Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/497078.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Chris_Argent/Scott_McCall
  Character:
      Chris_Argent, Scott_McCall
  Additional Tags:
      pretty_much_pwp
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-08-27 Words: 2432
****** Helplessness Blues ******
by kxneki
Summary
     Except there were limits. Chris placed them. Set them and made sure
     he honored it as if it were Code. In a way, harsh and stinging, it
     is. Scott is a werewolf, and Chris is pretty sure he doesn't have to
     read the fine print to know not to slam one up against the wall,
     rutting his hips against it and pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses
     onto it's lips.
Chris tells himself that it's habit. The way he and Scott delve into this
friendship after bonding over the loss of his daughter is absurd, and it's
habit. The habit of clinging to something that resembles both the better things
in his life, and the harsh reality of his duty at the same time. 
Allison had turned into this ruthless, sheltered person that Chris no longer
can see the smiling daughter he raised, who used to play dress up with both her
mother's makeup and his overgrown suits and dress shoes. Who would laugh at him
when he made funny faces and told him jokes that didn't make sense, but made
him love her more. That Allison disappeared, replaced by the hard, almost non-
feeling soldier that she was trained to be. This is something he feared for,
and now it's a reality.
When Scott started to come around more, after the debacle with Gerard and
dispute with Derek, Chris assumed he was trying to get closer to Allison. Chris
laughs at himself, thinking that if that was what Scott was aiming for, his
life would be a lot easier than it is today. 
Chris remembers the first time Scott touched him, mostly innocent, but with a
small linger that was there just an insignificant fraction over the line
between friends and more. Chris tried not to think too much of it, really. But
the burn that Scott's hand on his own left with him was a constant reminder.
And a wake up call, signaling to Chris that Allison wasn't even Scott's
concern, and neither was she Chris'. 
Scott had become a regular in Chris' every day schedule. Whether Scott would
stop by his house during the day to share information, or whether Scott would
stop by for dinner when Allison was off only God knows where. Scott started to
become like a little puppy, attached to Chris and followed him everywhere.
Except there were limits.
Chris placed them. Set them and made sure he honored it as if it were Code. In
a way, harsh and stinging, it is. Scott is a werewolf, and Chris is pretty sure
he doesn't have to read the fine print to know not to slam one up against the
wall, rutting his hips against it and pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses onto
it's lips. It's so sad, Chris thinks, how nothing ever goes right for him. It's
also kind of funny, he laughs, as he opens up some scotch and drinks down his
guilt.
Allison isn't allowed to know, this is more of common knowledge than it is an
agreement between the two of them. Chris isn't even sure how it happened,
really. One moment Scott is silent, across from him at the table, trying to
come up with some sort of plan against the Alpha pack. And the next he's out of
his seat, his hands digging into the back of Chris' head as he pulls him so
that their lips are touching, smashed together and it's painful to Chris, at
first. Painful the way Scott's teeth hit Chris' lips and cause a bruise to
start to form, and painful the way their rough, chapped lips are scratching at
each other. Painful the way that Chris has wanted this for so long without
realizing it. 
Chris is out of the seat and pushing Scott up against the wall so fast that
Scott has to squeeze his eyes shut and open them repeatedly in order to catch
up. Chris doesn't even know if he's breathing, it's hard to tell when Scott's
hot breath is in his mouth. Can't determine which air is his and which air is
Scott's. They become one, in a way. Scott's legs spread and Chris pinning
himself against the boy in front of him, his knee in between Scott's thigh and
jerking them both against each other. 
Chris pulls back, the realization that Scott is just a boy flashing in his
mind. A boy that he once ran over with his car, and once shot with an arrow,
and once loved his daughter. And it's a slap to his face, but Scott makes him
forget again. 
"Chris," Scott whispers, sounding just as pained as Chris feels, all breathy
and agonized and pent up with this bundle of sexual need giving out. 
It makes Chris shiver, and buck himself against Scott until his eyes are closed
tight, not opening, and his mouth is open. It's obscene, the way that Scott's
lips are all wet, coated with Chris' spit and they look abused. Chris gets even
harder looking at him, thinking about him underneath him and naked. Chris wants
Scott's whole body to look as aching as his lips. Every inch of Scott to be
marked in a way that only Chris can create.
It's pure torture, the way that Scott moans as Chris tugs Scott's hair, making
his head bend back and exposing his neck. Chris can feel Scott's heartbeat,
pumping viciously, and it throbs all throughout Chris' body, making his dick
twitch with need. 
Scott's skin is on Chris' tongue, slick and sweaty and salty, and Chris revels
in it, lapping away at Scott's throat as he puts his hands on Scott's hips
under his shirt. Scott giggles madly, the sound only egging Chris on, as Scott
reaches between them and pulls his shirt up. Chris wastes no time in getting it
over his head and flinging it somewhere on the floor. 
God, his skin is the best thing Chris has ever tasted. Like a drug, and Chris
is all too happy to get a new addiction. He trails his tongue, making sure to
leave as much spit left behind as possible, all the way down Scott's chest.
Around the area of Scott's nipple, but not just, driving Scott crazy. Scott
arches into it, his back bending forward and it's like a feast displayed on a
silver platter for him. He goes for it, wrapping his hot mouth around Scott's
puckered nipple and raking his tongue over it. Scott moans, loud and huffy, as
he threads his fingers through Chris' head, massaging and scratching and
tugging. 
Chris breaks away with a 'plop', as if he was sucking a lollipop , and Scott's
nipple looks even worse than his lips, all hard and hickeyed. Chris smiles up
at Scott, not a sweet smile but a mischievous one, full of plans. Scott smiles
back, but his is sweet, torturing Chris, making him remember how innocent Scott
is. He bites his cheek, getting back into the rhythm and refusing to stop.
He's pulling Scott along by the hand up into his bedroom. He flings him on the
bed, and Scott bounces languidly, like a fish, and Chris is on him instantly.
His mouth connecting with the side of Scott's and tugging off his pants. Scott
makes a squeak, out of surprise Chris figures, and starts to shimmy the best he
can, helping himself out of them. But then Scott's hands are on Chris' skin
underneath his shirt, and Chris senses that Scott wants friction, which Chris
is eager to appease. He stands back, ignoring the whimper of protest from
Scott, who looks all too much like a puppy who was refused a treat, and takes
off his shirt himself, and then his pants. The sound of Chris' buckle snapping
makes the tent in Scott's boxers jump, and Chris lets out a growl of
satisfaction.
This isn't going to be skirting around, there's going to be no foreplay because
it's been a long time coming. Neither of them want to draw it out, just want to
heatedly fuck the shit out of each other until Chris is coming in Scott's ass
and Scott coming on Chris's chest. They didn't have to discuss this, it seemed
like it was instinct driven, as Chris shoves off his own boxers, and eyes Scott
staring at his cock. 
Scott's eyes are huge, taking him in, and he looks like he might want to stop,
and it would kill Chris inside a bit if he did. But Scott's sitting up, the
motion quick, and crawling over to where Chris is standing at the end of the
bed. He smiles a naughty, coy smile at Chris, his teeth stark white against the
contrast of the smear of his bruised lips. Chris feels the wet, hotness of
Scott's mouth before he even registered that Scott was moving. He's being
sucked off, and Scott seems like a pro at this, his head bobbing up and down
and his tongue all plush and licking at the head of his dick. He wants this to
continue, to grab Scott's head and plunge himself down his throat, make Scott
gag a bit around him until he comes. But he can't, they can't draw it out and
have fun with it. It's just a fuck, and they can't waste time.
He pushes Scott off of him, and the sound of his dick popping out of Scott's
mouth is enough to make him come right there. Because it's ridiculous, this boy
causing him so much tension and relief at the same time. And if Chris is
honest, this is so much more than a casual fuck it's ungodly, but he has to
tell himself that it means nothing in order for him to go through with it.
Scott climbs up him like Chris is a tree, draping his half-naked body over his
and kissing him, sweetly, and slowly, and Chris knows Scott wants more. Chris
does too, but he can't let it show, so he reaches down and removes the only
clothing left between them, pushing Scott gently back on the bed.
Chris stares at him in awe, Scott flinching a little under the scrutiny, and he
thinks he's gorgeous. All the tendons and birth marks and everything that makes
up Scott is beautiful. He's a little breathless, taken away by him, but brought
back as Scott reaches up and pulls him on top of him.
"We're doing this," Scott tells him, insecurity in his voice.
Chris smiles, because yes, they are, and kisses him one last time before
slathering two of his fingers in his spit. Chris reaches down between them, and
feels around Scott's asshole, puckered and he can only imagine it to be the
most innocent, obscene shade of pink to exist. 
Scott lets out a whine, spreading his legs, and letting Chris ease his fingers
into him. He's tight, and scorching hot, Chis has to hold his breath just
thinking about his dick being inside him. They need more lube, which Chris
tells Scott as pulls out and reaches for it in the dresser beside his bed.
Scott knows, in some way that surprises Chris, that it's easier if Scott's on
his knees for this. Prepping him up, spreading him to be properly fucked out. 
When Chris turns around that's all he sees, Scott's ass, round and in the air.
His cock spasms against his thigh, pre-come leaking from the tip. He swallows
hard as he gets behind Scott, squeezing a generous amount of lubricant onto his
hand and rubbing to make it warm. He spreads Scott's cheeks apart, and eases
two fingers back into him, earning a muffled moan from Scott below.
He starts to scissor his fingers, and then pumping them in and out until
Scott's all wet and open and easy, loose under him, trembling and begging. He
asks him for more a few times, until Chris adds a third finger, hitting Scott's
prostate and making him jump. Chris can see the dark spot on his covers from
where Scott's leaking and soaking his bed. 
When Scott chokes out a "please, Chris" in the sweetest, most frustrated voice
Scott can manage, Chris decides to get the show on the road. 
He's slicking himself up in his hands, rubbing some of the lube from Scott's
ass onto him, greasing himself up. Scott grips the sheets when Chris is
spreading him, his head touching Scott's asshole. He rubs it, and thumps his
cock against it, spilling some of Chris' juices onto it, before he's pressing
in.
It feels hot. Burning, almost, and so, so tight as Chris pushes the tip in. The
muscles in Scott's back are flaring, tensing and releasing, and Chris is having
a hard time not to just push himself in completely and start ramming himself
into Scott. There's a distraught moan from Scott, and Chris asks him if he's
okay, stopping himself. 
Scott tells him with a chuckle that he's fine, that he just feels amazing
and can't wait for Chris to start actually fucking him, and so he does. 
He slides in, which is easier than he thought, and Scott is already pumping
himself back into Chris, trying to create rhythm and heat. Chris laughs at him,
looking at him fondly, as if Scott were the greatest thing to exist, and starts
pulling out.
He likes to tease, bringing himself almost all the way out of Scott at a slow
pace, and Scott grunts with pleasure and frustration. He begs in this
aggravated, yet still endearing tone and Chris slams himself back in, making
Scott shiver and whine again.
He starts a steady pace, in and out, back and forth, and he's gripping Scott's
hips so hard that if he weren't a wolf the kid would have angry bruises left in
the shape of Chris' hands. The slippery, wet, squelching sounds coming from
Chris' dick and Scott's ass are the sweetest sounds, combined with the
breathless huffs from Chris and the pleased sounds coming from Scott.
It's too much, too soon, and Chris has to close his eyes, leaning forward onto
Scott's back and digging his face into the space between Scott's shoulder
blades. He places his hands on top of Scott's, gripping him as he loses himself
in Scott. Panting, and aching, and deliciously fucking himself into him until
he can't anymore.
When Scott tells him he loves him, he loses it, shooting off streams of white-
hot inside Scott, who makes the loudest gasp and is jerking with him, coming on
his bed. They're shaking together, breathing hard and their flesh is sensitive,
rubbing against each other. 
They stay like that, in an embrace with Scott's knees giving out and laying
down with Chris still inside of him and on his back. Chris gathers up the nerve
to say it back, squeezing at Scott's hand who laughs delightedly and light.
Chris eventually slips out of Scott, and they fall asleep smiling, ignoring the
painful bite of reality for the night.
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