A/N: Hey, long time no see! I am still writing, but some of it has been RPF that I don't post here. I'm mostly using Archive of Our Own for posting on now anyway, so if you want to be sure of keeping up with any fic that I write, it's probably best to follow me over there.
So anyway, Teenwolf is my newest, shiniest fandom – and here's a taster. There is more on my profile on AO3. All my other fic is archived there too. This is the closest I can manage to a link: archiveofourown dot org /users/fr333bird
Or just google 'fr333bird AO3' which is probably easier than fixing the fake link!
Stiles has never had the best sense of self preservation.
He's the first to admit it. Let's face it - if he did, he probably wouldn't spend his time lurking around crime scenes, or hanging out with werewolves and touching them inappropriately. But none of this is something he can really help. His dad is the sheriff and Stiles is naturally inquisitive; his best friend is a werewolf; and he can't help if it he gets carried away and forgets what he's doing with his hands when he's talking to Derek, Derek is very distracting. But deep down - or actually maybe only very slightly below the surface - Stiles sits with the uneasy knowledge that he actually rather enjoys the danger, but he's not too sure what that says about him as a person and he isn't particularly keen to analyze it very closely.
Stiles' lack of any common sense to speak of, and his unhealthy need for excitement in his life probably explains why he's currently skulking around in the woods outside Derek's house while the full moon is rising in the darkening sky. His palms are prickling with nervous sweat, and his heart is pounding out a tattoo in his chest that's so loud, he's frankly surprised Derek hasn't heard it yet. Stiles still isn't really sure exactly why he's here, only that he was completely unable to stay away despite of (or if he's honest maybe it's because of) the dire warnings that Scott relayed to him earlier that day.
Six hours earlier
"No way, man. I'm not falling for this bullshit. Nuh uh." Stiles spins around on his desk chair, shaking his head and waving his arms around.
"I'm not kidding, Stiles," Scott insists. "I'm serious. Allison, would you tell him?"
Allison shrugs sympathetically. "It's true," she nods. "All of it... well - I can definitely confirm that the full moon will make the situation worse, because I checked it with my dad. If you don't believe us you can look that part up for yourself."
"But really... me? Derek... and me?" Stiles just doesn't get it. It doesn't compute. "Why is he going to want to hump my bony ass? Usually he can't get out of my personal space fast enough. Seriously, don't you think I'd have noticed by now if he had the hots for me? I mean, Jesus. I've been waiting sixteen years for someone to take an interest, I think I'd have spotted it."
"Honestly?" Scott shakes his head. "I have no idea. I mean... no offense, dude, but you don't really do it for me. Even if I was into guys I don't think you'd be my type..." Stiles quirks an eyebrow and Scott gets back to the point. "But Stiles. Derek told me okay? And he didn't look like it was information he really wanted to share with me, but he was doing it because he doesn't want to hurt you, man. He's worried that if he so much as catches your scent tonight that he won't be able to control himself."
All the mental images that that last sentence conjures up really shouldn't be making Stiles' dick get hard, but it's just another thing he can't control. He's sixteen, and hormones are a bitch (no pun intended).
"But nobody ever wants to have sex with me," Stiles wrinkles his brow and shakes his head. He's not being dramatic or self-pitying here, it's just a fact. To his knowledge, thus far, no one in the world has ever wanted to get any Stilinski action, and it's not for want of trying on his part - if trying means having hopeless, but well-publicized crushes on people who are way out of his league that is.
"Look," Scott sounds exasperated. "I'm just passing on the message, okay? According to Derek, you smell like his own personal brand of catnip, or whatever the wolf equivalent is. So what with him being in heat and the full moon and all... just please, stay in tonight okay? And lock all the doors and windows."
"Because obviously those do a stellar job of keeping supernatural beings out," Stiles rolls his eyes.
"Whatever, dude. Just do it."
In his defense, Stiles did consider doing it. He got as far as locking the front door after his dad went out for the night shift, but stubbornly left his window open because it was hot outside, okay? and he didn't have to do whatever the fuck Derek told him to do.
He lay on his bed for approximately five minutes, thinking about werewolves in heat and what exactly that might involve and those thoughts led to him getting a boner. The re-routing of blood from brain to penis is really the only logical explanation for the decisions that followed. The net result of these decisions have lead to him finding himself here, creeping around in the bushes outside the Hale house like some kind of crazed stalker. The sort of crazed stalker who stalks grumpy werewolves who've made it abundantly clear that they don't want to see him anytime soon. Teenage hormones really make for very bad decision-making, Stiles reflects, adjusting his dick for the umpteenth time.
He's feeling slightly foolish now he's actually here, because he doesn't really know what to do next. Clearly hiding in the undergrowth is just stupid, because - hello? werewolf senses. Derek probably knows he's here, and that makes Stiles feel even more ridiculous than he usually feels which is saying something. So, he screws up his courage, stands up straight and starts to walk through the darkness up to Derek's front door. Unfortunately for Stiles, a tree root ruins his attempts at making a dignified arrival. He trips and sprawls, landing flat out in the damp leaves with an undignified 'oomph.'
As he pushes himself up, struggling to get a grip on the slippery leaves, he's grabbed under the armpits from behind and hauled abruptly upright. Stiles flails, adrenaline surging through his system as he tries to get his footing.
"For fuck's sake, Stiles," Derek growls. Stiles can't see his face, but he'd know that growl anywhere. It makes the hair on the back of his neck rise and sends an alarming thrill through him. Yep, Stiles definitely likes danger - as in like likes it. Before he has time to do more than register that thought in a 'heh' kind of a way, Derek whirls him around like a rag doll and shoves him up against a tree, pinning him there with a thigh between Stiles' legs.
"Um... hi," Stiles stretches his lips back in a poor attempt at a grin. He's not really sure what the correct etiquette is for turning up on the not-quite-doorstep of an Alpha in heat who is specifically hot for you. Someone should really write a guide book on that, maybe he will if he survives the experience. His thoughts are derailed when Derek buries his face in Stiles' neck and starts audibly sniffing him. This really shouldn't be so much of a turn on... but then... oh... licking. Mmhmm, licking is even better, and Stiles makes a noise that would be embarrassing if it wasn't for the fact that Derek is biting his neck now and humping his leg like a randy dog on the side of the couch, and... "Yeesh, dude," Stiles yelps. "A little less teeth and a little more tongue would be good."
Derek drags his face away with a growl of frustration and there's just enough light for Stiles to see that he's not in full wolf mode yet, although his eyes are flaring red and his teeth are definitely more than human-sharp which explains why Stiles had been starting to feel like a chew toy.
"I told you to stay away, Stiles," Derek's voice is a low rumble of irritation that speaks of iron control stretched to near-breaking point.
"Well technically, yes, but..."
"But you never, fucking, listen, do you?"
Derek's hands are still gripping Stiles' shoulders painfully tight, there may be claws involved but it's hard to be sure with the heady cocktail of hormones coursing through Stiles' system. Because Derek's thigh is still pressed tight under Stiles' crotch and Derek's body is like a furnace, heat radiating through his thin henley, making Stiles a mess of excitement and fear, want and terror, all tangled up in a mess of confusion. He can feel Derek, hard against his hip and his own cock is leaking, sticky in his underwear and - god - he can smell his own arousal so how strong must it be for Derek and his super senses?
It's probably the only time in Stiles' life that he's ever managed to give a one word answer to anyone, but he figures that they weren't really making much headway with the talking, so why not give actions a shot instead? He brings his hands up to Derek's face and feels that perfect stubble under his fingertips, sliding higher until his palms are grazing it with an audible rasp, and then his hands are around the back of Derek's neck and he just pulls him closer, mashing their mouths together in a smush of lips and tongues and Jesus, there are the teeth again, but they feel human now so that's something. Stiles just melts into it as Derek kisses him back, hot and messy and desperate. Derek's humping his leg again and Stiles is thrusting right back, and it would be kind of ridiculous if it wasn't so fucking perfect. Stiles whimpers and grinds harder against Derek, assuming that it's probably okay to come in his pants, because it feels like Derek might too. But just as Stiles is teetering at the point of no return, Derek pulls away. Stiles grabs him and tries to pull him back, whining in an embarrassingly desperate way.
"No," Derek pushes him away again and Stiles fleetingly wonders if he might actually break his hand on Derek's jaw if he punches him right now, because seriously? What is with the stopping and the no? But then Derek drops to his knees in the dirt and is tearing at Stiles' belt and zipper like a werewolf possessed and Stiles is totally okay with this turn of events.
Derek shoves Stiles' pants and underwear down around his thighs and swallows Stiles' cock in one hungry slide of his mouth. Stiles mentally crosses his fingers and prays that the teeth stay human and won't be involved, before the slick heat of Derek's mouth and the rhythmic sucking pretty much make Stiles forget about everything other than the burning need to come, teeth or no teeth.
"Oh god," he pants. "Yeah... fuck. That ought to do it."
Derek forces his legs apart and there's a finger probing at the tight furl of Stiles' ass. Stiles squeaks and his legs wobble, and the finger - mercifully clawless - breaches him just as he loses it completely and comes down Derek's throat with a hoarse cry and a few hapless bucks of his hips against the immovable grip of Derek's hands.
Before Stiles has even started to come back to earth from planet orgasm, Derek is on his feet again, and there's rustling and zipper noises and something hot and wet and distinctly dick-like is pushing insistently against Stiles' ass while Derek sucks on his neck in a manner that brings vampires to mind rather than werewolves.
"Dude... easy with the teeth," Stiles protests, and Derek eases up a little on the neck area but only starts thrusting harder in the ass department.
"Jesus, Stiles..." his voice is hoarse, desperate. "I want... I need you... I need to fuck... I can't..."
Stiles' knees go weak again and his spent cock starts to perk up. "You can," he pets Derek's hair, soothingly, running his fingers through the thick spikes of it. "You can do whatever you want. But not here. You can't fuck my virgin ass out here in the dark up against a tree, because that's not how this is supposed to go. We need a bed, or a sofa at least... and some light would be good because I want to see you - fuck, I want to see you... preferably naked so nudity would be preferred, and lube... Christ, Derek... please tell me you have some lube in the house? Because if you haven't, one of us will have to drive and... oh okay... wow, I forget how strong you are..."
And Stiles stops talking then, because Derek has swept Stiles up into his arms and is kissing him again, while carrying him over the threshold of the house in an alarmingly bridal fashion. Stiles assumes this means that Derek does indeed have some lube, or something that will do the job.
It turns out that olive oil works just fine. Although why Derek has olive oil is anyone's guess as he doesn't seem like the type to be into cooking, but Stiles stops wondering about it around the time that Derek's second finger works its way into his ass. He's spreadeagled naked on Derek's bed - well, Derek's mattress but it beats the up against a tree scenario - and Derek (also naked thanks to Stiles' insistence) is pinning him down and sucking on his nipples while he fingers Stiles' open with an impressive amount of patience for a werewolf in heat. Stiles can feel Derek's cock, hot and wet against his leg, and when Derek glances up at his face there's a red glow to his eyes that show just how close beneath the surface the wolf is lurking. It makes Stiles shiver with that perfect blend of fear and lust when he thinks about the delicate line that they're treading here... but he trusts Derek. He trusts him to rein in it just enough to keep Stiles safe.
Stiles is totally hard again now and the drag of Derek's fingers is sparking a heat deep inside that makes him writhe and moan, past caring about the sounds coming out of his mouth. "I'm ready... I can take it. Do it," he insists. "Really, I'm sure your cock can't be bigger than however many fingers you've got up there right now... get on with it."
"Do you ever stop talking?" Derek's lips quirk, amused, even though his eyes are red and he's looking a little on the toothy side again.
"I guess when my mouth's full I might," Stiles says, without really thinking how that sounds.
Derek's eyes flash hot and he smirks. "I'll test that theory another time, but right now I'm going to be filling your ass instead." He pulls his fingers free with a filthy squelching sound and grips Stiles' hips, flipping him over onto his knees and pushing his shoulders down so Stiles faceplants into the pillows with his ass in the air.
"Gee thanks, what is dignity?" Stiles mutters in protest. But Derek's pillows smell pretty damn good in a musky-Dereky kind of a way which distracts him from his grumbling. And then the blunt head of Derek's cock is pressing, forcing him open with a stretch that makes Stiles gasp and tense, but then it's inside, and Derek pushes deep and it hurts but it's good, and Stiles just takes it, his moans muffled as he presses his face into the pillow and resists the urge to bite, because nobody likes to be a cliche.
Derek seems to try and hold back at first, his thrusts slow and careful, but Stiles pushes back against him in encouragement and Derek starts to lose it pretty fast. He fucks into Stiles harder and harder, his hips slapping into Stiles' ass, sweat making their skin catch. Derek's fingers are tight on Stiles' hips, pressing bruises into the skin and when he leans down and starts sucking and biting Stiles' shoulders there are definitely teeth happening... but Stiles is too far gone to care. He manages to get a hand down to grip his cock and groans with relief when his fingers curl around it and he starts to jerk himself hard.
"Yeah," Derek rasps. "I want to feel you come on my cock, make yourself come..."
"I'm on it," Stiles pants in reply. "Just a little more... oh... yeah... nearly... oh fuck!" and then he's spilling on his fingers and the mattress as his orgasm tears through him, and Derek is roaring, a sound that's in no way human as his hips jerk and his hands are tearing through the sheets either side of Stiles' head with definite claw action going on, and Stiles just keeps on coming right through it all until they're both spent and shaking.
Before Stiles has a chance to move, Derek is pulling out of him and crawling down the bed and Stiles feels a hot trickle between his thighs and Derek's tongue licking him clean. Stiles just whimpers and lets Derek do it until he's satisfied. Then strong hands turn Stiles over and the tongue is on his belly and his softening prick, lapping up every last trace of their come.
When Stiles opens his eyes again Derek is sitting between his legs, looking down at him, and his eyes are back to that perfect shade of hazel that's unearthly in its own way and the wolf is hidden again.
"You okay?" Derek's voice is gruff, and if Stiles didn't know better he'd think he was blushing. But Derek Hale doesn't blush so it must just be the light, or a sex flush or something.
"On a scale of one to cloud nine, I'm pretty much a cloud eleven right now," Stiles grins at him, not caring that he's not making any sense at all. Because he's not a virgin anymore, and Derek-fucking-Hale just just boned him, and that's pretty much the best thing that's ever happened in his life.
Derek smiles, a slow curve and stretch of his lips, and it's like watching the sun creep out from behind a particularly stubborn cloud. "You can stay... if you like? Unless you have to get home of course."
"Nope, Dad's on nights, and frankly, after what you just did to me you'll have to carry me home if you want me gone, because I wasn't planning on moving anywhere for at least eight hours. Dude, my legs are jello."
"Okay then," Derek lies down beside Stiles and pulls at him until they're totally spooning, Derek's chest against Stiles' back and their legs folded together. And Derek pulls the covers up and over them and just wraps himself around Stiles like an extra layer. Just as Stiles is drifting off to sleep, it occurs to him that maybe sleeping in the same bed as a werewolf in heat on the night of a full moon isn't entirely safe. But whatever. Playing it safe has never been his thing and it seems to be working out pretty well for him so far.