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Don't Feed the Wolves

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The final nail in his coffin came when he rounded a bend, got himself tangled in a monstrous bush and came out the other side realizing he couldn’t see his jeep anymore. It was time to finally admit this had been a monumentally stupid idea. He should turn around right now, while he still had a chance of finding his way back, any further and he was in real danger of getting lost out here all night.

 Lost. In the dark. In werewolf territory.

He was a senior, he should've know better. Everyone knew Jackson Whittmore was an unwashed asshole, so Stiles couldn’t believe he’d caved to that guy’s peer pressure bullshit. Something like this was bound to happen if he showed up at the guy’s house. But getting an invite to the party had been a miracle in the first place, and there had been a lot of something sweet and deadly finding its way down his throat in the beginning, enough to make him feel like he was safe. Like the fact that there were hundreds of his school mates packed into this house, lights down and music cranked, meant that Jackson would be too busy to notice Stiles’ wobbly baby foal attempt to chat up his girl.

He noticed. Stiles braced for a fist to the gut, but instead got an arm looped around his shoulder when he tried to slide away.

“We should send Little Red!” Jackson, reeking of sour-cheap beer, breathed right into his face.

Full moon out, and the jocks had been howling and jumping on the furniture all night and why why why had he worn this stupid red hoodie?

But then Lydia was actually making eye contact with him while Jackson goaded him on, arching her brow as if Stiles might do something that could hold her attention for more time than it took to flip her perfect strawberry hair.

None of his excuses worked, and he should have just run out of there full tilt because there was nothing that sent up a red flag faster than Jackson in a good mood, acting nice. All the other jocks circled and cheered.

And of course Scott was nowhere to be found because, Allison.

So, predictably, cut to Stiles, in the middle of the night, stumbling through - trespassing through - the very clearly marked border between the county of Beacon Hills and the Hale property with its “Do Not Enter: Werewolf Territory” signs everywhere, the black wolf head with red eyes on a yellow background staring at him as Stiles pulled his hood over his head and hurried on.

 He wondered how much farther the house was. Not too far, he imagined. When the Hales had lived there, they’d come into town now and then; some people liked to brag that they’d been friends with a few of them. But no one had ever been on their land but the Sheriff and a few of his deputies because the town charter had always been very clear.

 Humans couldn’t expect any legal protection if they tried to cross the border.

 “That place has been abandoned for years, should be a piece of cake, right Stilinski?”

 “You fucking do this man! You’ll be a legend! Stilin-ski! Stilin-ski! Stilin-ski!

Right, Jackson, sure, no problem. Just walk up to the spooky abandoned mansion in the middle of the woods, pry off the door knocker as a trophy and make it back without getting murdered then eaten by the mutated zombie wolf rumored to be out here. Or was it a ghost wolf bent on vengeance? Whatever, point was, everybody knew you didn’t fucking go into these woods in the daylight with police backup which was why, of course, Stiles was out here alone in the dark with a flashlight that was slowly dying on him.

His heart felt like it was going to pound its way out of his chest. He smacked the side of the light and it flared for another few seconds before dimming again. The trees hoarded most of the natural the light, but it was bright enough under the full moon that he could see just  enough to know he was officially completely lost.

“Fuck.” Stiles cursed under his breath, quickening his pace because if he could still find the house, maybe he could find the remains of the road they used to use years ago.

He was not going to think about werewolves. He was not going to let his mind wander at every little rustle and snapping twig. There were a lot of other animals out here, it was a preserve for shit sake. Deer and racoons and….and….

He heard the growl before he saw the eyes. Red eyes, low to the ground and watching him from the trees.

Stiles ran.

And goddamnit, it was like he hadn’t spent huge chunks of time online researching every little thing he could find about werewolves. Hadn’t gone to all the websites, wolf and human, even the trashy ones that dealt in smut glazed rumor. Even porn. (Especially porn) And they all knew that rule number one was if a werewolf’s locked onto you….do not fucking run.

But he couldn’t help it, his heart was going to explode and the adrenaline just took over his body before his mind could object. He heard a howl behind him, chilling, gleeful. Careening through the trees, branches tearing at his clothes, snagging his hood until he lost his footing. The ground was covered in soft, dry leaves and they made so much fucking noise as he scrambled back to his feet and flew off deeper into the woods.

He could hear the wolf chasing, smell his own sweat and taste a drop of blood on his lip. The werewolf jumped out from his left and Stiles screamed, cutting right and somehow making it. He tore down a gully and up over a log and the wolf swiped at him from behind a tree. Stiles jerked back and veered through a space where the branches began to thin. Twice more he dodged just in time, lungs burning, legs numb. The thing behind him was yipping, grunting, but not catching up.

Stiles almost stumbled in surprise. It definitely should have caught him by now, werewolves were faster, stronger. Alphas doubly so, and red eyes meant this thing was an Alpha.

It was playing with him.

Stiles slowed his pace just a little, unable to help himself from turning to look. And that’s when it pounced.

The two bodies went down in graceless barrel rolls before Stiles found himself pinned by a heavy mass, clawed hands holding down his wrists and knees bracketing his hips in place. Instinctively he turned his head, squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to actually see the teeth when they sank into his throat.

But nothing happened. And Stiles opened one eye to figure out why.

He was prepared for the sight of a Beta shifted face, in fact, he was grateful for it because he would have been seriously shit out of luck if this thing was in its Alpha form. What he wasn’t expecting was for the guy to scent him quickly in the neck, roll off his body and then shift back into human, still squatting on all fours two feet away.

Mostly human, he still had the teeth and the claws, but his eyes were some kind of pale hybrid color he couldn’t quite pick out and Stiles was struck dumb by the discovery that the man was seriously, reality-alteringly gorgeous.

And naked.

Gorgeous and naked and huge.

Streaked in dirt, sweat matting the hair on his chest and thighs, boulder-thick muscles rolling under his skin as he shifted left and right, watching Stiles with something more akin to curiosity than aggression. Which was a blessing because even curled on his haunches Stiles could tell the man would dwarf him if he unfolded to his full height.

A true Alpha wolf.

God, if he had an ounce of sense he would be backing away slowly. But he couldn’t seem to move, because, holy shit when was he ever going to get a chance to be this close to a real, live half-shifted werewolf again, especially one so scorchingly hot, even with the fangs?

Who was he kidding, Stiles had beaten off to stuff like this for years. He might concede he was bi in general, but when it came to the werewolf population, his dick was gay as hell. So this situation was sending his body more than a few mixed signals.

“Hey buddy,” Stiles tried for the soft lilt used with animals or small children. Werewolves were still people, just people deluxe as he liked to call them, but it was a full moon out and there was no telling in a situation like this if the guy might be feral or not. “I just...I made a mistake and got lost and I promise I’ll turn right back around and leave and you’ll never see me here again. I swear. I would just really, really appreciate it if none of my body parts found their way through your digestive tract.”

The werewolf huffed out through his nose, turned in a circle and scented the air, then dropped his gaze back to Stiles.

“Can you….understand me big guy?”

And because his father was right that he didn’t have the sense God gave a grapefruit, Stiles extended a hand. He knew scent was important to wolves and he hoped his communicated that he wasn’t a threat. The wolf let him get close, close enough that Stiles’ fingers could feel the heat pouring off the man’s skin. They sat there, suspended, Stiles with his arm outstretched, just barely a foot from the werewolf’s shoulder, while the guy stared flatly at him.

Nothing happened. His hand remained attached to his arm.

Feeling bolder, or suicidal depending on who you asked, Stiles stretched his fingers, just a little, and closed the distance. He barely got a chance to register the rasp of stubble on the man’s cheek because the moment their skin connected, he found himself knocked on his back again.

“Whoa whoa hey!”

The man’s face buried itself in Stiles’ neck and began huffing lungfuls of his scent, running his nose all over, trying to burrow into the collar of the hoodie and getting frustrated at the hindrance. Well, feral or not, the guy knew how to work a zipper, that was for sure. Not ripped off, but dragged delicately down to Stiles’ belly between two razor edged claws, so carefully deliberate it made Stiles mouth dry and his heart fall off tempo. Peeling back the fabric, diving in, Stiles squirmed and gasped beneath him. He might have been terrified for his own life only seconds ago, but the moment the wolf began licking at him, long, savoring swipes of his tongue up and down Stiles’ neck, over his collarbones and along his jaw, he was done for. His head fell back into the dirt.

“Oh god!”

Blood pooled in his groin, filling his aching cock. The wolf pulled back, sniffed around him then grumbled in approval. Oh god that’s right, he could smell how excited Stiles just became. And liked it. There wasn’t enough memory left in his kink drive for all the shit he was saving for later.

“I’ve gotta be hallucinating right now. Or maybe you already killed me and this is my brain’s way of dealing with the shock.”

Two strong, claw tipped hands encircled his hips and yanked Stiles’ lower half up so that his groin was lifted right up into the guy’s face. The werewolf breathed him in, rubbing his cheeks over the hard line of Stiles’ erection until he thought he would burst, arms flailing out uselessly, trying to find something to hold.

“Oh hey, wait! I don’t know what you--”

The distinctive sound of his jeans being torn open at the waistband was jarring in the open-air hush of the woods. His fear flashed back instantly and it all came crashing down on him that he had no earthly way of protecting himself from this creature.

The were had managed to shred his pants and boxers enough that he could shove them down to Stiles’ ankles, but the moment Stiles began to panic, he stopped, looked up at him again with that strangely curious expression and whined. He lowered Stiles hips back to the ground and crept back a few paces, scenting the air. He stayed there, just beyond reach while Stiles stared at the forest ceiling and caught his breath, eventually turning to look at the werewolf when his whimpering grew fractionally louder. He looked confused and…..contrite? Could that term even be applied to a feral Alpha? His heartbeat calmed. On instinct, Stiles stretched out his arm along the carpet of leaves and earth, uncoiled his fingers to brush at the bolt of one broad knuckle. Dipping his head, the werewolf scented carefully at Stiles’ hand, head snaking as he gradually followed the trail up his arm until he’d slunk his way back to Stiles’ side. As Stiles lay there watching, fascinated, the man began to gently nuzzle at the exposed skin of Stiles’ belly, running his nose and lips along the heated flesh so softly that Stiles began to relax even more, all while listening to those soft, pained whines that deflated the last of Stiles’ fear. When the werewolf shifted up to his neck, nosing behind his ear and under his jaw, quiet, panting whimpers batting against him in warm breath, the arousal that had abated some came bleeding back. And when Stiles felt teeth at his neck, just enough pressure to dent the skin, he groaned and went limp, acknowledging somewhere that if he made it through this he and his sexual response center were going to have a serious talk.

 The wolf rumbled, the vibrations going straight through his teeth and into Stiles’ body, like hot needles plunging deep, expelling liquor and opiates, overriding his system. Stiles moaned and arched, rubbing his cock into the man’s trim stomach, the dark whorls of hair along his unfairly perfect set of abs scritching and gripping his shaft so good. With his mouth still latched around the joint of Stiles’ neck, the werewolf shook him once by the teeth, a shiver of movement only just hard enough to feel possessive.

Then the man released him abruptly, sat up on his knees and hoisted Stiles’ hips straight up into the air at inhuman speed. Stiles’ knees folded into his chest, legs dangling awkwardly, the bunched up fabric of his pants hitting him in the face. The werewolf held him practically upside down like he weighed nothing, his ass completely exposed, and he didn’t even get a chance to fill his lungs with air before there was a long, hot tongue dragging up the cleft of his ass, circling the rim and corkscrewing into his tight, virgin hole.

“OH! Ahh ha- hah- Jesus fuck there’s a- nnghhaaAAHH!  You have your tongue in my asshole, Sir! Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod!”

The wolf was steadily devouring him, lapping roughly at the sensitive skin, sucking the pink bud, drilling his tongue hard and deep, scooping the slick walls inside before mouthing wet and sloppy like he was starving for it. And Stiles had never felt anything so amazing in his life.

And the sounds above him, hungry, animal grunts, it was doing things for Stiles that were so very, very wrong. God he couldn’t believe how filthy, how unashamed this guy was in his enthusiasm, as if Stiles was the only thing that could satisfy him. It occurred to him, in an out of body sort of way, that he was currently screaming, writhing, trying to shove back to get more like a desperate whore. Fuck he’d never done anything before, never even been kissed and here he was half stripped on the forest floor while a werewolf feasted on his ass. Strong hands kneaded the globes of his buttocks, held him open and in place, making Stiles take it.

And that was what did him in. Almost without warning Stiles came violently, clawing at the dirt, wailing and seizing up and the wolf didn’t slow down one bit. Too sensitive, Stiles twisted and whimpered, come running up his chest, slithering around his neck, and that tongue just tasted and took until he sobbed from the glut of pleasure. Every tastebud felt huge against his twitching skin, the thick, wet muscle stabbing deeper, working his loosening rim open.

Then it stopped, and he found himself flipped belly down, listening to the distinctive sound of skin on skin, rapid and desperate. Warm stripes of come painted Stiles’ ass as the wolf howled. More and more and more, dripping between his cheeks and down his balls, sticky and copious and god he fucking liked it. He liked the dirty wet feel of getting covered in so much come.

“So…..so….I mean wow you were-- wait, what - what are you doing?!”

What he was doing was rubbing it in, pinning Stiles down by the small of his back while he massaged the come into his skin, coating his balls, kneading them with surprisingly gentle hands, wiping it across his back and every inch of his ass while Stiles squirmed and moaned then squeaked when he was flipped over again. He was given the same treatment with his own come across his belly. He made a face at the streaks of dirt he could see mixed with his spunk, the feeling of the werewolf’s saliva cooling as it dripped from his hole.

In the dark, the Alpha’s eyes glowed red.

oOo

“Dude, you alive? I looked for you last night but couldn’t find you!”

Stiles trudged up the stairs and into his room, almost dropping the phone when he got a look at himself in the mirror. He was still holding his ruined jeans around his waist with one hand, the other holding his cell to his ear. His favorite red hoodie was a complete mess, stretched out and covered in filth. He had a branch with a tiny pinecone bud in his hair. His neck was covered in purple marks and beard burn, and he knew his ass probably looked about the same.

“You looked for me, huh?”

“Weeeelll…”

“You mean you took your eyes off Allison’s breasts for one point four seconds to scan the room before leaving for her place.”

“I thought you were having fun! Anyway, I’m outside, I’ll be up in a sec, I got something amazing I gotta tell you!”

“Bet I can beat you.” Stiles muttered at the disconnected line.

Stiles was just pulling out clean clothes when Scott barged into his room.

“She said it, Stiles! She-- holy shit what happened to you?!”

“What happened is you left me and I got talked into sneaking onto the Hale property like some very special episode punk. Oh yeah, and I met my first werewolf. Pretty sure it was feral.”

Scott’s eyes went huge and Stiles rolled his in return. “Oh my god, what happened? Did it hurt you?”

“Well, he chased me through the woods, tackled me to the ground…..and then rimmed me blind.”

“OH MY…..wait. I don’t get it.”

“A werewolf. Tongue-fucked my asshole. Until I came so hard I went blind. I’m blind now. I can’t see you.” Stiles rubbed a hand over his face and noticed in the mirror he’d only smeared more dirt on himself. Scott looked on horrified. “I don’t even want to think about what kind of person it makes me that I liked it. Like, really, really liked it.” Scott scrunched up his face.

“Dude.”

“I know.”

Dude.”

“Yeah, it’s gonna be a major let down if I ever have a normal, vanilla sexual experience after this.”

“But are you ok? Cause that sounds….”

“I’m fine, cause you know what’s weird? He was all wolfed out and scary for a minute there, but then I got freaked, and he backed off. Like, tried to...comfort me? I don’t know how to explain it, and I just…..you know what, I’m gonna take a shower. Then you can tell me your big news. I have ten bucks on you guys dropping the L word on each other.”

Stiles smiled to himself as Scott squawked in disbelief at his best friend ruining his big surprise. He shut the bathroom door, stared at it a moment before locking it. Turning on the shower, Stiles undressed himself and took a hard look in the mirror. Besides being disheveled, he could see the dried streaks of come on his stomach and across his hips, feel the tight, itchy pull of it and smell the rich, fecund scent of the wolf’s spunk and his own sweat mingling on his skin. It should be disgusting, he’d kind of always imagined his first sexual experience to involve more perfume and vanilla lip gloss rubbing off on him, but the maleness of it, the primal animal tang filled his nose and made his cock thicken.

There was a significant bruise on his neck, a single purpling mark stitched with neat little dents. Stiles ran a finger over it, remembered the way the werewolf had gripped him in his teeth like he owned Stiles. He pressed two fingers into the mark, groaning at the way the pain tinted ache ran down his spine, stiffening his dick further until he was panting.

“You ok in there?”

Stiles jumped, heartbeat jittering with guilt.

“Yup, all good!”

He jumped into the shower, letting the hot spray run over him.

After the wolf had finished shellacking him with come, the guy had dropped belly down on top of Stiles, asleep and snoring right against his face almost instantly. Stiles had hummed and poked him in the ribs, but when he wouldn’t wake, Stiles actively tried to roll the guy off him, only to discover that he was woefully unprepared to bench press two hundred pounds of naked wolf-man off his chest. He’d woken up at dawn, clumsily redressed, lying next to his jeep. He must have been carried there in his sleep, which had struck him as a weirdly nice gesture.

Rubbing the soap over his arms and belly, Stiles moved around to his ass and felt the odd slip-slickness of so much come as it was rinsed away. He dared a pass between his cheeks, finger brushing against his hole, gasping at how sensitive it felt. It didn’t feel swollen, just tender, the nerves alight at the tiniest pressure. A raw feeling sting lit up his backside, beard burn, he realized. A man had done this, not some other skinny teen fumbling with him in a parent’s basement. And not just a man, and Alpha werewolf. With that thought on point, Stiles slid one soapy finger smoothly inside himself, biting back a curse at the sudden jolt of pleasure. The angle was off, but he managed to work it in enough of a rhythm that it didn’t take more than a few strokes to his dick before he was choking back a stuttered cry, the memory of sharp teeth and beautiful green eyes following him down.