Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/863882.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Isaac_Lahey/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Isaac_Lahey, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Hand_Jobs, Kissing, Set_after_3x03
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-06-30 Words: 2588
****** I'm the kinda (that you wanna) ******
by ambitioncutsusdown
Summary
     Stiles turns his head to look at Isaac, his eyebrows arched.
     “I’m a virgin.”
Notes
     This took me waaaay too long to finish (I'm blaming school), so it's
     not really relevant anymore, but I wanted to post it anyway. It's set
     after 3x03, when everyone still thinks they're after virgins and
     everyone is in danger.
     Apart from that, I hope y'all enjoy this :)
     (((and if you wanna talk, you can find me on tumblr. I always love to
     talk to other stisaac/teen wolf fans, so go ahead :) !!!)))
Stiles heaves out a sigh when he takes the bottle Isaac is holding up for him,
unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. The soda bubbles on his tongue, and after
he swallows, he sighs again.
“How’s Scott doing?” Isaac asks, probably more to break the silence than
anything else. Stiles can’t blame him.
“Talking with Allison. Finally.”
“Curious how that goes.”
“Mmh.”
It’s late, probably after midnight already. The smartest thing to do would be
kick Isaac out and go to bed, since they both have school in de morning, but he
knows he won’t be able to sleep anyway. And the company is nice.
“How’s Derek?” he asks as he shifts slightly. The headboard of his bed is
pressing against his back in a way that isn’t entire comfortable, but he
doesn’t feel like moving into another position.
Isaac shrugs, taking the bottle back and drinking from it, maybe to gain time,
Stiles can’t tell. “Cora’s alive,” he finally replies, putting the bottle down
next to Stiles’ bed.
Stiles nods ‘cause yeah, that’s probably the only thing that can be said right
now. He wouldn’t know how to deal with that either, finding out your sister is
alive after years of thinking she burnt to death. It’s most likely not very
nice. Mostly confusing. It kind of sucks, actually. He doesn’t have a sister,
but he imagines himself in Derek’s place, and Scott in Cora’s, and it’s fucked
up.
Neither of them dares to ask how Boyd and Cora are doing. It’s still too weird.
They probably wouldn’t know themselves.
“Have you heard about that missing girl?”
Stiles nods again. Of course he has. It’s the fifth missing teenager so far –
two boys and three girls. Four of them have already been found. The last one is
still missing, but Stiles expects her to be dead already. He hasn’t talked to
anyone close to her, but they can assume she’s a virgin as well. No one has any
clue as to why someone goes around killing virgins (not that anyone has really
had the time to think about that either), but it’s still unsettling. And hey,
there might be a lot of virgins in Beacon Hills, Stiles is related to
supernatural stuff in more ways than he can count, so figures he has just as
much reason to be worried as anyone else. Maybe even more. “I just wanna know
who did it already. So I know who to be afraid of,” he mutters.
Isaac makes a noise of agreement. “Yeah. Me too.”
“You’re afraid?”
Stiles turns his head to look at Isaac, his eyebrows arched.
“I’m a virgin.”
It’s a statement and nothing else, said so as if it would be obvious that Isaac
is a virgin and he doesn’t get how Stiles didn’t know that. Which he didn’t.
Well, okay, it’s not like Isaac has ever told them he has sex, but Stiles just
assumed he had with how close he and Erica had been. And also – have you seen
him? The guy is seriously hot and Stiles sometimes has difficulty keeping his
thoughts (and fingers) in check when Isaac is around. “Why?”
“Because I haven’t had sex with anyone?”
There’s a hint of amusement in Isaac’s voice now, which makes Stiles roll his
eyes, but he doesn’t say anything else for a few minutes, arching his back
lightly. This position is seriously starting to hurt now.
“So both of us are in equal danger getting killed then? Alright,” he finally
says as he stretches his legs and slides down, lying on his back. A sated sigh
escapes him. Much better.
A short silence falls upon both of them, in which the only thing audible in
Stiles’ bedroom is their breathing. At least that’s what Stiles hears. He’s not
quite sure about all the things Isaac might be catching up on. Maybe he’s
listening to the birds outside, or he’s figured out that Stiles has a ticking
clock in the back of his closet (which he put there because seriously, the
ticking drove him crazy). But when he looks up at Isaac again, he finds out the
other is staring at him, eyes big and round, lips still quirked up in fondness.
“Yep, we are,” he replies. Stiles has to think a few seconds to remember what
Isaac is replying to. He hums, offering that as an answer (quite honestly? He
doesn’t have a better one) but Isaac beats him in trying to come up with one
either way. “We should do something about that.”
Stiles doesn’t sputter. Or flail. Or anything that looks like it. Nope he
doesn’t, not at all.
“What?” is all the says, pushing himself up and turning his head to face Isaac,
whose amusement seems to be even higher now, which is just infuriating because
there is nothing amusing about this.
“We. Should do. Something. About that,” Isaac repeats as if it’s the most
obvious thing in the world. “You’re a virgin. I’m a virgin. There are people
out there sacrificing virgins. We should keep each other safe, no?”
Stiles opens his mouth to reply, but before he can even say something, Isaac
has closed the distance between them and – oh – he is – kissing.
Okay.
Isaac Lahey is kissing him.
After four seconds of pure and honest surprise, Stiles finally remembers how
his lips work and he gives in to the taller guy, tilting his head to the side
for better access and brushing their mouths together.
It’s good. Isaac is a good kisser, so either he’s had a lot of practice (which
Stiles doubts) or he’s a natural. He feels Isaac’s tongue swiping against his
bottom lip, so Stiles parts his lips more, letting him in. Isaac’s hand are on
his sides, gripping them lightly, holding him in place of pulling him closer,
Stiles can’t tell, but it feels good and he doesn’t know when he moved his own
hands but somehow they ended up in Isaac’s hair, clutching it gently. And
Isaac’s making noises. Little, throaty keens that pour right into Stiles’
mouth, only when he starts paying attention to them, he realizes it is not just
Isaac – he’s making noise as well, they both are.
And – oh.
Isaac is hitching his shirt up, little by little, fingertips finding skin and
eagerly exploring.
Jesus.
Stiles will never mistake Isaac for slow and sweet and calm again. The guy is
frantic, not a moment of hesitation. No, it’s all… here, and now, and more, and
everything. And even though it feels like every cliché mixed together, Stiles’
breath catches in his throat, his head spinning and his fingers itching,
impatient, clumsy as they travel lower and he clenches them in the collar of
Isaac’s shirt and tries to pull him closer.
They have too many limbs to be gracious, but somehow they end up completely
sprawled out on the bed, Stiles on his back and Isaac on top of him, still
kissing him hungrily, like the world is ending any second and this is the last
chance they have.
“Fuck,” Stiles breathes when Isaac puts an inch of space between their mouths.
“Please,” Isaac replies.
His eyes are wide, pupils blown, lips still red and bruised since his healing
hasn’t kicked in yet. His hair is a mess, and Stiles takes all the credit for
that. Stiles has to admit that he looks hot, sexy, perfect, everything Stiles
ever wanted served on a platter, ready for him to devour.
Holy Jesus.
“I don’t – I’m not – I don’t have –“ he stammers, his gaze flickering between
Isaac’s lips and his eyes. He’s smirking again.
Asshole.
Stiles yelps when Isaac moves away, ready to make grabby hands at him and
demand he comes right the fuck back, but when Isaac pulls him up as well Stiles
gets the picture. They’re moving up, which is – good. More centered on the bed.
Less risk to fall off.
It’s soft. Easier. Yeah.
And oh, they’re kissing again. They move around a little, not too much, Stiles’
bed isn’t big enough for a lot of moving, but now they’re both on their sides
which makes kissing easier. Isaac’s hand is on his hip, just past the hem of
his shirt, his thumb stroking over his hipbone, making Stiles shiver in the
most delicious way possible.
“Take it off.”
The only reason Stiles knows he’s the one who said that, is because he
recognizes his own voice. And because Isaac hums and eagerly agrees, clumsily
tugging at Stiles’ shirt, which gets stuck over his head. It takes a few
seconds before they manage to get it off.
It’s a good thing they’re both too eager and close-to-desperate to really care.
Stiles shivers at the sudden cold, arching up to seek warmth from Isaac, who
is… oh. Who is busy taking off his own shirt, which Stiles is not complaining
about because the sight of Isaac’s torso – abs – makes his mouth water, air
getting stuck in his lungs for a few seconds before he manages to exhale again.
He’s touching before he even knows it, eagerly dragging his fingers over every
inch of bare skin, keening quietly at how smooth it feels.
“Jesus, Isaac,” he mutters, earning a chuckle as answer, but Stiles is too far
gone to even hear that, because Isaac? He’s like sex personified. Sex on legs.
Walking sex. Sex that’s currently lying in his bed. Sex that is about to
happen, holy shit.
Stiles leans in to kiss Isaac again, who meets him halfway, clearly having the
same intention. It’s almost impossible, but they’re actually even more clumsy,
more desperate. Stiles knows he’s hard, it just hasn’t occurred to him to do
something about them. Doesn’t seem relevant until Isaac pushes his thigh
forward, grinding into his crotch, making him moan and arch and gasp again.
Stiles quickly grinds back, bucking his hips, aiming for Isaac’s so their
groins can sloth together, so they can have more friction, which sounds exactly
like what they both need. At least Stiles needs it.
After that, it goes quick. Stiles is only vaguely aware of undressing, but he
remembers ruining Isaac’s jeans by popping off the button, just like he knows
Isaac was a little too quick with taking off Stiles’ underwear, ripping it with
not-quite-but-close-to-claws.
He isn’t kissing Isaac so much as panting heavily into his mouth, his lungs not
expanding enough to breathe in deeply. The lack of air makes him lightheaded.
Or maybe it’s the way Isaac is touching him that makes him feel that way,
that’s another possibility, he’s not quite sure. Doesn’t care either. All he
wants is more, closer, everything. He hooks his fingers over Isaac’s shoulders
and pulls the other on top of him again, long legs wrapping themselves around
Isaac’s waist.
It proves the perfect angle, when Stiles feels Isaac’s dick, hot and heavy,
thrusting against his hip, the head sliding over his stomach. It might be his
imagination, but Stiles can already feel his skin getting sticky with sweat and
precome, which only makes his own want more urgent.
“I don’t have lube,” he blurts out, totally unaware where those words even came
from. This is why he should’ve kept kissing Isaac. Once his mouth isn’t
occupied anymore, he starts spewing crap. “But I have handlotion.”
Isaac chuckles – honest to god chuckles – and licks his lips. Stiles can see
the flush on his face spreading down to his chest. He wonders where exactly it
ends. He also wonders how hot it feels. How it would feel to trace Isaac’s
blush with his tongue. “That’s just one step above spit. Which is still bad,”
Isaac replies, making Stiles snap out of his daze.
He tries to come up with an answer, but Isaac beats him to it by wrapping a
hand around Stiles’ dick, fingers curling in a tight circle, and he moves
swiftly, as if he’s done this many times before.
His eyes roll back into his skull, his fingers clenching in Isaac’s skin,
leaving marks that probably will not even last ten minutes.
Jesus Christ, someone is touching his dick.
Someone that’s not him.
And someone is touching it good.
It could be because it’s his first time, or because he’s more turned on than
he’s ever been, or because it’s Isaac, or a combination of all those, but
Stiles knows this will be over soon. There’s no way he’s going to last longer
than five minutes. He can already feel the heat pooling in his stomach, the
shivers going up and down his spine as it is, let alone he’ll be able to hold
off longer than a few minutes.
“Fuck, Isaac,” he breathes out, voice strained and raspy. “Jesus, do you even –
oh god – this feels so fucking good.”
Isaac hums as answer, seemingly sharing that opinion. He speeds up his hand,
twisting his wrist slightly, and meets Stiles’ gaze, holding it and it’s so
intense Stiles can feel his toes curling in the sheets, his back arching in
almost a perfect bow, and just like that, he’s gone.
He moans Isaac’s name, louder than he’s ever been on his own, desperately
clutching at Isaac as he has what he will describe later as an out-of-body-
experience, his orgasm hitting him so hard his vision actually goes black for a
few seconds.
When he comes back to himself again, he blinks his eyes open. Isaac’s taken his
hand away, which Stiles is thankful for because he tends to get sensitive soon
after his orgasm.
“That was-“
“Awesome,” Isaac supplies. Stiles can only nod.
Isaac shifts his hips, hisses, and it’s then that Stiles remembers that – oh
yeah – he’s not the only one needing something here. He blindly reaches a hand
down, sweeps his thumb over the tip of Isaac’s cock, gathering precome to
slicking his grip. He makes a fist for Isaac to thrust into and says “c’mon,
Isaac. Fuck my hand. Lemme feel,” he slurs, sleep already making itself known.
The whimper that Isaac makes is more than worth staying up a little longer
though.
It looks like Isaac isn’t even coherent anymore, just blindly pushing his hips
forward, humping Stiles’ entire body in ways that should be more disturbing
than fucking hot, but, well… they’re not. It’s incredibly fucking totally hot.
It only takes minutes before Isaac is gasping as well. Stiles feels him
shudder, coating Stiles’ hand in come, panting for air. It makes Stiles lick
his lips and whine quietly. He slides a hand into his curls and pets it softly,
waiting until Isaac is able to form words again.
Which is apparently more difficult than one would expect, who would’ve known.
Stiles whines again when Isaac pulls away, but he settles down when he realizes
Isaac was only picking up something, and, okay, it’s his shirt, and…
He uses it to wipe away the come on their bodies.
Okay.
“You think this counts?” Isaac finally asks, raising an eyebrow and biting his
lip. He suddenly looks much more insecure than he let on the entire evening,
which is good, ‘cause now at least Stiles doesn’t feel like the only one losing
his mind a little bit.
“Well, maybe we should do it again some time, just to make sure,” he replies in
a drawl, corners of his mouth turning upwards in a grin.
Which seems to satisfy Isaac since he settles down again, tucks himself into
Stiles’ side, and closes his eyes. They doze off just like that, tangled
together.
 
 
 
 
 
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