Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10406556.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, F/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Scott_McCall/Stiles_Stilinski, Sheriff_Stilinski/Stiles_Stilinski,
      Allison_Argent/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Sheriff_Stilinski, Allison_Argent, Scott_McCall, Peter
      Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Badwrong, Implied/Referenced_Incest, Masturbation, Dildos, Porn, Lube,
      Embarrassment, Belly_Rubs, Non-Consensual_Somnophilia, Dead_Dove:_Do_Not
      Eat, Backrubs, Inappropriate_Behavior, Non-Consensual_Touching, Unsafe
      Sex, Compulsion, Panic_Attacks, Non-Consensual_Oral_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-03-22 Updated: 2017-03-23 Chapters: 3/? Words: 7300
****** Fighting the Urge ******
by BadwrongFox
Summary
     Stiles has always been huge on consent. Which is turning out to be
     more of a problem than he thought it would be.
Notes
     as a 'Thank You' for your work Hidden Princess.
      
     ----------------
     Please read the tags. They will be updated for each chapter and it's
     going to get much worse.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Stiles has always been huge on consent. Which is turning out to be more of a
problem than he thought it would be.
A week ago, Stiles stayed up too late after getting caught in a YouTube spiral
that ended with him compulsively clicking xTube links. By the time he was able
to pull his eyes off the screen and his hand off of his dick, it was 4am and he
had to wake up in an hour and a half for school. The next morning he caught his
dad as he was getting ready to head out to the station and told him that he was
too tired to go to school. He was surprised that his dad instantly agreed to
him staying home and didn't even ask why he was tired or give him any grief
about staying off of his Xbox.
After waking up again for the second time around 1pm, Stiles had an inspired
morning jack off session watching a man get pegged for almost 45 minutes by a
strong, thin girl who kept calling him a 'slut' like sexual promiscuity was a
shameful, dirty thing. The enthusiasm the bottom had for humiliation was
undeniable and Stiles had come so much he was dry orgasming by the end of the
video and only ended up putting on pants for one reason: to go buy a dildo.
After swaddling himself in an over-large hoodie and his most comfortable pair
of sweatpants, Stiles grabbed his wallet and the Wrangler keys and followed a
very specific route he had plotted to avoid any roads to anywhere that he might
run into anyone he knows, including the station, the school, the hospital and
all of Beacon Hills' 'secret' speed traps. As soon as he drives out of town and
gets on the highway, he whoops and presses down on the gas, excited and eager
to get to Papa's Toybox, a trucker-centric sex shop right off of I-15 a few
towns down. He pulls off of the highway when he sees an exit shadowed by a
black sign with bright red letters reading "XXX."
After beelining to the penetrative toys section (which was fairly small--Stiles
assumed it was because of what the clientele would be willing to be seen
buying. Most truckers probably bought their Vixskin Goodella's on Amazon to
avoid the awkward eye contact). Stiles had no such qualms and recognized
quality when he saw it. He quickly grabbed the box--the caramel dick was the
most realistic, delicious looking toy he'd ever seen. It even had balls hanging
down that would probably feel fantastic colliding with his taint. After
grabbing some lube and (surprisingly) successfully negotiating a 20% discount,
he hands over his money to one of the most judgmental people named Larry he had
ever encountered (at least Larry LOOKED judgmental when he obviously caught
Stiles' poorly executed 'I-definitely-don't-have-a-boner' walk).
 Stiles went straight home with his spoils, slammed the front door shut and
noisily ran up the stairs. He was so excited that he did a little half-twist as
he launched himself onto his bed and instantly ground his palm into his crotch,
trying to force his dick down before he began shimmying and struggling to
remove his tangled sweats. He unboxes his Goodfella and puts him (Stiles feels
weird about calling his new friend 'it' and decides it is perfectly acceptable
to call his 'fella 'him') on his nightstand within easy grabbing distance. He
breaks the seal on the lube and pumps it overzealously into his favorite hand
(his right, obviously). His dick has been standing at full attention since the
visit to Papa's and the head is tacky and over-sensitive (twitching at just
being ghosted over with air from the overhead fan).
Stiles takes a second to appreciate the deep red of the tip before grabbing it
in a solid fist and just holding it steady. Just the contact and the pressure
force a deep noise from his throat and he closes his eyes, rhythmically tensing
and releasing his hold on his tip. After a while, he slides his hand (which is
still coated with too much cold lube) down his shaft. The glide is irresistible
and he bucks up into his hand once, then twice. The lube feels fantastic, but
is still really sloppy and soon most of his pubes are matted down with the
clear, cool viscous liquid. Before Stiles' fingers himself, he usually likes to
tease himself with almost non-sexual touches, but today he decides to work his
cock for less than a minute before starting to prepare for the main event.
He scoops up a glob of lube from the base of his cock with his index finger,
bends his knees and tentatively presses just the tip of his finger to his
asshole. He immediately tenses up as the blob drips from his finger to his
pucker (he really should have made time to make sure that the lube was body
temperature first). Stiles is getting ready to re-press his index finger to his
asshole when he hears the front door swing open and his dad call out his name.
Stiles springs out of the bed like he has been electrocuted and almost falls
flat on his face. He looks at the clock and is surprised that it is after 5pm,
well past when his father should have been home. He stands, naked from the
waist down and as still as a startled deer for a few precious seconds before he
hears his dad start up the stairs. He vaults over his bed and swipes the dildo
and lube onto the ground behind his headboard before snatching his sweatpants
off of the ground and shoving his feet in the scrunched up, almost inside-out
legs, forcing them on the right way but having to put up with his toe being
trapped in a tangle of fabric at the elastic cuff.
Stiles just manages to act like he is 'casually' standing up from his computer
when his dad raps quietly on the door and slowly opens it. Stiles knows his
face is bright red and hopes his dad doesn't read into it.
"Hey kiddo--Sorry for coming back a little late." His dad says, stepping
forward and opening his arms for a hug. Stiles knows there is no way around one
of his dad's Welcome Home hugs and that the Sheriff would be really suspicious
if he didn't get a good one. Stiles grabs his dad and hugs him loosely, while
at the same time trying to keep his hips (and thus his raging boner) off of his
father. Unfortunately, John likes real hugs and loops his arms around Stiles's
lower back and squeezes him tightly. Stiles panics but is able to twist his
lower body in such a way to avert disaster. He relaxes and settles into the hug
and mutters "No problem," back to his dad, who seems intent on really holding
on to him today. He snuggles into his dad's professional hug for an instant
before suddenly becoming intensely aware of the cool, singular dot of lubricant
that is still holding onto his asshole, from when he applied it less than 30
seconds ago. His breathing picks up and he can't stop clenching his ass muscles
several times in abject horror, forcing the lube from his hole to smear along
the inside of his cheeks. Stiles wills himself to not panic and puts everything
he has into acting like everything is Kosher. Slowly, his body awareness
spreads and he can feel the crotch of his sweatpants clinging to his wet, lubed
dick and winces, mortified when the covered head comes into brief contact with
his dads leg. He feels his dad's arms go tighter around his waist.
Stiles bounces back on his heels, pulling away from his father and trying to
preserve some of his dignity. His dad is making some major eye-contact and
Stiles starts sweating, wondering what he knows. He just starts babbling,
trying to avert disaster. "So, Pops!" He claps his hands together and knows
that his version of 'Super Casual' is probably actually super obvious, but
plows on. "I was hoping that we could get some dinner--since it was your turn
to cook and you totally left me hanging!" Stiles learned long ago that turning
his father's own guilt into a weapon had some serious advantages. "Would you
take me to Jerry's? I really, really want some of their curly fries." Of all of
the diners in Beacon Hills, John hates Jerry's the most because he's arrested
Jerry himself multiple times for Drunk & Disorderlies and it can get awkward if
the proprietor is there.
Stiles is expecting a fight about it so is pretty surprised when his dad moves
in to rub his hand over Stiles' hair fondly and says, "Sure! Let's go," and
starts walking away.
Stiles turns around to grab some jeans to provide more coverage and gets ready
to start changing pants when the back of his neck prickles and he can feel eyes
on him. Instead of changing in the room he makes some excuse of needing to piss
and then forces himself to ignore how awkward and charged it feels to squeeze
past his dad in the narrow doorway. His dad is acting pretty weird.
Taking advantage of a locked door and a slightly urgent hard-on situation,
Stiles shoves his sweats down to his thighs and puts one foot up on the side of
his bathtub. He wastes no time reaching around and reintroducing his finger to
his asshole. He brushes around his crack collecting the remaining lube. Instead
of being gentle and teasing like before, he braces himself and bears down
before inserting his finger uncompromisingly into his ass. He winces because he
definitely should have collected some of the excess lube from his dick before
breaching himself, but he is committed now and pushes in until he can't push in
any further. It hurts a little because he is too dry but it is a testament to
how turned on he is that his erection never flags. He is usually pretty horny
but he has never been this unaffected by embarrassing familial situations or
penetrative pain before. It only takes a few sharp thrusts of his wrist before
his balls start contracting and then his finger brushes his prostate and Stiles
grunts, shooting come all over the basin of the tub. As he comes down from his
orgasm, he hears footsteps padding away from the bathroom door and creaking of
the stairs as his dad heads down them. Stiles' breath catches in his throat and
his face burns. Dinner is going to be unbearably uncomfortable.
The thing is, dinner is easy. Jerry isn't there. Stiles just has to ask the
host and they manage to get a nice, comfortable booth when they almost always
get shoved at the bar for the dinner rush. Stiles' dad lets him order two
servings of curly fries and doesn't say anything other than that it seems like
Stiles must still not be feeling well and may have a fever as he is still
flushed. After that, his dad talks to him normally about his day and oddly
immediately agrees to eat a salad when Stiles asks instead of arguing for 5
minutes like normal. Stiles usually has to even pre-approve his dad's salads
because he still manages to pile them with meat and cheese, but after Stiles
jokes about him ordering the house Garden Salad his dad says that he thinks it
sounds good and orders it all on his own. Stiles watches as his dad eats it
enthusiastically, but only manages to half-heartedly chew on a few curly fries
before admitting to his dad that his eyes were bigger than his stomach and he
doesn't feel up to eating. Before leaving, John motions for the waiter and
makes sure to get a big to-go box, assuring Stiles that the fries will still be
there when he feels better.
Stiles stomach starts turning on he way home and he asks his concerned father
to pull over. John immediately does, and Stiles brings up the few of the curly
fries he had been able to eat. Once home, Stiles excuses himself and heads up
to brush his teeth and go to bed. He feels more settled now that he has vomited
and doesn't feel too nauseous. He crawls under his covers and half-heartedly
fumbles with his dick, more as a soothing mechanism than to actually try to get
off. After a while, he pulls his comforter over his head and tries to sleep.
Several hours later, he hears his dad downstairs putting away dishes and
finishing up some things before he heads upstairs. He again hears footsteps in
the hallway and a pause as his dad stops outside his door. Again, his dad raps
softly on his door and Stiles calls out, "Come in, Dad!" a little louder than
necessary. John peeks into the dark room then walks in, leaving the door
cracked to let a little stream of light from he hallway show the way.
"How are you doing, son?" John asks, sitting down on the edge of his bed.
Stiles tells him, and John hums sympathetically and does what he always does
when Stiles isn't feeling well- offers to give him a back rub. Instead of
verbally answering, Stiles flips over so he is laying on his stomach. He has
always LOVED back rubs--they feel so nice and make him feel warm and cared for.
He's also always secretly loved the feeling of a strong hand slipping under his
sleep shirt, brushing over his muscles (especially the soft, sensitive skin of
his sides) and his dad's grip working out the kinks in his neck. John delivers,
and Stiles has a hard time staying quiet while he becomes boneless underneath
his fathers fingers.
When his dad stops, Stiles makes a disgruntled sound and turns over, making
sure the old plaid boxers he is sleeping in are not twisted and are providing
full coverage, when he feels the weight re-distribution on the bed that
indicates his father is getting ready to stand and leave. "Daaaad," Stiles
wheedles, like he usually does when he is feeling ill, "my stomach still hurts.
Will you give me a belly rub?" If there is one area Stiles likes getting rubbed
more than his sides, it's his belly. He used to ask for belly rubs all the time
when he was a child.
John settles back on the side of the bed, shaking his head fondly at what a
baby Stiles becomes when he is sick. John gently shoves up Stiles shirt,
revealing the soft, surprisingly hairy skin of Stiles' belly. His hand focuses
on the area right above and below Stiles' belly button and moves in easy, slow,
comforting circles that have Stiles looking content and the muscles of his
stomach relaxing. Stiles must drift off for a little bit but when he comes to
he doesn't open his eyes, but his dad is still there, rubbing his stomach
soothingly. The sensation feels different when he has his eyes closed--it feels
exciting. Stiles' nerves are on edge, transmitting every caress. It doesn't
take long before Stiles feels his dick start to harden and he starts to feel a
little uncomfortable. He doesn't want to face the awkwardness, though, so he
fakes like he is still sleeping, not opening his eyes but trying to secretly
look up at his dad through his lashes to see if he noticed Stiles' body's
reaction.
His dad is looking down at his hand and stomach like he is concentrating, and
it's a little more intent than it needs to be, for a belly rub. Stiles notices
his fathers gaze travel down his torso to his lap, and has an instant of being
terrified, not sure if his dick is peaking through his boxers, before he
remembers that he made sure he was all covered before he flipped over. He has
just started to drift back off to sleep, enjoying the low buzz of constant,
harmless arousal, when his dad's hand slowly begins to deviate from the path it
had been on.
Stiles can feel his fathers hand start making smaller and smaller circles,
going lower and lower, and he makes sure not to open his eyes even when he
feels his dad's fingers softly carding through the dark hair of his treasure
trail. Stiles heart rate goes through the roof as he tries to act asleep,
wondering what the hell has his dad so distracted that he's not paying
attention and staying off of what would otherwise clearly be off-limits for
typical sick belly rub for a child. John's hand pauses near Stiles's hip bone
and then slowly, oh-so-slowly, dips under the waistband of his boxers. When he
feels his dad's fingernails scratching through his thatch of pubes, right above
his (extremely hard, extremely inappropriate) dick, Stiles launches into
action, sputtering and grabbing his dad's wrist.
"What?!? Dad, no!" John jerks his hand away as though he has been burned and
shoots to his feet, looking like a man coming out of a trance. Stiles can't
hear anything that his dad mumbles as an excuse before John books it out of his
room, slamming the door behind him. It takes hours for Stiles' heart rate to
come down, and he doesn't sleep until the first rays of sun start decorating
his floor.
***** Chapter 2 *****
The next morning Stiles wakes up with the inside of his boxers absolutely
covered in jizz. The subsequent cleanup and shower jerk session take his mind
off of things for a while, but eventually he trundles down the stairs to start
a pot of coffee before getting ready for school. He forgot his dad had an early
meeting today and has never before been so happy to have the house to himself.
To be honest, he doesn't know what to do or if he will ever be able to face his
dad again. Hell, he doesn't even know for sure it really happened, everything
kind of feels like a slow-motion realistic dream.
He fills his favorite mug (one with a wolf on it from the World Wildlife
Foundation) with lukewarm black coffee his dad brewed before leaving the house
and takes a large draw. Almost immediately after swallowing, he wretches and
his stomach rebels. He barely makes it to the kitchen sink before all of the
liquid is coming back up again. This time the nausea is 20 times worse, and he
spends the entire 15 minutes it usually takes him to get ready for school in
the morning bent over the counter vomiting bile.
When he is finally done his body is sweaty and cold and he sinks down with his
back against the kitchen island, shaking. His cell phone is still upstairs so
he casts up a long arm, feels around until his hand hits something plastic, and
grabs the house phone. He dials Scott McCall's childhood number from memory (he
doesn't have Scott's cell number memorized) and hopes Scott is running a little
behind and still at his house. The phone rings and rings before the other end
of the phone is picked up with a clatter. There is a brief crash and he can
hear Scott right himself before answering, "Hello?"
Stiles shuts his eyes in relief, before jumping into a rushed, whining rant.
"Scottie! Oh my god, I am so glad I caught you! I think I have the flu--I can't
stop puking and can't eat anything but I am SO HUNGRY. I feel like I am going
to die!! I don't have anything at the house other than some leftover curly
fries and I need some soup or something! I know you can't bring it to me now
because you'd be late for school, but could you skip out during lunch and bring
me some? Please? You don't know what I would do for some food!" He groans,
hugging his empty stomach. 

"Dude! Why didn't you tell me you were sick? When you texted me yesterday you
made it sound like you just stayed up too late jerking it and were faking it to
take a 'personal' day!" Scott laughs, "Of course I'll bring you something to
eat--I would do anything for you!"
Stiles is touched by Scott's declaration but confirms, "Anything?" Scott's
affirmative laugh reverberates down from the other end of the line and Stiles
wonders for the thousandth time how he ended up bros with such a genuinely nice
person. "What about skip Mr. Hale's class for me? And come over to hang out
early?" Stiles knows that Scott would do many things for him but skip Peter
Hale's two-hour 8am Psychology block, where he is working on a group project
with Allison, is probably not one of them. It would mean that she would have to
work with the extra person who ended up as a third wheel in a group of three--
Matt Daehler.
Matt and Scott are both about equally obsessed with the new girl, Allison. The
only difference is with Scott, the feeling is mutual. Matt doesn't take no for
an answer and now follows Allison around from a safe distance hoping she'll
change her mind. When Scott falls silent, probably quietly tormenting himself
by trying to decide how to best tell Stiles 'no,' Stiles puts him out of his
misery. "Nevermind, don't worry about it. I'm going to crawl upstairs and go to
bed anyway. Being hungry is tiring work." Stiles and Scott say their goodbyes
and hang up, Stiles making good on his promise and slipping into bed. His
muscles ache and he feels absolutely exhausted.
What feels like 10 minutes later (but is probably closer to 45) Stiles pries
his eyes open to the sound of his bedroom door opening. Scott enters looking
proud and balancing a tray with steaming hot soup, a sleeve of saltine
crackers, and a 2 liter of ginger ale. Although they are initially hopeful,
it's soon evident that Stiles cannot bring himself to eat any of the offered
items. His stomach roiling, Stiles pushes away the offerings and tries not to
panic.
Every other time that he's been sick, soup, saltines and ginger ale always
worked to make him feel better again. Scott looks helplessly around trying to
figure out how he can help. When he notices that Stiles is in dangerous
territory with his breath coming faster and faster, Scott slips off his shoes
and gently nudges Stiles over. Scott crawls onto the edge of Stiles' twin bed
and forcibly manipulates Stiles into the position they both fight over being--
little spoon. Over time, Stiles' breathing slows and evens out. Both of them
slip back into sleep.
Stiles wakes up in shifts, still feeling loved and cozy in Scotts arms. The
first thing he notices is Scott's breathing. It is right by his ear and fairly
loud and uneven. Scott's definitely awake. The second thing he notices is that
he still feels hungry, but instead of the constant background of hunger that
has followed him for days, he now feels the sharp and urgent need of a starving
man sitting in front of Thanksgiving dinner. The third thing he notices is that
he has a significantly established, angry boner. The fourth thing he notices is
that Scott obviously does too, and it's resting directly on top of his ass
crack.
Stiles startles and freezes, the instant tensing of his butt muscles gently
clamping Scott, startling a needy groan out of him. This isn't the first or the
last pair of awkward boners they have had together, and Stiles falls back on
their pre-established system-denial. "Scottie? You awake?" He would normally
move out of little spoon position to talk, but he is worried about presenting
his 'problem' to the world. And honestly, a small, ashamed part of him is
loving feeling Scott's hard dick against his butt. It's arousing and pushing
his precum production into overdrive, even though it shouldn't because Scott is
family. He can hear Scott swallowing thickly before feeling him nod against the
back of his neck. Stiles shivers--his neck is really sensitive, okay?!--and
Scott exhales softly before deciding to completely shatter the bro-code. He
squeezes Stiles' sleep soft body closer to him and gently mouths on the back of
his neck. Stiles squeaks, torn between protesting, focusing on Scott's lips and
tongue on his neck, or focusing on Scott's warm cock further nestling against
the muscles of his butt.
Scott's chest rumbles in response to Stiles' startled noise and for the second
time in as many days, Stiles finds a foreign hand skating teasingly down the
tender skin of his stomach toward his waistband. This time is different though,
because he's awake and extremely on-board with any hanky-panky that Scott might
bring his way. And sure enough, Scott's hand doesn't stop at his waistband. It
smooths over the fabric, all the way down to his crotch, pressure increasing as
it drops. Scott's hand stretches out, deliberately trapping Stiles' dick
against his lower abdomen. Stiles bucks his hips instinctively but doesn't make
a sound, scared that anything he might do could snap Scott out of it and result
in all of the awkwardness with none of the fun.
Scott twists his hand, feeling around for the fly of Stiles' boxers before
separating it and pushing his whole hand inside against Stiles' skin. Suddenly,
Stiles' dick is in very close quarters with the meat of Scott's hand and Stiles
is so turned on he can barely breathe. Stiles feels his dick release another
gob of precum directly onto Scott's pulse point. "God, you're wet, aren't you?"
Even though Scott's voice is almost reverent, Stiles wants to be swallowed up
by the bed. His dick has NEVER been this wet before and he has no idea what his
body has recently decided the wetter it is the better.  As Scott's hand boldly
explores Stiles' body, Stiles can feel the easy slide of wet skin against wet
skin, hear the embarrassing squelch of movement and feel the weight of the
sodden crotch of his pants against his upper thighs.
Stiles suddenly realizes he needs his pants off yesterday with amazing clarity,
his dick getting claustrophobic in the sopping fabric. He impatiently shoves
Scott's hand out through his fly and pulls down the front of his boxers to his
thighs before reaching back to slide his underwear off of the round globes of
his ass. He hadn't considered it, but after he drags down the boxers he feels
the unmistakable, rough slide of Scott's bare cock as it finds a home between
Stiles' thighs. Stiles keens, trying to press back into the solid warmth while
grabbing Scott's precum slippery hand and forcing it over his dick again and
again with a single-minded purpose. As soon as Scott starts humping him,
jamming his dick in the tight space between Stiles' thighs, Stiles comes,
shooting an abnormally large number of long, thick strands all over his stomach
and Scott's hands.
Scott immediately loses it, rutting into the space between Stiles' thighs like
an animal, obviously not thinking about anyone or anything other than getting
off. Stiles is floating and just lays there and takes it, enjoying the feeling
of being able to feel Scott get closer and closer to bursting. The second that
Scott begins to come, he pushes away from Stiles and draws his dick back out
from between Stiles' thighs. He moves one hand down to Stiles ass and spreads
his fingers to separate Stiles' ass cheeks. With the other hand, he grabs his
own dick and jams it directly onto Stiles' asshole. The muscle is tight and
unstretched, not opening for the tip of Scott's dick. That doesn't stop Scott
from forcing come directly onto the surface of Stiles' hole. Because of the
pressure between Scott's head and Stiles' skin, all of the rest of Scott's come
slides out from between them in thick drips, painting as much of Stiles' hole
as he can with his seed.
Stiles sputters and moves away--it all happened so fast that he didn't have
time to even consider or agree to essentially barebacking. He trusts Scott, but
then again he trusts Scott because he usually gets Stiles and understands
things that are important to him. Stiles rolls over so he can meet Scott's eyes
and that's when he sees they are hazy and completely unfocused. Something is
wrong. Before Stiles can find out what is happening, Scott leans forward and
kisses Stiles sloppily before dipping his fingers in his come and gently
forcing his fingers into Stiles' mouth. The come touches his tongue, Stiles
feels a little curl of something smoke-like enter his mouth . He doesn't
understand but his body knows what to do--it starts drinking it down. Soon,
Stiles is drinking deep pulls of the smoke and he can feel it revitalizing his
body. No longer is he exhausted, hungry, tired and upset--now he feels like he
could take on the world, learn 7 languages and bench press 350 lbs.
Scott moans and all of a sudden he is coming again, all over Stiles' stomach--
even though he literally just came. It's enough to break Stiles' concentration
and all of a sudden the stream of smoke is gone. He freaks out a little
internally but Scott's eyes are looking pretty clear. Maybe Stiles imagined it.
He laughs and the silence between them snaps. "Maybe I should get a Kleenex,
huh? Or five?"
Scott laughs and languidly licks Stiles' come off of the surface of his own
hand, not stopping until every last trace is gone.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Stiles feels conflicted. On one hand, he's confused and wondering if he somehow
forced Scott to have sex with him. On the other hand, he's feeling a little
upset that he has to be worried about STD transmission, and on the third and
final hand, he can't stop jacking off to the thought of having sex with Scott
again. It's totally creeping him out because they are like BROTHERS and it
really doesn't make sense that they had sex in the first place. Stiles has
known for a long time that he is gay but he has never before been sexually
attracted to Scott, despite the fact that he is obviously a fine specimen. 
It's been three days since "that day" and Stiles has become hungry again.
Although right after "the incident," Scott didn't seem to be acting any
differently, as the days pass and Stiles gets hungrier and hungrier, Scott's
behavior seems to escalate in an almost frantic manner. Lately, he's been
touching Stiles as much as possible, asking Stiles every day if he can come
over after school and just today has started to try and convince Stiles to skip
class and "hang out" in the locker room.
Scott is normally the most unsubtle person Stiles knows and unfortunately that
character trait hasn't really changed. Stiles has heard Lydia ask Allison if
she thinks there is something going on between them. Danny had approached
Stiles and asked him on a date, and when Stiles had declined Danny had said
that he figured Stiles wouldn't be interested because of how close he and Scott
are. Danny said he thinks that in the interest of solidarity, Stiles and Scott
should come out as a couple already--it's not fair for him to be the only out
gay person at Beacon Hills High.
Stiles knows there is no way that what happened with Scott was normal. And the
more he thinks about it, the more he's sure that the look on Scott's face right
after he came was actually really really abnormal. And how he's been acting
attentive and affectionate isn't normal, either. Something about it doesn't
feel right and skeeves Stiles out. It's not just Scott that is acting that way,
either. Since he's become hungry again, Stiles has been noticing that people
are going out of their way to interact with him. People always agree with him
if he makes a suggestion and go over and above to please him. It's weird.
Lydia's started sitting next to him at lunch and occasionally touches his arm
when she's turns to tell him something. Boyd had started bringing him
Butterfingers in third block, and when he mentioned Reese's were his favorite,
the Butterfinger bars had been immediately replaced by Reese's cups. Stiles
can't bring himself to tell Boyd he doesn't feel up to eating and tries to
mimic excitement and happiness when he shoves them in his bag "for later." And
each day that he gets hungrier, his dad becomes more accommodating (he hasn't
tried to eat unhealthily in almost a week). His dad's hugs linger longer now
and have become supremely uncomfortable and confusingly arousing. 
It all comes to a head after second block on a Wednesday. Stiles feels like he
is STARVING.  He hasn't been able to swallow food or water for about a week in
total. He has to fake eating in front of his father and at school. After the
bell indicating lunch time, Stiles waves Scott off and tells him that he will
catch up with him in the cafeteria--he has to meet with Mr. Hale about a quiz
score he received first. 
Stiles doesn't even make it to Hale's classroom. He's walking through the quiet
hallway (it's on the opposite side of the school from the lunch room, so
empties out pretty quickly after the bell) when Allison ghosts up to him, grabs
the neck of his t-shirt, and shoves him into the poorly lit, deserted music
room. She pulls down the blind over the window on the door and turns the lock.
Stiles' mind starts spinning as he goes along with it, trying to come up with a
reasonable excuse for why Scott hasn't really seemed all that into her lately
and ready to deny any sort of relationship with Scott, in case she's been
talking with Danny.
Stiles doesn't really get a chance, because Allison is being really aggressive
with him--she's pushed his face into the concrete wall and is using her arm to
apply pressure to the back of his neck. Stiles meeps indignantly and starts to
try and explain himself, "Look, Allison! Hi, hello! I know that you and Scott
are kind-of dating right now but that doesn't mean you can just man-handle me
if you're mad! Or woman-handle me, I guess." Stiles sputters and tries to stick
to the point, "The point is, Scott and I aren't an item and we are just
friends! You can have him!" Stiles is getting nervous because he cannot see
Allison's face and she's putting all of her strength into squeezing him to the
wall. 
"Stiles--when are you going to realize this was never about Scott?" He feels
the push of a kiss behind his ear, before Allison's boots are kicking his legs
open wide. "This is about us." Stiles heart drops in his chest. He isn't
completely sure, but she doesn't sound quite right. And she's never indicated
that she likes him before. Although she's certainly indicating it now, frankly
stating "I can't stop thinking about what your tongue must feel like. What you
must taste like."
The pressure on his back releases as Allison's hands divert to his waist,
making quick work of his belt and starting in on his fly before his brain gets
back online and he starts to pull away. Allison slams him back into the wall
with one hand and manages to shove down his jeans and briefs with the other.
Stiles' heart rate picks up and he knows that he HAS to get away from her. No
matter what she wants from him, he can't give it to her because 1) he's gay,
and 2)Scott would be so hurt and disappointed if he found out. The worst thing
is that Scott would tell him he UNDERSTOOD.  That he knows Allison is beautiful
and irresistible. Scott wouldn't even stop being Stiles' friend. Maybe that
would be the worst part.
Stiles feels bad about it, but moves to elbow Allison in the chest. It doesn't
connect--it doesn't even come close. Allison must be trained in some sort of
karate or something, because she easily dominates the resulting scuffle between
them. She somehow uses her left foot to unsteady him and then he is on his
back, looking up at the ceiling with his pants pulled down and trapping his
thighs. His face burns because his dick is completely erect and completely
disregarding how uncomfortable and scared he is. He starts to scramble to his
feet and tries to yell for help, but Allison jumps on top of him and uses her
body weight to propel him back into the ground. She is much more nimble in her
loose thigh length skirt than Stiles is with his legs partially trapped in his
rolled down jeans and underwear. 
Allison puts both hands on his throat and starts applying continuous pressure
to his jugulars. Allison bites out, "Stop fighting this, Stiles. I know you
want me. It's okay."  She punctuates this statement by grinding her hips
down on Stiles' cock. Stiles' can feel that his dick is directly against the
crotch of her underwear, and he can also feel how wet with arousal the crotch
of her underwear already is. His hands are scrabbling at her hands but after a
few moments, his vision is fading and he hears a roaring in his ears. Right
before he loses consciousness, he feels Allison let go of his neck. There is
movement over him that he can abstractly piece together as Allison reaching
down in-between them and pushing the tip of his dick into her, after pulling
the crotch of her underwear to the side. His mind keeps screaming that this is
WRONG, until everything goes black.
Stiles wakes up to Allison lifting off of his lap and climbing up his body. His
body isn't working right, it's like he doesn't have full control over his arms
and legs, and he can't do anything to stop her before she grinds her pussy down
on his face. She doesn't try and make him eat her out right away, just rubs her
clit against his nose at an increasingly fast rate, her thighs on either side
of his head pumping quickly. Intellectually, he remembers that he should be
struggling and that there is something really upsetting happening but he can't
remember what it is anymore. He's focusing on the sensation of his wet dick
standing up in the room's cool air and how fucking delicious Allison's cunt
smells. He is in a haze, and his mouth starts watering and he starts nuzzling
into her clit, moving his entire face up and down so that her folds rub the
length of the entire lower half of his face, from the tip of his nose to the
point of his chin. As he feels her shudder and orgasm around him, legs clamping
around his face and just smashing her sex onto his face, he struggles to
breathe. After managing to get a breath, he opens his mouth and starts licking
her out. A vapor slides into his mouth, and he sucks it down at the same time
as he sucks on her clit.  Stiles has no idea why he hasn't been eating her out
for his entire life--she tastes amazing. Apparently, he must have come inside
of her while he was passed out, because he knows what his spunk tastes like,
and it's even better mixed with her come. Even as she folds in half, buckling
so she is holding herself up on all fours, he can't stop. He licks and licks
and licks her until his tongue is tired and she is completely collapsed on top
of him, shuddering. 
There is a slam on the door (like someone walking into the door, expecting it
to open beneath them, before realizing it is locked) that jolts Stiles out of
his state. He pushes Allison away, expecting some resistance from her, but it
sends her unresponsive body sprawling onto the cold tile floor. He panics and
clamors to his knees, forcing his pants back up. He scoots over to Allison and
swallows thickly--she looks almost like she is dead. He gingerly puts a finger
on her pulse and waits (ignoring the sound of someone pounding on the door)
until he eventually feels one slow beat. She's alive, but it's close. He can't
open the door and get help because there is someone trying to get in and he
doesn't want anyone to know he was in the room with her. After a minute or so,
he can hear the sound of footfalls walking away from the door.
Stiles waits to make sure that they have enough time to disappear down the
hall. He stands and starts toward the door to go get help, before looking back
at Allison's body and realizes that he can see her folds, her skirt rucked up
to her waist and the faded teal cotton of her underwear is still trapped
between her outer labia and her upper thigh. He reaches down, pulling her skirt
back down over her lap. He starts to stand again but thinks better of it (what
if the nurses at the hospital have to take her skirt off to put her in a
hospital gown and see?), crouching down over her body again. He slips a hand
under her skirt, skating a finger over her slit, gently pulling the underwear
back over so it covers her entire pussy. Before he can think about it, his
finger has dipped underneath her underwear again and entered her still body. He
knows it's wrong, but the pull is so strong. He watches his finger violate her,
removed from the action like he is when he is playing a violent video game. He
doesn't know how long it takes but he feels himself come in his pants before he
lifts his finger back out of her and places it into his mouth. Her taste is
divine and the shock of pleasure he gets from her slick makes him realize how
fucking PUMPED he is right now. His entire body feels like it is vibrating with
energy and it feels fantastic. 
He comes back to himself in stages, and starts panicking about Allison, who is
still laying motionless on the floor of the music room. His emotions are all
over the place--she raped him! He raped her!--as he picks her up (he can't
believe how easy it is for him to lift her!) and runs out of the room. He runs
yelling for help down the hall with Allison in his arms, screaming for the
nurse. Peter Hale bolts out of his classroom and takes her body from Stiles.
Peter gently lays her down in the middle of the hallway and snaps at him to
call 911 on his cell phone and then run to the nurses office. 
Stiles does as he is told and makes it back to Peter in time to tell him that
they had been walking to the lunchroom together and it had looked like
Allison had a seizure. About 10 minutes later, the ambulance screams out from
the high school parking lot, with Allison Argent unconscious in the back.
Stiles can't breath and his vision starts blacking out for the second time
today. The last thing he sees is Peter Hale reaching for him as he crumples to
the ground.
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