Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2730086.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Deucalion/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Deucalion_(Teen_Wolf), Talia_Hale, Peter_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Extremely_Underage, LIKE_SERIOUSLY_EXTREME_UNDERAGE_YOU'VE_BEEN_WARNED,
      Nipple_Play, ward!stiles, guardian_deuc!, Scenting, Rimming, Anal
      Fingering, Alternate_Universe, Alive_Hale_Family, Praise_Kink
  Series:
      Part 1 of Guardian
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-12-07 Words: 12543
****** Know Your Place ******
by hxlios
Summary
     When Stiles is given to Deucalion, the boy is eight.
     He’s teary eyed, crying over the death of his parents, and Deucalion
     agrees to take him purely on the premise that the boy is, in the
     simplest terms, a work of art.
Notes
     okay FIC WARNINGS: extreme underage stiles is 8 if you ain't about
     that life you should probably leave. i'm garbage and i'm not sorry
     i wrote this as an exchange for some EXTREME non-con underage trash
     that mala is writing me.
     i couldn't have done this without mala and val, they're my garbage
     pile and i love them dearly and they supported me the whole way
     through writing this
See the end of the work for more notes
When Stiles is given to Deucalion, the boy is eight.
He’s teary eyed, crying over the death of his parents, and Deucalion agrees to
take him purely on the premise that the boy is, in the simplest terms, a work
of art.
He isn’t any trouble, Deucalion soon finds out. Stiles is mostly quiet and
reserved, but the stench of grief hangs so thickly around him that Deucalion
isn’t all too keen on sticking close to him.
He doesn’t much care that the boy is promised to him. Quite frankly, Stiles is
young, and he’s so devastatingly broken by the loss of his family that Deuc
doesn’t want anything to do with him.
But he’s pretty, the man will give him that, and he’s fairly certain if he’d
foisted the boy off to Talia, the whole community would look poorly at him. As
an alpha, Deucalion has responsibilities; one of them is not shaming his pack.
===============================================================================
Three weeks after Stiles moves in with him, Deuc realizes that he’s barely said
more than a dozen words to the boy. He makes breakfast and dinner, but usually
he’s gone by the time Stiles wakes up, and back after the kid has shut himself
away in his room for the evening.
He assumes the boy eats, considering he hasn’t dropped dead and the milk in his
fridge is disappearing at an alarming rate. But other than that, Stiles only
makes his presence known in little ways: The dishes that are constantly done,
his scent clinging faintly to the blanket draped over the arm of the couch.
It’s the small things that remind Deucalion he’s living with another person. A
person he should possibly spend more time interacting with than he does.
It’s made worse when he gets a call from Talia, apparently the leader of more
than just her own pack. If Deucalion remembers correctly, she’d been closer to
the Stilinski family than he had. After all, she’d been the one to approach him
with the offer of the boy, promising that it would strengthen ties between the
wolves and the town.
He’d met them once, to sign the necessary agreements making it a legality.
Stiles hadn’t even been one, then, wide eyed and pudgy faced and all giggles
when Deucalion had been forced to hold him. The boy’s father had glared at him
the whole time. He has a vivid memory of Stiles’ mother, Claudia her name was.
She’d been smiling so vibrantly at Deucalion, like he was about to give her son
the world. He wonders, now, if this is what she had in mind for them.
“How’s he doing? Is he settling in alright?” Talia asks, sounding every bit the
doting mother that she is.
“He’s doing fine, Talia. As fine as he can, anyway.”
“And you’re giving him time to adjust?” She says vaguely. Deucalion lets
himself sigh, sinking into his armchair.
“I haven’t touched him, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s little more than a
boy, I’ve no interest in taking him at the moment.” It’s not a lie, not quite
at least, not enough for it to be detectable.
He really doesn’t have an interest in taking Stiles. He might want to explore
the boy a little, breathe in his scent when he doesn’t smell like sadness and
misery, mark him gently in places not visible to the public eye. But no,
Deucalion doesn’t want to take him.
Talia lets out a little relieved sound, and Deucalion rolls his eyes.
“Alright, tell me if you need anything.” She says. Deucalion murmurs some sort
of affirmative before ending the call. He feels vaguely uneasy afterwards, and
it’s not five minutes later that he’s trudging up to Stiles’ room and knocking
on the door.
He hears the boy’s heartbeat spike dangerously, a hummingbird flutter as he
stammers out a, “C-come in!”
Deucalion frowns for a moment, the expression there and gone as he slowly
swings the door open and takes a step inside. The room smells simply of Stiles,
like the detergent they both use and a whiff of sweetness. There’s a fading
scent of something vaguely clinical, but Deucalion can’t put his finger on it
and dismisses it.
Stiles is looking up at him, perched in the center of his bed with a few books
spread around him. Homework, Deucalion presumes, though he can’t remember the
type of work he was getting in the third grade.
He doesn’t know what to say, suddenly, and the smell of anxiety is slowly
getting more and more cloying.
“Have you eaten, yet?” He asks, though he knows the answer. Stiles doesn’t
usually eat past six in the evening, and it’s already nine thirty. Instead of
answering, the boy just nods, still staring at Deuc with those wide honey eyes
of his.
“Alright, I’m soon retiring for the night. If you require anything, don’t be
afraid to ask.” He offers, because it seems like the appropriate thing to say.
Stiles gets a small crease in his brow, and some of his anxious-worry scent
dissipates. His heartbeat, though, doesn’t slow.
Deucalion steps out of the room then, having had his fill of the awkward little
exchange. He hadn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that.
===============================================================================
Deucalion likes his loft. It’s spacious, and modern, and well lit. He takes
pride in it, in how much he spent making it just right. Getting the right
counters, and shelves, and rugs.
It’d taken over a year to finally make the place feel like his, but when he did
the satisfaction had been worth it.
He still likes it now, even with the presence of a child. Stiles isn’t messy,
he never leaves anything laying around. And when he spends time in the living
room, he’s always careful to put blankets and books back where he found them.
The boy even uses a coaster, for which Deucalion is endlessly grateful.
Still, Stiles tends not to occupy the same space as him, despite the fact that
not only is he branching out from his room more, Deucalion is putting active
effort into being home more often.
Stiles usually flees to his room the moment Deuc makes his presence known.
Today is different though. It’s just past four in the afternoon, and Deucalion
can hear Stiles inside before he even opens the door. The boy is humming
something to himself, and when he enters, he can hear the tinny, muffled sound
of headphones.
It’s a song he doesn’t recognize, but he can see Stiles swaying to a beat as he
reads a large book propped open on his knees. He’s all bundled up in one
corner, back pressed against the armrest and taking up as little space as
possible.
“Stiles.” Deuc says, to no avail. The boy is deaf to the world, and the safety
hazard alone makes Deucalion a little irate. He strides over to the boy, hand
reaching out to touch his shoulder.
“Sti–” He only gets halfway through the name, because the moment his hand
connects with the boy, he’s jerking away so violently it leaves Deucalion a
little stunned. Stiles recoils from him like a spring, bursting into motion as
his limbs lash out in an effort to get away from the touch.
Deucalion doesn’t see the glass until it’s too late; until Stiles’ foot is
colliding with the heavy cup and it goes sailing off the coffee table. If he
hadn’t been so surprised by the boy’s reaction to a simple brush of fingers on
his shirt, he might have been able to catch it as it fell. As it were, he
watches in horror as the glass full of a dark purple liquid goes careening off
the edge and deposits its contents onto the plush white rug below.
Deucalion has a moment where he just stares at the spill, watching the rug soak
up the juice, grape if his memory of what’s in the fridge serves him right.
He feels anger bubble up inside him, and he’s about to snap about how careless
Stiles was, but it’s stopped short when he looks at the boy and sees what state
he’s in.
Stiles is trembling so hard Deucalion thinks he might shake off the couch. He’s
desperately trying to gasp in air, breaths broken and disjointed as he stares
wide eyed at the mess. His chest is heaving, and Deucalion can smell the saline
scent of tears before they start to spill over his cheeks.
Stiles is having a panic attack.
“Stiles, Stiles breathe. Hey.” Deucalion starts, immediately by the boy’s side
and stroking a hand down the length of his back. Stiles doesn’t flinch away
this time, but he doesn’t seem to notice Deuc is even there, either.
“Shhh, it’s just a rug, it’ll come out.” It won’t, not completely at least, but
Deuc doesn’t think it’ll be good to tell him that. He doesn’t know if the boy
can even hear him. “Tell me what you need.” Deucalion says softly, fingers a
gentle pressure against his spine.
That seems to finally catch the boy’s attention, but only just. Stiles turns
his head just slightly, amber eyes still unseeing but facing vaguely in his
direction.
“You have to breathe if you want to talk, Stiles.” Deuc says gently, other hand
tilting the boy’s face up and using his thumb to brush away the tears on his
cheek. Another shudder rips through the boy, a deep, stuttering breath finally
making its way into his lungs as a wail breaks loose.
“I-I’m s-sorry.” Stiles hiccups, panic attack transitioning into crying almost
seamlessly. Much more manageable, in Deucalion’s opinion.
“It’s okay, I’m not angry, it was an accident.” Deucalion murmurs, realizing
it’s true. He’s not mad, maybe concerned, yes, but definitely not angry. Stiles
just lets out another sob, and Deucalion smells the anxiety and fear coming off
him. He wonders if this is a normal reaction, or if Stiles is still
unbelievably stressed, but regardless Deucalion resolves to take him to the
clinic the very next day.
Stiles sways towards him slightly, and Deuc takes that as his cue to pull to
boy against his chest. It lands them in a slightly awkward position, but
Deucalion leans back against the couch, Stiles swings his leg in between
Deucalion’s knees, and they just fit. It leaves him free to wrap both arms
around the boy’s waist as his face presses into his shoulder.
Stiles is still crying, hiccupping softly and definitely getting Deuc’s shirt
dirty. But his heartbeat is slowing, and it’s almost endearing the way his
hands curl tightly in Deucalion’s sleeves.
The man takes a moment to scent him, then, pressing his nose into Stiles’ neck
and inhaling deeply. It calms something inside of him that he hadn’t realized
had wound up. Stiles trembles in his grasp, body falling lax against
Deucalion’s as he breathes him in.
Stiles smells distinctly sugary, like sweetened milk, and it sharpens as he
drags his hands up and down the boy’s back.
“I’m sorry.” He murmurs again, softly this time. Deucalion just sighs and
presses Stiles a little closer to him.
“It’s okay, Stiles, it’s okay.”
===============================================================================
At the clinic the next day, he’s surprised to find out that Stiles is supposed
to be on two different types of medication, one for anxiety and one for his
ADHD. Deucalion didn’t know he had either, and he feels like he’s been remise
in his duties as a guardian.
While they’re waiting at the pharmacy for his prescription to be filled,
Deucalion finds it appropriate to broach the subject.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks. The boy flinches and looks up at him.
Deucalion finds the power imbalance between them distasteful, and drops into
one of the waiting chairs. It puts him at better eye level with Stiles, which
is what he needs for this conversation.
“I- sorry.” Stiles mumbles, gaze dropping to look at his shoes. Deucalion
reaches out, index finger hooking under Stiles’ chin and drawing his gaze back
up.
“I didn’t ask for an apology.” Deucalion says, voice as calm as he can make it.
Stiles squirms in front of him, fidgets in ways that Deuc can now attribute to
a chemical imbalance.
“I didn’t want to bother you.” He says eventually, gaze having drifted off to
somewhere just passed Deucalion. The man lets out a sigh, hand dropping to
catch one of Stiles’ and pull him closer.
“You’re never a bother. Nothing you ever do will bother me, do you understand?”
Deucalion says firmly, thumb smoothing over the back of Stiles’ hand. The boy
swallows audibly, glancing at their hands before darting up to flicker over
Deucalion’s face. He nods slowly, shuffling a little closer and allowing
Deucalion to lift him onto his lap.
“You are under my care, now. Anything you want or need, you are within your
rights to ask for.” Deucalion says quietly, angling Stiles sideways on his lap
so the boy can rest his head under his chin. Stiles just makes a soft noise of
understanding, wrapping his arms around Deucalion’s neck and settling in.
They sit there together for the next hour, Deucalion absently tracing patterns
against the boy’s thigh as they wait for the prescription.
===============================================================================
It’s a few months later that Deucalion’s schedule changes and leaves him at
home more often than not. His days are mostly filled with checking in on his
pack or sending out e-mails. He’d recently offered up his services as an
English professor at the local college, but it wouldn’t be until the new
semester that he’d be starting.
It’s in the middle of April when Stiles comes home from school at noon, far
earlier than he should even for a rare half-day. He looks just as surprised to
see Deucalion home, seated in his armchair and typing away at his laptop.
The first thing that hits him is the scent of blood and salt.
He’s up in moments, moving towards Stiles to get a better look at him. The boy
is still standing in the doorway, looking up at Deuc with something that looks
distinctly like fear.
“I’m sorry!” He blurts, before Deuc can even open his mouth. Heavens knows what
he has to be sorry for, considering he’s got a black eye, and his lip is
bleeding. Deucalion feels such an overwhelming urge to mutilate something that
it staggers him.
“What happened?” He asks, voice rougher than he’d intended. He’s infuriated,
and he knows his eyes flash red by the way the boy reacts. Stiles flinches,
averts his gaze to the ground and looks like he wants to disappear. “Who hurt
you?”
“I-It’s not a big deal.” The boy responds instead, laving at the split in his
lip before wincing and retracting his tongue. Deucalion takes a deep breath and
tries to calm down, lest the boy think he’s the target of Deuc’s anger.
“Yes, it is. I’m going to ask again, Stiles. What happened?”
He sees moisture collect in Stiles’ eyes, watches as one tear gains enough
weight to make the slow slide down his face as he holds in a hiccup.
“T-there’s this kid. He- he makes fun of me s-sometimes. I got mad, called him
a name today at lunch and he j-just got even madder and he hit me.” Stiles
forces out, like it pains him to say the words. Deucalion can’t imagine why it
would.
Clearly the other boy had done more than just hit Stiles, but he’ll take what
he can get.
“What’s his name?”
“Really –”
“Name, Stiles.”
“J-Jackson.”
“And last?”
“Whittemore.”
“Good. Now come here.” Deucalion holds out his hand, and when Stiles hesitates,
he softens his expression and the boy’s face just crumples. He lets out a wet
little sob and lets Deucalion pull him against his hip. He squats down,
bundling Stiles against his chest and running a hand through the boy’s hair.
He allows Stiles the comfort of crying into his shoulder for a while, doing
little more than holding him. Apparently it’s what the boy needs, because he’s
relatively docile when Deucalion leads him into the kitchen and hoists him onto
one of the bar stools. He’s sniffling, but otherwise stays calm as Deuc
squeezes his shoulders reassuringly.
He takes the time to inspect the boy’s eye, brushing gently at the swollen
flesh and leeching a bit of the pain as he does so. Stiles lets out a little
sound, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, leaning into Deucalion’s hands
without thinking.
It’s not as bad as it looks, more colored than it is puffy, which is a good
sign. As much as Deuc wants to keep tracing his fingers across the boy’s face,
he has to check his lip.
There’s dried blood, a streak of it having dribbled down his chin and crusted
there. Deucalion knows, from a rational standpoint, that he should clean it
with warm water and a bit of salt, but the wolf inside him feels anything but
rational at the moment. Instead, he leans forward, runs the flat of his tongue
against Stiles’ chin and up his bottom lip.
The boy doesn’t jerk back like Deucalion expects, just lets his mouth fall open
in a surprised little gasp. Deucalion laps at his chin, wolf-rough tongue
removing the blood before working up to his lip again. Deuc knows he should
pull back, should attempt to control himself, but all he does is pull Stiles’
split lip into his mouth and suck.
The boy whines, a broken little moan that’s mostly pain as his hands come up to
rest on Deuc’s shoulders. He feels a growl rumble out from his chest, two parts
satisfaction and the rest a low-level need.
When he pulls away, Stiles cheeks are bright pink, his eyes unfocused, and lip
swollen red. The tear is his lip is smaller than it looks, just a tiny nick
that’ll probably heal by the end of the week if left alone. The boy focuses on
him, hands falling from their grip on his shirt as he wiggles in his chair.
“Is it bad?” Stiles asks, tongue darting out to run against the damaged flesh,
swiping over where Deucalion’s mouth had just tasted him. Deucalion swallows,
drags in a breath, and presses his thumbs to the corners of Stiles’ mouth.
“No, it’s small, you’ll be fine.” Deucalion answers, finally regaining enough
of himself to help Stiles off the stool. He bends down, soothes a hand through
Stiles hair as the boy looks up at him.
“You were very strong today.” He says quietly, watching Stiles’ cheeks pink
again. “And I’m very proud of you for telling me.”
A shy little smile spreads slowly across Stiles’ face. He ducks his head, but
Deucalion is there tilting it up again
“You’ve been very good for me.” Deucalion continues, feeling something heated
unfurl low in his gut as he acts on a feeling. Stiles is looking at him so
eagerly, and Deucalion realizes in that moment that the boy has somehow become
endlessly precious to him. “And you know what that makes you?”
Stiles shakes his head minutely, chin resting in the cup of Deucalion’s palm.
“A good boy.” Deucalion practically purrs. He’s granted the pleasure of
watching Stiles face go from pink to a deep red, his heartbeat kicking up a
notch as he averts his gaze. The words please him, it would seem, and Deucalion
makes a note to use the terminology more often.
===============================================================================
It takes Deucalion a few days to find the Whittemores’ address. They live
closer to the outskirts of town, where the houses are larger and more
expensive.
He has to coax Stiles to come along with him. It’s difficult, because the boy
is adamant about Deucalion leaving the issue alone. He’s never been one to take
a seat whenever his belongings are harmed, and this is no exception. He will
not tolerate Stiles going to school only to be damaged.
When he pulls up to the house, Stiles sinks into his seat.
“Wait here.” Deuc says, leveling Stiles with a look that brooks no argument.
The boy purses his lips, but doesn’t seem inclined to argue.
He climbs out, walks calmly over to the door, and raps his knuckles sharply
against the wood three times.
It takes a moment for someone to answer, but when the door swings open,
Deucalion is greeted with a fairly pleasant looking man.
“Hello…?” The man says.
“My apologies for the disturbance. I’m Deucalion, Stiles’ guardian.” Deuc says,
sticking out his hand. He gets a firm handshake in return, but a rather
quizzical expression goes with it.
“Stiles?”
“Stilinski, the late Sherriff’s son.”
Realization dawns on the man and he straightens up immediately. The respect the
dead command will always both amaze and stun Deucalion.
“Oh, David, David Whittemore. What can I do for you?” He asks. Deucalion is
about to ask if his son is present, but then he sees a small head peek around
the man’s legs and that’s all Deuc needs.
“It’s come to my attention that your son, Jackson, has been physically and
verbally bullying Stiles.” Deucalion starts, watching as both father and son’s
eyes widen. “As a werewolf, I’m certain you’re aware that we have certain
customs and rules in place that supersede human law.”
He pauses, waits for David to nod slowly before continuing.
“As Stiles is not only under my care, but is also promised to me, it is within
my rights to forcefully remove all threats to my mate’s person.” He says
calmly. David starts to open his mouth, shock and fear evident on his features.
Deucalion just holds up his hand. “As it stands currently, I’m not keen on the
murder of a young boy.” He pauses, takes a breath, and lets his eyes flash red
and flicker to the boy now trembling behind David’s legs.
“I warn you, though. I consider myself to be a fickle person with rather loose
morals. If I hear even a whisper of your son laying a hand on what is mine
after this point, I assure you, Mr. Whittemore, you will be grieving the loss
of a child.”
David’s mouth opens and closes, and Deucalion can hear the muffled sound of
Jackson crying into his father’s thigh. Deucalion smiles pleasantly before
gesturing to his car.
“I’m afraid Stiles is waiting, but do have a lovely day and please, for your
benefit, take my words to heart.” Deucalion says, stepping off the front porch
and listening to the door click shut behind him. He can hear loud sobbing, and
angry yelling, and hopes for the boy’s sake that this will be an issue no
longer.
When he climbs back in the car, Stiles is looking at him curiously. He
remembers that the boy isn’t a pup, and likely heard nothing of what was said
at the door.
“Jackson won’t continue to hurt you.” Deucalion says, buckling his seatbelt in
and starting the car. Stiles grins broadly and fiddles with his seatbelt. He’s
beautiful, Deuc thinks not for the first time. “And I made him cry.” Deucalion
adds, because Stiles is eight, going on nine, and little things like that
should satisfy him.
He’s not wrong, and Stiles pumps a little fist into the air and wiggles happily
in his seat until Deucalion takes a hand off the wheel and rests it on his
thigh.
Stiles blushes softly, but after a moment, he brings his small hand down to
rest on top on Deucalion’s and that’s where it stays for the rest of the ride
home.
===============================================================================
It’s late spring when Deucalion gets a call from Talia.
“Are you busy today?” She asks, voice expectant and excited.
“I’m assuming I’m about to be.” Deucalion sighs.
“It’s Saturday, bring Stiles and your betas over, we’re having a backyard
picnic.” Talia says, all delight.
Deucalion wonders briefly if there’s a way he can get out of this, but then he
catches sight of Stiles lounging on the couch, flipping idly through channels
and looking bored.
“Alright, I’ll see you in a few hours, then.” He agrees, catching Stiles’
attention. He perks up, curious gaze drawn over at the vague promise of getting
out of the house.
“Excellent! Bring potato salad.” She says, leaving Deucalion no time to say no
when she hangs up. He pinches the bridge of his nose and throws down his phone
only to pick it up again and begin sending texts to his pack.
“Go get dressed, we’re going to Talia’s.” Deucalion says absently, receiving a
few confirmations. He likes his pack because they’re low maintenance. They know
they’re not obligation bound to show, but it’ll make a nice impression if they
choose to.
“Auntie Tali!” Stiles says excitedly, bouncing off the sofa and rushing to his
room. He emerges in minutes, dressed for the warming weather in shorts and a t-
shirt. He looks absolutely delighted, and Deucalion realizes he’s doing this
exclusively for him.
They stop by the grocery store on the drive over, grabbing the potato salad and
letting Stiles pick out a treat. In a surprisingly unselfish display, he picks
out a whole fruit platter and assures Deuc that he wants to share it with
everyone else.
By the time they get there, a few of Deucalion’s betas have already shown and
he leaves Stiles with Talia as he goes to greet them.
It’s a quiet affair, just his and Talia’s pack. It’s not unpleasant, and it
eases something in him to watch Stiles playing with the other children. He sits
in one of the lawn chairs to chat with a few of the adults, ignoring the sound
of laughter as they discuss recent changes.
It’s when most of the kids have joined them to eat that an unusually loud
giggle breaks through Deucalion’s bubble and causes him to look behind him.
Stiles is laughing, head tilted back and sheer joy on his face as Peter carts
him around on his shoulders. The man has both hands on the boy’s bare thighs,
digging in to keep him in place but just on the side of too tight.
Deucalion feels the red bleed into his eyes, squinting at the scene as Peter
twirls Stiles a few times before letting the boy down. Stiles spots him looking
then, waving brightly and running over. Deucalion opens his arms and Stiles
charges right into him, still snickering as he wraps his arms around
Deucalion’s waist.
“Uncle Peter promised to give me a piggy back ride around the property!” He
says, breathless with excitement. Deucalion darts a look over at Talia, but she
pretends she hasn’t heard a thing, filling her mouth with a few grapes and
smiling.
“Did he now? That’s very nice of him.” Deucalion says, running a hand up Stiles
back in a vague petting gesture. Stiles grins up at him, squeezing Deuc tightly
in a hug for a moment before jumping back.
“Oh! I found something earlier! Look.” Stiles says, digging around in the
pockets of his shorts before pulling out a four-leaf-clover. It’s a little
worse for wear, and has probably seen better days, but it’s got four little
leaves none the less. He pushes it into Deucalion’s hand and the man smiles
gently.
“It’s very nice. Can I keep it?” He asks, and Stiles positively beams at him.
Before Stiles can answer, Peter is there, standing behind him and squeezing the
back of his neck. Deucalion almost crushes the stupid clover in his palm.
“Stiles was the quickest one to find it. He’s got quite the eye for detail, I
was very proud of him.” Peter says smoothly, smiling benignly. Deucalion would
very much like to rip his throat out with his fangs.
Stiles though, is downright glowing. If there’s one thing in which Deuc is
positive about the boy, it’s that he adores praise – no matter who it’s coming
from.
“I’ll make sure to press it in a book.” Deucalion says, fighting to keep the
growl out of his voice as Peter’s hand drops off his boy.
Later, when the sun is just beginning to set, Peter makes good on his promise
to give Stiles a tour of Hale land on his back. Deucalion doesn’t stop it,
because he has no real reason to. Peter is touching what is his, but there’s
nothing untoward about it.
By the time they make it back to the front of the property, most of the Hales
have already drifted inside and a few of Deucalion’s betas look like they’re
getting ready to leave.
Peter’s hands are gripped firmly under Stiles’ ass to hold him in place.
Deucalion can just make out the beginnings of finger shaped bruises on the
boy’s thigh where Peter had pressed too firmly earlier. He takes a deep breath
in through his nose, resolving to collect Stiles and leave before he loses
control.
He approaches them at a steady pace, watching as Peter drags his hands along
the length of Stiles’ thighs; the sensation causes him to giggle and press
himself closer against Peter’s back.
Deucalion opens his mouth, but it’s a moment too late because Peter catches his
eye, having the audacity to smirk at him, and Deucalion just snaps.
He’s near the beta in seconds, tearing Stiles off his back and dumping him
unceremoniously on the grass. He growls, loud and vicious, and brings his hand
up to dig his claws into the side of Peter’s face. There’s a spray of blood,
but Peter isn’t cowed. He lunges at Deucalion and goes at him as if he’s the
one with something to protect and not Deuc.
He distantly hears people gather around them, and he sees at least six other
wolves try to separate him and Peter. Deucalion’s feeling particularly violent
and refuses to let himself be pulled back, tearing at any inch of Peter he can
sink his claws into. He delights at the smell of pain and blood.
When his betas finally manage to pull Deucalion back long enough for him to
control himself, he’s already done a significant amount of damage to the other
male.
Deuc has wounds himself, but his flesh is already knitting together in most
places. In a few minutes, the only sign that Peter dealt him any damage will be
his ripped shirt and blood stains.
Peter, on the other hand, is bleeding sluggishly, multiple claw marks painting
his skin in jagged patterns. He’ll take much longer to heal than Deuc will, and
it’s incredibly satisfying. Talia strides towards him, apparently done with
whispering angrily at Peter. Her face is pinched tight with worry; she looks
exhausted.
“Peter overstepped his boundaries. As his Alpha, I extend a formal apology in
his place, one that Peter will echo once his wounds have healed. I hope this
does not negatively affect our pack relations.” She says, voice formal and
strained. Deucalion, suddenly feeling tired as well, sags slightly.
He reaches out, grabbing one of Talia’s hands and squeezing gently. It’s an
informal gesture, and wildly out of place in their culture. But he knows Talia,
and knows that she had little to do with Peter’s actions.
“I look forward to Peter’s apology.” He says, mustering up a tight smile and
releasing her hand. Talia droops with relief, a few of the lines in her face
disappearing as she nods curtly.
Deucalion turns, finding Stiles shaking and bracketed by two of his betas.
Protecting Stiles was now as much instinct for them as it is for Deuc. He’s
expecting Stiles to be afraid, to shy away from his touch. Instead the boy
lurches away from his guards and straight into Deucalion’s arms. He swings
Stiles up, holding him firmly against his chest with one arm and smoothing his
hair away from his forehead with the other.
“Are you okay?” Stiles whispers frantically, little hands mapping Deucalion’s
face, searching for signs of injury. Deucalion just bumps their noses together,
tilting his head and pressing a gentle kiss to Stiles’ cheek.
“I’m fine, sorry I frightened you.” He says, burrowing his face in Stiles’ neck
as he walks them to the car.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Stiles says, arms wrapped tight around Deuc’s
shoulders. He waits for all his other betas to depart before tucking Stiles
into the passenger seat and buckling him up. He drops another lingering kiss
onto his forehead before shutting the door and making his way to the other
side.
They drive home in silence, but Deucalion keeps one hand off the wheel so that
he can hold Stiles’.
===============================================================================
June rolls in with the heat, and Stiles is restless more often than not.
Deucalion doesn’t blame him, school is coming to an end and the boy is probably
eager for summer vacation.
Peter shows up somewhere in that timeframe, standing at Deucalion’s door
offering a rehearsed apology. Deucalion accepts it purely because he has a
significant amount of respect for Talia.
It’s satisfying having to watch Peter grovel for his forgiveness, and he’s so
pleased he takes Stiles out for ice cream. It’s hot enough to warrant it, and
Stiles isn’t the type to turn down a sweet treat. Besides, Talia’s second
youngest, Derek, had gotten his first job, and Deucalion is apparently included
in the family discount circle.
Deuc lets him have free reign at the shop, watching in amusement as Stiles
requests gummy bears and crumbled cookie pieces in his cotton candy ice cream.
He makes Derek add caramel and whipped cream and his weight in fudge. The
finished product is so monstrously large that they have to put it in a waffle
bowl as opposed to a cone. Derek looks a little exasperated at the display, but
even he smiles a little at how excited Stiles is.
Deucalion doesn’t get anything for himself, just lets Stiles sit up at the bar
and dig in. He eats it just like most children do, enthusiastically and getting
it everywhere.
“Stiles, manners.” Deucalion reminds him for the third time. Stiles just smiles
at him and swipes at his lips with the back of his hand. It does little to
clean the sticky mess, and the man can’t help but sigh.
He waits until stiles is finished, and as soon as the boy has swallowed his
last spoonful, Deuc takes his chin in hand. He angles Stiles’ face towards him,
licking a firm stripe up his chin. He can feel the heat rush to Stiles face,
but the boy doesn’t say anything to stop him.
He sits quietly as Deucalion laps at his face, cleaning the boy of the too-
sweet cream he managed to get even on his nose. He finishes it by running the
flat of his tongue against Stiles’ lips, nipping at them gently before pulling
back and smiling.
“Go get a napkin.” Deucalion instructs, and Stiles hops off the stool
immediately. He wobbles over to the desk, catching his balance on the counter
as he politely asks Derek for a Kleenex.
Stiles wipes at his face, but Deuc is satisfied smelling himself all over the
boy.
When they get home, Stiles tentatively asks if Deucalion wants to watch a movie
with him. He agrees, but only under the condition that Stiles finishes his
homework first. As much as he wants to indulge the boy, it’s still his duty to
be a responsible guardian as well.
By the time Stiles emerges from his room, dressed in pyjamas and holding a DVD,
it’s already past eight in the evening. He doesn’t look as perky as he had when
he’d asked, but Deucalion pops the movie in anyway.
The credits open, and Stiles crawls into his lap like he belongs there. It’s
almost cute, the way he asks with his eyes and not his words, staring at
Deucalion’s lap until he shifts his legs open to make room.
They fit themselves together, but as the minutes tick by, Deucalion realises
that Stiles cannot sit still. It’s usually not this bad, not unless he’s
forgotten to take his medication, but Deuc distinctly remembers supervising him
as he took the pills this morning.
“Are you alright?” He asks eventually, half an hour in as Stiles continues to
shift.
“Don’t feel well.” He says quietly, and his stomach rumbles as if on cue. Ah,
Deuc thinks, that makes sense.
“You did have quite a bit of ice cream.” Deucalion says, hands wrapping around
Stiles to drift over his tummy. He’s still a little bloated, and it’s no
surprise.
“Hurts.” Stiles says weakly, fidgeting again before lolling his head back onto
Deucalion’s shoulder. He lets his fingers slip under the hem of Stiles shirt,
gingerly rubbing over his stomach as Stiles lets out a feeble groan.
Deucalion’s got no clue what’s happening on screen, wholly focused on the
squirming boy in his lap.
“I know, sweetheart.” He murmurs, spreading his palms flat against the smooth
skin and rubbing slowly. Stiles melts into him, letting out occasional soft
noises as Deucalion touches him carefully. He’s not sure if he’s getting
aroused or not, but he tries to tamp down on the sensation regardless. He
relegates it to a low simmer, focusing on leeching what pain he can from the
boy instead. It’s mostly discomfort, but if Deuc can take it, he will.
Stiles quiets down in his lap, breathing softly against Deucalion’s jaw and
eventually helping get his shirt up a little higher. He fits his little hands
on top of Deuc’s, moving along with him as the man brushes tentatively against
his nipples.
They’re surprisingly firm, and when he tweaks them just the slightest bit,
Stiles arches against him, letting out a tiny whimper into his neck. His
heartbeat ticks up, beating just that little bit faster as Deucalion tugs at
the small nubs, pulling them as Stiles arches even further.
“Nngh, Deuuuuc.” Stiles whines, squirming again and pressing his bottom up
against the bulge in Deucalion’s pants. The man pauses, breathing a little
heavier and trying to get his thoughts in order. If he continues, he doesn’t
know if he’ll be able to restrain himself.
In a moment of clarity, he runs his hands down the boy’s front one last time,
lingering at the waistband of his shorts before removing his hands and
carefully lifting Stiles off his lap.
“How do you feel?” Deuc asks once he’s placed Stiles on the couch next to him.
The boy bites his lip, looks up at Deucalion through his lashes and presses up
against his side.
“Good, I feel good.” Stiles says, looking like he wants to ask for something he
doesn’t know the name of. Despite how much he wants, Deuc manages not to push
Stiles down on the couch and take him right there.
Instead, he lets himself have a kiss, a light press of their lips that leaves
Stiles flushed and warm.
God, does he want.
Stiles’ eyes are drooping slightly, and it reminds Deuc of just what pain
draining does to the other party.
“How about we get you to bed?” He suggests, standing swiftly and reaching for
Stiles once the boy nods. Deucalion carries him to his room, setting him down
and draping the sheets over him. “If you wake up and you hurt, come get me,
okay?” Deucalion instructs. Stiles nods, and Deuc brushes a kiss to his
forehead before forcing himself from the room.
If he spends the next half hour in the shower stroking himself to the image of
pounding that lithe body into the mattress, it’s his business.
===============================================================================
Stiles transitions out of the third grade at the end of the month with the
highest grade in his class. Deucalion calls him a good boy and Stiles turns
such a pretty shade of pink that Deucalion peppers him with chaste kisses until
he’s trembling.
Deucalion considers it enough of a celebration, but he’s wrong, according to
Talia.
“Bring him over, let him play with the kids, he needs the pack socialization.”
Talia insists.
“Is Peter going to be there?” Deucalion asks, switching the phone to his left
hand so he can stir the pot he’s standing over.
“…Yes. But I assure you he won’t be a problem. He promised not to lay a hand on
Stiles, remember?”
Deucalion does remember, it was a good day.
“Talia, if he so much as looks at him wrong –”
“I know, and you’ll be completely within your rights to take action. You won’t
be stopped, this time. Peter knows that.” Talia says.
Deucalion heaves out a long-suffering sigh, looking down the hall to where
Stiles’ door is closed. As much as he wants to say no, it really will be good
for Stiles to be around pups his age.
“Fine, just for a few hours.” Deucalion agrees, and he hears the pleased rumble
Talia lets out as she hangs up. She always did love Stiles, and he wonders if
the boy reminds her of her late friend.
“Stiles!” Deucalion calls. He hears the boy scramble off his bed, head popping
out of the door in seconds.
“Yeah?” He says, a little breathless but still bright eyed.
“We’re going to Talia’s for the afternoon, if you’d like.” He offers, as if the
boy would ever say no. Just as Deuc thought, he lights up, nodding rapidly
before ducking back into his room to get ready. Deuc shuts off the soup he was
making, it’ll keep till they get back. He listens to the rustle of Stiles
getting ready, the sound almost lulling him before the boy bursts out.
“Ready!”
Again, he’s wearing those infuriating little shorts. Deucalion wants to tell
him to change into pants, but he spares a thought for the heat and the fact
that he’s likely to be running around outside all day. He chooses not to
comment, instead ushering Stiles out of the building and into the car.
Stiles jitters in his seat the whole drive over, and when they get there he
beelines for the other kids before Deucalion can so much as get out of the car.
Talia greets him with a gentle smile.
“There’s iced-tea inside, if you’d like. Laura is watching over them, so you’ve
nothing to worry about.” She says, gesturing towards the house. He glances at
Laura, standing in the middle of the field and watching the kids like a hawk.
She waves without looking over at them, and Deuc feels safe leaving Stiles
under her supervision. He’ll check back in an hour.
He follows Talia inside, and as promised she offers him a tall glass of amber
liquid. The color reminds him a of Stiles’ eyes. And his lips curve into a
smile as he takes a sip.
As it turns out, he doesn’t have to go and check in on Stiles. The boy barrels
in after forty minutes, sweaty and smiley and grasping at the cup Talia offers
him. He chugs it too quickly, coughing harshly as Deucalion pats his back.
“Slow.” He admonishes. Stiles offers him a silly grin but takes it in smaller
sips. He giggles when Deucalion presses his face into his collar, inhaling
deeply before running his tongue up the boy’s neck. He’s damp and tastes
distinctly salty, and it momentarily makes Deucalion’s thoughts scatter into a
hazy mess.
“Are you having fun?” He asks, murmuring the words into the boy’s skin. Stiles
shivers before nodding, setting his glass down and hooking his hands around
Deucalion for a hug.
“Yeah! We’re gonna play a big game of tag soon.” He gushes, pulling away to
bump their noses together with a smile. Deucalion smiles back, presses a
closed-mouth kiss to his lips before pushing him towards the door. Stiles waves
happily at Talia before departing again.
“He’s grown on you.” She comments, pleased smile on her face and smugness in
her tone. Deucalion rolls his eyes at her and leans back in his seat.
“He’s hard not to grow attached to.” He comments, finishing off his drink and
standing. “I think I’ll go watch them play.” He says. Talia follows behind him,
sweeping up the empty cups into the kitchen before joining him.
They stay that way for a few hours, watching Stiles desperately try and keep up
with the pups but having fun regardless. They make allowances from him, whether
it’s tackling lighter, or running a bit slower. Deucalion is silently thankful
for it.
When the day turns from afternoon to evening, the kids seem to mutually decide
that they’ve had enough running around. They come tromping back towards the
house, Stiles bringing up the rear and all but falling against Deucalion’s leg.
He looks drained, and he wants little more than to take Stiles home and get him
to bed.
“M’all sticky.” He complains, looking up at Deucalion and wrinkling his nose.
“He can shower here, if you’d like. We’ve got more than enough bathrooms and
it’ll save you time when you get home.” Talia suggests, scooping two of Laura’s
little ones into her arms and carrying them inside. Deucalion looks down at
Stiles and the boy nods almost immediately.
“Upstairs, third door on your left. Towels are uh, I think in the cabinet next
to the sink.” Laura calls out. Deucalion thanks her, helping Stiles out of his
sandals before guiding him upstairs.
“Do you want me to wait outside?” Deuc asks as he pushes the door open and
flicks on the lights. Stiles hesitates for a moment, looking at the tub and
then back at Deuc.
“Inside, please.” He says after a while, hand reaching out to curl almost
possessively in the fabric of Deucalion’s shirt. The older man nods, running a
hand through Stiles’ damp hair before walking them both inside and locking the
door. He sits on the toilet, bracketing Stiles with his knees as he grips the
hem of the boy’s shirt.
“I’m going to take this off.” Deucalion says, waiting until Stiles nods and
lifts his hands. He peels the wet fabric off him, tossing it onto the tile as
Stiles shivers at the cooler air. Deucalion takes a moment to look at him,
running his hands firmly down his front before resting at the band of his
shorts.
“These next.” Deucalion says. Stiles just reaches out, rests his hands on
Deuc’s shoulders for balance as the man slowly slides them down and off. He
helps Stiles step out of them until the boy is left in nothing more than his
white briefs. They’re almost see through now, and Deucalion breathes deeply
before hooking his thumbs under those as well.
He doesn’t ask this time, just drags them down over the boy’s hips until he has
to step out of those too. His dick is soft and small, and it looks like it
would feel heavenly in Deucalion’s mouth. He’s cut, which doesn’t surprised
Deuc very much. It was becoming more and more common for those without
religious affiliations to do it for the health reasons. Besides, he never did
ask if the Stilinskis were religious.
They stare at each other for a moment, Stiles trembling in the air conditioned
cool of the bathroom as Deuc rests his hands on his bare hips. He’s so slender,
and Deucalion can’t resist dragging his hands up a little and watching the span
of his hands swallow up the pale skin. He can almost grip the boy all the way
around his waist, and there’s something strangely appealing about it.
He waits until Stiles seeks out more of his touch, his warmth, leaning closer
to Deuc’s body with a small noise of complaint. He lets the boy crowd against
him, occupying himself by pressing feather light kisses against his jaw and
neck. Stiles, ever so sensitive, ripples with the sensation.
He trails his lips lower, letting his tongue lave at the skin and taste. Stiles
tastes like outside, the grass and fresh air and salt. Under it all, though, is
that residual sweetness, the one that’s all Stiles. His chest is heaving and
his heart is beating rabbit-fast and Deuc hasn’t even done anything yet.
He lets himself go lower, reaching one rosy nipple and instantly taking it into
his mouth. Stiles makes a noise, halfway between pleasure and uncertainty.
Deucalion leaves off just enough to look into Stiles’ eyes.
“Shhh, you don’t want the whole house hearing, do you?” Deucalion asks, knowing
very well that this room, like most in the house, are soundproofed to the
nines. You’d have to be outright screaming for one of the other wolves to hear
you. He’d helped Talia put them in, years ago, after she’d complained about
hearing her family members in various states of sexual intercourse, whether
alone or otherwise.
Stiles just shakes his head and bites his lip.
“That’s a good boy, try and stay quiet.” Deucalion says, ducking down to return
his attentions to the boy’s chest. He takes the nipple back into his mouth,
digging his incisors in just enough for it to sting. There’s a muffled cry, and
Deuc can hear Stiles slap a hand over his mouth.
The nub hardens immediately, swelling under the rough attention as Deucalion
tugs on it. He soothes at the bite with his tongue, licking over it a few times
before sucking hard enough to leave a bruise in most places.
Stiles cries out, a choked off sound that has a pleased rumble beginning low in
Deucalion’s chest. He switches to the other one, all puffed up in expectation
and just hard enough that Deucalion lets himself bite down with a canine.
Stiles outright shudders, knees caving for a moment before Deuc loops an arm
around his waist to keep him up.
He uses the other to roll the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, giving
the boy no break as he works him over. Stiles can’t stop shaking, whimpers
mixed with Deuc’s name spilling from his lips as the older man licks and sucks
his fill. By the time he draws back, Stiles eyes are wet and his little cock is
standing at attention. It’s as full as possible, smooth and leaking just the
tiniest amount of clear liquid.
Deucalion brings his hands around, smoothing them down the inside of Stiles’
thighs and squeezing with enough pressure to make the boy’s cock twitch.
“Deuc…” Stiles whines, and there’s an ugly thing inside of him that wants to
see the boy beg for it.
“Yes, Stiles?” He asks, hands roaming across the expanse of pale skin and
settling on Stiles’ ass. He kneads the flesh there, enough to draw a gasp out
of Stiles that he tries futilely to stifle.
“I- I, please.” He stammers, and Deucalion realizes the kid probably doesn’t
even have the words to beg yet, doesn’t know just what he needs. The thought
sends a shiver down his spine. Deuc lick his lips, glances down and gets an
idea in his head that he just can’t shake.
“If I lift you up, like this,” Deucalion starts, grabbing Stiles butt and
lifting him about an inch off the ground before setting him back down. “Do you
think you could keep your balance?” Deucalion asks, absently squeezing at him.
Stiles frowns lightly, clearly thinking about it before nodding hesitantly.
“Y-yeah.” He says, fidgeting and standing on his tiptoes. Deuc smiles, presses
a soft kiss against his lips that Stiles just leans into.
“Sit on my palms like they’re a chair.” Deuc says, flattening his hands and
watching Stiles back onto them before sitting as much as he can. His ass fits
relatively snugly, and Deucalion has little to no problem lifting him up and
balancing him. “Just hold onto my head.”
“Not your shoulders?” Stiles asks, weaving his thin fingers into Deucalion’s
hair and holding on tightly as he gets raised higher.
“No sweetheart, I’m going to need you to rest your legs on top of my shoulders.
Can you do that for me?” He asks. Stiles tries it once Deuc gets him at eye
level. He manages to hook one over before he realizes just how played his legs
are. He flushes a brilliant red, and Deuc looks at him so warmly that it isn’t
long before he gets the other up as well.
“That’s a good boy.” Deuc praises, drawing Stiles closer and pressing his nose
into the junction between Stiles’ groin and thigh. He inhales deeply, the scent
only causing his own arousal to grow. “Are you going to let me make you feel
good?” He murmurs, looking up and watching the moisture on the boy’s lashes
glitter in the bathroom lights. Stiles nods, firmly this time, and Deucalion is
proud he’s gaining a little bit of confidence.
He leans in just that little bit more, licking firmly at the boy’s erection
before taking it into his mouth. He sucks gently at first, easily taking the
small length into his mouth and delighting at the broken moan it gets him.
Stiles, clearly having forgotten that he was told to keep his voice, lets out a
high pitch sound before bucking his tiny hips into Deucalion’s mouth.
Stiles’ legs hook behind his head, drawing him closer and allowing him to
tongue at the boy’s balls and suck him simultaneously. Stiles is all smooth
skin, soft from disuse and youth. He tastes right on Deucalion’s tongue, and
from the way he’s shaking he knows Stiles isn’t going to last very long at all.
Stiles is pulling at his hair, back arched as Deuc works at him, lapping and
sucking at the small pearls of pre-ejaculate that keep spilling from the boy’s
cock.
“I’m – Deuc, I’m –” Stiles sobs out, curling forward and giving Deucalion’s
hair a particularly harsh tug before he’s climaxing. His come is thin, almost
watery, and there isn’t very much of it. Deucalion swallows it all down anyway,
giving Stiles’ dick a few last licks before drawing back and lowering the boy
back to his level.
Stiles slumps bonelessly in his lap, head resting on Deucalion’s chest as he
trembles with the aftershocks. Deucalion just holds him, arms wrapped
protectively around his small form and running a hand through his hair.
“Stiles?” Deucalion asks softly. The boy lets out an incoherent little mumble,
turning his face deeper into Deucalion’s chest. “Stiles, you still have to
shower.”
Stiles groans, pushing himself back and frowning adorably up at him.
“I wanna nap.” He says petulantly. Deucalion nips at the tip of his nose, a
tender smile stretching his lips.
“Shower, and then we’ll go home and you can sleep with me. How’s that sound?”
Deuc offers, laughing softly as Stiles perks up immediately. He’s never let
Stiles into his bed before, and it’ll be a new experience for both of them.
When Stiles climbs out of the shower and Deuc has him all wrapped up in a
blanket, he realizes there’s nothing to dress Stiles in. Instead of venturing
out and finding Talia, he strips himself of his own cardigan. It’s fairly
light, which is why he’d chosen to wear it, so Stiles shouldn’t suffocate in
it.
It slips easily over him, far too large but also satisfying something
possessive inside of Deucalion. It’s beige and falls all the way to Stiles
knees. It’s cute, in a way, regardless of the way it reveals the boy’s chest.
He picks Stiles up, making sure his boy is pressed tight against his chest so
the only bare skin visible is his legs. When he makes his way out of the
washroom and back downstairs, Talia is waiting by the front door. She rolls her
eyes a little, like she knows exactly what took them so long.
Stiles is already dozing off on his shoulder, and Deucalion finds himself
absolutely delighted to see Peter hovering around the proceedings. This time,
it’s Deuc that smirks at him, and the other man turns away from him with
something that may or may not have been a snarl.
He’s feeling good enough to ignore it, and does little more than offer Talia a
kiss on the cheek before grabbing his and Stiles’ shoes on the way out.
“I’ll wash Stiles’ things and keep them for if he’s over again and needs a
change of clothes.” Talia suggests, reminding Deuc that he’d abandoned them
haphazardly on the floor.
“Thank you.” He says, hoping it conveys the apology for his carelessness. Talia
just smiles at him and pushes him out the door.
Deucalion drives home with Stiles sleeping in the passenger seat, happier than
he’s felt in a long time.
===============================================================================
Stiles birthday is early September. He’s a little down about it, because it
synchronizes with the beginning of the school year more often than not.
Deucalion watches him mope around the house a few days prior, and wonders if
Stiles will bring it up. He doesn’t, and when September third arrives and
Stiles still hasn’t said anything, Deucalion assumes the boy won’t at all. It’s
a little disappointing that Stiles still feels the need to keep things from him
to avoid being a bother.
Regardless, instead of letting Stiles go to school that day, he takes the day
off work so he’s home as Stiles gets ready.
“I’ll give you a ride today.” He offers. Stiles nods, shoving an apple into his
backpack as he follows Deuc out the door. Instead of driving to the elementary
school a few blocks over, Deucalion takes a turn that leads them deeper into
town.
“School’s the other way.” Stiles says, getting that little furrow in his brow
that always makes an appearance when he’s confused.
“I know.” Deucalion says, taking a few of the side roads to avoid morning
weekday traffic. Stiles doesn’t ask any more questions which is perfect because
Deuc wouldn’t have answered them anyway. He finally parks in front of a store
with no display windows and nothing marking it other than the sign that says
‘Comikazi.’
“Is this a store?” Stiles asks, still frowning as he climbs out of the car.
Deucalion smoothes it away with his thumb.
“Close your eyes.” He says. Stiles worries at his lip but doesn’t pause long
before his eyelids flutter shut. “No peeking.” Deucalion warns. Stiles makes an
exasperated little noise, and Deucalion is almost proud that the boy is
developing an attitude.
He guides Stiles into the store, one arm on his shoulder and the other propping
the door open.
“Can I open them, now?” Stiles asks, after Deucalion stops directing him to
walk.
“Yes, Stiles, open your eyes.”
Deucalion takes a step back, watching as Stiles’ eyes adjust to the light and
he realizes where he is.
“Woah, it’s a comic book store.” He says, eyes as wide as the moon as he gazes
around adoringly. He doesn’t ask anything else, just wanders around for a
moment looking at displays and occasionally brushing his fingers gently against
a display case. Deucalion sighs but can’t stop the welling up of affection for
this boy who won’t even ask for something.
“Pick out any twenty you want. I’ll get them for you.” Deucalion says, coming
up behind Stiles and resting a hand on his shoulder. Stiles’ eyes manage to get
even wider as he turns to look up at him.
“Really? I mean, you don’t have –”
“It’s your birthday. Let me spoil you.” Deucalion says, and Stiles’ eyes start
to water. He doesn’t understand the reaction, but suddenly Stiles is hugging
him, face shoved against his stomach as he sniffles quietly.
“Didn’t think birthdays were ever gonna be fun again.” He whispers, and
Deucalion feels his heart break for this young little thing. He’s lost so much
already, and yet still doesn’t feel as though he deserves. He runs a hand
through Stiles’ hair, scratching at his scalp and letting the boy collect
himself.
He’s surprisingly quick about it, pulling away from Deuc and wiping at his eyes
before taking a deep breath and smiling. Deucalion bends down, brushes a kiss
to his forehead and sends him skipping through the store.
When he comes back up to the counter, he’s got a stack of books in his arms and
he actually looks delighted.
Deucalion’s about to pay, and Stiles wanders off to look through the fifty cent
bargain bin, occasionally smiling at something he finds in there.
“How many comics are in there?” Deuc asks, gesturing at the box of comics. The
man shrugs, looks Deuc up and down, and smiles.
“Over a hundred, probably. I’ll sell it ta’ ya for fifty even.” He says. Deuc’s
got more than enough to spare and nods.
“I’ll take it, then.” He says, inserting his credit card into the machine and
waiting for it to go through. “Stiles, come here and get your comics.” Deuc
says, handing the bag over to the boy when he comes sailing over to him.
“Happy birthday, kiddo.” The man says, and Stiles grins up at him.
“Thank you!”
On their way out, Deucalion grabs the box. Stiles notices once they’re outside
and he’s holding the door open for Deuc.
“What’s that?” Stiles says, standing up on his tip toes to peak into the box.
“It’s yours, is what it is.” Deucalion says, jamming it into the backseat and
watching Stiles pause in his effort to open the passenger side.
“Seriously?” He asks, looking like Deucalion’s just given him the moon and then
some. He supposes to a nine year old it must look like that.
“Very serious, come on. In, we’ve got a cake to pick up.” Deucalion says,
moving around the car to get into his own side. Stiles scrambles in quickly,
twisting around in his seat to get a better look at the box.
“All of it?” He breathes, turning hopeful eyes onto Deuc. The man can’t help
but laugh a little, leaning over to nuzzle his nose into Stiles’ cheek.
“Yes, all of it. You deserve all of it. Do you like it?” Deucalion says against
his cheek, drawing back and watching Stiles’ cheeks pink slightly.
“I love it.” He murmurs, fidgeting in his seat. Deucalion makes to draw away,
but Stiles’ hand darts out and grasps his sleeve. “Can you – uhm. Can you kiss
me?” He asks sweetly, voice quiet and nervous. He’s never made a request like
this, and it fills Deucalion with a sense of accomplishment.
He leans in, presses his lips to Stiles’ and feels the boy sag into it. That’s
not enough though, not after all that, and he lets his tongue dart out to brush
against the boy’s upper lip. Stiles opens his mouth in a soft gasp, and Deuc
takes that as his opportunity to slide his tongue into Stiles’ mouth.
His hand moves up, cupping Stiles’ jaw and keeping him close as he coaxes the
boy’s tongue to move against his. Stiles moans into it, a soft noise that tells
Deuc that he’s enjoying it.
Deuc kisses him thoroughly, tongue mapping out all the little dips and bumps in
Stiles’ mouth. He sucks on Stiles’ tongue harshly before pulling back, the
boy’s bottom lip caught between his teeth for the barest of moments before he
releases him and pulls back.
Stiles looks a little ravished. His lips are just on the side of swollen, spit
slick and hanging open as he fights to regain his breath.
He doesn’t say anything, and Deuc ignores the slight tinge of arousal he can
smell in the air. They really do have a cake to pick up, and Deuc likes keeping
his appointments.
===============================================================================
The next day, when Deuc wakes up, he realizes he’d neglected to set his alarm.
He’s over an hour late waking up, and he can hear Stiles just climbing into the
shower.
He runs a hand through his hair, debating whether or not he should just get
changed and leave. Hygiene calls though, and he’s up and trudging to the
bathroom before he can think it through. He raps sharply on the door before
opening it, seeing the hazy outline of Stiles through the sliding door before
the urge to piss directs his attentions to the toilet.
“Deuc?” Stiles asks.
“Just me.” Deucalion responds, yawning and pulling down his sweatpants just
enough to take his cock out. He pees in a steady stream, shaking of the drops
and pulling his pants back up before he remembers he needs to shower.
“Stiles, I’m about to flush.” He warns, watching the tiny body scuttle to the
other end of the shower before he presses the handle down. After the noise has
faded and Stiles has migrated back into the center, he taps lightly on the
sliding door. “Is it okay if I join you? I’m a bit pressed for time.” Deucalion
asks. As much as he’d just like to climb in, he can respect some of Stiles’
boundaries.
“Uhm, okay.” Stiles says after a brief lull. Deucalion strips off his shirt and
shrugs off his pants, nude in record time and sliding open the shower door.
Stiles stares at him unabashedly, and he realizes he’s never actually been
naked in front of him, for all the times he’s seen the boy completely bare.
He manoeuvers around Stiles, getting under the spray as the boy blushes and
looks back to where he’d been soaping himself up. As Deuc shampoos his hair,
he’s granted the treat of watching Stiles lather himself up. He’s curious about
the boy’s showering habits, and the question comes out of him before he can
help himself.
“Do you clean yourself down there, too?”
Stiles looks up at him sharply, heart stuttering over itself for a moment
before picking up a little quicker.
“Y-yeah.” He says, almost uncertain in his answer. Deucalion quickly rinses the
suds out of his hair, turning his attention back to the boy in front of him
with a smirk on his face.
“Why don’t you show me how you do it, then?” Deucalion suggests, leaning
against the tile as Stiles gapes up at him. He snaps his mouth shut, swallowing
thickly before nodding. He takes a deep breath before speaking, and Deucalion
so enjoys watching him squirm like this.
“Okay, I can, uhm, I c-can do that.” Stiles says, voice absolutely tiny. He
grabs the bar of soap, turning it over in his hands a few times before putting
it back. He makes the mistake of looking up at Deuc while he slides his hands
down his body, turning a full body pink and slowing his movements.
He continues though, small hands drifting over his cock. He’s hard, which
probably makes it both easier and harder to clean. He strokes himself loosely,
a few pumps before he can’t take anymore and he’s switching to rubbing at his
balls. Deucalion just watches, cock stirring slightly as he watches Stiles
touch himself.
He reaches his other hand back, then, slipping between his cheeks and rubbing
hastily at the area before moving into the spray. He hasn’t made eye contact
with Deucalion again yet, and the older man lets him rinse off before directing
Stiles up against the far wall.
“That was very good, but there’s an area I’d like you to pay a little more
attention to next time, okay?” Deucalion says, gripping Stiles’ hands and
guiding them to rest on his own small behind. The boy twists to look back at
him, beet red and just on the side of confused. Deucalion nudges his feet
apart, forcing him to bend forward a little and stick his ass out.
“I’m going to teach you how to clean it.” Deuc says, reaching back and
detaching the showerhead from its perch. He bumps it down to low, because he
doesn’t want to overwhelm the kid right away. “Rest your face against the wall.
Can you balance?” He asks. Stiles just makes a weak sound of agreement.
“Okay, now I want you to spread yourself. Can you do that for me?” Deucalion
asks, listening as Stiles whimpers softly. He hesitates a moment before pulling
his cheeks apart, revealing a little pink hole just aching to be touched.
“That’s a good boy.” He says, running his hand down the length of Stiles’ back.
“Now I need you to stay like that. If your arms get tired, you let me know.” He
instructs. He gets an abortive little nod, and Deucalion takes that as his sign
to begin.
He reaches out, lets his thumb rest against the furled flesh as Stiles shivers.
He brings up the showerhead, directing it onto Stiles opening and listening in
absolute pleasure as Stiles lets out a gasp. It quickly transitions to a moan
when the pressure doesn’t let up, just the continued stream of water against
him as Deuc removes his thumb.
Stiles does well though, holds himself open as Deuc brings up finger back up,
pressing in just slightly and watching in rapt interest as the muscle
immediately contracts to block him out.
“You know why you have to keep this area clean, Stiles?” Deucalion asks,
pressing his finger in a little deeper. Water is absolutely no substitute for
lube and he gets as far as the first knuckle before he puts a stop to it.
“W-why?” His voice is shaky and faint, and Deucalion really wants to kiss him.
Instead, he places the showerhead back, makes sure it’s angling away from them
and towards the far corner.
“So that I can make you feel good like this.” Deuc says, getting down on his
knees and licking a warm, wet stripe against his hole. Stiles is so surprised,
he lets go of his ass, but Deucalion picks up his slack, holding him open so he
can slowly press his tongue into the boy.
He hears the thud of Stiles’ hands hitting the wall, and his legs start shaking
the moment Deucalion starts sucking at him. He alternates, lazily thrusting his
tongue into the boy before sucking firmly and licking at the tender skin.
Stiles keeps clenching around his tongue, making the softest little noises as
he struggles to stay on his feet.
Deucalion takes his time, eating Stiles out until he can hear the sound of
Stiles muffling his desperate sobs into his arm. It’s then that he reaches
around, toying with the soft flesh of his cock and sucking at him. He tugs
once, twice, and Stiles is coming, clear fluid splattering against the tile.
He distantly realizes he’s going to be so late for work.
He’s not done yet, not when Stiles is finally loose and pliant like this. He
stands, loops two of his fingers around Stiles’ face and presses them
insistently against his lips.
“Suck on them.” He says. Stiles doesn’t even hesitate, just opens his mouth
into a small ‘o’ and let’s Deucalion slide his fingers in and out. Stiles gags
once, and Deucalion wants to push him, see how far he can get his fingers down
the boy’s throat before Stiles begs him to stop.
Instead, he just draws his hand back, index finger pressing slowly into Stiles.
The boy groans softly, but the digit slides in without him clenching.
“You’re being so good for me, Stiles.” Deucalion purrs, moving the finger in
and out a few times and absently petting the small of Stiles’ back. When Stiles
starts weakly pushing back against his finger, Deucalion adds another. It’s a
little tighter this time, and Stiles clenches up with a whimper.
“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart, try and relax, breathe.” Deuc says, hand moving
down to rub over Stiles’ ass. After a few seconds, Stiles lets out a deep
breath, muscles releasing just enough to let Deuc slide both fingers all the
way in. “That’s it, you’re doing so well.” Deucalion says, bending over to kiss
Stiles’ shoulder.
“Feels weird, like I’m full but not.” Stiles pipes up, sounding just on the
side of wrecked. He wiggles gently, only causing himself to gasp and go still
again. Deucalion starts moving them again, slowly sliding his fingers in and
out until the small hole can handle a different movement.
Stiles starts moaning the moment he starts scissoring his fingers, creating
enough room so he can seek out the boy’s prostate. It doesn’t take him very
long. Deucalion hooks his fingers slightly, pressing up against the bottom wall
and thrusting his fingers in a few times.
He’s alerted to his findings on two fronts, one by the slightly enlarged area
his fingers are pressing down on, and two by the volume in which Stiles cries
out. Deuc curls his other arm under the boy’s waist, holding him up as he
massages his fingers against the sensitive area.
Stiles is babbling absolute nonsense, begging intermixed with Deucalion’s name
and gasps of more. It’s a satisfying symphony to listen to, and Deucalion
smiles against the boy’s shoulder as Stiles’ hips rock back to meet his fingers
every time he pushes them back in.
The boy is hard again, Deucalion can smell it on him, and he fucks his fingers
in a little harder to see if Stiles can come like this. He can, apparently,
because barely two minutes pass before he’s shaking violently, coming, albeit
dry, for a second time this morning. He contracts around Deucalion’s fingers,
and he’s lucky Deuc has the restraint that he does, or he’d be fucking Stiles
regardless of whether or not he’s ready.
He slides his fingers out, not relinquishing his hold on the boy considering
he’s fairly certain he’s the only thing holding Stiles up.
“Stay home today.” Stiles mumbles suddenly, and Deucalion spins him around onto
to find his eyes closed. He’s not asleep though, despite looking like he could
drop dead at any moment. “Let me stay home with you.” Stiles says, reaching out
and wrapping his arms around Deucalion’s neck.
He picks Stiles up by force of habit, his cock sliding wetly against the boy’s
body and making him shiver.
“Alright, we’ll stay home together.” Deucalion agrees, because he can’t imagine
a universe in which he’d say no to anything Stiles asks of him.
They climb out of the shower together, Deucalion still painfully hard but
trying his damnest to ignore it.
He wraps Stiles up in a towel and sets him on the toilet seat, drying the boy’s
hair with his own towel before moving on to dry himself. Stiles just looks up
at him, eyes half lidded and absent smile on his face.
“I love you.” He says suddenly, catching Deucalion so left field that he drops
his towel.
“What?” He asks, because he’s a little disoriented and he’s not even sure he
heard right.
“I love you.” Stiles repeats, voice a little stronger this time. He smiles
wider, eyes focusing on Deucalion and holding out his hands. “Love you.” He
repeats a third time.
Deucalion doesn’t care that he’s half dry, or half hard, or half anything. He
presses Stiles against his chest, holding the boy painfully close before
pulling back far enough to press a firm kiss to Stiles’ mouth.
“And you know I love you too, right?” Deucalion says, looking at Stiles as
seriously as he can. The boy just grins goofily at him, giggling a little and
knocking their foreheads together.
“Course I know that, silly.” He says, and Deucalion feels that last piece of
himself finally click into place.
End Notes
     i'm trash i'm sorry but you're trash for reading all the way through
     we can be trash together
     THIS IS A SERIES THERES MORE TRASH STAY TUNED
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