Stiles didn’t know much about the college guy that was currently sucking him off as if his dick were the world’s best tasting popsicle. He knew that the guy had some seriously silky blond hair from how much he’d been running his fingers through it. Stiles remembered that his name was something foreign – something with a lot of vowels in weird combinations and tongue rolling to pronounce it right. Through the haze of pleasure surging through his body Stiles remembered that the guy had shown up to every frat party that Stiles and his two “Student Ambassadors” (aka the pair of over achieving roommates that the admissions office had asked to show Stiles around campus) had taken him to that night.
The one thing that Stiles was 100% sure of was that the guy wasn’t human.
He wishes he could take more credit for figuring that out but – frankly – it was pretty obvious. He’d never gotten the gay vibe from his two Student Ambassadors and yet he’d watched – supernaturally immobilized – as the mystery guy sucked them both off in their dorm room until they blacked out before turning his attention to Stiles.
Which had led to the other obvious clue. The guy had pulled half a dozen orgasms from Stiles in just a few hours. Stiles would really love to take credit for being that much of a stud but he’s not an idiot. Jackson couldn’t have pulled that kind of all night marathon even with his werewolf healing helping him along. He’s working on his seventh ejaculation and he’s still hard, balls straining to keep up but somehow managing.
The suction tightens and Stiles is one step further on the way to breaking a world record… if he survives to actually tell anyone about it that is. Stiles thought it made sense that losing his virginity would be the death of him. After all there was no one else he knew of that could hit the cosmic lottery of supernatural-near-death experiences several times in such a short lifespan.
“How many is that now?” the mystery lover from hell asks, using his tongue to wipe away a stray dribble of Stiles off his lower lip.
The teenager tries not to think about how much that makes him want to go for money shot number 8. When he finds his voice it’s sore and dry from all of his breathy moans and nonsensical babbling. The guy hadn’t given him anything to drink since his fourth orgasm. “Seven. I think.”
The guy nods and playfully slaps Stiles on the hip as if they’re sharing a joke. “Only a few more before your heart will give out.”
It’s terrifying how casually the man talks about ending Stiles’ life. Or at least Stiles think it probably would be if his body wasn’t being flooded with pheromones and endorphins that make it impossible to feel anything but bliss. He knows that despite his dry throat he should give a shout that is more about getting help than it is a compliment about the older guy’s talent at blowjobs. Stiles wants to get up and run – really he does – but his body is rebelling against him in favor of all the sex. He knows that he should be in a full-blown panic about how the dude is literally going to sex him to death. He knows all of these things and yet all he can manage is a mild, “Well, shit, dude.”
“Do you have any idea how tempting it is?” Teeth latched onto one of Stiles’ already sensitive nipples as the other was massaged with nimble fingers. “How delicious you taste? You’re so very rare and you don’t even know it.”
“Rare?” Stiles asked recklessly, his usual style. “As in I’d like that human served up rare and not crispy or as in I haven’t had that vintage of cock in a long time?”
To Stiles’ surprise the hard body above him vibrated with laughter. He could feel the deep, resonating booms move between their chests. “A little of both honestly.”
“What do I – what does it…” Stiles trailed off, his sudden burst of curiosity dying out.
“What do you taste like?” the man finished his thought for him, eyes twinkling in amusement and just a flash of hunger. “No need to be embarrassed. You aren’t the first one to ask that.”
Stiles smiled tentatively. “Everyone wants to taste their best right?”
“Humans are such vain things.” The creature licked a trail down the space between Stiles’ pectorals. “You do win by a landslide though.”
“Why?” Stiles asked, unable to stop his damned curiosity that seemed determined to win over control of his mouth from his brain, which would totally have known better.
“You’re a virgin,” the man answered with a shrug as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s so rare to find one nowadays.” Stiles gasped as hips thrust down to rub against his aching cock to emphasize the point. “Especially one at his sexual peak.”
Stiles would have blushed if all his blood weren’t pooled in his groin. Damn sex monsters and their pheromones keeping him permanently aroused. “It wasn’t for a lack of trying.”
“Don’t apologize,” the man said sternly, a hint of anger in his tone. “I’ve been alive long enough to remember a time when people prided themselves on staying pure. Nowadays teens can’t wait to give it away to some loser who won’t remember their existence once the college acceptance letters arrive.”
“You know how crazy hypocritical that sounds right?” Stiles replied, gaping up at the supernatural Adonis that had been sexing him up all night. “I mean you kill people with sex. You’re eating me through sex right now. You can’t be a sex monster and a prude!”
The man ignored the jab in favor of turning his attention back to Stiles’ nipples. “Just because I’m a Succubus doesn’t mean I can’t have standards.”
“Incubus,” Stiles corrected on instinct.
“Succubus,” the man argued, voice ringing with authority. “Don’t believe everything you Google. Incubi prey on women. Succubi prey on men… and you are definitely not a woman.”
Stiles felt the blush returning to his cheeks. “Thanks? I guess.”
The succubus leaned down to take another taste before coming back up and moaning in appreciation. “No, Stiles, thank you.”
“Virgin taste good,” Stiles replied in mock-caveman impersonation. “I almost forgot.”
“It’s not just because you’re a virgin,” came the whispered admittance from somewhere around Stiles’ navel. “You’re like me… or at least have the potential to be. Someone in your ancestry was a Succubus or an Incubus who feel for a Stilinski.” Fingers teased Stiles’ sensitive sides in a gentle tickle. “You can’t turn just anybody into a – how did you phrase it? – sex monster. The combination of flavors makes you the most appetizing human I’ve ever met.”
Stiles tried to smile. “Always knew I was special.”
The Succubus met his eyes, a serious expression on his face. “We’re a dying breed and it is so very rare to find someone who can be turned… let alone one worth turning.”
Stiles frowned. “Than why are you killing me?”
More laughter. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Stiles, I’m not going to kill you.”
“No – though you have no idea how tempting it is. I haven’t been this out of control in decades,” the sex demon admitted, eyes darkened in lust. “You’re lucky I had your two tour guides to snack on first or else I might have given in.” His mouth lowered over Stiles’ pulse point, hot breath teasing the skin there. Soft lips caressed the flesh there as if salivating over a juicy steak. It took all of Stiles’ strength to resist arching up and filling that miniscule void. “I could still do it. I could drain you until there’s nothing left but a mindless shell vibrating in pleasure.”
Stiles burrowed his head further into the pillow. “Super rare human, remember? So less with the killing talk, please.”
The body above him froze, tense and prepared to strike. “You consent?”
“Consent?” Stiles echoed back, feigning confusion. “For what?”
“Don’t play stupid,” the man growled, reaching down to tug once more on Stiles. The younger male gasped as another climax threatened to erupt thanks to the supernatural urging of the Succubus. “I can either turn you or eat you. I’m afraid my instincts won’t let me do anything else. I try to avoid leaving bodies around if I can help it.”
The building pressure was enough to make Stiles see black spots in his vision. “I’m sure that policy keeps the hunters away, too, right?”
The Succubus twisted his hand, bringing Stiles right to the edge. It was all the teenager could do not to scream. “And just what does a little human like you know of hunters?”
“I – I – I – I can’t fucking breath!” Stiles wheezed.
The pressure eased and the man’s anger dimmed to match. “I apologize. You were saying?”
“Back home,” Stiles half-lied, panting the whole way. He didn’t want anyone to know about the Pack if he could help it. “My dad’s the Sheriff. They contact him when something monster-like comes to town.”
“A lot of us travel through?”
Stiles did the best impersonation of a shrug that he could manage while physically exhausted. “Enough to make an impression and the mortality rate climb.”
The creature smirked. “Maybe one day I’ll make a visit. See what all of the fuss is about.”
“You wouldn’t like it,” Stiles replied with some bite. “Too many teenagers fornicating.”
“Don’t get smart.” The reprimand was accentuated with a slight rebuilding of pressure. “I don’t just go for teenagers. As I’ve said, you’re more of the exception than the rule.”
Stiles’ eyes drifted over to the still slumbering forms of his two Student Ambassadors. “Are they also an exception?”
Despite the relaxed chuckle from the Succubus, the intensity of the orgasm built ever more slightly. “It’s college, Stiles, there are just so many eager young men desperate to experiment. Surely you can’t blame me for taking advantage of an easy meal?”
“I’m sure there’s a frat house or two just dying to be your buffet of ecstasy.”
“Don’t judge me on how I deal with my hunger,” he replied smoothly. “The more I rotate between pledge classes, the less likely it is that I leave someone dry. It’s like you said, I try to avoid drawing the attention of hunters.”
Stiles felt the hysteria enter his voice. “Oh my god. I was joking. Seriously? A whole pledge class?”
The man nodded. “If everyone is willing than they’re less likely to say anything… not that they know what’s really going on.” The man grinned and Stiles struggled to imagine it not being genuine. “Frat houses are full of homo-erotic tension. You’ll see when you start college and that hunger creeps in. You’ll be able to smell it.”
“What if I don’t want to turn?” Stiles asked quietly.
There was a growl of irritation and then Stiles was cumming harder than he had all night. Hell, it was the most intense orgasm of his whole life. Stiles was screaming with the strength of it. He barely recognized his own voice with how raw and scratchy his cries were. Stiles was pretty sure he blacked out at some point.
Stiles started at the unexpected apology. He could tell that the man wasn’t used to expressing regret – especially not to his food. Stiles wondered if there wasn’t something about being a monster that made being polite so impossible. Derek had never been one for apologies even before he became the big bad Alpha. Now that he had a Pack it was like pulling teeth just getting him to look repentant let alone act it.
“I shouldn’t have done that. You’re too close to death now,” the man whispered softly in Stiles’ ear. A hand petted kindly, soothingly at the cropped hair. “I can’t let you go. Why won’t you just say yes? Don’t you want to have power? To be more than you are now?”
“Why does everyone think power is so important?” Stiles whispered tiredly. “You sound like Derek.”
The hand stilled in his hair. “Who’s Derek?”
Stiles frowned. “No one.”
“Is he why you won’t say yes?” the man questioned, staring down at Stiles as if he were an unsolvable riddle. “I don’t know if you noticed but being a Succubus means you can have anyone you want. This Derek fellow could be yours whenever you wanted.”
“Not the same,” Stiles mumbled sleepily. “Not love.”
The Succubus snorted. “You think we can’t love? You think we’re all about the sex? We can do more than that. We are more than that.”
Stiles trembled. “I don’t want it.”
“So you’d rather die?”
“It’s not the same thing,” Stiles argued tiredly.
It wasn’t like Stiles could say yes. What if he couldn’t be part of the Pack anymore? Humans were tolerated but would a Succubus be welcome? Despite what Peter had claimed, Stiles never wanted the bite. Maybe he wanted the boost in confidence that would come with the power. Maybe he wanted the guarantee of family – that unbreakable bond of Pack – that he’d not so secretly coveted since his mother had faded away in an oncology ward. Maybe he wanted the ability to protect his Packmates and his father at the same level with which they protected him. He didn’t want to be a monster either.
But he wasn’t eager to die. Of course he didn’t want to die. Who would look after his Dad? Scott would be too busy pining over Allison to check the fast food his father would surely bring into the house. Derek might be the overbearing parent of his Pack but would that care extend to an aging Sheriff in mourning? Stiles doubted it.
Scott wouldn’t last two minutes without him. Stiles had been taking care of him since the fourth grade. He used to pack an extra lunch for Scott whenever his mother channeled her inner nurse and insisted on health food. When they were older Stiles would let the tan teen cheat off him in classes. Hell, Scott won’t get into college if Stiles died.
Derek and his Pack would probably cause the end of the world – or at least Beacon Hills – as they know it. Stiles had spent too much time trying to remind Derek’s newest wolves of their humanity for them to go ass backwards now. Without him they would have kept on that track to becoming the kind of werewolves that get hunted down. Erica would have kept hitting people with car parts. Boyd would have cut a few lacrosse players in half… with his teeth. And poor Isaac would have gone Jackson-level douche bag trying to impress Derek instead of returning to that loveable underdog that Stiles had risked his life to save in the police cells.
Stiles didn’t even want to think about what Jackson and Danny would get up to. Danny was always so loyal to Jackson that more often than not he was an accomplice to Jackson’s antics. Perhaps Danny would be able to keep his best friend in check since Stiles wouldn’t be able to do it but Jackson always did have poor impulse control. More than once it had taken Stiles’ tact and, lets face it, connections to law enforcement to keep Jackson off the radar of any hunters with their own impulse control issues.
And while Derek’s crew might destroy the world, Lydia would most definitely conquer it. Not that Stiles would have tried to stop her. Not that Stiles would have been able to stop her for that matter. But at least he could play the Jiminy Cricket to her world-dominating Pinocchio.
“You do realize you’re thinking out loud, don’t you?”
Stiles damned his mouth for the second time that evening. “You can’t take anything I said seriously. I’m probably hallucinating,” he croaked out. “You know, from the whole dying thing?”
“You’re such a people pleaser, Stiles,” the Succubus complimented, stroking his cheek. His tone implied that he wouldn’t be fooled that easily. “All those people back home depending on you. It makes me wonder what you do for you.”
He hummed appreciatively. “You’re so busy taking care of others, when is the last time you’ve bothered to be selfish?”
Stiles cracked a weak smile. “You really think that’s going to work?”
“I think I heard a lot of other people named in why you want to live,” he replied simply. “I didn’t hear much about what you need… or want.”
“You know what I think?” Stiles asked, his weak smiling growing. “I think you can’t turn me without my consent. I think it’s one of those supernatural mumbo-jumbo rules or something.”
The creature stilled on top of him. “You’re so clever… and yet so stupid.”
Stiles felt the cold rush of air as the man shifted his weight off of him. He tried to turn his head and see where he’d gone but Stiles could only shift his eyes. His limbs were limp, the weight of his body sinking deeper into the mattress. He couldn’t even flail – and Stiles was kick ass at flailing – as the Succubus moved him around like a ragdoll. A few uncomfortable adjustments later and Stiles was facedown on the mattress. Stiles felt a tremble of fear as the pillow that had been tucked under his head was moved to his hips so that his ass was arched into the air.
“What are you doing?” Stiles demanded, panicked.
“I’m not a werewolf, Stiles,” the man replied smoothly. “I’m a Succubus. How did you think I was going to turn you?”
Stiles made a face into the pillow. “I still haven’t said yes. It won’t work without my consent.”
Fingers dripping in lube began to loosen parts of his body that Stiles himself had never tried to loosen. “I have a feeling you’ll be saying yes by the end of this.” Stiles couldn’t help the moan that tore from his throat thanks to the influx of pleasure the creature was forcing into his psyche. Stiles tried to take comfort in the fact that the pain he would normally be feeling was being well hidden. “You only have one more climax left in you, Stiles. You’ll either give in or it’ll kill you.”
“What a way to go, though, right?” Stiles asked bitterly.
There wasn’t much conversation after that. Not that Stiles was expecting much pillow talk from the Succubus. He knew what the creature wanted out of that silence; knew that it was meant to stretch out. Stiles hated himself for falling into that trap of silence where there was nothing for him to do but think. And poor Stiles with his ADHD was basically thinking a mile a minute. Most of his time was spent thinking about dying or waking up as something no longer human.
But his first priority was to avoid thinking about the fingers stretching him open. Stiles definitely didn’t think about how amazing it felt having someone poke at his prostate like it was the best piñata ever. He refused to moan at the feeling of being filled by something so much larger than a bundle of fingers pushing through his tight ring of muscles. Stiles ignored the need to meet the smooth, constant thrusts of the being behind him.
Yeah, Stiles definitely didn’t do any of that.
It felt like an eternity of thrusts and position changes before the end came. Stiles felt the slow build of his final orgasm begin the moment the Succubus had entered him fully. In the time that stretched on from that moment he’d rode the wave of ecstasy that kept arching ever higher, constantly threatening to crash and drown him. When the moment finally came it felt as if Stiles really were dying.
His heart was pounding in his chest. His lungs were straining for oxygen they were too weak to inhale. Stiles had gone blind halfway through and all he could feel was sweat and the body thrusting inside of him. But it wasn’t until that burning heat was being replaced by ice that Stiles realized he was truly going to die.
And Stiles really didn’t want to die. So he chose life.
Loudly and repeatedly.