Fuck, Stiles could watch that for hours. Scott stretching himself on his skilled fingers, working himself open, moaning like he couldn’t believe it. He loved it when Scott was loud, shameless and eager in his ecstasy. He loved forcing him to be quiet, watching him struggle to keep every urge in, like the effort would make him fall apart before Stiles could get his hands on him and damn that felt good that felt so hot so good so -
“No." Stiles snapped, voice gravel rough and vicious. A sharp tug on his lead forced Scott’s head back with a snap, making him gag on his collar. Stiles shortened his hold on the leash, wrapping it around his palm and keeping Scott locked in place. He gripped his wolf by the jaw, forcing him to open his mouth.
"I didn’t say you could play."
Scott looked like he’d stepped out of a wet dream. Stiles never wanted to keep him waiting. He thrust into his mouth, eyes falling shut as slick wet heat engulfed him. He canted his hips, pace demanding while slender fingers tangled in dark locks, keeping Scott in place as his balls slapped against his jaw. And fuck, if punishment never felt so good.
Scott gasped and choked as he was yanked back, tears prickling the corners of his eyes. His body went ridged, but he didn’t fight back, accepting his punishment. He whimpered again as his jaw was forced open, struggling to breathe as Stiles suddenly fucked into his throat. He tried to relax his muscles, letting his master’s cock hit the back of his throat with practiced skill. Dark spots danced across his vision and he loved it, being used and punished and adored all at once. It left him dizzy with the need for it.
He thrust into himself with his fingers, the angle wrong to hit his prostate but loving the feeling of being fucked from both ends. It was so difficult to keep his hands from touching his own cock, aching with need as Stiles held him still. His hips rocked uselessly, middle finger finally brushing that spot inside of him that send a shudder racing through his entire body.
His head was full of white noise, it was impossible to think. His entire body was one raw exposed nerve, overwhelmed. It took all of his self control not to moan, trying so hard to obey and keep himself silent. Please, please please. Every part of him begged for more.
"We? Excuse you, dude. You scarlet nerded me," Stiles huffed, but it sounded like an excuse, a prelude to nuzzling against his partner’s side, slowly kissing his way down Scott’s throat, as far as he could reach before making the return trip. "Could’ve totally ruled the roost if I wanted to."
He wouldn’t have wanted to without Scott. Nothing mattered without Scott.
"And that - session thing. It’s only if you want it, Scott, doesn’t have to be now, doesn’t have to be ever. Just…" He waved a hand in the air, but that took him away from touching Scott. With a throaty huff, struggling to get his thoughts in order, Stiles curled into his werewolf’s grip, burying himself in the feel of Scott’s skin against his. He carded his fingers through Scott’s hair, and Stiles would be the first to admit that he didn’t know who he was trying to comfort.
"You know… I started eating Hawaiian pizza after you went, dude. That shitty weird - fruit’s not s’pose to go on a pizza; tomatoes don’t count. But you liked it, and I just… I missed you. So I ate really shitty pizza. But there’s a new place that opened on Greenwood. A Chicago Pizza place… Not a Chicago-style pizzeria, but a legit, actual, Chicago-ian Pizza place…
It’s things like that, Scott. Little, dumbass things when… I wanted to share things with you.” He huffed incredulously. “Dude, d’you know how much DC’s been sucking for a while now? I think you’d like Captain America. I want to take you to so many movies.”
He laughed, stress bleeding from his body. “I hate to burst your bubble there, dude, but it wasn’t just me. Blame me all you want, but I think we know I was the coolest one. At least I didn’t have a thing for Princess Leia or whatever her name is. Face it, you’re the weird one. You were too smart and too nerdy.” Scott pulled on Stiles’s fingers and pressed them to his lips. “It was just you and me, we didn’t need anybody else and that suited me just fine.” What would their lives have been like if all of this werewolf mess hadn’t gotten in the way. Would they have fallen in love with someone else? Would they have ever made other friends? Would they have ever gotten better at lacrosse or calculus? Would have have made it into the same college and lived together and loved for all those years…so much wasted time.
Scott wrapped his arm low around his friend’s waist and fit his body so perfectly against him that it felt they’d been made as one piece. “If you think it’ll help, I will. Just promise me that you’ll be able to forgive me for things, Stiles. You still see me, I don’t want to ever lose that.”
He was immediately (and predictably) distracted by the mention of food, groaning and burying his face into his friend’s side. “Duuude, totally unfair. Spicy Hawaiian pizza is literally the best thing on earth, you’re so wrong and I don’t know how we can even be together. I swear to god, Stiles, if you can get me some, I will do literally anything to you that you want. I can’t even remember the last time I actually had pizza. Screw you, I’ll get through this rehab stuff just to get an actual slice again.” Scott said, poking a finger in Stiles’s ribs.
"Wait, there’s a Captain America movie? Oh man, I’ve missed so much. I want all of that, every little dumbass thing. I feel like…I don’t know. Lost? Where do I even start with all this real world stuff?"
There was so much tanned skin, smooth like velvet beneath his palms, his to touch, his to explore. It was the most tempting display, making Stiles’ mouth go dry before his cock sprung from its confines. He hushed Scott, pressing a finger to soft lips before dragging it up the line of his wolf’s jaw and up the hollow of his throat. Blunt nails scratched up Scott’s neck before he tugged insistently at his partner’s hair, controlling exactly where Scott looked.
Stiles moved forward, the long line of his shaft pressing against Scott’s jaw and mouth, his cheeks and the strong bridge of nose. There was a dresser behind him, just close enough that Stiles didn’t have to strain to reach for a bottle of lube. He never broke rhythm, rubbing his throbbing cock against his partner’s face.
"Slick yourself open. I’m gonna fuck your pretty mouth, Scott."
Scott was intently focused, trying to anticipate his master’s needs. Anything to make him happy. He preened under the praise, nuzzling against Stiles’s length as his tongue darting between his lips to give the human one quick lick. If he’d been allowed to speak, he’d have been begging to feel the human’s cock heavy in his mouth. To be fucked hard against the back of his throat until Stiles came all over his face. All he could do was whimper quietly, wishing he could wrap his hands around his own neglected cock.
He took the offered bottle, eyes watching Stiles as he drizzled the lube on his fingers. He couldn’t keep from moaning as he slid one slicked finger around his hole, teasing himself before pushing inside. He couldn’t reach as deep as he liked, but he always enjoyed the feeling of being filled and he worked himself slowly, trying to make sure that his master enjoyed the show. It would be so much better with Stiles’s long fingers inside of him, with his cock fucking him deep and hard.
He couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his lips around Stiles, too impatient to taste him. The wolf urged him deeper, tongue lapping eagerly at the head.
Stiles tightened his grip, and maybe there lay the problem. When Scott tried to pull away, all he did was push harder, and he didn’t know how to distinguish between when that was a good thing and when it wasn’t, not with Scott. With Scott, he couldn’t believe that any time they were together wasn’t a good thing. One of them was going to get hurt.
So far, it had been Scott. Stiles thought about ripping Hale’s throat out.
"If they can’t help… Then we’ll live with it. You and me - and we’ll make it better. We’ll find a better." Stiles had forgiven him before he’d finished speaking. He ran his fingers through Scott’s hair, and wondered if he already knew. It didn’t matter. Scott could burn the world to the ground, and Stiles would forgive him with his last breathe. It was Scott. Nothing else mattered.
"You’n’me, dude? It’s what we do. We make things awesome." He tried to joke. It came out dry, but he clung to Scott like a lifeline. He wasn’t sure who needed it more.
"I’ll stay." He promised. "I’ve got - I’ll stay. I’ll figure it out… We can do the word, try it at least. Y’know? It wouldn’t hurt. I should… Dr. Tate suggested I sit in on some of your sessions, when you wanted me to. If you wanted me to."
Scott made a quiet noise of frustration, capturing Stiles’s mouth with his own and twining their fingers together. He’d gotten used to being an animal, after so many years it was easy to just give Peter what he wanted. Trying to be something different was terrifying. “I want to be human again, dude. I want a freaking normal life. I don’t want to kill anymore.”
Stiles sounded so confident and the wolf couldn’t help but smile. That optimism was supposed to be his thing. He’d always been the one to look on the bright side no matter how terrible things had gotten or how hard Stiles had snarked at it. “You’n’me were never awesome, dude. I hate to break it to, but we were unpopular dorks. I think we might have been cursed.” He hesitated before giving one quick nod. “If you think it’ll help, I’m willing to try anything. I don’t want to live with it, I want to get better. I have a reason to now.”
He wasn’t sure if he wanted Stiles to come to his sessions, still uncomfortable with the human knowing so much about what he’d done over the years. If Stiles started to look at him differently, if he was disgusted or horrified…Scott couldn’t bear it.
“Tell me about your life, Stiles. Tell me what it’s like out there now. I just want to hear you say it like it’s something we can actually have.”
Stiles traced the soft curves of Scott’s mouth with his thumb, a ragged breath hinting at how far he’d fallen. When Scott moved he watched the lines of his body, the peek of tanned skin beneath cloth making his world spin. He wanted that. He wanted all of that.
"Good boy," he rasped, running his fingers through Scott’s hair when he returned, grinning in a way that showed too much teeth.
The collar was part of a set, something they’d ordered online because Stiles wasn’t willing to drive out of town to buy it in person and the storekeeper at the place downtown always stared at Scott for too long. It fit snug around Scott’s throat, and Stiles tugged on its ring under the guise of testing it before he wound the leash around his knuckles. It had come with a pair of black ears, as close to the color of his werewolf’s hair as they could manage, but they both kind of lost it at that, practically howling with laughter the first time they saw it. Stiles was pretty sure it had ended up in some kid’s basket when the were entertaining Trick or Treaters on Halloween.
Stiles wasn’t thinking about Halloween now.
"Strip." He ordered. "Don’t get up. Take off my pants."
The collar settled some restless part of himself, making him feel owned and powerless. He loved the feeling, the way it washed away all of his worries and left him humming with anticipation. Sometimes he’d take the collar and wear it under his shirt, making sure no one at work would be able to see. A little thrilling secret that kept him on edge, reminding him who he belonged to and waiting with barely concealed eagerness to see Stiles again.
Scott kept his eyes on his master, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as he hurried to undo them and shrug his shirt from his shoulders. Pants came next until he settled back on his knees, naked and already hard. He knew better than to touch himself, not until he was told he could.
Solid muscle moved under soft caramel skin as he leaned forward, nuzzling carefully at Stiles’s hip and hooked his fingers into the edge of the Detective’s pants. He undid the belt, letting the buckle jangle as Scott worked the zipper down with his teeth. He slid Stiles’s pants down, leaving him bare and growling softly as he tried to resisting putting his mouth on the human’s skin. The wolf squirmed, patience never his strongest suit.
"Hey…" Stiles protested, but mildly. His fingers caught Scott under his jaw, urging him to look up at him, and he kissed him. If Stiles had to start every sentence like that for the rest of his life, he wouldn’t complain. Well - he’d probably get tired of saying ‘hey’ after a while, but that hardly counted. "Just because you heal doesn’t mean you should get hurt."
He wondered if anyone had ever told Scott that. Melissa might have. Melissa had been gone for a long time. He wondered if Scott was capable of believing that now.
"I love you," he insisted, and he didn’t know who needed to hear it more. "We can… Work with things - even if you forgot that I’m a total badass." Stiles leaned closer, pressing a kiss along Scott’s cheek, like it had been too long since he’d felt him. They should have been making up time, not - not what happened for 38 days.
"I’m licensed to carry mountain ash, Class 2." He didn’t quite brag. It was still nice to have that piece of paper. "I’ll do that. I’m good with it, Scott… I - can’t bring weapons in here, not as a civie, but I can stop spending nights here, if you think it’ll help. Distance and defense and shit."
For all that he attempted nonchalance, Stiles’ face gave away how much he disliked that option. They just needed their cards on the table. “And you laughed, but that safe word thing? It could work. If we’re getting into something, or someone says something that’s not right or just you wanna stop talking or you think I should back off. Just say it, and like - we’ll break. Just for a bit.”
“Total badass” Scott agreed with a smile, almost preening under his friend’s gentle reassurances. This is what he remembered from being a kid, the way they’d carry each other when one was in pain. They kept each other standing when the world was ripped out from under them. He could almost believe that they had a chance when Stiles made promises like this.
His friend was dangerous, more than he knew. Scott never considered what kind of training he must have had. Stiles tracked lycanthropes for his job, he must have come face to face with all kinds of feral weres over the years and he was still in one piece. He’d never showed fear and had been willing to stun and tranquilize him whenever Scott lost control, he could do whatever was necessary to protect himself.
“I don’t want you to go.” Scott buried his face into his human’s chest, a sudden flare of panic at the thought of Stiles actually leaving. “Would it help? I don’t know what to do, dude. I don’t know how to stop. I don’t remember how to be anything else anymore, what if I can’t be human again? I…I’m a killer, Stiles, that’s what he made me into. He trained me like an animal, he treated me like one for seven years. What if I’m never going to be okay? What are they going to do with me if they realize they can’t fix me?”
He was silent for a moment, taking a shuddering breath to try and pull back the fear that started to bleed through his control. “Maybe a word would help…I don’t know anything else to try. I just don’t want to hurt you and I can’t promise I won’t try if I lose control.”
"Good boy," Stiles whispered, like a secret, so soft only Scott could here, and there was that - that scene they built together. Stiles could still remember the first afternoon he brought it up, how they ironed out the details, how he’d buzzed with nervous energy the entire time and then after. The first time they tried this, anxious but excited, it had fallen apart because Stiles couldn’t keep to script, but Scott had felt so good around him. He’d laughed with bliss even though he was so turned on he couldn’t walk straight.
The second time was better, then the next, and the next… Stiles swallowed audibly. The rules shifted sometimes, but some things stayed the same. Scott on his knees, Scott pliant and obedient - yeah, those stayed the same.
"Don’t talk," he commanded. "Not unless I’m inside you. That’s it."
He waited, needing Scott to confirm what they were doing, even as they slipped into roles. When Scott did, he pulled hard on dark locks, forcing his gaze upwards. “Get your collar.”
The wolf gave a shallow nod, gasping quietly as his head was jerked backwards and stared up at Stiles with wide, dark eyes. He trembled faintly as he surrendered control. It was something they’d worked on together, rewriting the memories etched into his mind by his captivity and turning the things he’d been trained to enjoy into something safe and loving instead of something sick. He didn’t have to feel guilty for this, not with Stiles. For a man who always took on the worries and pain of others, giving himself completely to someone else, even for a brief time, felt almost liberating.
He smiled a little, waiting until he was released before crawling on hands and knees to the dresser. Stiles hadn’t given him permission to stand and he wanted to obey, falling into his role with ease. He groped through the drawer, pulling out the leather collar and lead clipped to it with a small metal ring. Crawling back to his human, he held out the collar, sitting up on his knees like he was begging. Scott tipped his head back to expose his throat, waiting to be leashed.
His gaze found Scott’s before he could enter the room, and his heart did that thing where where it tried to jump out of his chest. He knew he looked ridiculous, grinning like he was trying to split his face in two. Scott was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever known. He wanted to wreck him.
Stiles toed off his shoes with deliberate care, lining them along the door like he could buy time for his skittering pulse. There was tension in the air, so thick he could cut through it, but it made him brave. It curled the corners of his smile into something more calculated. Stiles was always selfish.
He snapped long fingers, calling his pet to his feet with practiced ease. He licked his lips, but his tone was even. “Kneel.”
Scott watched Stiles mutely with a needy kind of anticipation as he slipped from his relaxed sprawl on the coach. He trusted Stiles, he loved him and knew he was completely safe, but there was always that small thrill of fear when the human’s voice dropped low and commanding. Scott didn’t know if Stiles was even aware of it, the way his ticks and restless movements would become suddenly still and the wolf just knew what was coming.
He moved carefully towards his master, bare feet silent and body tight with nervous energy before he sank down to his knees in the middle of the floor. Scott kept his head bowed, eyes on the floor, the beast inside of him already resisting the show of submission. He wasn’t sure what the rules were, careful until he was he was given instructions.
Fidgeting slightly, he finally flicked his eyes upwards to watch Stiles. “What do you want me to do?”
"I don’t want your stupid scarf." Stiles lied. Scott made awesome things when he needed to. Scott had stitched up his lacrosse uniform after he’d scratched a gash through it, and even if Scott wouldn’t explain why he needed to learn things most people could take for granted, Stiles was was firmly planted in the camp of celebrating Scott’s awesomeness. He was pretty damn awesome - for a dog.
Stiles’ puppy, and don’t you dare forget it.
Stiles’ puppy who did terri-awful things.
"I want - no Sco-!" Stiles snarled like he was trying to hack up a furball, paws padding against Scott’s face and chest, but without claws, never with claws, not with Scott. He might have smacked Isaac in the face, but that was completely accidental; no jury would convict him. He let out a battle cry like an angry war god and claimed Scott’s face and chest in the name of Sparta, and then his butt.
They tussled and scuffled and every time Stiles thought he’d gotten on top, one of the pups would knock him over, and by the end of it, he was laughing so hard, he thought he would cry.
"Then I’ll make you a stupid sweater which would be so much worse! And you’ll have to wear it." Scott said in challenge. Something that would no doubt be horribly lumpy and an obscene shade of orange with ‘Dogs Rule’ in crooked stitches across the front. Stiles would hate it. Perfect. The cat just looked more adorable the grumpier he got and there was a sly sort of calculation behind the dog’s innocent grin that he never let slip.
Scott rolled in the grass with his friends, pinning Stiles to lick his tongue up the side of the cat’s face before leaping on Isaac in a sprawling tackle. There was an unspoken agreement between the two dogs to take Stiles down, though Scott was always a little more careful with his attacks than the poodle.
He claimed his victory, laughing until he couldn’t breathe and lying on top of both of his friends. Success! Best thing ever. His tail beat a steady rhythm against the ground as he reached out to scratch Isaac fondly behind the ear. “Hahaha, I win. Can’t beat meeeee.” Using his position to his advantage, the pup stole a quick kiss from Stiles to make sure he never felt left out…and maybe to reclaim exactly who belonged to who in front of Isaac.
[Text:] Do you want to do something tonight?
Innocuous, discrete, just on the line of boring, but Stiles couldn’t get it off his mind. He remembered a time when that text would mean sitting around one of their houses as they tried to think up shit to do, but now, now it had him swallowing hard in the middle of a meeting, zoning off with wide eyes and hands that were too still as the last of their active cases were discussed.
It wasn’t a night out. Stiles got laughably specific when he got caught in spur of the moment things, and Scott always had moods he’d follow when he wanted to suggest something. It wasn’t a night in of mind-numbing television and lazy kisses and leftovers. It was - Stiles uncrossed and recrossed his legs.
He’d sent that text 27 minutes ago. Scott’s ‘yes’ came back two later.
He made Scott wait. He lingered after the office was out, took twice as long as he needed to close up his projects, counted the fucking beats of his heart. He wanted to catch Scott unaware. Not unknowning, but unexpecting. And fuck, that was impossible with a werewolf. He still drove home past the speed limit, and if it took him two tries to unlock the apartment, well, no one would fault him if they knew.
It was the waiting that was the worst part. Beaming at his co-workers at the animal shelter and skillfully deflecting the attentions of the women who came to volunteer or to pick out a new pet with a charming smile and sensitivity. He never wanted to hurt anyone’s feelings, even when they toed the line, to the endless amusement of his co-workers who never failed to tease him good-naturedly about the not so subtle advances. If there was the slightest tremor to his hands, no one seemed to notice as he waved goodnight.
He got home first, kicking off his shoes and taking care of all those little things Stiles never noticed but made life just a little easier. He straightened the living room, made sure there was something set for dinner and made himself a mug of tea as he curled up on the couch to watch television. Everything was perfect, safe and comfortable as he dozed contentedly on the pillows.
Some days it was hard to accept how far they’d come to get here and how they fought for every step, but he never forgot how lucky he was to have this. A home, a family, his best friend who loved him and the promise of tonight. An ordinary, completely not special, regular day that caused his stomach to knot in quiet anticipation.