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Premeditated

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Between the chaos of the first day at school, the trauma of Scott's tattoo, and the news of a fucking Alpha Pack, Stiles forgot all about his dad's little slip to Chris Argent before his head hit the pillow that night.

The next day at school passed without any major werewolf-related incidents as long Stiles ignored the weird new marks on Allison and Lydia's arms and the boarded-up windows in the classroom. It wasn't normal the way freshman year had been normal but it was calm enough for him to be humming by the time he hit up the gas station for snacks after school. Next week, there would be cross-country and a growing pile of homework but for now it was Stiles' personal time. If that involved a pound of beef jerky, six hours of WoW, and jerking off three times, nobody could judge. Stiles' time.

It was cooler outside with the small breeze; as soon as Stiles let the door jingle closed he wanted to make a run for it. It had to be close to ninety degrees inside and tiny, with all three aisles jammed close together like an invitation for Stiles to incite chaos in the form of a domino effect. He shuffled carefully toward the back, where the coolers made up an entire wall. He opened the door and lingered there just to bask in the blast of air conditioning that chilled the sweat running down his forehead and neck.

He had just grabbed a bottle of Mountain Dew when the little bell rang and in walked none other than Chris Argent.

Stiles dropped the bottle.

When Scott described Mr. Argent, it was usually in terms of how terrifying he looked today. They'd developed a scale. Stiles had never questioned it because usually when he ran into Chris Argent it was in the middle of a werewolf crisis. That was always pretty damn scary.

Now Mr. Argent just looked tired and hot. Hot as in sweaty, not hot as in - Stiles shook his head and averted his eyes from the trail of sweat that ran from the neckline of his gray t-shirt down to the middle of his back. No sexy thoughts, Stiles told himself firmly. This was Allison's father, the one who'd threatened to kill Scott and slammed Stiles into a wall and who was watching him, holy God, Mr. Argent was watching Stiles right now..

Stiles met his eyes, nodded, and then looked firmly down at the ground. Nothing good could come from initiating a conversation; he just needed to get his beef jerky and get out of there. With his goal in mind, Stiles skirted up one of the narrow aisles again but he ran into a problem when Mr. Argent walked down the same one.

"Stiles," Mr. Argent said. Stiles looked up again. His mouth fell open when he realized that he had about an inch of personal space left because he and Chris Argent were standing way too close on the aisle with office supplies, motor oil, tylenol and - oh yeah. Condoms.

"Mr. Argent. Hi. Lovely weather we're having." Don't look at the condoms, Stiles, he told himself. Looking at the condoms meant he saw and acknowledged the condoms, and the awkwardness, and the weird arousal that crashed like waves under his skin.

"A little warm for my tastes." Mr. Argent tugged at the collar of Stiles' overshirt. It put his hand in direct contact with Stiles' collarbone. Stiles whimpered and hoped it was too quiet for humans to hear. "You look like you're about to have a heat stroke."

"Well, um. They say dress for the weather you want, not the weather you have?" Stiles eyed the gap of space between Mr. Argent and the shelf. No way Stiles could fit in there without rubbing some very sensitive parts either on Mr. Argent's leg or on the shelf and that meant he would have to make a tactical retreat to the chips and candy aisle.

Mr. Argent's eyes tracked Stiles' own and he chuckled like he knew he was intimidating Stiles. "I don't think that's how that saying goes."

"No? Well. Uh." Stiles had nothing intelligent to say to that, so he backed up a few steps and tried not to trip over himself. He failed when Mr. Argent reached out and - without breaking eye contact - picked up a box of condoms.

Stiles froze. He couldn't be interpreting this situation right. This was his friend's dad, a widower twenty or thirty years older than he was. This only happened in porn and to other people.

"Stiles," Mr. Argent said. He didn't bother to whisper and the bored clerk up front didn't bother to look up. "We need to talk."

"Talk," Stiles repeated. He wanted to look down at the condoms, maybe raise a sardonic eyebrow, but there was still the possibility that he was reading this wrong and Mr. Argent's eyes wouldn't let him go even if he tried.

"About yesterday, in the classroom." As he spoke, Mr. Argent passed the condoms from one hand to the other. The movement finally drew Stiles' attention down, but not too far. "Wait for me outside."

Stiles nodded jerkily and dropped his snacks without another word. If he was reading the situation right, his life was about to get a lot more interesting. If he was reading it wrong, well, it would be interesting in a different, unpleasant kind of way.

"Y-yeah. Sure."

He fled to his jeep because he had nowhere else to go and sat in the baking metal until his shirt stuck to every inch of skin. Just as he peeled it off, Mr. Argent stepped outside and stopped. Stiles wasn't sure if he was enjoying the show, but he slowed his movements down as he finished stripping it off and used it to wipe off his forehead. He tossed it in the back seat and stepped out of the car again, this time relishing the slight breeze on his bare shoulders.

"Do you want to do this here?" He asked. 'This' was a nice, neutral word. It could mean anything.

"No." Mr. Argent jerked his head toward his SUV. "I told the clerk that I would be coming back to pick my nephew's jeep up in half an hour. Move it around back."

Half an hour - Stiles could work with half an hour. That probably wasn't enough time to torture him for information and then kill him. He clambered back into the car and started her up with shaky hands. Moving her around back felt like it took forever but as soon as he turned the corner again he wanted the time doubled or tripled.

Mr. Argent had pulled the SUV around and leaned over to open the door for him. The air conditioning was already cooling the cab, he could feel it blowing from where he stood frozen to the spot. Mr. Argent huffed at him and said, "Get in the car, Stiles. Half an hour."

Stiles got in the car.

They rode silent a few miles down one of the country roads leading away from the preserve. Mr. Argent pulled off into a driveway that no longer belonged to a house. The woods on either side had grown so thick that by the time they made it halfway up Stiles knew they'd be completely invisible to the road. Mr. Argent didn't bother to pull off. He stopped in the middle of the driveway and stepped out, slamming the door behind him without a word to Stiles.

Stiles dithered until he heard the trunk opening behind him and decided it would be best if he got out before Mr. Argent managed to locate any of his guns. Because he was Stiles, though, he followed the man around to the back of the vehicle instead of making a break for it through the woods.

They stood there, looking into the - empty - back seat without speaking to one another until the silence got so loud it made the mosquitoes sound quiet.

"I know what you were thinking back at the gas station," Mr. Argent said eventually. Stiles' hands stilled in his pockets. He looked sideways without moving his head and wished Mr. Argent would tell him, because he had no idea what he'd been thinking for the past fifteen minutes. Mr. Argent didn't seem to need any input from Stiles, because he continued, "I could see it on your face."

He turned and Stiles sucked in a breath. The expression on his face, thunderous and hungry, made Stiles want to step back and lean forward all at once.

"You were thinking about this." Mr. Argent made the choice for him by sidestepping Stiles so elegantly that Stiles didn't realize he was boxed in until the backs of his knees hit the bumper. He braced himself on the car and waited. Stiles had spent enough time around werewolves to know that you didn't move around too much when a predator was watching you.

Mr. Argent was every inch the predator as he took another step, one that forced Stiles into sitting half into the car and spreading his legs. That was all it took for Mr. Argent's hand to come between them and squeeze Stiles where he was already half-hard.

"See?" He squeezed again and Stiles whimpered. "It's not difficult to guess with you."

"What are you going to do about it?" Stiles asked. He wanted to sound flippant, but his voice wavered.

"I think you can guess." Mr. Argent pushed him back onto his elbows. The back seats were down, flush with the floorboard so that Stiles could lay back and prop himself on his elbows as long as he kept his legs dangling out of the car on either side of Argent. "You're a smart boy, aren't you?"

Stiles looked away and licked his lips. His eyes caught on the plastic bag from the gas station and the little pack of condoms within. His hands needed something to play with, anyway, so he grabbed it and shook out the contents: the same box that Argent had grabbed in front of Stiles plus two packets of lube.

Lube. Condoms. Seats pushed down. Stiles' eyes darted between the three and then back at Argent, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he exclaimed, "You planned this! You - what, followed me to the gas station?"

That was scary and flattering all at once. Why Stiles? Why not Lydia or Scott or anyone else attractive in Beacon Hills? Stiles was no slouch in the looks department, he knew that, but even he could see that seducing the Sheriff's underage son in broad daylight in front of a witness and a security camera was a remarkably stupid idea.

Mr. Argent just smirked while he watched Stiles squirm. His hands clamped down on Stiles' thighs to keep them from wiggling, starting at the knee and then sliding up to hold him where his hips met his leg. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I -" Stiles looked down at the hands and the holster he could see under Argent's shirt from up close. Unthinking, he brought his hand up to caress the line of it from Argent's shoulder to where it disappeared under his arm. "I'm following you lead here. What did you want to talk about?"

"Talking can wait." Mr. Argent punctuated that with a kiss that sucked all the air out of Stiles' lungs and pushed him onto his back. He'd kissed people before - a couple of girls at parties and, once, a boy from the next town over when they'd both been drunk - but they'd been fumbling, sweet and mostly innocent. Mr. Argent kissed like he wanted to obliterate Stiles with his tongue and Stiles could do nothing but open himself to it.

His erection swelled in his jeans until he had to buck his hips to try and meet where Argent's body brushed his own. He whimpered into Argent's mouth and tried to break the kiss, but the older man followed his mouth no matter which way he turned his head until the car filled with the sounds of kissing and releasing. While they struggled Mr. Argent somehow got his hand between them and popped the button on Stiles' fly. The zipper followed shortly until all that stood between Stiles and the sweltering heat was a soft layer of cotton briefs.

Mr Argent yanked at the waistband of Stiles' jeans, pulling them down as far as they'd go without separating their bodies. He growled in frustration and backed away just enough to pull them the rest of the way down and then tossed them over Stiles' head. Stiles didn't turn to see where they'd landed; he was too busy tugging his remaining shirt off and then freezing when Mr. Argent pulled his underwear too.

It was just after four and he was completely naked in the back of Chris Argent's SUV while Chris Argent stood over him fully clothed. Stiles flushed from his cheeks all the way down to his dick; it heated his skin and made the intensity of the lust building in his body intolerable.

"Please," Stiles said, loud in the quiet of the afternoon. The only sounds out here were their labored breathing and the occasional buzz of insects until Chris ripped open one of the packets of lube. That sound echoed. "You - you're going to use the condoms, right?"

"Not yet." Argent hadn't undone his jeans, but he was coating his fingers in the thick liquid one by one. He pushed one of Stiles legs over his shoulder to hitch him up and then poured the rest of the lube over Stiles' ass. It was cold compared to his body temperature and Stiles moaned again, louder this time.

"What are you doing?" Stiles craned his neck to see, but his hips blocked the view of whatever Mr. Argent was doing with his hands. A finger, invisible to him, circled the rim of his asshole a few times until the lube warmed up. He took in a deep breath and tried not to tense when Mr. Argent slipped a single finger in, just up to the knuckle. "Oh my god."

"Ever done this before, Stiles?" Mr. Argent asked, sounding almost conversational. Stiles nodded and tried to speak, but before he could the finger plunged deeper, up to the second knuckle, and he had to focus on breathing. "Had someone else do it for you?"

"Just me," Stiles admitted, when he felt like he could talk again. Mr. Argent probed around inside; it felt strange coming from a different angle, and already deeper than what Stiles could manage with his own fingers.

"Ever used a toy?" As he spoke, Mr. Argent forced in a second finger. Stiles tried to arch away from the new pressure but Mr. Argent yanked Stiles' legs back and impaled him all the way on both fingers.

"Oh my god, oh - fuck," Stiles whispered. He slammed his eyes shut, unwilling to watch the movement of Mr. Argent's arm as it worked in and out of him.

"Answer the question, Stiles."

"Question...?" Stiles could barely remember his own name. Questions were probably above his tolerance right now.

"Toys. Do you fuck yourself on one?" Stiles shivered, though he wasn't cold, and nodded silently.

"I - it's not big. Not the size of a real - I ordered it online. To start learning how." Argent hummed and pulled his fingers out. Stiles relaxed again, or as much as he could with his body twisted half-sideways and ass spread for easy access. "I use it in the shower. Or just put it in when I jerk off."

Argent's fingers teased the rim again. It felt different, now, more charged. Stiles' dick leaked sluggishly onto his stomach and ran down through the trail of hair leading to his bellybutton. He reached for himself but Argent slapped his hands away.

"Wait," he ordered, and for once Stiles couldn't find it in himself to argue. He couldn't find it in himself to do anything but wait, wait for the fingers to return, or Argent's dick, or someone to come out here and haul them both off to jail.

The fingers came first, the two of them straight in together this time. Stiles threw his arm over his eyes and arched into it this time, hoping that Argent would hit that sweet spot instead of playing around. They only had so much time, and Stiles wanted everything.

Instead he felt more pressure added - a third finger. His arm flew off and he opened his eyes, looking at Argent incredulously. "That's not going to -"

It fit, tight and burning until Stiles' body adjusted. He bit his lip so hard he was sure it would bleed and tried to figure out if this was pain or pleasure. He couldn't tell until Argent started to move his hand and his shoulder to fuck Stiles stupid. Finally, finally he hit Stiles' prostate and Stiles cried out only to muffle it with his arm.

"Let it out, Stiles," Argent said as he reached around Stiles' thigh to grab his dick. Stiles bit down on his arm instead, unwilling to let Argent see how affected he was even though it was obvious from his flush body and the way he arched into the strong hand. Mr. Argent's hands were smaller than Stiles', but they had more calluses from handling guns and crossbows since before Stiles was born. He was rougher, too - he jerked like he wanted to pull it off.

Eventually he settled into a rhythm that ran counterpoint to the motion of his fingers fucking Stiles' ass so that Stiles would push up into one hand when the other withdrew and then fall back hard until he was shaking. Stiles thought maybe he was crying, and he was definitely screaming now, but there was no one around to see when he came except Argent himself.

As soon as Stiles started to come, Argent stepped away, taking his hands and the press of his body with him. Stiles spilled all over himself and the back seat of the car. By the time he could tell what was going on again, Argent had unzipped and was holding the condom. Stiles watched through lidded eyes as he pulled his dick out of his boxers and bit his lip when he saw the girth. It was bigger than his toy at home and maybe bigger than three fingers, and that had nearly killed him.

"Here." Argent tossed something at his chest, drawing Stiles out of his daze. it was the condom packet. "Put it on."

"Me?" Stiles was soft against his thigh now, no reaction but the slightest twitch. Argent laughed, loud in the otherwise silent woods.

"No."

Stiles got the picture. He fumbled to open the condom as mental images from health class flashed through his eyes. He nearly expected the cool skin of a banana when he touched Argent, but his skin was hot.

"I want to suck you off," Stiles breathed with his mouth close enough that the movement of air - or his words - made Argent's cock twitch. Argent ran a hand through Stiles' hair, leaving streaks of precome, and grabbed tight enough to hold Stiles there. Stiles licked his lips, waiting, but then Argent let him go with a little push.

"Not this time. Put it on, Stiles." Stiles looked up through his lashes. Argent wasn't even blushing. He eventually nodded and forced his shaking hands to cooperate as he pinched the top and then pressed it over Argent's head. Maybe he wasn't doing it right or moving fast enough, though, because Argent put his hands over Stiles' and pushed them down fast. For the first time since they'd started, Argent made a noise that sounded like he cared what was happening.

Stiles stayed with his fingers circling the base of Argent's cock, unsure of what to do and unwilling to admit it. Eventually Argent recovered himself enough to push Stiles down again, right back into the wetspot on the carpet, and press his knees up to his chest. Stiles tried to hold still but when the blunt tip of Argent's dick touched his ass he twitched away on instinct; Argent didn't care. Instead he dragged Stiles back and put one leg over his shoulder like before. This time when he jerked Stiles' body, instead of falling onto fingers Stiles' weight brought Argent inside him.

Stiles whimpered. If he hadn't come before, he thought that would’ve done it. The pain from earlier had gone and left behind it buzzing pleasure that skated the edge of too much. He closed his eyes and tried to thrust back, but Argent didn’t seem to need him at all. He felt like he could fuck Stiles like this all day while Stiles sprawled in the back of the SUV and let himself be used.

Argent’s hands gripped tight on his thighs, tight enough to bruise, and he breathed raggedly every time he withdrew. His eyes, Stiles noticed, stayed twisted tight shut. Was he imagining someone else? Victoria? Stiles wondered. The thought stole some of his warm lethargy and left him feeling cold.

He didn’t like it so he pushed harder, put up more resistance and glared at Argent until the man opened his eyes to look down and Stiles could be sure that he was being seen. His doubts left him unprepared for the sheer lust in Argent’s eyes when they poured over him from his parted lips to his flaccid cock bouncing with the motion of their bodies. Stiles used his leg to pull Argent all the way in, hard, and sent him spiraling into orgasm.

Stiles let him ride it out in silence. Even after Argent’s body stilled he seemed unwilling to let go. Stiles ached from being fucked twice, but he hesitated to break the quiet between them; he feared what came next. He said nothing when Argent withdrew, or even when he retrieved Stiles’ undershirt from where it had been tossed.

“Here.” Argent slipped the singlet over Stiles’ head and guided it down his body with broad hands that still glistened with lube and Stiles’ sweat. Stiles let Argent dress him without resistance or response. He felt floating, distant from the buzzing world and still hot all over. “I’ll drive you back.”

Stiles’ legs felt like jello and his ass hurt. They were at least three miles out from where they’d left the jeep. “I’ll walk.”

“Stiles.” Argent frowned and caressed his cheek like a – well, they were lovers now. Or something. “We still need to talk.”

“What, seriously? You actually wanted to talk?”

“About you father. You need to be more careful what you say around him. Nobody wants the Sheriff’s department getting involved.” Argent’s hand was still on Stiles while he talked, and his serious blue eyes never left Stiles’ face. Stiles squirmed and looked away.

“Message received. No more need to talk.” He slipped around Argent and offered a wave.

“Stiles –“

“See you around, Mr. Argent.” Stiles grinned and tapped his lips. “You know, next time.”