Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/916872.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      No_Archive_Warnings_Apply, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Isaac_Lahey/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Isaac_Lahey
  Additional Tags:
      Secret_Relationship, Forest_Sex, Frottage, Anal_Sex, Bottom!Stiles,
      Awkward_Sex_Explorations, handjobs, Blowjobs, Werewolf_Kinks
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-08-08 Words: 1607
****** Isaac ******
by ziyazu
Summary
     Stiles likes f***ing around with Isaac. He likes how easy it is.
Notes
     I'm not sure how this happened, but I'm glad it did.
Stiles likes fucking around with Isaac. He likes how easy it is.
No pretense, no fumbling over feelings or boundaries. Just the swift tug of
want in his belly when he sees Isaac bite his lip to hide a grin. Just the
ready smirk he offers when blue eyes glance towards him and then, too quickly,
away. Just rushed zippers and heavy breathing and teeth and tongues and hard
hands on hot skin. It's easy, and fuck is it fun.
He likes stumbling from lacrosse practice, hair wet from the showers, muscles
aching, straight into the Jeep, Isaac's hand sliding up his thigh under his
shorts. He likes rough, biting kisses, stolen in Scott's hallway, guilty and
gleeful. He likes the curl of Isaac's hair between his fingers as Isaac's hands
spread out across his hips, pinning him to a tree, and he likes the moonlight
shading across that perfect fucking face, eyes trained on his, tongue curling,
lips sliding.
Yeah, Stiles likes fucking around with Isaac a lot.
He's never been sure what it was that set him off, not really. Isaac is pretty,
so pretty, but then so are lots of other people they know. Maybe it was just
his eyes, those lashes somehow laced with dirty meaning, splayed across his
cheekbones in the ice water. Maybe it was the looks Isaac gave him when they
were all about to die, silent but loud, too clear to miss. Isaac never bothers
to keep his large eyes hooded anymore, has lost his old inclination to keep his
face closed and shuttered. He's so open now, so fresh and powerful, and he
doesn't hide it. Stiles only had to meet his gaze once or twice to want him. It
only took another near-death experience or four before he got that Isaac wanted
him back.
To be honest, though, he'd known it for weeks before either of them did
anything. He just didn't have the balls, he thinks. After everything that's
happened to them all, who would?
Isaac. Isaac would.
He remembers it probably too well, but then, it was so easy too. Isaac sliding
up next to him in the lunchline, casually resting a hand on his hip. A warm
thumb slipping beneath his shirt to press solidly into soft skin, to trace a
slow line skidding down along the edge of his ribcage.  His voice had been low,
barely even a murmur (“We could, you know,") and then he was gone.
Stiles didn't have to ask what they could. He didn't even have to ask when, or
where. He just waited a beat, turned on the spot, and abandoned his lunch tray
half-filled on the nearest table.
In the locker room he’d closed the door behind him, slid his backpack off his
shoulders, and smiled. That was it. His back hit the lockers and Isaac pressed
along his front, mouth hungry and hurried, and they've never stopped since.
They're not dating.
Stiles couldn't give a fuck about romance, and Isaac doesn't care. Besides, no
one else knows, not even Scott. Turns out when you’re constantly at risk of
dying horribly, no one checks up too closely on who sneaks off with who during
their few moments of normality. Stiles is grateful for this. He doesn't need
werewolf senses to tell him that this isn't love or anything remotely like it –
it’s  hormones and convenience along with a general affable friendliness and an
awareness of joint danger in the weird crazy world they live in – and fuck if
he's going to analyze it with anyone who might talk him out of it.
He likes being a horny asshole with Isaac. He likes Isaac being a horny asshole
with him. It works for them.
Isaac being a werewolf really works for them, actually, especially when they
finally get tired of blowing each other and jerking each other off and
squirming naked together, frantic for friction, and decide to brave the frankly
horrifying minefield that is anal sex. And Jesus, if Stiles had known how
awkward that first experience was going to be, he might have opted to continue
to ignore his bisexuality for many more years.
As it is, stilted too-personal questions, hesitant hands, and premature
everything make for a weird, painful, and eventually abortive first attempt.
After a week of silence and averted eyes, Stiles is almost sure that's it for
them, but then Isaac slips something in his pocket, brushing by without eye
contact or his usual hidden grope, as if he's too nervous to even flirt.
In the privacy of a bathroom stall, Stiles palms the bottle, eyes the label,
Googles the brand, and his eyes widen at the price... and then at the reviews.
Okay. Shitty last-minute supermarket lube this is not. This could work. This
could work WELL.
He's flattered, really, at the lengths Isaac went to, and he doesn't mind in
the least later that night when his rough breaths hurt his lungs, rip at his
throat, torn out of him by the speed, the utter AWESOME that is prostate
stimulation and a partner who has clearly been doing some fucking research and
knew exactly what the fuck was up this time.
He closes his eyes, senses whirling from the force of the superhuman strength
driving their insane rhythm, and groans as his stomach curls with a staggering
punch and then fucking jets out his cock. Isaac never falters even as he's hit
in the chin, raising and lowering him again and again, faster and faster, the
sound of their skin meeting echoing in the chill air of the forest.
He hadn't objected to the location when they'd met, and now he can tell from
Isaac's low, chesty growls and the gold glowing through the human blue of his
eyes that he clearly has a werewolfy sort of in-the-woods kink. As Stiles
gasps, sparks still lancing through him, mess between them fresh and hot and
sticky, he has no problem being where no one will find them, even if it does
mean a certain amount of outdoorsy discomfort.
The rock under his left knee is going to leave one hell of a bruise come
tomorrow, and there’s dirt in places he never knew existed before tonight, but
fuck it: he's taking werewolf dick up the ass for his first time, and it's
fucking glorious. Who gives a shit where they are?
Moments later, Isaac latches onto his throat, fangs only just held in check,
and his orgasm thunders through him, claws sharp against Stiles’ skin where he
grips his ribs. Stiles stares dizzily at the stars gleaming up beyond the
treetops and digs his nails in right back, air crisp and cool on his shoulders.
Nope. The forest is not a problem at all.
Of course, if he'd known how regular a thing this was going to be, Stiles would
have insisted on a nicer clearing. One with a carpet of moss, maybe, or a
fucking stream to wash off in, after. Or a heated one, considering that it very
nearly fucking winter now.
As it is, three weeks later, lying naked side by side and covered in their
joint come, breathing hard and trying to ignoring the growing bite of the cold
for a few more minutes, Stiles takes it upon himself to suggest that they at
least begin stashing some fucking blankets here or something, because Jesus, it
is COLD.
Isaac laughs and rolls onto him, kissing him messily and running a sloppy hand
through the cooling slickness of Stiles' chest before dropping back down onto
his back, fingers in his mouth.
"Yeah, okay."
"We could store them in a tree. In, like, a trash bag. It's perfect. And then I
won't get sticks up my ass."
Isaac hums thoughtfully around his thumb. "I thought you liked things up your
ass."
"Your dick, your fingers, and your tongue, yes. Trees? Fuck no."
Isaac laughs again, and turns over on his side, one arm holding Stiles down
while he looms over him, contemplating Stiles' excellent 'just-fucked' face.
Stiles lazily scratches at his neck and yawns, letting Isaac nuzzle him and
lick at him some more. It's a werewolf thing, whatever. He's not prepared for
the nipple bite, though, and he jerks, shouting, before swatting at Isaac's
head as hard as he can. Isaac avoids him easily and smirks, eyes flashing gold
again with humour.
"You're just mad that my come tastes better than yours."
Stiles squawks, angrily. "AS FUCKING IF, WOLFBOY. At least mine is in normal
volumes instead of quantities they might find useful at SeaWorld – to fill the
whale tanks. I will NEVER forget that first blowjob, dickhead. You should have
warned me." 
Isaac drops into peals of giggles and then stutters out "Snowballing!" before
losing it so hard he has to roll over and over and ends up half in a bush.
Stiles boosts himself up on his elbows, shivering quite a lot now that his
personal heater is gone, and shoots him a suspicious glare.
"You need to stop Googling kinky gay sex acts, dude. I may be your open-minded
experimental high school fuck, but I am still suffering from an unfortunate
case of seventeen and still getting used to this shit. I don't even know what
you just tried a few minutes ago. I mean, we're totally doing it again, but
what websites are you ON?"
Isaac titters from his position in the bush, and Stiles shakes his head and
goes to find his pants.
Unbelievable.
(They try snowballing. Stiles throws up on a nearby stump, and Isaac grumpily
agrees to never speak of it again.)
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