Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1107141.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Peter_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Male_Lactation, Lactation_Kink, Dubious_Consent, unexplained_male
      lactation, manipulating_Peter, Badwrong, Humiliation, so_much_humiliation
  Series:
      Part 3 of Steter_Short_Stories
  Collections:
      TNW_Kink_Meme
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-12-28 Words: 1494
****** Let me suck you dry ******
by Daughter_of_Scotland
Summary
     When Stiles realizes something is seriously wrong with him, the only
     one he can turn to is Peter. And Peter makes sure it stays that way.
Notes
     Based on this_prompt on the TW Kink Meme:
     Short: Stiles starts lactating and goes to Peter/Derek for help.
     The pairing options where Peter/Stiles, Derek/Stiles or Peter/Derek/
     Stiles.
At first it was just an itch. An itch he could stop by rubbing his hand over
his chest. He forgot about it until it started again a few hours later. At some
point, Stiles stopped noticing when he moved his hand to rub over his nipples,
making them tingle and twinge before settling down again. Sometimes he tried
putting Band-Aids on them, pulling them tight so they wouldn’t rub against
anything, but this would help only for a little while. Wearing more layers only
made it worse, too.
He thought about going to see a doctor but then Derek came back, having left
Cora with a pack in New Mexico, they fought off a Kitsune who tried to take
over the town – all in all, so much was going on that he forgot about it.
And if he woke up every day, his nipples aching and sore; so what, he had
dangers to avert. He got used to it.
 
It’s been going on for a few weeks before it really becomes a problem. He wakes
up, stretching under his blanket, and moans. He flings the blanket off his
chest abruptly, staring at his nipples which are red and pebbled and kind of…
glistening? Tentatively, Stiles raises a hand, touching one, and the feeling of
pain-pleasure shooting through him makes him gasp. He forgoes the shower, not
wanting to risk the water pressure on his chest. The breeze from the open
window makes him whimper, as it reaches his nipples and he stares at his shirts
in dismay. Something is really wrong but that doesn’t mean he can’t just not
wear a shirt. Wincing, he pulls on his softest and loosest shirt but still has
to bite his lip as the material rubs over his overly sensitive nipples.
“What the hell is going on?” he groans to himself as he gets ready for school,
trying – and failing – to get used to the sensation that is leaving him panting
and getting harder in his jeans. If it wasn’t for the History test he has to
take today, he would skip school altogether and just go to the hospital right
away. As it is, he decides to grit his teeth and drives to school.
 
School is hell. It is most days, but today is especially hell-ish. Not only did
he forget about another test – in Spanish, this one – but he also flunks the
History test because he’s more interested in trying to keep his shirt away from
his chest than answering any questions.
And, of course, there’s the leaking. Yeah, Stiles is not going to forget that
very soon. Probably never.
He’s just leaving his History class as someone runs into him, pushing against
his nipples and all he can do is stumble back, clutch his chest and bite his
lip nearly in half trying not to scream – in pain or pleasure, he doesn’t even
know.
And then there’s something wet sliding down his chest and the guy who ran into
him is staringat him and –
“Woah, what the hell, Stilinski?” he says. He’s a senior from the Lacrosse
team, someone who left him alone before but now clearly has other plans. “Are
you bleeding from a little tackle?”
And before Stiles can say or do anything, hands are on him, lifting his shirt,
exposing his aching nipples to the cold air, making him gasp again.
“Holy shit,” the guy – Darren, Stiles’ ever-active mind supplies – exclaims.
“Is that fucking tit juice,you freak?!”
And Stiles – Stiles can’t help it, he wrenches himself away and runs. He can
hear the laughter behind him, can even hear Isaac, who has the History class
after him, call out for him, but he doesn’t stop, just continues running until
he’s at his jeep. He jumps into it and all he can do is make sure he doesn’t
hit anybody as he leaves the school’s parking lot, his vision blurred by tears.
He feels so humiliated,and his nipples still hurt and he’s still leaking –
lactating, because that’s what it is, he just knows it. He also knows the
hospital can’t help him now. This is something else, something supernatural,
and he needs help –
Before he even registers driving there, he arrives at Derek’s loft.
He stares up at the dark window and just then remembers that Derek left for the
week, to be with Cora. With a sob, Stiles bangs his head against the steering
wheel. Something is so terribly wrong with him and no one is there to help him.
Deaton would just offer cryptic comments, Derek isn’t in town and there’s no
one else who – wait.
Stiles shudders as he thinks about it but the motion just makes his shirt rub
against his nipples again and he groans. It doesn’t seem like he has much
choice.
He starts the car again and drives to Peter’s apartment.
 
He has just found the courage to knock as Peter already opens the door, his
usual smirk on his face.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite human,” he says, his voice low and silky. “Come
on in.”
Stiles slinks by him, fighting the urge to cover the wet patches on his shirt.
He makes a beeline for the living room and stands awkwardly in the middle of
the room when Peter circles him slowly.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” the older man asks but then his eyes widen as
he takes a deep breath. “Oh,” he breathes and there is a glint in his eyes that
make Stiles rethink his choice about coming there.
Peter’s eyes fall to Stiles’ chest. “It seems you are in a bit of a situation
here, Stiles,” he purrs. “And you need my help… dealingwith it?”
Stiles shudders and finally crosses his arms in front of his chest, just to
hiss as it makes the shirt rub against his nipples again. New wetness squirts
from them and Peter’s eyes go positively hungry.
“Changed my mind,” Stiles exclaims as he takes a hasty step backwards. “I’m
sure I can manage on my own just – OW!”
He finds himself with his back to the suddenly closed door, Peter right in
front of him, one arm near his head and the other at his shirt.
“Not so fast, little one,” Peter murmurs and his hand brushes Stiles’ shirt.
“You came here because you can’t deal with it. So… ask for my help, Stiles.”
He smirks and Stiles swallows, closing his eyes tightly. He could just go,
Peter would let him, he’s sure, but if he does he’ll still be alone with his…
problem. So there’s really just one choice for him, isn’t there?
“Help me,” he whispers, not opening his eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”
There’s hot breath at his ear and Peter has the hem of his shirt in his hand,
already lifting it slowly. “Say please,” the older man whispers and Stiles
shudders.
“P-please, Peter,” he forces out and before his next breath he’s shirtless,
still pressed against the door but he can feel the breeze on his tender nipples
and he bites back a groan when –
There’s heat, and lapping,and suddenly a forceful sucking sensation, and his
knees go weak, moans spilling from his mouth while his hands bury themselves in
Peter’s shirt and hair. All he can do is try not to black out from the pleasure
that shoots through his whole body as he feels liquid – milk, Stiles, it’s
freaking milk! – spill from his nipple into Peter’s mouth. Peter’s mouth which
is latched onto his breast, his tongue which is flicking against the sore nub
as he sucks and sucks –
Stiles forgets to breathe at some point, gasping for air as he feels the first
waves of pain replacing the pleasure. “S-stop,” he groans. “H-hurts…”
Peter reacts quickly, letting him go, but before Stiles can even open his eyes,
the man latches onto the other side and the pleasure comes back, racing through
him, making his cock throb and ache and  oh god, this is so humiliating.
It is a few minutes later when Peter finally lets him go. Stiles feels boneless
and sinks to the floor when the werewolf loosens his hold on him. He feels
blissed out and dry but also soembarrassed.
He hears Peter walking away, licking his lips, but he can’t look at him. The
bliss is replaced by shame at what just happened and Stiles scrambles to his
feet, fumbling at the door.
“Leaving so soon?” comes Peter’s voice and Stiles wants to hurt him for the
amusement in it. “Don’t I even get a ‘Thank you’?”
Stiles grits his teeth as he leaves the living room and opens the front door.
“Thank you,” he bites out and Peter laughsat him.
“Anytime, darling,” he calls after Stiles who once again flees to his jeep.
This time, he drives home, where he buries himself in his blankets. At least
now it’s over.
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