he slipped, when he was coming harder than ever before.

"Do you trust me, Stiles?"

Stiles jumps. Ropes and scarves and old magazines spill out over the floor. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Keeping you alive," Derek says, crouching beside the tangle. He takes the rope, pulls it through a fist. "Do you trust me?"

"No. You're a creeper who hides in bedrooms."

"And you strangle yourself to get off." Derek lets the rope drop. "Does it have to be a rope?"

Stiles stares at Derek's hands. He imagines those fingers wrapped around his throat, pressing against his windpipe, cutting off his air. He swallows hard as his cock stiffens. "No," he chokes.

"Do you trust me?" Derek repeats.

Stiles looks up. Unable to speak past the lump in his throat, he nods.


Stiles' hands twist in the sheet as Derek's fingers compress his windpipe. He hasn't touched his cock, doesn't need to. Precome wicks through the front of his pants, his balls are drawn up tight and if he moves he'll come untouched.

Derek kneels behind him. He clears his throat, a mix of impatience and discomfort.

Pulse pounding in his temples, Stiles shoves his hand into his pants. Two strokes and he's coming, thrashing and crying out as he soaks the fabric through.


A week later, Derek's hard against Stiles' lower back. Stiles rasps for air, jerks his cock. When he comes, there's a whispered curse in his ear, heavy breath on his skin. When Derek leaves, his skin is flushed and he won't meet Stiles' eyes.


"I want to lie down," Stiles whispers.

Derek swallows. Moments pass. "Okay," he says.

Derek straddles Stiles' thighs, stares at his hand wrapped around Stiles' throat. "This okay?" he breathes.

Stiles nods. He opens his jeans, lets his hand rest on his bare belly. His eyes roll back in his head as Derek slowly increases the pressure on his throat and his cock starts to strain against his briefs.

"Your scent," Derek says.

"Wha—?"

Derek's pupils are blown wide. "So good. The way you look. The noises you make." His eyes move down Stiles' body. "The sound of your heartbeat." His eyes flick back up. "Show me."

Stiles rasps as he tries to breathe. He pulls out his cock, strokes slow, almost comes when he sees how hard Derek is, how the front of his jeans strain against thick length.

When their eyes meet, Stiles can't look away. He jerks his cock and gasps. His face heats, skin pounding with each beat of his heart.

Derek's grip tightens. "Beautiful," he whispers, shifting to grind his cock against Stiles' thigh.

Stiles breathes in tiny gasps. His back arches off the bed as his orgasm builds. His skin tingles, the sensation growing until it feels as if every part of him is burning, until every muscle, every fiber is tight enough to snap.

"Come on, Stiles," Derek hisses. "Show me, come for me."

Stiles' cells spark into flame. A rush of heat spills over his hand, onto his stomach in an unending release.


There's a warm hand on the back of Stiles' neck, wet kisses on his bared throat. He exhales a soft moan and twists his fingers into the front of Derek's shirt to pull him up.

"So good." Derek licks into Stiles' mouth and takes his breath away again.


30.

"Close the door, close-" Stiles said roughly, hands not releasing Derek's jacket lapels. A satisfied noise escaped him as Derek did his best to close the door with his foot, unwilling to let Stiles get far enough away to break the kiss.

"Stiles, we can't-" he began, in an entirely unconvincing display of resistance, his fingers wrapped over the back of Stiles' neck.

"It's clear," Stiles assured him between kisses. "No zombies, god, get this off, get- just-"

Derek's fingers tightened against Stiles' skin as the human found the buckle of his belt, fumbling the latch undone with adrenaline-shaky hands. Stiles didn't even bother pulling it from the loops, just dove right back in for the button of Derek's jeans, the grate of the zipper coming undone the only warning Derek received before Stiles' warm palm was sliding under the clothing.

It had been a long time since either of them had found a place so devoid of the undead that they could both let their guards down at the same time. Even now, with Stiles practically pressing him up against the door of the abandoned classroom, lips hot on his, Derek had his ears tuned for the scrape of a dragged foot or the rattle of a useless drawn breath. It was getting harder to hear anything beyond the pattern of Stiles' heart.

His head fell back against door and he bucked his hips into Stiles' touch, silently begging for more- more contact, more friction, more pressure, more more more. Sometimes he wished Stiles would take the bite, if only so that he could smell the raw desire roiling off of Derek, urging him not to take his time. A cold nose ghosted over the curve of his throat, chased by a warm tongue, and Derek shivered.

"Okay," Stiles murmured, breath licking across the cool stripe left behind. "I got you."

Shifting, Stiles backed off just enough to get Derek's briefs down, freeing his cock. A guttural sound escaped Derek as Stiles wrapped a hand loosely around him and began to stroke, his forehead pressed to Derek's collarbone so that he could watch his own movements. He didn't get away with it for long before Derek couldn't stand not having more of Stiles exposed.

It was safe here, safer than they'd been in months- he couldn't hear anything at all inside the building aside from their own harsh breathing. They would have time to put clothing back on, if he just- Stiles halted with a laugh as Derek huffed a frustrated noise at how his shaky hands were rendering him unable to unbutton Stiles' shirt. He batted Derek's fingers away and made short work of them, opening the front but leaving it over his shoulders.

Good enough, Derek thought, slipping his hands under the fabric and splaying his fingers over Stiles' bare ribs.

"Pants," he breathed, nuzzling into the crook of Stiles' neck and breathing him in. Maybe Stiles couldn't smell the desire thick in the air between them, but Derek could. Stiles was quick to obey, both of them letting out groans of relief when he pressed forward, wrapping his hand around both of them. For just a second, Stiles hesitated.

"Still clear?" he asked, voice rough.

Derek pushed into his hand, sliding his cock against Stiles', and said, "Yeah, yes. Whole building."

"Good."

With that, Stiles began to move again, stroking over them both, lips on Derek's neck, sucking in marks that healed almost instantly. Derek tried to keep an ear out for the undead, but after a few moments, he was lost in the heady sound of Stiles' heartbeat, the rhythm of his hand, the tiny, pleased noises he made as they moved together, chasing release. Stiles' free hand tightened on Derek's arm, and Derek leaned his weight back against the wall.

The way Derek's name slipped from Stiles' lips as he came, caught on a gasp, was all Derek needed to push him right over the edge as well. For a while, they stood there in silence, Stiles leaning some of his weight on Derek. It was only when Derek heard the scrape of a shoe at the entrance of the school that he nudged Stiles up, kissing his jaw, his cheek, seeking out his lips for one more stolen moment of happiness.

"We gotta go," he said quietly. He didn't have to warn him what was coming; Stiles would know what the tone meant. The zombies were never far anymore.

31.

They go to the coast, far from Beacon Hills, when the pressure of responsibility or the crushing weight of loss become too much. Once a remote training camp for Hunters, the cabin has only required slight modifications to suit their needs.

Chris hadn't heard from Lydia in over a month, but when a text came through late the previous night, saying only need you, he began packing immediately.

Now, Lydia is suspended from the second highest hook on the rig, her hands bound at the wrists in padded cuffs. She's positioned just high enough that she can barely touch the ground on wobbly tiptoes.

Black rope criss-crosses her body, standing out in sharp relief against her milky skin. It loops around her waist and travels down between her legs in a series of intricate, perfectly placed knots. Each time she squirms in her restraints the rope rubs against her clit, eliciting a soft whine from her perfectly painted mouth.

Chris knows Lydia struggles with her need to submit when life gets to be too much. It's taken longer than usual but she's finally found her headspace.

He rewards her with a kiss, a chaste press of dry lips, then sweeps her hair over one shoulder. The ends drag lightly against her breast and his fingers follow their path, caressing the curve as her skin pinks under his touch.

"Okay?" he asks.

Lydia's eyes are unfocused when she opens them, but she nods.

His hands cup the fullness of her breasts and he rubs a calloused thumb over each nipple. Her breath hitches but she remains still, so Chris bows his head and takes one rosy peak between his lips. He laps at it, nibbles lightly, traces it with his tongue. He switches his attention to her other nipple while pinching the first to full hardness.

He can feel the heat emanating from Lydia's body but other than a flutter of eyelashes, she remains still. Sometimes the rope is enough—or a blindfold, or a few swats with a crop—but tonight Chris knows she needs more.

Lydia's eyes follow him and she sucks in a breath when he moves to retrieve the clamps from the table.

"Too much?" he asks.

She shakes her head, then lifts her chin as if to challenge him.

Chris smiles at her defiance. He takes each nipple between his fingers, pinching them to firm peaks before quickly screwing each clamp into place. The silver chain connecting them rises and falls with her accelerated breathing; it looks beautiful against her flushed skin.

"Enough?" he asks.

She nods again, but only after a moment's hesitation, so Chris tightens each clamp another half-turn. His finger trails down the valley between her breasts, then hooks on the chain and pulls.

Lydia gasps, eyes flying open. Her body shakes and she teeters for balance when her movements cause her clit to rub against the knotted rope between her legs. Chris pulls the chain again, watching the silver glint in the moonlight streaming in through the open window.

A breeze ruffles Lydia's hair and Chris wonders if the cool air washing over her heated skin feels like a blessing or a curse. Either way, she's ready now, unable to withhold the litany of soft moans and involuntary movements.

Chris wishes Lydia could see herself, so beautiful like this.

He drops to his knees before her and pulls the knotted rope aside, then buries his face in damp curls and breathes her in. He licks her open, laps at the wetness coating her thighs with broad strokes of his tongue. Her skin is so delicate; he knows she'll feel the abrasions from his beard for hours afterwards.

Lydia wraps a leg around him, trying to pull him closer, but she has no leverage like this. Chris blows warm breath over her clit, circles it with his tongue.

She's so close, trembling with need, but still she holds back. Chris ignores his own hardness, though he desperately wants to pull her legs around his waist and lose himself in her wet heat.

But theirs is not a passionate romance. Not now, not in any conventional sense, and they're not here for him tonight.

"Let go, Lydia," he murmurs against her skin. "I've got you. You're safe."

He sucks her clit back into his mouth, then bites down gently and tugs on the silver chain with a sharp flick of his wrist.

Her body seizes, head falling back between her suspended arms.

She screams.


32.

“Is there enough for another bowl?”

Scott squinted at what was mostly stems and seeds in the baggie. “Maybe a hit? Got any papers?”

“Nah.” It was mostly a lie, but Stiles wasn't about to go all the way to his bedroom to dig out his Zig-Zags.

“You can have it,” Scott said, passing the bowl, which was indeed woefully less than half full.

Stiles shook his head. “Nuh uh, I'm not greedy. Come 'ere, bro.”

Understanding his intent, Scott scooted across the couch cushion. “You know this barely does anything for the blowee.” Scott giggled. “Blowee.”

Stiles flicked his lighter and lit the weed, inhaling through the pipe. It tasted a little off because of the herb they added for Scott to get high, but it was worth it to be able to smoke up with his best friend again. He gathered the smoke in his mouth then covered Scott's lips with his own and exhaled. Stiles pushed his tongue into Scott's mouth, and they shared a slow kiss to chase the last remnants of smoke.

They flopped back and put their feet up side by side on the coffee table.

“Your feet are weird,” Scott said. “Your second toe is taller than your big toe.”

“S'not weird,” Stiles huffed. “It's called Morton's toe.”

“Your toe's named Morton?” Scott giggled again.

“But if that one's named Morton, what's the other one named?” Stiles wondered, staring at his right foot. “Maybe it's Morton Jr.”

“Wouldn't they be twins?” Scott asked.

“Morton and Mortonina?”

“It's a girl toe?”

“Why couldn't my toe be a girl toe?”

“I dunno. Would you name your dick Stilesette?”

“Why not? What do you call your dick?”

“Little Scott.”

“Not Scotty? Beam me up an organism, Scotty. Warp speed, Scotty.”

Scott grinned. “See, you can't say stuff like that with Stilesette.”

“Fuck. Now I'm getting hard.” Stiles gestured to the growing situation in his shorts.

“Seriously, dude?”

“What can I say? Stilesette knew you were talking about her.”

“Aw, she likes it when I talk about her.” Scott reached his hand over and cupped Stiles' dick. “Don't you, Stilesette?”

“Stop teasing my dick.” Stiles weakly tried to bat Scott's hand away.

“I was just saying hello!”

“Well now you're gonna have to do more than say hello or I'm gonna have to do something about it, because I'm not gonna sit here with a boner for the rest of the afternoon.” He lifted his hips enough to shove his shorts off and then reached his hand down the front of his briefs.

“Stop it,” Scott said, his eyes trained on Stiles' crotch. “If I watch you jerk off, then I'll get hard and have to jerk off.”

“We wouldn't want that now, would we, Scotty?” Stiles said with a smirk, far too pleased knowing the effect he had on Scott.

“Fine,” Scott said.

Then Scott, with Herculean effort, kicked off his own shorts, threw his leg over Stiles', and pulled himself up to straddle Stiles' lap. He pressed his hips down and forward. His cock started to get hard as he rubbed against Stiles. The fabric between them gave some friction that helped along the process.

“Yeah,” Stiles groaned. “Right there.”

Scott nuzzled into Stiles' neck, because holding his head up was a lot.

“Tickles,” Stiles laughed.

Scott licked Stiles neck. In retaliation, Stiles grabbed Scott's ass in both hands, urging him to go faster and stay focused on the mission at hand. Taking the hint, Scott rolled his hips, lining their dicks up at that angle where the heads were rubbing in just the right way to make Stiles' eyes roll back in his head and moan.

Scott felt Stiles tense underneath him and smelled the come before Stiles groaned with relief.

“Want me to finish you off?” Stiles waggled his fingers in Scott's face. Without letting Scott answer, Stiles licked his hand, reached into Scott's boxer-briefs, and started stroking up, twisting his wrist.

Scott fucked into Stiles' hand until he was soon spurting his release. Scott climbed off Stiles' lap, nearly missing kneeing him in the groin.

“Little Scott happy now?” Stiles rolled his head over to look at Scott.

“Very,” Scott said with a sigh. “We should go get tacos.”


33.

Drink the painted wolf, taste the dragon’s chill
Open death’s door without passing through
Light the spark that burns a ring ‘round them all
United and strong, bound for all time

“Sex magic,” Stiles says. “Without actual sex.”

“Exactly.” Deaton’s smile is inscrutable. “You understand perfectly.”

Actually no, Stiles doesn’t understand at all, but he realizes that doesn’t matter: this is what he has to do, else the four kingdoms will fall. Sex magic without sex. This is his life now.

Destiny sucks.

#

The wolf shifts to human, back decorated with the swirl of Hale’s emblem: the painted wolf.

Stiles steps into view, approaching with hands up. Hale turns, eyes glowing blue and teeth long as he snarls. Stiles tries to smile. “I need your help with a matter of state. It won’t take long, and I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

Teeth recede, claws still present. “Go on,” Hale growls.

“The Stilinski kingdom respectfully requests to drink the painted wolf of Hale,” Stiles says slowly. He falls to his knees, licking a stripe from root to tip on Hale’s rapidly thickening dick.

“Yes,” Hale hisses, and Stiles relaxes into it, working his dick with hand and tongue. Saliva lubricates his twisting stroke, rolling over the head and down again until Hale is coming into Stiles’s open mouth. The taste puts fire in his veins and it’s fucking brilliant.

Maybe this’ll work after all.

“I’m Derek.”

Right. Names. That’s polite. “Stiles.” He smiles. “I need you to be at my father’s castle in three days, at dawn.”

Stiles desperately wants to get off, but it’s not time yet. All he can do is walk away and hope Hale will show up on time for the grand finale.

#

Stiles forgot what a dick Prince Whittemore is. “Look, if there was another option, I’d take it,” Stiles says bluntly. “But you’re the only dragon I know, so get on your knees and bare your ass. Trust me, you’ll like it.”

He hesitates, so Stiles adds, “You get partial credit for saving the kingdoms. Just be at my place two days from now, at dawn.”

Jackson drops his trousers and bends over, spreading his legs. Stiles sighs in relief.

He touches his tongue to the tightly puckered hole, licking cautiously. It doesn’t taste as bad as expected, and it is cold, but it warms quickly under his ministrations. He teases and pokes, opening Jackson slowly, until Jackson presses back, begging for more. Stiles reaches but Jackson bats his hand away, taking his own cock in hand, letting Stiles focus on the wet path of his tongue, licking down to his balls, teasing the sensitive perineum. He has his face buried in Jackson’s ass when Jackson goes tense and spills over the ground.

Stiles breathes in the magic, letting it settle deep inside his soul, shivering under his skin.

He leaves without another word.

#

Princess Lydia is the easiest, ordering him to his knees and spreading her legs. She shoves him to her crotch. “Do it well,” she snaps. “I expect nothing but the best.”

Stiles licks at her slit, coaxing slick liquid as she sighs, fucking his face with shifting hips. He teases her clit, circling around, then matching the pattern on her lips as she opens for him, wet and hungry. Her words turn from snappishness to begging him to fuck her. He murmurs, “Open the door without going through,” and suckles at her clit until she comes in a flush of wet energy, filling him to the brim and beyond. He might explode; he rolls to his feet quickly, stepping back before she can touch him.

“Tomorrow at dawn, my place,” he tells her, then flees.

#

As the sun peeks over the hill, Stiles stands naked in the courtyard surrounded by wolf, dragon, and death herself. He jerks his cock and turns in a slow circle; the magical ties he created wrap around him, sliding over his skin, stroking him.

They move closer, fingertips touching skin, then hands, circling his rim, slipping along the length of his cock; he can’t help but whine and hungrily thrust into their touch.

“Derek, Jackson, Lydia… I bind us against our enemies. We stand strong together, or not at all.”

He comes under their touch, splashing them with his fluid, sealing the contract. Four virgins, four orgasms, and by prophecy they are bound.

They lean into each other, shivering from the magic and loathe to relinquish gentle touch. At last they and their kingdoms are safe.


34.

Stiles had long since learned how to pick out the scariest YouTube videos and not watch them. It was like some kind of porny sixth sense. And why was he looking up how to deepthroat instead of his normal daddy porn, he couldn’t really say. It’s not like he had anyone to be… practicing with… He clicked on a decidedly un-scary looking one with a lot of hits, lowering his gym shorts and palming his dick lazily as he clicked past the annoying advertisement.

He was giving himself a tug when the sound of a familiar voice snapped his attention up, making him nearly fall out of his chair. There right smack in the middle of the screen was Isaac, smiling comfortably with hair curling up at the edges, holding an enormous dildo and speaking right into the camera. And… what. What the what what.

Stiles’ mind reeled for a minute, unable to comprehend the weirdness. Isaac. On YouTube. With an instructional video. On how to deepthroat. Then Stiles’ brain shut up when Isaac hinged his mouth open and just swallowed down around the dildo, and holy fuck was that hot. Stiles watched with huge eyes as the toy just kept sliding in as Isaac fed it down into his throat. He could even see the muscles fluttering as Isaac swallowed, and it was at that moment that Stiles realized that he still had his dick in his hand. And it was still hard. And he was stroking it, quite rapidly.

And okay, it was an instructional video, not porn. And it was Isaac. But Stiles still stiffened up as he watched those stretched lips, spurting out all over his stomach and shorts as his orgasm bubbled up warmly from his belly. He sat there panting for a moment, hand sticky and face red. It wasn’t really the weirdest thing he’d orgasmed to, but it was definitely up there. He reached for the kleenex, pushing down any residual feelings of awkwardness at whacking it to his friend’s instructional video and resolving to give Isaac hell for it tomorrow in Econ.

***

“I found something on the internet,” Stiles said with a waggle of his eyebrows, and Isaac just rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe not Stiles’ best opening statement. He tried again. “An instructional video.”

That got Isaac’s attention. The blond looked at him curiously, as if daring him to say it outloud while Finstock yelled at Greenberg in the corner about missing assignments.

“Did you like it?” Isaac said, quirking his lips slightly, his cheeks turning a ruddy red. Stiles hadn’t really been expecting that reaction.

“Dude, I’m not gross,” Stiles whispered, propping up his book so Coach couldn’t see them. “But who are you blowing?”

Isaac laughed lightly and Stiles found himself looking at Isaac’s lips, mind shooting back to the way they’d wrapped around that fake cock. He quickly looked down, accidentally jabbing himself in the leg with his pencil in the process and biting his fist to keep from hissing.

Coach swept down the aisle, effectively cutting off their conversation, and Stiles did his best to look like he was paying attention. When the bell rang, Isaac bolted before Stiles could badger him further, and Stiles spent the entirety of his lunch period going over with Scott every single person Isaac could possibly be boning.

***

It wasn’t until a few days later that Stiles finally put the puzzle pieces together. He was leaving the school late, his backpack strap getting stuck in his locker and requiring a custodian to come and pry it open. As he walked out into nearly empty parking lot he saw Isaac heaving his equipment bag into the back of the black SUV that Mr. Argent drove, the man himself leaning against the side of the car with an easy smile on his face.

It was when Isaac passed him that Stiles’ jaw dropped down to his chest. Because that definitely was a playful smack on the ass, Isaac jumping forward slightly, his grin visible even from this distance. He hopped into the passenger seat, the car squealing off into the distance while Stiles gaped after them, thoughts tumbling. All of them involving Isaac on his knees, cock deep in his mouth, moaning the word Daddy over and over as Mr. Argent fisted tightly in his curls.

Stiles watched the video nine times that night, and came twice.


35.

The Hale house was full of secrets.

There'd been a fire, Cora knew. It had been years ago. She was too young to remember, but their family had been bigger then. They'd lost grandparents, a few cousins and her mother's youngest brother.

Laura sometimes talked about before, how the forest had been filled with laughter and children's voices. She'd scritch their dog's neck and say, "Do you remember, Pete?" She'd give Pete a sad sort of look.

Cora always found that odd. Her mother had always said that Pete -- who looked more like a wolf than dog, really -- came to live with them just after the fire. Even if Pete wasn't a dog, he wasn't able to remember the 'glory days' of their house filled with relatives any more than Cora was.

Pete wasn't a typical pet.

No one really mentioned it. It was just something Cora grew up knowing. Pete wandered in and out of house, never wearing a collar, never a leash. No one ever worried about him getting lost or into trouble. He'd come back with a bloody muzzle and Cora's mom would say Pete didn't need dinner that night.

Cora wasn't stupid. She figured he was a guard dog that her family got after the fire, hoping to stop a tragedy from happening again.

It explained why he followed Cora everywhere, like on hot summer days when she'd sneak away to skinny dip in the stream. But he also stood watch at the oddest times: when she was in the shower or when she slept. She stopped being surprised to see his bright blue eyes staring at her.

As she got older her mom started to drop hints that maybe she was getting too old for Pete to follow her around quite so much.

She started having to lock the bathroom door when she was in the shower.

She missed Pete always there at her side, the way his soft fur would rub against her bare legs as she tried to towel off. She hated how he whined just outside the door like he was missing her too.

Shutting him out of her bedroom didn't seem to matter. As long as she left her window open, Pete somehow found his way in after her mother wished her goodnight, and he'd disappear before sunrise.

She wasn't sure how he did it -- and she couldn't ask her mother because her gut said her window would get bolted -- but Pete was there every night on the other side of the locked door, even though her room was on the second floor.

Maybe it made her sound like silly little girl, but it made her feel special that Pete loved her so much that nothing would keep them apart.

He started to sleep in her bed, now that the locked door meant her mother wouldn't check in on her in the middle of the night. It gave Cora a thrill to be so rebellious.

She loved curling around Pete in the night; she couldn't understand why her mother didn't want her to have that. He was a warm, soft pillow for her to wrap her legs around. It felt good, in ways she couldn't explain. Sometimes she would wake up from a feverish dream, rubbing herself against him.

It felt right.

One night she woke, tingly and hot all over, to find Pete's muzzle between her legs.

She knew she smelled different there sometimes. Pete liked that. Sometimes, she was wet. Pete liked that too. He'd press his nose right up to her panties until she laughed and pushed him away. It always made her feel a little funny low in her belly.

Tonight she didn't feel like pushing him away. She wasn't sure why she wasn't wearing panties, but she was bare beneath her nightie and Pete's tongue was licking her where no one was supposed to touch.

She spread her legs wider on instinct, letting him taste her, letting him make her feel good.

He didn't stop, not when her thighs began to tremble, or when she clutched the sheets, confused, squirming as her whole body shook.

In the morning, she vowed never to tell a soul what Pete did for her.

Pete was the family protector. Every day he watched over the house for them.

And every night he kept Cora warm and safe in ways her mother would never understand.


36.

If you asked Stiles, he'd say it all started with the free popcorn.

"No."

"Come on, Derek."

"No."

"Seriously?"

"Do you need me to start saying it in different languages?"

"Oh, god, yes. That’d be so hot."

"Stiles!"

Stiles huffed out a laugh. "Fine, sorry. But don't you want free popcorn? There’s even complimentary seasoning." He grinned, trying to look as innocent as possible.

"You're just using me for the popcorn," Derek finally said.

"Nu-uh. Come on, dude, we're here seeing a movie anyway. Might as well take advantage of 'date night', no?"

"Except we're not actually on a date."

Stiles snorted. "Semantics. Come on, big guy, time's a-wasting."

He held his hand out for Derek to grab then, praying that this wasn't about to backfire spectacularly.

Derek stared at him, eyes narrowed and calculating before letting out an extremely exaggerated sigh and grabbing Stiles’ hand with a little more force than strictly necessary.

***

"Why are we sitting at the very back of the theater?"

"Because it gives you the best vantage point and most people prefer the middle. Plus, if we get into any shenanigans back here, we’ll be less likely to get caught.” Stiles wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Derek rolled his eyes, but couldn’t quite hide the amused smirk that briefly lit up his face. Stiles grinned in response and set to work balancing the huge popcorn bag on his knee so they could both reach it.

***

After about the tenth time their fingers brushed against one another in the popcorn bag, Stiles felt Derek lean in close.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” he accused.

“Doing what?”

“Touching my hand.”

Stiles swallowed, tried to keep his heartbeat steady. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

“And...what if I was?”

For a minute Derek just stared, like he wasn’t sure what to make of Stiles’ comment. And then, after what felt like hours, “Well that changes things then.”

Stiles wasn’t sure who leaned in first, but when their lips touched, he felt a spark of electricity course through him, and it didn’t really matter.

***

They were in public. Fuck, they were in public, but Stiles didn’t care, not when he was sitting in Derek’s lap, so close to his dick. He fumbled twice with the button on Derek’s jeans before he finally got it undone, tugging down the zipper and slipping his hand into Derek’s boxer-briefs. Derek let out a low moan into Stiles’ mouth as Stiles wrapped his fingers around Derek’s dick, giving it two quick strokes, immensely thankful for the movie’s background noise.

“Fuck, Stiles, we’re in public,” Derek groaned, pulling back.

But Stiles held him close and continued to jerk him off. He rubbed his thumb back and forth across the head of Derek’s dick and delighted in the full body shiver it elicited. “Don’t care. No one can see us, anyway.”

Stiles pressed a kiss to the corner of Derek’s mouth and ground back down into his lap, seeking some friction for his own erection. Derek groaned again and tilted his head to slot their mouths together properly, pushing his tongue into Stiles’ mouth and quickly turning the kiss filthy. One of Derek’s hands wrapped around the back of Stiles’ neck, holding him in place, while the other rubbed him through his jeans while Stiles arched into the touch. Even with two layers between Derek’s hand and his dick, it felt amazing, like all of his nerve endings were on fire in the best way possible.

The movie continued to play in the background as Derek rocked his hips into Stiles’ hand in jerky little motions, and Stiles couldn’t resist pulling back just a fraction of an inch to whisper, “You’re so good, can’t fucking wait to wrap my mouth around your dick, to feel you inside me.”

And then Derek was coming into his hand, panting against Stiles’ neck. Stiles stroked him through the aftershocks, until Derek tugged at his wrist, pulling Stiles away from his sensitive dick. Stiles was still hard, dick straining against the confines of his jeans when Derek finally slipped his own hand into Stiles’ pants, bringing him off with only a few quick tugs. Everything went fuzzy for a few moments from the force of his orgasm, before Stiles found himself coming back down to earth.

***

“Did you plan this?” Derek asked later, as they attempted to make an inconspicuous exit from the theater.

“Would you be angry if I said yes?”

Derek smiled, and Stiles took that for the answer it was.


37.

Chris stepped into the hot spray of the shower first, leading Derek in after him but blocking the water from direct contact. The abrasions on Derek's chest were almost gone, but the long gashes in his back were still open and slowly trickling with blood. They would close eventually, but there was no point in aggravating them further.

He pushed Derek down to sit on the built-in shower seat. Derek never was particularly steady on his feet after a rough fight, and Chris would rather not worry about 200 pounds of werewolf cracking his head open on the marble floor.

Grabbing one of the ultra soft washcloths and some shower gel, he worked it up into a good lather and began the painful process of washing Derek's slowly-recovering body. He ran the cloth over Derek's shoulders and arms first, massaging the aching muscle, cleaning off the remaining dirt to reveal smooth, tanned skin underneath.

He took his time with Derek's chest and stomach, moving slowly down his legs, one hand covered by the soapy washcloth, the other bare, digging his fingers into Derek's tense muscles, and loving the feel of Derek's coarse hair against his own tired hands.

He pressed a soft kiss to the inside of Derek's knee as he lifted his foot, and washed his toes carefully, placing tiny, sucking kisses on each toe as he finished.

Forcing Derek to stand, he rinsed Derek's back carefully, using just his hand and clean water to soothe and rinse the skin between the shrinking slashes across his shoulders.

When Chris reached for the cloth again to move to Derek's lower back, Derek stopped his hand and turned. He laced their fingers together and rested his forehead against Chris's with a deep sigh.

Chris knew what was coming before Derek even opened his mouth to speak.

"Stop," he said, pushing his head against Derek's to get his attention. "Don't apologize," he said a little more gently. "You did what was right for your pack, and you came home to me. That was the deal. There's nothing to apologize for."

Derek's remaining tension flowed out of him in an instant.

The kiss that followed should have stayed simple, subdued, but Derek's taste, the feel of his firm body against Chris's own, the knowledge that he was home, safe, alive, always made it harder for them to keep things innocent.

Derek pulled him closer so they were pressed together from chest to thigh, and Chris's hands reflexively went to Derek's waist to stop him from pulling away.

"I can't— I mean, I won't get hard—too much blood loss—" Derek said, "but I want you to mark me. I need to smell you on me."

Chris dug his fingers harder into Derek's sides when Derek took his dick in hand, using soapsuds to smooth the way. It didn't take long for Derek's strong, meaty hand to get him hard.

Derek shuffled back, just enough to get a few inches of space between them, but not so far that Chris couldn't still feel the heat of Derek's body against his chest. With Chris's cock in one hand, and his own in the other, Derek brought their dicks together, the tips just barely kissing.

Water dripped down his forehead as he watched his cock disappear inside Derek's foreskin. Derek was right about the blood loss—his dick remained soft—but it meant that his foreskin could stretch to cover almost half of Chris's cock. He was breathless at the sight of their dicks merging, the feeling of heat and soft skin covering his dick.

"Shit, Der," he moaned. Derek sped up his movements, pulling his foreskin back and forth over Chris's cock. He could feel the head of Derek's dick nosing against his own inside their little cocoon, and his heartbeat ratcheted up even higher.

The realization that Derek still wanted this even though he couldn't get hard, even though he wouldn't come, finally pushed Chris over the edge, making him come inside Derek's foreskin, leaving a sloppy mess between them.

Derek reached behind him and shut off the water before any of Chris's come washed away. He fell to his knees and took Chris's cock in his mouth, sucking him through the remainder of his orgasm. Chris spasmed with aftershocks as he watched Derek squeeze his come out of his foreskin and spread it over his chest and stomach, covering himself in Chris's scent.

"Always," Derek whispered. "I'll always come home to you."


38.

“Lydia,” her mother said. “Quit dallying and play your music properly. It is always such a fuss with you.”

Tired of practising the same section, Lydia let her fingers slip over the keys. Her mother heaved a deep sigh into her embroidery.

As the window was open, the sound of hooves on gravel drowned out the soft sounds of music. Lydia stopped abruptly, shot up from her seat, nearly stepping on the hem of her dress in her rush to the window.

“Allison!” Lydia cried, leaning out the window, waving frantically.

Allison looked up and beamed, waving back. Lydia rushed from the drawing room and hurtled down the stairs, nearly running into one of the maids.

She threw the door open before anyone else could and wrapped Allison into a crushing hug.

“And I just sent you a letter!” Lydia said as she pulled back. “Did it arrive before you left? Oh, nevermind, I will send you a new one. What would you do with week old news?”

Allison’s father stepped up behind them, wearing his dark blue waistcoat, and Lydia smiled. “Good day, Mr Argent.”

“Miss Martin. Lovely as always.”

She threw him another smile as she grabbed Allison by the elbow and pulled her inside.

~

“Are you really throwing us a dance? That’s very generous of you,” Allison said as dinner was served.

“Oh, it’s the least I could do, dear. I’ve called on all of our neighbors, of course.” Her mother took a sip of wine.

“Mother, tell me you did not invite him.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, of course I did.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Mother thinks I should let myself be courted by this dreadful boy who used to push me into the mud when we were children. And is utterly dim-witted.”

Mr Argent’s lip quirked in amusement.

~

Lydia escaped into the drawing room, finding it cool and empty. Her fingers swept over the piano keys. Dancing with Matt truly had been torture.

“He really is quite dreadful.” Mr Argent’s voice was low as closed the door behind him.

Lydia was not born yesterday. She recognized the way Mr Argent had been looking at her all evening, eyes burning into her neck as she accepted every invitation to dance. It had settled into her stomach like a warm knot, excitement and terror all at once.

She shouldn’t.

“Dreadful,” she agreed.

He kissed her with confidence, his hand brushing at her jaw. This, unlike her first awkward kiss, turned her insides to liquid as she pressed close, opening her lips under his. She moaned softly when the tip of his tongue traced her bottom lip.

“Mr Argent,” she said, pulling away slightly.

He paused and looked at her, his hair slightly mussed from her fingers, and she gave in. Pulling him back in, she let herself be pushed against the grand piano as he licked into her mouth.

She let out a startled sound when he hoisted her up onto the closed lid, her feet brushing the keys, and pushed her skirts up around her waist. The green silk slid softly across her spread thighs. He looked at her, eyes intense, as he pulled down her drawers and slid her shoes off, leaving her only in her stockings.

For a moment she stopped breathing as he watched her, fingers finding the bare skin above her stockings. And then he pulled her forward, leaning in to press kisses to her inner thigh. She shook, hands curling around the edge of the piano.

When his lips touched her folds, she threw her head back and whimpered. She’d never thought—

Her legs shook when he buried his head between her thighs, tongue moving in quick flicks making her stomach tighten. She moved her hips against his mouth, her hand coming to grip his hair.

“Ssh, Miss Martin,” he said as he pulled away for a brief moment.

She realised she’d been moaning and bit her lip to keep it back. If anyone were to walk in and find Mr Argent with his face obscured by her skirts, tongue talented and indecent…

Chris,” she gasped as the tension shattered inside of her and her leg slipped onto the keys, making a discordant sound.

~

“Play us something, won’t you, Lydia?” her mother said as they all retired to the drawing room late in the evening.

Mr Argent leaned against the window pane. “Yes, Miss Martin. Please do.”


39.

“You want to be mine,” Derek says; it’s not a question.

Stiles laughs brokenly.

“I already am,” he replies. “You just have to - you have to let me be.”

In truth, Stiles has belonged to Derek since he was sixteen, sitting the front seat of a cop car. The two of them have been in a strange dance ever since and the revelation of heats - given only after Scott went into heat - only makes it stranger.

Heats last a week without a partner, Derek tells them, though the effects can linger longer. With a partner, it narrows down to a few days. Stiles asks, “who’s your partner?” only to realize that Derek didn’t have one; he hasn’t let himself since Kate.

Stiles lets it stay that way until a few years later when Derek goes through a particularly bad heat. It lingers for two weeks and when it’s finally over, Stiles corners him.

“You can’t do that again,” he says. “You barely made it this time. Let me be your partner.”

Derek does.

It’s not what Stiles imagined. They fuck for hours, days. They fuck until they can’t anymore; until Stiles is too sore and Derek can’t get it up. He never seems satisfied after, not like Scott after a heat with Kira. When Stiles gets up the nerve to ask Scott, he finds out why.

Knotting.

“That’s the point of a heat,” Scott says, blushing. “Mating.

Stiles never brings it up; Derek has made his feelings on the matter clear. There’s no tenderness in their joining, no cuddling or lingering. When the heat is gone, so is Derek. Even if it’s the middle of the night. Even if Stiles is asleep.

Waking up alone feels a little worse every time, until Stiles knows that it can’t go on that way. Something has to change.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Derek says quietly. The heat has started to show, his cheeks pinking and hands trembling. “Werewolves -”

“They mate for life; I know.” Stiles smiles a little, stepping closer. “I want you for that long if you’ll have me.”

Reaching forward, Derek reels him in the last few inches, their lips meeting clumsily. His skin feels feverish, the heat getting worse, but Derek doesn’t rush like he usually does. They’ve kissed a thousand times but never like this; never this slowly, never with so much care.

Stiles’ chest aches. He whispers against Derek’s mouth, “stay this time. Please; I don’t want to be alone again.”

Derek groans and nods, licking back into his mouth as his hand creeps under Stiles’ shirt, resting against the small of his back.

“Okay,” he agrees softly.

It’s no big declaration but Stiles didn’t expect one; just that is enough.

He crowds Derek against the wall, sinking to his knees. They’ll have time for words later but for now, Derek is in heat and Stiles is there for a reason.

“I’m going to blow you,” he says, licking his lips. “And then you’re going to take me upstairs and fuck me until we can’t move.”

Derek shudders as Stiles unbuttons his jeans and pulls his cock out, swallowing him down. Derek gasps, his hips bucking as Stiles begins to move.

There’s no finesse but Derek doesn’t seem to care. His fingers are buried in Stiles’ hair, rubbing his scalp, pulling hard when Stiles does something he likes. They’re both keyed up but Derek especially and it doesn’t take long before Stiles feels the base of his cock swelling.

He’s never felt the knot before; Derek has always been careful to hide that part of him. It pushes against his lips now, making him groan. He pulls off, licking the crown of Derek’s cock.

“Do it,” he begs, glancing up. “I want you to.”

Derek doesn’t ask - can’t ask - and Stiles doesn’t elaborate, drawing him back in. The noises coming from Derek become increasingly more desperate, his knot growing slowly. Finally, Stiles takes in a deep breath and sinks down, down, until his lips are stretched wide and he can feel the knot behind his teeth, swollen full.

Shoving a hand down his own pants to fist his own cock, Stiles swallows and Derek cries out, his hips jerking to grind his cock deeper into Stiles’ throat. Tears spring to Stiles’ eyes but then he feels the cock on his tongue twitch, spurting into his mouth, and he finds his own release as he swallows again, his skin tingling. He’s been knotted.

I’m yours.


40.

Stiles moaned, almost whining, because his hand was getting tired and crampy and he couldn't get the right angle, couldn't push himself over the edge. It'd been a long few days and he was tired, exhausted, too wired to sleep but too worn out to get a good wank going.

Derek sat whimpering quietly in a corner, hands nowhere near the sympathetic boner Stiles was sure he had. “You could come over and help me out,” Stiles said, breath coming too quickly for the sarcasm to shine through.

“I could, but then your father is going to cut off my hands.”

Stiles glared at him halfheartedly. “My father is a man of the law, buddy. Besides, he wouldn't do anything to hurt me.” He willed Derek to look at him, and surprisingly, Derek did. “You get that he wouldn't do anything to you, right? Because you're, you know, my-” Stiles faltered a little over what to call Derek. They'd been kissing and saving each other and snarking like an old married couple. Boyfriend seemed somehow childish and inadequate. “You're mine.”

Derek groaned, smashing the back of his head against the wall. “You can't just say things like that.”

Oh, well, that was. That was something. Stiles grinned. “Come up here and I'll show you exactly how possessive I can be.”

“Stiles,” Derek whined, “you're seventeen.”

Stiles flailed dramatically back into his pillow, completely fine with the fact that his dick was waving around like Mr. Floppy. “Oh my god, I know. You don't have to rub it in. Some rubbing would be nice though.”

Derek gave him the grumpy eyebrows. “Stiles.” And the crossed arms of doom, uh-oh.

Stiles crawled over to the edge of the bed. “Look, we'll never do anything you don't want to do, okay? I can stop with the, you know, the teasing, trying to get you in my pants, all that.” He made a gesture that was supposed to encompass all that and more. “We never have to do anything more than we've already done if you're not into it.”

Derek sighed and came closer on all fours, which should be ridiculous and rife for dog jokes, but it somehow wasn't. "It's not about that, " Derek said, looking pained but very earnest. "Believe me, it's really not a question of not wanting you, but you're seventeen and there are laws in place for a reason."

Stiles snorted. "They're meant to stop teen pregnancies in California, overwhelmingly targeting the poor and disenfranchised, and criminalizing teenage sexuality. Instead of investing in comprehensive sex education they decided to be racist, classist assholes. I wrote a paper on it for AP calc once."

Derek grinned. "You would."

"So wanna make out?"

"Always."

Stiles surged forward, kissing Derek hard. He pulled back just enough to lean their foreheads together. "There are a lot of things we can do without breaking the law."

"Stiles, I-" Derek almost choked on whatever emotion had him gripped tight. "I don't want to be Kate. I don't want you to regret this like I did."

Stiles smiled, held his hands out for Derek to hold on and pulled the werewolf up on the bed. "Not possible. Like, at all."

Derek kissed him, all gentle warmth and affection when Stiles pushed him back against the bed. “The things I want to do to you, fucking is just this tiny part of it.” Stiles felt giddy and powerful at the way Derek was pliant underneath him. He placed small kisses from Derek's jaw down to his neck. Derek shivered, fingers twitching where they were buried in Stiles' hair.

“Stiles, please...”

His hand drifted down to Derek's crotch, feeling heated flesh underneath the constricting denim. “What do you want, Derek?”

“Touch me.”

Stiles closed his eyes to the sight of Derek looking desperate and debauched. “Oh my god.” He scrambled to undo the buttons and free Derek's cock. “God, you're so fucking hard.” Stiles wrapped his hand around the length of it and gave it a few experimental pulls, making Derek moan. “You could come like this, couldn't you? Just my hand making you feel so damn good.”

Derek bucked up, precome dripping from his cock. Just that was enough to get Stiles close to the edge, watching Derek fall apart – because of him. “Come for me,” Stiles whispered into Derek's ear, giving the lobe a tiny lick. “Come for me.”

Derek spilled all over his hand and Stiles grinned. “Good boy.”


41.

Laura drops a thin file on his desk. "For you."

"No," Derek says, not even bothering to glance up.

"I can't do it, I'm already overbooked."

"Cora, then."

"Nope. He's a total greenie, and Cora's only been training a year."

"Erica –"

"On her honeymoon with Boyd."

"Peter."

"Doesn't want anyone over the age of thirty-five. Or creepy."

Derek rolls his eyes. "I'm not doing it, Laura. I don't take clients anymore."

Laura reaches over to open the file. "Stiles Stilinski, age nineteen."

Derek stares at the picture in the file, blinking at the kid's bright eyes and smug smirk.

"Fine," Derek snaps, slamming the file closed and shoving it back across the desk. "Set up an interview."

*

Derek stares at the kid sitting in the armchair across from him. The picture hadn't done him justice; he's gorgeous, with a scattering of moles, hair perfect for holding, and a pair of lips Derek wants to ruin with his dick.

"So, Stiles," Derek says, scanning the pre-interview survey about preferences. "Have you ever done anything like this before?"

Stiles nods his head, nearly vibrating with nerves. "Yeah, I mean – just a little? Figured I'd see how much I really liked it."

Derek feels a flutter of excitement in his stomach like he hasn't in a long, long time. "Okay. I think we'll do a trial run. One time, and then – if we're both happy and want to continue – we'll negotiate a contract. Sound good?"

"Yeah." Stiles flicks his tongue out over his bottom lip and nods. "Sounds perfect."

*

When Derek enters his personal room at the club, Stiles is already there. He's naked and kneeling on the floor, staring up at Derek with wide eyes. Derek makes a noise of approval but doesn't comment otherwise.

"We're starting small. I'm going to fuck your face."

Stiles' eyes go dark and his dick begins to fill against his thigh. He nods, glancing between Derek's already hard dick and his eyes. Derek smirks and steps forward, using his thumb to press down on Stiles' bottom lip. His mouth opens so prettily, and Derek has to bite back a groan as he slowly threads his dick into Stiles' mouth. It's hot and wet, the bottom of Derek's dick sliding deliciously over Stiles' tongue.

Derek keeps one thumb hooked in Stiles' mouth and brings his other hand up to bury in Stiles' hair. He tightens his grip and Stiles whimpers. Derek goes slow, rocking almost gently, holding him in place as his rhythm gradually increases.

When Stiles' eyes go bright and glassy Derek pulls out, ignoring the resulting whine from Stiles. He hooks the fingers of his free hand under Stiles' chin and pulls his head back so that Stiles is looking him in the eye.

"Do you want to continue?"

"Please yes," Stiles breathes, and Derek's dick twitches.

"I'm going to go harder this time, and not stop until I come."

Stiles nods, opening his mouth again when Derek presses the tip of his dick to his soft lips.

This time, Derek only holds back a little. He grips Stiles' hair and fucks into his mouth, hips hitching and rolling as his dick slides into the glorious, wet heat over and over. Stiles doesn't struggle, lets Derek use his mouth, his lips quickly becoming red and swollen and spit sliding down his chin.

Derek pushes in deep and holds himself there. Stiles chokes a little, eyes watering and spilling over as he fights for breath without moving, nose nearly buried in the hair at the base of Derek's dick. Derek groans at the sensation of Stiles' throat fluttering around the head of his dick, and yanks himself out, not bothering to stop his orgasm.

Stiles' mouth is open as he automatically draws in a stuttering breath, and Derek comes all over his face. A thick splash of it lands across the bridge of Stiles' nose, some in his mouth, and more on his cheeks and forehead.

"Oh, god," Stiles gasps, entire body tensing as his eyes roll back. Derek looks down to see him coming, dick twitching without a single touch to it, spurts of hot, white liquid trailing down to cover his balls.

Derek loosens his grip on Stiles' hair and cards his fingers through it, smiling slightly when Stiles leans forward and rests his temple on Derek's thigh. He's already planning what he wants to do to him next time.


42.

Penetration is fun. Being fucked is fun. Fucking is fun. But shit, son, imagine if that was the only thing you ever did in bed? He would be bored.

She kisses down his body, red hair tickling across his chest. When she hits the start of his pubes she scrunches up her nose and nuzzles in. His dick is only half hard, still flat against him.

"Do you trust me?" She asks, running her nails down his chest. She's not gentle, scratches a nipple making his dick twitch in anticipation.

"Of course," he answers, because this is his queen, this is his everything, he always trusted her, even when he shouldn't, even when she barely know he existed.

He was lucky, he's not an idiot, that she grew, he grew, and they grew into something. That's not a euphemism, it's just--them, a moment like this.

She shimmies up him, more graceful than it should be, less graceful than she normally is. Her stomach passes by his face and he takes the opportunity to kiss and lick, drag his lips over the pale white skin of her stomach. I love you I love you I love you, he says, with every kiss.

Her legs are soft and warm near his shoulders, mattress dipping with her weight, pulling his head a little back.

"Do you want a pillow?"

"Yes. Please."

It's cool on his neck, he loves the cold side of the pillow, and it lifts him up enough that he's ready.

He can smell her cunt, can see glistening lips just above his face. It's his, he gets to do this, no one else, not ever again.

Unless they both want it.

She cards her hands through his hair, messing it up as she sinks down onto his face. She's not sitting on him, not really, not yet, but her cunt is right there. She's so neat, she's always so neat, and as he noses along her lips there's nothing but the barest hint of hair brushing against him.

Just enough to give the good kind of friction.

As she spreads her knees a little further her lips part and everything is her. He closes his eyes, concentrates on his task. Every breath he tries to draw comes through her, dragged through her slick cunt.

He licks and sucks, fucks her with his whole face. She's so hot on him, hot and damp, it's the most intimate kind of kiss, and she's dominating them like she always does.

Her hips lift, the air of the room is cool on his damp face. Damp with her, the smell on every gasping breath he takes in.

She gives him barely a moment before she's grinding down onto his face. He gives it everything he's got, feels her riding his mouth, his nose. The dips and ridges of his face getting her off as surely as his tongue and mouth.

He lifts his hands, blindly searching and she grabs hold of them, uses it as leverage to ride him harder, ride him faster.

He thighs tighten around his face as she comes, hands painfully tugging at his hair. She settles back onto his chest, grins down at him.

"You look the picture of debauchery."

He grins back up at her, his dick's hard, but he can wait.

Afterwards, when her breath has settled he rolls them over, she parts her legs and he slots so easily between them. His dick is straining as he thrusts up between her puffy cunt. He did that, the dripping, hot place that he gets to fuck into.

Her lips slide along his dick, she squirms as his dick hits her oversensitive clit, soft now, fucked out. He loves the sight of his dick peeking out of her slit, loves her squirms as he thrusts harder, faster, catches all the sensitive bits of her cunt.

If he was inside he wouldn't get to do this, wouldn't get to see her squirm like he does when she hits his prostate too soon after he's come.

He can kiss her like this now, her mouth tastes like her now, too. Her cunt, his dick, their mouths, all the same, the specific taste of them, of sex, of being adults, of living their lives.

Fuck normality.

When he comes he stutterfucks her cunt, jizz splattering her stomach. She's hard again, clit pressing against his dick, just waiting.

The night's not over, it's only just begun.


43.

Lydia had always disliked Cora. They've run in the same circle for years, ever since Stiles and Derek got together, but between them it's always been sharp barbs and subtle insults. Cora was just too sure of herself, too clever, too condescending - everything Lydia herself worked to be. Around Cora, Lydia felt fake, plastic - like her carefully constructed persona was completely transparent to Cora's luminous brown eyes.

"Babe, what do you want to drink?" Jackson asked her, sliding out of the booth.

"Dirty martini, Tanqueray," she answered, without looking at him.

"Nice lap dog you've got," Cora commented. "Is he always that obedient?"

"Jackson knows better than to bite the hand that feeds him," Stiles said, snickering.

"Oh, do you reward him with treats when he follows you back home?" Cora asked, all faux-innocence. "That doesn't sound like much fun for you."

"I have fun," Lydia threw back, and as she said it she knew how pathetic it sounded.

"Uh huh," Cora said, eyebrow raised.

"Whatever," Lydia muttered, and left for the bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror, leaning on the counter, and stared at herself - what was it about Cora that brought out the worst in her?

The door opened.

"It's occupied," Lydia said, before she whirled around saw who it was. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Jackson can't handle you, sweetheart," Cora said, moving forward so that Lydia had to push herself back against the counter.

Lydia never had trouble saying no - said it often to Jackson, in fact - no trouble pushing people away, establishing dominance over a situation. But something about Cora made her feel trapped and vulnerable, like Cora knew a secret about her.

So she just looked into Cora's predatory eyes as Cora pressed their bodies together against the counter. Didn't say anything when Cora's surprisingly strong arms hoisted her up onto the ledge, or when Cora ran her hand up Lydia's bare thigh. Her heart was beating fast and she felt dizzy from the drinks and the adrenaline, but there was no mistaking the fire of arousal spreading up from Cora's fingertips.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Lydia repeated, but weakly, less a demand and more a genuine question.

"What I want to do," Cora said as her hand went up Lydia's skirt, brushing a touch over Lydia's panties, so light and teasing. "What I always want to do with you. What are you doing, Lydia?"

"I... don't know," she breathed out, and Cora leaned forward, running her lips and tongue softly down Lydia's neck, her hand resting just a layer of cotton away from where Lydia wanted her - yes, wanted her. "Maybe what I want to do."

She was rewarded by a bite on her neck and a firm press on her cunt, enough to make her gasp.

"Yeah, I like that noise," Cora said, pulling back just enough to hook her fingers on the edges of Lydia's underwear and pull them off.

Then Cora crouched down and - Lydia was in a dirty bar bathroom, her friends were outside, she was perched precariously on a sink counter with a girl she hated (or, thought she hated), but none of that mattered, not when Cora was taking her time running her fingers up and down, back and forth across her clit, fingers from both hands, maybe, as she held Lydia open. Not when she leaned in and added her tongue, wet and so so warm against her, undulating gently in contrast to the more firm pressure she kept up with her finger.

She couldn't help it, she was so close already, so she leaned down and grabbed Cora's hair - maybe to pull her away, maybe just needing to hang on to something - but Cora just laughed softly and redoubled her efforts.

She cried out, too loud, as she came and came - Cora didn't stop, and it felt like her orgasm wasn't stopping and she felt suspended in this moment in time forever.

Then Cora was fixing her hair in the mirror behind Lydia, looking remarkably composed, and reality came rushing back in.

"Don't you want..." Lydia trailed off.

Cora's smile was genuine now, not sharp or fake. She leaned in to kiss Lydia and it was surprisingly sweet and gentle, even as she tasted like Lydia still.

"Give me a call when you're ready for something real, sweetheart," she said, and the door swung closed after her, leaving Lydia alone.


44.

Stiles sheds it all, walking up the stairs: the stress of finals, the exhaustion of a long drive. With each step closer to Derek's apartment, the muscles in Stiles' shoulders ease and his smile grows. Anticipation helps him skip up the last flight of stairs and he all but bursts through the door, arms spread wide, only to find—

—Derek asleep in his cozy chair. Stiles' good mood falters.

"I know I'm later than we planned," he mutters, easing out of his hoodie, toeing off his shoes, "but what happened to your superior werewolf senses? Shouldn't you have heard me from two miles away?"

Derek doesn't budge.

Stiles skins out of his jeans and tiptoes closer. "Or you could be faking it in the hopes I'll ravish you to wake you up. Which is a plan I'm okay with." He comes to a stop next to Derek's stretched-out legs and inches one foot over them. Derek remains unfazed, even as Stiles shuffles forward and drops to his knees, straddling Derek's lap. Derek has his arms crossed over his chest and his eyebrows furrowed, but his hair's kind of flat on one side and there's a drying trail of drool at the corner of his mouth which makes him more adorable than threatening. Stiles is gentle, peeling away one of Derek's hands, enough for Stiles to lean in close and bump his nose into Derek's cheek.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty." He's close enough for his lips to brush over Derek's beard. Derek stirs, and Stiles uses it to lean in further, to rub his cheek against Derek's. Underneath him, Stiles feels Derek's cock begin to chub up.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you, do you?" Stiles says it directly into Derek's ear, his hands skimming down a broad chest, searching for smooth skin. There's a zing when he finally gets there, fingertips skating over soft abs and softer hair. They push on, lifting Derek's henley with them, and there's a delightful hitch to his breath as Stiles tweaks one nipple, then the other. After Stiles gets Derek's shirt off, there's a hint of a smile on his lips and Stiles has to kiss it.

By now, Derek is hard, and Stiles sits up on his knees to give himself enough room to get Derek's dick out. It's just like Stiles remembers it: velvety warm with a rosy pink tip. It's not leaking yet, but soon. Stiles brushes over the head anyway, drags his thumb around the inside of the foreskin then gives Derek a few slow pumps.

"I knew it would be hard," Stiles says, torn between watching Derek's cock and his face, "being away from everybody I care about. But it didn't really hit me until it happened. I wanted so badly to come back for my dad and Scott and you, but I was having fun, too, which made me feel like a traitor."

Stiles quickens the rhythm of his hand, and is rewarded with a blurt of precome and a grunt from Derek, his hands falling to Stiles' thighs.

"Just makes this a little sweeter, though, doesn't it?" Stiles is hard now, too, and his hips rock in time with his hand. The chair is big, but with the way Derek's slouched in it, Stiles is in a precarious position on the edge. He props one hand on Derek's chest for balance, which gives him the perfect excuse to toy with Derek's nipple and get his head in the game.

"C'mon," Stiles murmurs. "I need to see you come." That gets Derek grunting, hips hitching into Stiles' grip in slow waves that Stiles matches with his own body. With his legs bare, Stiles can feel the body heat through Derek's pajamas and he leans over, hand tightening around Derek's dick on each upstroke, to latch on to Derek's neck. Sharp teeth are what tumble Derek into orgasm, his hands clamping down on Stiles' hips. Stiles rides it out with his mouth open, until Derek's breath rushes over his ear and he lets Stiles go.

"Good job, baby," Stiles says between licks; his hand is a mess, but Stiles is not one to waste an opportunity.

Derek grumbles and tugs Stiles in for a proper kiss. "Don't call me baby," he mutters into Stiles' mouth.

"I wasn't talking to you," Stiles says.

"Then who—" Derek stutters and his eyes narrow. "Were you talking to my dick that whole time?"

It's an effort not to laugh.


45.

"Good decision, Melissa," Stiles says, when she slides her panties off.

No, it's not Stiles. It's not. It's not him pushing her knees apart, just like it's not him tilting his head to one side as if contemplating a tricky problem.

Or a menu.

His tongue slides across his lower lip, and she closes her eyes.

"Oh no, I don't think so." A nail scratches lightly down her inner thigh, and she shivers. "Open your eyes."

He's watching when she does. Of course. She keeps her eyes fixed on the top of Stiles's untidy head as his face dips between her thighs. His nose rubs through the soft hair, tickling, then putting pressure in just the right place. His tongue follows it up, teasing her clit, flicking back and forth while his thumbs part her lips.

The thought of Stiles seeing her like this is-- it's more than she can stand.

"Wet already," he says then, amused, and Melissa feels her cheeks flush.

"He knows how much you like having your pussy licked," he says. "You should watch your conversations when he's around, he's an experienced eavesdropper."

Melissa can't even remember that conversation, but there are times at work when they let off a bit of steam, and the talk gets a bit racier than usual. It could have been any time, he's often at the hospital with Scott, and--

"He didn't even understand what it meant then, but he remembered it."

And oh god, it was when Stiles was that young? Melissa blinks a tear away. She won't give him the satisfaction. She won't.

Stiles's tongue laps greedily at her cunt, warm and slick.

"You have no idea how many times he's jerked off thinking about doing this."

It shouldn't make any difference, make it any worse, because Melissa was already wondering how she'd ever be able to look Stiles in the eye again. But somehow it does. And the thought of it, of Stiles frantically thrusting into his own hand thinking of this, sends a jolt of pleasure through her that she's not proud of.

"His fantasies are going to be a lot more realistic after this!" It's Stiles's laugh that brings her back to the truth of the situation, that compounds her humiliation. How can he laugh just like Stiles? It's more than the voice, it's the attitude, the-- the something.

No wonder he fooled them all.

"He's going to know how delicious you taste." Stiles's lips suck on hers, on her clit, seal themselves over her cunt and drink her in as if he can't get enough, and she can't help it, her breath catches and her hips thrust towards his mouth even as he keeps talking. "How you moan when you come, because you're going to come, aren't you, Melissa? You're going to come with his face buried in your wet little pussy, you're going to make him all sticky with you, smear your juices all over his chin, his nose, so he'll have the scent of you on him when I let him back in."

And she does, is the thing. She arches her back and she comes, just like he says.

"Or maybe," he says, smirking and rubbing the damp smears on his face deeper into his skin, "I'll go and see Scott first."

Melissa sits up as her heart thuds painfully in her chest. "You said you'd leave him alone. You said if I-- you said you wouldn't--"

"Oh, Melissa." He shakes his head sadly. "I said I wouldn't kill Scott. I didn't say I wouldn't take the opportunity to cause a little more strife."

"Chaos, strife and pain," she says, her voice bitter. "That's all it's about for you, isn't it?"

"Those are what you might call the main courses." Stiles's fingers pinch at her tender clit, less gentle now. "But embarrassment, shame and humiliation make pretty good starters."

"You--" But she stops when his hand reaches up, squeezes one of her breasts through her thin shirt.

"Stiles has a lot of different fantasies about you, Melissa," he says. "Why don't I tell you about a few more?"


46.

“You’re still driving home this weekend, right? Because the library’s carnival fundraiser is on Saturday and Parrish and Hale got roped into volunteering. They’re both dreading it. Councilwoman Kelley - you remember her, right? the scary octogenarian who “runs” city hall? - gave them a lecture about children’s literacy rates in cities without libraries and how young strapping men like them would surely be a big draw. I want to go just to see if they manage to get themselves out of it. And to take pictures.” His did chuckles. “I haven’t seen a kissing booth since college.”

“Wait. Back up. Did you just say Derek Hale got emotionally manipulated into working a kissing booth?”

“Yeah, she had them both signed up and committed before either were able to get a word in edgewise.”

“Hmmm...”
~~~

The carnival is crowded, but the kissing booth is easy to spot because of the gaggle of girls surrounding it. Stiles had no clue Beacon Hills was home to so many young girls and wonders where they all were while he was in high school. Ignoring him, probably. His dad is already taking pictures with his camera phone and chuckling. Stiles is certain the pictures will be tacked up to the office board before the day is over.

Stiles pats the money in his pocket. “I’ll be right back.” He takes a fortifying breath.

“Where are you going?”

“To support my local library, dad.” He gives him a salut as he gets in Derek’s line, turning to avoid the incredulous expression he’s sure is on his dad’s face.

Derek spots him right away and gives a quick, confused raise of his eyebrows before turning his attention back to the girl at the front of the line, which is moving at a decent pace.

When Stiles reaches the front he pulls out his wad of bills, now sweaty and crumpled, and places them in front of Derek. He can feel his cheeks burning and grins through the embarrassment. “What’ll $50 get me?”

Derek looks at him in surprise and Stiles hopes the tinge of pink on his ears is from too much sun. “Uh...”

“Make it good, big guy.”

Stiles hears some of the girls giggle and coo as he leans over the counter and nuzzles Derek’s jaw, but he ignores them and savors the slow drag of whiskers that tickle his cheek. Derek’s pulse races beneath his lips and Stiles feels his own heart answering its quickness. He grins when he feels Derek’s palm grip the back of his neck, giving in to the moment and keeping him close.

Everyone can see them and he doesn’t care, because he’s the one who feels Derek shiver against him, the one who can smell his pretentious, too-expensive shaving gel. It’s familiar, intoxicating, and Stiles has been addicted for years.

He kisses the jut of Derek’s jaw and then moves to face him head on. Derek looks gorgeous like this: backlit by the sun and focused solely on him. The edge of the counter cuts into his stomach when finally leans forward and presses a slow kiss onto parted lips. He breathes in Derek’s exhale and closes his eyes, falling into the kiss. He slides his fingers into the inky thick of Derek’s hair and takes the quiet groan that slips from his mouth when Stiles nips his lower lip.

Derek’s hands cradle his face and the brush of thumbs against his cheekbone feels rough juxtaposed with the wet silk of Derek’s lips. He forgets where they are, forgets everything under the scrape of Derek’s teeth along his lip and his perfect, perfect kiss. He clutches at Derek’s biceps, wishing the counter weren’t between them, because he’s wanted to kiss Derek for ages. He wants to kiss Derek forever.

A pointed cough breaks them apart and Parrish is looking both uncomfortable and amused. Stiles shrugs at him, unconcerned, because he’s just had the best kiss of his entire life and he’s high on the hope that it’s the first of many.

Derek scratches the back of his head and has trouble making eye contact, which is okay, because Stiles is certain he’ll climb through his window tonight. He clears his throat and finally meets Stiles’ eyes. “Thanks for supporting the local library.”

“Anytime, buddy.”

He goes to find his dad, who is actually only a few feet away and looking a little green. Awkward, but still worth it.

“Kid, I don’t want to know.”


47.

“How long?” Stiles asks.

There’s no judgment in his voice, but Derek’s flaccid cock is condemnation enough. “Since Jennifer.”

Mercifully, Stiles doesn’t voice exactly how many years that’s been, but he does ask, “Never, or…?”

“Only when I’m by myself,” Derek says, wanting to crawl under the covers and die. “Sometimes not even then.”

“It’s not—”

“I should get going,” Derek says, rolling up to his feet in one quick movement.

*

“Why did you run away last night?”

Derek is immediately hit by a wave of guilt. Stiles had been so hard, leaking over Derek’s hand, and Derek didn’t even have the decency to try to get him off. “I’m sorry,” Derek blurts.

“You’re—” Stiles cuts himself off. “We need to talk about this in person. And before you freak out, I’m not breaking up with you.”

*

“Please don’t apologize again,” Stiles says, handing Derek a mug of tea. “If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me. I took things too fast.”

“Stiles, I ripped the fly of your jeans.”

Stiles goes pink, heartbeat kicking up a notch. “We didn’t talk about anything. I just moved back into town and we… I forget, sometimes. Everything you’ve been through.”

“I guess I should have told you. But I was hoping, maybe with you…”

Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t think this is about me. You seemed pretty… invested.”

“I was. I am.”

“Okay. Then we’ll figure it out.”

*

It’s not like Derek can’t get hard at all. Everything Stiles does feels good, Derek just never gets close to coming. Surprisingly, Stiles doesn’t expect Derek to talk everything to death. He takes a more hands-on approach.

“Ffffffuck, you feel good,” Stiles groans as he rubs his whole body against Derek’s. But every time Derek reaches for Stiles’ cock, he presses Derek’s wrists down to the bed.

Stiles’ hands go everywhere, fingers dipping into the groove of his spine, teasing over the shells of his ears. When he rubs roughly over Derek’s nipples, Derek feels his cock start to swell. Stiles has to feel it, too, but he pays no attention.

Derek’s hard-on ebbs and swells again, then again, but Stiles continues to ignore it, and Derek’s busy kneading Stiles’ perfect ass. Finally, when Stiles’ arms are shaking, Derek yanks Stiles down, rocking against him until Stiles is rutting into the crease of Derek’s hip. When Stiles comes, he moans like he’s dying.

*

Derek comes so close, particularly when Stiles spreads him open and flicks his tongue over Derek’s hole. This time, Stiles licks in and twists, and Derek suddenly realizes that he’s achingly hard.

He scrambles up and fumbles for the lube, but he’s already starting to soften by the time he gets it open. Stiles still sucks Derek’s wilting cock as long as Derek will let him, but before long Derek pushes him away and turns over to curl up facing the wall.

Stiles doesn’t say a word, just presses a kiss between Derek’s shoulder blades.

*

Derek likes it best when they’re fully clothed but wrapped around each other like horny teenagers on the couch. It’s easiest to get hard like this, with just enough friction to make his nerves sizzle. But when Stiles reaches a hand down between them to palm at Derek’s erection, Derek freezes. Stiles just pulls back with a grin. “I have an idea.”

Derek tries to avoid getting his hopes up, because he’s sick of feeling disappointed while Stiles has his hands all over him. Except after Stiles draws Derek’s cock out, he takes Derek’s hand and brings it between their bodies. “You just… do whatever feels good.”

He swoops back in and claims Derek’s mouth with a hard kiss. Derek’s hips surge up and he’s too busy trying to keep up with Stiles to focus on what his hand’s doing. Stiles is like quicksilver, sucking on Derek’s tongue one second and biting at his jawline the next. Derek doesn’t even notice the way his own hand speeds up or the low burn starting to build in his gut.

Not until Stiles groans right up against Derek’s neck and all of a sudden the tension breaks and he’s coming, oh fuck, he’s coming, and Stiles’ hand wraps around Derek’s to feel the way he wrings out each precious spasm of pleasure. It lasts forever, like his body’s been storing it up all this time, and he’s gasping, skin breaking out into goosebumps.

Stiles’ arms tighten around him. “Perfect,” he whispers.


48.

Isaac’s mind reels at the bombshell Melissa has just laid on him. She wants to formally adopt him. Honestly, it should be an amazing day. But his feelings for Scott get in the way. He knows that just because Melissa adopts him doesn’t make Scott and him brothers, but he still feels weird.

Isaac wants to get his feelings out in the open, so he can move past them - hopefully.

He waited until Melissa left for her shift before he stood up to go and have the most awkward conversation of his life. But he’s too nervous and stops.

He starts to turn around when he hears a long, breathy moan come from the room.

It’s not the first time Isaac has heard Scott masturbating. Usually, he tries to respect Scott’s privacy and listens to his iPod or goes out for a run. But he couldn’t make himself ignore it now. This would be the last time he could let him thing about Scott this way. It would probably be the last time he could indulge his fantasies.

He gets closer and presses his ear to the door. Now he could hear the unmistakable sound of skin on skin. He could just imagine Scott slowly stroking his cock. Isaac’s palms were already starting to sweat and,God, he wanted in that room. He had to go now before he did something he would regret.

But before he could even take one step away, his world changed instantly.

“Isaac.” Scott called out huskily.

Isaac felt his knees buckle and had to grip the door handle to keep from falling. He held on to it tightly. Was Scott thinking of him?

“Isaac, please…”

Isaac’s breathing is shallow as he crack the door open and takes a peak. He almost blacks out.

Scott’s legs are spread open. One hands twists in the sheets. He works the head of his cock and thumbs the slit.

Scott gasps. Isaac bites his lip so hard he draws blood.

“Oh, God, Isaac I want...I want your cock…”

Isaac can’t think of anything other than Scott on that bed as he walks into the room and hastily begins to undress. The boy of his dreams - quite literally - wants him. His alpha - his strong, brave, amazing alpha - is lying on that bed whimpering, begging, pleading for him. Isaac hasn’t felt such a feeling of strength and confidence since he was first turned.

As his pants hit the ground, Scott is finally drawn free from his pre-orgasmic fugue and stills his hand. He looks up and his eyes widen, but Isaac doesn’t stop walking towards him.

Scott’s cheeks are an alarming shade of red and he sits up and tries to draw the sheets around him. “Oh, God Isaac this is so embarrassing. I’m so...I know what this looks like, but-”

Isaac sits on the edge of the bed and cuts Scott off with one look.

Scott bites his lip and looks down briefly. “Isaac…”

Isaac leans over and steals Scott’s breath with a kiss. Isaac devours Scott’s mouth. Scott stiffens briefly, but soon gives himself over to the power of Isaac’s embrace. He buries his hands in Isaac’s hair.

Isaac swallows Scott’s whimpers as he licks into Scott’s mouth. Scott tries to brush his tongue against his, but Isaac dominates the kiss and leaves no doubt to who is control right now as he hovers over Scott.

Isaac finally breaks the kiss and stares into Scott’s eyes. “Lay back.” He whispers against Scott’s mouth.

Scott nods and does what he’s told.

Isaac maps every plane of Scott’s body with his hands first, before slowly lowering himself and kissing every inch of Scott’s exposed skin. By the time, he reaches Scott’s cock, it’s leaking pre-cum and he knows Scott’s close. He looks up. “What do you want?”

Scott looks embarrassed briefly. “L...lick my hole.”

Isaac smiles as he moves Scott’s legs back and buries his face in Scott’s ass. He licks a long stripe up before he quickly sets about driving his tongue into Scott over and over. It’s not long before Scott is coming.

Isaac barely has to touch his cock before he comes as well.

They’re both breathing heavily.

Scott grins up at Isaac. “I don’t think brothers do that.”

Isaac grinned. “We are definitely not brothers.”


49.

He doesn’t remember exactly when it started; first it was the slight shifting in his seat as they talked, then it was licking his lips and closing his eyes, then it was pressing his heel against his swelling erection, then it was cold showers as he desperately hung up the phone, and finally it climaxed with him accidentally sighing Peter’s name while sliding the zipper of his jeans down.

And that’s how it started. Exactly. The sliding of his zipper and Peter Hale stopping mid sentence on the phone, then saying, “You know, werewolf hearing picks things up even over the phone.”

He froze, eyes widening and his heart thumping painfully in his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Christopher,” Peter said and Chris could hear the grin on the other end of the phone as he stretched his name out, he could hear the smugness and God help him he tightened his hand around the base of his cock as Peter chuckled.

“Peter, just,” he breathed and started to pull his hand away then stopped when Peter began talking over him.

“You should finish, Argent. Listening to me, imagining me there. Is that what you do when we hang up?” Chris closed his eyes, raised his hips and slid his jeans over his hips. “Is that why you call me, every Thursday? Is that why I can hear your pulse jackrabbiting across the phone, why I can hear the rustle of denim sliding over your thighs?”

“Shut up, Hale,” he replied, after too long of a pause. He swallowed the breathe that wanted to escape, then wrapped his hand back around his cock.

“Tell me, Chris,” Peter’s voice dropped to a seductive curl, a whisper that made Chris’s legs fall farther apart. “Next time, tell me and I’ll come and watch. I’ll watch you pull that ugly blue shirt off.”

“Black,” Chris swallowed, then slowly unbuttoned the shirt he’d been wearing, slid it off his shoulders and let it fall on the floor behind him. “And then what would you do?”

“Depends,” and how had Peter’s voice gotten even deeper? “Is your shirt off, Argent?”

“Yeah,” he whispered and shut his eyes, shame and arousal mixing together.

“Good boy.” And he’ll go to the grave before he admits to the shiver that those two words caused him. “Now I want you to slide two fingers in your mouth, moan for me, Chris. Slide your tongue between them. So good.

“Can you imagine if I was there? If I was standing in front of you? What would you do, Chris? Would you open your mouth as fast if it was my cock instead of your fingers? Would you moan like that for me?”

He bit down on his fingers, then moaned as he got harder. Because he would. Right now, he’d slide to the floor and happily wrap his mouth around Peter Hale. He’d latch onto his thighs, dig his nails into Hale’s ass; he’d lick slowly from base to tip then swallow him whole until he was gagging for breath.

“I bet you would. I bet you’d be a good little hunter for the big bad wolf,” Peter chuckled, “I bet you’d let wrap my hand around the back of your head, his my fingers in your hair, and fuck into that tight mouth of yours. I bet you’re harder now than you were when we started.”

“Peter,” Chris growled, his hand already jacking his cock in tight, slow motions.

“Ah,” Peter grinned, “Already getting yourself ready? I can hear it, Chris. I can hear your hand pumping that cock, I can hear the slide of skin against skin. You can’t stop yourself from wrapping that fist around yourself? But you’re not going to come yet, are you?”

Chris spread his legs, let his head fall back as he slowed down, closed his eyes, “And why is that?”

“Because I’m at your front door,” Peter whispered and Chris heard the door open. “And I want to watch as you come.” He heard Peter slowly, slow fucking slowly, climb the stairs and he slowed his stroke to the beat of Peter’s feet. “I want to watch you spread yourself out and slid a finger into that ass, as you fuck yourself like you want me to fuck you.”

The door to the study opened and Peter closed it behind him, his eyes flashing red before he stepped forward. “But I will, Christopher.”


50.

“This,” Derek panted, pressed naked and wanting against the cold stone of his loft’s wall, “might be my favorite of your magical exercises.”

Stiles made a noise of agreement, but Derek couldn’t quite bring himself to open his eyes to look at the undoubtably smug expression on Stiles’ face. There was too much happening with Derek’s body, and that’s all the focus he could spare for now.

“Which one of these do you like the best?” Stiles asked, voice low and dripping with power and arousal. “Which ribbon?”

Derek moaned and shuddered at the feel of silk running over his skin. Stiles was about three feet away, not quite touching him, but letting the ribbon do his work for him. Technically, it was an exercise in focus and moving multiple objects at once, but it hadn’t taken long for it to devolve. Derek had taken one look at the dozens of lengths of ribbon in the air and let his imagination wander. Stiles, observant bastard that he was, had taken it - rather creatively, of course - from there. Now there were too many points of contact to really separate the sensations anymore, but Derek tried.

The twists of red fabric around his wrists were probably the easiest to focus on. They circled slowly but insistently, not quite hurting Derek, but certainly making their mark. The friction was inescapable and delicious, but not his favorite.

A looser but more intense, and more directed, tease of sensation was happening over Derek’s chest. That length of ribbon didn’t spin, but rubbed, peaking Derek’s nipples into sore peaks. It was delicious and ridiculously arousing, but a bit too dry for Derek’s taste.
At one point, there had been a length over his eyes, but Derek had objected to that rather quickly. Blindfolding, as it turns out, was definitely not a favorite. It was perhaps even a squick.

Tightest and most frustrating was the length that wrapped itself around the base of Derek’s cock. As much as he appreciated that ribbon’s function as the thing that kept him from coming without Stiles actually having touched him, it wasn’t exactly pleasant.

Finally, there was a length of silk wrapped around his neck, tight enough to turn his already tortured breath to a mere rasp. It left him lightheaded and more hard than he could ever remember being, and Derek didn’t want it to stop anytime soon.

“Around my throat,” Derek gasped out, opening his eyes to see Stiles’ reaction.

It was worth the effort.

Stiles’ eyes lit up and his mouth quirked into a pleased, hungry grin. “I agree,” he said darkly. “I think it’s my favorite, too.” The ribbon tightened fractionally, and Derek cried out, biking his hips as adrenaline and lust coursed through him.

Please,” Derek whispered as loud as the ribbon would let him. He tried to pull himself away from the wall to get at Stiles, to beg for touch and release, but Stiles’ magic held him fast.
a
Fortunately, however, Stiles didn’t seem interested in torturing him. Derek slammed his eyes shut as the ribbon around his cock loosened and starting rubbing in all right ways. It wasn’t as good as as Stiles’ hand, but it was perfectly matched to the other touches ravishing Derek’s body.

“Come on, Derek,” Stiles commanded, tightening all the ribbons at the same time. “Time for you to ruin my silk.”

With a cry and a momentary but total lapse in awareness cause by pure pleasure, Derek did.

Chapter Text

51.

“Who was that?”

Isaac lost interest in the answer to his own question when he felt the usually restrained young werewolf shudder under his hands.

“Message from Derek,” Boyd said. “He wants us for training.”

He’d chucked his phone onto the pile of their shirts and leather jackets which laid next to the couch. Boyd had the apartment for himself because his parents had moved to Ohio three years ago and never visited. Isaac hadn’t asked him why because Boyd didn’t make him talk about his nights in the freezer, either, and they were just fine like that for now.

“Right, let’s ignore him. I mean, he’s only going to kill us,” Isaac muttered, leaning in.

They were probably both terrible kissers, but neither of them had anything to compare to and Isaac, for his part, liked this. He also liked Boyd bucking against his thigh because Isaac was rock-hard in his pants and it’d be kind of embarrassing to finish before his was-he-his-boyfriend-now even started.

Making out was great, but one-handedly opening the button of Boyd’s jeans wasn’t so easy when he was concentrating on the taste of Boyd’s mouth. Of course, Boyd had it under control as usual and Isaac was in equal parts jealous and thankful as he easily undid Isaac’s belt and slid his fingers down the front of his trousers, taking him in hand and...

“Ngh,” Isaac mumbled. That felt lots better than doing it himself.

Isaac ran his lips down Boyd’s throat and redoubled his efforts even as he started moving against Boyd’s palm. However, the button only gave when he heard a ripping noise. Both Boyd and Isaac glanced down.

“Sorry,” Isaac said with a lopsided smile, dropping the button he’d pulled off on the ground.

Boyd just raised an eyebrow and yanked Isaac back down. The phone beeped again, unheard.

Isaac soon found his fingers slick with Boyd’s precum and his head swimming as Boyd was giving him firm, measured strokes that had Isaac eagerly thrusting into his hand. He barely registered the prick of too-long teeth on his shoulder when Boyd bit him – but Boyd’s yelp was harder to miss.

When Isaac looked up, alarmed, Boyd’s eyes were molten gold. “Watch your claws!” He said, voice half growl. Isaac quickly let go and so did Boyd, since his nails were looking rather sharp, too. The lanky werewolf caught his breath, glancing at the other beta. Healing factor or not, that would have hurt. This werewolf thing was turning out not to be that great a deal on many levels.

“What now?”

“We need to calm down.”

“I don’t have a lot of experience,” Isaac said slowly, “but I’m pretty sure that’s not the point of this.”

Boyd opened his mouth and closed it again with a reluctant nod. Isaac considered leaning down between Boyd’s legs. However, fangs and claws were equally unattractive near a cock.

He was still thinking when Boyd wrapped one arm around him, pulling him close.

“We have to... line up,” he said, stumbling over the phrasing.

Isaac understood, though, and quickly did, almost slipping off the couch cushions with his knee while he did so.

Carefully, fingertips pointing away, Boyd’s hand made a half circle around their cocks, holding them together. Isaac didn’t need instructions after that. Since he was on top, moving was easier for him. A snarl escaped him as he felt the damp friction and Boyd bared his sharp teeth as if in response, hips twitching upward.

Boyd came first with a huff and a rumble deep down in his chest. He kept holding them, his fingers wet, and Isaac knew he wouldn’t need much longer. As he felt the tension in his middle, there was another pressure building and when he spent himself, Isaac threw back his head and howled.

Boyd stared at him. Isaac was positive he’d never seen him look this amused before.

“Hey, I’m a werewolf, alright?”

“So am I.”

“You aren’t exactly talkative as a human, either,” Isaac argued.

Boyd smiled briefly before he cleaned them up with his discarded shirt and Isaac took the moment to watch him, feeling weirdly warm inside. Aside from some minor werewolf mishaps, they hadn’t done too bad for a first time and anyway, Isaac was happy it had been with Boyd.

The banging on the door broke through the amiable silence like a grenade.

“Boyd!” Derek shouted.

“We are dead,” Boyd noted, stoically resigned.

Isaac shrugged. “Worth it.”


52.

“Good boy,” Lydia whispered, tightening the blindfold over Stiles’ eyes. It wasn’t often they played with power dynamics, and rarer still did Lydia take the lead, but it was Stiles’ thirtieth birthday and their seventh anniversary. Lydia wanted to give him something special. She pressed him back to the bed with one hand firm in the center of his chest.

Stiles twitched on the bed at the sound of her robe falling, body reacting instantly. It was a Pavlovian response, built from decades of want and fortified by knowledge. Stiles moaned low, putting his hands behind his head to resist palming himself through his jeans. When Lydia was in charge, he knew she didn’t like him taking initiative.

“Very good,” Lydia purred. He felt her hand tug open the first button on his jeans before easily pulling the rest apart and spreading the fly open. She stroked her fingertips up the length of him before tugging his hips up and jeans down. “So hard already. You can’t wait, can you?”

Clearing his throat, Stiles tipped his head back, arching his throat. “No,” he said, smile lifting one side of his mouth higher. “Always want you.”

Lydia chuckled and crawled up his body, hair tickling his bare chest. She perched above him, thighs spread across his waist. He could smell the scent of her desire. Her nipples brushed across his lips. Stiles opened his mouth and sucked one in, tugging hard the way she liked. He felt her squirm, pressing closer.

“So good with your mouth, my good boy,” Lydia said, pulling her nipple from his mouth with a moan. “It’s not my nipples I want you to suck, though,” she added, moving up his body again, pressing her knees into the bed over each shoulder and holding her soaking pussy just out of his reach. “If you suck me off well enough, you’ll get another surprise tonight.”

Stiles moaned, hands clenching at the bed. “Fuck, Lydia. Please.”

Lydia chuckled and, suddenly, Stiles was surrounded by her. She rolled her hips gently, before fucking herself down on his face. Stiles lifted his head, tongue out and flicking between the soft, soaking wet folds of her pussy. He moaned, sucking lightly on the outer lips before focusing on her clit. Stiles felt her shudder when he hit the right spot, his tongue sliding, pressing her open before pulling back to flick at her again and again. He waited until she arched her back before lifting his head clear of the bed and sucking her clit into his mouth until he felt her thighs shaking with orgasm. He hummed, causing her to cry out when her orgasm crested and left her panting, braced above him.

Stiles moaned when Lydia levered herself up and off. She tugged at his blindfold and he looked up at her blinking against the light. Stiles beamed, “Do I get my other surprise?”

“Of course, you did so well,” Lydia said, running her finger over his lower lip. “You have to do the work this time, though.” She piled up a couple of pillows and tumbled herself to the bed beside him. “Come fuck my tits, Stiles.”

Stiles jerked at her words, eyes huge when he stared at her breasts. “Fuck, really?” he asked, stripping off his boxer briefs and fighting his urge to stroke himself off.

“Don’t forget the lube,” Lydia replied, cupping her breasts together, scarlet nails a contrast to her pale skin.

Thanking every deity he could think of, Stiles grabbed the lube and straddled Lydia’s hips. She didn’t offer this often and he planned on taking advantage of her generosity. Stiles trickled some lube over her breasts, rubbing it in and slicking her up. He curled his fist briefly around his cock, scooting forward and sliding his dick in the warm tunnel her breasts made.

“God, Lyds,” he moaned. Stiles braced his hands on his thighs and rocked his hips forward, cock coming so close to her mouth. It didn’t take long before he was shaking, orgasm building fast.

“C’mon baby,” Lydia whispered. “One-time offer...come on my face.”

Stiles went rigid while his mind caught up to her words, eyes blowing huge while he stared down at her and obeyed her command. He shot his come all over her throat and face, moaning at the sight she made and the love he felt for her.

“Happy Birthday, Stiles,” Lydia said, tongue flicking out and licking him from her lips with a smile.


53.

Chris gets clawed by a wendigo in Lonerock. Makes him limp for just inside a month.

Stiles says it makes him look hot, even if it’s likely to get them both killed.

+

They watch a girl die in Wichita. She has brown hair. Stiles grunts, punches him in the shoulder, says, “Suck it the fuck up. You don’t know her. She’s just a dead girl.”

So is Allison. He doesn’t see much difference, all said and done.

+

Stiles never changes his phone number. He keeps it charged, keeps it loud, stares at the word ‘Dad’ most days until it fades to darkness.

Chris doesn’t ask, doesn’t want to accidentally push him home when he doesn’t know how to function without him at his back.

It’s selfish but he’s come to terms with being a lot worse than that.

+

He says it in Reydon. Pushed up behind a barricade and on his last round. Says, “I should’ve taken you away, like Isaac. Should’ve gotten you out of this before it changed you.”

Stiles laughs, hoarse and strangled. “So you would’ve done it after I got possessed and killed a bunch of people? Ship. Fucking. Sailed.” He throws him that roguish look he sometimes does. The one that says he’s about to do something epic and stupid. “Douche,” he punctuates with a grin.

+

They survive. Make a career of it really, surviving where no one else does.

Sometimes they get calls, panicked voices who’ve heard stories. Sometimes they follow the road, Stiles resting his buzzed hair against the window and watching his hand roll through the breeze.

Stiles’ phone an inconsistent soundtrack to their wandering.

+

Chris yanks up Stiles’ shirt in the motel room with a gruff, “Let me see.” Gets mad because it’s easier than the thing making his throat feel tight. It’s deep. Deeper than he thought. Potentially deeper than he can heal. He works his jaw. “I told you, down.”

Stiles chuckles but it’s weak, not enough breath in him to fill it out. “Then it would’ve barreled down on you. This death wish has gotten old. A lot like you, Gramps.”

“It’s not a death wish.”

Stiles shrugs. Chris can see what the movement does to his insides. “Death agenda then.”

+

For twelve days, Chris thinks he’ll die. Stiles’ chest is covered in a splotchy flush and cold sweat. His sleep is restive, his breaths rattling, his consciousness nonexistent.

Chris waits.

+

Stiles wakes up, tells him to, “fucking shower already,” and throws one of the pillows at him.

Chris’ lips twitch. He kicks off the dresser and starts the shower.

He tells himself he isn’t surprised when Stiles clambers in five minutes after him. Tells himself it doesn’t send a thrill up his spine. Tells himself it’s only Stiles who wants it when he bends Chris over, soaps up his crack and gets himself off between the cheeks of his ass.

The feeling of Stiles pressed up against him, of teasing so close to the idea of being fucked, has him coming hard against already sullied tile.

Stiles cleans him up after, letting his fingers caress his crack, press light pressure to his hole before pulling away. Chris has to bite his lip to keep from asking for what he really wants.

+

The car breaks down in Odessa and Chris springs for a bike.

Stiles smirks, bites Chris’ scruff. “This your way of telling me you want me riding bitch?”

+

It takes to the border of Mexico for him to answer. Says, “Stay and I’ll give you whatever you want.” He means to make it poetic, means to give it some subtlety. Instead he vomits his heart up at the feet of a man wholly incapable of dealing with anything so fragile and it doesn’t even feel reckless.

It’s what he wants, spelled out in black and white. Summarized in one word—Stay.

Stiles squints at him, sun orange, heat leaving them both in an impossible sort of stupor. He throws his phone into the Rio Grande and says, “It’s a long list so gird your loins.”

His mouth slides into a smirk. It doesn’t look hardened and mean. It looks old, like he’s trying on something he forgot he owned. It reminds Chris of a boy who ran with wolves, before he got in over his head. They wade across the river. Stiles’ laughter is sharp and bright, voice warm when he snarks, “Keep up, Gramps.”

Chris intends to.


54.

Danny followed Ethan to the showers, quickly ridding himself of the rest of his clothes as Ethan turned the water on and stood under the spray, not hiding the fact that he was staring. Ethan’s cock was already half hard and he stood there lazily stroking it as Danny made his way over to him.

As he got closer, Ethan let go of his cock and pulled Danny into his arms, the human quickly forgetting about Ethan’s strange behavior as he was kissed. Ethan slid his hands down Danny’s sides, and pulled him forward, both of them moaning as their cocks brushed together. “You looked so fucking hot when we were on the field,” Ethan mumbled, trailing kisses down Danny’s neck. “So fucking hot.”

Ethan suddenly spun them around and pinned Danny against the wall, kissing him roughly. Danny moaned and pulled Ethan closer, grinding his cock against Ethan. “Fuck, Ethan,” Danny groaned, his body burning where Ethan touched him, where he kissed him.

Ethan dropped to his knees, kissing down Danny’s chest and stopping just above Danny’s hard cock. He looked up at him, eyes filled with desire and lust, and ran his tongue along the underside, Danny gasping and grabbing Ethan’s shoulders tightly, fingers digging in as his cock was engulfed.

Danny leaned his head back against the wall, moaning as Ethan began to bob his head. He closed his eyes, running a hand through Ethan’s hair. There had been other boys before Ethan, and boys when they broke up but none of them ever made him feel as good as Ethan did. Nobody ever made him feel as loved.

Ethan ran a hand up his thigh and cupped Danny’s balls, playing with them. Danny groaned and bucked his hips, the hand in Ethan’s hair gripping a little too tightly. They hadn’t had sex since before Ethan left and Danny was ready to explode already.

Ethan’s mouth left his cock and his hand quickly replaced it as he mouth at Danny’s balls, sucking on each one and driving Danny crazy. Danny prayed no one else was in the school because he couldn’t keep quiet. “Ethan,” he whined, feeling like he was about to burst. “Ethan, please.”

The wolf mouth went back to Danny’s cock, bobbing his head and moving his hands to cup Danny’s butt, pulling him forward.

Danny opened his eyes and looked down at Ethan who was looking up at him. He gave a soft moan as he watched his cock slip between Ethan’s lips. That was a sight he would never tire of.

He knew what the wolf wanted him to do. He moved his hand to the back of Ethan’s head and held him in place. He gave an experimental thrust and Ethan moaned softly, reaching between legs to stroke his own cock. Danny slowly began to fuck Ethan’s mouth.

Ethan was moaning, the vibrations from it making Danny want to come right there, but he held back just for a little bit longer. He picked up speed and fucked Ethan’s mouth with more force, watching the wolf fall apart underneath him, moaning and jerking himself off faster.

When he felt like he was about to come, he pulled his cock out of Ethan’s mouth and pulled Ethan up and into his arms. He wrapped a hand around both of their cocks and kissed him, tasting a little bit of himself on Ethan’s lips.

Ethan’s hand joined his and it only took a couple of more strokes before they were coming, calling out each other’s names. Ethan stroked them until it became too much and Danny pushed Ethan’s hand away.

Ethan wrapped his arms around Danny and led him back into the spray of water to wash the come and sweat off of them. “Come over this weekend,” Danny said. “My parents are going to my aunt’s and we can be alone. You can fuck me.”

“What if I want you to fuck me instead?”

Danny smiled and gave Ethan a kiss. “Then I’ll fuck you.”


55.

Aiden was in one of those moods, which was perfect, because it resonated with Ethan: he liked the games, messing with people’s heads and being big, bad and scary. He hadn’t minded killing their old pack, but there had been others whose deaths hadn’t been so well deserved. His need to be punished wasn’t going to atone for the innocent lives Ethan had snuffed out, but when he felt their weight dragging him down, he needed this: needed to feel weightless, to have an outlet just as intense on his body as the darkness clouding his mind.

If Ethan could count on one thing, it was that his brother could inflict pain. Aiden would feel some of that as well, through the connection they shared, but they both were able to take a beating. That was something they had learned from their deceased pack, while Deucalion had freed them by teaching them how to inflict it on others.

When they were together, Ethan no longer saw the care and worry Aiden showed when he was with Lydia. Aiden knew exactly what his brother needed, how far he could go and had no qualms filling that need. Ethan felt the cockring being tightened roughly, along with the little bullet vibe that Aiden had taped to Ethan’s balls. The vibrations against his perineum would be a delight if not for the fact that he wasn’t allowed to get off - at least not yet.

Ethan heard the creaking of leather, and almost longed for the touch of the whip. Aiden had strung him up for over an hour, and while his injuries had healed well enough, the constant strain on his shoulders had engulfed them in dull, unpleasant pain. His feet were close to the ground; he sometimes felt a stone brush against his big toes.

He screamed when the sharp pain bit his back, but the metal bar in his mouth turned it more into a muffled growl. His fangs bit into the bar as the beast showed himself, woken by the poison that covered the bullwhip: diluted wolfsbane burned in his bleeding wounds, preventing them from healing too fast. The instinct to break free took over but the chains holding him were too secure: only joined with his brother would he be strong enough for that.

It was time for Aiden to have some fun. He had gotten good with whips. Ethan felt it: strong, precise blows left deep red cuts. Aiden always found an area that was unscathed. While Ethan’s back seemed on fire, his cock was aching even more: the pain was exhilarating.

If he had the option, he’d beg for release, but this game had barely started. With one stroke, Aiden split his ass open in a horizontal line. Ethan shuddered; the impact made his cock bounce and he groaned desperately. Moments later, he felt the whip tighten around his neck and his head was pulled back. Aiden snarled into his ear. “Hmm, seeing all that blood…”

Ethan was still quivering with pain, yearning for release when he felt Aiden’s hand on his belly, drawing him closer until Aiden’s hard cock was against his ass. His brother ground into him, making him flinch when his erection rubbed over the open wound.

“The things I’m going to do to you.” Aiden’s words were more promise than threat.

Aiden’s breathing became heavier, and Ethan felt how the echo of his pain and the smell of his blood was arousing Aiden, how much Aiden liked having him under his control. All of that got them both closer to the edge.

With a sudden move Aiden pressed himself against his brother’s back, leaning on him, the strain of the bonds increasing under Aiden’s weight. His cock - wedged between them - shot a warm load upwards, mixing with the blood streaming down Ethan’s back. Ethan whimpered as he felt Aiden’s orgasm overtake him: the sensation echoed in his own cock. It was pain - and ultimately pleasure - both sweeter and more intense than anything someone who didn’t share a connection like they did could possible feel.

There was a lot more pain that needed to be inflicted and endured before it was time for the pleasure to take over and Ethan wouldn’t have it any other way. It was the darkness in them coming out - in ways that didn’t hurt anyone else.


56.

Scott woke up slowly to the feeling of Allison trailing kisses from his inner thigh to his groin under the sheets. He smiled to himself and closed his eyes again as he relaxed back onto the pillows. He was still a bit groggy and out of it because of the fight last night. Some old man –warlock as Stiles pointed out– was trying to switch bodies with a college freshman. Apparently, that was his version of eternal youth. Derek and he took care of it, and—

Fuuucck baby, just like that.” He groaned out when he felt wet warmth engulf his cock. Damn, Ally was definitely getting better at this, she was sucking on the head and licking him up from base to tip and doing this twist thing with her tongue to the head of his cock that had his breath hitching.

He was thinking about grabbing her and pulling her up to kiss her but then she took all of him in and started to deep throat and Scott lost all train of thought as he gripped the sheets, Ally hated when he pulled her hair but he could still see the sheets rising and falling with the bobbing of her head in the dark.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He was panting now. Jesus, Allison was going all out. “Keep that up and I’m not gonna la—“ Allison seemed to take that as her cue to start sucking harder and Scott closed his eyes and started thinking about how he was gonna take her so fucking hard after he recovered from this later. She began to swallow around his dick and the tightness was enough to bring Scott over the edge calling out her name while he emptied down her throat. Allison seemed to freeze but Scott was in his post orgasmic haze and barely noticed.

“What did you call me?” A voice that was definitely not Allison asked.

Scott froze and looked down at his lap to see Stiles staring back at him from under the covers with a look of pure shock and hurt combined. Scott started blinking harder and tried to process what the fuck just happened.

“Uh… you’re not Ally.” He murmured in his own state of shock and his voice sounded off but he didn’t really dwell too much on it. The bigger concern here is that his childhood best friend just blew him.

“No shit, Sherlock!” Stiles shouted and the look of shock was replaced with a look of fury. “What the fuck?!” He threw the sheets back and Scott looked away because Stiles didn’t have any clothes on.

Suddenly Scott was aware that he was naked, in bed, with Stiles and scrambled off the bed to get some pants on. He found a couple of sweat pants that weren’t his and shoved them on. Now that he was out of bed and looked around, Scott saw that he wasn’t in his apartment. “How did I get here?”

Stiles pulled a pair of boxers on and was giving him an angry and confused glare.

“Derek, what the fuck are you talking about?” He shouted.

“Derek? Stiles it’s me—“ Stiles cut him of by stabbing his index finger to his chest.

“Why the hell did you say Allison’s name when you came?” And his eyes were switching between being pissed and hurt.

Scott tried to put his hand on Stiles’ shoulder but his friend flinched away.

“No don’t touch me! Answer my damn question!” His heart was jack rabbiting out of his chest. Fuck, if he didn’t calm him down Stiles was going to have a panic attack.

Scott raised his palms up in surrender and backed away a step and bumped into something and turned around only to meet face to face with Derek. Scott flinched back but it was just a mirror.

He leaned in again was met with Derek’s face. His brown eyes were replaced with Derek’s hazel ones, his tan skin was now light, he ran a hand through the scruff on his face and let it drop.

What was his life?

Stiles was still shouting bloody murder when Scott interrupted him.

“Stiles! Freaky Friday!”

Stiles immediately shut up.

“Scott?” the question came out in a small voice.

“Yeah, buddy.”

“Oh my God, what is my life?!?” Stiles threw himself on the bed and put a pillow over his face. “This never happened, Scottie!” The statement came out muffled and Scott chuckled.

And this is why they’re best friends.


57.

The first weeks are rough.

And it’s not because Derek doesn’t like having Isaac around - it’s just that he’d forgotten how lust, dark and tangy, lingered beneath everything at that age.

Isaac leaves for school smelling like toothpaste, honey and wanting to fuck. When he sprawls on his bed, reading Derek’s old copy of The Picture of Dorian Grey, his cheeks are ruddy, mixing the scent of ripeness and musk (Isaac’s natural scent is cloves, and dirt. Spicy, packed earth.) with that of Derek’s favorite novel.

He can distinguish that book by scent because it belonged to an elderly woman in his apartment building in Queens - she’d always ask Derek to read to her while she pruned the potted herbs in her windowsill. It still smelt of basil, of rosemary - of the late Beta, Mrs. Marjorie Vanderkampf.

As they get more comfortable around each other - Isaac picking up the occasional plum for Derek at the store, Derek’s hastily scrawled reading suggestions stacked neatly on a corner of Isaac’s dresser - things get worse.

His nightly reading of The Iliad interrupted, Derek knows that if he were human, he’d never be able to hear Isaac’s stifled breaths, or the exhalation as spit-slick fingers press into puckered heat , but he isn’t. He lies in his own bed, atop a few shirts, including the stained henley Isaac has taken to wearing in the house.

Wouldn’t Isaac be embarrassed, knowing that in the morning Derek had heard him shudder to completion? Honestly, Derek is impressed it took this long - despite the purpledark of want that thrums around the boy, Isaac hasn’t touched himself since living with Derek.

Not wanting to scent shame on the person whose quiet laugh - hand over mouth, deeply dimpled - makes his palms itch, Derek touches himself.

He knows he’ll sound different to Isaac - no foreskin gliding over the head, choked groans deep in the back of his throat, rasp of coarse hair as he tweaks his nipples, fingers a tad too sharp on the sensitive peaks. And as he twists his wrist, he realizes he’d forgotten to listen for Isaac.

Derek stills, taking in Isaac’s broad shoulders, stretching the tee that definitely belongs to him. The gleaming pink of his cockhead peeks from his boxer-slit, one hand’s long fingers plucking at his bottom lip, the other pressed against the hot skin beneath his bellybutton.

All it takes is an extension of his arm, an unfurled palm.

Isaac is pliant in his arms - straddling Derek’s waist, he presses kisses to Derek’s temple, chin, neck. His hips rock back and down, breathy gasps hot against Derek’s chest. His curls are matted behind his ears, and at the nape of his neck.

Blueblackpurple spice hanging over both of them like a cloud, Derek presses his hands against the curve of the boy’s ribs, biting at the jut of his jaw, the tense cords between neck and shoulder. It isn’t difficult to push on Isaac’s chest until his back is flat against the comforter, and even less difficult to pull off both of their clothes until slender, pale thighs shake, limber hands scrabbling at the long lines of Derek’s back.

He surges forward into the soft, hot skin of Isaac’s hip, gentling as Isaac whimpers, drinks in the small sounds that change color when tongue touches clavicle, when callused fingers dig into the meat of Isaac’s thigh and the boy moans. As narrow hips become erratic in their movement, teeth scraping the underside of a jaw stronger than a boy his age should possess, Isaac bares his neck and sighs his name, thighs clenching as he spills between their bellies.

Isaac presses a long finger to his swollen mouth, eyes hazy as Derek takes in his sated form.

If Isaac were still human, he’d have bruises blooming on all his tenderest places.

And that sends Derek over the edge, thumbs digging into the softness below Isaac’s hipbones.

He wishes he could come again, as Isaac laps the mess from his gleaming fingers, all shy, big eyes while his tongue darts between his fingers. Instead, he draws the boy into his lap, licks the taste of them from Isaac’s hot mouth, lets their kisses turn lazy until their mouths are sore.

“Can I sleep here?”

Derek nods, doesn’t say forever, or let me learn with you. Just pulls those skinny hips into his, and tangles their legs together.


58.

They’re standing feet apart. They’ve fought to die another day or maybe live for tonight. Derek’s so good at letting them know when he needs them. Stiles quips, argues, shouts, but he never asks straight up for what he wants.

“I need you, Derek.” His voice is raw and cracked. Stiles moves, an aborted attempt to touch Derek, but then he drops his hand back down. “And I don’t need anyone.”

Derek’s there before he finishes. He’s there with warm chapped lips. He smells like trees and dirt and everything that Stiles loves. Stiles hoodie hits the floor with a metallic slither from where his zipper lands. Pulling at the seams in Derek’s henley, he succeeds in freeing it from the waistband. He tries to get to skin, he just wants to feels something besides this fucking empty that he carries around always. Ever since he took a late night dip into a tin tub full of ice, the black that’s lived in his heart has been winning. And he’s tired of it.

Stiles backs up, pulls off his tee and reaches for Derek again. Derek cups his face, running his thumb over the shell of Stiles’ ear and Stiles shivers. The tender gesture isn’t what he expects. Stiles expects a deluge of heat, an avalanche. This, this is like a summer rain. This is like standing on the lacrosse field in the middle of summer with the smell of fresh cut grass and the leather of his gloves.

Derek’s on his knees and if he wasn’t so busy swallowing his tongue, he would say something so smart ass just to wipe the look off Derek’s face. Don’t be nice, he wants to whisper. Tear me apart, tear me to pieces and maybe you can put them back together again and I won’t feel like this any more. There’s a tug at the button on his jeans. Wanting to get the show on the road, Stiles takes a bracing breath and tries to smile down at Derek.

“Hey, big guy, let me.” Stiles’ hand is on the button now but Derek lays a hand over his.

“No.” And gently, he pushes Stiles’ hand aside.

Derek returns to the quiet ministrations only stopping to shuffle them both towards the couch. Stiles groans when Derek pushes his shoulders down. Derek pulls on one leg of Stiles’ jeans and then other. Dropping them on the floor, Derek hooks his fingers on the waist of his boxers and looks up questioning.

“Yeah, man, yeah.” He wants to get this fucking show on the road and he wants more of Derek’s skin. “You too.”

Derek smiles. It’s only that little crook up of his lip on the left side but it makes Stiles pause - stop - because he hasn’t seen enough of that. Maybe all of a sudden this isn’t about him, maybe it’s about them. It’s that maybe Derek has that black shit too only he didn’t have to sit in ice water to get it.

“Up here,” Stiles pats lightly on his chest.

Derek climbs up and just hovers until Stiles closes his eyes and leans up. Running his nose just to the side of Derek’s their lips brush. Stiles runs his hands up Derek’s sides; muscle, skin, ligaments, tendons, all of the important body parts are accounted for and they’re on beautiful fucking display. Crooking a knee, Stiles pulls Derek down. Shifting just right, he can feel their dicks brushing together. Stiles’ face is sore from Derek’s beard rubbing him like sandpaper but he wouldn’t stop a second of this. Derek wraps his hand around Stiles. And when Derek’s hand moves faster and then faster still, Stiles is lost in it. Closing his eyes, he pushes his head back. He breaks apart on the feeling of Derek breathing heavily in his ear. Shuddering over and over, he relaxes back, bones liquid and body sated. Belatedly, he reaches for Derek who only brushes his hand away.

Later they’re eating scrambled eggs with grape jelly on toast. They don’t act like anything just happened, but they don’t act like it didn’t happen either. It’s not till they’re standing side by side at the sink where Derek’s rinsing off their dishes, that Stiles finally asks.

“Why now?”

Frowning a little, Derek turns off the faucet and dries his hands on a dishtowel before cupping Stiles face in his hands.

“Because I need you too. And I don’t need anyone.”


59.

They kiss passionately walking up the stairs longer than they usually take, Stiles then stops Derek look at him in question, “Are we doing this on our first date?” Derek raise his eyebrows, “You asking this now after we dance around each all these years?” Stiles thinks awhile then nods, “Yeah, like I mean yeah like we both horny and all but like shouldn’t we slow down or something not that I don’t like this at all cause I do you know….” As Stiles babbling as usual Derek can’t help to look at Stiles beautiful mole that he always to trace with his teeth, tongue, mouth and hands just exploring Stiles body and make him writhe and whimper fuck that make him harder but seeing how Stiles want to take a little bit slow he can do that.

They stop kissing and get to Derek loft to ‘hang out’ though Stiles pretty much antsy he want to bang Derek so bad or Derek to bang him he can go both ways but it seems awkward since he suggest to take it slow probably that’s the worst idea, they were watching some Lifetime movies about some stuff but neither seem to pay attention then slowly Stiles get closer to Derek to get a nice heat or is he?

Then Stiles get closer, “So, I think the taking it slow not working…” Derek turn to him, “Really now?” Stiles bite his lips, “Yeah…” Stiles slowly get to Derek lap, “I mean we don’t have to have sex all the way but like maybe halfway or something…” Derek then smirks as he lay Stiles down on the tacky but comfort couch nibbling on Stiles ear as Stiles shiver, “Fuck….” Stiles breathe out

Then they start to rutting up against each other feeling each other erection, it feels so good to have the physical contact and just let out the feelings with Derek it always feel natural, hot and just sexy.

They seems to get lost with each other, Derek can’t help to kisses down Stiles body and pay attention to his nipples and just hearing Stiles moan for more, it turn him a lot and they may not going to have all the way sex but he is sure will make Stiles crave for more.

He pay attention to everything Stiles have to offer especially his dick, he want this to be a good one for him as he slides down and put Stiles on his mouth it’s everything just to make Stiles feel good and how Stiles pull on his hair but controlled it to make sure Derek is comfortable enough but it’s still hot and heavy the feeling of Stiles scent drive him insane since the first day till this day.

But Stiles want to return the favor, Stiles can never get enough looking at Derek not just about his great build up body but everything how he actually selfless deep inside just make him want Derek more for Derek good and faults, Stiles know Derek and him is getting close to climax and he want them to come together now they fully unclothed their cocks almost touching together and it’s just so powerful then he grab both his and Derek cocks and rub them together feel the good friction as they kiss each other mouth open then Derek pull him close kissing him properly hot and heavy, he don’t think he could ever get tired of how Derek kissing him and how Derek grab on his ass and pull the cheeks apart and that’s just the end of it, “Fuck…fuck…I’mma come D-derek!”
Derek breath heavily, “yeah, me too, come with me baby” Stiles hand thrust is getting slower but Derek put his hand on their cocks and he can feel stars just burst out, he cried out Derek name and lean on Derek shoulder basking the afterglow and they lay against each other, Stiles look up at Derek who looking at him with fond and he feel this can be a new beginning and hopes for more happiness and of course sex….all the way baby!.

“Baby, are you writing on your secret diary again?” Derek ask with his sarcastic shit voice, “oh my god, shut up it’s a diary it’s a journal! You ass butt!” Stiles yells as he close his ‘journal’.


60.

Getting hot and heavy in the alley beside the club is a great place to be interrupted, so she tries to walk them, kissing and panting, through the parking lot.

Too bad her new reflexes don’t impart complete suavity.

“Umph, damn it, I almost took off the rearview mirror,” Boyd grouses.

Erica grimaces, “I was trying to aim for the side of the car.”

Their eyes meet for just a beat before the absurdity of the situation permeates and they burst out laughing.

Boyd wolfs out enough for his eyes to flare, "Now werewolves . . . and still dorky!"

Erica's peal of laughter trails off when she climbs up, wraps her legs around Boyd's waist, her arms around his shoulders, and leans in. The kiss starts tender and sweet. Erica lets herself bask in the warmth of his love before she opens her mouth and deepens the kiss.

In response, Boyd's gone from simply holding her hips to kneading her ass. Erica uses the rhythm as leverage to rub against Boyd’s front, getting him worked up again. She lets go of his shoulders to gently cup his face.

"Wanna take this party to the back-seat?"

"Excellent idea."

Erica leaps down and darts around to open the door for him. She gestures Boyd in, "After you, kind sir."

As he's climbing in she slaps his ass. When Boyd turns around, she simply smiles brightly. Erica leans up to grip the door frame and swing herself in, landing precisely on the seat in between his legs.

Erica smiles, "See? Not entirely klutzy."

Boyd reaches up to stroke her cheek, "Never doubted you for a second, hon," he says.

They kiss again and gently lay down across the backseat.

Boyd frowns, “I don’t think we can close the door like this.”

Erica smirks wickedly, “We’ll just have to stay clothed then, won’t we?”

Boyd searches her eyes to see if she’s serious and grins up at her when he can see she is. He chuckles, “Alright, I’m game.”

Erica leans in closer to kiss Boyd’s cheek and murmur, “Good,” then unzips his jeans.

“Whoa, I thought you said we were staying dressed!”

“We are, just wanted you to be comfortable.”

“Our clothes are going to get dirty.”

“I’m counting on it,” she winks at him.

Boyd just shakes his head but lets Erica do as she pleases. She carefully scoots up and tugs her skirt up to pool at her waist. The she grips his shoulders and thrusts down to rub her panty-clad crotch across his cock.

“Oh fuck, Erica!”

Boyd hardens enough to leak through his boxers. He scans around the parking lot as best as he can, and pants, “Aren’t you worried about someone coming over here?”

“That’s the best part. But you can always safeword if you want.”

Boyd looks reassured and sighs out, “No, it’s okay. But you’re gonna do the explaining if we get caught.”

“Planning on it!” she chirps, and then rocks down again, harder this time.

The frotting feels so good -- the friction from their clothes and the tight space of the car -- plus the urgency and thrill of being potentially caught makes this the hottest sex they’ve had yet. She’s getting better at reading Boyd, and she’s proud of herself for planning a scenario he enjoys as much as she does.

Erica wiggles a hand between their hips and firmly grips his balls and twists a little . . . and that’s it, he’s gone. She lets Boyd cool down while she fishes around under the seat for her clutch. She pulls out a package of tissues and her vibrator.

Boyd wipes himself down as much as he can, throws the used tissues into the trash bag, and leans in to pull her shirt up and snap open the front clasp of her bra to rub her breasts and tweak her nipples.

“Oh, that’s good, so nice, well done, love,” Erica praises.

He smiles and tilts his head as if he is soaking up her words. The sight makes her clit throb and she presses her vibrator down hard. Erica’s so inflamed and swollen with arousal that her orgasm comes quickly.

It’s not a deep one, but that’s okay, this scene will stay in the forefront of her mind for a while, and she can savor the idea of it . . . later, once they’re back at Boyd’s, safely in his room, before they get noticed by a beat cop.


61.

Stiles deserves this.

It’s the first morning of summer break but, importantly, the first one he’s had to himself in… too long.

Scott’s out with the pack doing decidedly wolfy, no-humans-allowed type things, and it’s otherwise way too early for anyone else to be up, so he figures he can take his time.

It’s nothing to turn over onto his belly and grind his morning wood against the sheets, letting out a little contented sigh.

He’s still half-asleep, eyes barely open in the morning light, his hips rubbing back and forth on the mattress, but as soon as he regains his full consciousness, it suddenly isn’t enough anymore.

He rolls over onto his back, reaching down to shove his sweatpants down enough to wrap a hand around his length and tug a few times, his back arching up into his fist and his mouth open on a moan. Reaching for the lotion on his nightstand blindly, he knocks at least three things onto the floor before letting out a triumphant noise when his fingers close around the familiar bottle.

Settling back into a comfortable position, he shifts around on the mattress a few times, before squeezing a generous amount out onto his fingers, and gripping himself again, tighter this time. He gives himself a couple of fast jerks, and the sound he makes is halfway between a groan and a whimper, the too-good pressure making his toes curl and his breath come in short, shallow pants.

His second hand trails slowly across his belly, the touches feather-light and teasing, enough to make his cock twitch in his grip and his breath hitch.

Once he starts to really get into it, fucking up into fist in earnest, the hand that was scraping along the trail of hair leading down to his groin drops down onto his balls, rolling them in his palms for a brief moment and whining when his cock spits out precome over his knuckles. He’s only just rubbing his hole to feel it clench and relax when he startles at the sound of the front door slamming shut.

“What the fu--”

“Jesus Christ, it reeks in here!” the laughter in Scott’s voice is evident as he clambers up the stairs loudly. With a final, dejected look at his dick, Stiles let out a long sigh and is pulling his pants back up just as Scott pushes the door open. He takes one look at Stiles’ unamused face, the bottle of lotion tossed haphazardly next to Stiles’ pillow and winces.

“I didn’t let you finish, did I.”

It’s not even a question, and Stiles shoots him a dry look.

Scott looks like he bit into something sour. “I’m sorry bro, want me to go?”

Stiles shakes his head.

“Nah, s’cool. What’s up?” he asks.

“Nothing really, just wanted to hang out,” Scott says, turning a wicked smirk onto Stiles. “Derek taught us how to tackle someone without hurting them today,” his voice had gone low, and Stiles shakes his head, even as Scott takes his hand and tugs him to a standing position. “It’ll be fun, trust me.” Scott cajoled.

“Scott, seriously, I am not comfortable with--oof,” he huffs out a breath when Scott, as promised, tackles him painlessly, and suddenly, he’s blinking up at Scott’s beaming face. “Okay,” he concedes. “That was pretty cool.”

“I don’t wanna say I told you so, but I told you s--” Scott pauses, cocking his head to the side, and Stiles stares at the window when it clicks open to reveal Derek, a stunned expression on his face.

“‘Sup, Derek,” Scott nods, not moving from where he’s leaning over Stiles’ frame, and Stiles watches in fascination as Derek’s eyes flicks between the two of them, before widening when he smells Stiles’ earlier arousal and comes to the wrong conclusion.

“You… Scott…”

He seems pretty lost for words, and Stiles smirks. It couldn’t hurt to play along, could it? So he curls his arms around Scott’s neck, pushes his hips up and arches an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Derek chokes, his cheeks flushing before he stuttered a few more times and pretty much threw himself out the window.

Stiles giggles. Thank god for Scott’s willingness to play along. He’s still laughing when Scott rolls off of him and says,

“You realize Derek smelt like he got hard when you pretended we were having sex, right?”

Scotts cackles loudly when the revelation leads to Stiles sitting bolt upright and falling off the bed in surprise.


62.
Title: Wet & Messy

They had planned this for weeks. Stiles would lay out on the queen sized bed the Hale twins shared. Laura would administer the Kanima venom to his tongue and Derek would strip Stiles of his clothing.

Stiles has one job in this --- Be a perfect, living fuck toy. With only the use of his mouth, Laura and Derek are free to do whatever they want to him.

Laura wastes no time getting her underwear off, and she plants her cunt right down on Stiles, seating herself on his face completely.

She smells exquisite, already a little wet from fingering herself on the car ride home from school. Stiles takes an exploratory lick before she starts rolling her hips on his face.

They develop a rhythm. She rocks down onto him and rubs her clit off onto his tongue and then rocks back up so he can take a breath. Within a minute she has saturated his chin, lips, nose and cheeks with her dripping pussy.

Derek is sitting at Stiles’s feet watching his sister ride Stiles. He’s letting the show get his cock hard. Seeing Stiles’s tongue darting back and forth on her swollen clit in-between breaths is making his cock dribble.

Stiles is usually self conscious about letting Derek look at his body. So Derek is using this opportunity to look his fill.

His body is lean and muscular. His skin is dotted like the night sky. It’s beautiful.

Derek shifts out of his jeans. He’s hard as nails, his dick slobbering and messy.

Derek starts at Stiles’s feet. He leans down to plant a kiss to his toes. Then he slots his dick over Stiles’s left foot, dragging his foreskin across the little hairs on his toes.

Stiles’s legs are moderately hairy. He’s got these skinny but muscled legs that turn Derek on so much. Derek makes his way slowly crawling up Stiles’s body. Stopping to bend down - concentrate his thrusts so they trap his cock between Stiles’s hot flesh and his own stomach.

When Derek arrives at Stiles’s dick, he sits back up and straddles his thighs. He looks up at Laura. The moaning and face-fucking has become erratic. She’s close. He can see in her glowing eyes, hear it in her heartbeat. She slows her rocking hips and looks at Derek rubbing his dick into Stiles’s soft cock, through his dark curls.

Derek’s dick spits out an obscene amount of precome onto Stiles’s belly at the moment that Laura comes on Stiles’s face.

When she’s really turned on she squirts, and this time with Derek so close to her and Stiles working his magic, she showers Stiles’s neck and chest, gripping her brother by the shoulders and slamming their lips together as she finishes her climax. She kisses Derek like she’s been hungry for his mouth all day.

The twins are fucking their tongues into each other's mouths when they hear Stiles’s heart jump. Laura is suffocating him. She breaks the kiss and dismounts from their fucktoy's face and Derek moves up Stiles’s body, to fuck that glorious patch of hair that sits in-between his pecs.

Stiles is giddy. His face saturated with come and piss and sweat. He’s absolutely wrecked and totally blissed out, laughing.

Laura moves to lay down at Stiles’s right side. Begins stroking Derek's back and runs her fingers down his ass, lightly playing with his hole while he fucks Stiles’s chest.

It’s Derek’s turn to come, and he’s close. But with Stiles so pliant and wonderfully submissive like this, he wants to do something he’s only ever thought about in his fantasies.

He moves off of Stiles’s chest and sits on his knees to the left side of his head. Derek maneuvers Stiles’s arms. He runs his fingers through that coarse hair in Stiles’s armpit. He sees Stiles’s eyes light up as he realizes what Derek’s about to do.

Derek places his cock in Stiles’s armpit, folds his arm down so that it’s trapping his cock there in a tight heat. Then Derek starts fucking him in earnest. It’s amazing. Feeling his wiry hair drag on each upstroke, smelling their combined scents. It’s an assault on Derek’s senses, and he comes, shouting, all over Stiles’s sweaty, wet pit.

Derek collapses, face planting right into that sticky wetness. He’s lapping and sucking his come out of Stiles’s armpit when he hears a combined whine from Laura and Stiles, so Derek joins both of their lips with his in a playful kiss.

/fin


63.

Peter tugs against the metal. They're police-grade handcuffs, but that doesn't mean he couldn't break free if he wanted to. If he really wanted to get back to English class, he'd just break the chain, push Chris away from him, and walk out. The hickeys wouldn't last for seconds.

But sometimes it feels nice being bent over a sink in a boy's locker room closed off for renovations. Which is why Peter occasionally pulls a sink off the wall to warrant such renovations. It's his do you like me check yes or no note to Chris, who doesn't appreciate destruction but sometimes understands the need for it.

Other times, he brings the handcuffs.

His mouth is on Peter's neck, teeth dull and tongue wicked. Peter's face is crushed against the mirror, his breath hot on his own face and fogging in front of him. Chris has got hands on his belt, but they aren't doing anything. Draped across his back, whispering things in his ear like half-breed slut and you don't even wanna get out, do you?. Peter doesn't respond, just pushes his ass back against Chris' pelvis.

"God, just do something," he says, which gets his face slammed into the porcelain of the sink when Chris pulls him back and shoves him down. Doesn't apologize, just keeps touching him, keeps shoving him, keeps moving his clothes around without taking them off.

Peter loves it. He loves that he can feel his nose un-breaking while Chris' hand is in the same vicinity as his dick. He loves that he's too distracted trying to keep his balance to pull out of the handcuffs even if he wanted to. He loves that Chris has the strange ability to overwhelm him. He breathes hard but takes no air, some air, not nearly enough air, and he's dizzy with it.

"Chris," he moans when he's turned around and shoved to his knees. This is his favorite thing to do. The choice part of it is that Chris doesn't know, just puts him on his knees to look down on Peter. It's probably an Argent thing.

Chris pulls his hair, tilts his head back, and Peter opens his mouth. Instead of using it, Chris just pulls his dick out and rubs it against Peter's cheek. Peter turns his head to capture it between his lips but is jerked back into place. He growls and flexes and hears a snap, and suddenly his arms are up, hands on Chris, pulling him close and swallowing him in one go.

Chris shouts with surprise but bites down on his fist immediately after, gripping the sink behind Peter's head with a squeaking grip. In a moment, tries to put his hands back in Peter's hair, tries to put him in place but it's too late. Peter has him by the balls, pulling hunger and greed and abandon from Chris until he's thrusting into Peter's mouth, the least movement that Peter is giving him. He takes one hand from Chris' hip into his own open jeans. When he looks up, he can see that Chris wants to kick his hand away, keep him down, and Peter wants to smile at him.

He wants to suck dick more, so he doesn't stop. Doesn't stop sucking, swallowing, jerking, fist getting tighter as he gets closer and as Chris gets louder behind his fist. Peter watches Chris' face as he finishes in his throat, swallows and leans back to suck in deep, labored breaths as he finishes himself off. Savors the look on Chris' face. He shouldn't be able to make those judgmental looks that he always makes, like Christ, the guy just finished, how does he make that face when he's just finished.

He doesn't ever want Chris to stop looking like that, never wants to see him stop looking like he could own Peter Hale whenever he fucking wants to. Peter touches himself and thinks of this look, stares Chris right in the face while he wears it, and everything about cumming is exactly about being owned by Chris Argent.


64.

He starts with the feet.

Stiles uses his thumbs to dig into the soft arches and callused balls, formed from years of running in boots unsuitable for the purpose.

His fingers trace hard heels tapering into ankles, drifting to encircle thick, sinewy calves and thighs.

“Is this okay?”

Derek grunts, more or less.

Stiles presses a grin to the tip of Derek’s dick, hands roaming up to Derek’s chest. He peeks his tongue out from between his lips as he trails them down to where Derek’s balls lay. He stops, inhales the scent deep and full.

Derek pants, watches Stiles lick all his fingers before looping and twisting them delicately around his nipples.

What a sight he must be, hips rocking against the sheets, mouth wetly sucking Derek’s cock head between his well-built legs.

Derek holds back a moan.

“I wanna hear,” Stiles says, and takes Derek all the way, working him in his throat, but quickly comes back up when Derek’s hips begin to push him. “Tell me how I make you feel.”

Derek lets out a low whine then, when Stiles ducks his head to kitten lick the base of his shaft, lips at the skin under his balls. Without warning, Stiles shoves his face mercilessly into Derek’s cleft, tonguing his perineum and lapping at his pucker, causing Derek to roar and arch, legs tangling around Stiles’s neck.

Stiles hums, nearly coming when Derek clutches at his hair, reins himself in. He flicks at Derek’s nipples, turning roar to groan, continues to eat Derek out in a zealous fervor. He feels Derek shift to stroke himself and promptly slaps his hands away, taking Derek’s length for his own mouth, fucks Derek with his throat.

Derek might be saying his name, but all Stiles really hears are moans, deep and guttural, in sync with the way his tongue drags against that sweet spot right under his cock tip.

Hands grip Stiles’ arms, gently trying to pull him up.

“No,” Stiles wheezes, wiping drool from his face. “Let me take care of you first.”

The sounds Derek makes are such a thing of beauty Stiles pushes for more, bringing his hands to Derek’s ass to draw him closer, cock choking him deep, until Derek’s hips jerk in a wild fit.

He pulls away just enough for Derek to release a load in his mouth, some spilling out the corners of his lips. He comes in multiple spurts, but Stiles swallows all of it, drinking it from Derek’s cock, hands and mouth milking him of every last drop.

Stiles whimpers, rolling to show Derek his dick. “Look at how stiff I am. You did this, Derek, eating your come did this.”

Derek growls, driving their mouths against each other, licking come from between Stiles’ lips. He throws Stiles onto his hands and knees and hooks his arms under Stiles’, tucking his cock against the crevice of Stiles’ ass.

Stiles cries out, feeling Derek’s hand reach down to stroke his dick in unforgiving tugs as he ruts between his cheeks, and with the other, seizes Stiles by the chin, kissing and biting erratic bruises, trailing from puffy, red lips to pale nape.

He comes, unable to figure out which direction is up or down, the laws of Physics not applying to their bodies until, an eternity later, he becomes aware of Derek’s arms tight around his torso, bed beneath them.

Derek mumbles, uneven breaths puffing against his hair, “Good, Stiles.”

Stiles yawns. “Next time, we’ll pay our respects to your nipples.”


65.

Peter got a hand in his curls and pulled, let his lips trail up the line of Isaac’s throat until he caught the lobe of Isaac’s ear between his teeth. He felt more than heard the little noise Isaac let out, high pitched and needy, nearly desperate.

Good, Peter thought as he straightened, taking a moment to enjoy the look of Isaac bent over the table, back bowed up by Peter’s grip on his hair, face red and flushed with arousal and shame. His hips moved in jerky little shudders, alternately pressing his erection into the edge and trying not to touch it. Over sensitive and over wrought already. The poor boy hadn’t even come yet.

Isaac clawed uselessly at the table, his eyes flashing yellow as his hips hitched into the table again.

“That must hurt,” Peter purred, running his free hand appreciatively over Isaac’s hip. Bone barely sheathed under smooth skin, flesh fever hot and taut. He slipped his hand lower, brushing against the waistband of Isaac’s jeans. Isaac’s hips twitched reflexively towards Peter’s hand and Peter tugged sharply.

“Ah, ah, ah. Lift your hips. There’s a good boy.” Peter slid his hand between Isaac and the table, pulling down Isaac’s fly and slipping his hand inside.

Isaac choked on a sob, his entire body shuddering and his claws sinking into the table top.

Peter blinked. “You’re close, aren’t you? Barely even touched and ready to come. You’d bend over for anyone if they asked, wouldn’t you? Do anything for a kind word -- or a cruel one.” Peter leaned down to breath wetly against Isaac’s neck. “But no one else gives it to you like I do, do they? Focus, Isaac. I’m not going to move my hand unless you answer. No one else gives it to you like I do, do they?”

“No, Peter.”

And true to his word, Peter moved his hand. Just once, stroking Isaac’s cock to the base and squeezing hard.

“Aaah! Please, Peter, please.”

“Please what?” Peter murmured, trailing kisses across the sensitive skin of Isaac’s shoulders, tongue laving at the traces of sweat. When Isaac didn’t answer Peter bit down hard enough to taste blood, fangs sinking into the skin of Isaac’s nape with a wet little pop and Isaac’s cock throbbing in Peter’s fist.

It gave Peter an idea and without warning he released Isaac completely, standing back and away as Isaac looked at him over his shoulder, desperation and fear playing across his face.

Peter enjoyed watching him struggle with himself, fighting the urge to throw himself bodily after Peter, to get the contact he needed. The touch he craved. Physical need warring with the urge to please, to stay where Peter put him and make Peter proud. It was delicious, but not as delicious as what Peter had in mind.

“Since you can’t seem to find a use for your tongue, I might as well. Come here.”

When Isaac stood, his cock jutting painfully through his fly, angry and red, Peter placed a hand on it gently. Not nearly enough pressure to satisfy but more than enough to make Isaac quiver. He balled his hands into fists at his sides, claws digging into flesh and scenting the air with his blood.

“You’re going to get on your knees and suck my cock until I tell you to stop. You’re not to touch yourself at all. You’re not to come, because after I’m done with your mouth I’m going to bend you back over the table and then I’m going to fuck you until you come from nothing but the feeling of my cock inside you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Peter.”

He looked so earnest, so vulnerable, that Peter took a moment to cup Isaac’s cheek. “You’re a good boy, Isaac.”

Peter stroked his thumb over the line of Isaac’s jaw and then pressed. Isaac folded obediently down, swallowing Peter to the root.

He threaded his fingers into Isaac’s hair, exerting just enough pressure to warn, to keep him there, throat fluttering around Peter’s dick as he fought to stay, to be still. Gagging a little even as Peter hummed with pleasure. “Such a good boy.”


66.

”I was going to just kidnap you but then I saw you and I couldn’t help it, I had to ask you out. Can you blame me? You’re gorgeous, Melissa.”

So maybe she had been a bit lonely and more than a bit tipsy when she’d accepted his almost off-hand suggestion of a second date. No tricks, with full knowledge that the man who showed up at her door in a gorgeous leather jacket carrying flowers was also a previously murderous and insane alpha werewolf, now reformed via resurrection. (And the reason her werewolf son was spending the night curled up with his pack, far away from the house and potential interruptions. She had Derek on speed dial just in case, though.)

The fact that Peter Hale had proved out to be charming and intelligent and not a complete psychopath was – surprising. But not as surprising as the fact that their second date ended up with frantic making out and tearing of clothes that made her feel like a teenager again – in a good way - as she rode him in his car.

Melissa doesn’t know what to expect from their third date but it is certainly not this; Peter smirking slyly as he holds up a small package, asking her if she’d be up for a little game.

Half an hour later, her legs still tremble from the orgasm he licked out of her when he pulled off her red thong, only to slip it in his pocket and slide the lacy panties up her legs until the vibrator nested snugly against her still-tender clit.

There’s a flush on her cheeks that has nothing to do with the warm summer air, and a part of her is certain everyone knows what is going on under her sleek black dress despite the fact that there’s no outward sign of it, or the sleek remote nestled in Peter’s pocket.

He is the perfect gentleman when he leads her to their table with a hand on the small of her back, too warm to be human through the sheer fabric. Peter smiles when he pulls out the chair for her, his eyes full of genuine affection and no trace of the devilish smirk she knows is lurking just beneath the surface.

Peter Hale may be charming and suave but he is not a nice man.

Hanging on the edge of anticipation, her eyes straying to the pocket where she knows the remote hides from sight, Melissa nevertheless enjoys the meal. She almost forgets all about his game, the soft candlelight and gorgeous French food setting the mood for something romantic and sweet, not dirty and hot. Almost.

The first quick jolt of pleasure comes when she’s biting into her quail. Her soft noise is so easy to mistake for enjoyment of the dish, or so she hopes.

Peter smirks, and hits another button.

The jolt becomes a low-level buzz, almost soothing against her sensitive clit. Occasionally there’s a stronger pulse but it’s not too much, it’s good but not overwhelming, and she smiles at Peter over the rim of her wine glass.

Peter’s response is a devilish smirk and suddenly the buzz becomes a rhythmic thrumming, hard and fast like a tribal beat against her clit and she bites her lip to keep from crying out, has to close her eyes and clutch the edge of the table to stay still.

She can feel the wetness seeping out of her, staining her thighs and the tops of her stockings and she’s never been so glad to be wearing black than she is right now. The throb between her legs intensifies, getting her so close –

And it stops.

Melissa’s eyes flutter open and she sees Peter’s smug expression. Oh, you bastard.

“That’s all you got?” She arches an eyebrow and takes another sip of her wine to soothe her parched throat, cheeks flushed red.

Peter’s grin is absolutely feral.


67.

“Peter,” Deucalion greeted, turning his nose up to the air, nostrils flaring, “New perfume?”

He hadn’t bothered to clean up before he had gone looking for the other wolf. Peter had known where he would be, and if nothing else, Deucalion would have smelled the darach’s blood and found him himself. Peter’s face remained blank as he approached the other man, eyes now clear and watching him intently, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He was a mere foot from him before his mouth curled into a vicious smirk, eyes flashing blue.

Deucalion didn’t even flinch as he reached out and took hold of Peter’s wrist, bringing his bloody hand up to his mouth to suck the kill from his claws. His features twisted as his eyes flashed red, and Peter lunged, refusing to let him have the upper hand this time.

Claws tore into flesh, shredding clothing and spilling blood as he went straight for the older man’s throat, teeth sinking into the base just shy of the artery he could feel pulsing beneath his tongue. Peter wasn’t the least bit surprised when he was torn away from the wound, but caught himself as he skidded backward, claws digging into the concrete to slow him before he launched himself at Deucalion again.

The two wolves tore into each other as they rolled on the ground, teeth digging into shoulders and claws gouging sides as they rutted against one another when one had control long enough. When Peter had Deucalion face down on the ground, he wasted no time in tearing his pants open, his own already shredded before he rolled his hips against his ass.

As his claws dug into the other man’s wrists, blood only mildly easing the slide of his cock against his ass while he snarled, Peter couldn’t help but think back over the years. The first time Deucalion’s hands had framed his face as he congratulated him on his first kill, with his blue eyes shining brightly in the night before those hands had wrapped around his throat. Teeth and blood and sex, and Peter couldn’t help but let out something between a moan and snarl when he tried to smother his own moan underneath him. It wasn’t perfect until he sunk his teeth into the back of his neck and Deucalion raised his ass for him. Peter knew he wasn’t going to last long as he fucked himself between his thighs, one set of claws digging into the demon wolf’s ass while his hand curled around his cock. That wasn’t the point of it.

It was a power trip; it always had been. Deucalion had taught him nothing was more important than the power you could get out of life, and if that meant getting bloody, even better. Only an alpha could match up to him, and that’s what Peter was, always had been, and they both knew it. It was what he had trained, (twisted), him for.
Deucalion’s thighs tightened almost brutally around him, and Peter thrust harder between them as he sunk his teeth deeper into the back of his neck, making him whine and snarl all at once. He dragged his hand roughly on his his cock, trapping it against his stomach as he did, and it was only a few strokes before he came over his hand. When he came, it was with his cum covered hand pressed to the underside of his cock between Deucalion’s thighs.

Peter licked at the blood trailing down his neck, savoring the shivery flinch that ran through the panting body underneath him. He watched the wounds knit themselves together as he caught his breath before pushing himself up. He straightened what was left of his clothing, dusting himself off before he let his eyes roam over Deucalion, who had rolled himself onto his back and was leaning casually on his arms, as if he hadn’t just been torn into and fucked. Peter ignored the dark twist of want that burned through his chest.

“You might want to see to that,” Deucalion quipped, nodding to the slower healing cuts and bites adorning his body, and Peter smirked in return.

“You might want to see to that scent of yours,” Peter replied. There wouldn’t be a werewolf within a half mile radius that wouldn’t be able to smell his claim all over the demon wolf.

And that was the point. He owned the demon wolf. Deucalion was his and his alone.


68.

“You know what the worst part is? I keep thinking ‘I’m glad it wasn’t Stiles’. Scott whispered into his back, arms tight around his waist. They laid curled together in a way they hadn’t since they were kids, not since Stiles mom had dies, since Scott’s dad had left.

Scott’s voice was wracked with guilt “I loved her and all I could think after was it was almost you.”

“Hey,” Stiles turned in his arm pressing his bare feet against Scott’s legs “its okay.” He couldn’t stop feeling like it should have been him. He couldn’t say that to Scott though, not when he looked so lost. “Dude, I’m okay.” He tried to make it sound like the truth.

Clearly he failed; Scott gave him a sad smile and let his hand rest where Stiles heart was. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything had happened to you.” He searched Stiles eyes for a moment looking conflicted before leaning forward, his lips ghosting across Stiles in soft kiss.

Stiles jerked back, shocked “What was that?”

Scott looked pained but determined “Stiles I…”

“No, you can’t just kiss me. We can’t kiss, we don’t kiss.” Stiles heart was hammering in his chest, his lips still tingling and his legs still intertwined with Scott’s.

“I love you.” Scott finished softly actually looking afraid. “You’re my best friend and I’ve always loved you.”

“And I love you too,” Stiles felt off balanced “but you, with Allison, and Kira.” He tried to gesture with his hands to indicate his line of thought.

Scott just smiled “I almost lost you.” His hands tightened on Stiles and his voice softened “I don’t want to ever lose you.” He kissed Stiles again and this time he let him, mouth opening up at Scott’s coaxing. Scott moved over him, pressing their bodies together and deepening the kiss.

Scott,” Stiles gasped pulling back slightly moaning as Scott nipped at his bottom lip “Scott are you sure about this?” He got out in a rush. “Because the just bros thing, totally works for us and I don’t want things to not work for us.”

Scott was smiling wider, the grief in his eyes leaving as he looked at Stiles in amusement “I’m sure, I think things will always work for us.”

His mood was infectious and Stiles couldn't help the smile stretching across his own lips “Yeah, okay, sure…” Scott kissed him again, shutting him up and Stiles arched up into him. The weight of Scott’s body was solid warmth that Stiles hadn't known he'd needed until now. With Scott surrounding him things felt better somehow.

Scott shifted and Stiles groaned as his thigh pressed against Stiles hardening cock. “Okay, maybe we’re moving a little too fast.” Stiles gasped as Scott’s mouth trailed down his throat. Shit that was his teeth, and Stiles definitely liked that.

“Are we?” Scott asked wetly against his neck hand moving under Stiles shirt to press against his bare skin. His thigh pressed down harder, this time clearly deliberate and Stiles could feel him smiling against his neck.

“Shit,” he shivered, body straining against Scott’s “okay no, clearly no. Keep going.” He pressed himself up against Scott, straining against him. Scott laughed against his skin before moving his mouth back to his. He kissed him as they moved together, hips moving until Stiles felt himself come in his pants, which was both gross and awesome. Scott followed right behind him with what Stiles could swear was a growl.


69.

They've been trapped in the school's athletic closet for all of thirty seconds before Scott hears Isaac's breathing speed up.

"Isaac?" he says softly, and he hears Isaac exhale slowly.

The athletic closet isn't claustrophobic - it's big enough to house mats and basketballs and nets and all sorts of other sports equipment - but it's full. There are items all around them, and there are no windows. With the door shut and the handle broken off, even Scott feels a little unsettled. He can only imagine how Isaac feels.

Actually, he doesn't have to imagine. He can hear his heart racing plain as day.

"Scott..." Isaac says, and his voice is thick. "Scott, I don't like this. I don't..."

Scott slides a hand out immediately to rest against Isaac's chest. He covers his heart with his palm, trying to soothe him as best he can. "Hey," Scott says, his voice steady and calm. "Isaac, hey. You all right?"

"No." Isaac's voice shakes.

"Come on, you're fine," Scott says at once, crowding closer to him. "You're totally fine, yeah? I'm right here. Nothing bad's going to happen to you. Not when I'm here."

He can hear Isaac lick his lips, but he's trembling a little. Scott can feel it. Without thinking, Scott follows instinct - an alpha, trying to soothe his beta. He presses his forehead against Isaac's, holding him close. Their chests touch and Scott can feel Isaac breathing heavily against him, so he pulls him closer. He's practically wound around his friend, limbs touching every place they can reach, as if he's trying somehow to absorb emotional pain as well as physical.

And, somehow, it seems like it's working. Isaac's still breathing hard, his heart pounding, but he's not shaking anymore. Scott can feel one of Isaac's hands curling around his bicep, and even though Scott's fine, isn't scared at all, he feels his breathing pick up a little, too.

"Isaac..." Scott murmurs, and Isaac presses against him closer.

"Scott." It's a whisper, his name on a breath, and it makes Scott come undone.

He's rocking his hips up into Isaac before he can think better of it.

"Isaac," he breathes. "I've got you. It's okay."

Isaac nods, his mouth open against Scott's cheek as he ruts down against Scott. His breath is warm.

"Scott," he repeats, and a soft little groan falls from Scott's lips.

"It's okay. You're okay. It's okay."

It's like a mantra, the words falling off Scott's lips in a musical litany as the two grind together. Isaac's holding onto him almost desperately, as if he's afraid to let Scott go, and Scott's whimpering, little fireworks going off behind his eyes every time their hard cocks brush together.

"You're okay."

"I'm okay."

"I've got you."

And when Isaac tips his head to the side and murmurs, "Yours", Scott's teeth sink into his skin without a second thought.

When they're finished, left in a sweating, panting embrace, Scott mouths wetly over Isaac's shoulder and nods.

"Mine."


70.

Peter was a werewolf under a spell and made into a dragon. By day he was a giant beast with red scales and broad wings, and by night he took a human form that was half covered in a smaller pattern of the red scales.

Chris was a king whose wife left him after their daughter Allison was kidnapped by Peter.

Allison had befriended Peter during her captivity, and when she was eventually freed from Peter’s castle by a kind-eyed boy named Scott, Allison asked Peter to come with them. He declined but offered to visit. On his first visit he got lost in the palace’s dark nighttime halls, and Chris found him there. After Allison explained the situation, Chris relaxed, and Peter fell in love with the lonesome king over the course of his visits. Chris was not oblivious and he took Peter into his bed, where they tangled together many nights a week. The spell Peter was under kept him from speaking, but that didn’t stop them.

“Peter,” Chris gasped into his skin, Peter’s hips rolling up into his own. He grabbed for Peter’s left hand and held him close, rocking back down into him. Peter’s right hand was flung out to the side, for it bore a set of five short but wickedly sharp claws, and he didn’t want to hurt Chris. Peter’s hot cock, scaled on one side and heated by Peter’s internal fire, fit neatly next to Chris’s with only their own fluid to ease the slide. Chris mouthed his way down Peter’s chest to take his nipple in his mouth, biting down harshly on it and wringing a cry from Peter. Peter bucked up into him and Chris leaned up to bite his neck. Peter spilled between them with a loud moan that verged on a roar. Chris clutched him tight and chased him over the edge.

“Peter,” Chris said after they’d come down, sticky and curled up together. “I’ve noticed you watching me for a long time, and I’ve noticed the way you watch me is…different. I have a question and I want you to be honest with your answer.” He looked over into Peter’s curious, glowing golden eyes. Chris tangled their fingers together. “Are you in love with me?” he asked. Peter froze for a long minute, and then he started to pull away, but Chris wouldn’t let him.

“No, listen,” he said, pulling Peter on top of him and cupping his face. “I’ve fallen in love with you over the past year. I’ve gotten to know you and I can see why you’re one of Allison’s closest friends. I just want to know. Yes or no?” Peter hesitated before nodding. Chris gave him a blinding grin and surged up into a rough kiss. He pulled Peter tightly against him, feeling their renewed erections slide together, and Peter took the hint and started rutting into him, fast and rough and too dry but made all the better for it. The scales melted from Peter’s skin, his golden eyes changed to blue, and fur sprouted along his jaw, over his limbs and down his chest. Peter cried with joy as the spell on him was broken. He took Chris’s mouth in a bruising kiss, murmuring his love into his mouth. Peter’s claws on both hands dug into Chris’s sides and, as Chris came against his belly, he threw his head back and howled, following his lover into ecstasy.


71.

Chris' back slammed into the wall, the rough brick scratching his bare arms.

"You almost died," Derek growled through gritted teeth.

Chris struggled against Derek's grip, but he knew it was futile. There was no way he could physically overpower a werewolf and he wasn't going to be using any of his hunter tricks against Derek. The wolfsbane up his sleeve would be overkill when Derek wasn't actually going to hurt him.

Derek's eye's flashed blue in anger. "You're being too reckless."

No, Derek wasn't going to hurt him. He was just going to lecture him and Chris wasn't in the mood. Although with the adrenaline flooding through him and Derek's close proximity he was starting to get in the mood for something else. "I got the job done."

"You've lost a lot, I've been where you are, but you don't—"

Derek had Chris' hands pinned to the wall, but his hips were free to move and he bucked forward, pressing his growing erection against Derek's leg. "I don't need a lecture."

Derek moved forward, trapping Chris entirely between the wall and his body. "What do you need then?"

Chris smirked when he felt the bulge in Derek's pants. "I think you know what I need."

Derek hesitated for all of a second before crashing his lips against Chris' and rolling his hips. Chris angled his hips so that his cock pressed against Derek's and rutted forward.

This was what Chris needed. Each thrust forward chased all thought out of his mind and for a few minutes he could just feel. The part of him that was still Gerard's son, Victoria's husband, and Allison's father knew that he was being reckless. He was getting off in an alley with a werewolf and it wasn't the first time either. He'd never have done this before, but there was no one to answer to anymore, no one to protect.

In fact, the only person left who seemed to give a damn about him wasn't even a person at all—at least not according to his family.

Chris was still thinking too much so he lifted his legs and wrapped them around Derek's hips, pulling the other man in as close as he could. Derek responded by grinding forward with more strength than an ordinary human and it was almost too much for Chris, but the pain was good. Pain drowned out thought as much as pleasure did and the harsh press of his zipper against his dick had him coming in his pants like a horny teenager.

As he came, Chris bit down hard on Derek's lip, lapping at the blood before the wound healed. The bite triggered Derek's own release and he shuddered against Chris.

Chris slowly dropped his legs, glad that Derek was still holding him against the wall because he wasn't actually sure that his knees could support him. He leaned his head back and laughed. "I feel like a teenager."

Derek dropped his head to Chris' shoulder. "I wish you'd stop acting like one. It's bad enough having to deal with Scott and Stiles when they're being stupid."

Chris sighed. Apparently he was going to get the lecture whether he wanted it or not. "Can you not? Or at least wait until I've had a shower."

"I just don't want to lose you too." Derek said the words blandly and without any inflection, but Chris sensed the underlying desperation.

He wished that he could give Derek some sort of reassurance, but he didn't have any hope left in him. They may both be survivors, but eventually their cards would be punched. It was inevitable and Chris wasn't going to lie to him. "You should know better than to get attached."

Derek let go of him and stepped back. He looked sad. "It's too late for that."

The last thing he needed was another person depending on him. It had never turned out well before and he didn't think he had it in him to even try again. Still, as much as he didn't want to risk more loss he wanted to be alone even less so he reached out and grabbed Derek's arm, pulling him out of the alley. "We can talk about it after we clean up."

Derek smiled at him and Chris realized he was probably in too deep already. There was no point in trying to keep Derek at arm's length anymore. It was going to hurt when Derek died either way.


72.

Scott lets the door close behind him with a sharp click. Entering the bedroom, he takes in the scene. Stiles is sprawled in the chair next to his bed, one leg hanging off the arm, wearing nothing but an unbuttoned flannel shirt. He’s idly stroking his half-hard dick and slowly twisting a nipple as he stares hungrily at the bed.

Scott follows his gaze, taking in the sight of Derek lounging there naked, his arms tied loosely to the headboard. Scott looks between Derek’s writhing hips and Stiles lazily stroking hand. The glitter in Stiles’ eyes is his only warning before he feels a phantom hand fondling his balls.

“Magic sexy times?” he says with a smirk.

“Magic sexy times,” Stiles agrees with a smirk, flicking his hand at Scott. “Now lose the clothes. I think Derek’s getting a little worked up.” Stiles’ smirk grows. He circles his fingers on the head of his cock, and Derek moans and strains against the ropes holding him down.

“Stiles!” he snarls, flexing his claws. His back bows, and he wails. Stiles’ hand speeds on his cock and his other hand trails down to his hole, teasing it as he arches in the chair. “Sc-Scott!” Derek growls. “Get your ass undressed, and get over here!”

Scott responds to that growl as he has since they started this, by growing rock hard in seconds and scrambling out of his pants. Taking a running start at the bed, he pounces on Derek and devours his mouth in a wet, filthy kiss. He loves nights like this. Nights when Stiles watches and participates at a distance, letting his magic take his physical place while he calls the shots from his chair.

Scott buries his teeth into the meat of Derek’s shoulder before asking, voice muffled, “Rules?”

Scott feels Stiles’ phantom touch as it strokes over his back down to his ass. He and Derek both whine when that touch disappears.

“No hands,” Stiles pants from behind them. “You can do whatever you want to him, Scott. But you can’t touch him with your hands.”

Scott growls, but he can work with this. He plants his hands on the mattress on either side of Derek, leans over him, and lets his mouth wander wherever it wants to. He nibbles and sucks his way across stubbled skin, paying special attention to the hinge of Derek’s jaw, making him moan and press into it.

He’s working his way down Derek’s writhing body, stopping here and there to sink his fangs into rock hard muscle and then lick the hurt away, when he feels Stiles’ magic start to touch him. His touch ghosts over Scott’s back, a single “finger” trailing down the center of Scott’s spine and stopping right above the crack of his ass. He shudders and moans as it slides over his hip and wraps around his cock, squeezing as it pumps him.

Derek’s growling and bucking hips recall his wandering attention, and Scott looks up at him. Derek’s eyes glint bright blue with challenge, and who is Scott not to answer that? Settling himself into the vee of Derek’s legs, Scott wraps his lips around Derek’s straining cock and starts sucking.

Derek bucks up into the warmth of Scott’s mouth, driving himself deep with every thrust. Scott just relaxes his mouth, letting himself be used as he settles between the feel of Derek’s dick in his mouth and Stiles’ magic wrapped around his own. He grunts and fucks down into seemingly thin air.

The pressure around his dick disappears, only for it to reappear at the top of his ass and work its way down to his hole, grazing it lightly as he works his throat around Derek’s cock. Stiles teases him, feathering his touch around his hole and dipping further back, pressing lightly at the skin behind his balls. Scott pulls off Derek and wails, his orgasm slamming through him as Stiles applies hard, firm, sudden pressure.

He lays there gasping, his face buried in Derek’s abs, vaguely aware of the slap of skin as Stiles jacks himself desperately. Scott looks up in time to catch the sight of Stiles as he arches off the chair, his come splashing across his chest. Derek whines and flexes beneath him, and Stiles grins dopely at them.

“Finish him,” he rasps. “Touch him.” He watches, eyes glittering as a few strokes of Scott’s hand has Derek coming all over his stomach with a sharp cry.


73.

The music helped distract her.

It thumped through her body and made her feel like she was part of the writhing mass around her even though it was the last place in the world she wanted to be.

She was pressed up against the furthest wall away from everyone who were dancing and having all the fun they could, completely oblivious to the pain coursing through her heart. They were able to go on with their lives like nothing happened. Like no one close to them ever suffered.

But it wasn't working to make her feel better or nothing at all. Whichever came first.

Instead she could only think about the moment she knew Allison was gone. Slumped in that desolate hallway, helpless and paralyzed with fear and sorrow.

She shook her head and started to walk away, maybe the drive home would clear the cobwebs from her head.

But a hand pressed firmly against her back and nudged her, face first, against the wall. It was a warm hand, one she knew without looking even though she didn't know why she should know it.

The hand was replaced by a long hard line of firm, muscular body. He enveloped her from behind and she could feel his erection against her ass. She pressed her face against the wall and marveled at the coolness of the cement against her cheek, contrasting with the heat from behind.

"I don't know if this is the right time," she said in a normal tone, knowing he had no trouble hearing her.

"I know what you need," he replied, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

He moved away from her just enough to turn her around and then covered her again with his body. She grabbed him around the waist and pulled him as close as she could, trying to anchor him to her.

"We can't do this here," she said, meeting his eyes.

"No one will notice," he replied and reached out to pull her skirt up just enough to cover where their bodies pressed together.

She was wearing panties and expected him to pull them down but he just brushed over her with his hand lightly, then pressed his denim-clad cock against her.

"Oh," she whispered, letting her head fall back against the wall. She could feel the bass of the music even more now, with her whole body pressed against the wall and it seemed to match the pulse of her body that was speeding up.

He buried his face in her neck and started moving his hips against hers, knowing just how to thrust his erection against her clit so it hit right every time.

She lifted her right leg and wrapped it around his hip, opening their position and let her hands slip down his back to his waist where she held on and clenched at his shirt with every thrust.

He mouthed at her ear lobe and licked the shell, dragging breathy moans out of her that only he would hear.

She felt her panties grow damp against her skin, then her legs trembled and she came suddenly, unbelieving that he never touched her once under the elastic.

She dug her nails into his skin through his shirt and felt him tense against her, groin pressed against her for a long moment, then he pulled away and pushed her skirt down.

"Leave your window open tonight, Lydia," Derek whispered in her ear, before he disappeared into the crowd of dancers.


74.

Kira's not exactly sure how it starts. One minute they're talking about the right kind of bathing suit for their individual body types, the next their talking about studying, then Lydia is spread eagle in a on the end of Kira's lounge chair, feeling herself up through her bikini bottoms in the moonlight reflecting off the surface of her pool.

"Start slow," Lydia says, "first you just--hmmm." She purses her lips and tilts her head to the side like a dog, then reaches out to untie the neck string of Kira's bathing suit top and watches as it falls away. "Touch them softly, first, barely a whisper," she says, as she trails just her finger tips down the center of her chest, circling up around her breast until she gets to the center to her nipples.

Kira's squeezing her own breasts a little more firmly. Maybe too firm, maybe not firm enough. She's not sure, honestly. Lydia's the expert. "Like this?"

"More like," Lydia says, but doesn't finish. She just demonstrates.

"Oh. Oh." Kira answers.

Lydia smiles a little, just a half grin. "You see," she says. "Feel that?"

Kira lets out a shaky breath. "Feel what?"

"Feel how fucking wet you are? Just from me touching your nipples?"

Kira didn't even notice until Lydia takes two fingers and drags them down her chest, over he stomach, and all the way down to the wet spot on her panties. "Yeah, I do. I feel it."

"Good. Now put your fingers there."

"Where? On the--on the wet spot."

Lydia spreads her own legs, leans back a little, and presses her fingers on the wet spot of her own bathing suit. "Here. Be gentle. Just drag them slowly, up and down, up and down."

Kira does. "What next?"

Lydia leans back and spreads her legs wider, but first, she takes her bikini bottoms completely off. "This," she says, pulling her lips apart so Kira can see better, "is your clitoris, and this," she drags a finger down to circle at her hole, gathering wetness to drag back up, "is where the wetness comes from. Get your finger wet, then bring it back up to your clitoris. Then rub."

It feels good, when Kira does it, dipping the tip of her finger into herself and dragging it up, slick and slow, circling it around her clit and back down, over and over, sending little shocks of pleasure up her spine.

"How does it feel?" Lydia asks.

"Good. Pretty good."

"Only pretty good?"

"Yeah. Pretty good."

"Then you're doing it wrong," Lydia tells her. "Lay back, touch your nipples."

Kira doesn't even have the time to do it before Lydia is diving face first between her legs and making the same movements she told Kira to make with her fingers with her mouth, licking circles around Kira's clit and trailing her tongue down to lick near her hole.

"This better?" Lydia asks, and swipes her tongue over Kira's clit again.

Kira can't answer. The shocks are traveling up her spine again, like little pinpricks, until Lydia reaches up and threads their fingers together. Then Kira comes in waves.


75.

Peter wasn’t expecting anyone. He was alone in his apartment, which he was fine with. Or he’d long since convinced himself that alone was better. Safer. It was why the knock startled him. He’d heard the feet, but he tuned most background noises out.

He pulled the door open and raised an eyebrow when his eyes met Chris Argent’s. He looked to be in pain, which Peter expected. He had just lost his child, but the pain looked physical. The scent of blood invaded his nostrils, causing him to frown.

“Something I can help you with?” He asked, voice cold. He didn’t care. He didn’t care that he was looking at a man who lost everything. He didn’t care that he was bleeding. He didn’t care.

The movement of Chris’ hand caught Peter’s eye. He looked down to see the large amount of blood that stained the front of Chris’ shirt. Chris’ hand shot out to grab Peter’s arm in a desperate attempt to steady himself.

Peter reacted on instinct, and reached out to steady Chris.

“What stupid thing did you do this time, Christopher?” He asked as he pulled Chris into the apartment and pushed him against the wall while kicking the door shut.

Chris closed his eyes and ground his teeth together in an attempt to keep quiet. The pathetic sound that escaped him gave away his pain.

Peter’s hands moved quickly. He pushed Chris’ shirt up to get a look at the damage.

“What the hell?” He asked, voice a little higher from the surprise.

Chris opened his mouth to speak. His eyes were open again, and it looked like he was trying to focus on Peter. “Only way,” he breathed. His voice was raw.

Peter looked from Chris’ face, still screwed up in pain, to his stomach again. It clicked in his mind what the idiot - asshole - had done. He brushed a finger over Chris’ hip. He was using his hand to support Chris’ weight and keep him from sliding down the wall.

“You could have died,” Peter said in a tone that was meant to be uncaring, but he couldn’t steady his voice.

“-worth it,” Chris said with a little gasp when Peter’s thumb brushed over skin again. He closed his eyes, and some tension seemed to ease from his muscles.

“Good to know.” Peter wasn’t sure why his words came out bitter. He didn’t care.

“Why are you here?” Not caring didn’t mean not curious. It also didn’t mean he couldn’t pull pain from the hunter. He sure as hell wasn’t dealing with a bleeding Argent in shock. He really wasn’t going to deal with daddy’s little girl when she recovered from whatever of her wound Chris hadn’t taken. This sort of thing wasn’t the kind people messed with. It always backfired. Chris was lucky to be breathing.

“You,” Chris said in a way that felt like a punch to the gut. He squirmed slightly, trying to get away from Peter’s grasp. He could handle the pain.

“Asshole.” Peter’s teeth ground together, and he nearly stopped the transference. He didn’t. He kept pulling the pain, trying to take some pleasure in the fact that he was in control right now, but he found none. He stared at Chris’ eyes, looking for something to give Chris away.

Chris kept one hand pressed against the wound. His other hand was steadying himself against the wall. He was apparently willing enough to trust Peter. His hand moved from the wall to Peter’s neck. He tried to pull him closer, but he didn’t have the strength.

Peter’s brain refused to process anything. He moved forward despite the lack of force behind Chris’ hand. Even with all the thoughts going through his mind, he was still startled when Chris kissed him. A shock of emotions and memories ran through him. Excitement, fear, happiness. Hands on his stomach, on his back, pulling him closer and touching him fanatically.

“I hate you.”

Peter didn’t move Chris’ hand, and he didn’t put any distance between them.

Chris watched him quietly. Peter found himself kissing Chris a moment later. This time the kiss was rougher, bruising and with too many teeth.


76.

“So good,” she sighed as she spread her thighs a little wider above Finstock’s head. Giving him better access to lick her clit from where she was sitting on his face.

“Been waiting all day for this. You are so good at this..ah...” Greenberg praises Finstock as he give one particularly well placed swipe of his tongue along her clit.

“You know we still haven’t talked about my suggestion.” she says as she settles more firmly straddling his head her hands on the headboard.

“Wjkla supogggion walmkl thast?” she hears from between her thighs.

“Hmm, I didn't quite catch that babe?” Greenberg smiles and goes back to moving her hips in aborted little motions designed to drive them both crazy..

Finstock wriggles his arms between her thighs and lifts her off his face, showing a shocking amount of strength, as she lets out a surprised giggle, “I said: what suggestion was that?”

“You remember. what we talked about last week?” she curls up against his side and plays with his chest hair, “Fisting. Yes or no?”

“You want to talk about that now? I mean, we were in the middle of something.” Finstock gestures to the general vicinity of everything that is going on between them.

“I have every confidence in your ability to multi-task, Cupcake.” she says as she grabs his hand and places it between her legs. “Focus and you can achieve anything.”

“I love how you can make all of this motivational crap sound dirty.”

“What can I say? I have a special talent. Ah, yes, right there,” She taps his hand to make sure he keeps rubbing her clit just the right way.

“Back on topic. Fisting. Yes or no?,” she asks.

“Well, I haven’t done it since that time in Tahoe with Peter. He was a little off but dude knew how to use his hands.” Finstock says wistfully with a small smile on his face.

“I remember that. You couldn't stop talking about him for days.” Greenberg rubs her wet pussy against his fingers and sighs as he finds just the right spot that drives her wild.

“I think it could be fun and it’s not like we haven’t tried a lot of different things.” she moves to straddle his legs and he pulls up so she is resting against his cock all wet and ready for him.

“Mmm, nice” she wiggles against him and rubs her pussy against his the tip of his cock. Not quite pushing inside but tantalizingly close.

He flips them over and rubs the head of his cock against her clit. Back and forth until she clamps her legs around him and comes without a sound.

She flops back onto the bed, satisfied and smiles at him pulling him down into a long and slow kiss, “I love you. You know that right? Everything with you feels, you know, right.”

“Babe, as long as it’s with you I'm game for anything.” he stretches out across her and reaches for a condom.


77.

It had been a long night and Lydia was drained and really was looking forward to nothing more than her favourite tea, maybe some music, and being in her comfy pajamas in bed. She was used to her fair share of long nights but there was a calm in the storm of craziness of Beacon Hills. "You really didn't need to follow me home. It wasn't that far and I can take care of myself," she said softly as she walked up to her door. Mom was gone as a teacher conference but she was used to being home alone now that her mom had taken back up to teaching.

Looking down at her, Peter smiled in that smirking way that he did though it seemed softer with her nowadays. "No I didn't but I wanted to. Besides we can't have you out at night alone. Who knows was creep in the night could come after you," he said moving behind her as she stepped to her door. He leaned in to kiss her softly, hands on her hips almost pulling her to her tip toes.

"No we wouldn't want that. Even though I have the biggest creeper out there," Lydia said against his mouth and turned around but glanced back with her own recognisable smirk and grin, teasing him.

Peter laughed and pressed against her as she dug into her bag for the keys. "Yes you do. Let's go inside and I can show you how creepy I can be," he said leaning in and breathing soft against her neck, his lips light on her skin.

Lydia turned around to look at him, an incredulous look on her face and she sigh, shaking her head. "What does that even mean Peter?" came her reply but with the bit of a smile too. Her hands moved over his chest and she moved up to kiss him again before leaving a trail along his neck. "Not tonight," she whispered and turned back around to the door.

Often Peter was at odds with his life and having Lydia Martin in it. She was brilliant and kept him on his toes but she also infuriated him a great deal as well. Part of him loved it, part of him wanted to put her over his knee. Something that didn't help the strong urge for her that he had too. "Just for a little while?" he questioned, hands moving to her hips and he pressed against her, hips rocking against her ass.

Smiling she pushed back against him, rubbing against his jeans, pretty sure she felt his arousal beneath them. Lydia leaned back against his chest as she grabbed for her keys, leaning up and kissed him. He kept grinding against her, one hand sliding up around her chest. "I cant let you in tonight because I'll never get any rest and I'm exhausted."

Peter growled because he excuse was not even the best she could come up with and he kept grinding against her and she wasn't helping by rocking against him. "I need you. Need you," he said, his voice low.

"I can feel you and how much. It feels good doesn't it?" she said, her own voice low too as they moved faster. "So good. Give it to it, just let go Peter. Come on, come Peter, come!" she gasped out.

His claws extended, slicing holes into her clothes and drawing the slightest bit of blood as he rutted against her harder and groped her as he came there on the front porch of her house. "Fuck me," he said as he slumped against her.

Lydia was breathing hard too as she unlocked her door and stepped away from him and turned around. "Good night Peter." She smiled as she shut the door.

"So going to pay you back for this," he growled, eyes flashing blue and heading home to clean himself up and possibly take a cold shower.

Chapter Text

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Title: Self-Sucking is a Skill, Dammit!


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