Title: Subliminal Messages
Fandom: Teen Wolf (series)
Warnings: masturbation, implied m/m
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf and am making no money; I am doing this for my own fun and entertainment. The fandom belongs to its respective creators and owners who *are* making money off them.
Beta: NONE! Any mistakes are my own
Spoilers: vaguely first and second season I think
A/N: I have only watched the first 4 eps of this, the very vague mentions of the other characters are being implied from what I've inferred from the show and read through various fanfics, be warned. First thing I've written in months and I have this random idea pop in my head. Go figure.
Summary: Derek finds a hidden message that changes everything.
Stiles was in porn. Stiles was in porn. Stiles was in werewolf porn.
Derek's hands trembled faintly as he looked down at the glossy evidence he held, the edges of the magazine crumpling slightly as his grip tightened and he fought the urge to let his claws extend, unwilling to risk damaging the image staring back at him. He was an Alpha, he should have better control over his body, but the taunting photo was making his control slip further and further every second he stared at it. Absently, he supposed that was the entire point of the picture, to get a werewolf's, an Alpha's, control to slip, to drive them mad with desire. A slightly hysterical bark of laughter slipped from him; it was certainly doing its job.
He didn't know what had possessed him to subscribe to the magazine, to have the very carefully wrapped item delivered to his mailbox once a month, maybe because he was lonely, what with his Betas and Stiles...fuck, Stiles... having all gone off to college after high school, leaving him alone in Beacon Hills with only Chris Argent left who knew his secret. True, they were mostly only a few hours away and generally returned at least every other weekend to visit, but it still left him puttering around his rebuilt home with little to occupy his days, much less his nights. And he'd never been one for random hookups, his history with Kate making him much too wary of strangers to really be able to relax and enjoy what should be a night of casual sex without worrying if his partner had some kind of secret motive for seeking him out. So the magazine seemed like a good outlet, a combination Playgirl and Playboy for the werewolf population, beautiful males and females on display on almost every page in little to no clothing posing in blatantly sexual or submissive poses geared specifically toward inciting a werewolf's baser nature.
And then he'd opened the newest issue as he lay in bed, skin still damp from his shower, windows open to let in the crisp autumn breeze, his eyes skimming quickly over the pages as he idly flipped through them before a flash of pale skin on a dark backdrop had him flipping back quickly to the page he now stared at. The first time he looked at it, he tried convincing himself it was just someone who looked similar, but the longer he stared at the pale expanse of flesh, the more he knew he couldn't lie to himself. The familiar scattering of moles dotting the otherwise flawlessly white skin, seen so often when they'd had to patch each other up after yet another fight, more injuries that the lone human among them couldn't heal on his own. A broad fingertip traced over a jutting hipbone, realizing they must have touched up the photo because the pale scar that ran above it was missing. Eyes darting over the picture in specific spots, the curve of his ribs, the outside of his thigh, his shoulder, all touched up, covering the scars the boy had earned in combat with forces that would always outmatch him, and yet somehow always lost to him as well.
He realized he was stalling, after the first glance at the whole picture he'd made himself take it in in pieces, as if compartmentalizing it would make it less powerful, make him less aware of the attraction he'd been trying to ignore for quite some time now. Accepting the guilt he knew would follow, he shoved his boxers down his thighs before reaching over to his nightstand to fumble with the bottle of lube he kept inside, unwilling to take his eyes off the picture he knew was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. As his slicked hand wrapped around his cock, already more than half hard and rising quickly, he truly let himself take in the picture in front of him. The picture itself wasn't explicit, hell it was damn near tame compared to the much more hardcore shots also found in the magazine, Stiles was naked…Stiles was NAKED…kneeling on the ground with his legs spread wide as he rested on his heels, only a well-placed gray stuffed wolf sitting in front of him kept the world from seeing anything they shouldn't. On its own, Derek had seen similar pictures in Laura's fashion magazines, nothing explicit about it, but it was the look on Stiles' face, his head canted back at the perfect submissive angle, baring his throat as those whiskey colored eyes peeked out from sinfully long lashes, plush lips parted slightly with just a peek of his tongue glossing over them.
His hand speeding, he felt his cock throbbing, pre-cum leaking steadily from the tip as he was all too easily able to imagine Stiles posed exactly like that in front of him, neck bared to his Alpha, to Derek, waiting for Derek to take what he was so blatantly offering, too easy to imagine shoving his cock past those obscene lips of his, always slick and red from the boy's own tongue and teeth. The magazine shook with the tremors coursing through him as he grew closer and closer to the edge, his movements becoming harder and more uncontrolled as he followed Stiles' arms down to where graceful fingers rested on the toy's head, right in front of his groin, and it was then he noticed the collar on the toy, or more specifically the tag on the collar and the bold block letters reading DEREK printed on it.
The surprise and the image and the message it contained combined to push him over that trembling edge, his hips bucking upwards as he started to cum, thick strands of it splattering across his stomach and hand from his rapid movements, but it was the stray drop that fell on the page, dripped down photo-Stiles' chest that had his head falling back as he groaned out Stiles' name, his hips bucking uncontrollably as he milked every last drop of his orgasm from his body.
Derek didn't know how long he lay there, unable to hear anything except the blood rushing through his ears, feeling his heart thunder in his chest, his body trembling and twitching from one of the most powerful orgasms he'd ever had. Later he'd blame his lack of awareness of the intruder in his home to the fact that all his senses had been off lined momentarily, but a subtle clearing of someone's throat had his eyes flying open, all too aware in a moment at the picture he must make, boxers shoved half-way down his thighs, chest and hand sticky with cum and a skin-mag fluttering to the floor. The next moment as his gaze landed on the intruder, left him feeling even more humiliated and guilty as the subject of his masturbatory session stood leaning in his doorway, but instead of disgusted or embarrassed, Stiles looked…pleased?
Suddenly a gray blur was flying toward his head, his arm darting out to grab the projectile on instinct, his brow furrowing as his fingers sank into soft synthetic fur. It was the wolf from the picture.
Stiles pushed away from the doorframe, let his ever-present hoodie slide from his arms as he neared the foot of the bed, his gaze raking unapologetically over Derek's exposed body. With a quirk of his lips, that ever present wicked humor making an appearance and making Derek finally relax, the teen gestured toward the magazine on the floor. "So I see you got my message. Any response?"
A growl as Derek pulled him onto the bed, prompting a burst of laughter from Stiles before Derek cut it off with a claiming kiss was all the answer he needed.