Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/462651.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Light_Bondage, discussion_of_mating, made-up_werewolf_headcanon, PWP,
      Mutual_Masturbation
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-07-18 Words: 2557
****** I Know What It's Like (To Be In Chains) ******
by ladyblahblah
Summary
     Prompt fill: Stiles experiments with new ways to captivate Scott on
     full moon with himself. His father has a night shift till next day.
     And of course stiles being stiles, he managed to tie himself to the
     heater without his cellphone or anything close to him. After awhile
     he starts to scream and our beloved sourwolf hears it and wants to
     help stiles. But maybe not with loosing the chains but with the other
     "unspoken" topic of stiles being a virgin, because stiles being in
     that position no alpha could resist.
Notes
     Another fill for my "give me Sterek PWP prompts" plea. Stiles is
     entirely too much fun to write, I'll tell you what. Title is from a
     Depeche Mode song. I regret nothing.
 
 
“Hello?” Stiles's voice is starting to go hoarse, and he lets his head fall
back to thump against the wall. “Anyone?” he tries again after a moment,
because anyone who knows him will tell you that Stiles Stilinski can't keep his
mouth shut to save his life, and clearly that's not going to change when he's
managed to sort of accidentally chain himself to the radiator. A little.
 
“HELLO?” He doesn't know why he's still bothering, really. He's been shouting
for help for over an hour, and there hasn't been so much as a knock on the
door. This is what he gets for trying to do something nice. Well. Sort of.
“Hello, I'm in distress here, could someone please just help?”
 
His phone is across the room, not just on but  behind his desk, where it's
possible it might have fallen after an ill-advised pillow-based retrieval
technique. Which means he can't call Scott to come and help him; not that Scott
would probably answer his phone, but he  might , and he  should , since it's
his fault Stiles is even in this situation, in a way. He was the one freaking
out about the full moon this month, wasn't he? And he was the one begging
Stiles to help him come up with a way to keep him from hurting anyone, right?
And since Stiles is the  best friend ever , he's the one who came up with the
idea for a remote-activated cuff woven through with mountain ash to keep him
chained to Stiles's radiator should it become absolutely necessary.
 
And, since Stiles is  Stiles , he's also the one who managed to accidentally
spring the mechanism while he was testing it and wind up shackled there
himself. His dad is working an overnight shift, his phone is irretrievable, and
his best friend is god-only-knows-where but probably snuggled up with Allison
in the last bit of time before the moon rises and not thinking about Stiles at
all. Stiles is going to have to wait for his dad to get home in the morning and
let him loose, and won't  that  just be a lovely, not-at-all-awkward
conversation for them to have?
 
He is so phenomenally, monumentally screwed.
 
“HELLO!” he shouts again, on the verge of panicking now. For a moment he
considers shouting fire, but aren't you not supposed to do that? Or does that
only apply to crowded theaters? Screw it, he's trying anyway, he decides, and
is opening his mouth to draw in air for a shout when the scraping sound of his
window opening has him stopping with his jaw still hanging open.
 
Probably a good thing he didn't yell  fire  after all, a quiet voice in his
head is saying as he watches long legs slide in through the open space. Derek
probably wouldn't have appreciated it. Definitely for the best. So now instead
of having to worry about being trapped in a room with an incredibly brassed-off
werewolf, all he has to deal with is the look on Derek's face like Stiles is
the most infuriatingly baffling thing he's ever seen.
 
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks shortly, and Stiles has to laugh,
letting his head thump against the wall again.
 
“Oh, you know. Just hanging out.”
 
“Why are you sitting—”
 
“Because I'm locked up, dumbass!” Stiles shouts, jerking his arm in the cuff so
that it clanks noisily against the heater. Derek's eyes flash red, and Stiles
swallows heavily, belatedly realizing that baiting an alpha werewolf half an
hour before the full moon might not be the very best idea he's ever had.
 
“Why are you locked up?” Derek growls, his body going tense and still.
 
“I dunno, just seemed like a way to pass the time, you know kids today and our
wacky ways. It was an accident, what do you think?”
 
Stiles is cursing the fact that he really  can't  keep his mouth shut to save
his life, when Derek abruptly relaxes.
 
“You mean you did this to yourself?”
 
“Well, yeah. I'm not really into kinky bondage games.” He nearly bites his
tongue in half as soon as the words are out of his mouth, because that's the
last thing he needs to be thinking about with Derek Hale looming over him
looking like—like that. “Besides. Uh. There's no one else here. Now would you
give me a hand so I don't have to explain to my dad why his seventeen-year-old
son is chained to a radiator? Please?”
 
Derek rolls his eyes, but he crouches down and reaches for the cuff
nonetheless. His fingers are less than an inch away when he freezes, and his
gaze flickers up to Stiles's.
 
“You used mountain ash.”
 
“Um. Yeah.”
 
“This was for Scott.”

Stiles scratches at his nose with his free hand. “Sort of?”
 
“You were going to chain him up,” Derek says, a low growl rumbling under his
words, “in your bedroom.”
 
“Only if it became necessary! He's been freaking out about it lately, I don't
know why, except he's Scott, and Scott's sort of weird, so I set this up.”
Stiles can't seem to catch his breath, possibly because he couldn't stop
talking with an actual gun to his head right now, like his words are a talisman
protecting him from the visibly furious werewolf right in front of him. “And
then I accidentally got stuck in it instead, heh, oops? So if you could just—”
 
“Stiles,” Derek grinds out. “You need to calm. Down.”
 
“What do you mean, calm down?” Stiles lets out a nervous laugh and tries not to
wince at the sound of it. “I'm totally calm.”
 
“You're afraid of me. You need to pull it together.”
 
“I'm not afraid of you,” Stiles protests. “It's just that you're a werewolf and
I'm, you know.” He rattles the short chain again for emphasis. “Tied up and
made of meat.”
 
“I'm not going to eat you, Stiles,” Derek says, rolling his eyes again like the
very idea is ridiculous, though the rumble in his voice is sort of the opposite
of reassuring. He glares down at the cuff like it's personally offended him. “I
can't break through that.”
 
“Good thing there's a key, then.” Stiles is taking deep breaths, trying to calm
his racing heartbeat. The fact that each one has him breathing in the scent of
Derek's leather jacket and the warmth of his skin and the faint scent of the
woods that always seems to cling to him isn't exactly helping with that,
though. “Top desk drawer.” His voice is hoarse again, which could totally still
be from shouting, and he'll be sticking to that theory, thank you very much.
Derek's nostrils flare for a moment, but he rises without comment and crosses
the room to paw through the indicated drawer.
 
“I'm pretty sure I'm going to regret asking this, but why did you leave the key
in your desk?”
 
“Well it wasn't like I planned to get stuck,” Stiles grouses. “I mean, I
would've had plenty of time to get to it if I'd had to lock Scott up; I just
wanted to make sure it was somewhere safe, in case he, y'know. Lunged at me or
something. Did you find it? And have you seen Scott? I haven't heard from him
all day.”
 
Derek turns around, jaw set in what's unmistakably annoyance. “He's at the
house, along with everyone else. You're the only one I had to come and fetch.
He said he tried calling you half an hour ago but you didn't answer.”
 
“Oh. Yeah, I sort of knocked my phone behind—wait, what do you mean, fetch? Did
you guys need me for something? No one said. It's the full moon though, isn't
that mostly, like.” He gestures expansively. “I dunno. Running around, wolfy
stuff?”
 
“Yeah.” Derek is giving him that look again, the one that says that Stiles's
idiocy is utterly incomprehensible. “It's pack.”
 
“Right. So.” Stiles swallows, forces a shrug. “Why do you need me there? I'm
not pack.”
 
Derek snorts derisively. “Don't be ridiculous. And here.” He holds up the
little silver key that will return Stiles's freedom, and Stiles is too busy
letting his relief out in a spontaneous, wriggling little dance to bother
questioning the rest of it.
 
“Yes! Excellent! C'mon, c'mon, let's go.” Derek hunkers down again, and the
scent of him hits Stiles full force before he can brace for it. He edges back
farther against the wall as he fights the urge to do the exact opposite. “Here,
just give it here, you probably can't get close enough to the mountain ash to
undo it anyway, I can just—”
 
“I thought I told you to calm down,” Derek growls. “It's the full moon; don't
you realize what that means?”

“Um, hello, my  best friend  is a werewolf, of  course  I know what it means.”
Stiles swallows heavily. “Your, uh. Your control is sort of. Tenuous. But
c'mon, man, I'm really not scared of you right now.”
 
“No, you're not. This is much worse.”
 
Derek's eyes drop to . . . to Stiles's lips, and oh, oh god,  what ? He leans
in, and for a dizzying, terrifying moment Stiles thinks he's going to—but Derek
is angling his head, dipping down to bury his nose in Stile's neck, and that's
. . . that's . . . well. He's nosing around, breathing in deep lungfuls of air,
and it takes a moment for Stiles to realize that Derek is  scenting  him. Which
probably shouldn't be as hot as Stiles thinks it is, but tell that to his dick,
which is signaling its definite and enthusiastic approval. He can't help his
moan when Derek's nose brushes against a particularly sensitive patch of skin,
and there's a low growl before Stiles can feel long, sharper-than-human teeth
fastening around his throat.
 
Okay,  now  he's scared.
 
“Um, Derek?” Stiles tries to move away, but those fangs just tighten and he
goes immediately still again. “You're not . . . I thought you said you weren't
going to eat me.”
 
“You need to get ahold of yourself,” Derek says, and at least he has to take
his teeth away from Stiles's neck to do it. “If you don't, I can't.”
 
“Okay.” Stiles is trembling, in fear or excitement or some combination of the
two. “And what happens if you don't?”
 
“If you're afraid, it'll make me want to chase you.” Derek's teeth scrape over
Stiles's skin again, and this time there's no doubt about why he's shivering.
“If you're aroused, it'll make me want to mate you.”
 
“M-mate me? No, but.” Stiles's eyes have gone wide. “Okay, this is the moon
talking, right? It's working its crazy werewolf mojo on you, making you say
things you don't mean. We just need to get you back to the rest of the pack,
and you'll be just fine.”
 
“You are, without a doubt, the smartest idiot I've ever met.” Derek's tongue
flicks out for a broad lick against the pulse point hammering away beneath
Stiles's skin. “The moon doesn't make you want something.” His hand closes
around the back of Stiles's neck, fingertips slipping beneath the collar of his
shirt as he growls, “It just makes you take it.”
 
“Oh, god,” Stiles whimpers, but he's trying to tilt his head back, trying to
give Derek better access, and the low, approving growl he gets in return makes
his dick jump.
 
“We have to make this fast,” Derek pants, his free hand already moving down,
palm grinding against Stiles's cock through his pants and drawing a broken,
needy sound from him. “Or it won't just be this once. Mating after moonrise . .
. I'll crave it every full moon. Wherever you are, I'll track you down and take
you then and there. Make you beg to smell like me again.”
 
“Uh,” Stiles says eloquently, trying to thrust his hips up into Derek's touch.
“How much time do we have?”
 
Derek leans back, hand still squeezing and stroking at Stiles's cock through
the fabric. He closes his eyes, like he's focusing on some internal sense, and
when he opens them again Stiles sees that they're almost completely red.
 
“About fifteen minutes.”
 
“Shit,” Stiles breathes, “I could come five times by then.” He pauses. “Um,
forget I said that,” he mutters, and reaches up to haul Derek's mouth down to
his.
 
It's frantic after that; Stiles considers it a minor miracle that Derek manages
to get their pants open without ripping them apart, but he does, and it's only
seconds before a warm, strong hand—minus the claws, thank  god— wraps around
his cock. Stiles moans loudly into Derek's mouth, clutching at his shoulder to
steady himself as he thrusts into it. Derek is growling and whimpering,
actually  whimpering  as he reaches up, frantically seeking out Stiles's hand
and tugging it down to where Derek has pulled himself out, as well. Blood is
rushing loudly in Stiles's ears; he doesn't really know what he's doing, and he
can't get a good angle with his other hand still shackled, but he tries to copy
Derek's movements, each twist of his wrist and flick of his thumb that are
quickly driving Stiles out of his goddamned mind. And as much as he wants what
he said to be a joke, the knowledge that he's tied there, helpless against
anything that Derek might want to do, is entirely too much for him to take.
It's over too soon; he's spilling himself over Derek's hand, breaking their
kiss to gasp and pant into his shoulder as he shudders through the pleasure
spiraling out from the base of his spine. When he finally leans back he finds
Derek watching him, and as Stiles belatedly starts moving his hand again he
sees Derek lift the hand covered with the sticky mess of Stile's release and
slowly, hungrily lick it clean. Stiles stares, wide-eyed, as Derek moans around
his own fingers and shudders, spilling sticky and wet over Stiles's hand.
 
He doesn't know what to do after that, isn't quite up to following Derek's
example, and is a little bit relieved when Derek rolls his eyes and grabs his
hand to lick it thoroughly clean, as well.
 
“Okay. So.” Stiles takes a deep, shaky breath. “Think you can unlock this thing
now?”
 
“Hmm?” Derek's eyes are hazy, and it takes him a moment to focus again. “Oh,
right.” He reaches into his pocket and hands the key to Stiles, though he seems
to regret having to release his hand to do so. “We should get going,” he says,
tucking himself back into his pants and reaching forward to do the same for
Stiles before he can stop him. “The pack's waiting.”
 
“Freaking werewolves,” Stiles mutters, rubbing at his wrist. “I should be
spending the rest of the night delighting in the wonder of mutual orgasms, not
babysitting a bunch of puppies.”
 
Derek snorts. “I'll make it up to you.”
 
“You'd better.” Stiles pokes him in the chest, inwardly thrilled when Derek
lets him. “Next time better be in an actual bed, and I expect full nudity, got
it?”
 
“Sure thing. Will you let me tie you up again?”
 
“I . . .” Stiles loses steam, gapes for a moment before sighing in defeat.
“Maybe.”
 
He thinks, as Derek helps him to his feet, that his smile can only be described
as  wolfish .
 
Yeah. Stiles is so completely screwed.
 
 
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