Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/426092.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Scott_McCall/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Scott_McCall, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, Pheromones, Frottage, First_Time, Community:
      teenwolfkink, Cute
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-06-06 Completed: 2012-06-11 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 1536
****** Stiles Thinks He's Going To Die (but the werewolf is just horny) ******
by myriadofnothing
Summary
     Stiles is handcuffed to a radiator, stuck in the bedroom of an
     impulsive werewolf on the night of a full moon.
Notes
     For the prompt:
     In e08s01 Stiles chains Scott to the radiator right? What if Stiles
     didn't manage to? Scott/Stiles dubcon please!
***** Setting the Scene *****
Stiles is handcuffed to a radiator, stuck in the bedroom of an impulsive
werewolf on the night of a full moon. Scott is three paces away, sitting on his
bed. They've been silent for about half an hour, after a shouting match about
Lydia.
This is not what he planned when he bought the damn cuffs. It was juvenile to
try to surprise Scott and cuff him to the radiator, but it would've been really
satisfying. And Scott hasn't been acting real mature lately, either.
"You're right," Scott says out of nowhere, "I can smell desire.” He pauses.
From the floor, Stiles makes an obnoxious face as if to say 'so what?' and
they're silent for another minute.
“I smell it on you." Scott swoops in, crouching over him. His eyes are lit
yellow with his coming change.
“Gah!” Stiles yelps. He jerks back and clocks his head on the edge of the
radiator.
"Mostly I smell fear." He leans his face toward Stiles' armpit. Stiles plants
his free left hand onto Scott's face and straight-arms him away.
"Of course fear!” Stiles says, ignoring the preceding comment. Scott pulls out
of reach. “I'm trapped here because you're still pissy at me, and in case
you've forgotten, you were afraid you'd kill someone during the full moon.”
Stiles puts on a contemplative face, then gestures wildly to himself.
Scott continues, heedless. "But underneath the fear..." He dodges Stiles'
blocking arm and shoves himself into the other armpit. It's the arm chained to
the floor pipes so Stiles can't pin it to his side to protect himself. Stiles
wriggles like it tickles.
"Seriously, let me out of HERE-" he yelps and wiggles and pushes away to no
avail. "You can be mad at me AH STOP tomorrow!"
Scott's head drifts away. Stiles quickly jams a protective fist into his
armpit. "You like being tied up?" Scott asks softly, as if it is a genuine
question. He splays a gentle hand to Stiles' ribs and continues scenting down
his belly.
"Scott, you're being a creeper," Stiles says, voice wavering.
Scott presses his face to the join of his thigh and groin. Stiles' knee jerks
up and the angle is too awkward to connect, but he plants his sneaker firmly on
Scott's pectoral and kicks, letting the wall behind brace his shoulders. Scott
sprawls on his back with a grunt and slides on the wood floor.
Stiles gets his feet under him in a crouch and casts around desperately. Within
reach is Scott's lacrosse stick, but it's a woefully inadequate defensive
weapon. He grabs it anyway. “Scott, what are you doing?” he says frantically,
almost shouting. “Are you turning?”
Scott rises, shoulders hunched. He's not fully turned, but his mouth hangs open
like he's forgotten he has jaw muscles, and his fangs are showing. The ivory
shines in the moonlight, slick with a sheen of thick saliva. His eyes are
yellow and vacant. Stiles thinks he can hear a low growling.
"Scott, no no no. Don't wolf now, first let me out of these." He tugs
illustratively with his wrist. "Then, I'll get the hell out of here.  Then
you-" Scott stalks slowly, dramatically toward him. Stiles' voice rises in
pitch. "Sorry I tried to cuff you! Not cool of me! You're definitely in your
rights to cuff me back. But we have to take a rain-check on that- oh god."
Scott passes through a shadow, and when he emerges he has mutton chops and
twisted features. "Don't kill me I'm your friend, Stiles! Stiles? Remember me?"
Scott looms closer. He whiffs the lacrosse stick back and forth twice before
Scott simply pulls it away and tosses it. Stiles turtles up and squeezes his
eyelids shut. In a moment, he feels Scott's claws grope along his right hand
and pull strongly on the binding metal. There is a grating sound, a pop, and a
sudden jerk on the cuffs. Stiles flinches. But... he isn't hurt? Hands under
his armpits pull him upright. Without warning, his legs are swept out and he
shrieks embarrassingly. Scott hoists Stiles in his arms like a damsel bride,
whirling them around and rolling them both onto the bed.
Nothing happens for three breaths. Stiles' brain starts to whirr again. He
opens his eyes cautiously. He's not dead? He can see the ceiling, the moonlit
window, and down the length of his teenage werewolf friend's backside, lying on
top of him. Scott's shoulders and chest roll with his breathing. He can feel a
second heart beat against his own chest. He says, as soothingly as he can
manage with his voice cracking, "Hey yeah, let's get that heart rate down, good
idea.” He gingerly strokes Scott's back, half broken handcuffs dragging from
one wrist.
He says words before he thinks about them. "Hush little wolfie don't say a
word, daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird." Stiles' voice breaks to a whisper
and back while he recites the lullaby, lungs constricted by Scott's athletic
weight. "If that mockingbird don't sing..."
Scott snuggles his whole body more comfortably into Stiles and turns his face
to breathe on his neck and ear. Stiles continues, and wonders if this is
actually the weirdest fucking thing he's ever done. He imagines ten years in
the future telling the story. He's drunk at a werewolf dinner party, sloshing
his wine around as he gestures, with Scott blushing across the table. The punch
line is And I still had the handcuffs on!Helpless laughter erupts. Everyone
thinks he is dashing and charismatic and brilliant.
"It smells good," Scott says nonsensically, and Stiles surfaces from his
reverie. He strains his eyeballs to the side and can just see Scott's ear and
cheek. His clean-shaven cheek, and round, human ears.
"Hi, you're back?"
***** Payoff *****
“Hi, you're back?”
Scott mumbles something between Stiles' neck and the bed.
“Say again.”
Scott growls agreeably and squeezes him.
“So you're good to get off me?” Stiles cautiously nudges him with his
fingertips. “Off?” He levers Scott to the left and wiggles right. The movement
brings an embarrassing revelation: he's half hard from the hot-best-friend
cuddling. He flushes and tries harder to pry Scott's slack weight off him, but
Scott follows and pulls him back under with a whine.
“Um.” Stiles looks around, although nothing in the bedroom volunteers to help.
Scott continues to snuggle against him. Actually, no, that's not snuggling. His
dinner party story is no longer family friendly. He can feel Scott's dick
taking shape against his thigh.
“Scott?” he queries, tone distressed. He pulls sideways enough to see Scott's
face. He is partially burrowed into the bedspread, eyes closed and and drooling
a bit around the fangs. A pink blush traces his cheekbone. It's a bit adorable.
Scott flexes his hips and groans deliciously, and that's so unfair. Stiles'
dick twitches and pulses to a full fledged erection. Warmth shudders through
him. There's really a guy on top of him, holding him still, lethargically
rubbing his whole body against him.
Distracted by his dick, the sensation of Scott licking the side of his neck
only gradually comes to his attention. His tongue is warm and soft and sort of
gross and a turn on at the same time. Stiles groans helplessly. He tentatively
puts his hands under Scott's shirt to grab his bare sides.
“Scott?” he gasps again, though doubtful of a response.
Scott grumbles to him. It takes Stiles a moment to decipher, “'S good.”
Stiles' laugh is strangled and breathy. “Yeah... but completely awkward
tomorrow.”
Scott lifts his head, eyes unfocused, and licks Stiles across the face. Stiles
grimaces and forgives him, putting hands on his hair and neck to show Scott
toward his mouth. Wolf-addled Scott is a terrible kisser, licking sloppily into
him and nicking him with fangs.
Stiles squeezes his eyelids together, and for three seconds tries hard not to
want to, but just wants it more... he moans when he gives in and spreads his
legs, shifting and shoving with his thighs to get Scott pressing between them.
Unmindful, Scott continues his slow grind and off-target mouthing. Stiles moans
again, tipping his hips up and wrapping his legs around Scott's ass.
“Oh fuck oh fuck,” he says the same time he thinks it, like there's no longer
any difference from his inner monologue and reality. A wave of heat floods
through him and he knows his orgasm is gathering for impending release. He
writhes, fucking upward and pulling Scott down with clutching legs. His hands
tighten in Scott's hair and Scott whines.
“Oh god,” Stiles keens and comes, slicking the inside of his boxers.
He hugs Scott tightly in the aftermath, like he's not going to get to hug him
again, which is probably true. He wants to press a kiss to Scott's flushed
cheek, so he does. Then he wriggles and rolls over. Scott flails after, trying
to keep his human hump target still.
“Jesus settle down.” Stiles reaches for a pillow and gets comfortable on his
side, Scott plastering himself up behind. Maybe it isn't the best position to
wait out the moon, because he can totally feel Scott's dick against his ass.
On second thought, maybe it is.
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