Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/597672. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Rape/Non-Con, Underage Category: Multi, Other Fandom: Teen_Wolf_(TV) Relationship: Allison_Argent/Scott_McCall, Scott_McCall/Stiles_Stilinski, Allison Argent/Scott_McCall/Stiles_Stilinski, Allison_Argent/Stiles_Stilinski Character: Allison_Argent, Scott_McCall, Stiles_Stilinski Additional Tags: Sex_Pollen, Mildly_Dubious_Consent, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Fluff, Fluff_and_Smut, Happy_Ending Stats: Published: 2012-12-18 Words: 1170 ****** Weird But Not Bad ****** by moniker_(clawsandsympathy) Summary In which sex pollen is, apparently, a thing. (Entirely gratuitous OT3 first time porn.) Notes Because what can cheer up a sad Peridium better than OT3 sex pollen fic? Warned for dubcon and underage because better safe than sorry. Everybody consents as much as they can while under the influence of sex pollen. There are no explicit references to age, but in my brain, this takes place during the fall of their junior year (so Scott and Stiles are 17, Allison is just about 18). See the end of the work for more notes It’s a perfect Saturday in autumn, crisp but not too cold, and Stiles is feeling pretty alright with the world. Scott’s dragged him out on patrol in the Preserve, but Stiles can’t even complain about that. If not for Allison’s presence, it would feel almost like old times, dicking around in the woods for lack of anything better to do. They’re about halfway through their circuit through the Preserve when Scott stops short. “Guys, do you smell that?” Stiles shares a hysterical glance with Allison. “Obviously not, dude. We’re not—” Scott cuts him off by shushing him insistently. Allison’s face sobers up, and Stiles sees her slip a quiet hand in her purse, no doubt going for her miniature crossbow. Stiles slides a hand into his own pocket, taser at the ready. They stand like that for a long, tense second, until Scott snaps out of it, shaking himself all over. “Sorry, guys, I must have been imagining things.” He starts walking forward again, linking his hand with Allison’s empty one and pulling her along with him. “It’s cool,” Stiles says. “I prefer my Saturdays without any ‘go, go, Gadget crossbow’ action, personally.” Stiles finds himself captivated by the timbre of Allison’s laughter, the long line of her neck as she throws her head back. It’s not like he never noticed that Allison is, objectively, gorgeous, but she was always so firmly Scott’s that it’s never seemed relevant. Now, though, he finds himself unfamiliarly jealous of Scott, who seems to have found himself similarly captivated, but, being Allison’s un-boyfriend, is in a much better position to do something about it. Stiles politely averts his eyes and takes a few steps away, but there’s nothing he can do about the soft, wet sounds of their kissing, igniting a discomfort in him he’s normally loath to examine. Normally they’re not this bad, though, and as he pointedly studies the treeline, he can’t help remarking, “That’s the kind of action I’d like my Saturdays to have.” He feels overly warm despite the mild fall day, and even more fidgety than normal—all he wants is to finish this circuit, go home, beat off and take a nap. He hears a rustling noise and looks back over. Instead of seeing Scott and Allison standing a few feet apart, shamefaced as usual after their PDA reaches extreme heights, he sees Scott pinning Allison against a tree. Stiles knows he should be scandalized, outraged, possibly executing the patented Stiles Stilinski Full-Body Flail (TM). But all he feels is turned on like he’s never been in his life, arousal churning low in his stomach, nerves sparking under his skin. His jeans rub against his hard dick with every step and that’s when he realizes he’s walking toward Scott and Allison. He stops short. “Scott. Allison. Guys. Something’s not right here. Right?” His voice sounds distant and unfamiliar. Scott and Allison break apart, finally, and turn to look at him. “I don’t care,” Scott says. He’s breathing hard. There’s a smear of Allison’s lip gloss at the corner of his mouth. Stiles wants to lick it off. “Stiles, come here,” Allison urges, sounding absolutely wrecked. He steps forward, within arm’s reach. “This is weird.” “Like you haven’t thought about it before.” Scott is smirking, but his eyes are intense. At his words, Stiles feels a flash of outrage. Stiles and Scott have an agreement about embarrassing information revealed under the influence of alcohol, and Scott is in clear violation. The only rejoinder Stiles can muster is an aggrieved, “Dude!” Scott smiles for real though, the small, sweet one Stiles has only ever seen directed at Allison. “I’ve thought about it, too.” At Scott’s admission, the last of Stiles’ doubts evaporate. He looks at Allison, grinning at him slyly. She bites her lip and inclines her head toward Scott. Stiles reaches out a shaking hand, guiding Scott’s face to his and pressing their lips together. Scott opens his mouth under Stiles’ almost immediately, letting go of Allison with one hand to grip Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles lets his hand slide from the side of Scott’s face down his neck, then follows with his mouth. Pretty much all he wants in life is to kiss Scott’s neck and grind up against his leg forever—at least until Allison tugs on his free hand insistently, pulling it to her breast and holy shit pressing down on his fingers until she moans. Stiles pulls away from Scott’s neck, panting, and Allison leans up to kiss him, snaking one hand up his shirt to rub soothingly up and down his back. He doesn’t realize she’s also trying to get his shirt off until she pulls back and Scott pulls up on it insistently—Stiles raises his arms, momentarily blinded by the fabric. Scott flings his shirt somewhere into the middle distance, and it’s only in admiring the cut of Scott’s arms and chest that he realizes Scott has ditched his own shirt and cleverly maneuvered Stiles to be in between himself and Allison. “You’re too good at this,” he mutters, voice breaking on the last word as he grinds back against Scott. Scott presses hot kisses to the nape of Stiles’ neck, which he legitimately never knew was an erogenous zone, as Allison guides him back into another kiss. He puts his hand on her waist and she whimpers, pulling back just enough to whisper against his face, “Stiles—I need—” and then she’s pulling his hand down between her legs, pulling her skirt out of the way to where Scott evidently used his claws to rip her tights open while Stiles was staring into space trying to be respectful, goddamn. Stiles rubs at her clit, clumsy and desperate, as she grabs at his biceps and pants into his neck. Scott keeps grinding against Stiles, whispering encouragement in his ear, “Yeah, that’s how she likes it, now a little harder, a little faster, yeah, Stiles, yeah,” until Allison cries out, shaking. “Did you—did she—” Stiles can't quite make words happen, but Allison knows what he's asking, murmurs a not-quite-verbal assent. Between the knowledge that he just gave another (extremely attractive!) human being an orgasm, combined with Scott’s hand snaking around his waist to finally grip his dick through his jeans, Stiles loses it. Scott comes moments later with a muffled grunt. The three of them sink to the ground, dazed. Stiles is the first to regain his senses, naturally. “So... that just happened.” “Do you think it had anything to do with what Scott smelled? Or thought he smelled?” Allison asks, looking up at Stiles from where her head is resting on his shoulder. “I’m positive. We should probably ask Derek about it. But maybe not until tomorrow. That was, like, weird but not bad, right?” Stiles asks, getting more nervous now that whatever it is is wearing off. Allison just smiles up at him. “Weird but not bad for me, anyway. What about you, Scott?” Scott lets out a snore in response. End Notes If you'd like to find me on Tumblr, I'm clawsandsympathy. Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!