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But You Might Think I'm a Big Bad Wolf, So I Won't

Chapter Text

When Stiles held up the costume he bought for the big Halloween party at Jungle, Scott gaped at him while Allison bounced with a giddy little squeak of “Oh my god Stiles, that’s AMAZING” the same exact moment Scott said in full Alpha tone “Dude, you CAN’T wear that.” Stiles beamed impishly at them both, lips spread thin and teeth bared as he waggled his brows at Scott. “Why not, Scotty? Don’t I have the legs for it?”


Scott sputtered indignantly, pushing the plastic encased costume away when Stiles held it up in front of his face again gleefully. “No dude, you can’t because...I mean come on!”


Stiles cackled, head thrown back. Allison huffed out in disapproval at Scott, told him not to be such a downer and let Stiles have his fun. Before Scott could say another word, Allison gripped Stiles by the hand and dragged him back towards the bathroom. “I have the best idea!”


Scott heard them close the door, and could have listened in on their conversation if he wasn’t still completely fixed on the bagged costume left resting on the coffee table. The model sporting the “Sexy Little Red Riding Hood” costume by Leg Avenue gazing up at him mockingly. Jesus, Derek was gonna get his panties in the biggest wad over that…


Scott’s head snapped up at Stiles’ alarmed shriek, about to race to the bathroom to see what was the matter before he heard Allison giggle and Stiles’ incredulous “Dammit woman! Warn a guyyy-Ahhh!”


Deciding Stiles totally deserved whatever torture Allison was implementing, Scott slumped back into a stuffed chair and examined the costume again. It was all one piece, the hood even connected to the dress. The skirt had a sort of tutu thing under it, fluffing it out, and the model had on ridiculous heels which Scott knew full well that his bumbling bro would never even attempt to pull off. Maybe a simple pair of Chucks wouldn’t be too- Christ, Scott was not accessorizing Stiles’ ill advised pack mockery. Nope. So not gonna happen.


A few rounds of Candy Crush and blood curdling screams from Stiles later, the bathroom door slammed open. Stiles bounded out and stopped before Scott, looking the absolute picture of the cat that ate the canary as he whipped his leg up onto the coffee table and pulled his pant leg up with dramatic flair.


Scott furrowed his brows, looking down at pink and somewhat angry looking skin which was...completely devoid of hair.


“Touch it,” Stiles said, nodding down at his bare leg.


Scott squinted even further, his head shaking. Dude no, I don’t want to.”


“Touch it!” Stiles insisted again, earning another head shake and backwards flinch from Scott. He rolled his eyes, reaching forward to snatch Scott’s hand and physically drag him closer. “Dude, after your girlfriend tortured me like that, you’re stroking my freaking leg. Feel this shit, Scotty, feel it!”


Scott wrinkled his nose when Stiles forced his hand to his leg, drawing it up the length. His brows shot up at the feel though, shocked at the silky texture that actually rivalled Allison’s - not that he’d EVER admit that to her. “Dude…” he murmured in awe.


Stiles’ mouth split in a wide grin. “Right?!”


Allison stepped forward, her hands on her hips. “I waxed them” she announced, her chin pointed proudly towards her handiwork. “He’s slutty Little Red Riding Hood, not the big bad wolf.” She winked at them, her dimples popping with self satisfaction.


Stiles and Scott both kept idly petting his freshly waxed skin, amazed at how smooth it was. Allison went back to the bathroom and returned with a dark bottle. “Rub this on,” she instructed, scraping a dollop with a finger and smearing it on Stiles’ bare knee. Stiles’ nose wrinkled as he looked down at the suspicious milky...whatever it was. “What the hell is that?” he asked, horrified as he considered all the things it looked like, and wondered what the hell was wrong with girls that they’d use something like that.


“Coconut oil” Allison responded, her sweet voice not hiding the edge that she thought Stiles was being completely stupid. “It great for your skin and way less harsh than most lotions.”


Scott leaned in, his nostrils flaring. “It smells like you do,” he said with that dopey puppy expression which was only made more disgusting when Allison returned it with her own lovesick grin.


Stiles quickly worked as much of the stuff in as he could, digging more out with his own finger. It melted almost on contact, and soaked into his skin without feeling greasy. He was quickly becoming a little addicted to the feel, and fistpumped when Allison told him he could borrow the bottle.


“Just...Stiles?” she cut in, face scrunched in warning. “Don’t - jerk off with it.”


They weren’t leaving until after 10, so Stiles took his costume and miracle oil back home to get ready. He spent nearly the entire ride home with his pant leg hiked as far as it would go so he could fondle his own calf, marveling at the silky texture. The skin was so sensitive, even the feel of his jeans brushing against the freshly waxed skin felt electric. His dad was working that night, so he’d be able to get dressed in peace without giving his poor father another ulcer, or a heart attack.


He’d planned on just showering quickly, but the feel of the warm water sliding down his sensitized legs got Stiles a little...curious. He’d just meant to shave his thighs, then the top of his pubic hair and happy trail, but it felt so good he kept going until the water had gone cold and he’d painstakingly removed all the hair from his arms, groin, balls, and asshole. Never let it be said that Stiles Stilinski did anything by halves.


He couldn’t stop rubbing his legs together, loving the glide of bare skin which was both completely unfamiliar and beyond tantalizing. He chubbed up a bit while shaving, and ended up jerking off in the shower, the hand not on his prick playing with his silky smooth balls.


He used more of Allison’s coconut oil afterwards, stood for a moment to let it sink in before making his way back to his room. He dumped his costume out on the bed while he towel dried his hair, crossed the room to find the underwear he’d hidden at the back of his drawer. They were a tiny pair of dark red briefs with white trim. They were playfully boyish but rode high on his pert ass. Stiles might not have Scott’s abs or Derek’s perfect pectorals, but he had an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. He was just about to step into the briefs when he caught a look at himself in the mirror.


His normally milky skin was still flushed a bit pink from the shower, and he felt a bit self conscious seeing himself without his usual body hair. It was...odd...but also made him feel a little boyish, a little sexy. He also realized holy fuck, he’d removed all his freaking body hair and was about to go hang out with his friends and a ton of strangers with waxed legs and shaved arms. Scott and Allison were one thing, they never judged him for anything, but he’d be with Lydia, Jackson...Derek.


Derek had sacrificed his dignity and self respect to be their sober cab for the night. Scott had puppy eyed Deaton into helping him mix up a batch of wolfsbane infused vodka that the pack would actually be able to get drunk off of. He’d tested it in Stiles’ room the other night and gotten adorably tipsy. Stiles wanted to be able to properly appreciate seeing Scott a drunken mess for the first time, but he wouldn’t be able to enjoy any of it if he died from embarrassment at the Pillar of Hotness that is Derek Hale seeing him like this.


He didn’t mind being goofy with his friends, but stupid tho it may be, he wanted Derek to think he was hot. Or even cute! Cute worked. He’d been crushing on Derek for six years and had long since figured out that nothing was ever going to actually happen between them but hey, a boy could dream. Even if Derek would never be overwhelmed with animalistic lust for him, Stiles would prefer not to look too ridiculous in front of him. A dress was one thing, it hilarious and for Halloween, but a dress and waxed legs? Nope. A whole bunch of nope.


Stiles pulled on his underwear, felt a little better about himself when he saw how the fabric clung to his ass. He gave a little shake in the mirror before taking the dress out. There was a pair of long white socks in the bag as well, which prompted a relieved fist pump. The socks went all the way up to mid thigh, thinner than his usual socks, but not see through like nylons. They were definitely tight, but pretty comfortable, so he counted it as a win. Putting on the dress took some doing as everything was pre-attached, and he managed to get it into a tangled mess which landed him flat on his ass. He finally got it righted a moment later, the capelet properly about his shoulders and the skirt brushing against his thighs a few inches above the socks. The skirt was short, way shorter than he’d originally anticipated, but fitting for slutty Red Riding Hood. The top was pulled tight across his shoulders, exposing his collarbones and emphasizing the flatness of his chest.


There wasn’t a chance in hell he was even going to attempt heels, not when he could trip over himself when barefoot. His sneakers would do him just fine, and kept his costume playful. One last salute in the mirror and he was out the door.


The girls loved his costume. Allison was all dimples and white teeth as she grinned happily at him and ruffled his hair. Lydia squinted at him with pursed lips, the twinkle in her eye the only indication she was pleased with what she saw. “Not bad,” she offered, which Stiles knew meant she very much approved of his choice. She looked great, and he knew he recognized the black dress and pearl necklace but couldn’t place where it was from. She rolled her eyes when he told her she looked great, and he didn’t need werewolf hearing to catch her responding “I always do.”


Allison was dressed as Katniss, and Scott was a ninja because Scott is perpetually 5 years old. Scott huffed when he saw Stiles, not bothering to hide his judgement. Stiles had a snappy retort on the tip of his tongue but quite literally bit it back Derek pulled up to the curb in his SUV.


Oh god, Stiles was gonna puke. This was such a bad idea, why did he do shit like this...


Derek was fiddling with his phone while they all piled in, but of course looked up ‘just’ as Stiles was about to get in, granting him a perfect eyeful of both Stiles and his costume. Derek’s eyes narrowed and Stiles totally spotted a jaw twitch before he had to look down and climb in. It didn’t matter though, Stiles could feel Sourwolf’s death glare on the back of his head as Lydia yanked him into the seat next to her before he could try and crawl into the way back with Scott and Allison.


“Really, Stiles?” Derek snapped, his eyeroll long suffering.


Allison was suddenly leaning up over the seat the study him, her long fingers playing with his hair. “He just...he needs something, don’t you think, Lydia?”


“His dignity would be a good start” Derek muttered loud from the front seat as he got the car into gear, his pale eyes narrowed as he glared back at them in the rearview mirror.


Allison frowned prettily, ignoring Derek as she worked Stiles’ hair between her fingers. “Here, why don’t you just...Lydia do you have any hairspray?”


Lydia perked, lifting her bag onto her lap and digging through it. She handed a small cannister to Allison before resuming her sifting, and Allison barely gave him a chance to close his gaping maw before she spritzed his hair. Stiles coughed when the cloud managed to waft into his nose and mouth, gagging a little on the chemical taste. He winced at a particularly hard pull as Allison tousled his hair, and tried to jerk his head out of her shockingly firm grip. “Good god, woman, how strong are you?”


“So strong,” Scott offered, leaning to Stiles’ other side. “Seriously dude, you don’t even know.”


“And I don’t want to,” Stiles quipped with a nod, wiping the taste of the spray out of his mouth with the heel of his hand. He squawked when Lydia gripped him by the chin and yanked his head towards her. He was about to tell her off when she practically shoved a finger into his mouth, smearing something sticky and wet across his upper lip.


Stiles jerked back in horror, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth to clear off whatever the hell she’d just applied. “Lydia, what the fuck-”


She rolled her eyes, lips puffing out in a pout. “It’s just a little gloss, Stiles,” she informed him, her tone indicating how ridiculous she found his antics. “Calm down.” She came at him again, but Stiles shrank back until the back of his head hit the window.


“Stiles!” Derek snapped, his head whipping back so he could properly red-eye him.


“You should let Lydia do it, Stiles,” Allison suggested. “Guys love glossy lips, right Scott?”


“Allison!” Stiles gaped, eyes whipping over to Derek as if to say ‘don’t spread my dick thirst around Derek oh my GOD.’


“You advertise plenty on your own,” Lydia snipped, and since when did she add clairvoyance to her ever growing list of accomplishments? “You’re not subtle.”


Derek was most definitely looking at the road and only the road now, so Stiles finally surrendered to the girls and their primping and accepted the lipgloss without further complaint.


Jackson and Danny were already at Jungle when they finally made it through the ridiculous line. Jackson phoned it in as a sexy Lacrosse Player in his regular pants and a cutoff jersey which bared his stupid abs, and Danny was what Stiles could only imagine was an Abercrombie Zombie.


Jackson wasted no time in shooting Stiles an unnecessarily judgy once-over and told him he looked stupid. Danny actually got a flirtatious twinkle in his eye as he surveyed Stiles from head to toe, and asked Stiles if he was still looking for someone to help him lose his virginity. Stiles was about to snip that he lost that to Nate Koufman his Sophomore year at UCBH, but stopped when Danny winked at him with a suggestive quirk of his brow. Stiles decided that he’d have to revisit this little development after a little liquid courage.


Jackson got progressively salty as everyone continued to pay more attention to Stiles than they did to him, so he finally grabbed Lydia by the arm and pulled her out onto the dance floor. Once he was gone, Stiles felt himself better able to let loose and have fun. Two drinks in he was dancing with Scott, Allison, and Danny, boisterous and graceless and just reveling in the energy around him. He got compliments on his costume from men and women, both playful and flirtatious. Intentful. Stiles didn’t often get a lot of attention from men, and while he still didn’t get nearly half as many eyefucks as Danny or Scott, he got ‘some’ damnit, and that was what really mattered.


The song changed to something slow which all the couples started getting gross and sappy to, and since Danny was currently staring into the eyes of some dude dressed as a sexy cop, Stiles took it as his cue to get another drink. He thanked his foresight to wear sneakers as he pushed his way through the crowds, jostled about like a rag doll between sweaty bodies. He slapped his palms against the bartop, managing to both stabilize himself and signal the bartender. The guy smirked at Stiles’ outfit and took an extra peek at his ID before getting him a drink. Stiles was about to turn right back to his friends, but found his path blocked by a wall of...dude.


The dude-wall in front of him was huge, well over six feet, and stacked with muscle. He had long dark hair and a wicked arch to his brows, his massive shoulders covered by his sheepskin coat and only wore a tan leather vest beneath it. His eyes took a lazy gander down the length of Stiles’ body, lingering on the top hem of his thigh socks and the glossy sheen of his lips.


“Hey there Little Red Riding Hood,” the man drawled, lips curling in a predatory smile which bared white teeth.


Stiles gaped up at him, mouth hanging open until the guy actually reached up and shut it. He swallowed hard, forcing out a mirthless laugh in hopes of looking a bit less like a complete bonehead. He raised a hand with the intent of giving a mock salute, but it came off as an awkward wave. Where Derek was chiseled perfection, this guy had a devilish charm and darkly handsome features which held their own allure. Stiles licked his lips unconsciously, only realizing he was doing it when the guy’s lips pursed in a pleased grin.


He’d spilled nearly half his drink when they collided, but the guy offered to buy him another, told Stiles his name was Connor while they waited. Drinks in hand, Conner all but dragged Stiles onto the dance floor, an arm slung possessively about his waist. Stiles had to lean in close and get on tip-toe to ask Connor what he was supposed to be dressed as, shivered a little when the man’s giant hands cupped his hips to steady him.


Connor’s breath smelled like whiskey when he ducked in close to Stiles’ ear to say “a wolf in sheep’s clothing.” He winked when he straightened, but his hands remained warm and heavy on Stiles’ hips, thumbs idly tracing against his hipbones.


Any other day, Stiles would have known Connor was bad news and kept a clear distance, but it was Halloween dammit. It was Halloween and he was flying solo at a gay club and thanks to what had to be some crazy cosmic alignment he had the interest of a ridiculously hot guy. He wanted to forget about being careful for one night and just let go like the dumb kid he never really got to be.


So he let Connor get handsy, let him slip his fingers beneath the hem of his skirt to brush against his thighs, let the bear of a man turn him around and press flush against his back, pulling him close with a hand splayed across Stiles’ stomach.


The heavy beat of the music thudded through him as they danced, Connor ground up hard behind him, pressing against Stiles’ ass in a completely lewd way which made Stiles’ cheeks flush hot and his heart rate spike. It was stuffy in the club from the mass of bodies, and the drinks he’d already consumed warmed him from within, burned through his veins.


The dance floor was packed with people having a good time and paying them no mind, emboldening Stiles in a way nothing had before. He tilted his hips back, as close a move to “sensual” as he was likely to get, heat blooming in him when he felt the sizeable hardness pressing against him. Connor chuckled against his ear, his scratchy beard tickling the side of Stiles’ throat when he ducked his head down. Stiles shivered when Connor dragged his nose up the full length of his neck, inhaling deeply.


“You smell good enough to eat,” Connor rumbled against his skin.


At some point Stiles ended up backed against a wall, up on his toes while he and Connor made out. His lips tingled from beard burn, his neck tender in a few spots he knew would form disgusting hickeys by morning. He felt lightheaded from lack of air and just the surrealness of the moment. Connor’s tongue was in his mouth, brushing against his own, he had a hand on the small of Stiles’ back to keep him close, the other clamped on Stiles’ ass. Stiles whined when Connon kneaded his increasingly tender asscheek, gasped when clever fingers worked their way under his skirt, edged under his briefs…


Connor nuzzled Stiles’ cheek, humming in hungry approval as he stroked over the tender skin of the boy’s ass and found it smooth and hairless. “What have he here?” he purred with a toothy grin. “Are you completely bare for me, sweet thing?”


Stiles’ hips stuttered forwards in shock when Connor’s fingertip ghosted between the cleft of his ass. The man chuckled at Stiles’ little cry of indignation, breath hot against Stiles’ kiss swollen lips. His other hand rested warm and heavy on the back of Stiles’ pale neck, rooting Stiles to the spot with unspoken command. “What’s wrong, Little Red?” he asked, voice honeyed and mocking as he peppered kisses along the length of Stiles’ neck.


“Getting a bit handsy there,” Stiles said, brows raised for emphasis. He supposed he was lucky that his random hookup had a thing for shaved twinks, but for some reason it bothered him. He would have given his left nut for Derek to touch him like this, but that was ‘Derek’, the guy who’d pretty much written, directed, and starred in every single mental porno Stiles had imagined since he was sixteen. Stiles wasn’t used to hooking up with random guys and letting them get intimate with him when they were barely on a first name basis. Making out was one thing, a little innocent grinding was all well and good, but that this guy thought he had carte blanche to straight up finger Stiles in the middle of the dancefloor? Rude.


His distaste must have shown in his expression, because Connor’s eyes narrowed a bit as he studied Stiles’ face. “Is that a problem?” Connor asked, eyes alight with a knowing glint as his thumb idly stroked the back of Stiles’ neck.


Stiles quickly shook his head. “I’m not morally opposed to it, but we are in public right, super public, around a ton of people.”


“No one seems too scandalized, if they’ve noticed,” Connor shrugged, his hand stroking up the back of Stiles’ thigh again, this time ducking under the flouncy skirt to cup just below the firm cheek and squeeze approvingly. Stiles’ objection choked off when Connor nipped at a tendon on his throat, dragging his teeth up the length until Stiles knees turned gelatinous and he had to grip the other man’s sizeable biceps to remain standing.


It wasn’t even fair, Connor apparently could play him like an upright bass, and Stiles was quickly losing his resolve to not get fingered in the middle of a club like some sloppy tramp. His hips humped helplessly when Connor pressed a massive thigh between his own, rubbed against him just so and continued to kiss him senseless. Stiles could hear himself moaning, couldn’t stop the broken little whimpers every time Connor touched him, buried his face in Connor’s neck when the man rubbed the tips of two thick fingers against the crack of his ass over his flimsy underwear. Stiles shivered when those fingers pressed over his hole, worked in tight little circles until they searched lower to press against his perineum.


Connor pressed their foreheads together with a celebratory chuckle, the hand on Stiles’ neck sliding round to the front of his dress. Deft fingers pushed the neckline of the dress down one shoulder, baring Stiles’ chest just enough to brush his thumb in a teasing rotation around Stiles’ nipple. He practically growled when the flesh pebbled beneath his touch, grip tight on Stiles’ ass once more as he buried his face in Stiles’ neck and inhaled deep.


“You,” Connor ground out, voice more animal than man. “I bet you’d taste sweeter than candy.” He stroked a finger top across Stiles’ hole for emphasis. “I can smell your ripe little boycunt... how ready you are for me.”


Stiles’ eyes snapped open at both the words and the familiar inhuman rasp of Connor’s voice, went wide at the sight of electric blue irises. He flattened his palms against Connor’s chest, instinct driving him to create as much space as possible when he realized what the man before him really was. “You- fuck you’re a werewolf!” Fucking Wolf in Sheep’s clothing indeed. Christ, if he got out of this alive and unscathed, Stiles was going to have a serious talk with his dick about usurping his higher functioning in dangerous situations.


If anything, Connor looked more pleased at Stiles’ revelation, his lips curling into a broad smile which bared sharp lengthening teeth. He threw his head back and laughed, easily subduing Stiles’ struggles with an iron grip on both his wrists, slamming them against the wall to keep the boy still. “Don’t be like that, Stiles,” he purred, rubbing his scruffy cheek against Stiles in a manner which was likely supposed to be soothing, but completely missed the mark. “We were having so much fun together.”

Chapter Text

Part 2


Stiles found himself dragged off the wall, Connor gripping him by the back of the neck and keeping him close. He forced one of Stiles’ arms about his waist, holding it in place with a firm grip. Anyone who paid them a passing glance would think they were walking out together, Connor’s hand fond and possessive on the nape of his neck, but they couldn’t see his extending claws biting into Stiles’ delicate skin. Stiles swallowed hard, frantically casting glances around for any of his packmates; hell he’d even accept the indignity of being saved by Jackson if it meant not being kidnapped and raped by some crazed werewolf. And it would be, cause no matter how hot Connor was, Stiles drew all the lines at this fucked up situation.


Stiles felt his heartbeat pick up speed the closer they got to the front door. He tested Connor’s grip only to wince when his claws dug in dangerously close to Stiles’ jugular. He could feel the bones in his wrist grind together under Connor’s vice grip, keeping his hand in place. “I know I acted like a total slut back there, but I actually don’t put ever,” Stiles babbled. “And I’m told I’m a bad lay really could do so much better-”


Connor’s grip tightened about his neck, making Stiles squawk.


Stiles dug his heels in as they got to the door, desperately trying to wriggle out of the larger man’s hold without causing a scene which would likely lead to the severing of several important veins and arteries. “My pack is here!” he announced, changing tactic. “A bunch of werewolves, and you might be insanely huge but there’s like five of them and they could probably take you.”


Connor smirked, his eyes still glowing that eerie electric blue. Stiles could have sworn he heard some idiot shout out “cool contacts!” over the heavy thrum of the music. Connor’s only reply was to open the door and push Stiles through it with enough force that Stiles stumbled forward a few steps. There were a few people clustered outside, mostly smokers who were too drunk to notice much of anything. Stiles tried to take the opportunity to run but Connor snagged the hood of his cape and stopped him dead in his tracks. He took Stiles by the elbow and jerked him forwards, wrapped a thick arm around Stiles’ neck in what looked to onlookers like a playful headlock.


They’d passed the lines of parked cars along the street and were now coming to the edge of the preserve, the trees a dark dense line before them. There was no way this wolf could possibly live near the preserve without Derek or the others knowing about it, absolutely none. Stiles knew that once they crossed into the dense cover of trees he was done for. He had to get back towards the club, back towards people where he could raise some sort of alarm which might finally alert someone in his useless pack to the fact that he was being freaking ‘kidnapped’ by some rogue werewolf.


Connor strolled like they were on a date, completely unaffected by Stiles’ obvious fear. “You know,” he said conversationally. “I was just gonna fuck you before, but now-” he leaned down and buried his nose in Stiles’ sweaty hair, sighing contentedly. “Now I think I’ll keep you.”


The wolf’s words were ice in his veins. Stiles always swore he’d get out of the Hellmouth that was Beacon Hills the second he could, but now the thought of going a day without seeing Scott’s puppy face, of not seeing Derek...never getting to tell him how he really felt, even if it would just earn him an exasperated sigh and constipated frown...he just couldn’t imagine it. And his dad, oh god his dad...imagining him waiting for Stiles to come home and how he would worry when hours turned into days, weeks, months….years.


Fuck that.


Stiles purposefully stuck his hand into his pocket, waited until Connor turned to see what he was doing. “Eat mountain ash, fucker!” he shouted, flinging his hand towards Connor’s face in a mimicry of throwing ash, hoping the werewolf would react on instinct to the bluff even for a second. The universe was apparently ready to give him a fucking break, cause Connor did flinch back the tiniest bit, his grip on Stiles’ neck loosening just enough for Stiles to slither out and book it in the opposite direction as fast as his gangly legs could carry him.


He made it all of two feet before an arm snatched him about his waist and yanked him back. Stiles knew it was Hail Mary time and immediately began screaming out for help, voice breaking on the words in his desperation.


Connor clamped a broad palm over his mouth, gripping him so hard Stiles was convinced a tooth was going to pop out. Connor growled low in his ear in warning. “Quiet Pup,” he hissed. “Once I bite you and claim you as my mate, you won’t even want to leave.”


Stiles’ eyes widened in horror as he realized what was about to happen, body thrumming with nervous energy. Connor was going to bite him, planned to make him a werewolf...his ‘mate’. Stiles had seen first hand the power and force an Alpha had over their Beta, and knew that the man wasn’t exaggerating. He was really and truly screwed.


Connor hoisted him over his shoulder, swatting him on the ass hard enough to make him squeak. “Was gonna mount you sweet the first time,” Connor lamented, the hand on Stiles’ thigh trailing up under his skirt to the swell of the boy’s ass. “But after that little stunt, you can just take it.”


Stiles shivered at the words, at the image of himself on all fours, dragged back into punishing thrusts by cruel hands on his hips. His chest constricted almost too much to breathe, his eyes burning with the promise of tears as he tried to swallow down the impending panic attack. What the hell was he going to do? How was he going to-


Connor stopped suddenly, fingers gripping Stiles’ thigh to steady him on his shoulder from the abruptness of it. Stiles’ hands scrabbled against Connor’s broad back, trying to push his stupid cape away from his face and bracing himself best he could to better glance back over his shoulder to see what was happening. His already rapid heartbeat pounding when he saw Derek standing there. Stiles had never been so relieved to see those Alpha eyes red and stone cold bitchface. Excitement welled up in his throat, words on the tip of his tongue before being quickly cut off by the prick of claws piercing the tender flesh of his inner thigh.


Derek immediately took a step forward, mouth parting in a snarl to expose elongated canines. “You’re in my territory,” he said, voice clipped.


“I was just leaving,” Connor quipped back, and Stiles could perfectly imagine the sneer that likely twisted the werewolf’s face.


“Not with him,” Derek said, indicating Stiles with an incline of his jaw.


Stiles swallowed hard, sweaty hands slipping down Connor’s jacket.


“This little thing?” the werewolf smirked, jostling Stiles with a little shrug of his shoulder. “I was just walking him home.”


“Well thanks, but-” Derek’s claws began to to lengthen at his sides. “I’ll take it from here.”


Connor chuckled, patting Stiles’ rump hard enough to make Stiles squawk. “And what’s it to you, Alpha?” he spat the word like it meant nothing to him, like he thought it was a joke. “He’s not yours, doesn’t bear your mark...believe me I checked.”


Derek’s eyes flashed red, but he didn’t speak or move closer.


Stiles worried his lower lip, glancing back from Derek’s lean bulk to the mountain of a man he was draped over. For the first time in years, he found himself doubting Derek’s abilities. Wondered if the other man hadn’t made a move because he too was considering the possibility that this was a fight he wouldn’t be able to win. He was torn from his reverie when Connor suddenly tugged his underwear to the side, bearing him to the cold night air and, humiliatingly enough, Derek’s viewing pleasure, only to lean in and deeply inhale. Stiles’ face burned in humiliation at both what Connor had done and that Derek could see him so intimately.


“He doesn’t smell least not recent enough to matter.” Connor’s fingers grazed idly over his cleft, much to Stiles’ mortification. Humiliated, Stiles flailed his free arm back to try and cover himself, but between the stupidly short length of his skirt and the awkwardness of the angle, he couldn’t find the leverage. “Stop,” he found himself begging, a pathetic little chant which achieved very little. “Please, stop.”


Connor laughed then, cruel and sharp as he pulled Stiles down from his shoulder into his arms. Before Stiles could even dare to try and rush forward, Connor had dragged him back against his chest. He gripped Stiles’ jaw with rough fingers and forced him to look at Derek, Stiles’ vision cloudy until he blinked away tears which ran hot down his flushed cheeks.


Derek’s head was almost bowed, eyes glowing red and brow furrowed, but gaze decidedly fixed on the ground at their feet.


Connor laughed then, Stiles jostled against him from the full bodied forced ot it. He leaned down, nose brushing over Stiles temple as he spoke in a mock whisper which they all knew Derek was meant to hear as well. “I can almost taste how much he wants you, pup, but he can’t even look at you...pathetic.”


Stiles’ eyes widened at both the words, widened further still at the lack of denial from Derek. In fact, Derek looked cowed, eyes still downcast in shame, hands fisted at his sides. “Derek-” he started, confused and afraid and so goddamn hopeful it was pitiful. He’d be ashamed, except all higher functioning and appreciation for the severity of his current predicament was cast aside because holy shit...holy shit did Derek want him?


Derek’s jaw twitched, but he still decidedly ignored Stiles when he raised his head to once more stare Connor down. “This is your last warning,” he ground out, voice measured. “Let Stiles go, and get out of my territory.”


Connor’s electric blue gaze fixed on Derek, hungry and near feral at the challenge. He shoved Stiles away, sending him to a heap on the ground. Stiles landed hard, quickly scrambling back until he slammed back against a tree, mouth open and panting as his eyes darted between the two werewolves. Connor was pacing, eyes flashing and shoulders hunched. Derek finally responded in kind, stance widening as he anchored himself, teeth gnashing, but never once diverting his gaze from the other Were.


“This is what’s going to happen,” Connor said conversationally, shrugging his sheepskin coat down his massive shoulders until it slumped to the ground. “I’m going to claim your Alpha status-” His face began to shift, brow thickening as his face contorted with the change. “Then I’m gonna take your boy.”


Derek roared, loud enough to rattle Stiles’ bones and make his ears ring in it absence. He charged at Connor, claws raking through the air to slash at the Omega, parting skin enough to bare bone. Stiles jerked away at the first splatter of blood, breath shuddering through his nose as he fought down the immediate nausea. Sick as it nearly made him, Stiles forced himself to watch, tracked their every move with near panicked intensity.


He couldn’t help but cry out Derek’s name when Connor’s claws tore down his chest, splitting the front of his shirt and leaving trails of gore in their wake. Derek faltered at the sound, the glance he took over his shoulder giving Connor enough time to get the Alpha in a chokehold.


They moved too fast for Stiles to really track, a clash of teeth and fists and claws. Stiles was on his hands and knees in the dirt, wanting to help but knowing he’d only get in Derek’s way. He scrambled forwards when Connor finally got a forearm across Derek’s throat, body positioned above and holding the obvious upper hand.


Derek immediately threw an arm out to stop him, face contorted from his shift but unmistakably desperate. The distraction allowed Connor to improve his grip, but Derek didn’t seem to care, focused solely on Stiles. “Run, Stiles!” The order was hoarse, Connor’s forearm crushing his windpipe, but Derek wouldn’t look away. “…”


Connor laughed, leaning back so he was resting on his haunches, fingers curling around Derek’s throat in triumph when he saw the man wasn’t going to fight back. “Yeah, run along Little Red,” he teased. “I love a chase.”


Stiles slammed into the werewolf’s side before he even registered moving. All he succeeded in doing was bounce off like he’d hit a brick wall, but his close proximity seemed to finally get Derek’s ass in gear. Connor moved to grab Stiles, and Derek used the opportunity to sink his claws deep into Connor’s flesh and slide him practically from navel to nose.


Connor fell back with a grunt, hands clamping against his gaping wounds. Stiles reached down to help Derek up, but was quickly pushed away.


“Stay behind me,” Derek ordered, holding an arm out to bar and further attempt of Stiles to bumrush the gigantic werewolf lying before them once more. He was panting hard, but Stiles could already see his skin knitting back together, sealing the jagged scratches while Connor’s remained open and oozing.


“I’m an Alpha,” Derek reminded him, picking up on Stiles’ nonverbals. “He’ll heal, but it will take a while.” He stepped towards Connor’s prone form, face shifting back to normal so he could properly glare down at the interloper. “I could just rip your throat out now, or you could leave my territory and never come back.”


Connor’s mouth pinched on a wince, hands still tight over his throat and belly, but somehow the bastard managed to look smug while holding himself quite literally together.


“It’s not out of mercy,” Derek snipped, arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve got a deal with the local Hunters’s been awhile since they got to take out any Omegas, and I know they’d love the practice.”


The surprised on Connor’s face this time was quite genuine, his brows knitting in mounting concern when Derek tossed Stiles his phone and nonchalantly told him to call Chris Argent. That got the man to his feet, the phone’s ring urging him to move even faster. Chris answered on the third ring, voice muffled in Stiles ear. Derek plucked the phone from Stiles’ lax fingers, the conversation brief and to the point.


Stiles slumped to his knees to second Derek took the phone, falling back hard onto his ass as the adrenaline from every horrible thing which almost happened coursed through him.


Derek was before him in an instant, hands on Stiles’ shoulder, his neck, cupping his face. It took a moment for Stiles to realize the other man was checking him for injuries, the insistent “did he hurt you?” what finally clued him in.


Maybe it was the insanity of the past hour, or fact that Derek fucking Hale’s perfect stupid face was about three inches from his, brows rounded in actual concern, that what finally came out of Stiles’ lax mouth was “do you really want me?”


Derek blinked, blinked again, and then finally sat back on his knees with a patented Hale eyeroll. “Christ, Stiles...what the fuck is wrong with you? You were almost kidnapped and that is the first thing you-”


Stiles waved his hands to silence Derek, scooting forward on his ass and drawing his knees up to get in closer. “Shut up...this is important. I know he was pushing your buttons on purpose, but you wouldn’t even look at me…” Derek’s gaze immediately fixed on the ground once more. “...Kind of like you’re doing right now, oh my god, Derek!”


Derek’s head snapped up, lip curling in irritation. “What was I supposed to do? He was just trying to humiliate us both, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction, alright?”


Stiles groaned dramatically, his frustration finally clearing his head. “Nice deflection, but that is so not an answer, dude.” God, he wished he wasn’t wearing a fucking dress for this conversation. He was wracking his brains for what to say next when he realized Derek had gone still and was Stiles’ knee.


He glanced down, following Derek’s line of sight to see if there was something on him, worried it was blood because ‘gross,’ but there was nothing, just the bare skin exposed where his sock had slipped down.


“Jesus, Stiles,” Derek mumbled, hand coming up to rest atop Stiles knee. Stiles just watched him do it, too shocked by the fact that Derek Hale...Derek freaking Hale was touching him. He watched, slack jawed as Derek’s palm stroked gently down the side of his leg.


“Did you shave them?” he asked, tone small and helpless in a way Stiles had never heard before.


Stiles shook his head, practically ready to swallow his own tongue from the surreality of the situation. They both just stared down at where Derek was still fondling his calf, thumb stroking against his hairless skin. “No,” he mumbled when he finally remembered Derek had actually asked him a question. “Allison, she waxed them.”


Derek made a noise at the back of his throat, dangerously close to what Stiles would call a whine as his hand trailed back up Stiles’ calf, palm skimming over his knee and then further still up his thigh. “She did this too?” he asked, brows furrowing for the first time back into classic ‘irritated Derek’ territory.


He shook his head again, biting his lip as he unconsciously spread his legs a bit wider, feet slipping forward against the slick leaves on the ground. “She just did to above the knee. I uh...I did the rest.”


Derek’s head jerked back up to him, eyes flashing red. “The rest?”


Stiles leaned back, hands bracing against the ground as Derek’s palm slid to his inner thigh, inching slow but with purpose up under his skirt. His pulse surged when Derek’s fingertips skimmed along the hem of his underwear, pausing until Stiles managed a shaky nod of permission. He closed his eyes when one of Derek’s fingers pushed beneath the thin fabric, too overwhelmed by the sensation and the fact that it was Derek touching him, teeth digging into his lower lip. When Derek finally stroked over the baby smooth skin along his groin, Stiles couldn’t help the little whimper which bubbled forth from his lips, or the helpless hitch of his hips.


This seemed to be Derek’s cue as he surged forward, pushing Stiles back into the leaves and covering his body with his own, one hand shoved back down into Stiles’ underwear. Stiles cried out just as Derek covered his mouth with his own, the kiss rough and desperate. His hips humped up when Derek stroked all along his groin, cock throbbing as it strained against the inside of Derek’s wrist.


“So fucking soft,” Derek groaned against his panting mouth, the hand not down Stiles’ briefs tugging the neckline of his dress down one shoulder so he could lave his tongue against the bared flesh.


Stiles just lay prone in the leaves, arms useless above his head, fisted helplessly as he tried to think of what to do. He wasn’t a virgin, had been under a few guys before, but none of them had been Derek. None of them had made him completely shut down to one electrified nerve ending, lit up anywhere the werewolf touched him. All he could do was lay there panting and hump his hips helplessly against Derek when he squeezed his balls.


He whined for a second when Derek suddenly pulled back, disappointment barely lasting a second when the older man ripped off his briefs off with the aid of sharp claws. He squeaked when he found himself flipped onto his front, knees slipping in the damp leaves as he was dragged back. He tilted his hips back before he even knew what Derek intended, eyes rolling back at the first drag of Derek’s hot tongue over his hole.


“Oh fuck, Derek!” he cried out, fingers scrambling in the grass as he pushed back into Derek’s face, knees spreading as much as the man’s iron grip on his thighs would allow. Derek nipped at his tender rim before he pressed his tongue in, a hot wet unfamiliar heat which drove Stiles completely crazy. He’d never been rimmed before and was pretty much fucking addicted, rocking back against Derek with desperate little whines for more, face buried against his arm as he tried to gain some basic control over his bodily reactions.


He must have been writhing too much for Derek’s taste, because he found himself on his back once more. Derek had his dress shoved up to his armpits in record time, taking a moment to drink in the smooth hairless planes of Stiles’ prone form before bending down to lick a line up his hard cock.


Stiles practically shrieked at the contact, stomach cramping as he jerked up and cried Derek’s name. His cock was harder than he ever remembered it being, precum drooling from the tip and balls full enough to burst. He could barely handle Derek’s mouth on him, so beyond the realm of any believable possibility even ten minutes ago that he almost wanted him to stop.




Derek pushed Stiles’ knees against his chest, his palms hard on the backs of Stiles’ thighs to hold him open and give him room to get back to business, licking along Stiles’ perineum and around his rim before working his tongue back into Stiles’ hole. All Stiles could do was curl his toes and grip Derek’s hair, cock pulsing at the slip of the inky strands he’d never dared to touch slipping through his fingers.


“Oh my god...Derek….fuck,” he breathed, over and over as Derek opened him up with his tongue, cock leaking when Derek reached a hand up to drag a thumb over his nipple.


Derek lifted his head, Stiles’ heart skipped when he saw spit glisten against the man’s slack mouth and chin. “Can I fuck you?” he asked, sounding just as wrecked and desperate as Stiles felt.


Stiles nodded emphatically, shoving Derek’s head back down to his ass. “Just gimme a couple fingers first, I open quick.”


He swore he felt the prick of Derek’s claws on his thighs at that, unable to stop the almost manic smile it forced to his lips. Thankfully Derek got himself under control enough to finger him, his thick digits making quick work of him in tandem with his limber tongue. He was so close to cumming from that alone, right on the edge, every nerve lit from the inside. He was about to reach down and just tip over the edge when Derek sat back, hair wild from Stiles’ grasping fingers. He was fumbling for his belt, almost angry as he tried to jerk it free. Stiles leaned up, pawing at Derek’s jacket and t-shirt.


“Off,” he ordered. “Take these off so I can see your stupid amazing body, oh my god.”


He shoved the jacket off Derek’s built shoulders, pushed it down his arms until Derek finally shrugged it off, drawing his t-shirt off in one pull. Stiles had seen him shirtless before, and it was just as perfect and ridiculous as usual, but even more so this time because he was allowed to gape and stare to his heart’s content. His staring was cut short though when Derek pushed him back to the ground with a shove to the chest, looming over him, chiseled and so fucking handsome Stiles couldn’t breathe.


Derek finally sat back on his knees, chest heaving with his labored breaths and stiff red cock spearing through the open V of his fly. Stiles was so busy staring at him, that it took a moment to realize Derek hadn’t moved because he was too busy staring at Stiles in turn. It was surreal, the way Derek eyed him hungrily while he ran his hands down Stiles’ flat belly and along his thighs, thumbs idly rubbing at the hairless skin around his cock.


“I can’t believe you shaved everything,” he mumbled, going for stoney but falling way fucking short.


Stiles snorted, head smacking back against the leaves as he let Derek fondle him. “I can’t believe you’re this into it...mmm yeah right there.”


Derek’s thumb pressed against his frenulum, his other hand pushing one of Stiles’ thighs back again, exposing his hole. “God,’re so soft. Did you really do this yourself?”


Stiles frowned, craning his neck to look down at where Derek was touching him. “What, the shaving?”


Derek nodded.


“Yeah,” he sighed, laying back down.


Derek quirked a brow. “Surprised you had the patience to be this thorough,” he marveled. “You’re completely hairless...”


Stiles snorted. “I went super slow, man...thought I was going to slice my nuts or something.” He moaned when Derek leaned forward to rub his cock along the clean shaven crevice of Stiles’ ass, cockhead nudging his tight balls on the upthrust. “You gonna fuck my hairless ass, Big Bad, or just stare at it?”


The ensuing eyeroll was so classic Derek bitchface, it was almost heartwarming. It was probably fucked up that exasperation made Stiles’ heart flutter, but he could deal with that later. Thankfully, Derek was just as into it as he was, because the next thing he knew Derek was dragging his hips up onto his thighs, pausing only long enough to spit into his hand before he was pressing into Stiles.


It should have been wetter, they should have used actual lube and not be fucking in the middle of the preserve where just anyone could walk by, close enough to the street that someone could hear. It definitely what it hadn’t imagine the few times he’d dared allow himself to picture sex with Derek, but it was fucking good. Derek’s thrusts were short and hard, one hand holding Stiles’ hips in place and the other splayed on his chest, holding him down. Stiles’ nipple throbbed where Derek had caught it between his teeth, his belly a mess from dribbles of his own precum.


No matter what Derek did, Stiles couldn’t get enough of it. He dug his feet into the ground and arched his back, whimpering with need when Derek’s cock nudged over his prostate, pleasure warming him from the inside. Derek hunched down over him, mouthing along Stiles’ neck, biting down hard enough to hurt so good, but not enough to break the skin. His hands ran up and down Stiles’ legs as he fucked him, yanked down the other thigh sock to bare more waxed skin to his exploratory touch.


The stupid dress was bunched under his armpits, but when he moved to pull it off, Derek stopped him with a breathless “leave it…I like it” between thrusts, biting hard enough on Stiles’ bared shoulder to make him yelp. Stiles had a snappy rejoinder ready, but then Derek palmed his balls, squeezing just as his cochhead nudged Stiles’ happy spot inside, practically dragging his orgasm out of him. Stiles threw his head back, shuddering from the force of it as he clutched at Derek with every available extremity.


“Oh fuck...Stiles,” Derek wheezed, hips stuttering forward as Stiles clenched down on his cock. His head fell into the crook of Stiles’ neck, breath hot and wet on Stiles’ skin as he pulsed inside him, coming hard.


They were both bashful as they separated and righted their clothes, neither looking at the other with more than furtive glances. Stiles tugged his skirt back down into place, grimacing when Derek’s jizz started leaking out of him. He jumped a little when Derek nudged him, blushing when the werewolf handed him his shredded underwear.


“For the uh…” Derek waved a hand in the general direction of Stiles’ ass.


“Oh my god,” Stiles groaned, realizing what Derek intended. “Can you just...I dunno, turn around or something?”


Derek huffed, hands fisted in his jacket pockets. “A little late to be self conscious,” he grumbled, turning all the same.


Stiles glared at him, waiting a few seconds to see if Derek would turn back around before awkwardly reaching back and wiping the spunk from his ass. He wrinkled his nose at the soiled rag, holding it out to Derek when the werewolf turned back around. “Want to keep it to smell later, weirdo?”


Derek’s mouth pinched, glare intensifying. “Shut up.”


Stiles scoffed. “Oh my god!” he sputtered, letting the underwear drop. “Are you like in love with me or something?”


Derek’s huffed, face pinching further and brows reaching Defcon 4 intensity. “No, you idiot.”


Holy. Shit.


“Oh my god, you ‘are’!” Stiles’ fingers raked back over his scalp, eyes wide in shock. He wanted to jump up and down at the realization, but on the likely off-chance it would shake more jizz out, he settled for a triumphant fistbump. “Why didn’t you jump me like years ago, I’ve had a hard on for you since sophomore year.”


“I don’t love you,” Derek ground out, arms crossing over his chest. “It’s just a crush, don’t get so excited.”


Stiles ambled forwards, playing with his skirt to give Derek a little peek-a-boo of his spent cock and tightly nestled shaved balls, grinning like the idiot Derek accused him of being when the werewolf’s eyes flashed red. “I want a fall wedding,” Stiles simpered, turning to give Derek a similar flash of his ass. “We’ll need a year to get my dad on board...considering he once arrested you and all.”


Derek rolled his eyes again, but didn’t move. It was as much permission as Stiles needed to wrap his arms around Derek’s neck and nip at his grumpy downturned mouth. “And don’t think that just because I put out I don’t expect to be wooed. Like serious big time werewolf wooing.”


One thick brow arched as Derek fought down a bemused smirk. “Werewolf wooing?”


Stiles nodded, catting his body against Derek’s and directing Derek’s hands to his ass. “Yeah...bunnies on my doorstep, howling at the moon outside my window, the works.”


This time Derek did snort, gripping hard at Stiles’ ass and dragging him forward a step. “You’re an idiot,” he said again, corner of his mouth quirking.


Stiles grinned, threading his fingers in Derek’s dark hair. “You love it.”