Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1025265.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Stiles_Stilinski/Original_Male_Character(s)
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Hurt_Stiles, Dubious_Consent, BDSM, Rough_Sex, Power_Imbalance, Triggers,
      Bruises, Spanking, Whipping, Oral_Sex, Blow_Jobs, Angst, So_much_angst,
      Nudity, NSFW_Art, Beating, Abused_Stiles, Abuse, Punishment
  Series:
      Part 2 of Beneath_My_Skin
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-10-31 Words: 2800
****** Become So Numb ******
by CranApplePye
Summary
     By the time he finally guided Stiles' head towards him, it was almost
     a relief because it meant they were almost done. All Stiles wanted to
     do was get this over with. He wanted to be home. He wanted to shower
     and take a million Tylenol. He wanted to shut himself in his room and
     play his music too loud and just not think about anything. Not about
     how he'd almost gotten his friends killed. Not about the slew of
     supernatural nasties they'd inadvertently brought swarming down on
     their own heads. Not about the fact that he was close to failing two
     classes in school and still couldn't get through this damn invocation
     without burning himself, despite the way his teacher was quite
     literally trying to beat it into him.
     Callused fingertips caressed his jaw and a thumb slid across his
     lower lip, coaxing his mouth open.
     Especially not think about this. 
     -----
     Short ficlet and accompanying artwork. The artwork is extremely NSFW.
     Story contains a lot of potential triggers, please heed the tags.
     This is part of a small series.
Notes
     This picture and scene and the others in this series are the product
     of a story idea I can't shake, but have no time to write properly.
     You can read my explanation of the idea in the_first_part_of_this
     series. If anyone would like to take the idea as a prompt and run
     with it, feel free! :)
     Once again, please heed the warnings. Feedback always appreciated!
     Thanks!
 
 
By the time he finally guided Stiles' head towards him, it was almost a relief
because it meant they were almost done.  All Stiles wanted to do was get this
over with.  He wanted to be home.  He wanted to shower and take a million
Tylenol.  He wanted to shut himself in his room and play his music too loud and
just not thinkabout anything.  Not about how he'd almost gotten his friends
killed.  Not about the slew of supernatural nasties they'd inadvertently
brought swarming down on their own heads.  Not about the fact that he was close
to failing two classes in school and still couldn't get through this damn
invocation without burning himself, despite the way his teacher was quite
literally trying to beat it into him. 
Callused fingertips caressed his jaw and a thumb slid across his lower lip,
coaxing his mouth open. 
Especially not think about this.
The fingers tightened on his chin, drawing him forward almost gently.  It was
the first gentle touch he'd had from those hands today.  The older man had been
in a mood all evening and Stiles' continued failure to master the spell he was
trying to teach him hadn't gone over well, as testified to by the teen's
welted, stinging skin. It was a good thing it was Friday, because otherwise he
would have had a hard time sitting through class tomorrow. Again. 
The tug on his chin became more insistent and Stiles' face went blank, his gaze
fixed on nothing in particular as his hand rose automatically to caress already
hard and leaking flesh in front of him.  His fingertips glided along the hot
length as he angled it towards him.  He knew by now what to do, what was
expected of him.  It wasn't like it was difficult, not really.  The mechanics
were fairly straightforward. 
He took the head of the weeping cock in his mouth, letting his lips and tongue
wrap around it.  His motions were practiced and rote.  He felt the sensations
and tasted the bitter, salty flavor, but there was as part of him that wasn't
really there, protected by a growing sensation of detachment. He was starting
to get pretty good at the whole sucking and licking business, but it quickly
became clear that wasn't going to be enough to satisfy tonight. The older man's
hand fisted in his hair, pulling Stiles closer as he drove forward with his
hips, pushing in deeper, wanting more.
Stiles tried to relax and take it, breathing through his nose. Closing his
eyes, he fought to suppress his gag reflex and the crawling sensation in the
pit of his stomach as the other man thrust into him like he was trying to fuck
his throat.  Okay, so maybe not all of it was that straightforward.  He was
still working on this part. The not-gagging-and-throwing-up-when-you're-
shoving-your-disgustingly-enormous-dick-down-my-throat part.  His teacher
appeared pretty enthusiastic about helping him learn, and like with most of his
teachings, he didn't seem to mind at all if Stiles got hurt in the process. 
Pain was a teacher. That's what Finn had told Stiles in the beginning.  That's
what he'd told him again today when he tethered the bound, collared, naked boy
to a ring in the floor and proceeded to beat him mercilessly with a strap as
motivation while Stiles tried desperately to correctly perform the spell that
would activate the symbols on his chains and set him free.  It was a difficult
and painful invocation and Stiles had made the mistake of saying so last week. 
So, this week his sadistic asshole of a mentor had decided to make it more
painful for him to notdo it.  
Not that it had helped much.  Stiles had nearly melted the manacles and almost
set himself on fire in his desperation to force the invocation, which at least
meant he was getting closer, but he still hadn't gotten it right. All he had to
show for tonight was his raw skin, a nasty set of bruises around his wrists and
throat and the firm determination that he was going to practice like crazy and
figure out what the fuck he was doing wrong on his own, beforehis next lesson. 
Because he was notdoing this again.
Stiles whimpered involuntarily, attempting to open his jaw wider and keep his
bruised lips over his teeth as the older man continued to thrust into his mouth
much too hard.  When the punishing thrusting slowed a little, Stiles took
advantage of the reprieve. Blinking away tears, he went to town on the cock in
his mouth, sucking and licking and nibbling and taking it as deep as he could,
massaging his partner's balls  and stroking his thighs - anything to make it
good enough for him that he wouldn't start pounding him again. 
Stiles focused on his task because he wanted to get this bastard off and get
out of here, but he felt a quivering, angry tightness in his throbbing jaw and
a burning sickness in his stomach when he realized that he was doing exactly
what the older man wantedhim to do.  The unspoken threat of pain if he wasn't
entertainingenough had him tripping over himself to give the asshole stupendous
oral and he was going to be working himself ragged this week to master the
spell so he wouldn't spend his whole next lesson being tortured again.  Stiles
hated being manipulated like this, especially when he could seewhat the bastard
was doing... but it turned out pain wasan effective teacher. If that wasn't the
most galling and annoying kick in the balls of all time, Stiles didn't want
know what topped it.
Stilling his unhelpful thoughts, Stiles focused on getting the job done.
Humming and moaning around the hard length trapped in his mouth, he was darkly
gratified to feel little tremors running up the older man's thighs under his
hands.  There was a certain power to be had in this, in knowing how to pull a
reaction from someone and make them on some level vulnerable. He may be the one
with few options in this situation, but it didn't mean he was helpless.  He
watched and he learned - sometimes rather more than his teacher intended.
Stiles hated this man, but he would use him.  He would use him until he didn't
need him anymore and then the pervy douchebag could go fuck himself.  
Until then... he could do this.  He could think about something else and go
through the motions. It was just sex.  He was a teenage boy, that was supposed
to be all he thought about, right?  It wasn't like anyone else was actually
interested in doing this kind of stuff with him, nor was he cheating on
anybody. You would have to have actually hada girlfriend or boyfriend at some
pointin your pathetic life for that to even be a concern. But nope, no worries
there. So... no big, right?  Not given the alternative.
A little pain and BDSM-y sex were nothing weighed against the lives of the
people he loved.  He wasn't going to lose them.  He wasn't going to be helpless
anymore.  He was 100% done with that.  The McCall pack desperately needed a
real Emissary and it was pretty clear nobody else was going to take the job. A
lot of this magic only worked in human hands and that made thisthe thing that
Stiles could actually do.  As much as he had, once or twice in dark moments,
considered asking Scott to bite him, he knew that one extra wolf body wasn't
going to do them a lot of good. They didn't need more fangs and claws, they
needed someone who had a freaking clue. Scott was as good hearted as they came,
but he was being forced to grow up way too fast. Being an Alpha didn't give him
answers, just more responsibilities that he barely knew how to handle but would
kill himself trying to live up to.  Hadalmost killed himself trying to live up
to, in point of fact.
Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing raggedly against the dick in his
throat and the even more painful memory of Scott chocking on his own blood,
body convulsing as his body fought to keep healing his liquefying insides. 
Because Stiles had screwed up.  Because Scott had trusted him implicitly and
Stiles had thought he knew what he was doing, but he didn't, he was too green
and inexperienced and hadn't known about all the little ways in which what they
were attempting could go horribly wrong.
Stiles was having trouble breathing again, but it had nothing to do with the
slick, warm flesh pressing at the back of his throat and everything to do with
the memories he would never be able to get out of his mind or his heart.  He'd
almost killed them.  He'd almost killed everyone he most wanted to protect. 
Scott, Lydia, his Dad... even Isaac and Allison.  Without supernatural healing,
only the two wolves would have even had a chance of surviving that disaster if
Scott hadn't figuratively thrown himself on the grenade and taken the worst of
it. 
The terrible moment in which he realized everything had gone to hell and they
were all about to die was seared into his mind like a scar. His Dad
instinctively grabbing Lydia and trying to shield her. The sickening
realization that it didn't matter and they were all going to die because of
him. Like Mom. 
Stiles couldn't breathe for real now.  He was twisting his head away,
struggling with the grip on his hair and scramble backwards in a panicked crab-
crawl before he was even aware of what he was doing. The desperate need for air
and the panicked desire to run burned through his blood.  His heart was
rabbiting out of his chest and he cursed himself for being a complete idiot. 
Cool it.  No freaking out.  NO FREAKING OUT! He told himself firmly, trying to
breathe slowly and get himself under control.  It wasn't quitea panic attack,
not yet,not if he didn't let it get that far. 
Thankfully, despite the rather abrupt fellactio interruptus, Finn didn't follow
or try to touch him again right away as Stiles curled over on his knees,
hugging himself and focusing on his breathing.  He tightened and relaxed every
muscle in his body one after the other, blanking his mind and trying to focus
on bland, neutral thoughts - because happyjust wasn't happening right now. 
Warmth settled over his shoulders.  He winced as the blanket touched his raw
skin, but pulled it around himself anyway, burrowing into the fake sense of
security it engendered. 
His asshole of a mentor may be a total dick, but he apparently was smart enough
to understand what was transpiring and realize that nothing useful was going to
happen until Stiles calmed down.  He said nothing, simply dropped a blanket
over Stiles' shoulders, set a glass of water beside him and then removed
himself from the immediate area.  Sliding into a robe, he moved to the far end
of the room.  Turning on the radio to fill the silence, he worked on something
at his desk and completely ignored the shivering teen.
Stiles didn't want to admit that that helped. That Finn's calm reaction and
withdrawal was probably the best thing he could have done to keep this from
getting worse. That the blanket, the water and the reassuringly normal patter
of the local radio station and soothing sound of familiar music helped distract
and ground him.  Naturally, the older man knew what he was doing.  He was an
asshole, but he was a smartasshole.  If he wasn't, Stiles wouldn't be in this
situation in the first place. 
Not thinking about that.  Not thinking about that.
It took a good fifteen minutes at least, but eventually Stiles' breathing
evened out and his aching body sagged with exhaustion as the tension bled away
to leave him empty, rather than relieved. 
Despite his supposed inattention, Finn had clearly noticed because he came over
as Stiles rose stiffly to his feet, still hugging the blanket around his
shoulders.  "Better?" he asked simply.
Stiles just shrugged. "I guess," he murmured, voice still a little raw from how
enthusiastically the older man had been using his throat earlier.  The teen
shifted slightly from foot to foot, grimacing at the way that pulled at the
throbbing welts on his back and rear.  He took a deep, resigned breath, because
he knew he'd just managed to screw this night up worse than it already was and
he wasn't going to give Finn the satisfaction of being the one to lower that
boom. 
"I don't suppose I can just go home now and sleep this off?" he said with an
edge to his sarcastic tone that suggested he knew that wasn't going to be
happening.  Just because the other man had been calm and practical about the
situation didn't mean that Stiles wasn't going to pay.
Finn smiled at him.  It wasn't a pleasant expression. "Of course you can,
Stiles.  I'm not keeping you here.  I force you to do nothing. But if you leave
... don't come back." 
"What, and miss out on all this fun and your sparkling personality?" Stiles
snorted, his jaw tightening.  How he would love to leave and never come back. 
But he couldn't, and Finn damn well knew that, the smug, smarmy bastard. 
With Derek and Cora gone, Deaton missing, Mr. Argent in the hospital and even
Peter not bothering to show his annoying mug, they were a pack of freaking
kids. There were made up of two recently turned teenage werewolves, a banshee
who had only just found out what she was, a hunter who had only been clued into
the supernatural for the past year or so and sometimestwo fairly reluctant
former alpha twins  who really didn't want much to do with them, except for the
part where they were boning Danny and Lydia, which didn't bare thinking about. 
Lydia, that was. He was cool with Ethan and Danny.  The point was, between them
all, they had the collective knowledge of a third grader when it came to
dealing with all this supernatural shit.  Maybe that wouldn't have mattered
normally... but naturally, they'dactivated the freaking nematon and turned
Beacon Hills into a literal beaconso now every nasty thing imaginable was
crawling out of the woodwork to say hello and snack on the populace.  They'd
caused this and they had to try to keep everyone safe... but if you couldn't
kill it with claws, arrows, courage or wolfsbane, then they were laughably
under-armed.
With Chris down, Allison had been all but ostracized from the hunter community
because of her choice in alliances.  Lydia was a genius with research, but
there was only so much you could learn without better sources. Scott and Isaac
had been wolves for less than two years and Ethan and Aiden turned out to
almost be as young as they looked and had learned nothing from their past two
packs but how to be abused and how to kill.  And then there was Stiles, who had
been all too quickly learning that you simply couldn't find all the answers you
needed online or in old books.  If he was going to try to fill Deaton's shoes
without getting everyone killed - again - he needed to learn everything he
could, as fast as he could. 
He needed a teacher, which at the moment, unfortunately meant he needed Finn.
Resignation seeping wearily into his bones, Stiles forced himself to respond by
simply dropping the blanket and letting it puddle around his feet.  He shivered
as the cool air assaulted his naked body again.  He was so tired.  So damn
tired.  Eyes empty, Stiles sank back to his knees at Finn's feet.  He just
didn't care.  It didn't matter anymore. 
He reached for the front of the silky robe Fin was wearing, but the older man
stepped back, out of reach. "Mm, not yet. Stay there, I need to get
something." 
Stiles didn't want to know. He really didn't, but he'd find out anyway because
somehow this jacked up melodrama had become his life.  So he waited.  Staring
at his hands and listening to the soft throb of the music still playing on the
radio. 
I've become so numb, can't feel you there, become so tired, so much more aware.
I'm becoming this, all I want to do, is be more like me and be less like
you... 
Movement made Stiles look up again.  Finn was back, shrugging out of his robe
and laying it on the couch.  He was carrying a thin black riding crop.  Fuck. 
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