Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1475950.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Dubious_Consent, Oral_Sex, Underage
      Sex, Dirty_Talk, Masturbation, Shower_Sex, Rimming, Fingering,
      bottom!Derek
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-04-16 Words: 2504
****** Wolfsbabe Bullet ******
by Besin
Summary
     When new hunters come to town, Derek finds himself on the receiving
     end of multiple raids. But there's something strange about the
     bullets they're using -- it's not the usual strain of wolfsbane, it
     seems. And it has some... odd effects. In an attempt to find out
     which strain it is, he goes to Stiles' house, only for the first
     symptom to take effect.
Notes
     It's all Holycon and her autocorrect's fault. We were chatting about
     Teen Wolf, “wolfs babe” happened, and then I had a summary INSTANTLY
     and... here we are now.
See the end of the work for more notes
When the new hunters had arrived in town, Derek hadn't expected to have to put
up with their shit right off the bat. He thought it would take them at least
two weeks to figure out where the local pack had holed up, and then they would
realize the pack literally didn't do anything and leave. Something he hadn't
counted on was a group of hunters that didn't follow the code.
And to find them in his living room.
And get shot.
Multiple times.
In his living room.
It hadn't taken long to dispatch the hunters. They were young, and not properly
trained going by how many of them couldn't hit something that was nailed to the
floor. Trigger shy, the lot of them. He'd call them wet behind the ears, but
going by their aim they hadn't known to wash in the first place. So when
everything was said and done Derek made his way to Scott's house. Melissa would
pull the bullets out for him without question, even if Raphael would give him
odd looks.
Except Melissa wasn't there.
And neither was Scott.
The next stop was Chris Argent's.
The man was apparently out of town on a business meeting.
As a last resort, he made his way to the Sheriff's house. Derek allowed himself
to hope the man wasn't on patrol, and that he'd be able to get the bullets out
without too much talking involved.
Much to Derek's displeasure, he had just left for an overnight shift and the
first words out of Stiles' mouth were, “Can't Deaton help you with this?”
The werewolf had stared him down for a long moment when they first arrived in
his hands, not quite trusting Stiles with the small tweezers clutched between
his fingers. They had moved the party into Stiles' bathroom.
“I don't trust him,” Derek ground out, seemingly sweating with the effort of
speaking. “Besides, he's at a witch convention.” He took a sharp breath before
blowing it shakily out his nose, which whistled lightly. “In Denver.”
“Oh. Well that's, uh. Yeah.” He frowned, pulling out the last of the bullets.
“Hey, these are filled with wolfsbane, right? Shouldn't you be, like, dead by
now or something?” He set the tweezers down, swallowing heavily and turning
away from the mess.
“I think they're using a different type of wolfsbane. They didn't act like
seasoned hunters. There's a good chance they haven't learned the varying
effects of species.”
“Varying effects? Like what could this one do?”
“It depends. One type can make us blind, another could send us on a killing
spree. There's also the kind that acts something like extensive mercury
poisoning.”
Stiles grinned. “So, technically speaking, I could turn you into the Mad
Hatter.”
Derek glared.
“Right. Dropping that line of thought.”
“You better.”
Stiles sighed. “So, we need to figure out what kind this is, right? Would it be
in the Argent's bestiary or something? Like, and extension for plants?”
Derek nodded slowly. “May...” He trailed off. Without warning, the man jumped
in the shower and slid the curtain closed before the shower turned on.
The boy frowned. “What are you doing?”
“I just – I know what kind it is. I need a moment. I'll be fine, soon.”
“Are you sure you'll-”
“Leave me alone, Stiles,” Derek demanded, voice echoing off the tile. “The
effects will wear off soon.”
Stiles groaned. “First off, dude, it's my bathroom. Secondly, you're not even –
I can't help you with getting over whatever is going on if you don't tell me
what the symptoms are.”
There was a heavy inhale, then the shifting of wet clothes. “Just give me ten
minutes, okay?”
The boy gaped, but raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, I'll let you shower in
peace. Just don't use all the hot water, okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. Just get out.”
“Jesus Christ, I'm going.” Stepped away from the shower curtain, Stiles
stumbled out the door and into his room, only to pause at the zip of a zipper.
Then again, at the slow slapping of water. He frowned, stepped back over to the
bathroom door. “Are you masturbating in my shower?” the boy demanded quietly,
disbelief saturating his tone.
The sounds stopped.
Stiles gagged. “Dude, gross! The last thing I want is werewolf splooge all
over, okay? What if Scott has to use my bathroom and smells it? What if I smell
it? What if it's freaking radioactive or something? Just – don't jerk off in my
shower, okay? Just stop. Stop right now.”
“I need to get this out of my system,” Derek insisted. “Or it will burn me from
the inside out.”
The teen frowned. “Jesus Christ – was it like an aphrodisiac or something?”
“No,” the man hissed. “It's more like... a stimulant. It doesn't get us riled
up; it only increases blood flow to certain areas of the body. It's easiest to
reduce the poison to blood count by the expulsion of body fluids.”
Stiles made a face. “So it's werewolf Viagra?”
“Yes, Stiles,” Derek drawled angrily. “It's werewolf Viagra.”
The boy laughed. “You know, I've always been curious what giving a blowjob
feels like.”
Derek choked. “What?”
“Just so you know, it's on the table.”
Stiles made to leave the room, but suddenly the shower curtain was thrown aside
and a very, very reluctant Derek stood there, sopping wet, with the purplest
boner the boy had ever seen.
“We should have a safe word,” Derek suggested quietly. “Just in case.”
Taken aback, Stiles big back a laugh and nodded, curiosity getting the best of
him. “Sure. Yeah. Mine'll be...” He cleared his throat, eyes landing on the
bright pattern across the shower curtain. “Mine will be 'pineapple.' You?”
The werewolf glanced to his side, eyes lighting on the sink. “Dish soap.”
“Then let's get this party started.” Stiles tugged at the collar of his shirt,
pulling it over his head in one go before working at his pants. Those were
shucked off – along with his socks – before he joined Derek in the shower in
nothing but his boxer shorts.
Derek, who'd removed his own clothes, shifted carefully from foot to foot as
Stiles settled onto his knees. “Remember your safe word.”
“Yeah, pineapple. And yours is dish soap,” the boy repeated easily before
leaning forward. Instead of going for any kind of foreplay he just wrapped his
mouth around the tip of Derek's dick and sucked.
Derek gasped, hands shooting out to grab at the sides of the shower as his
knees went weak. “Gah,” he whined, teeth coming down hard on his lip as he
clenched his eyes shut. “F... fuck.”
Adjusting his knees against the slip guard, Stiles glanced up at his charge
beneath eyelids half-shuttered against the spray. He watched the werewolf's
expression carefully, gauging for reactions as he ran his fingers under the
man's low-hanging balls, massaging them lightly. This earned a series of
rabbitty, uncontrolled thrusts from Derek before the man could restrain
himself. The boy dragged his mouth away, sliding down and off the werewolf's
cock with a wet, obscene pop. “You want me to do that again?” he asked,
“Shit, don't talk to me right now,” Derek groaned, expression breaking into
despair. “This doesn't need to take any longer than it should.”
“Okay, that was mean even for you,” the boy snapped. “And if I'm gonna get you
off you need to tell me how.”
The man hissed, hand coming up to cover his face. “Fine,” he consented. “Fine,
whatever. Just try not to talk too much. And... That. Do it again, okay?”
“Okie dokie!”
Derek groaned as Stiles leaned forward, took the very tip of his dick into his
mouth, pulled the foreskin back with his right hand, and reached forward to
massage his testicles with the left. “This has got to be a new low for me,” he
mumbled piteously to himself.
Stiles laughed around his penis.
“Don't you-” Derek began, only to cut off as the boy tightened his lips around
the head and sucked him like a malted milkshake. For a long moment the werewolf
considered the possibility that he had actually died during the attack and had
been sent to a sick, twisted level of Hell.
The boy on his knees pulled away long enough to shake a little water from his
face before diving right back down. Swirling his tongue around the head of the
older man's cock, he slowly lowered his mouth as far as he could along the
shaft before he gagged. Stiles withdrew with a grimace. Then, much to Derek's
surprise, the face dropped. New determination took its place as he clamped his
lips down, flattened his tongue against the vein on the underside, and sucked.
As he did this his left hand wandered back just enough to trace the pucker of
the man's ass.
Derek's knees gave out.
As the man collapsed against the curve of the tub, Stiles pulled away and
jerked the man idly with a grin. “Need any help there, Der?”
“You're going to kill me,” the man whined, voice breaking in its attempt to
work past his throat. He swallowed heavily. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Nope.”
“Please don't try.”
“No promises, bitch.” He'd added the last bit as a sassy joke, mouth open in an
ironic grin and head jerking to the side at the end. Neither of them expected
the subsequent throb in the older man's groin, or the catch of breath in his
throat. Stiles laughed as the man froze. “And you told me not to talk.”
“Shut up.”
“You sure?” the boy asked, leaning forward with a grin. “You really sure you
want me to be quiet?”
“Shut up.”
“I don't know if I should,” Stiles continued to tease, voice wavering slightly.
His usual bravado was the only thing that kept his hands from shaking. But
Stiles could just taste the blackmail. “Are you really sure you don't want me
to call you my naughty boy, or that you've been bad, or that you should take it
like the man you're clear-ly-” Hands that had been nowhere near his head
suddenly gripped the boy's hair tight, drawing his head forward and cutting him
off in preference of shoving his mouth at the exposed dick not three inches
away. His eyebrows drew together testily, but the boy complied. Fastening his
lips over the seam of the older man's cock, tongue laving the incredibly soft
skin to clear away what precum had oozed from the slit, Stiles hollowed his
cheeks experimentally.
Derek rolled his hips with a wanton groan. Before long the boy's fingers were
back at the seam of his ass, teasing the pink pucker of his anus before
pressing carefully inwards. By the time the man knew what was going on, Stiles
had pulled away and was trailing his lips along the werewolf's body. Before
long they were flush up against each other. Stiles pressed their bodies
together with grim satisfaction, finger buried deep within Derek while his
other hand jerked the werewolf's length ruthlessly.
“You're such an asshole when I tease you about it,” Stiles whispered hotly
against the cup of werewolf's ear, teeth coming out to nibble the lobe before
retreating into a satisfied, concentrated grimace. “But your asshole is saying
something else entirely. Accepting me so willingly like this – it's strange,
isn't it? Like you were made to be a slut for my fingers.”
Derek's breath, which had been coming out in desperate pants for a while,
stopped completely as the man went still. After a short while his chest
depressed as he wheezed, “Dish soap.”
Stiles blinked. “Dish so- oh.” The boy pulled away, getting a good look at
Derek's face. His face was bright red. He looked all kinds of mortified, too,
and while it would usually give the teen a twisted sort of glee to see it, that
was not the time. “Sorry. I'll, uh... Yeah.” He pulled away, biting his lip
awkwardly.
“Thanks,” the man breathed, voice clipped.
“Was it, uh...” Stiles glanced down to the man's erection, which hadn't flagged
one bit in the entire exchange. “Was it my finger or-”
“Just try not to talk,” Derek suggested. “It's pushing my boundaries, situation
notwithstanding.”
The boy frowned. “Situation?” he asked incredulously. “What's that supposed to
mean?”
Shaking his head wearily, the werewolf didn't bother to meet the teen's eyes as
he announced just loud enough to be heard over the spray of the water, “We
shouldn't be making any more of this than it actually is. You don't need to
know anything about what gets me off other than the bare minimum. The same goes
for me to you.”
“Oh,” the boy mumbled, pulling away a bit with a sheepish grin. “Right. Sorry.
Got carried away there for a bit.”
Derek didn't want to admit how much that hurt. “Do you think this is a game?”
he hissed.
Stiles snorted. “Well yeah,” he deadpanned. “Dude, I'm not gay. How else am I
supposed to think of this?”
And wow, Derek knew he had that coming. Coming like he did when Stiles twisted
his fingers in Derek's ass without warning and abused his insides. And Derek
came. Derek came like the slut he was, gasping and jerking and crying like he
thought it would never happen. Then Stiles was cleaning them up and the older
man just felt empty. Oh, how he felt empty.
                                       …
Three days later, Derek found himself where he'd been since he'd left Stiles'
bathroom; his loft. Alone. He gasped, hand working his length at a fevered pace
as he traced the seam of his ass with a finger. Round and round his head,
Stiles' words swam.
You're such an asshole when you tease me about it.
If he thought about it really hard, it sounded like Stiles was really there.
But your asshole is saying something else entirely.
If Derek only had a recording...
Accepting me so willingly like this – it's strange, isn't it?
The memory alone was almost enough to get him off. Derek had a feeling anything
better could ruin him.
Like you were made to be a slut for my fingers.
His orgasm ripped through him at the memory, far too quick to be satisfactory.
The usual haphazard concoction of endorphins and adrenaline was nowhere to be
felt; the absent afterglow taking root in his stomach like a lead tree. He felt
dirty. Empty. Used. It didn't even feel like he'd just masturbated. It felt
like he had been spending the last five minutes giving unprotected head in a
dark alley; nothing to show for it but vague promises and a fake number.
Except he actually had Stiles' number. He'd had it for years, and that was
definitely worse. Worse because Stiles wasn't interested. Worse because Stiles
was a guy. Worse because Stiles was sixteen and that was all kinds of illegal.
Derek didn't know how he was ever going to look the boy in the eye again.
End Notes
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