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Five Days of Dickings

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“Stiles,” Peter purrs as he passes him on the way to make up. “It’s really been too long.”

Stiles shrugs and gives him a cheeky grin. “Gotta spread the love,” he says. “You know how it is.”

“Mm, I’ve seen the schedule,” Peter agrees, leering. Stiles just ducks his head and slips into the makeup room.

It’s far from his first shoot, but it’s still a big deal. Five Dickings in Five Days was the (hopefully interim) title he’d seen on the contract. More like five days of dickings. Whatever, Stiles was into it. The money is great; the fucking is also great. It’s a win-win way to pay for college.

“Hey, buddy,” Scott says, cleaning some of his brushes. “Take off your shirt and sit down and we can start with your face and stuff.”

Scott’s soothing, easy to talk to. He isn’t weird about the fact that he’s doing full-body makeup for porn for a living; he’s just really easy-going. By the time Scott’s done, Stiles is relaxed and loose-limbed, ready to head out on set.

Day one is pretty straight-forward from the call sheet he’d gotten. The set is a big, open space with a fake office set up in the middle of it - large desk, wide-seated office chair, fake computer, the works. Now it’s just lighting techs and boom handlers setting up and testing; cameramen checking their equipment while Peter, dressed in an expensive looking suit, strokes one finger along the edge of the desk.

“You’ve uh, still got some time, if you need a drink or a snack,” someone says behind him, and Stiles turns to see the hottest cameraman he’s ever met. He’s tall and dark-haired, broad-shouldered the way Stiles likes and has frankly ridiculous eyes. His cheeks are flushed a little - probably from the heat of the lights and the weight of the camera he’s hefting.

Stiles licks his lips involuntarily. “Thanks,” he manages to say, eyes lingering on the guy’s soft-looking beard. “I’m Stiles,” he adds, holding out a hand.

He shifts the camera to his other shoulder in order to shake hands. “Derek,” he says with a nod. Derek’s hand is big and warm, calloused a little at the fingertips. Stiles drags his own fingers across his palm as they separate.

“Nice to meet you,” Stiles says, smiling up at Derek through his lashes. They’re of a height, but by now Stiles knows how to play to his strengths. “I’ll see you around,” he says, and decides to take Derek’s advice and grab a drink before they start shooting. He can feel Derek’s eyes lingering on him as he walks away.

***

The shoot is a classic. Peter leans back in his office chair, legs spread and suit stretched appealingly over his thighs, drags a hand down Stiles's back to cup his ass through his pants, slip his fingers down the seam and between his legs. Stiles leans further into the desk, arching his ass into Peter’s hands.

“If you wanted it so badly you should’ve said something,” he purrs, his other hand stroking along Stiles's cock through his pants. “You’ve been leaking practically since you arrived,” he adds, eyes lidded. Stiles swallows, keeps his gaze down and submissive.

When he doesn’t say anything, Peter slaps him quick and hard across one buttcheek, and Stiles gasps sharply. “Tell me,” Peter says, voice darker than it was a moment ago.

“I— I want you,” Stiles cries, arching into Peter’s hands, fingers clutching at the edge of the desk. “Please,” he adds wetly as Peter strokes his palms down his cheek again, soothing the sting.

Peter hums and drags his hand up Stiles's front, away from his cock, straining against the front of his suit pants, over his belly and up to his nipples, tight and pressing obscenely through the incredibly thin fabric of his shirt.

Derek, camera steady on his shoulder, moves in for the close-up. Stiles can imagine the shot, strains forward and arches his back to give the best angle: nipples pink and pert against the translucent white of his shirt, Peter’s fingers deftly unbuttoning just enough to slip inside and give them a tweak. Stiles cries out, eyes shuttering, and it’s not fake at all.

“Sensitive, are we?” Peter hums. He loosens Stiles's tie and pulls it off, tosses it down on the desk before impatiently unbuttoning the rest of Stiles's shirt, exposing his chest to the cool air of the studio. His hands are back immediately, tracing around his nipples but not actually touching them, and Stiles whines low in his throat.

“Please,” he moans, “Please, more.”

“More what?” Peter asks, but obligingly pulls Stiles onto his lap, his chest to Stiles's back. Stiles straddles one of his thighs, rocking gently against it, helpless. “Ah-ah,” Peter admonishes him as Derek re-adjusts for the shot. “Sluts like you don’t get to come until I say so.”

But that doesn’t stop him from bouncing his leg just a little, giving Stiles a jolt so he cries out again. “You’re not just greedy, you’re desperate for it, aren’t you?” he says right into the shell of Stiles's ear. Stiles moans and arches his neck for the camera. It’s a mixed shoot, and wolves always want a long stretch of neck, exposed and helpless. Peter isn’t allowed to leave marks, not this early in the five day shoot, but he can fake it well enough; presses his teeth to the skin and probably looks right into the camera lens as if to say, jealous?

“I’d bet you can’t sleep without something in your mouth, something in your ass,” Peter continues. “Greedy, all the time. How often do you wear a plug to the office? Did you think I couldn’t smell the arousal on you?” he continues, tugging Stiles's shirt back and down his arms, reaching for the tie on the desk and swiftly binding Stiles’s hands together behind his back. “Behaviour like that calls for a punishment, don’t you think?”

“Cut!” Finstock calls and Stiles sags back against Peter, panting a little and glad for the break. He’s got stamina, sure, and he’s a professional, but between riding Peter’s thigh and seeing Derek go for the close-up shot of his wet mouth, he’s grateful for the break. “Re-set for the next scene! Greenberg, keep your boom out of the shot, what do you think this is, Ass Bangers 4?”

There’s more, but Stiles tunes him out as Peter stands up and leans Stiles against the desk, heading off to craft services. Stiles takes the moment to close his eyes and breathe deeply, calm his racing heart. It’s easy to get carried away.

“Hey, do you need a drink?” Derek asks. Stiles opens his eyes to see Derek has brought his glass of water over.

“I’d love one, but I’m kind of tied up right now,” Stiles grins, turns a little to waggle his bound hands in Derek’s direction.

Derek swallows, once, and drags his eyes back up to Stiles's face, slow and heated. “I could uh, hold the glass for you,” he offers, eyes dipping back down to Stiles's mouth.

“Please,” Stiles says quietly, and enjoys the shiver Derek tries to hide before he lifts the glass to Stiles's mouth. He’s slow and careful, lets Stiles pause to swallow and drink his fill. “I’m good,” Stiles says eventually. “Thanks, Derek.”

“No problem,” Derek says, faux-casual, and leaves to put the glass away.

They re-set, the desk angled aside slightly for a better view. Stiles kneels on the floor between Peter’s spread legs, hands still bound behind his back and shirt pushed down his shoulders. When Finstock yells action, Peter slowly begins to unbuckle his belt, slip the button of his pants free and drag down the zipper.

Stiles licks his lips and it’s only half-acting. He loves sucking cock.

“Eager little slut,” Peter purrs, pulling his cock free of his pants and giving it a few strokes. He’s already hard, long and flushed, leaking a little. Stiles tries to lean forward for a taste only to have Peter grab him by the hair and tilt his head back.

“Are you hungry for it?” he asks. “You want this in your mouth, down your throat?” He grips himself just below the head and drags the tip of his cock across Stiles's lower lip, his cheek, leaving a salty streak behind that Stiles chases with his tongue.

He moans again, flutters his eyelashes for the camera and pants a little, wet and open-mouthed. “Be good and I might even give you what you really want,” Peter murmurs, boom mic close over his head to pick up the line. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I could keep you here, just like this,” he continues, slowly feeding his dick into Stiles's open mouth. “Let you suck me off during meetings, show off that pretty pink mouth of yours, how hungry it is for my cock.”

He stops when he’s all the way in, balls pressed against Stiles's chin, Stiles's lips stretched wide around Peter’s girth, spit slipping out the sides. Stiles breathes through his nose when Peter pulls back finally, raises his gaze to stare with mute gratitude before Peter thrusts back in again. “You’re so easy for it,” Peter continues, thrusting slowly back and forth, one hand tugging at Stiles's hair, shifting him on his cock like his own personal sex toy. “I could fuck your face all day and it wouldn’t be enough for you. Leave you sore and slick and you’d still only be able to think about how empty your ass is, how much you want a big alpha cock inside you.”

He pulls out all the way, leaving a string of spit and pre-come connecting his dick to Stiles's open mouth, lips red and abused already, throat sore and loving every minute of it. “My own personal slut,” Peter grins, gripping his hair and tilting his head back before slapping his cheek with his wet dick. Stiles pants, eyes closed and mouth open and waits for Peter to use his mouth again, to just take.

When nothing happens, he blinks up at him. “Tell me what you want,” Peter says evenly. He looks almost unaffected, other than his dick, still red, hard, and angry with need.

“I want you to fuck my face,” Stiles complains, voice hoarse from sucking cock.

“Is that what you really want?” Peter asks, running his thumb along Stiles's slick lower lip for the cameras. “Are you sure? You can’t lie to a werewolf, you know,” he adds, flashing his alpha-red eyes.

Stiles gulps, keeping his head tilted so Derek can get a good shot of his throat working, of him licking his lips and flushing a little at having to ask. “I— I want…”

Peter waits, his gaze assessing and patient as Stiles squirms, still half-dressed and kneeling between Peter and the desk, his cock straining against his zipper.

“I want you to knot me,” he says all in one breath, closing his eyes, pretending to be embarrassed, shy.

Leaning down, Peter grips him by the chin and waits for him to open his eyes. “All you had to do was ask,” he says quietly.

***

There’s another scene break while they both cool down a little, and Derek returns with a full glass of water for Stiles to greedily drink from. “You’re the best,” he says when he’s had his fill. “Seriously, the best. But uh, can I ask another favour?”

Derek shrugs and says, “Sure,” but his hands twitch a little as he sets the glass down, belying his casual tone.

“Can you rub my wrists a little? I have to keep the tie on, but my hands are kind of stiff.”

Derek is behind him in an instant, gently pushing the shirt sleeves aside and massaging the feeling back into his hands, one finger at a time. He works his way up and over the bones of his hands and the flesh of his thumb before digging in under the edges of the tie, loosening it just slightly. “It won’t look any different on camera,” Derek says when Stiles glances over his shoulder at him. “But it should feel better.”

“Thanks, I really owe you one,” Stiles sighs, relaxing into Derek’s touch.

“Back in five!” Finstock yells, startling both of them. “Everyone better have their big boy pants on, because we’re on the last leg! Except you, Stilinski,” he adds after a moment. “You just keep on whatever the fuck it is wardrobe put you in until someone tears it off you.”

“Thanks, Coach,” Stiles calls back dryly. Way to kill the mood.

***

For the final scene, Stiles is back leaning over the desk as Peter finally unzips his pants and tugs them down and off. He got his shoes and socks off during set-up, so at least he doesn’t have to worry about tripping over himself when it’s time for the actual penetration. Especially with his arms still bound behind his back.

Peter pulls a bottle of lube out of the top desk drawer and slicks up two fingers, not giving him any warning before thrusting them inside and crooking them against his prostate. Stiles can’t help but keen and press his cheek against the cool surface of the desk, thrusting back against Peter’s fingers, his dick hanging hard and untouched.

“M-more,” he pants, spreading his legs further. Peter chuckles.

“I knew you’d be greedy and wet for this,” he says, thrusting his fingers back in and stretching them against the rim. “Hot and wet and greedy for something to fill you up. That plug you wear isn’t anything like the real thing, is it? What you really want,” he says, pulling out to slick up a third finger and thrust them back in, “what you need is to be fucked hard, filled. I bet nothing satisfies you except an alpha’s knot, am I right?”

Stiles mewls a little, panting, open mouthed. “Please,” he begs again. “Please, give it to me, I want it, I need it, I need you in me,” he cries as Peter spanks one cheek and then the other, leaving the skin flushed and pink for Derek to film.

“You’ll take what I give you,” Peter says. “If I could, I’d fill up that mouth of yours at the same time, give you something to suck on.” He says it like a threat, but Stiles whines again, thrusting back against his fingers and forward against only air, unsatisfied.

“Oh, you like that idea?” Peter asks as though it isn’t obvious. “Maybe one day I’ll let you come to a board meeting, pass you around the table, keep both of these greedy holes full and wet,” he muses as though to himself. Stiles whines again, deliberately flexes his hole for the camera.

“For now you’ll ride my knot,” Peter says, unruffled, and hauls Stiles upright, slipping his hand free and turns Stiles to face him, leaning back in his chair. “Come on,” he says, patting his own thigh, dick throbbing red and spearing out of his pants, still fully dressed. “Ride me.”

It’s hard, with his hands bound, but Stiles gets both knees up onto the chair on either side of Peter’s legs, and tries to shift down, clumsy with want and exhaustion. Peter’s cock is already slick and it slides against his crack twice as Stiles whines, unable to actually get it inside him.

“Hmm,” Peter hums, “I suppose I have to do everything after all,” and stills Stiles's hips with one hand, grips his cock and directs it up against his hole with the other. “Take it like a good little slut,” Peter says soothingly, thumb stroking once, twice against Stiles's hip bone as he works himself down onto Peter’s cock.

It’s not the thickest he’s taken, not even close, but it’s long and curved nicely, and it feels like he has to keep sinking down forever before he’s fully seated. He ducks his head down to pant against Peter’s shoulder, quivering at the deep stretch of it, luxuriating for a moment before Peter slaps his butt again, earning another startled cry.

“I asked you to ride me,” he says. “I’ve already done most of the work. I’d have thought a greedy slut like you would be happy to do at least this much.” He raises an eyebrow in challenge as Stiles pulls his head up off his shoulder to glare ineffectually at him. “Show me you deserve my knot.”

Stiles lifts himself up until just the tip of Peter is still inside him before sinking back down slowly; repeats it again, working up speed. His own dick slaps against his stomach as he shifts with each thrust, trying to find the best angle. Peter strokes one hand down his side and back up to his mouth, slips two fingers inside for Stiles to suckle.

“That’s more like it,” he purrs, watching his fingers slip in and out of his mouth, slick with saliva. “You were made to be fucked.” He pulls his fingers free, ignoring Stiles's disappointed whine, and presses them against the rim of Stiles's hole where he’s still thrusting in and out.

“Soon I’ll stretch you out with my knot, fill you up with come and tie you. Send you home leaking in your pants like the slut you are. Every wolf on your way home will know what you did today, how you gave it up for me,” he says, slipping just the tip of his finger in alongside his cock and grinning at Stiles's groan. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For everyone to know just how filthy and easy you are for it.” It’s not a question.

Stiles whines again, helpless, closing his eyes only to cry out when Peter takes one nipple in his mouth and suckles. He’s panting now, his cock leaking steadily, and he looks right to meet Derek’s gaze for just a moment, enough to signal that he’s going to come soon. Derek licks his lips and re-adjusts for the shot.

“I, I—” Stiles stutters, bouncing in Peter’s lap like he just can’t help himself. “I’m—”

Peter growls at that, grabs both hips with his hands and pulls him down hard and fast, keeps him held tight as deep as he can go, Peter’s knot swelling against his prostate. “Come for me,” he growls and Stiles arches his back for the camera, neck curved and comes hard against his own belly, untouched. He groans as Peter ties them together, coming and coming and coming until it’s leaking out and Stiles slumps against Peter’s chest, breathing hard.

Stiles pants, turns his face to the camera. “It’s, it’s so big,” he gasps out, shifting his hips and moaning again at the pressure. “I’m, nnngh, so full.”

Peter pulls his head back to meet his gaze, eyes alpha red again. “And now that you know what the real thing is like, whatever will happen to your plug?” he asks with a low growl.

“Guess I’ll just have to come here when I want something instead,” Stiles says, dropping his gaze again and licking his lips. “Come see you.”

Peter grins, feral and wide. “We might have a new position in the company for you, if you’re willing to apply.”

Stiles smiles, still feigning shy despite the fact that he’s knotted on a werewolf cock, covered in jizz. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

“And CUT!” Finstock yells.

***

When they can finally separate, Derek helps Stiles off Peter’s lap and unbinds his hands, rubbing the feeling back into his wrists and handing him a robe. “Are you okay to get to the showers?” he asks, concerned.

Stiles smiles reassuringly at him, exhausted and happy. “Sure,” he says, but his knees buckle a little when he tries to take a step. Derek catches him by the elbow and keeps him upright.

“How about I help you there, just in case?” he asks dryly, and Stiles laughs a little.

“I— that’d be really nice, actually,” he admits, and stumbles along, bowlegged and kept upright only through Derek’s careful work, all the way to the showers. By the time they get there he’s steadier on his feet and a little more clear-headed. He’s almost ready to ask Derek to join him when Derek lets go and steps back.

“See you tomorrow,” he says, with a half-smile, ducking back down the hall. Stiles leans against the door and watches him go. It’d probably be a bad idea to sleep with someone in the middle of a five-day shoot anyway. After all, tomorrow is supposed to be even more demanding.