Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/914440.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Peter_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Scott_McCall, Isaac_Lahey
  Additional Tags:
      Barebacking, unintended_use_of_hospital_lubrication, screwing_in_front_of
      an_unconscious_girl, ambulance_porn
  Series:
      Part 3 of Someone_Else's_Angels
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-08-06 Words: 2660
****** I Could Use Somebody ******
by collie
Summary
     Stiles climbed into Peter's lap just as the older man's fingers found
     what he hoped was medical lubricant. It was all water based, right?
     It should be safe. He only hoped it wasn't the defibrillator gel.
Notes
     Spoilers for 3A. Takes place during the episode 3x10 'The
     Overlooked'.
     I asked_a_simple_question_on_tumblr and the masses spoke, so this is
     dedicated to everyone who liked and/or reblogged that post lol. ♥
     This is completely un-beta'd, so. You know.
See the end of the work for more notes
Stiles was terrified, which was probably the only thing keeping him from having
a panic attack right now. That and the fact that he was pretty sure Cora had
possibly just died. Nothing like saving someone's life to give you a real sense
of your own mortality. He could barely hear over the sound of his own heartbeat
thudding in his ears, and he was beyond surprised that the twins had passed him
by without a glance.
It was eerily quiet in the hospital basement, the only sounds being his and
Cora's breathing. But hey, at least she was doing that. But then a sound, and
another, like metal against metal, or maybe careful footsteps. He sucked in a
shaky breath and tried to hold it, tried to will his heart to calm, but it
wasn't working. Stiles had very little self-control, but right now his nerves
were raw and on edge, and he swore his hearing would have rivaled any of the
wolves.
There was the sound again; like shuffling, or maybe dragging, and Stiles
couldn't help silently praying to any god that might be listening to him right
now. Well, except for the Celtic ones because fuck those guys. He glanced over
his shoulder, wide-eyed and hopefully ready to take on anyone or anything that
opened the back of that ambulance.
Oh my god, oh my god, I'm going to die in an ambulance after saving a
werewolf's life, how sick and ironic is that? he thought, his mind racing, and
he didn't even realize he was reaching for the door until Scott's face
appeared, and hanging off of his shoulder, Peter. The breath Stiles didn't
realize he'd been holding pushed out of him like a deflating balloon, and he
immediately wondered where the adrenaline was because he was pretty sure he was
about to go into cardiac freaking arrest.
“Stiles!” Scott said breathlessly, a look of panicked determination in his
eyes. “Open the door.”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Stiles stammered, shoving the doors open with shaky hands
before reaching out to help Scott haul Peter in. The eldest Hale was visibly
weak, weaker than he usually was, but Stiles didn't have time to ask as he
helped Peter practically crawl over his lap and into the seat beside him.
Knowing Scott couldn't see, Peter cast a wink and a feeble lopsided grin at
Stiles as the boy's hand accidentally brushed over his ass, but he didn't
chuckle, despite wanting to. Of course things were serious now. This was life
and death.
“Where's Derek and Jennifer?” Stiles asked, glancing between Peter, who was
slumped beside him, his breathing heavy, and Scott who had stayed outside,
looking frantic and desperate.
“I have to go back for them,” Scott said, giving Stiles an almost apologetic
look. “And my mom.”
“Okay, well two problems,” Stiles outlined, swallowing his fear down thickly as
he tried not to look at Peter, to worry about his father, to freak the fuck out
and puke all over Scott, because puke never helped anyone. “Kali's got the keys
to this thing and I just saw the twins, like, 30 seconds ago.”
A sound drew the attention of all the conscious people in the ambulance, and
Stiles heart leaped into his chest. Not even the brush of Peter's knuckles
along the outside of his thigh could calm him. Not right now. Not when
everything was so fucked it was nearly impossible to see a clear way out.
“Stay here,” Scott said, and Stiles' heart nearly broke at the expression on
his friend's face. Scott was so fucking brave and Scott was probably going to
die. They were all probably going to die, and Stiles couldn't stop shaking as
he pulled the ambulance doors shut, watching his best friend and brother's
retreating form running back toward the hospital door.
“Well, that was bracing,” Peter declared in a heavy groan, hands lifting to
grab at the back of the collar of his shirt, trying unsuccessfully to tug it up
over his head, but his arms were weak and there wasn't much room to maneuver in
here. “Damnit,” he hissed, elbowing Stiles into paying attention. “A little
help here?”
“Huh?” Stiles whipped around, eyes wide as if he'd just remembered Peter was
there. “Oh, shit...” He grabbed at the hem of Peter's shirt and yanked it up
and off, his eyes widening a bit at the damage on Peter's torso. Most of it was
bruising, all superficial and in various stages of healing, but there were a
few stray claw marks that were still laid open. Alpha claws.
Stiles pressed a shaky hand against Peter's chest, right over his heart, before
looking up at the older man, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.
“Ten points to epinephrine, huh?” Stiles breathed, feeling Peter's heart still
beating like a caged bird against his hand.
“My blood pressure is off the hook,” Peter said, dropping his head back against
the side of the ambulance, his eyes lingering on Stiles before sliding over to
drop to Cora's face. He cocked his head slightly and lifted his brow, silencing
his breathing for just a moment; just long enough he listen to her's. Long,
heavy, steady breaths. Sluggish heartbeat. Slow, steady pulse. She was out.
“Stiles,” Peter said, his tone suddenly serious as he looked back at the boy,
meeting wide brown eyes, full of anxiety and tension and fear. He grabbed on of
Stiles' hands and pressed it against his groin, letting the boy feel just what
he meant about blood pressure. His cock was like an iron bar pressing against
his fly. “Take off your pants.”
Stiles blinked. Peter smirked. Stiles blinked again, and then one more time for
good measure. Peter tilted his head and raised his eyebrows expectantly. Stiles
opened his mouth and did his best dying fish impression, which was saying a lot
since he did said impression often and well. Peter rolled his eyes and reached
out, his fingers clumsy and fumbling as he worked at the boy's belt.
“Pe-” Stiles began as he stared down, watching Peter's hands unbuckle him, then
unbutton and unzip him. But when he looked back up and saw the tightness of
Peter's jaw and the brilliant blue of his eyes and the carefully controlled
expression that read 'we might die at any minute, so stop being a pussy',
Stiles threw all caution and fucking everything else to the wind. “Oh, fuck
it.”
Stiles stood, hunching in the confined space as he shoved his jeans and boxers
down and tugged a single foot out of the leg holes, his flannel shirt coming
off next, landing in a pile on the bench next to Peter. The wolf growled his
approval as he leaned back, eyes latched to Stiles' and holding the gaze,
feeling the heat growing between them as he unbuckled his own jeans, releasing
a nearly painful erection.
“Imagine trying to explain my hard-on to the other kids,” Peter said through
clenched teeth as one hand strayed to the locked medical supply cabinet and
gave the handle a firm yank, breaking the lock and opening the door. “You're
only doing yourself a favor.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Stiles whispered, climbing into Peter's lap just as the
older man's fingers found what he hoped was medical lubricant. It was all water
based; it should be safe. He only hoped it wasn't the defibrillator gel.
Stiles was grateful for the padding on the bench as his knees sunk into it, one
hand reaching up to grab at the handhold above their heads as he leaned back,
his other reaching down to grab his own cock, only half-hard due to the sheer
insane Penthouse Forum-ness of this entire situation. He pressed his lips
together against his snaking tongue, a soft groan pushing from his throat as he
began to stroke himself fast and hard, pulling at his skin and squeezing
himself around the head firmly, just like he did when he really needed a jerk
and didn't have a lot of time.
“You're going to have to do this again for me one of these days,” Peter
murmured, his eyes locked to the boy's hand, watching Stiles working himself
with an incredibly practiced and furious pace, his own hands almost casually
tearing open the plastic package and squirting the lube into his palm, before
wrapping a slick hand around his length and stroking himself leisurely, like
they were chatting about the goddamn weather. “Only slower, more porn star-y.
Hey, maybe we can film it,” he grinned cheekily.
“Jesus,” Stiles hissed, shooting Peter a glare. “You're fucking unbelievable,
shut the fuck up and let's do this.”
“Bossy,” Peter drawled, with a little note of pride in his voice as he reached
for one of the boy's slender hips with his dry hand. “You sure you want to do
this with no prep?” he cautioned, giving Stiles a look that said if he
affirmed, that would be that.
Stiles licked his lips, his grip on the hand-hold tightening. He knew this was
going to hurt, but it would be a familiar pain. A pain he was well-acquainted
with. A pain he was kind of craving right now, needing. He swallowed hard,
Adam's apple bobbing as he nodded, and the flash and gleam in Peter's eyes had
him throbbing in his own hand.
“Good boy,” Peter said, his tone throaty as he pressed the slick, hot head of
his cock against Stiles' tight hole. “Come on, get down here.” Stiles grit his
teeth and relinquished his hand-hold, his stomach twisting like he imagined it
would if he was about to jump out of a plane without testing his parachute. He
shifted his hips forward and hunched over Peter, releasing his grip on his own
dick and moving to press his hands against the metal wall of the ambulance,
letting Peter hold him up as the older man pushed with absolutely no kindness
up inside of him.
A strong, hot hand immediately reached up to clamp over Stiles' mouth, cutting
off and muffling the surprised wail that choked out in Stiles' throat as pain
seared through him. Stiles' hands balled and fisted, pressing and banging with
as much restraint as he could manage against the side of the ambulance, and he
could feel himself shaking, his hips jerking against his will as he tried to
pull himself up and off. Peter's arm snaked around his waist and held him,
strong and firm, before pulling him down as he finally thrust in fully.
“Shhh,” Peter breathed, and though Stiles nodded, Peter kept his hand clamped
around the boy's mouth. It wasn't that he didn't trust that Stiles would be
able to contain himself – okay, maybe it was quite a bit that – but it was more
that the kid just looked really hot like this, all wide-eyed, pupils blown, and
shaking on Peter's cock. Knowing Stiles couldn't babble even if he wanted to
was kind of a ridiculous turn-on for Peter.
“Next time, ball-gags,” Peter said with a sharp smirk before leaning into
Stiles and scooping his own hips down and up, moving as much as he could inside
of that slender body with as much range of motion as he had, which wasn't much.
Stiles' eyes narrowed and rolled a bit, long lashes fluttering as the head of
Peter's cock nestled and nudged firmly against his prostate, sending hot chills
and jolts of pleasure straight to his dick.
They rocked together for a bit, getting Stiles accustomed to being filled so
fully without any sort of stretching, but withing several breathes the lanky
teen finally started to move. Knees pressed into the padded seat as he rose and
fell on tense, trembling thighs, whimpering groans reverberating in his throat
as the friction finally melted from discomfort to pleasure, and soon enough the
two were coupled together with sweat-laced skin and muffled moans.
Peter's blunt human fingers dug into Stiles' cheeks but he didn't care, this
was too fucking intense. The rush, the fear of being found, the fear of dying;
it was all too fucking much. Peter's mouth latched to his shoulder and Stiles
felt teeth, scraping and digging into the meat of the muscle, and firming lips
and tongue and Peter sucked hard, wanting to mark. Loving to mark. Wanting the
faint taste of blood as he drew it just beneath the surface of Stiles' pale
skin.
The arm around Stiles' waist disappeared suddenly and the boy almost faltered
in his momentum for the loss of it, but the moment Peter's lube-slicked hand
slid around his dick and squeezed, Stiles bucked his hips right back into
rhythm, pulling a throaty rumbling growl from the wolf he was riding.
“Faster,” Peter demanded against spit-slicked skin, his tongue dragging along
Stiles collarbone as his hips jerked up, thrusting into Stiles hard and fast
now; no mercy. No time for that. Only the fierce, desperate need for release.
For some sort of calm in all of this chaos around them. “Move faster.”
With a whimper Stiles nodded, already knowing he was going to miss the
strangely comforting weight of Peter's hand over his mouth as he picked up his
pace, sliding on the older man's cock with ease now. Peter's hand moved in a
discordant rhythm on Stiles' cock, making the boy work for it, making him whine
and sound pleads in his throat. He was close, had been close since the moment
Peter got his cock out, and all it took was a few of those firm, authoritative
strokes of Peter's slippery hand and Stiles was tensing and pitching his hips
forward, his hands falling to grasp firmly on Peter's shoulders as he came with
a muffled shout against the older man's palm, and a thick stream of come that
webbed Peter's fingers and dribbled onto his abdomen.
“Mm, perfect,” Peter growled against Stiles' ear, nipping hard at the lobe as
he continued to pound into the boy, using his ass like he would his own hand;
with abandon and no care for the state of how he left it afterward. A few
heavy, gasping breathes and Stiles whimpered again, trembling around Peter's
cock as he felt the wolf throb hard, hips stuttering as Peter came, filling
Stiles as his breath shuddered hot against the boy's slender neck.
                                       –
Isaac squealed to a halt in the basement pick-up, his wide eyes landing on the
ambulance that he knew contained Stiles, Cora, and Peter. Not a second later
the double doors on the back of the transport vehicle burst open and Cora came
out, wheeled on a stretcher, before Peter quickly picked her up in his arms and
dashed for the SUV.
“C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!” came Isaac's frantic calls, the young beta dashing
around the side of the SUV to help Peter with Cora, though his eyes strayed to
Stiles who hesitated. Hesitated reading the admittance form on the back of the
ambulance door.
Parent or Guardian, it read, and Stiles finally understood the one thing he'd
never wanted to understand; that his dad wasgoing to die if he didn't do
something. Now.
“Stiles, let's go!” Isaac yelled, gesturing at his shocked friend as he made
his way back to the driver's side, and Stiles merely glanced at Isaac, as if
hearing him underwater. He looked over his shoulder, and then back at Isaac,
before turning and running in the opposite direction, ignoring Isaac who
shouted his name again, as he moved back toward the hospital door. Back into
the lion's den.
Stiles ran away from safety and security. Away from warmth and comfort. He ran
away from from freedom because he had to do something, and from where he sat in
the back with his niece's head in his lap, Peter smiled softly, watching the
boy run towards instead of away.
“Good for you,” Peter whispered, before running his hand over Cora's forehead
and brushing her hair back.
End Notes
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