Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4546482.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Sheriff_Stilinski/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Sheriff_Stilinski, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Parent/Child_Incest, Possessive_Behavior, References_to
      Christianity, Light_Somnophilia, Just_the_Tip, Father-Husband, Daddy
      Kink, mentions_of_consensual_somnophilia, sweet_on_the_surface,
      Additional_Warnings_in_the_End_Notes
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-08-11 Words: 2191
****** In His Own Image ******
by Diablerie
Summary
     He can’t get over the wonder that they made him. That Stiles is
     perfect—their love given form. Stiles is perfect and precious and all
     John’s; it’s overwhelming. And yes, it hurts, but in a good way. Like
     stretching a sore muscle or pulling free a scab.
Notes
     This is my first (official) Stilinskicest fic. I feel like this
     wouldn't exist without Morallydubious posting so many wonderful fics
     about them. It's like a constant reminder how much I love them
     together. Thank you, Morallydubious. Whoever you are. You are doing
     god's work.
     To my dear friends who all encourage so much incest. You're terrible
     for my normal productivity. I should be writing other things. Things
     like my Steter works in progress. But I'm so far down the
     Stilinskicest rabbit hole again. It's a wonderful place, but it gives
     me a lot of gross feelings. I love/hate it.
     My new Stilinskicest theme song is "Jesus_Christ" by Brand New. I
     listened to this song for eight hours while I wrote this and cried
     about my difficulties with sex scenes.
See the end of the work for more notes
When they sleep in John’s bed, it would be so easy to think of it as John in
his place and Stiles in Claudia’s. They have the same hair and smile and laugh.
Stiles even has an identical spread of moles on his inner thigh—a dark
constellation, stark on pale, tender flesh. Of course, John knows about it. The
first time they fuck isn’t the first time he’s seen his son naked. Still, it’s
a punch to the gut every time he traces the marks with work-rough fingers or
worships them with his tongue, every time John spreads his son out on the bed
he shared with Stiles’ mother.
He can’t get over the wonder that they made him. That Stiles is perfect—their
love given form. Stiles is perfect and precious and all John’s; it’s
overwhelming. And yes, it hurts, but in a good way. Like stretching a sore
muscle or pulling free a scab.
If John thought that he might be able to make Stiles understand, then he’d tell
him. There are a lot of nights that he has to stop himself from explaining in
clumsy, halting words, his tongue leaden with whiskey and his heart full of
love. He loves them both so much. Still. Always.
Yet Stiles hovers in an uneasy time-share with her ghost—halfway convinced that
he’s a poor replacement for his mother. John will gladly go the rest of his
life never saying her name if it will make Stiles believe that he’s the only
choice. The only one John will ever want, because loving Stiles is inescapable,
like breathing. Like loving himself and Claudia and everything good in the
world. Because that’s what Stiles is to him. Even though he doesn’t understand
yet. He will in time. John has no intention of allowing Stiles to slip away. He
won’t give Stiles a reason to seek out comfort from another source.
Since beginning the sexual aspect of their relationship, John has spent
countless nights lying awake and watching Stiles sleep the way he used to when
Stiles was little. When he was so tiny and helpless. The context is different
now that Stiles is mostly grown.
When John looks at Stiles, he finds within himself a new ability to reconcile
conflicting thoughts. He traces cuts and bruises with gentle hands and thinks
my son is safe. He presses kisses to a lush, pink mouth just like Claudia’s and
fucks his throat on a slim dick curved like his own and thinks my love, my
darling, my pretty baby.
Like now, John has Stiles cradled against his chest, head resting in the dip of
his shoulder as his lips hover scant centimeters above the sleeping boy’s. Hot,
humid air gusts against John’s face as his avid eyes take in his son. He’s
eager to memorize every detail. From the dark fan of Stiles’ lashes resting on
curved cheeks to the scent of their shared soap and cologne. John revels in the
smooth, muscled body under his hands, pliant and bending to his whims. Finally,
he drops his head to meet Stiles’, brushing chaste kisses across parted lips.
There’s no rush to wake him, not when the last week has been so hectic, but the
soft pressure gives way to slow, drugging kisses. John delves deeper, coaxing
Stiles’ tongue into his mouth, sucking on the last traces of tingling mint like
a child with a sweet.
Stiles wakes up by degrees. Already warm and pliant, he melts even further into
the embrace. “Daddy,” he moans huskily. Stiles tips his face up and withdraws
his tongue, inviting John to follow. So John goes, marking his way with greedy
swipes, conquering that small space as his own while Stiles whimpers and arches
his back.
They’re both in the habit of sleeping naked when they have the chance, so each
twist and arch of spine presses silky, youthful flesh against his own weathered
skin. Stiles’ body is so attuned to him that he’s completely hard and leaking,
has been since they started kissing. The boy whines whenever the head of his
cock bumps into John’s thighs, matting the hair with smears of pre-cum. So he
turns them—blankets Stiles and rocks his heavy cock in the prominent jut of the
boy’s hip. His grip on Stiles’ wrists is light. He doesn’t rest his full weight
on him. Does nothing to restrain Stiles’ movement or keep him from breaking
free. John embraces his role as a comfort, a shield, a bulwark. He will always
protect his son.
John sucks kisses down the long line of Stiles’ throat. He pays special
attention to the frantic flutter of the pulse racing beneath fragile, blue-
veined skin. They have to be so careful. No matter how he wants it, he can’t
afford to sully Stiles with bruises that show the world all the places he’s
been. “Sorry for waking you, baby. But you’re too gorgeous for this old man to
resist.”
Stiles shakes his head. “I like waking up this way,” he croaks, voice rough
from sleep. “‘s good.” He grinds his hips in filthy suggestion, his erection
leaving sticky trails on John’s stomach. “C’mon Daddy,” Stiles coaxes. One side
of his mouth quirks up in a slow smile. “Don’t you wanna play with me?”
His son will be devastating when he’s older. John’s already helpless against
him. He groans and fits his mouth to Stiles’ smile. He has to taste it, sips at
Stiles’ happiness like the smoothest of whiskeys. It heats him up, burning all
the way down to settle in his gut. It feels like he’s swallowed the sun.
John releases one of Stiles’ wrists to reach down and probe the empty place
between his son’s legs. The hungry spot that’s always waiting for him. “I do. I
always do, honey.”
He sinks in one finger without pause. Goes slow and steady until he’s knuckle-
deep. Stiles is wet, still a little loose from when John fucked him before they
fell asleep. But Stiles is a teenager. Insatiable. Arousal is a never-ending
thing, constantly simmering in his veins, driving him to satisfy his urges.
John has to be the one to show Stiles patience. He’s the one who puts on the
brakes, stretches Stiles out nice and easy no matter how many times Stiles
protests or begs. John doesn’t care how many times they’ve done this. He
doesn’t care that he’s the only one who’s been inside Stiles, that he’s carved
out a space that fits only him. He refuses to take advantage of this gift. It’s
a privilege to experience Stiles’ surrender. The way Stiles softens that tight
hole for John, let it bloom open for his fingers, his tongue, his cock—whatever
his father wants to give him.
“There you go,” John whispers in Stiles’ ear as he presses in another finger.
Scissors them and waits for the answering gasp. “That’s my boy,” he mutters
soothingly. “You take it so well. So proud of you, baby.”
As Stiles relaxes further, John picks up the pace, groping through the sheets
for the discarded lube. He finds it shoved under the pillows and quickly flips
open the lid to drizzle more directly onto his thrusting fingers. “We just need
to get you wet again.” Stiles whines at the cool shock of fresh slick on his
heated skin. “Shhh, baby. We’re almost there. Daddy’s got you.”
John slips in a third finger and crooks them. Just rubs with firm, insistent
pressure right against Stiles’ prostate.
“God! Fuck. Daddy.” Stiles lets out a strangled shout. His splayed legs tremble
violently. On a particularly hard stroke, his foot jerks and almost kicks John.
“Careful, honey. Easy now.” John gentles him through it, but only lightens his
caresses when Stiles’ cock jumps and spurts pre-cum in warning. “See. Your
little hole knows who owns it. Who made it. You’re always so ready for me. I
could fuck you all day, every day and you’d still beg for more.” He pulls out
slippery fingers and slicks them over his aching cock. Fits his cock to Stiles’
puffy rim and slides in the head. “Christ,” he gasps. “You always fit just
right around me. You really were made for this. For me. My baby boy.”
“Uh-huh.” Mindless with pleasure, Stiles would agree to anything right now. He
babbles, “You and Mom. You made me for this. To take care of my daddy and keep
you warm.” Stiles tries and fails to buck up and take the rest of John. He
grunts. “Dad. Daddy, please. Wanna make you feel good.”
Stiles arches helplessly, straining in John’s effortless hold. But one big hand
grips his bony hip, keeping him pinned to the bed as the other plucks at a
sensitive nipple. John circles his hips easily, enjoying the tight clench
around his cock head as Stiles’ body clamps down on him in the attempt to suck
him deeper.
“What if this is all I give you? Would you come this way if I wanted?” He rocks
forward suddenly but withdraws just as fast. Pulls out and presses in with
excruciating slowness until the head pops through. “Yes or no, baby?”
Stiles hiccups out a shaky yes, so John smiles. Rewards his boy with praise and
repeats the motion. It’s not often that he has the opportunity to draw things
out. To work Stiles into a frenzy. Make him beg for his daddy’s cock until he
cries from the overwhelming pleasure. Usually, John doesn’t have the heart to
break him down like this, would much rather worship him and give in to Stiles
every whim, but he doesn’t like the way certain people have been sniffing
around. Standing so close and comfortable with Stiles. Offering him rides.
Bringing him coffee and books and presents when the asshole has his own kid to
take care of. He doesn’t need to steal Stiles. Stiles is John’s baby boy and
just his. It’ll be a cold day in hell before he lets some deadbeat seduce his
kid away. And before John knows it he’s burying himself to the hilt as the boy
yanks at his own hair with tiny, broken gasps.
John rolls his hips. Drags himself out. He catches Stiles’ hands where they’re
tangled and snaps, “No, honey. No hurting yourself.”
“But–but I need it,” Stiles whimpers. He’s pink halfway down his chest, mouth
slack and bitten-red, eyes glassy with unshed tears. He looks thoroughly
wrecked, and John’s the only one who gets to see it. The only one who ever
will. He’ll kill anyone who tries.
“Daddy. Please.” He tugs one hand free to twine his long fingers in John’s
hair. Stiles casts sightless eyes up at him. Lost without John’s guidance.
Imploring. Like John is a blasphemous mix of father, lover, and creator-god.
“Need you. I love you. Forever.”
“Aww, fuck,” he groans and drives himself into Stiles. “Yeah, baby. I love you,
too. Forever.” John loosens the hold on his restraint. Just a bit. Enough to
let him hammer into Stiles’ prostate until his baby is crying and screaming
curses and prayers. Babbling in tongues. John loses himself in his son, barely
has the presence of mind to wrap his still-slick hand around Stiles’ pretty
dick—so similar to his own—and jack him until Stiles yells. Hot cum spurts over
his hand, and Stiles goes limp under John’s thrusts, letting his father batter
his over-sensitive prostate without a hint of complaint. Tears trickle down
Stiles’ face as he lets out moans interspersed with soft, hitching breaths. The
kind he makes when he’s so blissed out that every sensation verges on pain.
“Are you close, Daddy?” Stiles must be exhausted, but he clenches down hard,
milking John’s cock like a good boy. Puts his whole body into getting his daddy
off. It won’t be much longer at this rate. Stiles is perfect, amazing. Designed
to rouse every protective instinct John has, as well as the primal urge to
paint him inside and out with cum. Sometimes John isn’t sure which he wants
more. Does he want to teach Stiles and help him grow? Or would he rather keep
him full of cock and too fucked out to move from John’s bed?
For a few seconds, John imagines a life where he could have that. He pictures
his pretty boy, the perfect combination of mother and father, naked and bound
to the bed. Dependent on John to fulfill his every need and want. And that’s
all it takes. John’s hips stutter, and he spills deep in his son, adding to the
earlier mess of lube and cum. On weak limbs, John rolls them both to their
sides so he won’t crush Stiles. Poor thing’s almost asleep again.
Stiles twists as much he can without letting John slip out, fumbling for his
hand. “Stay in me, Daddy,” he mumbles. “I like being close. Like waking up with
you inside me.”
John wraps long arms around his son, cradles him with all the tenderness in his
heart. “Okay, baby. I’ll hold you. I’ll be here as long as you’ll have me.”
End Notes
     Extra notes/warnings:
     I tagged it, so one should be shocked by all the gay incest. I marked
     it as underage since I've set this in a vague time around 3A/3B.
     John thinks a lot about Claudia. He thinks a lot about how he's part
     of Stiles and the conflict between his paternal and sexual feelings
     for his son. I had to debate tagging for dysfunctional relationship,
     but I decided against it since it would make people expect a
     different kind of dynamic.
     During sex, John has a brief fantasy about having Stiles as what
     amounts to a sex slave.
     Many thanks to Bones for the editing.
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