Stiles saw …them from across the dance floor, leaned back with one elbow hiked up on the bar, one foot braced against the stool, knees wide. Faded jeans, leather jacket, scuffed up boots.
Stiles didn’t know or frankly care what their gender might be; they were hot as hell and looking daddy as fuck and there was very little Stiles wanted more in that moment than to sink to their knees between those thick thighs. Nameless Hottie looked up, caught Stiles staring, and fucking smirked in a way that should’ve been illegal in all fifty states and Puerto Rico too.
And, well, they’d never exactly been shy about going after what they wanted, so they shrugged off the hands of the rando they’d been dancing with and skirted the knot of dancers to get to the bar. And if they swung their hips a little extra on their way over, slutting it up as much as they could, who would know the difference?
Fuck, picking people up in loud places was always awkward as hell. “Sorry, what?”
“Der. As in, I double-dog-dare you.” No longer nameless but just as hot, Der looked Stiles up and down. Slow. Obvious. “You smoke?”
“I do when it’s a chance to get outside.”
Der just smirked again, lifting one eyebrow, and pushed through the crowd to the doors.
“Sooo, you got a pronoun you like best?”
“You care if I do?” Der asked, pulling out a crinkled pack and lighting up.
“Not really, no, but I just like to be respectful.”
“In that case. It’s ‘she.’ What about you, sweet thing, what d’you want me to call you?” She was closer, suddenly, close enough to make Stiles’ mouth dry and their thighs wet under their miniskirt.
“She. They. Boy.”
“That so? You want me to call you boy, push you around a little? You gonna be a good boy for daddy?”
Stiles looked up at her, thunking their head back against the dirty wall, feeling their chest get even tighter under the binder. “Yeah… daddy, yeah.”
Der took one last drag and stubbed the smoke out not even a foot from their head, leaning in to ask, “You got a safeword? Anywhere I shouldn’t touch?” She stood only a few inches away from Stiles, looming even though she was an inch or two shorter—if she just leaned closer, they’d be pressed tight neck to knees.
“Yeah, Finstock. And, uh, no, you can touch me anywhere. Just don’t take my binder off. What about you?”
“Finstock works me for, baby boy. I’m stone, y’know?” Stiles nodded, not quite believing their luck. “But I think we’ll have plenty of fun just me touchin’ you, won’t we? I’m gonna kiss you now.”
And then they were pressed together, Der’s big body pressing Stiles against the bricks, rough through their thin clothes. She didn’t waste time with gentle pecks or teasing little kisses, just took Stiles’ mouth like it was already hers and fucking claimed it, biting their lips, fucking into them with her tongue.
Stiles keened and arched up, pushing away from the wall and towards Der and—
“You hard packed, daddy?” they whined in Der’s mouth, grinding helplessly against the unmistakable line of her cock.
“Mhmm. Never know when I’m gonna run into a needy, desperate slut like you, do I? Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”
Stiles’ answer was lost in the next kiss, and the next one; Der’s hands were strong and relentless, pulling at their hair, their hips, pressing their shoulders into the wall. They moaned loud and unashamed when she ducked down to bite at their collarbones.
“Hn? Oh, yeah, fuck, please.”
She sucked what felt like the mother of all hickeys high on their neck, biting down and twisting, before she moved on to the other side. Stiles thought maybe they were screaming, but they didn’t really care—it hurt so bad, and they were so wet, so fucking desperate. They hooked their leg behind Der’s knee, pulled her closer, closer, until her cock pressed painfully against their cunt and gasped, “Daddy, please,” without thinking.
Der pulled back enough to ask, “Please what?” and Stiles whined at the loss. “I asked you a question, boy. What are you sayin’ please for?”
Stiles hadn’t known, when they first said it, but now that they had to answer, they couldn’t think of anything else. “Can I suck you, daddy? Wanna get on my knees for you?”
“Oh yeah? Right in this dirty alley?”
“Uh-huh. I need it.”
“Little slut,” she chuckled, sounding fond. “All right then. Just for you.” She pulled Stiles away from the wall and leaned where they’d just been, unbuttoning her fly and pulling her cock out. It was too dark to really tell the color, but it glittered something like indigo in the low light. Stiles started to kneel down but Der grabbed their waist, spinning them around to face away from the wall and keeping them up. “One thing first, boy. Bend over and tug that little skirt up for me, huh? Show me how bad you want daddy’s cock in your dirty mouth.”
Stiles immediately blushed, hot and red all the way to their ears, but bent over as instructed. Short as their skirt was, they didn’t think they really needed to pull it up any further, but they hiked it up until it scrunched around their waist, wondering as they did so—
“Oh, that’s nice, sweet thing. That’s real nice. Your underwear is so wet I can see right through it.” Stiles whimpered, embarrassed, but Der just kept talking. “You know what, baby, I think you should just take it off. It’s not hiding anything anyway. Let me see how wet and sloppy you are, yeah?” Mortified and turned on in equal amounts, they grabbed the waistband of their panties and pulled them down below their ass. “Good boy. So wet for me. Keep going, though. Take them all the way off.”
Her hands cupped their ass, fingers digging in and spreading them wide. Stiles folded at the waist to roll the underwear down and step out, a little weak-kneed but not so much Der’s strong hands couldn’t keep them upright. “Can I suck you now, please?” they pleaded, the cool night inside their cunt a conspicuous counterpoint to their flaming face.
“Almost, sweetheart, almost,” she murmured, her thumbs coming down to stroke at either side of Stiles’ slick hole. “Let me look at you first.”
“You don’t mind, do you? You remember what to say if you want it to stop?” Der’s hands stopped moving, but as soon as Stiles whined out their affirmation, she spread them wide open with one callused hand and traced the stretched edge of their cunt with one finger from the other hand.
“Fuck me, please, it’s not enough.”
“Oh?” Der pushed one finger in, slow enough Stiles could feel the bulge of each knuckle. “You don’t want to suck daddy’s cock any more?”
“No. Yes. I don’t—both, I want both.”
“Which one first?”
Stiles sucked in deep, rasping breaths of air, trying to clear their head enough to answer with one—no, two—of Der’s fingers fucking implacably into them. They could hear it as well as feel it, the wet schlick of their hungry cunt loud in the empty alley. They were desperate to be filled, to get properly fucked, but they knew, too, that if they gave into that urge now, they wouldn’t have any coordination left for anything else after. “Blow you, please.”
Der’s hands wiped themselves clean on her hip and vanished; with nothing but their own wobbly legs to support them, Stiles nearly fell on their face. “Get to it then, slut. Make it good for daddy and I’ll fuck you up against that wall, huh?”
Stiles spun and half-knelt, half-collapsed at Der’s feet, their knees scraping on the dirty asphalt, and made a show of licking her cock—around the head, down one side and up the other. Ostentatious. But functional; Stiles’ oral fixation wasn’t picky, and they knew from experience that silicone took a lot more spit to deepthroat than skin, or even latex.
They knew what they must look like, naked from the waist down, on their knees on the dirty ground, and moaned at the thought. Their cunt was wet and needy, dripping down from their thighs to their ankles. The more they thought about how nasty it was, getting turned on this way, the hornier they got… and the hornier they got, well…
Once Der’s cock was well and truly wet, they relaxed their jaw and sank down onto it, rolling their eyes up to meet Der’s. Her mouth hung a little open, pupils huge under the flickering street lights. They took the whole thing in their mouth—thankfully Der wasn’t the type to run around packing a monster dick—and let it slowly slide out from between their stretched lips.
“Will you fuck me now, daddy?”
The hand in Stiles’ hair came around to cup their cheek, thumb stroking along their sloppy bottom lip. “You think you earned it already, boy?”
“You need it?”
“Yes, daddy, please.”
“In my cunt, please, I’m so wet already.”
“Well, get up here.”
Stiles stood on their unsteady legs and immediately found themselves pressed face-first into the wall, legs kicked wide apart, hips tilted up obscenely. “Ohhh… daddy, fuck.”
“You like that? Like getting pushed around?”
They nodded drunkenly, scratching their face on the bricks, crying out when Der shoved two, three fingers into them roughly.
“You’re so fucking wet, boy. Bet you don’t need me to get you ready at all, do you?”
“No, daddy, c’mon, just fuck me now.”
She didn’t bother saying anything else. Or easing in, for that matter. One second Stiles’ cunt was clenching down on empty air and the next they were full, so gloriously full, Der’s coarse jeans and cool leather jacket pressing against their bare ass, her rough hands gripping their hips so hard they were probably already bruising, her cock pounding unrelenting against their cervix.
They folded their arms in front of their face in an effort to not get shoved skull-first through the brick wall, rolled onto their toes and rocked back on taut legs to get fucked harder, harder, but the rest of them went limp. Pliant. Moaning with every thrust in, whimpering with every drag back out.
It didn’t take long, after that. Before they quite knew what was happening, Der’s teeth were closing over the back of their neck and they were screaming and sobbing their way through an earthquake of an orgasm, Der’s arms wrapped tight around them.
“We’ve got a bit of an audience, baby boy.”
“Lucky them,” Stiles slurred, giving absolutely zero shits. “I don’t have legs anymore, so they can get fucking used to it.”
“Want me to take you home?”
“If I say yes, how many more orgasms do I get tonight?”