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Silver Linings

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I’m such a slut. That was the only thing Stiles’ brain could come up with at the moment. Just kept playing that thought on loop, and whispering insidious ideas about how if anyone came outside right now, that would be all they could think about Stiles too - what a slut he was.


The wall was hard against Stiles’ chest. The werewolf at his back felt even more solid. He could still hear the steady thump of the music from inside the club and the traffic from the street out front of the building. If Stiles had anything like patience or self-respect, he wouldn’t be doing this in the alley behind the bar.


The man behind him pressed the head of his cock against Stiles’ opening, where he was still slick and open from the previous two times he’d fucked him, and pressed not-quite-fangs against his neck.


Little pinpricks of pain stuttered to life at both points of contact, radiating outward until they met in the middle. Stiles whined and wiggled like he wanted to get away. The way his cock throbbed and his stomach tightened in anticipation said it was all for show. The shimmying caused the jeans that had been pushed to just below the curve of his ass to slip down around his thighs and prevent him from spreading his legs further the way he wanted.


The werewolf scraped his teeth over the flesh of Stiles’ throat, somewhere between a rough caress and a threat. “None of that now darling. We both know you’re gagging to take it again.” It should sound like a taunt, but the other man cooed it out like something soft and sweet.


Impatient lust licked a fire up Stiles’ spine, burning away everything other than the need to be filled. Stiles arched his back into the press of that hot, unyielding erection, even as he whimpered in discomfort. He was just so empty , and this man filled him up so well, stretched him out to the point he almost struggled to take it. It was a sparkling high he just couldn’t get enough of.


Tall, Dark, and Furry hummed in approval and tightened his hold on Stiles’ hip, digging into places already tender with the beginnings of bruises. “Good boy,” he growled out. He pressed in with his fingers more deliberately, letting just a hint of claw perforate the skin. With anyone other than Stiles it might seem like a threat or a punishment; they both knew it was a reward.


Almost every inch of Stiles’ body pulsed with a dull ache. He trembled in place and tried to shove back to take what he wanted despite knowing he wasn’t going to be allowed to move a millimeter. Desperation churned in his gut. He couldn’t wait anymore. He needed to be fucked and he needed it now . Stiles leaned his head back against the werewolf’s shoulder and bobbed his head in the approximation of a nod. “Please. I’ll be so good.” He’d be willing to do just about anything to get that cock back in him. Anything to feel that swell of overwhelmed ecstasy that built until it pushed everything out of his brain and left behind a cottony haze.


A dark, sensuous laugh skated across Stiles’ skin. “I know you will sweet boy. So perfect for me.” There was so much dark possessive pride bleeding through his voice. It was too much for strangers just hooking up; it was everything Stiles wanted right now.


That laugh reached inside of Stiles and tugged on the pleasure centers of his brain, shaking something loose. The last of his overburdened patience snapped and the whiplash felt like it cut him to bloody ribbons. He scrabbled at the wall in front of him, desperate for something to hold on to, something to ground himself with. The pain of scraping his fingertips raw worked nicely.


The other man rumbled something sort of like a purr. “Reach back now darling and spread yourself open for me. Show me how much you want me filling up your needy little hole.”


A bloom of humiliation unfurled in Stiles’ admittedly unstable consciousness. He thought he’d abandoned all shame hours ago, apparently not. Doggedly snapping at the heels of his embarrassment was a wash of arousal so strong it made his knees weak. Achingly slowly, Stiles moved shaking hands down and back to grip his own ass and pull himself apart. Just that was enough to stretch his used hole and a little flare of pain rippled along his nerve endings. He cried out, the noise caught somewhere between expressing agony and ecstasy, and a bead of precum dribbled out of his slit.


The man behind him chuckled, low and a little mean. He brought the hand on Stiles’ hip down to swipe a thumb over the head of his cock and gather up the little swell of moisture. “Slut,” he chided playfully, something that sounded an awful lot like fondness in his tone. He lifted his hand and pressed the pad of his thumb against Stiles’ lips expectantly.


Greedily, Stiles sucked the slick digit inside his mouth with a tortured moan, his own taste making him hungry for more in a way that should have felt way more wrong than it did. Need was surging inside him, beating a steady drumbeat of desire against the inside of his skull. It felt like every cell in his body was straining toward release, and he burned with the need to chase it. No longer held rigidly in place, he bucked back against the hard body and straining erection of his partner.


“I’d tell you to be patient baby, but now that I know exactly what that ass feels like wrapped around my cock. Patience is a goal for better men than me.” With that he rolled his hips forward and seated himself inside Stiles in one long, slow push that was somehow more brutal than a quick jab would have been.


The unrelenting press of flesh into his sore and swollen hole was indescribably good. The measured pace forced Stiles to feel himself opening up and making space for the dick forcing his body to yield. With each inch it sank in, Stiles felt his body try to resist instinctively, too worn out to possibly accept more, but inevitably give way. Pleasure and pain danced intricate choreography along Stiles’ nerve endings, lighting up his brain with a supernova of sensation he couldn’t distinguish as either. He didn’t care; he wanted more of it either way. “Yes,” Stiles hissed out, drawing out the sibilant sound. With the last of his energy, he turned his head to the side and found the werewolf’s neck with his mouth. He bit down harshly, until the metallic taste of blood faintly coated his tongue.


The werewolf growled and tilted his face just enough to flash his eyes at Stiles. “Oh baby. You shouldn’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.” He curled his body over Stiles’ more fully, caging him in. The other man wasn’t thrusting, but each movement of his body, even his breathing, caused his dick to move incrementally inside the body he was buried in.


Strength bled from Stiles’ overworked body, deserted him entirely under the force of those slight push-pulls of the thick cock spearing him open. It did nothing to quell his rebellious spirit; in so many ways the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak. He withdrew his teeth from the other man’s skin. “I haven’t promised you anything yet,” he mumbled against the skin already knitting itself back together beneath his lips. He rolled his head against the other man’s shoulder so that he could look him the face. “You think the third time will be the charm? You think this time you can get me to make some? Want me promising to give you anything you want daddy, as long as you keep fucking me? Think you can make me?”


A growl loud enough to be classified as a soft roar tore itself out of the werewolf’s throat and he surged forward that last little bit, erasing what little space there had been left, crushing Stiles between the wall and his body. “Every word out of your mouth makes my wolf want to break you.” He leaned forward and nipped at the curve of Stiles’ ear, fangs cutting in and drawing blood. “But I like you feisty and smart-mouthed, refusing to give in even when you’re clearly beaten; I don’t think you’d be nearly as fun to toy with if I broke you.”


A shiver raced up Stiles’ spine and his eyes slipped closed. Fuck , but he wanted that. “Try anyway,” he breathed. He opened his eyes again and met the other man’s frank appraisal with a hard stare, desire and determination laid bare on his face. “C’mon. See if you can break me.” A self destructive taunt meant to goad his partner into seeing if they could both reach out and grasp that dangerous temptation that shimmered through Stiles’ mind’s eye at the thought.


The werewolf huffed an incredulous-sounding laugh and slipped a hand over the nape of Stiles’ neck. He squeezed firmly and shoved, pushing Stiles’ face against the brick and forcing his back into more of an arch. With his other hand he knocked Stiles’ own hands off his body where he’d been sort of lazily still holding himself open. “And this is why you don’t have to promise me anything sweetheart; you’ve already offered up everything I could possibly want,” he purred while he curled a hand over Stiles’ hip. “All I have to do is come and get it.” With that understated warning, the werewolf clamped down with both hands, claws pricking delicate skin, and began pounding roughly into Stiles.


Euphoria detonated in Stiles’ brain, whitewashing his awareness and leaving him with nothing but the trembling shocks of pleasure that sparkled like fireworks behind his eyelids with every jarring thrust. There wasn’t enough air in his lungs for Stiles to whimper and moan, but that didn’t stop his throat from trying to make the noises all the same. Yes . It was so perfect he couldn’t do anything but let his body sing a sweet song of surrender to it. He went limp in the other man’s hold and gave himself up to simply be taken .