Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/882681.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Isaac_Lahey/Scott_McCall, Isaac_Lahey/Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale_&
      Isaac_Lahey
  Character:
      Isaac_Lahey
  Additional Tags:
      Masturbation, sad_Isaac_is_sad
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-14 Words: 1749
****** A Distraction ******
by sasswolf
Summary
     He needed a distraction, a release. The stress that had been building
     inside of him since seeing Derek fall to his apparent death was
     becoming overwhelming. He needed to clear his mind, forget about the
     world, if only for a short while.
Notes
     Okay okay, so this started off as something for my new Isaac rp blog
     (http://isaac-lahey-basically.tumblr.com) and somehow it turned into
     porn. Idk, sometimes I just feel like the poor precious baby Isaac
     needs to take a break and get his mind off of all the abuse the
     writers are putting him through. ):
After the events that took place the night before, it was safe to say that
Isaac felt more shaken than he had in a long while. Just the thought of
someone, this Darach, getting inside of his head: seeing the things that he
tries so desperately to forget, was severely unnerving. Those were the memories
that too often would wake him from his sleep, shaking, cold sweat soaking his
sheets, gasping for breath and nearly screaming.
It was hard enough after the incident with Allison. She and Scott knew what had
set him off. They saw the freezer, knew how his father tortured him. He trusted
Scott undoubtedly, yet still he was afraid. He was afraid to let people know.
Back then, when his father was still alive, such a thing was unthinkable. If
anyone found out…no…if anyone had even the slightest idea of how his father
treated him, there would be consequences to pay. Punishments. Awful
punishments.
So after the bus arrived at the school, after he and Scott made their way back
to the McCall’s house on Scott’s bike, he went straight to his room. (Well, the
room that Mrs. McCall had been kind enough to give him.) He didn’t want to
talk. He didn’t want Scott to ask questions, even though he knew that he would
only ask them with good intentions. Because he knew what they must all be
thinking.
Everyone else tried to kill themselves. Sawing themselves in half, drowning
themselves, lighting themselves on fire; they tried to do what the Darach
intended them to do, driven by the abuse that was implanted into their minds.
So they must be wondering: why, then, was Isaac, poor little precious Isaac,
simply hiding under the bed?
He was used to it. Used to being blamed for everything. It was his fault that
his mother was gone, his fault that his brother was dead, and if his father
were alive, it would also be his fault that he was murdered. He was, quite
simply, used to it.
He needed a distraction, a release. The stress that had been building inside of
him since seeing Derek fall to his apparent death was becoming overwhelming. He
needed to clear his mind, forget about the world, if only for a short while.
Maybe an hour or so. That should do the job. By "job", of course, he was
thinking of only one thing. Since moving in with werewolves, it was only rarely
that he would have the opportunity to partake in some "alone time". At the
present moment, however, he could hear that Scott had already fallen fast
asleep in his bedroom down the hall and any chance of him being noticed was
slim at best. Now was a better time than ever.
Sighing, he pushed himself off of his bed and locked the bedroom door with a
soft "click". For a moment, he contemplated whether or not to get dressed into
his night clothes. He decided, however, that he was quite tired enough to
resent the idea of having to deal with any potentially messy cleanups
afterwards. Instead, he flicked off the light and climbed back onto his bed.
The room was dark, but the street lamps just outside shed enough yellow light
into his window so that he didn't even need the aid of his supernatural vision.
He laid his head onto his pillow heavily with another sigh, trying to clear his
thoughts. Reaching over to his nightstand, he opened the drawer and grabbed a
bottle of lotion. Scott had given it to him, actually. Just an off-handed,
"Hey, you want this?" and a toss in his direction. At the time, he was a bit
perplexed as to why Scott thought he would need it: werewolves don't get dry
skin. Now, though, he felt a blush climb to his cheeks as he realized that
Scott probably wasn't thinking about the item's dermatological benefits.
After setting the bottle next to him, he reached down to unbutton his jeans. It
wasn't until he felt the gentle brush of his hand against the front of his
boxers that he realized just how much he needed this. Feeling a bit impatient
now, but not willing to ruin the experience, he pulled the jeans down his
thighs to give him just enough room to palm himself through the thin fabric.
The sensation sent an unexpected shiver through his body and he let out a
shuddered breath. It had definitely been too long.
He continued to feel himself through his underwear, reaching down to cup his
hand around his balls and slowly bring it upwards, fingers curved around the
shape of his slowly-hardening length. He could hear his own heartbeat begin to
steadily rise and, suddenly, he wondered if Scott might wake up. How light of a
sleeper was he? If he awoke to hear what Isaac was doing to himself, what would
he think of him? His worries were gone in an instant, however, when he
remembered that Scott was a teenage boy as well and that it was him who gave
Isaac the lotion he was going to be using momentarily in the first place.
Ah, the lotion. Remembering it sitting beside him, he carefully shimmied his
underwear and jeans down to rest by his knees, giving him ample room for what
he was about to do next. He flipped open the top of the bottle as quietly as he
could manage and squeezed a fair amount onto the palm of his hand. He carefully
distributed the lotion and began to work his slicked hand up and down along the
length of his shaft, tightening and releasing his grip as he went to suit his
liking. He laid his head back down and released a deep breath. All he had to
think about at this moment was this. He closed his eyes and put all of his
concentration on the feeling of his hand and slowly rising pressure in his
stomach. He was fully hard now, and he began to tease his head, quickly running
his thumb over the tip and pulling a breathless gasp out of himself.
He was growing impatient again and he resolved to tighten his grip. He had to
bite his lip to fight back the moan. When he tasted blood, the fact that he was
shifting slightly caught his attention. He had fangs, and hey, he could clearly
see the reflection of his bright yellow eyes in the window beside him. Though
he tried to restrain himself, god forbid he wake up Scott with any involuntary
noises, he gave in to reaching his free hand under his shirt. Still stoking
himself with his other hand, he brushed one of his fingers over a nipple,
trying his hardest to keep them from being clawed. He thought of how it might
feel, to accidentally scratch himself, to draw blood with his loss of control.
Or perhaps it could be someone else's claws, someone like Scott, on his hips or
on his back, digging into his skin and drawing crimson liquid from his pale
flesh. Not with intent to seriously injure, of course. He would heal instantly.
Or would he? What if it was an alpha? Perhaps Derek? The scratches would take
hours or even days to completely vanish. He would be marked.
At that thought, he began to quicken his pace, stroking faster and harder,
twisting his wrist as he worked himself. He was honestly surprised with
himself, how such images could turn him on, but to him any thoughts besides the
ones that had been plaguing his mind lately were welcomed with open arms. So he
kept thinking, kept imagining the sensations that someone could make him feel.
What it would be like to be shoved, or bitten, or restrained. Scott, of course,
would be gentle. He would ask repeatedly if it was okay, if it was too much.
But he knows him. He knows that Scott is kind, but he's a force to be reckoned
with when it comes to getting what he wants. And Derek, Derek wouldn't be
nearly as considerate, though he feels that it wouldn't make the experience any
less enjoyable. What about a human? A human would never be able to dominate him
like that. Well, if he ever found himself with a human, he would just have to
be the one in control. Like Stiles, so fragile and easily bruised. He's seen
it, seen him get scuffed up enough times to really appreciate how being a
super-healing werewolf can be a gift. Stiles always seems to be getting hurt;
stumbling, falling, getting into trouble. It's almost like he does it on
purpose. Maybe he asks for it. Maybe he gets off on it.
That thought sends his nervous system into overdrive. He can feel his release
rapidly approaching, the pressure quickly coiling tighter and tighter in the
pit of his stomach. He can feel himself wolfing out again, and he strains to
real his claws in. It's pointless, though, because he's grabbing the sheets
with his other hand and he can hear his fingers tearing through them. He'd
forgotten about keeping quiet. Melissa's away at work, but he quickly listens
for Scott. Luckily, he can still hear the steady breathing of his sleeping.
It's a good thing, too, because soon the noise of bed springs joins that of his
grunts and moans as he begins to rock his hips, thrusting desperately into his
hand.
He comes hard, remembering just in time to turn his head and bite into the
pillow to prevent himself from waking Scott with a loud moan. He spills out
onto his stomach, shirt still hiked up from before. Good, he thinks. Scott
would be able to smell that in his dirty laundry for days. He let's out a sigh
as he collapses into his mattress, thoroughly spent. He resolves to get up in a
few minutes to clean himself but, before he knows it, he's falling into a
peaceful sleep. In fact, it's the most peaceful sleep he's had in a while.
In the morning, he awakes with a start. Scott's knocking on his door, telling
him that breakfast is ready downstairs. Isaac starts to sit up and he cringes
at the feeling of dried cum on his stomach. He feels himself getting hot with
embarrassment as realization hits him. Scott could totally smell that.
Well, at least he wouldn't know what thoughts made it happen.
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