Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2478137.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Chris_Argent/Isaac_Lahey
  Character:
      Chris_Argent, Isaac_Lahey
  Additional Tags:
      Porn, Fingerfucking, Rough_Sex, Prompt_Fic
  Collections:
      24_-_Round_Twenty-Four_of_Rounds_of_Kink
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-10-19 Words: 2297
****** Ironclad Control ******
by Naemi
Summary
     The memory of how exactly he ended up here, with two fingers in
     Isaac's ass and his other hand covering the boy's mouth to hush his
     moans, is blurred.
Notes
     [set in season 3]
See the end of the work for more notes
 
It starts with a few silly compliments accompanied by fluttering lashes and
flushed cheeks and leaving behind an aftertaste of what the fuck. Regardless,
Chris is flattered—and slightly amused—that a teenager is crushing on him. He
figures that makes him what they call a DILF.
And yet, he can't ignore his daughter's friends walking around fantasizing
about him, especially not when it's so obvious that even a blind man could see
it for what it was. He needs to set the boy's head straight. Maybe, he should
have approached it the asshole-way because his words don't seem to stop Isaac
any more than a speed bump would stop a tank.
On the contrary, the boy gains confidence by the day, and underneath his
awkward shyness, he's a sassy little piece of jailbait. It's a miracle that
Allison doesn't notice—or doesn't care. Chris can't tell what's going on
between the two of them, but he can't shake off the feeling that Isaac had
planned for him to walk in on their shirtless interlude. You don't leave the
door wide open if you don't want audience.
It's almost sickening. If it was Isaac's intention to use his daughter to make
Chris jealous, well, he scored. If he's just using her . . . Chris will have to
kill him. And if, Heaven forbid, Allison is in on that folly, then Chris will
have to give her up for adoption.
Either way, he deals with the situation in the best and most reasonable way he
can think of: jerking off to the thought of Isaac's lips around his cock, but
not ever showing that the boy's advances have any impact on him whatsoever.
When Chris refuses to talk to him any more than necessary, Isaac starts finding
excuses to touch him. Like brushing their fingers together when Chris hands him
a can of soda. Like brushing his knee against Chris's at the dinner table. Like
brushing his crotch against Chris's side as he squeezes past him into the
apartment.
The memory of how exactly he ended up here, with two fingers in Isaac's ass and
his other hand covering the boy's mouth to hush his moans, is blurred. The
night may have included a few drinks on his part. It definitely included Isaac
slipping into Chris's study, stripping, and just standing there. The boy didn't
say a word, didn't even move, and yet he's lying on Chris's desk now, legs
splayed out wide, back arched in pleasure.
It's a ridiculously beautiful sight.
One of Isaac’s hands is roaming over his body, sometimes pinching a nipple,
sometimes sliding between his legs and giving his cock a few strokes. His other
hand is wrapped around Chris's wrist, dictating speed and intensity. But Isaac
can't influence whether Chris scissors his fingers or crooks them. He can’t
control whether Chris exerts extra pressure on his prostate or just brushes
over it, and he shivers and squirms and squeezes his eyes shut a little tighter
with every unexpected change of technique.
Chris is so hard that it hurts, but his cock is still safely locked away in its
denim prison, and he intends to keep it that way. It's bad enough that he's
incapable of withstanding the urge to make Isaac scream his name, but he won't
stoop so low as to come at the hands (or mouth) of a teenager. Being a DILF is
okay. Being a pervert isn't, although he must admit he doesn't know what
exactly separates one from the other.
Isaac keens, and Chris pauses, unsure whether it's pleasure or pain emerging.
He was fingering the boy with quick thrusts, pushing in as deep as he could go,
and maybe he was a little too rough with him all together; a faint bruise
blossoms just below Isaac's hipbone where Chris had to hold him down earlier to
keep him from bucking up like a rodeo horse.
Chris wants to kiss that spot.
When he stops moving his fingers, Isaac's grip on his wrist tightens and his
eyes fly open.
He mumbles something against Chris's palm that sounds like, “More.”
Chris shakes his head. “It's enough.”
Isaac brushes Chris's hand from his face. His breath is quick and uneven, but
his voice is level, a soft whisper in the semi-darkness. “Please fuck me.”
“No.”
“Please. I want to feel you.”
“Don't you feel me already?” Chris thrusts deep into Isaac's ass, making the
boy utter a long-drawn moan. His hand slips off Chris's wrist and fists the
edge of the desk instead.
“I'm not gonna fuck you, and you're not gonna ask me again.” Chris could swear
that his own cock twitches with disapproval at the limitation when he hears the
wrecked sounds leaving Isaac's mouth.
“Please . . .” Isaac tries again, but the stretch of a third finger pushing in
cuts him off, turns him into a perfect mess of growling and panting, and drives
his claws out.
Chris can't help but smother a chuckle against Isaac's hips, right next to that
beautiful bruise that he does kiss now. Then, he kisses his way down to Isaac's
crotch, flicks his tongue over the tip of his cock and tastes precome. Licking
a wet path back up again, he returns to that bruise like a moth to the flame.
It will probably be gone before Isaac comes, but right now it's colorful proof
that the hunter caught the wolf.
Chris can't fight the urge to sink his teeth into that spot, and he can't help
but wonder about the mighty difference between a human's bite and a werewolf's.
He never had much of a thing for biting, but right now, he doesn't want to stop
and does it only when he has no choice.
With a grip just shy of supernatural strength, Isaac jerks his head away. His
eyes are rimmed with amber. Between ragged breaths, he growls, “No fucking, no
biting.”
The corners of Chris's lips twitch with amusement. He glances down to where he
just marked his prey, but before he can apologize—if he so decides—Isaac draws
his legs up to his chest, granting him such a premium view of his gorgeously
filled ass that Chris almost comes in his pants. Twenty years ago, he would
have. Now, he only clenches his jaw and focuses on something utterly unsexy.
Like the fact that his daughter is sleeping next door. It should be a powerful
boner-wilting thought, and it might have worked, had Isaac not reached down to
trail a finger along the rim of his stretched hole just then. Chris isn't sure
what Isaac's trying to accomplish here, but he knows exactly what he wants to
see.
He withdraws one finger, scissors the other two, and a gentle nudge and a
surprised sound later, Isaac's fingertip slips inside his own ass. The boy
hesitates only for a split second before he moves his hand in a counter-rhythm
to Chris's. His moans alone could make anyone come in an instant.
Chris has never seen anything remotely as obscene—live, that is—and he can't
pry away his eyes.
“Fuck,” he says. “You're such a slut.”
“Say you hate it.”
“I love it.”
“Then make your slut happy. I don't care how you make me come, but do it.”
Isaac slurs the words more than he articulates them, moans them out with so
much need that Chris almost crumbles and takes out his cock to fuck the boy so
good that he can't sit for days.
He stops in mid-unzip and slips a third finger back in Isaac instead.
“Hold yourself open.”
Isaac whimpers, but he grabs his cheeks to do as he's told. His eyes flutter
closed.
Chris doesn't bother to move slowly or carefully. They should be past that, and
the delicious sounds that fall from Isaac's lips with every push and flick
confirm it; Chris has to cover the boy's mouth again to keep the noise level at
a minimum.
Isaac throws his head to the side, tries to shake off the hand, and when he
doesn't succeed, he growls so low that, for a heartbeat, Chris is almost afraid
of him.
“Look at me.”
His eyes are entirely wolf now.
“Don't you dare shift.”
Isaac shakes his head.
“Can you be quiet?”
A quick nod.
“Good. Because I'll gag you if I have to.”
As Chris removes his hand from Isaac's mouth, the boy bites out another
whimper. “Please,” he says over and over again, the word distorted by heavy
moans.
There's no need to ask what he's begging for. And, frankly, Chris is more than
ready to give it to him. If this goes on for much longer, he will end up balls-
deep in that fuckable ass. He'll probably already go to Hell as it is, but that
doesn't mean he needs to make it any worse.
Eyes fixed on the action, Chris picks up even more speed. He knows that it's
unlikely that Isaac will come from his very first finger-fuck alone, but Chris
still spends a full minute or two doing nothing but. With the heel of his hand
pressed hard against Isaac's thigh, he uses the leverage to fucking wreck him.
Only when the sounds leaving Isaac's mouth become tinted with pain does Chris
show a little mercy; he grabs the boy's cock and strokes it in swift, fluid
movements, each of which provoke uncontrolled jerks and squirming.
It still takes longer than Chris would have thought. Maybe it's some werewolf-
stamina-thing, or maybe he isn't quite as efficient as he used to be. Either
way, when he sucks the tip of Isaac's cock into his mouth, it's settled.
One of Isaac's hands shoots into Chris's hair, and one of his legs falls down,
almost knocking Chris over. Isaac's other hand stays where it was, and when
Chris glances there, he finds claws buried in the flesh. Before the wish to
kiss that spot can form, Isaac bucks up. A last brush over the boy's prostate,
one last curling of fingertips, and he comes with a wail loud enough to wake
the dead.
Chris swallows what he can and smears what leaks out of his mouth against
Isaac's thigh. His brain tells him to withdraw quickly, make sure Allison
didn't hear them, and then go jack off, but he can't seem to follow the order.
Wrecked sounds keep falling from Isaac's lips, and he keeps clenching around
Chris's fingers, keeps shivering and thrashing around his head as if he's lost
every connection to reality. Which is probably exactly what has happened to
him.
Yet, Chris doesn't stand back, and he doesn't slip his fingers out. He just
draws in the beauty before his eyes, registers every tiny reaction, and stores
them in his spank bank. His free hand snakes up Isaac's thigh, draws little
circles on his skin and presses in when it reaches his hips where Chris had
bruised and bitten him. By now, the mark is barely visible, but the memory is
strong.
When Isaac has calmed a little and lies panting with one arm covering his face
and both his legs fallen to the side and off the desk, Chris slowly pulls out
his fingers, almost sad to do so. The movement provokes sharp hisses, and a
lazy twitch of Isaac's softening cock.
If Chris thought that he'd grown out of the age where orgasms bring
awkwardness, he was mistaken. He feels pretty awkward right now, if only
because of his My Urges versus Your Comfort issue that won't go away by itself.
All he needs are few quick strokes, and hallelujah, but he's reluctant to do it
in front of Isaac, and he doesn't want to throw the boy out right away or just
leave him here like this.
Isaac makes a decision for him. He slides off the desk and starts collecting
his clothes on shaky legs.
“So,” he says, donning his boxers, “do you want me to—”
“I'm good.”
“Sure? I could—”
“I said I'm good.”
Isaac's shoulders sag a little. “Why won't you just let me touch you? Like, I
must be a real fail if you don't even as much as get your cock out.” He blushes
while he speaks, but he looks Chris in the eye.
Chris sighs. “There are some things that just can't be. This—” Chris gestures
between them, “—as much as I loved it, shouldn't have happened. And it needs to
stop now.”
“Why?”
“Because Allison is next door.”
“What a lame excuse. Besides . . . Allison is with Lydia.” Isaac smirks. “Did
you really think I'd let you play with my ass with her next door?”
Groaning, Chris rolls his eyes. Smart little bitch. He should have known.
“Well, then how about this: you're underage and I'm old enough to be your
father.”
Isaac bites out a laugh. “You don't say. We both know that you want me because
of that.” He closes the gap between them to squeeze the very visible bulge in
Chris's jeans.
Chris knows he shouldn't let him, but, sweet Holy Everything it feels so good,
and he's running out of arguments just as much as he's running out of
willpower.
“Throw me out now if you want, but that won't change what just happened. It
won't make your fantasies go away, either.” Isaac's fingers work Chris's fly
open, then he yanks down the jeans and underwear.
Chris's hands clench into fists.
“I'll do whatever you want.” Isaac sinks to his knees. He licks his lips before
he trails them up the length of Chris's cock, causing a hiss. “Please.” A flick
of tongue over the tip, provoking a gasp. “I'll be good, I promise.” A quick
suck, eliciting a mighty moan.
“Isaac . . .”
“I want you to teach me everything.”
End Notes
     Written for Rounds of Kink Round 24. Prompt [it started before the
     grief] and kinks [flirting, finger-fucking, bruises] submitted by
     silentflux.
     Although this surely starts before the grief, it also stops right
     there. I'm sorry; I fail. Also, there's a definite focus on the
     finger-fucking.
     Beta'd by the wonderful Moit, who also made sure that all characters
     were returned unharmed.
     [Feedback is love.]
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