Work Header

You Know What They Say About Competitive People

Work Text:

“Love’s not a competition, but let’s be honest, if it was, I would win.”


In the dark of the stationary car where Stiles and Isaac have been sat for a couple hours on ‘patrol,’ according to Derek, the proclamation seems ridiculously out of place. Stiles looks at Isaac, eyebrow raised, mouth agape.




“Yes, really.” Stiles continues to stare at Isaac, now with both eyebrows raised, mouth quivering slightly as though trying to find the right words to say, the right question ask but coming up short. Isaac glances at Stiles from the passenger’s seat, huffs a sigh, and rolls his eyes. “I heard you talking to Danny. ‘Am I attractive to gay guys?’ is the question you asked, I do believe.” There’s a small smirk on Isaac’s face.


“It’s a genuine question!” Stiles sputters. Isaac nods slowly, eyes wide and innocent. “Alright, jack ass. Wouldn’t you wanna know?” Isaac rolls his eyes again.


“Werewolf, remember? I can list off ten people right now who wanna bang me that go to school. And it wouldn’t take much to convince those who don’t immediately want to sleep with me.” Isaac cocks an eyebrow, a crooked smirk spread on his face.


“Yeah, yeah. You know arrogance isn’t attractive, right? You look like a douche. ‘Grade A Douchebag, Isaac Lahey.’” Stiles rolls his eyes. Tapping his hands on the steering wheel, he glances out at the dark of the preserve. Derek’s enacted these patrols ever since they got rid of the alpha pack, but nothing has happened since then. Literally nothing.


“You don’t believe me?”


“No, I think you’re a condescending jerkoff on a power trip and that—” Stiles’ breath catches as Isaac’s nose grazes his cheek.


“Are you sure?” Isaac’s voice is less snide and more of a low purr, less spikes and more honey. Stiles forces himself to breathe. Staring directly ahead, he replies, “Damn straight.”


Isaac’s nose leaves his cheek, and Stiles takes a deep breath to relieve the tension in his shoulders, just for the tension to flood back in with vigor. Hot breath ghosts over Stiles’ ear.


“Come on, Stiles,” each word causes a brush of Isaac’s lips on Stiles’ ear, “you should know better than to lie to a werewolf.”


Gritting his teeth and keeping his eyes on his hands where they rest on the steering wheel, Stiles grunts, “not lying.” All Stiles’ gets is a quiet, ‘mhm’ before Isaac starts mouthing at his ear. Stiles’ back is ramrod straight as Isaac begins to nip at his ear, soothing the nip with a lave of his tongue. Isaac moves down to his neck when he doesn’t get the reaction he wants.


“I bet you get hickeys easily,” Isaac rumbles against his neck. It takes all of Stiles’ focus to nod, eyes remaining on the steering wheel. “Hm, let’s see for ourselves.” A sharp nip at his neck causes Stiles to gasp. It’s immediately soothed by Isaac’s tongue.


“Come on, Stiles, don’t you wanna play?” Another nip punctuates Isaac’s words and breaks Stiles’ resolve. Stiles grabs Isaac by the hair and pulls him into a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue.


Despite Stiles’ reputation, he’s not a blushing, bumbling virgin like people expect. Hell, he’s not even a virgin anymore. It’s just being around all kinds of smoking hot werewolves makes a guy pop some inappropriate boners every once in a while. Sue him.


Stiles throws a leg over Isaac and situates himself in Isaac’s lap. Pulling back, Isaac throws Stiles and absolutely feral smile, all teeth and a hint of viciousness in his eyes.


“Shut the fuck up,” Stiles mumbles while he reaches for the lever that releases the seat. Once the seat is down, Stiles hands are all over Isaac’s chest, trying to get the ridiculous leather jacket off. Stiles feels rather than hears the rip of cloth.


“Did you just rip my fucking shirt?” Isaac shrugs and pulls Stiles down again into another hard and fast kiss. Stiles reaches up to the neckline of Isaac’s ratty t-shirt that he has under the damn leather jacket and pulls, ripping it down the center. Isaac yanks back from the kiss, brows furrowed as he looks at his now bare chest then back to Stiles. Stiles shrugs.




Isaac grabs the back of Stiles’ neck and maneuvers them so Stiles is now on his back and Isaac is looming over him. Nipping bites and soothing laves make their way down Stiles’ chest as he tries to wiggle out of tatters of his shirt. Stiles is yanking on that stupid leather jacket still by the time Isaac gets to his belt.


“Get. The fucking. Thing. Off,” he grunts, pulling and twisting at the supple material. Isaac pulls off of Stiles. Stiles grabs Isaac by the belt to stop him from going far, and Isaac whips off the jacket.


“Eager, are we?” Isaac raises an eyebrow and examines Stiles, eyes jumping from mark to mark that now spread over his chest and neck.


“You started this, so you sure as hell better finish it.”


“Oh, I plan to.”


Stiles hauls Isaac back down by his belt, arms wrapping around Isaac’s back and teeth digging into the space that Isaac’s shoulder meets his neck. A growl rumbles from Isaac’s chest and sends shivers down Stiles’ spine. He grabs Isaac by his curls and drags him into another ruthless kiss.


Isaac reaches for Stiles’ pants, but Stiles shoves him away.


“You wrecked my shirt dude, not the pants too,” and he makes quick work of unbuckling and shimming his pants and boxers off as much as he can. Stiles hisses as the fabric brushes over his straining cock, the tip already dripping beads of pre-cum.


There’s a sharp intake of breath from above him and rustling of fabric. Isaac shoves down his pants and boxers and spits into his hand. He fits his hand around both cocks, jerking both of them off; slowly at first, cautiously, but once he built a rhythm, Isaac struck up a faster tempo, Stiles keening underneath him.


Stiles could feel the building of an impending orgasm, the tightening of his balls, the way his nipples hardened even further.


“St-uh. Stop. Stop, ‘saac.” Isaac slows his movements down but never fully stops. “Want you to fuck me. Can’t do that if I come everywhere.” Isaac grabs the base of both his and Stiles’ cocks like he was unconsciously trying to stave off coming and clenched his eyes closed. Breathing deeply, Isaac asks, “You got anything?”


“Lube. Center console.” Stiles flips over, trying not to unseat Isaac, and slowly moves so he’s on his elbows and knees. When he looks back over his shoulder, Isaac is looking at him with both brows raised.


“You keep lube in your car?”


“You never know when you’ll need it. Like now. Do you wanna fuck me or not?” Stiles wiggles his ass back into Isaac’s cock. Isaac slaps Stiles ass causing Stiles’ cock to jerk. That was unexpected. Isaac let’s out a light chuckle and rubs the place he just hit before pulling back and spanking Stiles again. Stiles releases what can only be described as a whine from the back of his throat.


“Come on, ‘saac,” Stiles says, wiggling his ass once more. Hands grab his ass cheeks, massaging before separating them. Moist heat whispers across his hole and when Stiles looks over his shoulder to see what’s going on, he’s greeted with the sight of Isaac scrunched up almost completely into a ball so he can have his face level with Stiles’ ass.

“What are you—hnggg?” Warmth bathes itself over Stiles’ hole, and Stiles drops his head into his arms. Isaac works his tongue slowly around his rim, tracing it, teasing him, before dipping in and fucking him.


Air punches from Stiles’ lungs as Isaac slowly fucks him with his tongue, slow laving swipes punctuated by quick little darts. The distinct pleasure racing through his veins weaves with the unsatisfactory friction making Stiles want to cry from a sensory overload that’s not enough to actually get him off.


Slow broad stroke. Slow broad stroke. Slow broad stroke.


Quick. Quick. Quick.


“’sacc. I need you. I need your cock. In me. Like yesterday. I need you to fuck me as hard as you can. I need it. Please.” Stiles is near sobbing into his arms. Isaac pulls back, and Stiles hiccups at the loss.


“What do you want?” Slow broad stroke.


“You’re cock in me. Right now.” Slow broad stroke.


“How bad do you want it?” Slow broad stroke.


“Really fucking bad.” Isaac pulls back again. There’s a nip at his left butt cheek.




Quick. Quick. Quick. Isaac delves into his hole with a brand new vigor. He teases Stiles’ rim, darts his tongue into Stiles, soothes everything with a long broad stroke before returning to the brutal pace of his tongue.


“Hnng. ‘saac. Need you. Isaac, please. Please, I need your cock in me. I want you to fuck me. I need you to fuck me. Please, God, please, Isaac. Please.”


The soothing broad strokes return, and Stiles feels the probing of a finger against his rim.  He hears the click of a cap, and then Isaac’s warmth is gone. The only remainder is the blunt pressure of a finger.




Stiles jumps at the sensation and when he settles back into the position, he realizes that Isaac slid a finger into him. Pushing back onto it, Stiles moans. Isaac quickly adds a second, and Stiles revels in the burn and stretch that comes with it. Isaac pumps the fingers in and out, and once Stiles is fully adjusted, he begins fucking himself back onto Isaac’s fingers. A third finger joins the mix, stealing Stiles’ breath.


“I’m ready, God I’m ready. Come on, Isaac, I want your cock.” The fingers withdraw from him, and Stiles aches with the emptiness. A disgruntled grunt from behind Stiles draws his attention.


“Not that I don’t like your ass being all in my face, can you lay down? I can’t feel my legs down here.” Stiles rolls his eyes and drops to his stomach.


“Better?” Stiles sarcastically asks. He’s rewarded with a slap to his ass, making his cock twitch from where it’s wedged between his stomach and the seat causing a small moan to escape from Stiles’ mouth. Isaac moves so he’s in between Stiles’ legs. It’s a tight fit, but Stiles didn’t mind. And if Isaac minded, he didn’t say anything.


There’s another click of a cap, a hiss, and then blunt pressure, bigger than the last time, against his hole. Isaac dips his cock into him once, twice, three times; just enough to catch on his rim, but not enough to do much of anything else.


“God, Isaac. How many times do I have to say it? Put. Your dick. In me. Now.” Stiles commands through clenched teeth. A hand grips Stiles at the junction of his neck and shoulder and then Isaac slides home in one solid thrust.


Stiles’ mind goes blank. He can’t think. He can’t speak. All he can feel is the vicious pace that Isaac set. Once he got his mind about him, Stiles can hear the pitiful gasps coming from his mouth. Lifting his hips slightly, the angle shifts enough to land on his prostate. Stars explode in front of his eyes, and the noises increase in intensity. Words are forming as a running commentary of his thoughts.


“Your cock is great. Top ten. I’m gonna feel this for days. So big. Can’t even think. Oh my gosh, you’re so big. Top five dicks. Ever. I swear.”


Claws pop from the fingers at Stiles’ shoulders, and Stiles can feel the razor sharp pinpricks dig into his shoulder. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters, and his orgasm wrenches out of him like a punch to the stomach: unexpected and hard.


Isaac picks up the pace even further, fucking Stiles through his orgasm. The grip tightens on his shoulder before Isaac pulls out, and white heat splays across his back. There’s a few minutes of silence only being broken by two people trying to catch their breath, but Stiles can’t handle silence for too long. He groans, “Did you really have to come on my back?”


After pulling what was left of their clothes back into place, an awkward silence falls over the two. There is still at least an hour of patrol left, so Stiles checks his phone. There are six missed calls and seven texts, all from Scott.


Message Received 20:34

From: Scotty Boy

To: The Batman


Dude, I think there’s a fucking unicorn over here.


Message Received 20:38

From: Scotty Boy

To: The Batman


I’m gonna go pet the unicorn.


Message Received 20:42

From: Scotty Boy

To: The Batman




Message Received 20:45

From: Scotty Boy

To: The Batman


Dude, help! It’s chasing us!


Message Received 20:48

From: Scotty Boy

To: The Batman


HELP! 911!!


Message Received 20:52

From: Scotty Boy

To: The Batman


Seriously, dude! There’s a chunk out of my leg! Call Derek!!!


Message Received 20:57

From: Scotty Boy

To: The Batman




Stiles feels the color drain out of his face and looks over at Isaac who simply raises and eyebrow.