Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8032819.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Scott_McCall/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Scott_McCall, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, play_mating, Sort_of?_-_Freeform, Knotting,
      References_to_Mpreg, Mating_Cycles/In_Heat, Alpha_Scott_McCall, Omega
      Stiles_Stilinski, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Sexualized_Insults
  Series:
      Part 3 of Wrapped_in_Light
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-09-14 Chapters: 1/4 Words: 2746
****** Set Alight ******
by QuickLikeLight
Summary
     Developing early is not what it’s cracked up to be.
Notes
     This has been a long time coming, and will probably be even longer
     yet in completion. Darling Divvy commissioned me to bump this up in
     the queue so I've done just that and gotten the first chapter out
     there. I'll be working on this in my spare time between Sawdust &
     Snow chapters, but if you'd like to commission a chapter of this from
     me to make it faster, my commission information is here.
     Both Scott and Stiles are 18 for this fic, as I've bumped them up,
     and the timeline never dips further back than that. Warnings for
     sexualized insults. I hope this fic will be a satisfying conclusion
     to the series, and that it won't take too terribly long to write.
See the end of the work for more notes
                                      Now
“Out of the way, come dumpster.”
The insult isn’t the first he’s heard this week, or even today. It isn’t even
the worst. It just also doesn’t feel especially great.
“Hey, knotwhore, you trying to get mounted up right here in the middle of the
hallway?” One of Whittemore’s buddies, some alpha jerk from the basketball
team, laughs as he spits bile-filled words in Stiles’ face. “I won’t tie your
ass, but if you ask real pretty I’d knot that mouth up. Need it real bad,
baby?”
He shoves past, trying not to think about the itch under his skin, the heat
building in flares at the base of his spine.
“You’re rank, Stiles,” Lydia says, holding her nose pinched between delicate
fingers.
“Yeah, I am aware,” he growls. It’s not her fault, really. She’s an omega, like
him, but she hasn’t had a single practice heat yet, probably won’t until she’s
almost ready to be mated. Developing early is not what it’s cracked up to be.
“Should you even be here today?” Allison looks so sympathetic as she cards her
fingers through Lydia’s hair. Her other hand twitches toward him, and part of
him almost wants it, wants the soothing touch of an alpha against his skin, but
he’s glad when she pulls back, backs off.
“Harris is giving a midterm today, even though they aren’t supposed to be until
next week. No make-ups.”
“Not even for heat?” Allison looks shocked, but then, he guesses she’s probably
never had a reason to check out the Omega Protection Act and see all the
loopholes in it, gaping like -
Nope. He’s not going to finish that thought. Not today.
“He doesn’t have to give me a makeup exam for practice heats. They’re not
severe enough to warrant missing school.” He recites Principal Thorne’s words
like an automaton. Well, like an angry automaton.
“Where’s Scott?” Lydia demands, taking his books from his shaky arms and
handing them to Allison. “He should be here to help you through this.”
Stiles laughs a little weakly and shakes his head. “No Lyds, he really should
not be.”
 
                                     Then
 
The first practice heat after Scott’s rut is something entirely new, and
entirely awful. It hits out of the blue, nowhere near his normal heat schedule.
He’s dragging himself to the lacrosse practice field after detention, trying
not to think about how fantastic Scott looks all sweaty and panting. Suddenly,
a bright-hot flash of something rolls through his body, from the tips of his
ears to the arches of his feet, lightning-quick and breathtaking. He staggers
to the side, gulping deep breaths of air as his stomach twists, curls in on
itself and heaves. The nausea strikes from out of nowhere, dizzying in its
intensity, and he wonders for a wild second if Scott bred him the last time
they play mated.
That’s not actually possible.
It wouldn’t be the first impossible thing they’d done.
But then the scent hits, and he realizes what must be happening. It’s practice
heat, sharp and unrelenting, almost unrecognizable in its strength. He holds
his nose, trying to escape his own smell as he makes his way toward the locker
room, looking for his alpha.
The alpha he finds is Cora Hale.
“Holy shit Stilinski are you dying?” she asks, waving a hand in front of her
face. He doesn’t quite nod, but the little burble of pain that comes out of his
mouth seems to be convincing enough on its own. Yeah, he might be. “Who do you
need? Your dad?”
He struggles to stay on his feet as she wraps an arm around his waist, sheer
alpha strength pulling him back toward the office.
“No, no, Scott, I need my alpha - help me find Scott McCall?” he begs, shaking
his head and trying to work them back around. She scowls a little.
“I don’t think you need Scott, man. I think you need a heat room and a
suppressant. Maybe a bag of dildos. Whatever it is, your dad can handle it,
okay? Let’s just get you to the nurse. She has a heat space, I bet.”
“No, not the nurse -” he’s half-delirious with how much he does not want to see
that hag right now, and he knows it shows. Cora looks pained as she sweeps him
off of his feet, carrying him bridal-style away from the locker room.
“Don’t worry Stiles. I know it’s uncomfortable but you’re going to be alright,
okay? Just try to relax. Deep breaths. Probably through your mouth. The smell
is… eugh.”
“Yeah, I get it,” he grits out, grinding his teeth. He squirms against her
hold, trying to get away so he can get to Scott, but Cora’s stronger than she
looks. She holds tight to his body, snugging him close against her chest. He
doesn’t want to be soothed by it, but her calming scent rolls over him like a
blanket, shutting down his responses, making him warm and pliant. He doesn’t
bury his face in her neck, but he does let himself loll a bit, strength leaving
his limbs as the heat starts to build up in his belly, looking for a way out.
They are almost to the office when he smells his alpha. He doesn’t even have
time to warn Cora before Scott’s pulling them back, prying Stiles out of her
arms.
“Stiles, are you okay?” Scott asks, frantic.
Cora growls at him, half shifted and glaring. “He needs a doctor, McCall. He’s
going to get heat stroke and it’ll be your fault. Can’t even take care of your
omega properly.”
“I didn’t know -” Scott starts, and then the fullness of what Cora’s said hits
him. “Heat stroke? Stiles - are you -?”
“Hey, come on,” Stiles whines. He’s standing, sort of, propped against Scott’s
side, and he can feel Scott struggling not to shift in reaction to the
emotional whirlwind. “Come on, Scott. Just gotta take me home okay? Gotta get
me out of here.”
“Okay -”
“Scott,” Cora breaks in, eyes flashing. “He’s sick. Smell him. You have to take
him to his dad. You can’t help him like this.”
The force of Scott’s arms around him is too tight and too hot and it makes
Stiles want to curl up and roll over, present and dominate, own his alpha and
be owned by him, all at once. Makes him want to bite.
“He’s in heat, not sick. He smells fine, so good-”
Cora growls at him. “McCall.”
“Sorry, yeah, I just-”
“I get it,” she says, and then she’s pushing them toward the big double doors.
“Go get him some help, alpha.”
Scott doesn’t carry him toward the office. Instead, he pulls Stiles’ body close
to his own and heads for the locker room.
“The team...?” Stiles bites out before burying his face in Scott’s neck once
more.
“Gone already. Coach called practice early because of the rain. I was coming to
tell you not to change after detention when…” Scott growls and rubs his hands
over Stiles’ back and sides, trying to cover Cora’s scent with his own. “Need
to get you cleaned up. Can’t be outside smelling like this.”
“Is it really that bad?” Stiles groans, trying to ignore the rub of Scott’s
belly against his achingly hard dick, the way his flesh is pressing hard
against the placket of his khakis.
Scott turns to shove the door open with his back, stumbling into the empty
locker room with one hand on Stiles’ nape and the other pressed just above his
ass. He mouths at Stiles’ jaw, tilting his omega’s head to the side.
“Not at all. Smells too good. Can’t risk taking you outside when you smell like
this.”  
“Doesn’t smell good, man.” Stiles shakes his head. “It’s supposed to smell
sweet. I smell like sweat and salt. Doesn’t smell right.”
“Smells like you,” Scott mumbles into his skin, and then slides Stiles’ shirt
off over his head, holding him close with just one hand on his back. “So good.”
Stiles doesn’t have time to argue with him before Scott’s settling them both on
the shower floor and pulling frantically at Stiles’ pants.
“Off, off,” he says, low and husky, claws scraping gently against Stiles’
hipbones. “Need these off so I can clean you up baby. C’mon, get - just - how
did you even get these on, Stiles?”
“I bathed in lube,” Stiles snipes back, struggling out of the too-tight
trousers and slipping out of his sneakers. Scott holds him close, running eager
hands over every bit of skin Stiles exposes. He doesn’t even remove his shorts
before pulling Stiles into his lap, naked thighs straddling Scott’s hips.
“Can’t mate you here baby,” Scott’s saying, sucking hard kisses around Stiles’
collarbone. His fangs have started to push through the gums again, dragging
hard against Stiles’ skin. It’s electric every time Scott’s wolf pours forth
and touches him, driving Stiles further into heat desperation. With his legs
spread, his heat scent fills the room: cloying cumin, sea salted skin, acrid
leather and burning rubber. “Fuck, Stiles, smell amazing. Somebody’s gonna
catch us. Want to tie you up so bad.”
“Crazy,” Stiles smiles, shaking his head. He buries his face in Scott’s hair,
filling his senses with mate, the feeling of Scott’s hands and mouth on his
skin, the scent of Scott in his nose, the musky taste of his sweat heavy on
Stiles’ tongue.
“You make me,” Scott nods, biting Stiles’ chin with blunt teeth. He pushes
ineffectually at Stiles’ chest, hands hot against the sweat-slick plane of
Stiles’ body. “C’mon, up. I need to clean you up. Have to get us clean.”
Stiles’ knees quake and give out at the first rush of cool water over his skin.
Steam rises in the air around them, but compared to his rapidly rising
temperature, the showers are lukewarm at best. White spots pop in front of his
eyes and his mouth is bone dry, but Scott holds him still under the spray,
keeps strong arms around his waist to anchor him. He ruts back on Scott’s hips,
searching for something to fill the throbbing emptiness that’s carved out a
space inside his body, churning in his gut and stealing breath from his lungs.
Even with the comfort of water streaming down his front and Scott flush against
his back, Stiles aches with the heat, feels half-crazed with the need to come.
“Can’t - please, Scott, I can’t -”
“Hush, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Scott soothes, petting his sides with easy
hands. “I’ve got you. Can you spread your legs for me? That’s it, good, Stiles.
You’re so good.” Scott’s agile fingers find his hole easily, rubbing around the
sweet-slick pucker of it in gentle circles.
“Still so tight, baby,” Scott sighs against his neck, mouthing at the skin.
He’s just tall enough to reach there, to rub his nose up the shell of Stiles’
ear and place gentle kisses at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Stiles
settles back into him, pushing against Scott’s fingers in needy little thrusts,
but his cunt stays tightly closed, barring his alpha entrance.
“Just… just,” he gasps, trying to force Scott’s fingers in. “Just push. Please,
come on, just push.”
“No,” Scott pulls away, steadying him with one hand. “It’ll hurt. You’re too
tense, too tight. Have to let me -”
“Just do it, Scott, it doesn’t matter. I need you to-”
“What you need is to trust me.” The low growl of Scott’s voice makes his cunt
ache, his cock twitch. He almost sobs when Scott turns the water off, leaving
him nothing to distract from the build-up of heat. “Come on, baby. Come with
me. I’ve got you, don’t worry. I’ll be inside you soon.”
Scott half-leads, half-carries him to the benches that line the locker room. He
fusses for a moment, laying down towels for Stiles to rest on, but the terry
cloth rubs at his skin, makes him itch. It takes seconds for him to push the
towels down, balling them up under his hips and letting his chest rest on the
cool wooden slats.
“Please, please,” he whines, ass lifted high and thighs tensed where he
straddles the bench.
“I’ve got you baby,” is all Scott says, the only warning he gets before the
sharp heat of Scott’s mouth covers his hole. Scott laps at him, makes him keen
and writhe against the bench, spine arching as he tries to push back, to get
more from his alpha. The stress of the heat coming on so quickly has his body
locked up tight, not open and leaking like he normally is. The soothing circles
of Scott’s tongue and fingertips ease him down, though, convince his muscles to
tremble and loosen. Slick trickles out of him every time Scott pulls back, and
his alpha’s delighted groaning makes Stiles’ breath catch in his throat.
“Taste so good, Stiles,” Scott moans against his cunt. Stiles can feel himself
relaxing, sliding open under the press of Scott’s fingers, until the tip of one
slips in. The breach feels enormous. He sinks to the bench, head spinning and
mouth agape, and Scott wiggles his finger further in, laps around it with
kitten licks. “So wonderful for me, always so good and sweet,” Scott croons,
rubbing his cheek against the flesh of Stiles’ ass, and Stiles can’t help the
giddy laugh that bubbles up out of his chest.
“You’re nuts,” he pants, shaking his head as Scott works another finger inside
his body, slow and careful. Scott sucks a kiss against his ass, hard enough to
bruise, and Stiles rolls his hips to dislodge that mouth. “Scott, please.”
“I love it when you’re like this,” Scott confesses, setting teeth against the
slope of his lower back. The little lisp he gets when he talks around his fangs
makes Stiles grin, flush rising up his chest. “I love when you need me like
this. You’re smart, and strong, and I love that too, but this... no one will
ever be as beautiful as you are when you need me.”
“I always need you,” Stiles sighs, forehead pressing into the wood as he ruts
back against Scott’s fingers. The slick slides down his thighs, pulsing out of
his cunt with every thrust of Scott’s hand. It sticks to him, thick and
aromatic, until Scott licks it from his skin, whimpering with every taste. A
third finger slides in, followed closely by a fourth, until Stiles is pliant
and open, his hole soft and accepting. “Please fuck me, Scott, please, I - I
need you, I need it, please just -”
“I have what you need.” Scott bites him just at the curve of his hip, spreading
his fingers out in a rough stretch. The sharp sting of it lights Stiles up, a
bonfire in his belly. His eyelids slam shut, heat-heavy and exhausted, even as
he begs for more. The words fall out of his mouth before he can stop them, an
endless litany of “please” and “need” and “alpha.”
When Scott bottoms out inside of him, cock buried to the hilt in one smooth
thrust, Stiles’ body sings. He arches back for it, aching for the slick, heavy
feeling of Scott’s hips against his ass, grinding and thrusting like they were
made for this. Like Scott was made for him.
“So hot, baby,” Scott sighs, curving his body over Stiles’. His chest is flush
against Stiles’ back, a mirror of their position in the showers, but it is so
much better now, with Scott inside of him.
“Fuck me, alpha,” Stiles grits back, rolling his hips up to encourage Scott’s
thrusts. They are deep and slow, Scott’s cock dragging against his insides,
filling up that empty space. The head nudges against his prostate on every
hard, perfect push, making him whimper. The crest of heat overwhelms him before
he can even wriggle a hand under his body. He clenches hard, forcing Scott to
knot before he’s ready, body begging for the tie. “Mate me, Scott. Come on,
alpha. Mate me.”
“Stiles,” Scott sobs, setting his teeth against Stiles’ neck, at the place
where the gland will surface. He collapses on top of Stiles, scenting and
nuzzling him gently while the knot ties them together. The heat recedes
momentarily, clearing Stiles’ head as well as his nose.
“Are you sure I smell right, Scotty?” he asks, half-asleep on the hard locker
room bench.
Scott grunts and nips at his ear. “Smell perfect. Now hush.”
 
End Notes

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