Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/470652.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Jackson_Whittemore, Scott_McCall
  Additional Tags:
      dub-con_(sorta), First_Time, practical_jokes_gone_wrong, porny_porn, a
      little_fluff
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-07-27 Words: 3824
****** Modern Medicine is Both a Blessing and a Curse ******
by i_know_its_0ver
Summary
     It was supposed to be a joke. Honest. Well, mostly. But Scott would
     stick with that story to his dying day.
     (In which Jackson schemes, Scott is clueless, Stiles gets drugged
     with Viagra, and Derek lends a helping hand.)
Notes
     Warnings: dub-con, of the sex-pollen, made-them-do-it variety.
     Also, underage, because this takes place in some undefined near-
     future.
     I thought I was all done writing, and then rufflefeather goes
     planting ideas in my head, and I end up writing porn. IDEK. This is
     my first fic in this fandom and I'm really nervous. Hold me?
It was supposed to be a joke. Honest. Well, mostly. But Scott would stick with
that story to his dying day. Not that anyone was ever finding out about this,
because this was possibly the most ill-conceived prank in the history of
teenage boys. And that included the time Stiles thought it would be funny to
fill Scott’s browser history with gay porn, only to have his mom find it.
Yeah, this was worse. Because what Scott had failed to take into consideration
was that he was a freaking werewolf now, with hyper-acute werewolf senses. For
instance, smell. Excellent sense of smell.
It had been Jackson’s idea, actually, and really, since when did Scott listen
to Jackson? Danny had just looked uncomfortable and turned back to his textbook
with a roll of his eyes that spoke volumes, if Scott bothered to pay any
attention. He should probably listen to Danny more often, really.
“Oh come on, man. Stilinski’s so wound up all the time, the kid’s like a
fucking time bomb. His epic virgin sexual frustration is just going to explode
on some unfortunate victim and we’re probably going to have a lawsuit on our
hands, a restraining order at the very least.” Which Scott did not find
amusing, given their all-too-recent brush with Jackson and the law. They may be
allies now, but all was not forgotten.
“Fine,” Jackson sighed, with that calculated indifference with which he treated
everything besides lacrosse and his car. “If you wanna keep being assaulted by
the stench of his desperation for the next two years, whatever. But, really,
you’d be doing the loser a favor.”
Which, well, didn’t make perfect sense, but he had a point about Stiles’s
scent. Scott tried to avoiding smelling people as much as possible, because
even after months to adjust, it was still weird to be able to smell people’s
emotions, especially when they were, um, horny. And Stiles, was, well…a healthy
teenage boy. And there were some things that you just didn’t need to know about
your best friend.
“Oh right, I forgot, you’re too busy with your girlfriend to have fun anymore.
Whatever.” Jackson sighed and rose from the table, tapping Danny on the
shoulder as a signal to follow. Danny gave Scott a look full of things Scott
couldn’t decipher, but it reminded him far too much of his mother whenever he
and Stiles ‘bent’ the rules. It was a look he had instinctually learned to
block out when it was inconvenient. Which was always.
“Fine,” Scott muttered under his breath, still not used to the idea that there
were other supernatural creatures in this school who could pick up on that
volume. “But where the hell am I going to get Viagra?”
Seriously, the things he did for his friends.
****
Stiles didn’t have big plans for his Friday night. Sure, he was at that age
where he should have been out, partying, drinking, getting into epic trouble.
But after months filled with far too much trouble of the life-or-death variety,
he was perfectly content with a Friday night in with some World of Warcraft and
Chinese food. Thrilled, actually.
Then Scott had shown up and ruined that, but Stiles was adaptable. It was just
one of his many admirable qualities that no one else seemed to appreciate. And
Scott was spending most of his free time with Allison lately, which Stiles was
man enough to admit stung, just a bit, so having him show up voluntarily for
some dude time was like a minor miracle. Gift horses and mouths, and all that.
Though maybe Scott was regretting his decision and experiencing Allison-
withdrawals, because he was really twitchy tonight. Fidgeting was Stiles’s
thing, thank you very much, he had that covered enough for the both of them.
Scott was supposed to be mellow and calming, and his fidgeting was just making
Stiles feel like he needed an extra dose of Adderall.
So when Scott disappeared to the kitchen to fetch some cokes, Stiles was
actually a little relieved to have him out of the room for a moment. By the
time Scott got back he had popped a dvd into his computer and was all ready for
a completely ironic Underworld marathon. Because, seriously, those werewolves
were just ridiculous.
Scott didn’t even seem to notice the comedic goldmine, though, as he sat down
and handed Stiles a glass, then watched him waaaay too closely until Stiles
took a sip just to have something to do with himself and ease the awkward
atmosphere.
That seemed to make Scott both more relaxed and more wound up at once, and
really, Stiles was too tired to try and decipher his weird moods right now. He
was the one crashing Stiles’s bachelor night, and they were not having
heartfelt, Allison-related conversations tonight. No way.
Stiles sipped at his soda in between making werewolf jokes, and he knew it
wasn’t his best material, but Scott could at least make a token effort to
appreciate his wit, instead of looking jittery and constipated. Maybe he was
spending too much time with Derek lately, and broodiness was communicable.
And maybe Scott’s nerves were wearing off on Stiles, because suddenly he was
feeling a bit overheated. He tugged at the collar of his t-shirt, feeling
distinctly...off. And sure, he found Kate Beckinsale hot and all, I mean come
on, leather jumpsuit, what’s not to like? But, um, not so much that he should
be feeling that distinct tightening of his jeans that had become so
uncomfortably familiar over the last couple years. Talk about bad timing. He
was really not in the mood to pop a boner with Scott just a few inches away,
watching Stiles like he was some kind of science experiment that required
constant observation.
Stiles shifted, trying to ease his discomfort without, you know, blatantly
adjusting his dick in front of his friend, because they were pretty comfortable
with each other but, um, no. He took another sip of his soda, hoping maybe it
would cool him down and distract him, though from what he wasn’t even sure,
because his mind was definitely not having sexy thoughts right now, and yet his
dick didn’t seem to get the message.
Despite his best efforts to think about lacrosse and crime scene photos and
every un-sexy thing he could think of, the situation was becoming pretty
blatant and embarrassing and Stiles was ready to get up and excuse himself to
the bathroom when Scott suddenly jumped up like he had been stung.
“I’m sorry!” he practically shouted, and whoa, indoor voices, but also, what?
Stiles tried to recall some blood back north of his waist in order to figure
out what the hell Scott was rambling on at about a million miles an hour,
which, actually, kinda gave Stiles a weird pang of pride, but this was really
not the time for that.
“Jackson thought it would be funny, and he said it would be good for you, and I
should have known, but I just, I don’t know what I was thinking but I can’t
take this any more, there are some things that best friends should not know
about each other, and I love you man, I do, but I can’t--”
“Scott!” Stiles broke in, not quite able to focus on his best friend’s face
while his dick made a valiant effort to bust through demin, and what the fuck?!
“What is going on, and why is my dick exploding?”
Scott winced and pulled the guilty puppy dog look, but Stiles couldn’t really
notice enough to be cowed by it right now, you know, more important things
going on and all.
“Jackson-thought-it-would-be-funny-to-slip-you-Viagra-and-I-am-so-sorry-oh-my-
god.” It came out as one long, slurred word, and only stopped when Scott ran
out of breath. It took Stiles a moment to decipher that garble as Scott watched
him with a look of shame and discomfort, that, now that Stiles understood, he
most definitely deserved, the rat bastard.
“Seriously?!” He squeaked, and maybe it wasn’t his most manly moment, but
really, seriously?! Because the one thing his overactive teenage hormones
definitely did NOT need was chemical help to make them even more unbearable.
“I’m sorry, man, I am, I swear, but I just, I gotta go.” Scott was already
moving towards the door, and really? You don’t just drug a bro and then leave
him! There had to be codes for this kind of thing!
“Wait,” Stiles tried, but Scott barely turned, his nose scrunched up, cheeks
blazing and eyes averted andoh god. Werewolves could smell arousal, couldn’t
they? He had read that somewhere, and while it was academically interesting to
receive confirmation, oh my GOD.
Scott awkwardly shuffled a few steps away, hunching awkwardly, and no, Stiles
was not letting his mind even make the connection it was trying to, because
that was just too uncomfortable and he would never recover from that thought if
he let it fully form.
“I’m just gonna, um, go...find Allison.” And with that Scott was gone, leaving
Stiles hunched over on his bedroom floor, heel of his hand pressed to his dick,
his first orgasm already building fast, and thank god Scott had the timing he
did, because Stiles was about to come in his pants like he was thirteen again
and it was a small mercy, really, that no one was around to witness his intense
shame.
But he could already feel the pressure building up again, his dick still
completely, unforgivingly hard, and fuck his life, seriously. It was going to
be a long fucking night.
After which he was definitely going to find new friends.
****
Derek was in the middle of training his betas when he got the text from
Jackson. The teens had bitched and moaned about training on a Friday night, but
as far as Derek was concerned, those were the sacrifices you made for having
supernatural abilities. They could just suck it up.
Something up with Stiles. Needs your help.
Derek growled at his phone, a mix of agitation and fear coiling in his gut. Of
course Stiles would go and get himself into trouble when Derek was in the
middle of something. And what trouble had he even managed to find now? Things
were finally quiet, for the first time in months. If he had gone and broken the
truce with the hunters, so help him God…
“What’s wrong?” Isaac asked, picking up on the change in Derek’s mood. He
seemed concerned, but also more than a little relieved that Derek’s attention
had been diverted away from himself.
“Nothing,” Derek replied, infusing his voice with as much calm and confidence
as he could. No reason to get the betas worked up when it was probably nothing.
Just his human pack member being his usual, infuriating self.
He shot a text back to Jackson demanding details, but received no reply. He
tried calling Stiles, but just got his idiotic voicemail message and promptly
hung up before he had to listen to Stiles’s horrible attempts at singing. Once
had been enough, thanks.
He wasn’t too concerned. Yet. If there were some major threat he would
definitely sense it. But still, maybe he should head over and check it out. He
would hate to have to go searching for Dr. Deaton in the middle of the night
because Stiles had gone and hurt himself in the name of research. Again. It was
amazing the kid had lived to seventeen, honestly.
“Wait here,” he instructed the betas, putting the full force of his alpha
powers behind the command. “I need to go check something out, I’ll be back.”
He could practically feel Erica rolling her eyes in frustration, but whatever.
She would live.
He didn’t bother with his car, simply jogging the half mile to the Stilinski
house. He slowed as he approached, focusing all of his senses on the house.
Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. He couldn’t smell any unfamiliar
persons in the vicinity, and the house was quiet, but not alarmingly so.
Stiles’s bedroom was the only lighted window in the house, which, given the
hour, probably meant the Sheriff was still at work. Nothing unusual there.
Well, since he’d come all this way, he figured he may as well check in on
Stiles. It would put his mind at ease, and then he could strangle Jackson later
for wasting his time. And really, watching Stiles get all flustered about an
unannounced visit was more amusing than dealing with his betas’ incompetence.
Maybe.
The scent hit him as he scaled the wall in two easy bounds, though his brain
reacted too slowly to decode it before he was already lifting the window and
slipping his legs over the sill.
With the window open, the scent hit him in the chest like a physical blow:
Arousal. Unbridled, uncontrolled arousal, spiking the air like pungent incense.
It was…oh god, it was intoxicating, and Derek should definitely turn around and
go right back out the window right the fuck now before Stiles spotted him and—
“Derek?!” Stiles squeaked, in a pitch that made his sensitive werewolf ears
flinch.
Derek turned back to the room, scowl firmly in place, ready to make his gruff
excuses, but the sight before him halted him in his tracks.
Stiles was sitting in his computer chair, jeans pulled down around his thighs,
dick hard and slick and pumping up into his hand, even as Stiles stared wide-
eyed and open-mouthed, a mixed look of horror and lust warring across his face.
The screen in front of him was covered in several video windows, showing a
variety of porn that Derek would actually be quite intrigued by if he could
find the brain cells to focus on anything except Stiles and the smell coming
off him.
“Oh god,” Stiles moaned, half mortification but also a very heavy dose of
pleasure, as he continued to stroke himself, his eyes slipping shut. Derek
could hear his heart pounding in his chest, inhaled and tasted the combined
scents of arousal and precome and the rubbery slickness of lube, and something
else, something chemically and wrong, but he couldn’t place it, and honestly
couldn’t be bothered to think about it right that second.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Stiles chanted, in rhythm with the movements of his
hand, eyes squeezing shut as a flush splashed across his cheeks. “Can’t, can’t
stop, oh god, so sorry, please, just, hnnnnnnnnnng--”
Derek knew that random string of words probably meant something, and his human
side insisted that he should really put more energy into figuring it out, but
every breath was saturating his senses with the scents of arousal and
undeniable want, his own as well as Stiles’s, and when Stiles made that high
whimpering noise his wolf took that as all the invitation needed.
****
Oh god. Oh crap. Oh fuckity fucking fuck, seriously? How was this his life?
How? Seriously, universe, what kind of puppy-killer had he been in his last
life?
Because instead of the quiet evening he had been hoping for, or even the epic
jerkoff session he had resigned himself too, because he had the worst friends
ever, seriously, he was now currently moaning like a porn star in front of
Derek Fucking Hale, of all people, and he couldn’t seem to stop.
If the earth opened up right now, it would be a mercy.
He should feel massive, world-shattering embarrassment, and truly, honestly, he
did. But somehow it just wasn’t enough to overcome the desperate rush of blood
to his dick, demanding release, before it literally exploded, leading to some
kind of permanent disfigurement.
And between embarrassment and having his dick explode, well. His hand knew what
was important.
He thought maybe Derek would be a pal and put him out of his misery with a
well-placed fang to the throat, but no, he was just sitting on his window sill,
watching Stiles with glowing red eyes like he was in a damn trance. That was
probably the sign of an impending rage-explosion or something, that kind of
stillness was almost never good, but it was really hard to care about Derek’s
stupid alpha rage right now. He would put up with the lectures about offending
Derek’s sensibilities later, when he wasn’t bleeding his lifeforce from his
dick.
“God, Derek, could you just please, just, stop it, with your...face,
oooooohmygod,” which Stiles thought was a pretty eloquent way of asking Derek
to get his stupid gorgeous face out of here and stop making things worse, but
apparently Derek was not fluent in Stiles-speak because his eyes only flashed
dangerously, and shit, shit, now he was getting up, and maybe this really was
the end after all, maybe Derek was going to murder him for getting off looking
at his stupid sharp cheekbones and thinking about that mouth--
Or, apparently, he was going to sniff Stiles’s neck like it was fucking
fascinating, and okay, maybe he was just preparing to release the fangs, sizing
up the best spot for a fatal bite, except no, that definitely wasn’t a fang,
was that-- was that his tongue?
Oh, that moan would make even the sluttiest porn star blush in shame, but
really, what was he supposed to do with a smoking hot werewolf licking his
neck? He didn’t think he could withstand that even without the extra boost of
chemical encouragement.
“Relax, Stiles,” Derek all but purred in his ear, and no, wait, Stiles was
mixing up his dog metaphors with cats, but what-the-fuck-ever. “Just let me
give you a hand.”
And was that a chuckle, from Derek? Was he choosing now, of all times, to show
a (terrible) sense of humor? But then Stiles didn’t really have time to dwell
on it, nevermind call him out on it, because a large calloused hand settled
alongside his, pumping his cock in rushed, brutal strokes, as Derek’s mouth
closed over his own, and nothing else in the world officially mattered anymore.
****
A part of Derek still couldn’t believe what he was doing, but his wolf was
howling in pleasure, and Stiles was moaning and gasping beneath him, where
Derek had finally got him spread out on the bed thanks to a bit of manhandling,
because Stiles’s limbs had apparently forgotten how to function.
“Wait, what about you, don’t you--” Stiles asked, pawing at the front of
Derek’s jeans in place of actual words.
“It’s fine,” Derek rumbled, because sure, his dick may be screaming at him for
attention, but he could control himself, he could wait. Unlike Stiles, who
still seemed to be crawling out of his own skin in desperation. “Just let
me...”
“Come on, I have an idea,” Stiles panted, in between pulling Derek’s pants open
and desperately trying to push them down, out of the way, and Oh. Yeah, this
was definitely one of Stiles’s better plans, Derek decided, as he continued to
grind down against the small body beneath his, only without anything between
their bare flesh now, and god, that felt right in a way he wasn’t ready to
examine too closely right this minute.
Though Stiles seemed more than willing to distract him, with grasping hands and
heated kisses, as Stiles’s body tightened again, pulling Derek over the edge
with him and into a few seconds of blissful emptiness.
****
Seriously, Stiles thought, this night may never end. It felt like being stuck
in a Groundhog’s Day-esque loop, only instead of waking up and living the same
day again, it involved coming like a freight train and then going right back to
being just as horny as before, no progress being made.
“Oh god, that was, that was...fucking incredible, and...fucking hell, not
enough. How can it seriously be hard again already?!” Stiles moaned miserably,
enjoying the way Derek rumbled against his chest, in what may have actually
been laughter, the cruel bastard. “Is it possible to get third degree burns on
your dick from chafing? Because I think I’m more than halfway there, and I
really don’t want to find out. Not that I don’t appreciate the help and all--”
“Stiles,” Derek rumbled, pushing Stiles onto his back and sliding down his
body, trailing small nips and kisses along his overheated skin. And suddenly
the rough heat of Derek’s palm was replaced by the slick wetness of a tongue
and oh. Oh, that was a good solution to that problem. God, Derek was so clever,
why hadn’t Stiles thought of that?
“Stiles,” Derek grumbled, and no, no, bad, mouth back on dick. “Shut up.” Oh.
Maybe he had been saying all of that out loud.
He didn’t even have time to be embarrassed as Derek wrenched another gut-deep
moan from him, which, if Derek’s renewed enthusiasm was any indication, was
vastly preferred to his babbling. Well. He could work with that. Stiles was
nothing if not adaptable.
****
Turns out a very healthy, very well-stimulated teenage boy can only come about
eight times before his entire body feels like it’s going to unravel. Stiles’s
dick makes a valiant attempt at a ninth round, but the drugs were mostly gone
from his system, finally. Derek could only faintly smell them somewhere in the
background, drowned out by the heavy scents of come and sweat and utter, bone-
deep contentment. And that was a much better scent.
“I don’t know whether to kill Scott or kiss him,” Stiles mumbled, face smooshed
against Derek’s chest where they had finally settled. Though Derek was pretty
confident Stiles wasn’t going to be doing either of those things anytime soon,
because they would both require moving, and Stiles was yawning like a sleepy
kitten, nuzzling against him, and dammit...that should not be so cute. When
exactly did he start thinking of Stiles as cute? Probably longer ago than he
was really willing to examine right this moment.
Derek growled in the back of his throat, mostly for form, because even he
wasn’t sure whether to be angry or grateful. But the whole pack was definitely
getting a lecture about boundaries and respect and minding their own damn
business. Which he suspected would go over about as well as the rest of his
lectures. Teenagers.
“Fine,” Stiles conceded, moving minutely closer and humming in appreciation as
Derek’s arm tightened around his waist. “No kissing. Of Scott, I mean,” he
hastened to add, when Derek raised a disapproving eyebrow, and punctuated his
point with a quick peck to the part of Derek’s chin he could reach without
having to stretch too far. “But maybe a thank-you card. Do you think Hallmark
makes a ‘Thank You For Helping Me Lose My Virginity, Even If Your Methods Were
Underhanded and Poorly Thought Out’ card?”
Maybe Derek didn’t have to kill anyone, after all. Stiles would just embarrass
them all to death. And really, it was no more than they deserved.
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