Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/566563.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, Sex_Pollen, Knotting
  Collections:
      Kink_Bingo_2012_(Round_Five)
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-11-18 Words: 2800
****** to front only the essential facts of life ******
by becka
Summary
     Stiles can't even go for a walk in the woods without encountering
     supernatural bullshit. Derek does what the situation calls for.
     Nobody's super happy about it. Features unexplained sex pollen (and
     consent issues stemming from it), porn, random knotting, and awkward
     conversation. Title from Walden, although I don't think Thoreau ever
     had this problem.
Notes
     I started this for affectingly while I was drunk at Wincon, and I
     hope editing has made it more coherent, at least a little, because I
     love Amber a lot and I want her to have nice things. Many thanks to
     jrho for checking out my grammar. Also fulfills the "Drugs/
     aphrodisiacs" square on my kink_bingo card.
So this one time, there was this weird plant in the woods, and as soon as
Stiles got close to it, it spurted weird dusty, glittery stuff all over him.
And then—seriously, fuck his life—suddenly all he wanted was a cock in his ass.
And that was a little difficult to get in the middle of a nature preserve. He
was pretty sure that Scott would have helped a brother out if asked because a.
Stiles was his BFF and b. Stiles had a pretty nice ass. But Scott was in
Seattle with his mom for some family thing, which was way farther than he could
be expected to travel just because Stiles needed cock.
Stiles looked up from the forest floor as a shadow passed over him, and Derek
was standing right there. Of course he was, scowling as per usual but also
definitely the closest person with a dick. Stiles didn’t even have anything
witty to say to him because he was still writhing around on the ground dosed by
the weird plant thing, which had shriveled up after discharging its...
whatever. Pollen. The entire experience was the sort of stuff that had scared
Stiles shitless after he saw Little Shop of Horrors at an impressionable age,
plants that just don’t fucking act like plants.
He couldn’t control the thrusting of his hips, the trembling of his thighs. His
body was doing a whole lot of things he didn’t have any say in, and it was all
he could do to keep his legs closed. “You should maybe go,” said Stiles,
pressing a hand over his crotch and squirming pathetically. He didn’t bother to
ask how Derek got there because it sort of followed that this had to be the
most embarrassing experience possible, and Derek Hale could only make it worse.
“You need help,” said Derek, looking pretty calm considering. Which, like, fuck
him because the entire lower half of Stiles’ body basically felt like it was on
fire.
“Nope,” said Stiles. “No help. Doing just fine.” Sometime in there he had
opened the fly of his jeans without even thinking about it, and he was fondling
his dick through his boxer briefs. “Just, uh, need a moment by myself.” He
could totally handle this on his own, if he could just get a hand in his
shorts, maybe a couple of fingers in his ass, just get himself off.
“Look, that’s a,” Stiles really had no idea what the really long word Derek
said was due to the “feeling like he was on fire” thing. “You’re going to die
unless…”
“Wait, die?! Jesus Christ!” Stiles took a deep breath, forcing down panic and
still-skyrocketing arousal. Fuck every single bit of this magic supernatural
crap. “Unless somebody fucks me, right? Like a broody werewolf who might bite
my head off, literally and figuratively, halfway through?” He felt out of
breath just getting through a normal sentence, loopy and lightheaded, and Derek
was seeming like a more attractive prospect by the second. Especially compared
to actual death.
Derek scowled even more. Stiles wanted to tell him his face would freeze like
that, but it clearly already had. “Okay, so I really, really don’t want to
die,” Stiles conceded finally. “Come here.”
Derek hesitated, which was just so unfair, because Stiles could be on the verge
of the most humiliating death possible. Alone in the woods begging a werewolf
to fuck him. It would have been funny if it weren’t so awful. “Seriously,
Derek. Please.”
Derek reached down and picked Stiles up like he weighed exactly nothing,
slinging him over his shoulder. His hand rested on Stiles’ lower back, warm and
strong, and Stiles made a pathetic little noise because he really wanted Derek
touching him all of a sudden. “What are you…” he started to ask.
“Could you just not talk for once?” said Derek irritably. “I’m taking you
somewhere safer. We don’t need to be out here alone right now. Not with you
like this.”
He took Stiles to his burnt-out shell of a house, and Stiles breathed in the
old charcoal scent of the empty rooms as Derek carried him through them. It was
getting hard to think, and there were black spots dancing in his peripheral
vision. Stiles wondered if he would black out before he died, or if he would
just feel muddier and muddier until he finally stopped breathing.
Derek laid him down on a sleeping bag on the unforgiving wood floor, and Stiles
was struck by a moment’s pity because Derek actually did live here, and that
sucked. And then Derek’s hands were on Stiles’ hips pulling down his jeans, and
Stiles squirmed with dumb need, moaning into a mouthful of slick nylon. He
figured Derek would make it quick, just enough of a fuck to satisfy the stupid
plant and then done. But then Derek was parting the cheeks of his ass and
fitting his mouth over Stiles’ flexing hole, and it was dirty and hot and not
quick at all. Derek’s tongue pressed wetly into him, and Stiles had never
realized anything in the world could feel so good. He humped down into the
sleeping bag and came before he could even process what was happening. But his
dick didn’t even go down.
It was simultaneously horrible and kind of awe-inspiring lying there in a pool
of his own come and still wanting pretty much everything Derek could give him.
And Derek was giving him pretty much everything, licking at him deep and slow,
opening him up, and Stiles realized hazily that that was the point because
Derek had to get his cock in there somehow. Which was unfathomable to Stiles,
still, even when he felt split-slick and raw, with his asshole stretching
easily around the two fingers Derek fed into him. God, his stupid body was just
doing so many things he hadn’t asked it to, and how dare it feel that good to
have Derek fingering his ass.
“It’s the pollen,” Derek said, and Stiles realized he must have said some part
of that out loud. “It’ll be over soon.”
He pressed down into Stiles, holding him to the sleeping bag, cock grinding
into the wet crack of his ass. And Stiles didn’t really want it to be over, not
soon, not ever. The head of Derek’s cock rubbed over his hole, and he moaned
and squirmed some more, but he couldn’t just get it into him. And then Derek’s
hands were there, parting him, guiding him, opening him up on something so much
thicker than a finger, and Stiles couldn’t believe how good it felt. Hot and
smooth and right inside him, like his body was made for this. He clenched
around the fullness of Derek’s cock splitting him apart, felt his own cock
blurting precome onto the mess of the sleeping bag. He was going to owe Derek a
sleeping bag, for sure, in addition to his life or whatever, and he didn’t even
care. He pushed his ass back onto Derek’s cock, letting pure need do the work
for him, Derek holding nearly still as Stiles worked himself deeper.
He was whimpering and moaning and breathless with how much he needed Derek to
fuck him, actually fuck him, instead of just holding himself so still in
Stiles’ ass like some kind of crazy sex toy. It was as though he figured if he
just let Stiles fuck himself, Derek wouldn’t bear any part of the
responsibility. That was almost fair, Stiles thought, with the part of his
brain that could even do any thinking, because this was all his fault for
getting sprayed by that stupid plant. “Please,” Stiles said through gritted
teeth. “Work with me here.”
He came a second time on Derek’s first deep thrust, which rubbed right up
against his prostate and turned his stomach to water. He wanted to cry, felt
tears prickling in the corners of his eyes because he was pretty sure nothing
in the history of the world had ever felt this good before. And then Derek
grabbed onto his hips and started fucking him harder. His cock was hard and
thick in Stiles’ ass, and it just seemed to be getting thicker, but Stiles was
so gone with pleasure he didn’t even care.
“This may hurt,” said Derek, and Stiles made a not-caring-at-all noise because
he didn’t think anything could possibly hurt right then. Except for how it was
as though Derek suddenly tried to shove a baseball up his ass.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” cried Stiles, fingers clawing at the slipper sleeping bag.
“What the- What the fuck is that?”
“It’s a werewolf thing,” Derek explained, which helped not at all until Stiles
remembered something he had learned about dogs from a note passed around in
study hall in ninth grade, something he hadn’t really bothered thinking about
until now.
“You have a knot,” said Stiles. “What the fuck?” Derek was still most of the
way inside him, and Stiles was wriggling, hesitating, but still needy and
turned on, and it was like Derek was waiting for permission to sink his thick
knot into Stiles’ not-so-virgin-anymore asshole.
“It’ll be worse if I wait,” said Derek, sounding genuinely sorry.
Stiles scrunched up his face and grabbed at his dick for the first time, and he
said, “Okay. Okay, yeah. Fuck,” tilting his hips up a little more.
And it did hurt, even though he was expecting the stretch of it, his hole
straining to take all of Derek’s cock, and holy shit, his body was confused. It
was simultaneously the best thing he’d ever felt, being so full and feeling
Derek right there with him, and so awful and strange and just, not something
his ass was ever supposed to do. Stiles moaned and gripped even tighter at the
sleeping bag, focused on opening and letting Derek into him, the thickest part
of the knot stretching him until tears stung his eyes. And then Derek was all
the way in him, settled so deep Stiles felt him with every breath.
The knot was still growing, dragging against the sore rim of Stiles’ hole, and
Derek couldn’t pull out of him now, could barely even rock into him any more.
Stiles made little punched out noises that weren’t anything like words, and his
body moved with Derek’s, a quick steady rhythm. He wasn’t ready for the way
Derek draped over him as he came, the way his teeth grazed Stiles’ shoulder not
quite hard enough to draw blood.
Stiles was still panting, still hard, but the urgency seemed to lessen as Derek
rolled him onto his side, settling Stiles carefully against the sleeping bag,
his knot still stretching Stiles’ hole. Derek started to jerk him off slowly,
in long, lazy strokes, and Stiles’ hips rocked towards his hand. It seemed
impossible that he was still hard, more so that his dick was still pumping out
precome like a faucet, and Stiles wondered if he would eventually pass out from
dehydration and what Derek would do if he did.
“Is it getting better?” Derek asked, almost casual, as if this was the sort of
thing he did all the time, fucking guys who couldn’t even walk around in the
woods minding their own business without getting attacked by plants.
“Yeah,” said Stiles, trying to keep his voice steady. “Not as crazy now.”
“Good,” said Derek. “Then you probably won’t die.”
Stiles was grateful in spite of himself because he really wasn’t ready to die,
like, at all, and he couldn’t actually have handled this on his own. But he
didn’t say anything. It would have been too weird, while Derek’s cock was still
in him, knot pulling tightly against the edges of his hole. Stiles pushed his
ass back, trying to bend into Derek’s hand at the same time, wearily sure that
he was about to come again.
Afterwards, his balls ached, and his dick actually started to go soft, which
seemed like some kind of miracle. Derek’s body was still draped around his, and
Derek rubbed a rough palm over Stiles’ balls, cupping and lifting them. It hurt
a little, since he was so sensitive to the slightest touch, but he didn’t mind
it, didn’t even mind that Derek was basically cuddling him, his breathing soft
and steady against the side of Stiles’ neck. Derek was still inside him when he
fell asleep.
 
Stiles woke up in his own bed, sore and disoriented. He couldn’t really piece
together what had happened except that he had been in the woods and it was
dusk, and now he was home and it was pitch dark outside. Then he noticed Derek
Hale skulking in his desk chair, lurking in the long shadows, and the last few
hours started to flood back. “Shit,” said Stiles. He wanted to touch his aching
asshole, see whether it felt as hot and tender under his fingertips, but he
didn’t really want to do it with Derek watching him. He didn’t really want to
do anything with Derek watching him.
“You should be all right,” Derek said stiffly. “All the pollen should have
worked itself out of your bloodstream by now.”
“Good,” said Stiles. “Yeah. Thanks.” He paused, rubbed at his eyes. “Seriously,
thanks. I know I’m too pretty to die, but if you hadn’t been there, the
universe would not have given a shit. And even when my life is terrible it’s
not that bad.” He didn’t bring up the fact that Derek had had to hold him down
and fuck him in the woods as part of keeping him alive, and he wondered if he
could safely keep the topic of Derek Hale’s weird wolf cock from ever coming up
in his life again.
Derek glared at him, in his baleful Derek way, and said, “You’re welcome.” He
was obviously considering saying something else, and in spite of Stiles’
prospective ban on ever mentioning Derek’s cock again, he was curious what
would follow.
“Don’t go walking in the woods by yourself anymore,” Derek added finally, and
Stiles tried to figure out what to say to that. The guy had saved his life, but
he also obviously thought Stiles was a moron.
“Thanks for the sage advice, Hale.”
“I mean it,” said Derek. “Things are weird out there. Weirder than they’ve ever
been. It’s better to just stay away.”
“If I wasn’t so wrapped up in crazy werewolf drama all the time, maybe I would
try that.”
“You should never have been involved in the first place.”
Stiles laughed a little bitterly. “You didn’t seem to think so when I was
playing getaway driver for you all those times. Or when I was keeping Scott
from making monumentally stupid decisions. Or when I was lying to my dad about
pretty much everything that goes on around here anymore. Those times you were
pretty fucking glad I was involved, oo you can’t really tell me I shouldn’t
have been. I know that. I know that better than anybody. It’s not my world. But
if I can’t go for a walk in a nature preserve without being assaulted by a
plant, that’s not me getting too involved someplace I don’t belong. That’s all
your weird magic shit spreading too far all over the place.”
Derek nodded, accepting all that as his due. “I can’t stop it,” he said.
“You’re a pretty terrible alpha, dude.”
It took Stiles a minute to realize the thing on Derek’s face was a smile and
not a snarl. “Do you need anything?” Derek asked, like Stiles was a little kid
in bed with a cold.
Stiles shook his head, then thought better of it. “Water?” he said.
Derek pointed to a glass on the bedside table, and when Stiles flailed around
untangling himself from the covers to sit up, Derek put a hand on Stiles’
shoulder to help. He still smelled overwhelmingly of sex, musky and raw. Stiles
managed a couple of gulps of water without choking. Derek’s fingers resting at
the top of his spine just reminded him how they had felt inside him. “Are there
going to be more of those plants?” asked Stiles. He imagined it happening to
someone else, a jogger or camper who still got to labor under the illusion that
Beacon Hills was a normal town. Someone even more unprepared for any of this.
“Probably not,” said Derek. “They’re rare. But I’ll look out for them.”
“Good. Thanks.”
Derek was silent for a minute before pushing himself up off the bed. He
gestured at the window. “I’m going to go.”
Stiles nodded awkwardly. “Okay.” As Derek turned, he added, “If we could just
never mention this to anybody, that would be spectacular.”
Derek nodded. “Done.”
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