Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/821308.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Deucalion/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Deucalion_(Teen_Wolf), Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Smut, Rimming, Deepthroating, blind!Deucalion, This_is_not_what_you're
      meant_to_use_a_desk_for_Deucalion, Teacher-Student_Relationship, kind_of,
      PWP
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-28 Words: 2002
****** down to catch my breath and then ******
by thatfire
Summary
     Stiles isn't stupid, he knows he shouldn't be near Deucalion, let
     alone speak to him, but there's something about him that draws Stiles
     in, that makes him want to talk and talk and ask all the questions he
     hasn't allowed himself to ask anyone else.
     - Or -
     The one where Stiles knows he should stay away from Deucalion, but
     instead finds himself in an interesting position on a desk.
Notes
     I wrote this for Viola on tumblr, because she's lovely and Deucalion
     is killing us slowly.
     It's also a little get ready kind of fic for my Deucalion/Peter/
     Stiles fic i'm planning on writing :3
The corridor's empty apart from the sound of light footsteps and Stiles' own
breathing.
He doesn't bother turning around when the steps stop behind him, carries on
filtering around in his locker instead, and almost hits his head on the top
when the person finally speaks.
"You shouldn't be wandering around out here all alone, Stiles."
Stiles doesn't need to turn around to recognize the voice, smooth and rolling
off a cunning tongue, but he does anyway, closing his locker on the way and
shifting his bag on his shoulders.
"Because a big monster might come and get me?" He says, and doesn't miss the
curve of a smirk on Deucalion's mouth.
"There is that," He concedes. "You never know when one might... Bite."
Stiles snorts and tries to ignore the way his arms pebble with goosebumps, and
the pool of... something low in his belly.
 
Stiles isn't stupid, he knows he shouldn't be near Deucalion, let alone speak
to him, but there's something about him that draws Stiles in, that makes him
want to talk and talk and ask all the questions he hasn't allowed himself to
ask anyone else.
When he'd found out that Deucalion would be teaching at the school, he'd been
ready to put a wolfsbane bullet between his eyes and hand him to the Argents...
And then he'd heard him speak, the way the words roll off his tongue and the
confidence in his shoulders, the barely concealed intelligence, and Stiles had
been drawn to him like a mouth to a flame despite the big red warning sign.
 
"What are you doing here so late anyway?" Deucalion says, turning and walking
away, and Stiles assumes he's meant to follow, grapples with his locker key and
hurries after him. He briefly wonders why, he's willingly following an Alpha
werewolf who probably wouldn't mind if he and all his friends dropped dead the
next morning, but Deucalion's already entered his classroom, his white cane
tapping in front of him on his way to his desk.
"Detention with Harris." Stiles finally replies, and Deucalion laughs.
"Again, Stiles?" His name dripping of his tongue, and Stiles goes to reply, he
does, but the next moment Deucalion removes his jacket, shirt riding up just
enough that Stiles can see the dark trail of hair following the 'V' of his hips
and below his trousers, and his mouth drops open, an almost strangled sound
escaping his throat before he can muffle it.
 
Stiles wouldn't mind if the floor would crack open and swallow him whole,
because he knows this is wrong, so so wrong, and he's tried to ignore it, tried
to ignore how he'd wake up in the middle of the night, stomach sticky and his
cock aching with Deucalion's name bitter on his lips. He's tried to ignore the
way Deucalion would walk a little too close and how he'd lean in to speak into
his ear, the 'accidental' brushes when he'd pass Stiles' desk.
It's not love though, he doesn't even particularly like him, but there's want
that won't go away no matter how hard he tries.
 
Stiles blinks a few times, turns his head away and closes his eyes, ignores the
thudding of his heart in his chest even though he's sure Deucalion's already
heard it.
When he turns back, sure enough Deucalion has a smirk on his face, and his head
is tilted to the side like he's listening for anymore embarrassing noises
Stiles can make.
He's about to make some lame excuse and leave, but Deucalion steps closer,
close enough that Stiles can feel his breath on his upper lip, and then there's
hands on his jaw and thumbs digging slightly to the hinge, his mouth opening
slightly with a soft noise.
Deucalion runs his index finger across Stiles' bottom lip, makes what Stiles
can only describe as a rumble low in his throat, before he's biting and nipping
into his mouth, teeth sharp and tongue wet and Stiles is frozen for what seems
like hours until there's a sharp bite at the corner of his mouth and he gasps,
hands scrabbling at Deucalion's shirt before getting a grip, a moan caught on
his teeth.
 
Stiles isn't sure how it happens, but he finds himself sat on the desk,
Deucalion between his spread thighs, and they're biting and licking into each
others mouths, tongues slick with spit, and Stiles is pretty sure his lips will
be permanently bruised red, but it's good, sogood.
Deucalion moves to his neck, and Stiles' breath shatters in his chest.
He thinks that he should object, try to push him away, or scream and fight,
instead tilts his head to the side, and runs his hands down Deucalion's back
until he reaches the waistband of his trousers.
"I want to-" He's cut off when there's a sharp bite at the tendon on his neck,
his fingers spazam and he has to swallow roughly before he tries again, "I-
I want to suck your cock, would you let me?"
There's a pauses and Stiles holds his breath.
"That mouth Stiles," Deucalion says finally, voice rough and low, "Is going to
get you in a lot of trouble one day."
But he doesn't stop Stiles from sliding off the desk, or swapping their
positions, until Deucalion's leaning against it, and Stiles is knelt between
his legs, hands shaking slightly and lips dry as he undoes his belt and pulls
down the zip.
Stiles swallows roughly, and Deucalion thumbs at his mouth, before his fingers
slip further back until they can finger the curls at his nape, and Stiles'
breath slows, grips trousers and pants and pulls.
 
Deucalion's cock is long and thick and flushed dark red at the top, and Stiles'
has to lick his lips a few times before he leans forward to tongue at the head.
He's thought about it before, what it would feel like to have the heavy weight
of a cock in his mouth and the bitter taste of pre-come in his throat, and if
he'd liked to be gagged and used or if he'd like to tease and take his time,
but he finds the reality is so much better.
There's a strong grip on his neck, not pushing or forcing, but there, and
fingers soothing down his hair. Deucalion's cock feels heavy and hot, and
there's an almost bitter salt taste in his mouth, and he doesn't even try to
stop the moan that escapes him as he mouths at the vein and bobs up and down
the length.
Stiles leans back to catch his breath, flicks his eyes up and sees the
sharpness of Deucalion's teeth between his lips, grips and squeezes the base of
his cock and revels in the slip of noise he gets and scrape of nails on his
neck.
"I'd let you." Stiles says, his voice is wrecked but he grins, and doesn't say
anymore.
Deucalion seems to get it though, he knew he would, because there's hands
cupping his cheeks and pushing is mouth open until he can fit his cock back
inside and Stiles has to swallow a few times, throat bobbing and then
Deucalion's pushing forward, hips leaving the desk.
Stiles moans, long and low and swallows several times around the cock in his
mouth, can feel spit slicking his chin and dampness at the corners of his eyes
and has to push the heel of his hand onto the bulge at the front of his own
trousers, feels the damp material, and his eyelashes flutter on his cheeks.
Deucalion pulls back enough for Stiles to take in a deep gulp of air before
moving back, and Stiles lifts his hands, fits them around Deucalion's hips and
encourages him to thrust, even as he tries to tongue at the cock already in his
mouth as he moans.
He thinks he's going to come like this, come on his tongue and throat raw, but
then the hands on his head are pulling him back and he can't help the whine
that escapes him as the cock slips from his mouth and he's pulled up.
"You'd let me come in your mouth, wouldn't you Stiles?" Deucalion asks, and
Stiles can tell he knows the answer already, but he nods anyway, tongues at the
corners of his mouth.
"You'd let me fuck you as well, bend you over the desk, and fuck you until you
scream." He says, hands unbuckling Stiles' trousers and pushing them down along
with his boxers.
"Yes," Stiles' voice cracks on the 'e', and he's almost mortified to hear how
raw, how needy he sounds, but then there's a tight hand on his cock and lips on
his again and he stops thinking.
Deucalion shifts them after a few moments, guides him until his hands are
gripping the opposite corners of the desk and for a moment Stiles thinks that
he is going to be fucked over the desk, but he feels nothing but cool air.
 
Stiles' whole body flinches when there's suddenly hot air and a slick tongue on
how hole.
"What-" He tries, but get's a sharp bite on his left cheek before the tongue's
back on his hole, licking around the rim and nipping at the sensitive flesh.
"Oh my God, you're- oh fuck." Stiles babbles, head thunking onto the desk. He's
read about this, watched this, but he's never thought it'd feel this good.
There's a hand gripping his hip and keeping him steady, sharp almost claws
digging in the skin and Stiles' knows there's going to be bruises but can't
bring himself to care, not when Deucalion's slipped the tip of his tongue into
him, when there's slick messy wet sounds echoing through the room.
Stiles is whining low in his throat, and he can foggily hear the sounds of skin
on skin, realises that Deucalion's got a hand on his own cock, and has to slam
his eyes shut, breath stuttering.
"Can I- Can I touch myself?" He asks, his hand already reaching down between
his stomach and the desk, and he thinks he's going to scream if he's told no,
but Deucalion just hums low in his throat, carries on licking and tonguing his
hole.
Stiles is too far gone to drag it out, to make himself last longer and he can't
bring himself to be embarrassed, instead grips his cock and pulls as fast as he
can take. He's sure the grip would be too tight any other time, but he doesn't
care, thumbs at the head and spreads pre-come down his length, tries to thrust
his hips back, get closer to the warm wetness even as he tries to thrust into
his hand.
"I'm so close, just need- oh fuck, please, Deucalion."
Deucalion groans, and the hand that was holding his hip leaves, and Stiles
rocks a few times and then there's a slick finger at his hole and a tongue at
the rim, his whole body rocking forward when his prostate is caught.
"Oh-" Stiles manages to gasp, before he's coming, cock pulsing in his hand, and
body pulled taught before he collapses, panting and breathless on the desk.
 
There's a brief moment of silence, before Stiles can hear the sound of rustling
fabric, and shuffling, cold air on his back where his shirts been pushed up
before he feels something slick on his lower back.
It takes his fogged brain a little while to catch up, but when it does he
twists around, tries to see his back, before turning narrowed eyes to
Deucalion's smug face.
"Did you just come on me?" He hisses.
"Maybe next time I'll fuck you." Deucalion says instead, voice controlled and
normal, the only thing giving him away is the redness and wetness of his lips,
before feeling his way around the desk.
Stiles blinks a few times, lifts his eyes from where they'd be staring at
Deucalion's lips, thinking of where they'd been,and realises what he just said.
 
"You asshole!"  
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