Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3595191.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Stiles
      Stilinski/Original_Male_Character(s)
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Peter_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Sexual_Slavery, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Public_Sex, Loss_of_Virginity,
      Anal_Fingering, Crying, Inspection, Slave_Stiles_Stilinski, Master/Slave,
      Bondage, Warlord_Derek_Hale, Alternate_Universe, Alternate_Universe_-
      Werewolves_Are_Known, Work_In_Progress, Other_Additional_Tags_to_Be
      Added, Language_Barrier, Spanking, Rough_Sex, Intoxication, Butt_Plugs,
      Humiliation, Verbal_Humiliation, Derogatory_Language, Plot_What_Plot/Porn
      Without_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-03-22 Updated: 2015-04-03 Chapters: 2/? Words: 6884
****** wolf's blood in their veins ******
by badwolfbadwolf
Summary
     In which Stiles is a spoil of war and a prisoner of the terrifying
     Hale Army, and Derek is a warlord who grunts a lot and takes what he
     wants from his blushing, virginal new slave.
Notes
     Please mind the tags and warnings. I intend this to be a kinky
     montage of kinky kinks, so tags will be updated for each chapter. I
     am not planning for this to be super super long, but I have one
     additional chapter written and a bit more will be following. Also
     note that this chapter is a bit of Peter/Stiles interaction, but the
     main build-up is Derek/Stiles coming in the next chapter and beyond.
     Thank you to my lovely friends eeyore9990 and dizzilytwirling for
     looking over stuff and being cool and everything. <3
See the end of the work for more notes
***** The Inspection *****
The cell—if it could even be called that—was damp and cool, the smell of sweat
and horses rank in the air. Curling himself up to keep warm, Stiles sat on the
sole hay bale in the middle of the room muttering unhappily to himself. How
he’d ended up in this predicament he didn’t even know, but being dragged from
his warm bed by a bunch of hooligans in the middle of the night with a dirty
rag stuck in his mouth had to have been the most horrifying experience of his
life. What started out as fear of the unknown had quickly turned into anger and
now, several hours later, boredom had set in. He kicked at the hay, wondering
if the guard could be bribed, though he appeared to either not be able to speak
English, or was just flat out ignoring Stiles’ attempts to reason with him.
Stiles finally gave up, flopping down on the hay bale and staring at the
ceiling, trying to pass the time by counting the cracks in the wood and
attempting to avoid thoughts of what might become of him. He wasn’t stupid;
even though he was still young and was told hardly anything, he’d still heard
the rumors. The Hale Army was frightening in their barbarity, and the tales
Stiles’ servants had told him as bedtime stories to scare him into obedience
ran rampant in his mind now. Their leader was said to be fierce and vicious,
and would eat the still-beating heart of his enemies. And wolf’s blood ran
through their veins. No one had ever seen the supposed transformation, but the
howling could be heard at night, closer and closer, chilling Stiles to the bone
even though he was wrapped in rich furs and snug in his bed.
He could only guess at the size of the encampment, the sounds outside his hutch
loud enough for him to hear men yelling and horses neighing at all hours of the
night. His captors had hardly brought him anything but water, what savages.
Footsteps crunching in the dirt made Stiles look up quickly, leaping up from
his seat on the hay bale and immediately cowering backwards when he saw three
men that looked like giants heading right for him. Well, of course they were;
no one else was in the “cells” with him. The guard brandished his keys and
opened the door without a word exchanged, and Stiles gulped and stood tall,
trying to emulate the regalness his father emanated when speaking with foreign
dignitaries. The shiny swords on their belts made him shake with nerves,
though, and he briefly glanced at their tattooed arms and thick beards before
clearing his throat and opening his mouth to speak.
“You are the Prince Stilinski, are you not?” the man who appeared to be in
charge said first, his English accented but clear. He was a little shorter than
the other two, with bright, blue eyes and a closely shorn goatee.
Stiles nodded and inclined his head regally. “Yes, I—”
“You do not talk,” the man said sharply, and Stiles slammed his mouth shut and
frowned, not liking the jerk’s tone at all, but not wanting to argue with him
when the other two were rounding the hay bale and approaching him from either
side. Stiles glanced to the door behind the leader, trying to gauge if he could
dart around them and then get past the guard, and when he looked back at the
man he saw he was smirking like he knew exactly what Stiles was thinking.
At that moment the other two, the more burly ones, grabbed Stiles by the arms
and Stiles immediately fought to get away. It was a hopeless struggle, one that
he knew he would win in no way, but at least he had to make the attempt.
The leader uttered something to the two men and immediately one held Stiles’
hands behind his back while the other tugged at the buttons on his shirt to rip
them apart. The press of the sword handle into his back made Stiles stiffen up
in fear but when the man went to reach for the drawstrings on his leggings,
Stiles started flailing again.
“No, wait, please,” he gasped out before the man behind him shifted and slapped
a hand over his mouth. Stiles struggled in his hold but the man was too strong
and he could only get a bit of wriggle. The other man undid his laces anyways
and tugged down on the pants and then Stiles was naked from the chest to the
knees, his eyes dropping as embarrassment flamed across his cheeks.
“No need to get excited,” the leader murmured warmly, and Stiles began to hate
his smooth timbre and the way the side of his lips quirked up. Like the fucking
devil, Stiles thought, and he fought with renewed vigor, attempting to kick his
captor in the shins and then getting shoved down roughly, chest first on to the
hay bale. “So spirited,” the leader praised, gathering closer, the first
putting his hand back over Stiles’ mouth so hard Stiles thought he might bruise
from the pressure.
The second man grabbed Stiles’ ankles and parted his legs easily even though
Stiles was struggling hard to keep them closed and his pants were still slung
around his calves. Sudden fear seized him as he fought to move, the knowledge
that he absolutely couldn’t terrifying him, and the thought that this barbaric,
smooth-talking imbecile would be taking his virginity right here in this dirty
cell making tears start to prick his eyes.
“This will just take a moment. It will be over quicker if you stop struggling,
little prince.” The man said something in his native tongue to the men, and
Stiles felt their grips tighten. Then there was a probing along the cheeks of
his ass and he clenched together, unwilling to give anything to this terrible
man. He received a firm spank for his trouble and that surprised Stiles enough
to tilt his head back and forget to be tight for a moment, and then there was
the foreign feeling of something sliding straight inside of him.
Stiles tried to clench down but it was too late, the man’s gloved finger
wriggling inside and then pushing sideways to get a second in beside it. It was
a tight fit, uncomfortable though not entirely painful, and Stiles’ squeezing
with his inner muscles only made the man chuckle and stroke along his hip
tenderly.
“You’re pure as snow, aren’t you, dear?” the man purred, parting his fingers,
and then Stiles could feel his breath distinctly on the backs of his thighs and
he realized that the man was looking right inside of him.
Stiles’ cheeks flamed anew, and when the man reached beneath him to grasp
lightly at Stiles’ soft cock and give him a few strokes, Stiles began to cry
again, the tears actually falling this time. He felt helpless to respond to the
stimulation, his little cock plumping up as the man stroked him gently, rubbing
his fingers in small circles inside of him and making Stiles feel so utterly
confused.
“That’s it, princeling,” the man said in a low voice, drawing his fingers out
very slowly and then giving Stiles one more hard slap on the ass that made him
yelp against the hand over his mouth. The hand dropped away from his cock too,
and Stiles felt himself throbbing shamefully, the hay pricking against his skin
uncomfortably and his tears starting to dry up and turn to anger.
The man uttered something to the other two men that made them laugh in a filthy
way and Stiles struggled again fruitlessly against the strong arms. The finger
returned to Stiles’ wet hole, sliding down and then tapping along Stiles’
balls, and Stiles tried to squirm away but was held pinned tight.
“Soon,” the man said like a promise, and then the hands released him and Stiles
rolled over as quick as he could, falling onto his ass on the floor and tugging
his shirt so the scraps of it covered his naked body.
The men were gone quickly and Stiles waited until they had disappeared before
scrambling to his knees and tugging his pants back up, relieved that nothing
more had happened. He huddled his arms tight to his body, feeling slick between
his cheeks and a little dirty, but none the worse for the wear. At least the
heathen hadn’t breached him fully, and Stiles still had his dignity intact.
Maybe if he were rescued in the next day or two, he’d be saved from a much
worse fate. The thought wasn’t very comforting as he listened to the crunch of
straw under boots just outside of his window, his back pressed to the wall and
sleep eluding him until long into the night.
***
The metal grating of the key in the lock made Stiles startle awake, and he
clutched at his clothes to be sure they were still on. The two men from earlier
plus his guard walked in, one gesturing to him, and the rest with their hands
on the pommel of their swords. Stiles stood and brushed the hay off himself,
feeling his limbs creak and yawning as he trotted forward without resistance.
With three of them he was hopelessly outnumbered, and brute strength wasn’t his
greatest asset. He would try to puzzle his way out, or trick his way, or bribe
the guard when he got to wherever he was going.
They stopped before the main door, one of the men grabbing Stiles’ hands
roughly and pulling them behind his back, and Stiles felt the quick and
efficient tug of rope as they bound his hands securely.
He opened his mouth to protest the roughness, but immediately the big one to
his left gave him a look and Stiles snapped his mouth shut, remembering the
smooth man’s promise of threats earlier. He wasn’t really wanting to be gagged
either, because that would hinder his plans for escape once he got to wherever
he was going.
When they exited the building, Stiles saw that it was nearly dark, but there
was enough torchlight for him to get a good view of where they were at. The
encampment was much more permanent than Stiles had thought, with many lines of
tents, neat rows with soldiers walking down, and several large, towering
buildings in the distance. It was in that direction that the guards pushed
Stiles, and he went with wide eyes, trying to take in everything.
The soldiers were much larger than Stiles was used to seeing, though just as
big as the guards walking around him in a formation. Most had dark hair and
full beards, large black tattoos peeking out from shorn sleeves or down the
men’s exposed forearms. Their speech mixed around him, sounding melodious and
foreign, with a slightly gruff edge, and the overwhelming sense of different
combined with the numerous pointy weapons in his vision made Stiles feel more
and more uneasy as he was led onward.
They approached what looked like the tallest building, obviously the most
important, and Stiles was taken by the arm and pulled up the stone steps and
inside the wooden door. It was darker in here, the sound of laughter coming
down the corridor to his left. Perhaps this was a mess hall? A barracks? They
wound their way through, the building even bigger than it had seemed on the
outside, and this time they passed no one.
Stiles tried to observe what he could, but it was dark inside, and all there
was to see was dull stone and flickering torches, though as they went further
into the bowels of the building, tapestries were seen on the walls and a rich
rug appeared beneath his feet.
The party stopped outside an ornately carved wooden door, and the first man
turned to Stiles and reached to untie his hands.
“You speak only when spoken to. You do only what you are asked. If you disobey
you will be severely punished. Do you understand?”
Stiles swallowed and nodded, not sure if that was permission to speak, his fear
heightening as he wondered what was behind the door. Clearly, it couldn’t be
worse than whatever that awful man had done to him earlier in the day—or was
that yesterday? He couldn’t remember now—but suddenly Stiles was seized with
the fact that maybe the smooth-talking man would be in the room. He immediately
took a step back and landed square in the bulk of the guard behind him,
grunting when the man pushed him forward.
Stiles dug his heels in, and the first guard turned toward him again and
slapped Stiles straight across the face. It was like a shock to his system; no
one had treated him so brutally in his life before.
“Bastard,” Stiles spit, grabbing his cheek, and the man grabbed his hand and
immediately slapped him in the other direction. It stung even worse, and Stiles
glared at the man with hatred but said nothing, his hand still firmly grasped
and his back pressed into the other man.
“This is just the beginning, slave,” he said brusquely, and Stiles felt himself
soften at the word. Somehow he’d been able to separate him from the situation
before, but hearing himself called slave made everything razor sharp. He was
kidnapped, in his enemies territory, hopelessly defenseless and surrounded by
heathens. He hardly had time to process the thoughts before he was being shoved
forward, his hand moving to stroke against his still smarting cheek.
***** Public Deflowering *****
Chapter Summary
     Stiles meets Derek in private, and then again in public.
Chapter Notes
     So, once again, please heed the tags. :)
The room Stiles was thrust into was similar enough to private chambers he’d
seen before. There was a small antechamber at the front and then a vast area
that was decorated as a sitting room with a large bench and several chairs, a
table set exquisitely with a buffet of sumptuous food, and to the far right was
an elegant bed with blood red coverings. The tapestries from the hallway were
hanging here as well, even more elaborate, with ornate weavings of fang-baring
wolves decorating each one.
Stiles’ attention quickly returned back to the table, his stomach making an
audible noise as he could smell the fragrant aroma wafting towards him. He
remembered that he hadn’t eaten anything but stale bread in the past few days,
and his tongue immediately felt heavy in his mouth as he began to salivate.
“You are to wait here and eat,” the guard said, and he propelled Stiles
forward. Two of the men remained posted at the door while the main one— the one
who had slapped him—left, and Stiles stood frozen for a moment, indecision
clawing at him.
For one, they were unlikely to poison him, because they would have done so
already. And wouldn’t have taken him to such a fancy place and given him such
fancy food if that was their plan all along. And two… Stiles couldn’t even
think of two, he was too hungry. He sat at the table and grabbed at the plate
of what appeared to be a small game hen, pulling off a leg and sucking down the
greasy meat without much thought. It tasted wondrous against his tongue as he
ate quickly, juices flowing down his chin in a manner his dad would have been
appalled at, and then reached immediately for the wine glass. He took a large
gulp and then hesitated, thinking that probably wasn’t the wisest idea. It was
customary to drink wine with dinner, but Stiles was still not considered an
adult at court, and was not permitted to be inebriated. Still, there was no
water available. Stiles took one more small sip and then set the goblet aside,
returning his attention to the roasted vegetables.
It wasn’t so different from his home's cooking that he didn’t enjoy it, but the
spices were off, a bit foreign and heavy, and he saw some green things he
certainly had never seen before that smelled a bit like ripe cabbage. He ate it
anyways and it was not long until Stiles felt stuffed, almost disgustingly
full, and he leaned back in his seat with his hand over his belly, feeling
foolish for overindulging too quickly in this strange place.
As he sat there he had more time to contemplate what was happening to him at
the moment, and his confusion and a latent bit of fear slowly bled into boredom
as he waited and waited. And still nothing happened. Stiles began to grow
irritated. He was a prince, dammit, and princes were not to be kept waiting.
Angrily throwing the napkin did nothing for his mood so he decided to pace the
room, his initial timidity being placated as he realized the guards were not
going to do anything to him as he moved around. He explored the walls and
tapestries, first seeing if there were any exits, but it appeared that there
was only the one.
Next, he examined the other items of the room— the chest of drawers and small
mirror which Stiles avoided looking in, and the few books that were resting on
a small table. Stiles purposefully avoided the bed, too nervous to even think
about that furnishing, and ended up settling on a low chair with some cushions,
pulling up the book. Stiles didn’t understand the language at all but leafed
through the pages idly, trying to decipher some meaning from the interspersed
drawings. Eventually the meal began to catch up with him, and Stiles fought to
keep his eyes open, just barely letting them drift shut before hearing the big
wooden door creak open and then shut with a loud clanging of the metal handle
that made him jerk his head upward with a start.
A large man stood in the shadows of the doorway, still and contemplative for a
moment, and Stiles’ pulse quickened immediately and he drew his legs up beneath
him, as if he could shield himself from whatever would be happening next. The
man wasn’t the absolute tallest but he was certainly muscular, with big,
bulging biceps under a leather tunic. His hair was dark and long enough to have
a slight wave to it, and his face was exceptionally beautiful but set in a
fierce frown. Stiles tried hard to not stare but it was impossible, and he felt
his heart rabbiting in his chest as the man walked closer and closer.
As he towered above Stiles, the man raised a thick eyebrow at him, and Stiles
noticed how the man’s eyes were an unidentifiable mix of colors, from green to
blue to gold. He must be important. Judging from the clothes and the demeanor
and the eyebrows and… the fact that Stiles was in this man’s bedroom. It was
not a good sign. Stiles’ mind racked through what little knowledge he had of
the Hale army. Could this perhaps be the most senior leader, Derek Hale? He
swallowed thickly, trying not to think of the bedtime stories he’d heard about
that particular name. They were both frightening and fantastic, and it made
Stiles’ heart hammer all the louder.
“I, er. Here’s your book,” Stiles said, nervously holding out the item and
hoping the man — Derek — wouldn’t be angry. Derek took it from him and set it
on a side table, leaning forward into Stiles’ space and tilting into his neck.
He took a long, noisy sniff that made Stiles’ hair stand on end, and Stiles
stayed absolute still, unsure what to do. Derek snuffled down his neck and into
the dirty collar of Stiles’ shirt, and Stiles tried to keep his eyes over the
man’s shoulder and not on the facial hair that was immediately in front of him,
but it was difficult.
After a long moment Derek stood back, his eyes sweeping up and down Stiles’
frame in a manner that Stiles could only think of as predatory, and then he
turned his back on Stiles and headed for the table. He returned with the goblet
of wine, filling Stiles’ glass and handing it to him, making a motion to drink.
“No speaking then, huh?” Stiles asked as he took the glass, their fingertips
brushing.
Derek grunted and then crossed his arms, and Stiles had to stifle a smile
because the man was acting so brutish that it was comical. He didn’t want to
irritate him, though, because he was obviously powerful and Stiles was
obviously in his bedroom, so Stiles covered up his smirk by taking a sip of the
wine. He was still thirsty and it tasted nice, rich enough on his tongue but
not too bitter, like the kind his dad sometimes liked. He took another sip, and
then another when the man gestured for him to do so.
Then Derek reached for a second goblet and poured himself wine, kneeling down
in front of Stiles’ chair and taking a drink before setting it down on the
floor and then moving forward to slide his hands on the cushions next to
Stiles’ thighs.
Stiles could feel his body heating up, probably a consequence of the wine in
his system, and also, perhaps, the attractive man who was looming so near to
his chest. He took another sip of the wine, ending up gulping it more than he
was intending because he was so nervous, and when he brought the wine glass
down Derek smiled without his teeth and took it from him. He was painfully
gorgeous, with a blunt edge about him that was frightening and thrilling at the
same time.
Stiles sucked in a breath, shuffling his feet and feeling slightly woozy with
the movement. Derek moved even closer, eyelids dropping slightly and lips
parting as he looked at Stiles’ lips. Stiles licked them nervously, letting out
a small yelp when the man closed the distance without warning and was pressing
his lips to Stiles’ warm ones. He froze up again, trying to catalogue these new
sensations. There’d only been that one other kiss for him, behind the stables,
stolen and chaste, and this felt nothing like it. Derek’s hands reached up and
cupped Stiles’ neck, tilting his head up slightly to give himself better
access, and parting Stiles’ lips with his tongue. It felt foreign and exciting,
Derek’s stubble brushing against Stiles’ chin while Stiles remained motionless.
Derek leaned forward to deepen the kiss, pushing his tongue in more, and this
time Stiles responded, moving his tongue to slide over Derek’s experimentally
and feeling lighter when Derek rumbled with approval.
There was a quick tug of hands and then Stiles was being held up and pulled
onto Derek’s lap, legs draped across the thick thighs, their lips barely
parting. Derek wasted no time sliding one hand down Stiles’ back, lingering
only for a moment before pushing down to cup Stiles’ bottom and give him a
squeeze. Stiles jerked back but Derek held him tightly by the shoulders,
kissing him firmly. And it felt nice, really, the warmth and the wine and the
skin and the firm muscles. Perhaps Stiles could get used to this.
After several more long minutes of kissing and groping, Derek reached down to
the floor for his wine glass, putting it to Stiles lips and making him drink
fully from it. Stiles obliged, a little too tipsy at this point to argue, and
besides, it was making him feel sticky warm inside. He could feel his cock hard
in his pants, a little embarrassed at how much he was enjoying the proceedings,
and hopeful that Derek wouldn’t touch him. Perhaps he’d be amenable to just
kissing, and then Stiles could go back to his cell. He knew it was unlikely,
but the wine wasn’t helping him think straight.
Derek scooped him up bridal style, and then Stiles was face down on the rich
bedsheets, nuzzling his cheek into the warmth and hitching up his hips without
conscious thought because it just seemed the thing to do. There was warmth on
his neck that Stiles registered as wet lips and a tongue, and he moved his
knees up with a little help from the man’s big hands.
“Mrrr,” Stiles said coherently as he felt cool air on his back and his pants
being tugged down over his ass. He had a small flashback to the previous
evening being bent over the hay bale, and Stiles frowned and drew his brows
together, trying to push himself up onto his arms but being shoved back down
firmly but gently on the shoulders. The hand remained there and Stiles turned
his head and stayed put docilely, watching Derek next to him as his eyes looked
Stiles over with concentration. Without any warning Stiles felt a hand on his
cock, and he leaped forward, succeeding only in grinding his erection into the
hand and letting out an embarrassing moan.
Derek chuckled next to him, saying something in his light voice, and Stiles
mused for a moment that he’d thought it would be deeper. What with all the
muscles and leather and facial hair. The hand began to work him over expertly
and Stiles let his eyes slide shut, just enjoying the feeling of being petted
so sensually, like he was being adored and revered. Of course he’d touched
himself like this a few times, imagining some phantom hands or maybe a plush
mouth being wrapped around his cock, and Stiles groaned, flushing as those
pictures were now filled in with the bearded man’s face and lips and hands.
Stiles jumped again when he felt Derek’s thick fingers prying his cheeks apart,
a trail of wetness sliding between them. Derek moved his other hand off of
Stiles’ cock and up his stomach, pausing to twist a nipple gently which made
Stiles writhe with surprised pleasure, and then moving up to cup Stiles’
throat. Stiles mewled when Derek used strength to hold him there, not
squeezing, just holding, and then easily pushed inside of him with one finger.
Stiles gasped at the sensation, the wine making everything warmer and slicker,
his brain a little hazy as instead of feeling odd it just felt good.
He let his mouth fall open, making soft grunts as the man pushed his finger
around experimentally, stroking until he found a spot inside that made Stiles
stiffen up in surprise. Stiles cried out as the spot was stimulated again more
harshly, and immediately the man pushed two fingers inside of Stiles’ mouth.
Finding it oddly arousing, Stiles wrapped his lips around them and started to
suck, happy to have something to do with his mouth that wasn’t making
embarrassing moans as this heathen took him apart in his fancy bedchamber while
Stiles just laid there like a wanton whore.
A third finger pushed inside of Stiles' ass and this time it burned. It was
more than Stiles had ever thought he could take, more than the smooth man from
yesterday, more than his own timid fingers when he’d searched at night in
secret. When Derek spread his fingers inside Stiles mewled high in his throat,
sucking down harder on the fingers in his mouth and hitching up with his hips,
not even sure if he was trying to get away or trying to get them in deeper.
Derek began to murmur things to him, and the words felt like praise melting
along his spine. Stiles’ cock was leaking now though it was untouched, and he
really wanted Derek to touch him there again, maybe just bring him off and then
Stiles could be relieved of this throbbing pain and slink off into the shadows.
Stiles tried to form words of his own but Derek just responded by pushing in a
third finger into his mouth and Stiles moaned around them, feeling full
everywhere and desperate for his cock to be touched. He thrashed around on the
bed, alternating between thrusting back onto the man’s fingers and trying to
hump forward to let his cock touch the sheets, pushing the fingers further down
his throat until he was almost gagging.
Derek allowed a minute of this and then withdrew the fingers from Stiles’ ass
and mouth, wiping them off on his thighs which made Stiles feel dirtier than
anything else that had happened before. It felt odd to have nothing inside, and
he felt his insides squeezing down, his whole body confused. Large hands rolled
him over and the fingers withdrew from his mouth, and Stiles stared with glassy
eyes at the man above him. Derek was still fully clothed, the fingers on both
hands glistening for very different reasons, and Stiles felt incredibly naked
and embarrassed as the man worked the pants off of Stiles’ legs and then pulled
his tunic over his head. And then Stiles was naked, and he shifted awkwardly,
moving his hands down to shield his cock and trying not to touch himself to
embarrass him further.
Derek smiled and ran a wet finger along Stiles’ shoulder, pausing to kiss there
before moving off of the bed and turning around. Stiles watched, completely
confused, as the man continued to walk away, not even looking back.
“Wait,” Stiles called, but Derek did not respond, stopping to briefly give a
command to the guard and then walking out of the door without even a glance
backwards.
Having Derek gone made Stiles feel vulnerable, and he tugged the sheets out
from where they were tucked, throwing them over his lower half and feeling
infinitely stupid for whatever he had just semi-willingly done. Why even bother
undressing him if he was just going to leave? Stiles scooted up the bed,
feeling sticky all over, his cock still hard and rubbing on the sheets, and he
eyed the guards who appeared to be conversing for a moment but then stopped to
turn to look at him.
Stiles flushed bright red again, realizing that they had witnessed the whole
seduction, and how willingly Stiles had spread his legs for this barbarian, and
how he was just left waiting in the man’s sheets like he wasn’t even worth
enough to try and bed.
They advanced towards him and Stiles scrambled upward, wrapping the covers
around his arms, fear rising exponentially because he was not only helpless but
now naked, and what if the guards had permission to take whatever they wanted
from him if their leader didn’t want it? Stiles began to struggle before they
even were close enough to reach him, swinging out a punch that was easily
caught, and then the guard used Stiles’ wrist to twist him around on the bed
until his face was against the pillows and his wrist was pinned against his
back. The other man grabbed his feet and they pulled him roughly across the
bed, Stiles trying to kick but being held firmly by two sets of strong hands.
The rope made a return, binding his hands together at the small of his back,
and then together they hoisted him up, and Stiles found himself slung over the
one mans’ shoulders, his ankles held securely together by the man holding him.
To his horror, the other reached between his legs to where his tender hole was
exposed and helpless, feeling the wetness there and sliding in just the tip of
his finger while Stiles tried to wriggle sideways, burning with humiliation as
he could not get away. Mercifully, he was not breached further, and the two
laughed and the one opened the door while the other walked through it, still
holding Stiles over his shoulder.
The walk through the corridors was silent, the wine still making Stiles warm
and confused, or else for sure he would be struggling more in his bonds and
trying to break free. Gradually, he became aware of more noise, the sounds of
men and feet and shouting growing, and then they were barreling through a set
of double doors and the noise was suddenly deafening. Stiles was facing towards
the door but immediately a raucous cheer rose up, and all the blood went
straight to his face as Stiles struggled to get away but was only slapped on
the ass hard once and then twice, and then two thick fingers were plunged
inside of him and Stiles stopped fighting. Another cheer erupted from the crowd
at that, and Stiles turned his face away, trying to bury it in the rough fabric
of the man’s tunic.
They walked further into the room and Stiles could tell they were going up some
steps onto a type of dais, and his fear grew as he came to realize that he was
going to be part of the evening’s entertainment. Two sets of hands fell on him,
parting his cheeks, and the man wriggled his fingers still inside of Stiles,
making a show of pulling it to the side. Stiles had never even seen what a man
would look like being breached so, but he knew it must be lewd, and the men
were catcalling and yelling things, and Stiles was grateful he couldn’t
understand so he wouldn’t have to hear what awful things were being said about
his private parts.
The man’s fingers were removed and then Stiles was set down on wobbly feet,
feeling the effects more of the wine now that he had moved around. To his
horror, the guard prodded at him, forcing him to turn around, and Stiles got
his first real view of the crowd of barbarians, and the throne to the left of
him, with the man from earlier. Stiles felt all of the color drain from his
face, realization dawning on him of exactly what was about to happen and why
Derek Hale, leader of the barbarians, had left him naked and wanting back in
his bedchamber. It was almost too much of a shock for Stiles to fight, and he
felt tears began to spring up as he was was made to walk forward with clumsy
feet until he was next to the throne.
“The spoils of war go to the worthy winners,” a voice beside him said, and
Stiles was startled to see the smooth man from the cells there, apparently only
one of the few who could speak English. The words made the fight in Stiles
renew, and he struggled against the two men holding his arms, making the crowd
cheer behind him. Without ceremony, Stiles was pushed forward, tumbling a
little bit and ending up sprawled over the lap of the man there, his legs
kicking helplessly in the air.
“It amuses us to see you struggle so, whore,” the man next to him said. “But we
could just as easily bind your feet and gag you. And this will all still
happen, followed by a severe beating on that pert little ass of yours. Choose
your actions wisely.”
Stiles struggled to comply, wriggling until Derek’s large hand was brought down
with a spank, and then his fingers were thrust rudely back into Stiles’ mouth.
Stiles made a muffled wail, his body going taut as the man spanked him again
and then again, his bottom turning warm and painful the harder and harder Derek
swung. Then he was speared by the fingers again, two and then three straight
away, and Stiles struggled against the man’s hold as his fingers slipped from
his mouth to his throat. The cheers of the crowd were loud now, and Stiles knew
he was putting on more of a show for them than he wanted to. This was going to
happen regardless, and all he was doing was riling them up and entertaining
them.
Stiles tried to stop moving but his ass was vibrating, his insides hot, and the
tears wouldn’t stop coming. He was lifted by the throat, the fingers still
inside of him, and then turned around to face the crowd. The hand on his throat
held his head upright, making him look at each barbarian, at the lust in their
eyes. Stiles tried to hold his head up proudly but his lip trembled when the
fingers were pulled out and two other hands spread his legs so he was
straddling the man’s thighs and being pushed backwards.
He felt something large and terrifying pushing against his bare ass. His cock,
Stiles’ brain supplied, and then the support of the hands went away and Stiles
was resting on the tip of it, his ass slick and clenched, gravity working
against him as he slowly slipped downward. The first breach of the man’s
cockhead wasn’t too bad, Stiles being so thoroughly opened by several men’s
fingers and so slicked up from the man’s careful ministrations in private. But
fuck did it burn the further and further the man forced inward.
Stiles did his best to keep his face neutral, to not squirm too much, but he
could feel the tears forming again. He lowered his lashes, trying not to see
the cheering faces of the crowd, the feeling of being speared open with an
unforgiving iron rod making that easy enough. He sunk down the rest of the way,
his thighs touching the man’s hairy ones, and just when he thought it couldn’t
get any worse, the man picked him up with his large hands and soon Stiles was
bouncing on the thick cock, his ass burning with each hard thrust. Stiles’ face
reddenned further, tears spilling as his body was worked up and down like a
doll, the man’s biceps flexing with what seemed like it was no effort to the
man. It hurt, the up and down, the spread of his legs, and it felt like the man
was pushing all the way into his belly each time he tugged Stiles down and
ground up into him. One particularly hard thrust made Stiles scramble on his
toes to remain seated, a moan breaking out of his lips quite unwillingly, and
that made the man laugh and reach around, grabbing Stiles’ little cock which
was shamefully plumping up again now that he had grown somewhat used to the
intrusion.
Stiles tried to turn his head to the side, nowhere to hide, and the man used
his other hand to pinch at his nipple cruelly and then move up to cup Stiles’
neck. He was held firm and then the man snapped his hips hard, and Stiles knew
this was it, that he was going to be pumped full of seed, and he burned with
embarrassment.
He tried not to think of the shame of being deflowered in such an awful place
but such an awful man, and in such an awful way. But the tears rolled anew,
thoughts that he would never be fit for marriage roiling through his mind even
as he felt his body straining and the cock inside of him quivering and pulsing.
Then he felt warm and sticky, the man stilling his hips and grunting loudly as
he tugged Stiles down hard into his lap. After a few moments Stiles could feel
the come dripping out obscenely, and Derek squeezed roughly at his cock and
balls, jerking a reluctant orgasm out of Stiles that he cried through the
entire way.
He was lifted with multiple hands and turned around, his mortification
increasing when Stiles realized he was not to be carried away but instead was
set on wobbly feet and made to bend over. He could feel the wet fluid dripping
out onto his thighs, his cock hanging down between his legs, still mostly hard,
and shamefully red.
And then, to Stiles’ absolute horror, he felt something else pushed inside of
him, heavy and thick. It wasn’t another cock, it was more rigid than that, and
Stiles felt his inner muscles grasping against it weakly as it was wriggled
around and then he was made to stand up. Stiles’ cheeks burned, his face a
tear-streaked mess, his ass on fire both from the spanking and the thorough
fucking. And now his poor muscles couldn’t even get a break, held wide open and
trembling by the awful phallus.
“What a perfect little whore,” the smooth man said from behind him, propelling
Stiles forward and thankfully away from the crowd. They were soon out another
set of doors and it was mercifully dark and quiet, Stiles’ head somewhere off
in the clouds and barely able to comprehend what had just happened to him.
“This is your life now,” the man said, and they soon stopped in front of a
small room, another cell with nothing but a small pallet inside. Stiles was
shoved inside, hands still bound and phallus still uncomfortably seated snugly
in his ass, the short walk enough to chafe. “Leave that in or you will be bound
in an even more uncomfortable position and your mouth filled too. Your training
begins tomorrow.”
Stiles lay down on the pallet, exhausted, and let the tears come again until he
felt he just didn’t have any more. He cried, feeling dirty and wet all over,
unable to even wipe his tears off, and fell asleep hyper-aware of the come
drying on his stomach and ass that he couldn’t even wipe off, and the seed of
the warlord now sealed inside of him.
End Notes
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