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In Which Stiles Channels Linda Blair

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Before he and his mate had even shared their first heat, Derek’s buttinski asshat of an uncle had seen fit to warn him of a few things.

1. That omega heats were surprisingly intense—yes and the sky is blue, thank you so much, oh wise uncle.

2. That many Alphas couldn’t handle the heats on their own. No, never, and if Peter even suggested it again, he would be cradling his own entrails.

3. That Stiles’ refusal to accept Derek’s mating bite was going to “complicate” his heats.

Complicate—that was Peter’s word.

Derek seethed inwardly. If by “complicate” Peter meant that his cheerful, sarcastic-but-actually-nurturing, utterly adorable mate, who was currently studying the violently controversial subject of Information Science at UCLA, would turn into the obscenity-spewing, claw-wielding hell-spawn currently tied to this bed, then yes, Stiles’ heats were proving “complicated.”

In the year they’d dated before officially mating, they’d talked about Stiles’ future heats—fantasized about them. Some of the best sex of their lives had come after Stiles whispered filthy things they would supposedly do after they both went off their suppressants.  

But somehow those filthy things had never included Stiles sprouting little omega claws and tearing Derek’s back to shreds and then threatening to put out his eyes, while screaming the most offensive imaginable epithets—that Derek was a mange-ridden mongrel, a cur who rolled in his own shit. His brilliant, liberal, educated mate had actually called him a hound. Were there even places in America where people used language like that? Derek had been to some skanky places in his life, but he doubted that even at the sleaziest hunter dive bar you’d hear words like mongrel or hound.

Certainly, in a million years, Derek had never thought that he would be the kind of Alpha who kept his mate tied down throughout their heat. He’d endured having his own skin clawed to bloody tatters, but then during their second heat, Stiles realized that hurting his Alpha wasn’t getting him what he wanted, so he’d switched to clawing himself.

Omegas didn’t have the rapid healing powers that Alphas did, and in his insanity, Stiles had cut himself so deeply their bed looked like a charnel house. Worse, Derek was so spooked by the whole thing, he found it difficult to knot Stiles, leading to possibly the most difficult five hours of his life, as Stiles reviled him for being a worthless maggot of an Alpha, and threatened to rip him open so he could shit in Derek’s intestines—and those were only the PG-13 insults.

They’d discussed it afterwards—of course they had. They were a modern, liberal couple: they each drove their own Prius and listened to NPR, and most Sundays would find them at the fucking farmer’s market looking over produce, discussing what kind of soup they should make. Stiles was working towards his degree while Derek helped his dad run the Hale family’s contracting business, with a lucrative side-line as a photographer specializing in arty black-and-whites of people’s children and pets.

Derek was not an Alpha to force his mate to do anything, and Stiles was as far as you could get from the meek, docile omega of old. Exhibit A, he’d refused to allow Derek to give him a mating bite.

Stiles had almost no memory of anything that happened during the heats, and Derek couldn’t bear to repeat some of the words his mate had used, but Stiles had seen for himself the sheets and the still healing scratches. Predictably, Stiles had run to his laptop to research why his heats were so… complicated. He’d discovered that refusing the mating bite was making it much harder for Derek to control him—and to satisfy him—during his heat.

Neither of them wanted to go back on suppressants so Stiles, like the loving, protective omega that he’d always been, had vehemently insisted that Derek do whatever he needed to protect himself and Stiles—short of giving Stiles the mating bite.

Derek couldn’t be surprised. Once he got the mating bite, Stiles would be vulnerable to Derek’s Alpha tone, unable to resist his commands. No matter how much Stiles trusted Derek, he was not an omega to accept an Alpha’s total control. During the heats Stiles was so out of his mind anyway, he barely remembered anything Derek did. But the mating bite would give Derek control all the time—forever. And the bite would exacerbate Stiles’ omega instinct to please and obey his Alpha.

As their third heat approached, Derek was convinced that this time he would have matters under control. He’d given himself an extensive (and depressingly unsexy) education in bondage wear, had purchased a set of restraints rated high for safety (and fair trade which was nice) and quietly placed iron rings at the corners of their bed.

At the first sign of Stiles’ claws, he’d forced the cuffs on his mate’s wrists and ankles and quickly attached the chains, and considering that he’d never done anything like bondage before, he had to give himself high marks for how quickly and safely he’d managed to restrain his beloved mate.

But now, twenty-four hours later, Derek had his entire fist up his mate’s ass—a first that in his fantasies had always been a hot, kinky moment for the two of them, right out of their favorite omega-kink video….

The reality not so much.

“You scum-sucking loser, mother-fucking whore, worthless impotent Viagra sucking geriatric spaniel who can’t manage one lousy knot on an omega in heat….”

It was true enough that Derek was feeling pretty impotent at the moment, after having knotted Stiles nine fucking times. That had to be some kind of record.

Stiles sucked down another breath in order to scream out more obscenities at his mate. Derek was really starting to believe that the projectile pea soup and the head-spinning would start up any time. Stiles even sounded like a demon, his voice low and cracked from screaming non-stop for the last twenty-four hours.

The final straw came when Stiles screamed out that Derek was a labradoodle—a mutant canine perversion, the ultimate abomination. Somehow Derek had managed to keep from puking all over Stiles, but he knew when he was out of his depth.

It was time to call the priest—well Peter at least. Fucking asswipe.


Peter arrived at the door of the bedroom carrying a duffel bag, a gentle smile on his face and the odor of “I told you so” emanating like bad cologne.

Derek was so exhausted and depressed at this point that he couldn’t even summon up embarrassment that his uncle had walked in on him fisting his mate. Stiles was still pouring out invective in his broken voice—full of references to “crossbreeds” and “mutant spaniels.” He was in a rage that it was Derek’s fist instead of his knot up his ass. Derek had lost feeling in his arm, but the moment he tried to remove it, Stiles would start sobbing and begging so pitifully he’d given up instantly.

“If you make a joke about being in a tight spot, I swear I will beat you senseless,” Derek growled as Peter opened his mouth, undoubtedly to make some quip about tight spots.    

Peter raised his hands in a totally phony placating gesture. “Far be it from me to mock my nephew and his adorable little omega. Obviously, I’m unwanted. I suppose I should go home. There’s a nature documentary on PBS that looks fascinating, on sea otters I think.…”

“All right,” Derek snapped. “Please, you’re right. I cannot…. I don’t know what to do, please.”

Peter smiled sweetly. “I’ve always told you, civility really goes a long way with me, Derek. Now, first thing…”

Stiles had paused briefly in his barrage of abuse, presumably from surprise at Peter’s appearance, but he now started again. Peter gave Stiles a sharp slap on the thigh and then moving with werewolf speed, he unzipped the duffel, pulled out a ball-gag, and shoved it roughly in Stiles’ mouth, buckling it tightly around his head. “What bad, naughty language, Stiles. Bad omega. You’ve made your Alpha very angry.”

Stiles started wailing over the gag. “Silence. We’re very disappointed in you and the least you can do is be quiet. Have a care for your poor Alpha, forced to put up with such an ungrateful, disobedient omega.”

The wails quieted to heartbroken whimpers. Derek could only stand there stupefied, wishing he had Stiles’ gift for witty comebacks. One of Derek’s favorite things about his mate was how he stood up to Peter—unlike the rest of his family. Stiles always called Peter on his bullshit, and he always had these amazing put-downs that he could just come up with on the spur of the moment like magic almost. In his right mind, Stiles would have laughed hysterically at the mere idea that his Alpha or any Alpha was disappointed in him.

Now, in the full flush of his heat, he was mewling and trying to turn his head and bare his neck to both of them, and Derek didn’t want to admit how relieved he was not to have to hear further examples of Stiles’ appalling inventiveness with insults.

But of course, he couldn’t allow his mate….

“One hour, Derek,” Peter cut him off before Derek could demand he take the gag off. “Give me one hour of my methods. And if there’s no improvement, I leave, the whole thing is forgotten, and I’ll even promise never to tease you about anything that happens in this room.”

Derek stared open-mouthed. For his uncle to give up his right to mock him? Peter who still alluded to the incident with the s’mores that took place during that camping trip after fourth grade, always finding the most humiliating moment to mention it.

And that time Derek had peed in the pond during Laura’s birthday party and one of the kids had scented it….

The thing with the tree branch when he’d been trying to scratch….

Derek’s entire childhood was a morass of minor humiliations that his uncle managed to recall with eidetic precision.

“Fine,” he growled.

“Excellent. Now pull out.” Derek carefully removed his fist from Stiles’ ass. That brought about an explosion of muffled outraged from the heat-maddened omega. Peter gave Stiles a sharp slap on said ass and then yanked up his head by his short hair. “If you want to get knotted again in the next six hours, you’ll behave yourself. Now, look what I have for you, little omega,” he said, holding out another gag, this one with a plug shaped like a thick cock. “I wish I could trust you with the real thing, but you’ve been much too naughty. If you want mine or Derek’s cock in your mouth, you’ll have to prove that you can be our sweet little omega, one who doesn’t use such horrible words, and who would never, ever use his teeth on his Alpha, hhm?”

Stiles shuddered, and tears started sliding down his cheeks.

“I think that deep down, you are a good boy and you’re very sorry for how you’ve been acting. Do you want the chance to prove yourself? Prove you’re worthy to have your Alpha’s cock?”

Stiles sniffled and nodded his head.

“Soooo good. I’m going to unbuckle the ball-gag now, and you are going to stay perfectly quiet while I put this lovely penis-gag in your mouth. And you can suck on it as hard as you want, but if I see any mark of teeth, then it stays in and there will no taste of cock for you for the rest of your heat. Do you understand, pet?”

Another nod. Peter slowly unbuckled the gag, as if he were daring Stiles to start screaming again. Stiles was watching him like a cornered animal, but he didn’t make a single sound.

Peter smiled and said, “You’re being so good, I’m going to give you an extra little treat. Just stay quiet for thirty more seconds, sweet boy.” Taking his time, he moved around the bed until he had better access to Stiles’ ass, and then he took the gag and rubbed it liberally in the cum and juices that had been pouring out since Derek began knotting him. Going back up to the top of the bed, he held the gag up for Stiles to sniff. “Here’s a little taste of what you might get if you’re a good boy. Open up, sweet thing.” Stiles obediently held his mouth open for the gag and didn’t move as Peter again buckled it tightly on. Once it was in, his mate closed his eyes and sucked, drinking in the juices.

Derek had no idea what to say. He started to mumble some thanks, but Peter cut him off. “You gave me one hour, and far be it from me to stand on my laurels….”

Which only made Derek angry again, since it was total bullshit—Peter’s entire existence involved some form of standing on laurels.

“I know your mother used to have a heat bench in the house.”

“I’m not using a heat bench on Stiles! What is this, the fucking middle ages?”

“Derek, I understand your hesitations, really I do,” Peter said with utter insincerity, “but the bed’s just not safe, not for an out-of-control omega. He’s got too much mobility—he could damage to his wrists, his neck, not to mention the risk of suffocation. You did a decent job binding him, but a proper heat bench will keep him thoroughly and safely restrained, give you and me easy access to care for him. They even protect against whiplash.”

Peter literally made that barbaric device sound like an ordinary safety feature like the side airbags in his BMW.

“One hour, Derek. You promised. Go find it, hose it off and bring it upstairs. Check the basement first. I bet that’s where it is.”

“And what you are you going to do?”

Peter was pulling out more supplies from his bag—butt plugs in various sizes, some including a bulge to approximate a knot, blindfolds, dildoes. “I’m just going to make sure that Stiles is properly motivated to move to his heat bench when it’s ready for him.”


Derek stormed downstairs to the basement, where he did know for a fact that the heat bench was stored. It had been carefully covered with a tarp, but he still took it to the patio outside the backdoor and hosed it off, and ran over it with a scrub brush. It was in surprisingly good condition, but then it was a Hale family heirloom, a piece of their history, however barbaric seeming. It was a fairly involved construction, consisting of a sturdy wood frame, equipped with heavy padded cuffs and belts to keep the omega virtually immobilized, including the head, which could be strapped facedown to a padded rest or held upright in a kind of stocks. There were notches that allowed the entire structure to be raised off the ground to the right level for the Alpha to remaining standing for the half an hour it usually took to knot an omega. There were several moveable attachments of mysterious purpose, though no doubt his uncle knew what they were for.

He dried the device off carefully, and then hefted it up—thank god for werewolf strength—and carried it up to his and Stiles’ bedroom.

He arrived to find Peter slowly moving a large dildo in and out of Stiles ass, while his omega lay with a sleepy smile on his face. “Remember it’s just a taste--you’ll have the real thing soon. You’re being so sweet, so good.”

Peter left the dildo in place and hit a button so it started vibrating. “A few more minutes, pet.”

He went over to examine the bench, carefully checking all the pads and restraints. “Excellent. Thank goodness your grandmother had it recovered a few years before she died. You’ll find that it’s designed for the omega to stay safe for the whole three days of their heat.”

“Peter, these things went out with bustles and horse-drawn carriages.”

“True, and they weren’t in that much use back then anyway—for anyone except omegas who refused to take the bite like your emancipated lover here. But those were always the most difficult—the least obedient, most stubborn, and in Stiles’ case, obviously with an insatiable sex drive. Don’t beat yourself up for this, Derek—well, except for enduring three heats before calling me. This was inevitable.”

“Why did he calm down for you?” Derek snapped out, sick of his uncle’s usual egomania. “You could have just told me that I needed to keep him gagged.”

“The gag is only part of it. You see, Stiles is an omega who has refused a mating bite—refused to accept his Alpha’s control. The problem is that during his heat, that’s exactly what he needs. When he is so out of control himself, he needs to know that his Alpha will do literally anything to keep him safe. That’s why he kept testing you like that, pushing you. Once I arrived--someone he knows you fear and even dislike, who unquestionably makes you jealous (asshole—Derek was not jealous of Peter!)—he knew then, finally, that you would stop at nothing, that you would do anything he needed to keep him safe during his heat.”

Derek had a feeling that there were some huge flaws in his uncle’s self-serving logic, but he was too tired and raw to pick it apart. Perhaps he didn’t want to admit how relieved he was that Stiles had calmed down. He refused to use the word grateful in reference to Peter—in fact he’d just as soon puke—but he conceded that his uncle had his uses. Luckily for Peter, since most of the time he was a manipulative prick that Derek could barely tolerate.

Peter went up to the head of the bed again, and pulled Stiles’ head up. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen, little omega. Your Alpha and I are going to move you to your heat bench, where you will be spending every heat for the rest of your life unless you agree to his mating bite. If you go without any struggle at all, I might be persuaded to take that gag off of you for a little while and let you suck your Alpha’s cock. Would you like that?”

Stiles nodded frantically, but he also began blubbering and keening, squeezing the muscles of his ass. Derek knew all too well what that meant. He was craving his knot—again.

“Oh you poor, greedy little thing, you. You want to be knotted again? How many times is that today? Four? Six? More?”

Stiles nodded tearfully.

“How many? Show me with your fingers. Nine?” Peter did look impressed by that—as well he should. Derek really did think he’d set a fucking world record. “Greedy little omega. You must know that he can’t possibly go again.”

Stiles started sobbing at that. It broke Derek’s heart, but for once he simply had no choice but to let his mate down. He’d reached his limit. Even if he could get it up, it would be hours before he could knot again.

Peter cooed and petted Stiles as he cried piteously. “Poor sweet baby. I hope you appreciate what an amazing Alpha you have, knotting you nine times like that. And you being so naughty the whole time. You must know that no one Alpha could ever satisfy such a greedy little omega.”

Stiles’ sobs got louder as omega need battled with omega guilt for misbehaving towards his Alpha. Peter continued to cluck with the same phony sympathy, which Stiles would have called him on in a nanosecond if he’d been in his right mind. But overwhelmed by the heat, the omega nestled gratefully into Peter’s hand, soaking up the petting and the praise, even as he sobbed in despair at being denied.

Derek was beginning to feel like the evil parent telling his kid he couldn’t keep the bedraggled kitten he’d rescued from a storm drain. “All right!” he yelled. “All right. Peter, you knot him.”

Peter made one of his fucking faces—surprise mixed with quasi-parental approval of Derek’s unexpected good sense--while Stiles’ sobs switched from miserable to grateful. “Aren’t you a lucky little omega. I hope you appreciate that you have the best Alpha in the whole world. You do, don’t you?” Stiles nodded frantically.

Peter gave Derek a little wink as they both unbound Stiles from the bed and moved him to the bench. He lay there perfectly docile as his wrists, ankles, knees and torso were strapped tightly to the bench, drinking in Peter’s approving murmurs of what a good boy and sweet obedient omega he was.  

Once he was completely immobilized, Peter bent down at his face. “That was so good, I think you’ve earned another reward, pet. Would you like to suck your Alpha’s cock while I knot you?”

Stiles’ eyes glazed and he nodded eagerly.

“But are you going to behave yourself? There are no second chances on this one, Stiles. If you hurt Derek, the only thing you will ever have in your mouth again during a heat is that gag.”

More frantic nodding. Peter pretended to mull it over and then turned to Derek. “What do you think, Derek? Is he going to behave now?”

Stiles whined over the gag, trying to convince him. Derek managed not to roll his eyes—the heat had driven Stiles out of his mind. There was no way he could make sense of this kind of manipulation. Derek wanted to punch Peter—or preferably throw him out a window—but common fairness required that he give Peter credit for helping his mate, little as he liked the methods.

He bent down and kissed Stiles’ lips around the gag, showing in his own way how much he adored his mate, in heat or out of heat, enough to do whatever his mate needed—including putting up with Peter.

“I want your sweet omega mouth on me, baby, so badly. You’re so sexy, so gorgeous. Is that what you want?” he murmured in the style that his mate most loved when he was sane. He did catch a momentary glimpse of something like sanity. Stiles rubbed his face against him, scenting him, the way he always did when they’d been separated for any length of time, but a moment later it was gone, the heat had taken over again and he began keening with need.

Derek sighed, but nodded at his uncle. He unbuckled the gag and yanked Stiles by the hair, shoved in hard, fucking his face, showing no mercy. Behind, Peter had unbuckled his pants and grabbing his mate’s hips in a bruising grip, thrust in, as the omega screamed out his pleasure.