Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1160525.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Isaac_Lahey/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Scott_McCall, Sheriff_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      mentions_of_abuse, Wolfed_Out_Sex, Comeplay, Spoilers_for_3x16
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-30 Words: 4830
****** Once Upon a Time There Was a Bear ******
by calrissian18
Summary
     Forget the fairytale beginning. Forget the bear in the woods. The
     real story's so much better because, in this one, Stiles' dick
     finally gets sucked.
Notes
     Written for my very good friend, yeaka, who wants to ship in this
     fandom so hard and just can’t find anyone to love. She’s partial to
     Isaac and I only ship Stiles so here’s hoping I can pull out
     something good for her, even though she’s so much pornier than I am
     and we’re basically fanfic-cy opposites. *headdesks* I admit, it took
     a while to find my feels for them but I knew they were in there
     somewhere. This is my first (real) attempt at the pair so I hope I
     can do them justice. *g*
     By the way, Stiles is researching this little gem.
See the end of the work for more notes
Stiles tapped both ends of his pencil back and forth on the paper, creating a
lead dent in the page on one side and shaking off loose eraser shavings on the
other.  He wasn’t exactly disrupting their grand planning.  There was nothing
on it but a crudely drawn ‘5;’ written next to it were the names: 
Isaac
Derek
Ethan
Lydia
Aiden
Stiles pushed out his lips and shifted his jaw to the side, contemplating.  “I
still say the easiest solution is to let our most unhelpful Pack member,”
Stiles shot a beaming grin over at an unimpressed Isaac, “hello, Isaac – act as
guinea pig here.”  He leaned forward in his chair, forearms planted on the
table and legs crossed at his ankles.  “He got the big five first,” Stiles said
with a shrug.  “If it’s some kind of harbinger of doom, we’ll know soon enough
and we won’t be any worse off for it.”
Isaac rolled his eyes, arms tightening over his chest, while Scott and Derek
shot Stiles twin disapproving looks.  Stiles was mostly convinced they would
miss the preview of the Fall collection Isaac was always wearing around his
neck (regardless of the season) rather than the actual guy.
Derek dragged a hand over his forehead.  “We’re not getting anywhere with this
and I have,” his lip raised, “decoration to remove.”
Stiles accurately translated that to: ‘I have blacklights to smash.’  Because
Derek basically was the Hulk.  Stiles would hold up the shirt allergy as
unassailable evidence if need be.
He folded up the notes he’d written out and the image of the mask Lydia had
drawn into a square and shoved them into his back pocket.  The clean up had led
to him lagging behind.  He smirked at Derek as he passed him, the last one out,
and his expression may have been cheeky but the words were genuine.  “Welcome
back, Sour Wolf.”
Derek snorted.  “Get out of here, Stiles,” he said, ushering him out with a
sweep of his arm.
Stiles saluted him and followed his direction.  His head was down, digging in
his pocket for the keys to his Jeep, when he collided with Isaac, who hissed
like it was some great agony to be run into by a squishy human.  Jesus, the
theatrics with this kid.  Stiles was about to bite out something judgmental and
likely insulting when he noticed the way Isaac was cradling his side, up around
the top of his ribcage.
He pulled up his shirt to survey the damage and Stiles saw the huge yellowing
patch of skin that spread out from the middle of his chest.
Stiles flipped his keys into his palm and tracked Isaac’s skittish eyes with
his own.  “Scott?” he guessed blandly.  For the bruise to still be there it
either had to have just happened, and – unobservant as Stiles could be– he was
pretty sure he would have caught that, or it had to have been inflicted by an
Alpha.  The only person whose confidences Isaac was going to keep were Scott’s.
 “Because of Allison?”  Isaac shrugged.  Stiles pursed his lips and nodded.
 “Maybe you just try to stay out of his way for a while then.”
“I asked him to,” Isaac said defiantly.
Stiles huffed out a breath that was almost amused.  He shook his head.
 “Doesn’t mean he should’ve.”  He squinted up at Isaac.  An abused kid asking
for more abuse and Scott just gave it to him?  He knew better than that.
 Usually.  “You are all kinds of fucked up and,” he jerked his elbow towards
Isaac, “you’ve graduated from even wearing it on your sleeve.”  He caught
Isaac’s jaw in his long fingers and squeezed until Isaac pulled away, nostrils
flaring.  “You wear it all over your pretty face.”
Stiles patted him on the cheek, mostly because it was sure to piss Isaac off,
before taking the stairs down to his Jeep.  He shuffled his keys and froze as
he went to open the door.  He’d taken the key to the Chemistry lab off.  He
hadn’t been able to look at it, hadn’t been able to stomach what it meant.  The
pad of his thumb was still sore from the metal ring bending back the nail as he
held it open so he could get the damn thing off.
The key glinted at him in the sunlight, in exactly the same place it had been
before Stiles had meticulously removed it.
The faster he figured out what the fuck was going on with these samurai shadow
people, the faster he could deal with his own fractured mind.  He drove
straight home, after texting his dad and telling him class was taking a
backseat to supernatural hijinks.  It was a card he’d only played once before
so, while the response was vaguely disappointed, it was still an accepted
reality.
He had already scanned Lydia’s sketch and was reverse image-searching through
the Argent’s database for a match while he trawled through Google searches for
the significance of the number five when he heard the board under his window
creak.  Scott would be in class and Derek wouldn’t show up until he had new
information to make Stiles’ researching go faster – and Stiles doubted that had
happened yet.
His best guess was Isaac.  But that didn’t make a whole shit-ton of sense
either.
He turned around and, sure enough, Isaac was slinking around in front of his
window.  Deductive reasoning, Stiles had it in spades.  Take that, FBI Agent
Dickhead.
He went back to scrolling through the search results, tossing over his
shoulder, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Isaac didn’t sound particularly concerned that he’d been found out so fast or
that Stiles was less than welcoming.  Which was good.  Because if he’d come
here expecting anything else, Stiles might have started worrying the Nemeton
was messing with his head, too.  “I don’t know.”  He breathed audibly.  “I
can’t talk to Scott—”
Stiles snorted.  “There’s a girl in the picture.”  He opened six tabs in quick
succession, shaking his head.  “There’s no talking to Scott.”
Isaac was silent for a long time and even the house got in on the stillness
until Isaac broke the moment, saying, “What are you doing?”
Stiles rolled his eyes.  “Being distracted by unnecessary questions.”  He spun
back around to face Isaac and said bluntly, “If you want to hang out here then
you’re going to have to entertain yourself because I, unlike you, actually have
my moments of usefulness.”
He didn’t even bother to gauge Isaac’s reaction before he started printing out
information on katakana, specifically focusing on the character ‘ko.’  It
didn’t take long for Stiles to forget Isaac was there entirely.  By the time
his dad was calling up to him about dinner and he was stretching in his desk
chair, Isaac was fast asleep, laying with his head at the foot of Stiles’ bed.
Stiles let him sleep a while longer, tromping down the stairs to meet his dad
in the kitchen, warn him there was a werewolf in his room, and hear about the
latest stupidity Papa McCall was responsible for – while his dad prefaced it
with the Stilinski household’s most ubiquitous phrase: ‘I shouldn’t be telling
you this.’
He threw his hoodie at Isaac’s face when he came back up nearly an hour later.
The zipper hit him in the lip and he snarled into wakefulness, fangs and eyes
and claws all out and clenching around the fabric like he’d caught some small
woodland creature in his grip and it had gone limp in terror.  He threw it off
of him as soon as he realized what it was.
Stiles rolled his shoulders, stretching.  “Hey, dinner if you want it.”
Isaac sat up, tilting his head and listening for half a second.  He rubbed at
the bridge of his nose with a pinched expression.  “Your dad?”
“Knows you’re here,” Stiles finished.  He shrugged when Isaac narrowed his eyes
at him.  “Abused kids kind of get a lot of leeway with the town sheriff.”
Isaac snapped his jaws.
Theatrics again!  They really were obnoxious.  “Dude,” Stiles insisted, “you
can fight that or you can embrace it.  My mom’s dead,” he said bluntly, and
there would never again be a time when that didn’t hurt and there would never
again be a time when that wasn’t true.  “I can let it work for me or I can let
it work against me.  I’m a practical guy, if nothing else.”
Isaac’s expression mellowed somewhat.
Stiles turned on his heel, having done his duty and made the offer, and went
downstairs to stuff his face with Chinese food.
Isaac joined them barely a few minutes later.
No one was interrogated and Stiles only thought about stabbing Isaac in the eye
with his chopstick once – which was one of the Stilinski’s more successful
meals.  Stiles was counting it as a win, at least.
After Isaac had dropped his plate off in the kitchen, he went back up the
stairs to Stiles’ room like it wasn’t Stiles’ room and Stiles was the one
visiting without being invited to visit.
His dad turned to him with an expression full of mirth.  “I think I have a new
son now,” he said, thoughtful.  “You’ve been replaced.  I’m not too broken up
by it if I’m being honest, I’m betting this one can’t pull off the ‘I can’t
even lift the trash, Dad, how am I meant to take it out’ line.”
Stiles glared at him, bruising the air in front of him with a jabbing
chopstick.  “This one’s moodier.  I don’t think the trade off’s as worth it as
you seem to think.”
His dad perked an eyebrow.  “You say that as though you’re not a moody
teenager.”
Stiles gaped, offended.  “Come on, I’m not at Lahey-levels here!”
His dad leaned in, lowering his voice.  “Can’t he hear everything we’re saying
right now?”
Stiles wasn’t fazed in the slightest, even though he hadn’t really been keeping
that in mind.  “I’m only nice to invited guests,” he pointed out.
His dad snorted.  “No, you aren’t.”
Stiles waved him off.  If his dad was going to start speaking in logic, Stiles
wasn’t going to stick around for that.  Logic was for quitters.  When he got
back upstairs, he was tired as hell after spending all day hunched over his
computer even though it was barely later than ten, and Isaac was sitting on his
bed. 
Stiles turned on his heel, not quite ready to deal with the strangeness
of that yet, and came back with his toothbrush hanging halfway out of his
mouth.  He pointed at Isaac with it.  “Dad says if you’re staying, there are
rules you’ll have to follow.”  He added with a thoughtful frown, “Pretty sure
if either of us even attempt to beat the crap out of you here though, you’re
still better off.  So there is an upside.”
Isaac’s brow furrowed and he said as though it was obvious, “I’m not staying.”
Stiles shrugged and wandered back into his bathroom to spit.
When he walked in again, Isaac was tense and he said carefully, gaze darting
around Stiles’ room, “If I did, would it be—”
Stiles laughed outright.  “Here?” he choked out, shaking his head.  “Yeah, no.
 Dad would set up the guest room for you.”  Stiles motioned towards his bed.
 “This is a one time only deal because you’re recently abused and Scott is
currently channeling dickbag extraordinaire thanks to Kira.”  Stiles really
could not emphasize that enough, that this was a one time deal.
Isaac dipped his chin agreeably and tugged at the laces of his boots.
Stiles ignored him, shoved back against the wall as he was, and took the
outside edge of the bed, stripped down to his boxers and a thin t-shirt.  He
just barely heard the thunk of Isaac’s shoes on the floor before he slipped
into unconsciousness.
“Motherfucker,” Stiles hissed, his chest burning fiercely as the air hit it.
 It was beyond too dark to see in his room and he fumbled with the light on his
nightstand, nearly knocking it over.  His chest, right around his sternum,
ached painfully and he could hear Isaac growling lowly under the hammering beat
of his own heart.
Finally he found the switch on his lamp and he closed his eyes with a groan as
it flared to life.  When orange was no longer being seared into the backs of
his eyelids, Stiles chanced a glance down at his chest.
Four slashes were etched into his flesh and ripped through his shirt.  It was
like the top layer of skin had been removed, the wounds shallow but stinging.
 There was hardly any blood but the prickle of pain was intense.  Stiles sucked
in a sharp cut of air through his teeth as he tried to sit up.  The growl had
stopped abruptly and Stiles saw Isaac blink down at his torso from his
periphery.  His eyes widened.
“Sorry,” Isaac said, gulping the words, “you were thrashing and I was still
out.  I didn’t know it was—”
Stiles’ spit bubbled between his teeth.  “Yeah,” he said, mouth twisting, “you
thought—Well, I get what you thought.  Stings like a bitch.”  Stiles pulled off
his shirt one-handedly so it was inside out, wadded it up and pressed it to the
cuts.  It caused a disabling sort of pain and Stiles couldn’t seem to focus on
anything else.
“Sorry,” Isaac said again, and he did sound it.  His gaze trailed away from the
claw marks to the heave of Stiles’ shoulders, down to the contraction of the
muscles in his abdomen.
“What?” Stiles demanded.
Isaac shook his head.  “Nothing.”  He pulled his gaze away from Stiles’ bare
hip and said quickly, “I should go.”
Stiles rolled his eyes.  “Don’t be a melodramatic idiot.”  He forced himself to
sit up even through the twinge of agony.  “You’d think you’d be a little more
comfortable with the sight of blood given your history.”
Isaac almost laughed – though it wasn’t due to any sort of amusement.  He
folded his lower lip into his mouth, biting into the fleshy side of it.  “You
really never miss an opportunity, do you?”
Stiles thought about pointing out that he specifically hadn’t said that Isaac
had lashed out because he’d thought he was being beaten, though he could have
bucked the implication and stated it outright.  Instead he said, “Hey, at
least I’m not pounding away on you.”  Maybe that one hadn’t been the better
option. 
“I am sorry.  Less sorry than I was,” Isaac muttered, “but still sorry.”  He
stared at where Stiles was pressing into the marks with his shirt and wrinkled
his nose.  “Can I get you something, a bandage, antiseptic… anything other than
a sweat-soaked t-shirt?”
Stiles snorted.  “Suck my dick, dude.”  He swept his arm out over his room, the
one that didn’t have hold of the wad of his shirt.  “If we go to the videotape,
I think you’ll remember that you’re the whole reason I’m in this fucking
predicament.”  He glanced back over at Isaac, only to find he was focused on
something else entirely.  Stiles’ eyes widened.  “Wow, you’re just not even
trying to hide that.”  Isaac licked his lip and Stiles was torn between
amusement, arousal and horror.  “You couldn’t look more like you took that
literally if you tried.”
“What are you talking about?”
Stiles jerked Isaac’s chin up forcefully so he could stare into his eyes and
judge him properly.  “Dude, you are talking to my dick and you have to ask me
that?”  He drew up his feet so they were planted flat on the bed and spread his
thighs.  “If you want to suck me off, I’m really not going to stop you.”
Isaac stared blankly at him, like he wasn’t sure if he could trust the offer.
 Seriously though, what guy was going to turn that down?  He bit into his
cheek, darted a glance up at Stiles, and slung a long leg over his calves,
putting his face level with Stiles’ navel.  He inhaled deeply around the hem of
Stiles’ boxers and licked and tugged on the happy trail that led down to
Stiles’ cock.
There was something like trepidation and maybe genuine fear in his gaze and
Stiles let his head drop back against his pillow as he realized: “And you have
never done this before.”  He lifted up enough that he could see Isaac’s face as
he shook his head.  “You have never done anything even on this level before,”
Stiles clarified and it wasn’t really a question so Isaac didn’t really answer.
 Stiles snorted and brought his palm up to his forehead.  “What the hell
even is your relationship with Allison?” he wondered out loud. 
“Honestly?”  Isaac’s lips brushed his stomach and Stiles felt it shudder and
tighten in response.  “Sexless,” he breathed and the exhalation caused
goosebumps to rise on Stiles’ skin.   “We haven’t even kissed.”
Stiles swallowed, staring up at his ceiling rather than down at Isaac.  He
reached out with a blind hand and found the ball of Isaac’s shoulder.  He dug
his fingers in.  “Suddenly much more aware of your penchant for growing fangs,”
he said, dropping his free hand down against his own forehead again, fingers
balled into a loose fist. 
Isaac brushed his lower lip back and forth across Stiles’ stomach.  There was a
slight wetness to it and Stiles could feel a trail of cold follow the drag of
his mouth.  Which was when he realized he couldn’t feel the throb in his chest
any longer, and hadn’t been able to for he didn’t know how long.  Stiles
propped his head up.  Isaac’s hands were folded over his hips and black lines
were running up his forearms.  He didn’t even seem to realize what he was
doing.
He bared a mouth full of sharp teeth at Stiles, the elongated points digging
into his lip.  “I’ll keep them in check,” he slurred out around the fangs.
Stiles let out a breathless and strangled sort of laugh.  “So much less funny
than you seem to think,” he said tightly.
When he looked back, the fangs were gone and Isaac was mouthing at Stiles’ hard
cock through his cotton boxers and suddenly Stiles found himself wishing they
were as thin as his t-shirt had been.  Before Isaac had murdered it, that was.
 He could still feel the hot exhalation of breath, the warmth and wetness of
Isaac’s mouth and the drag of his tongue as he licked up the length of him from
base to tip through the fabric.  Isaac purposefully let out a warm breath right
over the head.  He glanced up at Stiles, perking his eyebrows.  “I’ll be
careful.”  It almost sounded like a question. 
Stiles gritted his teeth, staring back at him.  “Hey, here’s a suggestion,
sound more confident and less like you’re trying to convince yourself of that.”
Isaac hummed, lips resting just under the ridge of the head of Stiles’ cock.
 He didn’t move them as he murmured, looking slightly surprised, “You’re still
going to let me do it?”
Stiles huffed, rolling his eyes at himself.  “I’m a teenage boy.”  He clenched
his hand on Isaac’s shoulder as he slowly started to tug down the band of
Stiles’ boxers, inch by inch.   Stiles flexed his jaw.  “As a group, we’re not
exactly known for our excellent decision-making skills.”  He lifted his hips,
rolling them slightly.  “Yeah,” he said breathily, “I’m gonna let you do it.”
The elastic dragged his cock down with it so when he was finally free of its
confines, he sprang back up in front of Isaac’s wide eyes.
Stiles spread his thighs, feeling his cock throb, hot and heavy against his
stomach.  His feet dug into the comforter, nails biting into Isaac’s skin on
one hand and fisting his sheets with the other.  He circled his hips on the
mattress, trying to do anything other than grab a handful of curly hair and
shove Isaac’s face down on his dick.
Isaac half-heartedly bit and licked his lip while Stiles clenched his toes and
his ass, desperate not to press him.  He wasn’t that guy, that douchebag guy
who pushes it.  He wasn’t Jackson.  If Isaac backed out of this then Stiles
would walk out, jerk himself off in the bathroom and get the fuck over it.
It didn’t come to that though.  Instead, Isaac firmly wrapped a hand around the
base of Stiles’ cock and sealed his mouth over the head.  Even that much
was intense and Stiles automatically lifted his hips, mouth falling open.  The
sensation made the hair on his thighs stand on end and he felt a choked moan
catch in his throat.  He was just as inexperienced as Isaac and he had no idea
how to keep himself still.
“Fuck,” Stiles hissed while Isaac suctioned his mouth tight and sucked.
 Stiles’ hips rolled up into it.  “You—You gotta hold me down.” 
Isaac pulled off, brow furrowed, and Stiles groaned in pure frustration.
He let himself chase a few breaths, chest heaving, before picking up his hand
off Isaac’s shoulder and the other off the bed.  The fingers of both were stiff
from how hard he’d been clenching them.  He placed his hands over top of
Isaac’s on his hips and gripped them so hard that it had to hurt, even for a
werewolf.  He awkwardly pushed them down, showing Isaac how to pin him to the
bed.  “Hold me down or I’m gonna choke you.  Can’t stop it,” he panted out.
Isaac’s hands tightened in understanding and Stiles felt a fierce pressure
driving his hips into the mattress.  As soon as Isaac had a grip on him, he
caught the bob of Stiles’ cock with his mouth and tried to take him all the way
in.  He gagged slightly but even the flutter at the back of his throat was
beyond perfect.
He was sloppy and teeth occasionally made an appearance and he couldn’t keep a
rhythm for shit, but he was enthusiastic and determined and Stiles made all of
it work for him in one way or another.  He kept one hand on Isaac’s shoulder,
making sure his bruises stayed put, and smoothed the other over the back of his
neck, which was warm and slick with sweat.  Occasionally, Stiles would let his
fingers sneak up, sliding through wet curls to tangle in the locks, encouraging
Isaac’s head back down when he tried to pull off after a particularly good
stroke of his tongue.
Isaac never fought him, going with the drag of Stiles’ hand even when he
clearly needed the break.
Stiles’ hips were still struggling to push up against Isaac’s hands, grunts and
moans catching in his chest and toes curling against Isaac’s hipbones, when he
felt sudden pricks in his sides.
He swallowed, staring down, and pulled Isaac off his cock with a regretful
whine.  He tried to catch his breath first but the words still came out
strangled, garbled.  “Isaac—Isaac, shit.”
Isaac licked his lips and it was clear, poor cocksucker or not, he was
definitely enjoying himself doing it.  His eyes were bright, gold and fevered,
and his preternatural gaze kept slipping down to the wet, red head of Stiles’
cock.  “What?” he asked, breathless, impatient.
Stiles pulled a palm away to tap a finger against the back of one of Isaac’s
hands.  Claws were creating little divots in Stiles’ flesh.  They hadn’t broken
skin yet but they were poised to.
“St—starting to shift,” he stuttered out while Isaac pressed his tongue in
under Stiles’ foreskin, circling the tip under the ridge of his head.  Oh
fuck.  There weren’t any fangs yet but it was only a matter of time.  Stiles
gasped as Isaac drove as deep with his tongue as he could.  God, he didn’t want
to stop but there were other things they could do.  Things that didn’t involve
a mouth full of fangs near his crotch.   “We can—” he started, breathless.
Isaac seemed to have expected to be put off and his eyes glowed even more
golden.  “I want to feel you come in my mouth,” he said desperately, claws
tipping a little deeper into Stiles’ skin.
Fuck, Stiles wanted it too and he was circling his hips against the mattress,
trying to get to Isaac’s mouth against his restraining grip, even as he sought
to put a stop to it.  He closed his eyes, licked his lower lip.  “Then keep
your goddamn claws to yourself,” he said with a groan before Isaac was impaling
himself on Stiles’ dick again.  Stiles threw a forearm over his eyes, hissing,
“Fuck.”
He wasn’t going to last much longer, the mix of danger and teetering
frustration and Isaac’s questing tongue was enough to have him riding the edge.
 It was when Isaac reached down, brushing a thumb over his already drawn up
balls that Stiles came hard into his mouth.
Isaac let go of one of his hips instantly, swallowing around Stiles’ slowly
softening dick, to reach down and get a hand around himself.
He sucked until Stiles hissed in decidedly more pain than pleasure and then his
sole focus became burying his face in the crease where Stiles’ thigh met his
groin and inhaling deeply while he pumped his dick.
Stiles lifted a foot and carefully eased it down the back of Isaac’s boxers and
jeans.  They were tented loosely over his ass, unbuttoned in the front but not
lowered any and it was enough room for him to get in.  He dragged a toe down
the crack of Isaac’s ass and Isaac’s hips stuttered forward with rabbiting
twitches while he moaned, low and loud.
Stiles pressed in where he thought Isaac’s hole might be, trying to get some
pressure on it, when Isaac roared, fangs prominent, and he shifted up enough
that he could come on the heave of Stiles’ stomach.
He was whuffing, more like a wolf than a man, as he came down from the high,
staring at his own come on Stiles’ abdomen with animal eyes.  He tilted his
head to the side unblinkingly.  He brought up a clawed hand, angled the ends
away from Stiles’ skin and carefully spread his come over Stiles’ stomach, up
his sides, across his chest, rubbing it into him.
Stiles was too exhausted, limbs weak, head fuzzy, and weary down to his
fucking bones to stop him.
Isaac kept at it for what felt like an endless chunk of time, languidly
massaging his come into Stiles’ pores, trying to get it deep and permanent.
Eventually Stiles snorted, feeling relaxed and boneless.  “Spectacularly gross,
dude,” he commented.  He looked down at his chest with a frown.  “And now
grosser and stickier, and my dad happens to be a sheriff.”  Isaac looked up at
him lazily, mildly curious.  “Two people in one bedroom, showering in the
middle of the night, it doesn’t exactly take a trained eye.  Which means I’m
stuck like this until morning.”
Isaac sounded fuck-drunk, fangs and sideburns still out but the claws were
gone.  “S’nice.”
“For you,” Stiles said with a scoff.  He pushed Isaac back so he wasn’t looming
over him, drawing patterns with a finger on his sticky skin.  Now that Stiles
was coming down from his own orgasm, he wasn’t all that keen on being touched.
 “Seriously,” he said with a bruised laugh, “never letting you suck my dick
again, the fangs were out the second after you pulled off.  Too close for
comfort, man.”  He snatched up his pillow and pulled the blanket off the end of
his bed, slipping off the mattress.
Isaac blinked heavy-lidded eyes at him, sliding slowly closed over gold before
opening again.  “What are you doing?”  He suppressed a yawn.
Stiles cracked his back, arranging the pillow and blanket on the floor a foot
or so away from the bed.  “Sleeping on the floor,” he grunted back.  He perked
his brows in Isaac’s direction.  “You’re all wolfed out and I thrash.”  He
waved a hand.  “That is not a combination I’m interested in seeing the
aftermath of a second time.”  He lay down on the floor, already knowing it was
going to be hell to sleep on.  “Can’t wait until you’re safely down at the end
of the hall where fangs are not an inch away from my number one favorite body
part,” he muttered to himself.
This time Isaac did yawn.  “‘S’mine, too,” he said tiredly.  He flopped down,
yawned again, and pronounced, “Want you to fuck me with it.”
Stiles felt his heart stutter in his chest before starting back up again.  His
opportunistic dick gave a twitch.  He made himself say sneeringly, “Yeah, well,
good.  Wanting things builds character.”
He could see Isaac’s sharp grin in the dark.  Yeah, he’d bought that line for
exactly as much as it was worth.  Zilch.
End Notes
     Come play with me?
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