Chapter 1: In Which Stiles Becomes Unwitting Prey to a Hungry Pack
Stiles was going to lose his shit. His leg could only bounce so fast and so hard, his fingers could only fiddle with edge of his blanket for so long. He’d been in the back of the van too long, left alone and with nothing to occupy him but his racing thoughts. By now, he was surely going to start screaming from pent of anxious energy. Maybe bash his own head in against the sleek metallic wall, or even the unforgiving bench across from him. Maybe he’d spontaneously combust.
He swayed alarmingly as the van jolted to a bumpy stop. He reached out a hand to brace himself and the blanket slipped from his naked shoulders. With a full body shiver, he scrambled to pull the blanket back up. It settled under his chin just as the back doors to the van were pulled open.
He was blinded by a brief flash of bright light in the face before the asshole turned his flashlight away.
Stiles tightened his grip on his blanket. “Where are we?”
“Doesn’t matter,” the man said with a put-upon sigh. “Get out here,”
Stiles stayed put, distrustfully glaring at the guy’s black and suspiciously Kevlar-esque clothing. Stiles could use some clothing right about now, “No thanks. I’m good here,”
The man lifted one foot onto the edge of the van and leaned in with one forearm over his knee. Even though it was full dark, this close Stiles could make out the scruff of his beard and the blue of his tired eyes. “You can come out now and we can do this easy,” He said calmly, soothingly, “or I can drag you out and risk hurting you unnecessarily,”
“Right,” Stiles nodded to show his understanding, “this is the part where you tell me you don’t want to hurt me, if I just cooperate I can even go home all safe and unharmed. Because nothing says pure intentions like kidnapping the sheriff’s kid in broad daylight, strip him naked and throw him in the back of a creepy, windowless van to be driven out into the middle of nowhere,”
The small smirk of amusement on the man’s face didn’t quite reach his eyes. The regret though. That did. “You’re not here for ransom or because of your father’s job, kid. Come out, and I’ll tell you what I can. Promise,”
There really wasn’t anything else he could do, sadly.
Gripping the blanket tight and awkwardly with one hand at his throat and the other in front of his hips, Stiles clambered out of the van. The man stepped back easily, not making any move to touch him. Considerate of him, except for the fact the bastard had led the troupe that kidnapped and stripped him.
Cold ground under his bare feet, Stiles tip toed over twigs and leaves, staring around at the trees around him. It was so dark, he couldn’t see more than the trunks nearest to them. The dirt path showing the van’s tracks disappeared into blackness so quickly, Stiles was certain they had to be miles from civilization.
A stiff breeze ripped through his meager blanket and he whined as his privates shriveled further. The nakedness was concerning before, but that emotion was finally starting to morph into fear.
“Sooo,” Stiles drew the word out long and snapped his teeth shut at the end. “Not that this isn’t spectacularly creepy or anything, but I’m thinking that explanation would be nice right about now. And maybe some shoes and, y’know, clothes,”
This time the grin was more genuinely amused, “No. That’d be rather… counter productive,”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean!?”
The man folded his arms and leaned back against the closed door of the van, the words Argent Services in bold on the sleek surface by his head. He gave Stiles a top-to-bottom once over. “Like I said, you’re not here because of your father’s the Sherriff. You’re here because you’re an omega,”
Stiles stared, not liking where this was going. “So this is, what? Some sort of hate crime?”
“Not at all,” The man said conversationally. He uncrossed his arms and tapped his right knuckles on the van’s rear door, “Just business. My family and I, we’re… matchmakers, if you will. For a very particular kind of clientele,”
Stiles glared around the spooky dark forest pointedly. When he spoke, it was heavy with sarcasm and bravado. “Right. I’m sure you have an amazing track record of happy clients with long-lasting, healthy relationships. You know omega trafficking is illegal, right? Illegal, and pointless. We’re not exactly rare,”
The man, Argent, gave a humorless chuckle and shrugged, “Yeah, I know. Which is why we contacted your father first and paid him a generous dowry on behalf of our client. All nice and legal,”
“Bullshit,” Stiles said promptly and with conviction that was only so-slightly forced. He and his dad had talked about dealerships, of course, but as an abstract, out-of-options, hypothetical, “You’re lying. Dad hates omega dealerships. He’d never—”
“Extenuating circumstances,” Argent cut him off with a careless shrug, “Omegas may not be particularly unique, but you are. A male omega and a spark to boot,” He whistled appreciatively.
Stiles felt a chill run down his spine that had nothing to do with being naked in the forest in the middle of the night, “It’s dormant. It’s probably not good for much anyway. I’ll probably never even be able to use it,”
“That doesn’t mean an alpha couldn’t,”
Stiles shook his head and backed away, “Bullshit,” he spat.
“You’re eighteen years old and you haven’t had a single heat yet,” Argent said calmly, as if he were a teacher lecturing on the dry subject of chemistry, “Your dad knows what that means, just as much as you do,”
Stiles was shaking his head violently in negation. “No. No. I’m just a late bloomer… just… no,”
“That spark says otherwise,”
“Fuck you!” Stiles hissed.
There was genuine pity in Argent’s face as he frowned at him, “You’ll be a danger to yourself and others if you wait any longer, and I happen to have a client who could harness that spark for a good purpose--”
“Fuck you and your client!” Stiles jerked around, ready to make a blind run for it.
In a flash, Argent’s hand was on the back of his neck, yanking him back against the man’s solid chest. “She’ll be good to you, kid. Your dad knows that. It’s what’s for the best,”
“You’re lying!” Stiles shouted, struggling futilely as Argent pinned him, his skinny, blanket-clad back tight to the man’s front, “Dad wouldn’t! He’d never… he would have told me…!”
“That was part of the deal,” Argent spoke, calm and collected, in his ear, “My client needs you off balance, scared even. It’ll make it easier—”
“Easier!? No way! Let me go! Dad wouldn’t— this isn’t—”
Argent held him tight with one arm while he pulled something from his pocket. Stiles screamed as he felt the needle jab into his lower abdomen through the flimsy blanket.
“No!” Stiles started crying then. The disbelieving rage that had fueled the last few minutes gave way to terror and doubt. He thrashed violently, his lanky legs kicking ineffectively wild. “No! What did you do! What did you do!? Let me go!”
Argent pressed the plunger on the syringe and hummed soothingly in his ear, “It’s alright, omega. We’re just getting you going. You’re old enough that an artificial heat will bring on the real thing pretty quickly—”
“No! No! No!” Stiles wailed between panicked gasped. He wished desperately that he couldn’t hear Argent’s words. He didn’t want to know what was being done to him. He didn’t want it, no matter what it was. He didn’t want to believe his father would do this to him!
“—Shhh. It’s alright,” Argent was rocking them side to side. After having dropped the syringe, he was rubbing firm but gentle circles over Stiles’ lower belly, the spot between his hip bones, the spot he’d just stabbed with a needle.
“Let me go! This isn’t right. Dad. Dad wouldn’t do this. DAD!”
“Good lord,” A female voice sounded in the darkness. Through his tears, Stiles saw a blond woman, similarly clad in black tactical gear, round the van. She gave Stiles a derisive smirk, “He sure can scream, can’t he,”
“Help me! Please!” Stiles pleaded.
“I got this, Kate,” said his captor in a cold tone.
“Do you, Chris? It looks to me like you’re going about this the wrong way,”
“I said I got it,” Argent growled at her. His arms tightened around the struggling omega.
The woman snorted, unconvinced. “Then stop comforting him. Hale said she wanted him scared, didn’t she,”
Stiles wailed. He even managed to elbow Argent in the gut, making the man grunt even if it had no other effect.
“She said it might help,” Argent snapped at Kate, “She didn’t say she wanted him totally traumatized,”
Kate flipped her hair over her shoulder nonchalantly, “Guess Hale and you both overestimated him, if a little snatch and grab is all it takes to traumatize him,” she threw the word back at him mockingly as she pulled a black cuff off her belt and came closer. She knelt down, neatly catching Stiles’ ankle when he tried to kick her in the face.
“Get the fuck away from me!” Stiles fought to pull out of both of their grasps.
Chris Argent continued to hold him firmly, though he stopped trying to rock Stiles so the woman could fit the cuff around his ankle.
“In a minute,” She said, voice disinterested as she tightened the cuff till it lay flush to his skin. “Then we’ll be far away and you’ll be all alone,” She looked up at him and gave a lascivious grin, “At least for a little while,”
Stiles trusted his weight to Chris and struck out with his other foot, toppling her over with a satisfying blow to her shoulder.
In his ear, Chris laughed. Kate growled and jumped to her feet in an annoyingly smooth movement.
“Fuck you!” Stiles snarled through the tears still blurring his vision.
She got in his face and her eyes flashed orange. Beta then. “You should be begging us for mercy, you little whore,”
“Kate!” Chris scolded.
She ignored him, pointing her finger threateningly, her nail barely tapping Stiles’ nose as she snarled, “Wolves hunt in packs, kid. And this pack’s got more alphas than most, and by dawn every last one of them is gonna tear you open on their. Fucking. Dog. Knots!”
“Kate!” Chris hauled Stiles around, turning his broad back to her so he was firmly between her and the omega. “Get in the car! Now!”
Stiles screamed and threw both feet up, trying to kick off the rear door of the van. Chris was good, though; he simply stepped backward, carrying Stiles with him just far enough for the boy’s feet to touch the door but exert only the barest force against it.
“Shhh. Shhh. It’s okay, kid. Shhh,” Chris was whispering earnestly to him, the tone even more jarring juxtaposed to the harshness he used to address Kate. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.
It’s all going to be okay. Shhh. She’s just being a bitch. Shhh,”
Stiles wasn’t scared, not really. He’d blown past that pretty quick, and was now straight into full-blown panic territory. He fought only so long as his trembling limbs and hyperventilating would allow.
“Shit,” He heard Chris say before he called for Kate, “Get me a damn paper bag, Kate. So help me, if he passes out—”
As if his brain had just been waiting for the suggestion, Stiles’ dropped all awareness and passed the fuck out.
He woke up naked and burning. They were slow roasting him now, somehow. In the total dark of the forest, without an open flame.
“Good!” an excited male voice said nearby. A male beta crouched beside him and gentle fingers wiped his forehead, “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” he said to him, then in a clipped, professional tone: “Yeah... Yeah, he’s definitely in real heat now. It’s early enough. He’ll be able to do it.... Yes,”
Stiles groaned as a bright light flashed in front of his eyes. He winced and turned away, realizing belatedly that sticks and leaves and dirt were sticking to his sweaty back, and now his side as he rolled.
A hand landed on his shoulder, “Good omega. You need to get up, kid,” Then, more professionalism: “Yes. He just needs a couple minutes to wake up…. Yes, I’m sure… She’s in the car… Of course not. Even if he doesn’t remember what she said, we’d still—well… yes. Yes, he’s fine now. I’ll get him going in a just another minute of two. I’ll bring the tracking laptop directly to you. Personally. Again, Talia, you have my sincerest apologies,”
He was only half listening to the one-sided conversation. The rest of Stiles was preoccupied by the sweltering heat and achy, throbbing pain deep in his gut.
“Okay, Stiles,” The beta man said softly. Stiles turned his head in time to see the man stow a sleek black phone into his pocket before turning kind blue eyes on him, “You’re going to be fine, kid, we just need you to get up on your feet now, okay?”
With firm but careful hands, the man helped Stiles up. His legs were shaky and standing only seemed to worsen the ache in his belly. He whimpered and leaned into the man, only to be turned away.
“I don’t have what you need, kid,” Chris told him solemnly. “But I can send someone who does. All you have to do is run. Can you do that, Stiles? Can you run for your alphas?”
Stiles frowned as a sliver of thought tried to make it’s way through the heat melting his brain. He couldn’t quite find the words to form it, but there was anger and worry, even a tinge of fear, incorporated in that floating thought.
“Come on, Stiles,” Chris nudged him forward and Stiles felt the world around him sway alarmingly before it righted itself and he got his legs under him properly. “You got to run, kid. Anywhere. Everywhere. Don’t go in a straight line. Make them work for it,”
Something about the beta’s words just didn’t sound right. Before Stiles could dwell on it further a sharp, deep-seated cramping tore through him. He gasped and doubled over. He meant to clap a hand a hand over his tummy, where it hurt the worst, but his palm fell lower, cupping his half-hard cock. He whined and pulled his hand away: his balls were suspiciously tender and swollen. And wet. Good god, but everything down there was so messy wet.
“Dammit all,” Behind him, the beta made a frustrated sound, then reluctantly barked hard and vicious enough to make Stiles jump: “Run, omega!”
The threat in the voice zapped him into action. Startled, confused and aching, Stiles tore off into the woods.
It took next to no time at all for the threatening orders of the beta to fade into the distance. Almost immediately, he was swallowed up by blackness, tripping over tree roots and stumbling through filigree. His breath came harsh and uneven as he ran, his panting a broken noise amid the echoing silence of the woods. It was eerily silent, in fact; just him, crashing and panting through the wilderness, blind and desperate.
Desperate for what though. The ache between his hips was ever present, often spreading for brief moments into his lower back and even more frequently accompanied by a terrible itch of discontent in his groin and anus. His entire body was soaked, with tears and sweat and a slippery viciousness that felt thick and hot as it ran down his inner thighs.
Stiles slowed down once, wheeling around helpless and confused as he tried to see beyond the reach of his own damn arm. He had no idea where he was, when he was. He may have been out here for hours, or maybe just minutes. Seconds, even.
And then, somewhere in the distance, a wolf began to howl.
Wolves hunt in packs. Someone had warned him of that recently.
Fear struck through him, cold and sudden.
Another howl, and this time it garnered a response. A chorus of harmonizing, animal voices. Wolves hunt in packs.
A thick wad a silken sludge bubbled out of his body, dripping on his skin and hit the leaves of the forest floor audibly. His insides throbbed. Stiles was crying again, the tears camouflaged by all the sweat. He hugged himself and whimpered. He didn’t know what to do.
More howling, closer. Wolves hunt in packs.
With a frightened gasp, Stiles dropped his arms and ran with renewed desperation.
What must have been mere minutes stretched on into forever. With no light or particular awareness to ground him, he rushed through the woods in a surreal blur, somewhere between nonbelief and a waking nightmare.
Then he heard a single loud, beautiful howl. It sounded joyful. Victorious.
Something large knocked him to the ground. Stiles screamed as he and whatever it was tumbled, rolling over moss and broken branches carelessly. He had the brief impression of thick, sleek muscles and rough fur before momentum carried his assailant’s heftier weight beyond himself. Stiles tried to get up and run, scrambling in the opposite direction from his attacker, to fight and save himself, but whatever it was—the wolf—wasn’t alone.
He’d hadn’t even gotten to his feet fully before another one was on him. Literally.
It took him down with more grace than the first. A thick arm caught him around the middle and drew him into the cradle of a lightly furred chest, protecting him from the initial impact with the ground. Unfortunately, this second one did not let it’s eagerness get away from itself; it never lost it’s hold, and instead of rolling away from Stiles, it rolled with him. A moment later, Stiles was face-down in the dirt, a wolf heavy and hot atop him.
A rumbling, self-satisfied sound came from the creature. One of it’s sharply clawed hands gripped his hair harshly and kept him down with the left side of his face smashed to the ground. The other hand—paw—grabbed his thigh, so large he felt the claws nearly meet around his limb.
That was as far as it went though, since a moment later an angry roar blew over them, shortly followed by two large masses passing overhead. The wolf above him disappeared.
Stiles lay petrified as he listened to the vicious sounds of monsters tussling in the near perfect darkness. He lifted his head only to get the barest glimpses of humanoid figures crouched and lunging in animalistic fashions. Stiles breathed heavily, shallow and quick, and moved on instinct to scramble away.
That was when the last of them arrived.
Stiles had been so focused on avoiding the three or four wolves already present, he hadn’t paid any heed to anything else coming up behind him. And then it was too late, as large, grotesquely furred and heavy knuckled hands lifted him off the ground entirely with an accompanied snarl.
He barely got a high pitched “eep!” of alarm past his lips.
The breath was knocked out of him as he was thrown over a fallen tree trunk. Any attempt to escape was proven pointless as those monstrous hands grabbed his hips. Whoever was the latest to catch him kicked his legs apart without ceremony, crouched down and—
“Aaahhh!” Stiles cried out in a complex mix of shock, dismay, and pleasure.
The snarling and noisy attacks cut off abruptly. For a long, sickeningly tense moment, the only noise in the whole forest was Stiles whining, high and needy.
The hands on his hips flexed and readjusted minutely. There was a soft press against the plump curve of his ass that felt suspiciously like a kiss, and then—and then.
Stiles’s next scream was significantly more surprise and pleasure than anything else. A long, hard tongue swiped over the crease of his ass. Once. Twice. Three times. Then it dipped lower, washing over his tight balls and making him cry, big and desperate tears. The appendage jabbed at his hole a few times, making the furled opening soften and spread alarmingly quickly.
When the beast finally pulled back, it was so it could tighten it’s oddly human-esque paws on his hips and then Stiles was being pulled back, so only his upper body remained precariously placed atop the downed tree. He felt something velvety smooth and large slide against him, felt his own body open and clutch needily, instantly drenched anew. The creature poised above him gave a sort of pleased purr. There was no further warning than that.
Another cramping pain tightened his insides, and Stiles cried out. The sound morphed into a full blown scream as it was matched by the sharp pain of something impossibly large penetrating his anus.
He could hear the beasts fighting again, their vigor renewed as they competed to the sound of his virginity disappearing.
“It’s my turn,”
“Fuck off, Jackson,”
“You’ve already knotted him twice!”
“Fuck. Off. Whitmore,”
“But it’s my—”
“The both of you, do shut up. Raeken, you’re done. It’s my turn,”
“Uh, guys? I actually think he could use a break,”
“Scott and Derek may have a point,”
“How magnanimous of you, Peter,”
“No need to get uppity, Duke. We don’t want to cause any lasting harm, now do we. Besides, I think he’s coming to,”
Huh, Stiles thought sluggishly. He hadn’t realized he was more-or-less awake until he heard someone else say it. He blinked his eyes, only to realize they were already open; it was still pitch black in the forest.
“Good morning, sweetheart,”
Stiles blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tackiness of half-dried tears and crust from his eyes.
“Yeah,” Came the second voice that Stiles began waking to, sounding a little breathless and rather young and cocky, “morn-morning. Ah!”
The voice, coming from behind him, stuttered out a long, muffled groan. And then Stiles felt tightness low and deep inside himself. Pressure built too fast for his sluggish mind to make sense of and he gave a confused whine.
“Dammit, Raeken,” a young voice cursed.
Someone else sighed and in a polished, European accent: “Theo. I believe you were told not to knot him again,”
“Because it’s not your fucking turn, asswipe,”
“S-sorry,” the alpha currently inside him didn’t sound at all apologetic, “Fuuck! I cou-couldn’t help it. Gah-ugh! God, he feels so good,”
There were sounds of agreement from all around them.
“Hey there, sweetheart,” someone tapped a finger on Stiles’ cheek gently, “Open those pretty eyes for us. That’s a good boy. You with us, sweetheart?”
“Is he okay?” Someone whispered anxiously.
“He’s fine. Just a little out of it still,”
A little out of it, Stiles thought with an unprecedented urge to giggle. A totally different noise left him though, because at that moment the cramping in his gut was washed away by a tumult of painful pressure that his muddled brain translated to pure bliss.
He came to in a grey world, the trees and dirt just barely visible in predawn light. What he could see of it, anyway; his view was sort of cloudy, and he suspected he was looking at tree roots and moss. A delicious shudder wracked his body as something large and powerful shoved him deeper into the undergrowth.
Above him, someone growled low and appreciatively, “Ugh,” the growl morphed into a broken whisper, “H-how? How is he still s-so tight?”
This statement was met with a chorus of chuckles and agreeable hums.
“Omegas, McCall,” some said, voice young and satisfied, “They’re made for it,”
“No,” someone older said firmly, but fondly, “He’s something special. Our perfect omega,”
Stiles keened as he felt a strange yet vaguely familiar pressure growing inside him.
“Yeah! Perfect!” The word was soft and strained, accompanied by a possessive caress down Stiles’ back, “Perfect omega. S-so good, ugh!”
Between one blink and the next, the grey world was suddenly flooded with light that brought out all sorts of greens and browns. And Stiles could almost make out the features of the faces surrounding him, if he cared enough to focus. It was hard to find the motivation though, when all he wanted was to melt back into the sturdy body against his back, so much warmer and comfortable than the unforgiving, cold ground against Stiles’ side.
“There you are, sweetheart,”
A hand cupped his chin and Stiles blinked rapidly till he could make out the features of the face immediately in front of him: strong, handsome features, disheveled brown hair and a neatly styled goatee.
Stiles moaned as someone else’s cock plunged into him slow and hard from behind.
Goatee smirked and pressed a kiss to his temple, “That’s it, sweetheart. Go ahead and enjoy it. Time for you to relax,”
Stiles felt someone lift his leg and there was a brief wet swipe across the head of his dick. He whined and clenched unthinkingly. The cock inside him jerked and the alpha groaned.
“Easy, love,” came a faintly familiar, English accent. He was directly behind him, voice quiet and breathless.
There was another pass of wet and hot over his cock and Stiles jerked into it.
While the European groaned, Stiles saw Goatee shoot an unimpressed look at someone down by Stiles’ hips. “Knock it off, Theo. Don’t rush him,”
There was a dark chuckle, and Stiles felt someone drop his leg and give his flank a pat. He couldn’t appreciate the gesture, though, because at that moment a cramp tore through him unforgivingly.
“Hush,” the European soothed him, panting in the omega’s ear. He hadn’t realized he’d been crying out again. The alpha picked up the pace of his thrusts, the pounding somehow matching the pulses of twitching cramps inside him, “I’ve got you, love. I’ve got—”
He woke next to the sound of his own screaming. It was a pained and frustrated sound that matched the spikes of grated, convulsing sensation in that place inside that never seemed satisfied. Especially right now.
“Don’t yell at him, Jackson! He can’t help it!”
No. Stiles really couldn’t help it. He was thrashing too wildly to take notice of any of his surroundings, people or otherwise. Then he was rolling over and—
“Oh, no, you don’t!”
Stiles splayed out on the ground with a heavy, writhing mass atop him. He screamed, furious, and reached back with his fingers curled like claws only to find his wrist pinned down.
“That’s enough, babe,” someone growled, nipping at the back of his throat reprovingly, “Let me make it all better,”
“Jackson,” someone whined, young and anxious, “be careful with him—”
“Fuck that, McCall. He doesn’t need careful, he needs this,”
Stiles’ next angry scream morphed into a needy mewl as something shoved inside him unceremoniously and immediately started pounding.
Next time he surfaced, he was calm enough to recognize the sunlight streaming through the trees. He could see plenty of green and golden hues in the leafy canopy over the muscular shoulder right in front of his face. It was a nice shoulder, thick and solid and warm, yet slender. Delectable.
Stiles bit it.
What do you know. It was mighty tasty after all. Moaning, Stiles gnawed on the flesh, blunt human teeth digging in while his tongue laved.
“Well damn, omega,” someone said, impressed, “Got a little wolf in you, huh?”
“In more ways than one,”
“Very funny, assholes,”
“Aw!” someone taunted, “Did the human omega hurt you, Theo?”
“No, he just surprised me,”
“Wait, he actually bit you?” the European asked, as if he’d missed what all the laughter was about.
“Yeah, but not hard,” someone, young and cocky, added derisively, “He’s not even bleeding,”
A deeply satisfied groan sounded, extremely nearby. Stiles felt the vibration of it twice: at his hairline, where the alpha was pressing an open-mouth kiss, and lower down, where, Stiles belatedly realized, the alpha was fucking into him in unhurried but powerful and deep jerks of his hips.
“Give him a sec,” the alpha grunted, air puffing against Stiles’ forehead with a choked laugh, “He’s still… I think he’s still going. Like he’s trying to mark me,”
Multiple possessive growls responded to this claim.
Startled, Stiles released his snack with a whine. They—his alphas—sounded displeased. Stiles didn’t want that. Never that.
The tasty shoulder, miraculously unmarred save for saliva, withdrew as the alpha pushed up to look at him. Stiles met the gaze of a youthful brunet, blond highlights streaking the tips; he was probably about his own age. His face was smooth skinned and well defined, the eyes dark and shrewd. The grin on that face was equally dark and clever, but genuine.
“Look who’s joined the party,” the alpha punctuated the greeting with a sharp thrust that lifted Stiles’ hips off the forest floor.
Stiles groaned, clutching at the alpha’s biceps as an awesome mounting ache built in his groin and deeper places.
The alpha placed a hand on his head, keeping their gazes locked, “Eyes on me, babe,” he commanded with a smirk. He gave another sharp, lifting thrust, and Stiles instinctively wrapped a leg around him.
He was a good omega, not looking away even when another voice chuckled: “He likes that, doesn’t he,”
It wasn’t a question.
Stiles nodded his head like a tapped bobble doll, anyway. The alpha allowed the movement since Stiles kept his eyes on his.
“Yeah, babe? You like this?” Another sharp thrust, and Stiles groaned, mouth falling open and gaping in search of words he didn’t currently know, “Yeah, I know you do,”
On the precipice of something wonderful, something he needed, Stiles clutched spastically at the alpha, at Theo, with his hands, his legs, his ass. He watched Theo throw his head back and groan, felt his hips stutter.
“You better knot him,” someone more mature sounding cautioned, “He’s hungry for it. Don’t you dare tease him, Theo,”
He didn’t, he really didn’t. Theo picked up the pace, his forming knot wracked Stiles’ hole with confused signals of pain and pleasure. Stiles wailed excitedly and grabbed at the alpha’s lean body.
“Yeah!” Theo whispered heatedly, nuzzling him with encouragement, “Yeah, baby, go on. Bite me all you want,”
So Stiles did.
He blinked, confused at equal turns by his empty mouth as by the sudden appearance of a smooth grey truck bed cover looming over him. He was sitting on someone’s lap, his head thrown back to rest on the person’s shoulder, and it took him an awkward moment to realize he was being fucked again, the cock thicker than last one he remembered—Theo’s?—but not nearly so effective as the trundling of the truck interfered with the thrusts.
Wait… that wasn’t quite right.
Stiles moaned, too caught up in the fire burning in his belly, racing up his spine and making everything between his legs ache in the worst way. He squirmed, and the alpha inside him groaned softly, almost subvocal. Stiles felt it more than heard it, in the rumbling of the thick, hard chest at his back, the grimacing teeth snagging on his throat in barely controlled nips, the hands gently roaming his body, constantly dancing over his belly, thighs, up his sides, framing his groin.
Never his cock. Never fucking him quite right.
Wait. What. No, he knew this cock. This cock could do amazing things to him, he knew…
Stiles whined, frustrated.
The alpha groaned, the hands on his thighs squeezing him hard. He sounded closer to pain than orgasm.
That wasn’t what Stiles wanted. He wanted his alpha’s pleasure. He wanted his knot. Determined, Stiles tightened his inner muscles and rolled his hips.
The alpha gasped, his mouth leaving his throat followed by the sound of a head hitting the truck wall with a thunk.
Someone chuckled. Another snarked: “Alright there, Derek?”
“What’s going on?” The European voice asked, sounding almost as frustrated as Stiles was.
“He’s riding Derek,” someone explained, amusement in his voice, “reverse cowboy style,”
“More like he’s killing Derek,” someone else added, also amused, “Getting a little sensitive there, nephew?”
The alpha, Derek, growled warningly, “Feel free to take over. Any. Time,”
“No thanks. I’m tapped out, for the moment,”
“Wish you could see this, Duke,” Stiles heard the wonder in the voice.
“Tell me,” The European whispered heatedly.
“He doesn’t even have the energy to lift his head,” the young alpha continued, “But he’s so desperate for it, he’s still trying to fuck himself. He keeps doing this thing, sorta stretching—”
“Arching, Scott. The word you’re looking for—”
“Do shut up, Peter, let the boy talk,”
“Well, yeah. Arching. Bucking his hips, but it’s like… fitful. Inconsistent,”
“He’s trying so hard though,” Someone else added, sounding… proud? “there’s zero fuel to it, but he’s still working himself over. His dick’s nice and red, bouncing all pretty as can be,”
“Stuff of wet dreams, Duke,”
Stiles felt and heard the alpha fucking him—who he was fucking himself on?—hum in agreement. A trembling hand drew gentle circles on Stiles’ inner thigh with the tips of his fingers.
“He keeps chewing on his own lips and tongue too,” Stiles thought he recognized Theo’s voice, cocky and sinful, “and he keeps grabbing at Derek’s wrists—“
Derek chuckled darkly at that. Stiles’ shoulders vibrated with it. “He keeps—ugh!” he broke off with a quiet groan, probably because Stiles was squeezing his inner muscles with all his might, “keeps trying to lead me to his cock,”
“I thought omegas were supposed to be all about the penetration during heat?”
“They are,” The European cleared his throat pointedly, “but other stimulation would still help achieve orgasm. Unfortunate, really, that Derek’s not ready for that,”
The alpha inside him was breathing shallowly and quick. More than his hands were shaking now, as Stiles braced his feet on the truck bed and rocked hard as he could. The alpha just sat there. Let him.
“Chasing orgasm is… preoccupying him, Jackson,” Someone else answered as the alpha kept struggling to control his breathing while Stiles used him, “Keeping him full and nicely distracted from demanding a knot sooner than Derek can provide one,”
There was a beat of tense silence at this, interrupted only by Stiles’ moaning and squirming. He needed this alpha to fuck him right, dammit. Determined and growing impatient, Stiles huffed and rolled his hips, clenching over, and over…
“No, omega,” the alpha scolded him gently, kissing Stiles’ throat, “Just a little longer. Promise—”
He was crying the next time. Fat, angry tears that obscured his vision. His limbs were heavy from exhaustion, but he somehow found the wherewithal to flail and swipe at the hands touching him anyway.
“Easy, omega,” Someone soothed as they carried Stiles, tightly wrapped in a throw blanket. It felt like sandpaper against him. He just wanted an alpha, smooth skin and sweat and slick and muscle and heat.
“Get him inside,” Said a harassed sounding female voice, “Straight up to the attic, Peter. Laura and Isaac got it fully stocked. For the love of God, someone knot him. The rest of you better jump in the showers,”
Stiles wailed as he was carried into an unfamiliar place. As they left behind the outdoors, he was momentarily shocked into submission by the onslaught of scents. Of family, and alphas. Of familiarity that didn’t make sense but felt like love and family and pleasure.
And then he was behind a door that closed with a disturbingly heavy thud. And all those comforting, entrancing scents were cut off.
Enraged, Stiles screamed.
Stiles was suddenly on his back, staring up at a beaming, tanned face. Shaggy brown hair framed a crooked jaw as the guy smiled fondly at him. With a start, Stiles realized his left leg was hooked over the guy’s shoulder.
“Hey, hey!” the alpha said excitedly, like a big puppy. “You with us, pretty omega? Yeah, you’re awake. You’re right here with us!”
Crooked-jaw broke eye contact as he spoke, his gaze lowering, down, down. Stiles frowned, confused as he watched a look of concentration spread on the guy’s face, and then there was pressure and… oh. Oh!
Stiles mewled happily as the alpha filled him in one smooth, steady thrust.
The alpha’s gaze jumped up to his face, and the guy abandoned the concentrated look to grace him with a sweet smile, “Yeah, that’s my good omega,”
Stiles paused awkwardly as he found himself staring down at the handsome goateed alpha. He was straddling him, hands on the guy’s thick pecs. Very thick, very wet pecs. In fact, Stiles was pretty wet himself.
“It’s alright, sweet boy,” Goatee murmured as he scratched his fingers across Stiles’ scalp, through soaked hair. “Keep going. Take what you need,”
Stiles glanced around at all the gleaming tile, felt the splatter of water on his back. They were sitting on the bottom of an expansive shower stall, Goatee’s back against the wall, Stiles firmly on his lap.
“Did his heat break?” Stiles barely acknowledged the peculiar texture of the stall door before it was sliding open and admitting a slender blond male with sharply defined features. Not that Stiles cared to study them. Not when he was so conveniently eye-level with the guy’s long, hard, perfect cock, with it’s perfect, barely-there knot.
“Not yet,” Goatee said, both hands going to the omega’s ass and palming him open. “But he’s lucid, all things considered,”
Stiles gasped as he was jostled, the backs of his legs sliding down the alpha’s impressive thighs. Stiles was momentarily distracted from the blonde’s lovely cock by the prodding of the one beneath him. It slid into him easily, familiarly, and Stiles made a soft, pleased noise that didn’t even sound like himself.
“Good boy,” Goatee praised, and maybe Stiles preened a little, rocking and undulating giddily, “Oh, look at you, you perfect thing. Just look at him, Jackson,”
The blond snorted, “Yeah, perfect little knot-slut,”
Goatee frowned over Stiles’ shoulder at the other alpha, “Don’t be mean to him, Jackson,”
“Nothing mean about it. I like that he’s so hungry for it” Jackson said matter-of-factly.
Stiles felt soap-slick hands on his back, rubbing sensually up over his shoulders. Stiles felt those clever hands clean and massage down the length of his back, up again, then sliding around to his front. He kissed Stiles’ cheek while Goatee watched with a studious eye. Jackson cleaned his belly, really working up a lather to loosen the dried cum there, before one wet hand pulled on his nipple and the other closed on his little omega cock. Stiles sang, twitching on the other alpha’s cock.
Goatee moaned appreciatively, his own hands heavy on Stiles’ thighs, keeping him grounded.
“Don’t tease him, Jackson,” Goatee admonished, a little breathless. “You” He reached up and took Stiles’ chin in hand, demanding his attention, “are going to come on my knot, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
Stiles nodded frantically as the blonde alpha sucked a mark onto his throat. The tight warmth of his hand vanished, Jackson’s hand roaming more lightly as it proceeded to clean him.
“Because Jackson’s right, isn’t he?” Goatee pushed his thumb into Stiles’ mouth as he spoke. Stiles sucked, and immediately saw the alpha’s eyes flash red, growing darker and more sinfully promising. “You were made for knotting, weren’t you, sweetheart?”
Stiles moaned around the thumb, still sucking even as he shimmied his hips up and down as best he could. It wasn’t enough though. Not nearly enough.
“Who’s teasing him now, Peter,” Jackson snidely remarked, sounding genuinely disapproving, “He doesn’t have the strength left to fuck himself the way he needs it,”
“No worries,” Goatee—no. Peter. Peter smiled at Stiles fondly as he spoke to the other alpha, “I’ll knot him soon as we’re done with his bath. I’d hate to be stuck in here, not when I could have him on a real bed. You’d like that, wouldn’t you sweetheart? If I get you back into bed, all wet and slippery, and Jackson could help me pat you dry while you hang off my knot for a while, hm?”
Jackson chuckled and then his hands were on Stiles’ head, massaging his scalp with frothy, purposeful swipes. Stiles moaned, closing his eyes, as Jackson said: “Enough with the brilliant ideas, now keep him still so I can rinse him,”
He opened his eyes to a truly magnificent penis not two inches from his nose. With a lustful mewl, he reached for it with his mouth.
“Patience, love,” came that posh, accented voice at the same time a firm hand gripped his hair, “You need to wait,”
Confused by the order, Stiles tilted his head where it rested on a sturdy thigh and looked up at the speaker. He wasn’t sure what to expect, if the face should match the amazingness of the dick so tauntingly close to his face, but pale, blind eyes were not it. The elegant features, so sharp they could cut stones, were, though. But not the eyes. His alpha couldn’t see him with those eyes, and what a sad thing that was.
“Shush, now,” he said in that cultured voice. A big hand petted over his hair, cupping the base of his skull gently as his other hand found Stiles’ chin. With those large hands guiding him, Stiles leaned in and nuzzled, desperately wishing the alpha would let him take his dick in his mouth. It looked delicious. “I’ll be ready soon, love,”
There was a gentle, too-light pressure at his hole, and Stile whined, spreading his legs wantonly, even as he buried his nose in the European’s groin.
“You might be ready soon, Duke,” came the soft tones Stiles vaguely recalled as belonging to his puppy-eyed alpha with the asymmetrical jawline, “but he’s gonna need at least ten more minutes for the salve to be effective. Maybe fifteen,”
“No worries, Scott. He’s far enough along in heat, I think he can afford to learn a little patience,”
Someone else snorted doubtfully, “You say that now,”
Stiles woke up alone. And literally. As in, he had actually been sleeping.
He was in bed the smelled and felt familiar, even if his eyes didn’t quite recognize the cream-colored duvet or the matching polished wood of the floors and walls. The ceiling was all exposed rafters, but cleanly kept and well lit from skylights. It was a large room, and a suitably large bed.
He had a good number of minutes to admire it, actually. He felt sort of floaty, content and relaxed, at least until he considered the fact he was all alone. That didn’t seem quite right.
And then it wasn’t right. Not right at all. As Stiles kicked off the blankets fitfully, he realized the high-pitched keening noise was coming from himself.
A hard cramp stole his breath away, hitting his insides so hard and fast he crunched up off the mattress. When the convulsion finally released, he threw himself back and barely had time to brace before heat and sweat swarmed him. Between his thighs and the sheets beneath his ass were sticky and damp.
And he was all alone.
He wasn’t alone the next time. He come to in the middle of a jumble of thick limbs and hot bodies, nothing but skin and the smell of sex. He was practically smothered by it, but the relief at realizing he wasn’t alone was so extreme, he found he didn’t really mind.
“Hush, now,” a gruff voice whispered in his ear, stubble prickling the back of Stiles’ neck, “No need for tears. You’re alright,”
He hadn’t actually realized he’d been quietly sobbing in profound relief. Sniffling, he opened his mouth to say… well, something. Thank you, maybe. Instead, he just whimpered and pushed his hips back. Immediately, the whimper turned to a moan as he felt the thick knot inside him press just right where he hadn’t realized he needed it.
Big hands stroked his belly, and another stubbly kiss pressed to his shoulder. Stiles turned his head to se pretty blue-green eyes and heavy dark brows looking back at him. Despite the gruff crease in that brow, the dud was a looker.
Wanting to show his appreciation, Stiles instinctively arched, pressing back into the knock and squeezing down as he turned his head and presented his throat submissively.
Grumpy-and-Gorgeous gave a nearly silent chuckle that reverberated from his chest.
“He’s so sweet,” Stiles opened his eyes again to see the alpha who was in front of him. The young, crooked-jawed alpha kissed his face and petted his hair, running his hands over as much of Stiles he could reach without sitting up from his spot in front of the omega. There was wonder on his face as he told the alpha behind Stiles: “Barely conscious, and his first priority is to submit,”
“Hmm,” Grumpy was also stroking as much of Stiles’ skin as possible, “We’ll see how long that lasts once the heat’s over,”
The other alpha grinned, and Stiles had the urge to pat his head like he would a friendly dog. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed him. The alpha gave a soft, surprised moan, cupping Stiles’ face almost reverently, “Our sweet omega,” he whispered into Stiles’ mouth.
Behind him, the other alpha made a noncommittal noise, then started shifting his hips in a way Stiles simply could not ignore.
Next thing he knew, he was wet again, but not from water.
“Look at you!” the goateed alpha chuckled, equal parts amused and excited.
Stiles blinked up at him from his position between the guy’s thighs. He had to blink a lot, he found, to keep the spunk out of his vision.
Behind him, someone else made an agreeable hum. Fingers were playing with his hole, gentle and not at all fulfilling.
Mewling in supplication, Stiles ducked his head and lapped at the flagging, well-used cock so temptingly in front of his face.
The alpha in front of him gave a breathless laugh, even as he shifted his hips to pull his cock away. Stiles whimpered and tried to chase it, but the hand in his hair pulled him up short.
“No, no, omega,” the alpha said fondly, “You’ve already sucked me dry, sweetheart,”
“I’m telling you,” someone said off to the side—Stiles was too busy whining and trying to get his mouth back on Goatee’s cock to figure out who. “Someone should knot his mouth,”
Several deep growls cut off the suggestion, accompanied by a few harsh versions of: “No, Theo,”
He woke up again, pulled from actual sleep by being manhandled onto his back. The last of semi-conscious dreariness faded from his eyes as someone hitched his leg over their hip. He rubbed his eyes hurriedly and found himself staring at the lithe blonde alpha, vaguely recalling his tender touch from the shower. The alpha was looking downward, to where Stiles could feel him slipping and sliding languidly except for when the smooth bulb of his head caught on Stiles’ rim.
Stiles squirmed. He was hot, unfairly so, and uncomfortably empty, yes; but he was also sore. Very, very sore.
“Easy, babe,” The alpha said calmly, rubbing his hand up and down Stiles’ thigh where it was propped up with his knee over the guy’s shoulder.
The cock nudged into his hole then. Stiles gasped at the flare of throbbing pain, like a freshly scrapped wound being rubbed clean. Instinctively, he tightened up and tried to twist away.
Various pairs of hands caught him. Stiles had taken him by surprise, it was the only explanation for how he’d managed to turn almost fully onto his side. It wasn’t far enough though. Instantly, he was on back on his back, though now Grumpy-and-Gorgeous was holding his leg up and pinning his wrist to the bed, and the one he sort of recognized as Theo was holding his other hand firmly while he petting Stiles’ temple.
The blonde—Jackson, his brain provided helpfully—slid back inside him with a small frown on his face. Stiles whined fitfully and tried to push him out, even as a sharp cramp tore through his insides.
“Shh, omega,” someone whispered, voice deep and soft and sympathetic. Grumpy-and-Gorgeous, he thought.
“Just one more knot should do it,” Stiles recognized that crisp, English accent. “Go still the moment you start to grow, Jackson,”
Stiles tried to ask them to stop. He really did, the words just wouldn’t form on his tongue. He strained pointlessly against the hands that held him.
“Soon, baby,” Jackson reassured, his thrusts slow and measured. “It’ll be over soon. You’re almost done,”
Someone, with big, puppy-dog eyes shining wetly, leaned over him then, peppering his face with light kisses.
Stiles whined and turned his face away even as another cramping pain overrode the rawness at his entrance. He was crying, fully sobbing now as Jackson gave a harder, if still slow, thrust.
Finally, fucking finally, Stiles managed to groan out: “N-no-o-oh!”
Stiles was asleep. Or maybe just sleepy. He was maybe-asleep. And wet. And weirdly numb.
Against his better judgment, Stiles opened his eyes. He found two female faces staring back at him. The one to his right was older, yet lovely in that way confident women always are, with her dark hair pulled up into a knot atop her head. The other one was probably just a handful of years older than himself, her highlighted hair mostly brown in its braid, and darkening still where it met her wet skin.
Wet. Why was everybody so wet… oh.
He jerked, weirded out when the action didn’t cause as much splashing as he expected. They were in a bathtub, a giant jacuzzi bath, to be exact, with plenty of room for Stiles to float mostly suspended in the water, even with two adult women sitting in there with him. The lights in the fancy bathroom, dotting around the tub and a giant sink mirror, were suspiciously dim.
“Just relax, Stiles,” The elder woman said, her voice maternal and soft, yet no less commanding.
She was supporting his head, he realized, keeping his face above water. With her free hand, she played with his hair, splaying it out in the water aimlessly. It was felt nice. Really nice, actually.
He licked his lips, wondering how they could be so dry when the rest of him was so… not. In a voice that croaked from overuse, he said: “Mmm. S’nice. Very nice,”
The younger woman bit her lips as she tried to stifle a chuckle, “Oh my god, honey, you are so high,”
The older woman flicked some water at her and scolded: “Hush,” She was smiling too, he noticed.
Huh, Stiles thought, that made sense. He imagined he’d be far less comfortable and languid if he weren’t medicated. “Ssssmart,” He said, managing to slap his hand on the water, though to little effect.
They both giggled.
There were worrisome thoughts trying to get to the forefront of his mind. He frowned a little, feeling like he was grasping at smoke. Something about… Argent? Wolves? Who? What? No, wait… alpha? Alphas! Where were his alphas?
“No need for frowning, little one,” The woman said soothingly, gently rubbing her finger between his furrowed brows. “Just relax for a bit before the morphine wears off,”
“But…” He searched for the one question he’d managed to isolate, form into a half-completed thought, “My… alphas?”
The younger woman made the sort of ‘aw’ noise usually reserved for babies and puppies who were doing something exceedingly adorable. “You precious thing,”
The other woman rolled her eyes but gave Stiles a reassuring smile, “They’re cleaning up your room and making you breakfast. We thought it best to keep them busy while Dr. Deaton and I tended to you. Don’t worry about them for now,”
This only prompted Stiles’ sluggish brain to form more half-questions. Fortunately, the look on his face seemed more effective communication than his mouth currently was capable of. The woman continued speaking, answering his semi-formed questions and then some.
“My name is Talia Hale, this is my daughter Laura. I’m the head alpha of the Beacon Hills Pack, and she is my heir. Officially, I am now your alpha, Stiles,”
Stiles’ frown deepened and he shook his head. “I don’t…. that’ssss not….”
Laura cut off his slurring speech with a gentle finger on his lips, “She’s not your mate, Stiles. No more than I will be,”
“Yes,” Talia said, returning to playing with his hair soothingly, “You’ll have your hands full with the six you already have, I’m sure,”
Laura smirked and wagged her eyebrows at him suggestively, “Or they’ll have their hands full with you, more like, huh, omega?”
Despite himself, this news made him smile. Why though, was a little vague, since he was fairly sure he hadn’t wanted or expected to mate anytime soon. Even so, Stiles was inordinately pleased by the reassurance that his alphas were nearby.
“As it turns out,” Talia agreed, speaking slowly and softly as a steely glint turned her eyes hard, “You may actually be more than they currently know how to handle,”
The humor on Laura’s face faded, expression becoming unreadable, “We’ll fix that though, Stiles. They’ll all know better next time, I promise,”
“Your heat was not gentle on you, Stiles,” her mother continued, “And your alphas should have been better prepared to help you through it. That is partially my fault, and you have my fullest and most sincere apology; I… assumed—mistakenly, it seems—that your spark would be weaker than it clearly is, so… certain measures were taken that you would have been better off without,”
Stiles was not so heavily drugged that he couldn’t understand that much. He nodded sagely and his tongue fumbled out a version of: “Like kidnapping me in a rapist’s van?”
He had a feeling his snark didn’t quite come through, given Talia’s little smile and the giggles Laura chocked back.
“Dad?” He asked, suddenly gripped by trepidation and a strong urge to cry. He couldn’t quite remember why the topic of his father was so emotional, his brain to muddled by a combination of drugs and post-heat haze. He knew it was important though.
Laura made a low, rumbling purr and rubbed her hands over his belly soothingly.
Talia’s fingers paused between the floating mass of his hair, “He’s eagerly waiting to hear from you, I’m sure. You can call him once your sober and rested,”
“I’ve been keeping him updated on your… status,” Laura said awkwardly.
Stiles’ frown only deepened. He didn’t like the way that sounded. Slowly, he pieced this new information together with fragments of not too-recent memory. So his dad did sell him to a wolf pack after all… And what was this about his… status? He tried to ask, and as he managed to push the words out, the urge to cry overcame him.
“Why’d he…. Nobody… told me….”
Talia looked pained as she admitted, “I… that was one of my mistakes, Stiles. I thought the less you knew and the more tumultuous the situation, the easier it would be for my alphas to bring out your spark,”
“That’s why the Argents put us in touch with your father,” Laura continued, “Packs don’t normally operate well with too many alphas, and alphas need a pack to survive, their sanity depends on it. But our pack is… unique. Duke’s blind and couldn’t lead his own pack, he’s tried. Peter and Derek are literal blood kin, so no one trusts them to lead their own, since they’ll always be beholden to Beacon Hills. And the others are in similarly desperate states,”
“We needed a way to strengthen their ties to the pack that was healthy and beneficially,” Talia took over flawlessly, “An omega with enough magic to bind multiple mates was the best solution,”
“We didn’t expect you,” Laura added with a saucy grin, “Seriously. We thought maybe two or three omegas could do it, bond each of them to at least two other alphas. But then… Chris called us a few months ago and said he’d found a spark, an of-age omega who hadn’t even presented yet. You were like a god-send, Stiles! We were prepared to pay a significant amount of money to convince multiple families to hand over their children for matting with multiple wolves, and instead… there you were. Quite possibly the only omega alive who had a need a great as ours. It’s no surprise this heat wore on you so badly, sparks don’t normally fester for so long before something momentous makes them manifest. Your dad made the right call in letting us trigger it with a matting chase,”
Talia was nodding along during the whole explanation. At this point, she interrupted Laura’s excited speech with a more somber tone, “You may not have wanted to mate so young, Stiles, but I think you knew it was bound to happen soon, didn’t you,”
It wasn’t a question, but Stiles felt himself sniffle and nod anyway. Even as he listened and understood, he still felt betrayed that his father did this without even warning him.
“You successfully matted with six of my wolves, Stiles, and if there’d been a seventh, I have no doubt you would have had him too. Can you imagine the awful situation you might have been in if your father had tried to get you into a traditional, monogamous mating?”
Remembering the worst of the heat pains, Stiles could only whine and shake his head. When he’d hit sixteen years old without ever going into heat, he’d spent weeks going in and out of Omega Heat Centers, consulting with specialists; half the time, they wanted to bring it on synthetically, the other half they encouraged him to let things happen on their own time, with precautions that included the nearest Heat Center on speed dial.
He’d heard of plenty of omegas who never experienced heat until their twenties. It was rarely pretty. And the ones that had a particularly strong affinity for magic? Ugly didn’t even cover it. That’s why omegas who could use their magic were immediately mated off, their first heats usually synthetically instigated within days of their spark’s manifestation.
But Stiles’ had never manifested. So there had been no way of knowing how strong he was.
He didn’t want to imagine Talia’s horrific scenario. With tears still leaking down his face to join the bathwater, Stile just wanted… his mates.
Chapter 2: In Which Stiles Begins His Revenge and Teaches His Alphas a Few Things
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
So maybe Stiles’ spark was far stronger than he’d ever dreamed. Maybe it was even a good thing that he’d had six virile alphas immediately available upon its manifestation, ready and willing to give the new magic something to focus on. Maybe he was even the slightest bit grateful that neither his first heat nor the awakening magic had driven him insane or caused permanent bodily harm.
So yeah. Maybe this latest clusterfuck that is his life was a good thing in the long run.
But right now? This instant? On his third day of bed rest and fucking suppository medication so he could recover from the mating?
He was pissed.
“Fucking alphas and their irresponsible knots,” Stiles cursed under his breath as he flipped through another comic book. There was a giant stack of them on his bedside table; it was beyond irritating that he couldn’t seem to enjoy them, he was so pissed off about the circumstances.
Next to the comics was a steaming cup of Ghirardelli hot chocolate. The wrappings from lunch—a townhouse burger and curly fries from his favorite diner in all of Beacon Hills—had fallen to the floor at some point. Probably lounging somewhere out of sight next to the half-opened clothing boxes, of which all but one particularly soft and comfy red sweatshirt had been unceremoniously thrown to the floor, tags still in tack.
It hadn’t taken long for his alphas to figure out that clothing was NOT the way to get his attention. Speaking of…
“Afternoon, your majesty,” Laura said sardonically, grinning as she traipsed into the room, a shiny new box balanced between her hip and hand.
Stiles glared at the box before lifted an unimpressed look to Laura. She paused, rolling her eyes as he said: “Which one of these idiots sent that?”
“Scott,” She said shortly, not at all surprised by his ungrateful tone. In the past three days of playing messenger, she’d alternated between amusement and exasperation, but never once had she tried to discourage him. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was enjoying teasing the ever living hell out of his mates. At least, he hoped so.
“One of the young ones,” She provided helpfully, “Hispanic. A pout that could put a literal kicked puppy to shame,”
He glanced at the PS4 box, silently wishing he could appreciate the gift as if deserved. It was genuinely the best single apology any of them had sent him yet. But still. Scoffing, he shot a pointed look around the room. “You can tell him he’s an idiot. What good is a gaming console without a TV to play it on,”
She was grinning, despite his disparaging tone. Maybe because of it. Unsurprised, she set the box at the foot of his bed, “You’re keeping it?”
“Obviously,” He gave the bureau and large, empty wall across from his bed a calculating look. “Hey, Laura?”
“How big and extravagant of a TV do you think I can get out of them?”
There were no more gifts the rest of the day, though Laura did deliver him no less then four hand-written notes. One from Scott, seeking reassurance about the PS4. One from Theo, with yet another attempt to convince Stiles that he could rock his world. Two from Peter, the eloquent bastard; in the past few days, he’d prooven surprisingly flattering in his little love notes, making Stiles blush despite himself.
He never wrote back. He occasionally instructed Laura to respond to a specific missive with selective abuses.
Then Talia breezed in with a late-night snack, sitting down on the bed before handing him the éclair (a favorite of his, from another local place. He still wasn’t sure how the alphas knew about that tidbit, among others).
Stiles accepted the dessert silently, eyes narrowed at his alpha. He was used to dealing with Laura by now, her mother… not so much.
Talia simply smiled, the undertone in her expression unreadable.
Unlike Laura, Talia hadn’t given any indication that she might approve of his treatment of her packmates. Probably she wasn’t, he figured, seeing as she was equally guilty for the fuck up that was his mating night. But his mates weren’t allowed in his room without his explicit permission, excepting when he was in heat. Talia had no such boundary keeping her from him, and she had ultimate legal control over him. So far, she had been respectful enough not to intrude in his space. And yet… here she was, bringing up his requested treat at ten PM when he had fully expected Laura instead.
It made him uneasy.
“What?” He challenged.
She studied him silently for a moment. Then: “You know you can’t avoid them forever,”
Raising his chin obstinately, Stiles failed at avoiding her eyes. “Not forever. Just until my next heat,”
One fine brow quirking up doubtfully, she asked: “You plan to barricade yourself up here for the next six months?”
He shrugged, “Considering it,”
“What about your father?”
He ignored the way his heart ached at the mention of his dad. Stoic, he countered: “Seeing as he was the only one of the two of us who knew about my imminent departure from home, I think he should’ve been prepared to not see me for a while,”
“And if Laura decides to stop enabling this behavior?”
Leaning forward, Stiles genuinely asked: “Are we talking about her making a decision—” because he was pretty confident Laura was enjoying this weird game he was playing too much to quit any time soon, “or you giving her an order?”
There may have been a brief hint of genuine amusement in her patient smile. It was too quick to tell, though. He didn’t know her well enough yet.
“Either-or,” Talia recovered, also leaning in. Their noses were maybe two inches apart; if she were his mate, he’d be anticipating a punishing kiss, but as it was, he thought she might bite the tip of his nose in rebuke.
Or maybe she would just stay there, confident she would out-last his silly omega attempts at intimidation. She clearly didn’t know anything about this omega though.
“Well,” Stiles muttered fairly soon after, blinking owlishly at her too-near eyes, “this is awkward,”
Talia chuckled, mercifully sitting back and relaxing. Stiles barely had time to sink back into his mountain of pillows before she ruined his minor victory: “The mating went poorly because I did what I thought was necessary at the time. If you need to keep blaming and punishing someone, blame me. Your continued distance is causing my wolves distress,”
He snorted, “Well the whole damn lot of you have caused me nothing but distress,”
She sighed softly. “Wolves mate for life, Stiles,”
“So I’ve been told,”
“Your involvement in this pack is supposed to smooth things over. Instead, my alphas are more volatile than ever,”
“Sounds like you gambled on the wrong omega,” Stiles said snidely, crossing his arms defensively.
“I gambled on the only omega,” she corrected, “and I was right to. You have an unusually strong gift, and it’s allowed us to secure a future in this pack for all of my alpha wolves. Now that the bond is there, it needs to be tended,”
He glared at her, “You promised you’d make reparations—”
“And I will,” She placed a calming hand on his knee, “I will do whatever I can to make it up to you moving forward, Stiles, but that will be between you and I. I’m not asking you to sleep with any of them, but they need the mate bond healthy. Just give them a little of your time and enough contact to foster the bond. Letting them hold your hand would be enough,”
He stared at her, incredulous. “I didn’t realize it was your idea that should be fucked bloody. Literally. There was blood. I’m a freaking omega, Talia—I shouldn’t ever bleed from doing something I’m built to do naturally! At best, they were dangerously ignorant and inept at satisfying an omega. At worst, they enjoyed the violence of it. I’ve been stuffing my ass full of fucking herbs that might as well be acetone because of them. And you want me to hold their hands?”
He didn’t know he could a make an alpha old enough to be his mother blush.
“Of course they didn’t enjoy—they all feel terrible—”
“No, Talia. I feel terrible. Me. The one with the torn-up asshole!”
“None of them had ever actually been with an omega—”
“That much is obvious,”
“So teach them, Stiles,”
He gaped, honestly not sure how to respond to that.
She patted his knee and stood up abruptly, “Communication is key to any happy relationship. Teach them how to please you. You’re the only one who can, so do it. For both your sake and theirs,”
With that little bit of wisdom, Talia turned on her heel and all but flew out of his room. She left the pissed omega to make of it what he would.
Day four of his recovery saw Stiles rising late, having stayed up to chase his racing thoughts the night before. Laura pranced into his room with a chipper whistle and a breakfast tray. He could smell the waffles and bacon from where his face was still smushed into the pillow.
“Morning, princess!” She set the tray over him as he finished rolling over. “I heard you’re considering letting the hungry hordes invade the citadel,”
He snorted at her as he sat up, immediately reaching for the glass of orange juice he’d come to expect with his morning room service. Considering the blank wall opposite his bed again, Stiles lowered the glass and asked Laura: “Where’s my TV?”
“En route,” Laura said, grinning conspiratorially.
“Derek and Scott,” She answered easily, “Last I heard, they were arguing over Samsung versus Vizio, but they must have made a decision, because I can hear Derek’s Camaro pulling up outside,”
Stiles froze with a bite of waffle half way to his mouth. Ignoring the strange twist in his gut of excitement and anxiety, he said shortly, “You can tell them they can bring it in and set it up,”
Laura let out a disappointed sigh. “And I was so sure you weren’t going to give up that easily,”
Stiles blinked rapidly, eyes wide in forced innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said just before popping some syrupy goodness in his mouth.
Laura’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she left with a smirk on her face nonetheless.
Ten minutes later, Stiles had barely finished up his breakfast when there was a tentative knock on the door to his so-called ivory tower.
Inexplicably, his heart beat kicked into high gear, along with an encroaching sensation suspiciously similar to anticipation. Stiles silently fumed over the likelihood that the two alphas outside could hear it.
Hastily—but quietly!—setting his tray aside and fruitlessly patting at his hair and sleep-wrinkled t-shirt, Stiles cleared his throat and said as grumpily as he could manage: “Come in!”
The two alphas were… well, alphas. All muscly and tall. And sexy. It was unfair.
But at leas they were his. He refused to consider himself theirs. No way, no how.
The one on the right, who he somewhat remembered from his heat as being a big puppy with too-sweet eyes for someone doing such decidedly non-sweet things to him, ducked his head bashfully with an awkward grin. “Hi, Stiles. I’m Scott, uh… this is Derek,”
Derek. Grumpy and Gorgeous, of course he remembered him and his distinctly satisfying cock. Big enough to fit just right without being too much. Stiles remembered him, alright, though it was a little weird to see the big guy standing there all awkwardly, hands in his pockets and avoiding Stiles’ eye while unable to stop trying to sneak glances at the bed-ridden omega. It was weirdly adorable and completely at odds with the confident and aggressive way he’d been during Stiles’ heat.
Scott elbowed the other alpha in the side after an awkwardly silent moment, prompting a gruff: “Morning,”
The looks they were giving him, all eager hopefulness mixed with hunger, was almost enough to damage his resolve. The part of Stiles that was all omega wanted to dance and preen and go ass up immediately. For the first time in his life, he wanted to fucking… present.
Aaaand just like that, he was rock hard and practically drenched.
The alphas’ flashed red eyes; Scott licked his lips and gave a little whine, almost unheard under Derek’s growl.
Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and legs under the blanket, pointedly, and glared. Squeezing his ass cheeks in a fruitless attempt to stem the flood of slick, he grumbled: “Weren’t you supposed to be bringing a TV with you?”
Scott was in love. Seriously. Like, full-on whipped.
He hadn’t known it at first—he hadn’t known much of anything beyond how perfect the omega’s tight little body fit under him and around his cock—but by now, it was obvious. Stiles was special. He had to be, seeing as he managed to successfully bond with no less than six none-too-easy-going alpha wolves. He was powerful, and beautiful, and theirs. He was also witty and clever and so far from submissive it wasn’t even funny.
They’d gotten hints of it in the past few days, usually when Laura gleefully informed them over meals in the communal dinning room exactly what Stiles thought about all their little gifts and blatant bribery for his attention. And forgiveness. Definitely forgiveness.
But now? He knew for sure. In the time it took him and Derek to set up the TV, Stiles had been unrelenting in the guilt trip, constantly distracting them with his sweet, sweet scent and a remarkably venomous rant about boundaries and consent and toxic dynamicism. Poor Derek hadn’t known what to say any better than Scott, so he’d silently accepted the omega’s judgment and scurried out of there the moment the TV and PS4 were hooked up.
Which is how Scott found himself alone with his mate for the first time, awkwardly fiddling with a PS4 controller and hoping his heart wasn’t too obviously showing on his sleeve. And more convinced than ever that this was the right omega for him. Not that it could be changed anyway, but still.
“What?” Stiles tilted his head and stared at him with wide eyes, all innocent and speaking sweeter than he had since they entered the room. “You don’t want to run off after him?”
Scott looked between Stiles and the door. He didn’t think he should trust that sweetly unassuming tone. Maybe Derek had the right idea, but then… he wanted to see his omega.
“Feel free,” Stiles sat up further in bed and waved at the door. “Don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you important alpha business to attend to,”
Scott frowned at the sarcastic tone and responded seriously, “Nothing’s more important than you—”
Those pretty amber eyes flashed alarmingly. “No thing, huh?”
Some hereunto unknown instinct reared up, all sorts of warnings pinging around in his head. “Uh… Yes? No? I mean… I just… You’re my… mate. I wanted to…. You’re important. Of course you’re important. I just meant—”
The omega’s mouth dropped open, staring at him like he was a bizarre roadside attraction.
Scott flushed, floundering. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant…Nothing, er… no one’s more important to me than you now,”
They lapsed into an awkward silence and Scott tapped the controller against one palm nervously. Stiles stared at him the entire time. Scott was just starting to feel like a peculiar specimen under a microscope when Stiles finally closed his mouth and slouched back in the bed like the air had been ripped out of his sails.
“You really mean that. Don’t you?”
“Well… yeah. We all do. I think. Not entirely sure about Jackson, though—”
“Prove it then,”
“Wha—huh? What… I mean, yes. Yeah, sure… How?”
The omega looked him up and down, biting his lip unconsciously. With the scent of omega arousal still fresh in the air, Scott wanted to bite it for him.
Finally, after a moment that felt like a lifetime, Stiles shimmied down deeper into his bedding. The scent of slick and promise thickened even as he watched the omega’s legs shift under the blanket. Then part as the knees lifted. Then fell open.
“You and your buddies really did a number on me,” Stiles said conversationally, his hands sliding under the blankets.
Scott was rock-hard in his pants. Seriously, he was going to pop past the fly of his jeans any moment now.
“Doc said I couldn’t have penetrative sex even if I wanted it. Not for a week. That means….” His eyes looked heavenward and he blew out a disgruntled breath, “three more days of this,”
Scott growled, eyes zeroing in on the distinct pumping action going on beneath the blanket. He wanted to see. Touch. Taste. Unthinking, Scott took a step forward only to immediately stop as Stiles sat up abruptly and brought his hands up and into sight. The omega’s stare wasn’t so much aroused, but determined and challenging.
Scott back-peddled quick. Literally. Shamed, he cleared his throat and carefully dropped the controller on the dresser bellow the TV. Before he broke it.
“I uh…. Maybe I should go…”
Stiles scoffed, “Yeah. Maybe you should. First Derek, now you. I didn’t realize alphas were such cowards—”
Bristling, Scott growled. He had to dig his claws into his palms to suppress the urge to put the omega in his place. “It’s not cowardice! We’re trying to protect you!”
Looking wholly unimpressed, Stiles snorted and said, “Bit too late for that, buddy,”
“I’m not your buddy!” Scott insisted, frustration finally poking through the apologetic sympathy, “I’m your mate!”
“Then be my mate and take care of me!” Stiles challenged, throwing himself back against the pillows, “But if that’s too difficult for you to do with your pants on, then you’re no good to me. So get lost,”
Now, Scott was pretty laid-back, compared to most alphas, but even he had a limit to how much he’d tolerate from an omega. And the thought of his omega—his!—doubting his ability to handle him in any form, was utterly untenable.
Before he could think better of it, Scott was ripping the blankets clear off the bed. He caught each of Stiles’ ankles in either hand, shivering excitedly as he finally got some contact with his new mate, their bond sparking in his mind like an ember reaching for fodder, and yanked the omega toward him. And then he was on his knees, tossing the omega’s sweatpants over his shoulder as the boy’s ass settled right at the edge of the bed, and—
Scott froze, struck dumb by the sight of his mate’s perfect little cock, hard and twitching well above his equally perfect hole. It wasn’t the pink and delicate entrance he’d been imagining the past few days; it was red and puffy, still impressively small despite its recent abuse. It didn’t look sore though. It looked wet. Hot. Inviting.
His cock jerked warningly in his pants, and Scott whined. He couldn’t…. He wanted, God how he wanted, but he couldn’t…
Up on the bed, Stiles made an angry noise and smacked the mattress. He lifted up on his elbows and glared down at him, pale face beautifully flushed. “Seriously? You’re just going to sit there? Staring at me? What a way to prove to me what a big strong alpha you are, dude. Guess you forgot to mention that I was only as important as your own dick,”
“I don’t want to hurt you…” Scott knew the longing in his voice was obvious, but he was powerless to hide it as he glanced back down.
Stiles, the little clever little shit, just rolled his eyes. “Then don’t. Here,”
Scott gasped, surprised as the omega reached for him, those long fingers swiping through his hair, and gripping sweetly, just like Scott imagined he might outside of heat when he could reciprocate every caress. But Stiles wasn’t caressing.
The omega hummed, the sound meaningless to Scott as his head was urged downward with steady, yet gentle pressure. His heart in his throat, Scott glanced up at his mate, noting the deepening blush and bitten lip, and let himself be guided to the omega’s sweet, sweet entrance.
“Lick,” Stiles directed, breathlessly.
Not needing to be told twice, Scott’s tongue darted out. He groaned as he got his first proper taste of his mate (they were too preoccupied with knotting and satisfying the heat for anyone to get a taste sooner); he was just as sweet and hot and fucking delicious as he’d imagined. With eager, needy noises, Scott nuzzled closer, swiping his tongue across the puckered opening and up to lave at his omega’s tight balls.
Stiles gave a shaky moan, unsteady and startled as if he were surprised to be enjoying Scott’s mouth so much. Scott’s inner alpha preened.
“M-more,” Stiles whispered heatedly, pushing at Scott’s hair again to get him lower, “Lick me hard-harder. Yeah. Yeah. Like that,”
Scott had never been a particularly fast learner, but the only thing hard about this was his unattended cock. This was instinct, every moan from the omega’s lips a gift Scott was desperate to receive.
“Your hand,” Stiles breathed, sitting up a little and pawing at his shoulders, “Gimme your hand,”
He did, and just as he had with Scott’s head, the omega led his hand right where he wanted it. Scott closed his fingers around that pretty cock, stroking it in time with the swipes of his tongue. Stiles cried out and Scott inwardly cheered.
God, he was so hard. He pressed his free hand to the bulge in his jeans and—
Scott reared back and lifted wide eyes to his omega. His omega… who had just smacked him upside the head.
“I’m the important one here, right, Scott?”
It took him an embarrassingly long moment to recap and catch up. Once he did, Scott blushed hotly and pulled his hand away from his groin as if it burned him. “Sorry,” He said with a bashful smile, “Yeah. You’re right. I got you,”
And then he lowered his head and went to town.
Derek spent most of the morning kicking himself for running form the omega like a shame-faced child. He’d never done well with guilt, but this was his mate… He’d hoped the bond would help him out and brush the whole shaddy aspect of the mating under the rug, at least long enough to establish some sort of affection between them. Clearly, that was not the case.
It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t wanted to do the Hunt in the first place; he’d argued for courting and taking their time. He hadn’t wanted his first time with his mate to be demeaned to animal instincts and a wild, blind romp in the woods surrounded by other alphas. Alphas he had to share with. Scott and Jackson were the only others to voice any objections, and theirs were more a matter of preference, not actual dislike for the idea.
Derek had disliked it. Hated it, actually. He spent most of the heat eager to do it again once he knew his mate’s name. What he liked and what he didn’t. That he wanted Derek.
But he hadn’t wanted Derek. That much was obvious. He hadn’t wanted any of them, and Derek just couldn’t hold up under all that guilt. So he’d ran.
Only to have Scott come down the stairs an hour later, smelling like omega slick, sex, and, strangely, dissatisfied arousal. And grinning like a love-struck fool.
It was maddening.
“Goddammit, McCall!” Theo hissed as he threw the half-wrapped stack of Blu-rays (Stiles’ latest bribe/gift) across the room, claws dripping shinning foil paper in its wake.
He wasn’t the only one furious about this development, apparently.
Feeling justified in his anger and frustrated that Scott had somehow managed an invite into their mate’s bed, Derek traded his shirt and jeans for jogging shorts and his rattiest sneakers and headed outside. He needed to run.
Theo made it till dinner time, more-or-less silently stewing in envy every time Scott entered whatever room he’d been in. Next thing he knew, it was six o’clock at night and Talia had conned him into helping prep dinner. He was stabbing steaks and plopping them onto plates when Scott showed up again.
The other alpha had showered at least. But he still looked like an idiot, like he was still on cloud nine or some other ridiculous sappy shit.
“Is Stiles’ plate ready?” Scott said hopefully.
“Maybe,” Talia said with a knowing smirk as she dropped salad on one of the plates.
Theo snagged it from her hand, giving Scott a tight smile, “I got it,”
Not missing a beat, Scott chirped: “I thought maybe I could bring it up—”
“I said I got it,”
Talia, the literal bitch that she was, snickered as she reached over to place a freshly baked roll on the nearly finished plate. As Scott sulked away, Theo seized the prime choice of perfectly cooked meat that he’d set aside specifically for the omega. He loitered just long enough for Talia’s back to turn, then swiftly snagged a bottle of Cabernet from her wall-mounted wine rack as he slipped out of the room.
Reaching the door to Stiles’ attic room, he took a deep, calming breath and knocked.
A long silence met his, but he’d been listening, so he caught the suspension of the omega’s movements on the other side of the door. Laura didn’t have to wait for permission to enter. Stiles’ mates did. Theo smirked as he listened to the tense stillness and frantic uptick of a heartbeat from within the room.
He’d surprised him. Good.
Theo heard Stiles shift uneasily. He knocked again.
More silence. But then, predictably:
“… Come in,”
Theo didn’t have long to regret the missing scent of heat and spunk from the last time he was in the room. Instead, his attention was immediately drawn to the moist flush spreading across the omega’s bare chest. The omega was fresh out of the shower, his hair still damp and messy from being towel-dried.
Theo licked his lips as his cock went ram-rod inside his pants.
Judging by the promising scent wafting over from Stiles, he wasn’t the only one.
“Is that… wine?”
“It is,” Theo raised the bottle in a cocky sort of salute, “All yours, if you want it. Or we could share,”
Stiles’ eyes went big and round, all innocence and flustered surprise as he gripped the towel around his hip tighter to his skin. He was perfect. Theo just wanted to mess him up, corrupt that little-lost-boy look a bit. Now that he was conscious and talking, Theo couldn’t wait to hear him beg.
“Oh. Well… I’ve never actually had wine. I mean. I’m probably a total light weight. I’m not even 21. Are YOU even 21? Maybe it’s not such a good idea…?”
Theo chuckled at the wistful, uncertain tone. This was too easy. His omega was too sweet. Licking his lips, Theo sashayed over to the bedside table to set down the plate. Popping out his claws, he sliced through the seal on the bottle top. “I won’t tell if you don’t. Why don’t you slip into something more comfortable so you can eat… unless you prefer that towel? I know I do,”
Deucalion was the first to suspect something was very, very wrong.
Like the other alphas, he had taken notice when Scott came down from an unprecedentedly lengthy visit to the attic room. And so, he too had wondered bemusedly at the lack of alpha spunk involved in the scent. But unlike his fellow packmates, Deucalion hadn’t been so quick to dismiss it as Scott being a pussy-whipped pup; everyone else had simply rolled their eyes and accepted Scott’s embarrassed insistence that “it was about Stiles, not me,” and how the least he could do is respect his omega’s wishes that he go without. It was precisely the sort of bizarre sentimentality they had all come to expect from Scott.
Deucalion might have bought it too. But then Scott was the one who brought him his dinner.
Duke wasn’t generally inclined to eat with the pack unless Talia required it, so it wasn’t unusual that someone else would make an extra trip to his room on their own way to table. And thanks to his blindness, it was likewise common for him to pick up a disturbing degree of detail from the scent of his momentary visitors.
But this wasn’t usual
Scott stepped into the room amid a tiny cloud of peculiarity. His scent was all anxious frustration, confusion, fresh soap and, beneath it all, a lingering undercurrent of persistent arousal.
“My, my, Mr. McCall,” Duke said, just slightly too dismayed to be casual. “Our dear omega certainly has you in quite a state, doesn’t he,”
He didn’t need to be able to see to know Scott was blushing. He could hear his heart racing as he fidgeted with Duke’s plate. “Yeah…. I mean… it’s not like he was still in heat… I wouldn’t make him do anything, I mean, if he didn’t want to…”
Duke held his hand out for the plate, “Of course not,”
“It’s just...” Scott trailed off awkwardly, still holding Duke’s plate.
Sighing, the older alpha dropped his hand, settling more comfortably back in his chair. “No one would think any less of you for relieving yourself. How do you think the rest of us have been surviving the past three days with our sanity intact?”
Scott laughed, a little incredulous, “No, I know. But it’s not… It’s just not the same,”
“Because you fancy yourself in love with him?” Duke said, checking his impatience, “You hardly know him, Scott. We have our whole lives to fall in love and make up for the unfortunate circumstances of the Hunt—”
“I know that,” Scott insisted, his voice exasperated enough to give Duke pause.
“Then what seems to be the problem?”
Scott went unnaturally still and his scent soured with distinct embarrassment.
Intrigued despite himself, Deucalion leaned forward and arched his brow as he turned his face in the younger’s direction. Wordlessly, he invited him to continue.
“That’s just it,” Scott muttered haltingly, “I wasn’t expecting it to actually be, you know… a problem!”
Silently repeating his wish that these teenagers would grow the hell up and learn to get to the point of things, Deucalion prompted: “You’ll need to be more specific, I’m afraid,”
“I was gonna just take care of myself. Y’know, after I left Stiles. And the way I left him—” his chuckle was all proud alpha “—Oh, he was so… just, perfect. Just, totally wet and relaxed and—”
“Yes, yes,” Deucalion hurried him along. He couldn’t picture it, of course, but he had no trouble imagining his omega’s silken skin, the slick feeling between his thighs, or the sound of his moans. He cleared his throat, “Let’s not get distracted, Scott. The problem?”
“Right,” Scott sounded like he was physically collecting himself, “I was going to take and shower and, well, you know,”
“Yeah. I mean, no. I couldn’t do it,”
“You couldn’t… bring yourself off?” Deucalion frowned. That didn’t sound right for the healthy alpha he knew his packmate to be.
“To clarify, you’re not talking about a mental roadblock interfering with touching yourself?”
Scott huffed in aggravated frustration, snapping: “No, Deucalion! I can touch just fine; if I weren’t a flipping werewolf, I’d have blisters—”
“Too much information, Scott,”
“I couldn’t come, Duke!” He hissed, stepping nearer in his aggravation as he gave some horrifying clarification: “I can’t come! I’ve had the world’s worst case of blue balls all damn day,”
Theo was one happy alpha.
He was comfortably lounging at the head of the attic bed with a lapful of tipsy, warm omega. Said omega was giddily squirming against his bulge and eagerly accepting bite-sized pieces of food straight from Theo’s fingers. He’d regrettably chosen to wear sweatpants, but it was a minor thing compared to all the skin he allowed Theo to pet and ogle above the waistband.
Somewhere around halfway through the Cabernet, Stiles had begun giggling, so Theo had started playing with his belly button and nipples. Theo wasn’t much of a romantic, but he was becoming remarkably invested in drawing out more of those surprised little moans from his omega.
“Theo!” Stiles stiffened, sounding scandalized as the alpha finally slipped his hand low. His palm smoothed over the omega’s clothed inner thigh and Stiles arched, somehow managing to moan and giggle at the same time.
It was adorable, sure. Theo was surprised that he, of all people, found it so endearing though.
Abruptly, Stiles squirmed around so he was kneeling on the bed between Theo’s thighs, facing him with earnest amber eyes.
Theo smiled sweetly and reached out to pet his flushed cheek, “Why so serious, babe?”
The omega bit his lip shyly, his gaze dipping to Theo’s mouth only briefly. God, but he wanted him.
“We shouldn’t do that,” Stiles murmured, his hot breath against his face and his sweet omega heartbeat jumping excitedly. The simmering arousal he’d been smelling on the boy lurched to a boil and Theo took a deep breath as he caught the first hint of slick in the air.
“Do what, babe?” He grinned easily as he reached out with both hands and placed his palms slowly and firmly on either hip, “This?” He glided his hands further, still nice and slow, till he could clench his fingers around each pert buttock.
Stiles whined, his eyes burning as he shifted his hips back, instinctively pushing into his mate’s hold. The scent of slick thickened.
“Yeah,” the omega breathed excitedly, his face nearing Theo’s. “We shouldn’t. I’m not allowed to have sex. Deaton said so, but…. But…”
Theo kissed his cheek and moved one finger to press between his cheeks, just a hint of pressure and already he could feel the fabric of Stiles’ sleep pants dampen. “But, what, Stiles? Think Deaton knows your body better than you do, huh?”
Stiles moaned, low and long. His forehead dropped onto Theo’s shoulder and he trembled, hips swaying. “I don’t… I don’t want to get hurt again, Theo. You guys were too rough before. I don’t know if I can do any of that again…”
Theo rolled his eyes, “Sure you can. You did with Scott,”
Stiles shook his head in refute against Theo’s shoulder. “No,” He whimpered as Theo’s lone finger rubbed at him just a little, “Didn’t. I didn’t let him inside. But I needed… I still need… Oh, I don’t know!”
He squeezed Stiles’ ass nice and tight with one hand, lifting just a little as he rubbed a little harder with that one lucky finger. He could really feel the wetness now, Stiles was soaking clear through the pants. God, and the smell…. Theo could get high off of it.
“Yeah?” He laughed a little, victorious, “You want me to fuck you?”
“No, no,” Stile pulled away instantly, sitting back on his heels and leaving Theo’s hands empty and cold. Stiles held up a hand as if telling him to wait, “I can’t, Theo! No penetration… but….”
Cock achingly hard, Theo shimmied forward and appealed to the lost, horny part of his little mate, “But what, baby? Come on, let me make you feel good,”
Those big eyes looked at him with nothing but want and uncertainty.
“Whatever you need, baby,” Theo promised, “I won’t hurt you. Come back here,”
Stiles glanced down at Theo’s lap, face flushing beautifully. “Well, I could probably… maybe another way?”
“Sure, sure,” Theo nodded, running his hands up and down Stiles’ thighs in anticipation.
Stiles smiled, all sweet, bashful omega. “Lie on your back?”
Theo was too close to what he wanted to question anything. He slid down till his head was squarely on a pillow, and an instant later Stiles’ nimble fingers were unbuttoning his jeans with surprising speed and dexterity. The omega barely got the zipper down and Theo’s cock sprang free.
Stiles grinned, straddling his hips. “Eager, huh?”
Theo’s reply was cut off by a groan as the omega gripped him tight and stroked upward. He was rough, just a little and just enough. “Yeah, baby. Touch me. Just like that,”
“Like this?” Stiles said breathlessly. He yanked. Hard.
Theo bowed off the bed, gasping as a bite of pain intruded on the pleasure. “Ah! Yeah, just… a little lighter. Just a little,”
Stiles adjust his grip, an adorable frown of concentration on his face, then his next pull came hard and fast, twisting at the tip and pinching just a tad—
Theo grabbed Stiles’ hips in a vise-grip as his cock weeped in confused pleasure-pain. He groaned.
“Wow,” Stiles said, genuinely impressed, “You really like this. Like… really, really like this,”
Theo opened his mouth to agree, but Stiles gave his cock another vicious pump at the same time his other hand reached down and latched onto the alpha’s balls none-too-gently. Theo positively howled.
“You just missed dinner,” Peter informed him as he dragged his exhausted body inside.
Derek toed off his sneakers before they had a chance to spread dirt throughout the house. He was panting and disgustingly sweaty, his lungs burning and the weariness of a long, hard run was finally setting into his bones. He was done punishing himself for the day.
“Talia made steak,” his uncle continued conversationally. Why, Derek didn’t know. Or care.
“That’s nice,” Derek shrugged and made to move past the other male.
Peter remained leaning against the doorjamb as he casually added: “Theo helped. He took Stiles’ up to him,”
Derek paused, starting to clue into what Peter might be trying to get at. “… and?”
“He went up over an hour ago. Hasn’t come down since,”
Well then. Derek realized he was growling in displeasure, but at least he wasn’t the only one. Peter was scowling, and now that he was paying attention, Derek could smell the irritation on the other alpha.
And then they heard Theo howl.
Deucalion was sitting in his room, pointlessly drumming his fingers on the cover of a book. He’d been trying to get through the same page ever since Scott left, but had ultimately given it up as a lost cause. It wasn’t a difficulty with the brail, but with concentration. He was too busy considering the odd little tidbits and impressions his remaining senses had gleaned about his new mate.
His young, magically gifted omega. Who had smelled like peaches and sunshine and promise, right up until Deucalion had thrown him over a fallen tree and mounted him. He’d pushed inside that virgin hole and that promising scent had shifted, bursting with a flavor oddly reminiscent of ozone and forest and sea salt.
His omega was strong. Very, very strong. His spark was substantial enough to successfully bond to no less than six admittedly problematic alpha werewolves.
The onset of heat and manifestation of his magic had sent Stiles into a frenzy so intense he’d been speechless. He had smelled and felt wild then. Uncontrollable somehow, despite the ease with which they’d been able to manhandle and dominate him.
But the heat was over, and Stiles had sequestered himself, much to all the alphas’ dismay and the suffering of all their mate bonds.
This suffering, it seemed, didn’t seem to go both ways as it should. As if Stiles was unaffected by any of his mate bonds.
Then today there was Scott. And his… situation, for lack of a better term. Ever since the young alpha had left, Deucalion couldn’t shake a feeling of unease creeping up his spine. But not quite.
It wasn’t a chill up his back, but something deeper. Somehow. Like a secret, hidden part of himself was lit with warning, but the sneaking sort, of the kind likely to annoy him. Nothing life threatening, surely. At least, it didn’t feel as such.
“What is this,” He wondered aloud, rolling his neck as if to alleviate a strange stiffness or tension.
Theo’s voice tore through the house, a disturbing blend of hurt and ecstasy. Like a missing puzzle piece, it filled in the holes, and Deucalion knew.
Theo was dying, and he hadn’t the faintest idea how it’d happened.
One moment, he had been suavely seducing his way into his stubborn omega’s pants. The next, he was flat on his back, body spasming in aftershocks. Aftershocks, he thought, because he had to have just orgasmed. Surely. Or maybe he still was.
“Damn, that’s hot,” In some distant corner of thought, Theo realized Stiles didn’t sound the least bit tipsy. He should be bothered by that, but his brain was so high on endorphins at the moment that it was all he could do to remain conscious.
“That’s right!” Stiles said excitedly.
Theo felt him shift around, then settle above him, all hot, slippery flesh gliding over his dick. Over. And over.
“I remember now,” Stiles continued, both talking and rocking, as his voice turned less curious and more sensual, “You were the one who liked getting bitten,”
Theo nodded, gasping helplessly as electricity zapped through his body. The sensation stemmed from the gliding thrusts of Stiles’ hips, rolling his sweet omega cock and sopping hole against Theo’s spent length. It was everything divine and wet and way, way too much.
“The one who wanted to knot my mouth, right?”
Theo whimpered as Stiles ground down on him. The ache in his cock and balls spread into his gut, dragging like claws across his lower back. His fingers squeezed hard on Stiles’ hips in a desperate impulse to make it stop.
Stiles kept going, humping him harder, that perfect, knot-worthy mouth open wide on a moan. His movement stuttered. “You were probably hoping I’d bite you again,” Stiles giggled, only slightly reminiscent of his tipsy laughter, “you masochist,”
Theo shook his head, felt the wet of his own tears roll into his ear. The ache was spreading up his back and down his thighs, sinking deep and turning sharp as his cock, miraculously, hardened anew.
“Too much, alpha mine?” Stiles teased, even as his rocking became awkward and desperate.
There was really only one way to respond to that. His omega was close, and this experience was so shockingly out of his scope, it wasn’t even funny. Crying out, Theo shook his head and just gripped Stiles’ slender hips tighter. He was surely leaving bruises, but Stiles was probably fucking him to death, so it was an okay trade. Probably.
Jackson told himself not to do it. He wasn’t going to be like the others, thinking with his knot more than his head. He was going to bide his time, give the omega space, and patiently wait for the right opportunity. His time would come.
He’d make up for being the one to force that final knotting on Stiles. He just had to be good. Be patient.
And yet, somehow he still ended up on the second floor landing, one of five dumbasses hanging out at the bottom of the stairs that led to the recently renovated attic. He felt only slightly better about it after her saw Deucalion was there too, sitting on the floor next to Derek, the two of them nothing but scowling grimaces and tense, overly developed muscle.
McCall was pacing, an oddly precise and controlled gait, his eyes narrowed at some unknowable target constantly two feet ahead of him on the floor.
Even Peter was there, sitting on the bottom stair with his legs stretched out across it like some sort of nonchalant guard dog.
And now Jackson. Because he too was a schmuck with the curiosity of cat flush with all nine lives.
He checked his watch. It was quarter past midnight.
“Theo?” He asked no one in particular.
Derek didn’t move a muscle, but the deeply displeased growl was definitely him.
“He’s asleep,” Peter said stoically.
“Or unconscious,” Scott added unhelpfully.
“Same difference,” Jackson griped, crossing his arms and leaning a shoulder against the wall.
“There’s a difference,” Deucalion assured him.
“Playing some video game,” Peter supplied.
“Bloodbourne,” Scott added, only slightly less unhelpfully.
Jackson huffed. “What. He’s just… letting Theo sleep it off in his bed?”
“It would seem so,” Deucalion rearranged his legs, stretching them out, crossed at the ankles.
They all lapsed into silence. An uncomfortable, tense silence.
“Theo,” Jackson said baldly, flummoxed and, he thought, maybe a little wounded.
“Yeah,” Derek said miserably.
Jackson tried to wrap his head around the idea of Theo Raeken beating him to the goal, to Stiles. Jackson was no stranger to jealousy, he’d languished in enough of the stuff to be familiar, maybe even comfortable with the emotion. When it came to their omega, he’d even been prepared to stew in Peter’s shadow for a bit, maybe even Derek’s. But Theo’s….
“Theo. Fucking. Raeken.” He said, as if needing to test the idea aloud.
“I know!” Scott groaned emphatically, as if it pained him and he’d been waiting hours to have someone to commiserate with. “He stole my plan to bring him dinner, and he cheated— he gave Stiles wine. Plied him with alcohol, Jackson!”
“Somehow, I don’t think that made any difference, Scott,” Peter grumbled.
“Wait,” Jackson frowned, “Isn’t Stiles only 18?”
Derek gave him a pointed glare, “If he’s old enough to be gang raped in the woods, he’s old enough to drink,”
Peter threw his head back against the wall with a long-suffering groan, “Not this again, Derek,”
“Fuck you, Peter,”
“Let it go, Peter,” Deucalion sighed.
Jackson shifted his weight uneasily. He’d spent a good day-and-a-half drowning in disgust and nervousness over the experience of providing Stiles’ with the last knot of his heat. He’d hated it, and it had been only the slightest relief when the knot had gone down in record time. It did nothing to assuage his guilt for causing his omega blatant pain and distress.
“Derek’s right,” He said gruffly, avoiding everyone else’s eyes. “We hurt him. That’s on us,”
“And if we could do it over again, we would,” Peter snapped, “But we can’t,”
“Would you?” Derek shot his uncle a doubtful look.
For a moment, the older alpha looked wounded. Jackson was learning to recognize such genuine emotion on Peter’s face, but he’d never expected that one, “He’s my mate too, Derek. I’d never want to harm him,”
“Too bad you didn’t have that appreciation before jumping at the chance to hunt him down,”
“Derek—” Deucalion began.
“And I’d do it again,” Peter spoke over him, “For the pack. For us. And for Stiles. Talia didn’t just pick an omega at random, you know. She found someone with a need that complimented our own. He needed us just as much as we needed him,”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Peter,” Jackson growled.
Peter’s eyes flashed red and Derek leaned forward to eye his uncle, suspicious. Scott stopped pacing, claws out reflexively. Deucalion sat stiff and rigid like a stone, poised. The tension on the little landing was palpable, heavy with the potential for violence.
It all came to an abrupt halt as a streak of yellow light descended the stairs.
“If you’re done with the dick-measuring,” Stiles called down coolly, “Scott, I think Theo could use a hand getting to his own bed. Derek, you can come up too. The rest of you can fuck off. Go to sleep or something. Christ,” the slash of light slimmed as the door began to close. They could hear Stiles still muttering: “Who knew alphas had so much in common with squabbling children. Everybody just needs a nap, but noooo—”
Derek wasn’t sure what he expected after throwing an uncharacteristically boneless and delirious Theo onto Scott’s back and closing the door soundly behind them. He was possibly still too angry with Peter to consider anything else. Regardless, he certainly never would have expected to be bossed around by this slender little omega, being micromanaged into stripping down and cuddling close beneath the sheets till he was flush, skin-to-skin, chest-to-back with his mate.
He nuzzled Stiles’ nape, breathing deep and appreciating the fresh scent of omega and sleepiness. Stiles must have cleaned up from whatever he got up to with Theo before opening the door and inviting Derek inside.
Stiles made a soft little noise as Derek rubbed his nose against his neck.
Derek stilled, whispering, “Is this alright?”
The omega repeated that lilting sound and arched his neck, “Yeah. Feels nice. Sleep now, though,”
Floundering somewhere between his previous anger and a very tenuous and imminent hope, snuggled closer and closed his eyes. He already knew he wouldn’t sleep that night, but nothing was stopping him from enjoying the feel of his mate in his arms, nonetheless.
Stiles woke slowly. He was insanely comfortable, and just the right degree of warm. There was a very solid, mightily cozy body behind him, and when he wiggled experimentally, he was happy to find something appropriately solid prodding at his backside. Stiles was no stranger to leaking from all manner of orifices, but it was still rather impressive how quickly his body responded to that teasing pressure. With a moan, Stiles tilted his hips and ground back.
Instantly, the alpha behind him pulled away with a gentle hand on his hip.
Whining, Stiles rolled over.
Why hello, handsome. Grumpy and Gorgeous was every bit as attractive now as he had been silently scowling over the TV set up. Or during his heat.
But he wasn’t in heat now, and that made all the difference. For both of them.
Stiles did an awkward sort of shimmy, somehow scooting himself up the bed so he was eye-to-eye with the alpha. For a long moment, they just stared at each other.
Of course, Stiles broke first. Frowning, he asked: “What’s the catch?”
“The catch,” Stiles repeated, like his point was obvious, “Just give it to me straight. All cards on the table sort of thing. I mean, we’re already stuck for life, being werewolf married and all legally mated. Might as well get the worst over with,”
Derek’s dark brows furrowed and Stiles could practically see the guy’s brain trying to play catch up. It was a fruitless effort, he knew.
“C’mon,” Stiles nudged the alpha’s shoulder in a mock shove, “You’re like six feet of nothing but muscle and unfairly attractive. You’re possibly the only one of my mates who was ever even interested in courting me, and I heard what you said last night, so I know you have a decent conscience. And you have great taste in electronics. Oh, and you have literally the most perfect dick in the world. There’s gotta be a catch. No way I got that lucky,”
Derek gaped at him, blinking seafoam green eyes like he wasn’t sure he could believe what they were seeing.
Stiles poked him in his unfairly defined abs. He wanted to lick them. “Seriously. Read me the fine print, here, sourwolf. You’re not a serial killer, are you?”
“No--- you do know he supports wolf hunting?”
“Just checking. Stranger things have happened. MCU or DCU?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Pathological liar? You’re not hiding any sociopathic tendencies, are you?”
“Which one? The liar or the sociopathy?”
“Both. Neither. I’m not… either,”
“That’s good. So was my heat, by the way. Except for the getting fucked bloody part, you know,”
Derek paled and lurched to sit up, “I’m sorry—”
“Y’know, I actually believe it, coming from you,” Stiles sat up more sedately and leaned his shoulder against Derek, “Do you really want to make it up to me?”
The alpha nodded tightly, the look on his face so grave and intense. “Anything,”
“Anything, huh?” Stiles gave him a considering look, “If I wanted to fuck you?”
Derek looked away awkwardly, his jaw tight. And yet, against probably every alpha instinct he had, the guy nodded.
“Really?” Stiles asked, surprised. He’d never heard of an alpha going ass up for an omega.
“If it’s what you wanted,” There was zero interest in the poor guy’s voice. Maybe a bit of trepidation though. “I’d do it for you. Maybe only once though,”
“Huh. Well, not exactly what I had in mind, actually. Scoot,” With a crazy flail of bed clothes and limbs, Stiles ushered Derek sideways, till he was more or less centered in the big bed. Stiles situated himself on the bed in front of him, between the alpha’s knees, with the blanket bunched up and draped over his shoulders like a heavy cloak. He put his hands on Derek’s heavy thighs and leaned his weight forward on them so he could give Derek a quick peck on the lips. “Anything I want, right?”
Derek gulped nervously, but nodded.
Grinning mischievously, Stiles sat back and pulled the blankets over his head. “I want to hear your voice, Derek,”
He wasn’t ready.
Derek thought he had been prepared to make any and all sort of reparations, but as it turns out, he wasn’t. There was no way he could have prepared for this. There was no way he could have even
imagined being in this scenario. He just wasn’t that creative.
They’d gone to sleep wearing their underwear, Derek in his standard supportive alpha-briefs, Stiles in basic Batman boxers. The secure fabric might as well have been tissue paper now; Stiles was determinedly mouthing at him under the blanket, tongue and lips effectively soaking the pouch of Derek’s briefs in saliva… and no small amount of precome, he was sure.
He'd been braced for pain, not an onslaught of pleasure. He was recovered from the mental whiplash of Stiles’ morning interrogation enough that his cock was entirely on board with whatever his mate had planned for it. And it was pretty clear those plans were not focused on Derek’s ass, thankfully.
Oh, yeah. Stiles was all but attacking his dick, fingers stroking and lips aggressively mapping every contour. Holy shit, but he wasn’t even naked yet, and he was ready to burst, just cover his omega in his spunk till he reeked of him.
“Mmm,” Stiles moaned, muffled beneath the blanket, “That’s it, big guy. Let me hear you,”
He hadn’t realized that gravelly keening was him. His omega was making it surprisingly easy to be vocal.
Then the waistband of his briefs was being tugged down and Derek hardly had a moment to breathe before Stiles was kissing his tip, and gripping his base just above the barely-there bump of his knot, and—
Cold air washed over his heated skin, making him gasp, as Stiles popped his head above the blankets. Derek whined.
Grinning at that, Stiles placed a kissed on his hip patted his thigh. “Back up, big guy, give me some room,”
Not about to argue with that idea, Derek shifted his hips back till he was nearly sitting on the pillow behind him. At the insistence of Stiles’ hand pressing on his chest, he leaned back and rested his shoulders against the cool wood of the headboard.
“Anything I want, remember,” Stiles repeated, waiting on Derek’s eager nod, “hands on the headboard. Keep them there, kay?”
He didn’t see Derek nod. He was too busy swallowing half his length down his throat. The alpha choked. His wasn’t quite the largest cock Stiles was mated to—Duke had a good couple inches on him in length—but he was far from small, too long to have ever been close to danger of knotting a mouth, and too thick for most betas to consider intercourse. But Stiles, his sweet omega who had most likely never even done this before, was taking him in like he was starving and Derek was the finest meal he’d ever seen.
Oh good god, but the omega was happy about it.
Stiles popped off with a giddy gasp, almost immediately nuzzling his balls and knot while he caught his breath. “Mmm, mine. All mine,”
Derek groaned and the wood mimicked him as he pulled on the headboard.
Stiles nipped at his knot playfully with his teeth. It wasn’t enough to really hurt, but the unexpected sharpness startled him enough to make his cock flex. Stiles gave a low laugh and sealed his lips over the same spot, sucking hard.
Derek threw his head back and let out a strangled cry.
Stiles squeezed his thigh with one hand and palmed his balls with the other, rolling them deliciously.
“God, you’re perfect,” the omega murmured against the heated skin of Derek’s hip, “There’s no way you’re real. All big and red and all mine,”
He gave Derek’s cock a blissfully firm stroke, from root to tip.
A long, quick lick up his length and his breath caught in his throat.
A gentle nip to his fulcrum that made his leg twitch.
The tip of his tongue pressed into his slit and Derek choked on a scream.
“Hey now,” Stiles massaged his thigh a little, “I said I wanted to hear you. Don’t hold back your voice, big guy,”
Derek had to clear his throat to get any real human words out, “Yeah. Okay,”
Stiles gave him another one of those mischievous little grins. “Good, now brace yourself. We’re gonna be here a while,”
I'm debating about just how much more of this particular scene with Derek I want to continue with in Chapter 3. And how mean Stiles might be to him. Or maybe I should just jump into how he deals with Duke, Peter and Jackson next time? Decisions, decisions.
Chapter 3: In Which Stiles Continues His Revenge and Realizes He has Magic
Sorry if the scene b/w Stiles and Deucalion leaves much to be desired; the two didn't really cooperate when it came time for it. Also, please keep in mind I know nothing about legal proceedings to begin with, but I hope the point still gets across that in this AU, omegas have little-to-no legal or social power, but that Stiles is beginning to have a huge amount of influence over his alphas, hence why Peter is the one to execute Stiles' "revenge" on Talia.
Deucalion hated being right.
“How long have you known about this!?” Peter all but hissed at him through clenched teeth. The other alpha was practically vibrating with aggravation and even if Deucalion couldn’t see him, he just knew
Peter was ready to jump out of his skin; his frustration and arousal was a thick, suspiciously sour scent, even from clear across the room.
And he wasn’t the only one.
“Well…” Scott said slowly. Reluctantly. “I might have mentioned something to him the other day. But then Theo happened, and I just…. I guessed it was just me,”
Peter snorted, unimpressed, “You would,”
“I will not begin to assume anything about what happened between Raeken and our darling mate,” Deucalion cautioned them, “Though I suspect that whatever Stiles did to him, it might not have gone exactly as plan,”
“That’s all you’ve got?” He could feel Peter’s derision in the glare doubtlessly aimed his way, “’It might not have gone exactly as plan,’” He mocked. There was the sound of a thump as Peter’s hands smacked against his own jean clad leg. “How come you’re not effected?”
Deucalion felt the old urge to roll his blind eyes pointlessly behind his glasses. “Who says I’m not,”
Scott whined grumpily from the corner, “We’d smell you, if you were,”
“Quite the contrary,” Deucalion gave a superior smirk, “I’d be amazed if either of you could smell anything beyond your own pointless musk,”
Peter growled warningly; Deucalion could hear his pacing steps go light and tense, ready for a fight. In the corner, Scott grumbled in similar irritation and shifted, the slight uptick in his heartbeat suggesting the younger male had likely been adjusting the problem in his pants. Again.
“The moment I heard about Scott’s, uhem, difficulty, I suspected Stiles might be subconsciously exercising his new-found magic. I wasn’t about to light a fire I wasn’t confident I couldn’t put out,” Perhaps the sexual frustration was getting to him after all; despite himself, Duke couldn’t help needling them: “Perhaps I’m simply smarter than either of you,”
Peter let out an angry roar, “You smug bastard. You might have warned the rest of us!”
“Ah, yes,” Duke said with all the sarcasm he could muster into such a soft voice, “because interfering in my packmates’ masturbatory habits is my utmost concern,”
“Asshole,” Scott barked with an uncharacteristic mix of petulance and frustration.
“At least I don’t smell like I’ve overdosed on Viagra, unlike the two of you,”
Scott’s furious and embarrassed growl was so satisfying it distracted Duke. That was the only justifiable reason why he was so totally unprepared for Peter’s right-hook.
Jackson had it all planned out in his head: he’d woken up early, made an omelet and cut up some strawberries and an apple and only once it was Food Network worthy on its plate, he’d scooped up the eating utensils in a neatly folded napkin to deliver his personally prepared breakfast to his omega himself. Everyone else was either still sleeping or otherwise preoccupied, so he made it all the way to the attic steps before anyone could intrude on his plan.
And then there was Derek.
Huh. Yeah, that was definitely Derek. Jackson had no idea the guy even knew the word “please,” but it sure sounded like the main feature in his vocabulary at the moment. That, and gasping groans of pure pleasure. Straining his senses a little more, Jackson could pick up the telling sounds of wet, slurping movement, along with the dense smell of sex and need and positively drenched, victorious omega.
Alone at the base of the stairs, Jackson’s cock hardened so fast it was dizzying.
“Fuck!” He hissed, turning on his heel and storming away. He wasn’t dumb enough to try interrupting the no-doubt glorious blow job Derek was getting, but damn it all, he needed to get himself invited into that room.
Hours later, despite getting a decent night of sleep, Derek left Stiles’ room in serious need of a nap. He was sore in the best way, like the way a body aches the day after a rigorous workout. His limbs were loose and for once in his life he felt a weak smile constantly threatening his standard glower.
He used to daydream about finding a mate and waking up to the sweet scent of omega and a warm body easily welcoming him. The reality though… Stiles hadn’t just welcomed him, he’d practically devoured him. Derek’s cock hung limp, utterly spent and well used, sore in the best way he’d never been creative enough to imagine possible.
And he’d only had one orgasm. Stiles must have played with him for hours, the omega jerking himself off multiple times while he thoroughly enjoyed full and limitless access to his alpha.
“That good, huh?”
Shit. He’d been so caught up in his thoughts, he hadn’t even noticed Jackson lingering in the hall at the bottom of the attic stairs.
“Yeah,” He said with a shrug, unable to keep a cocky smirk off his face.
Jackson’s eyes flashed red and he growled.
Derek wasn’t usually one to antagonize other alphas, especially not his packmates. Of all the dominant wolves in Talia’s pack, he was generally the least aggressive. But knowing that the omega he shared with the others had quite thoroughly proven his preference for him last night, while Jackson hadn’t even been allowed back in the room… well, he deserved the right to rub it in a little. Maybe a bit vindictively, considering it was Jackson.
“Not that you would know,” He tacked on as he shoulder-checked the slender blond.
When Jackson responded with a typical angry hiss and less-typical claws in his back, Derek was only partially resigned to delaying his nap. The other part? Unbearably eager to defend his place in his omega’s bed.
Stiles knew something was up when Laura failed to show up at noon with his lunch, as she had reliably done every day since his mess of a mating night. When one o’clock came and went with his solitude similarly uninterrupted, he went from bemused to irritated. By 1:30 his stomach was actually growling and he was well on his way to hangry.
If Talia was trying to starve him out…. Well. He may have underestimated her. That was a valid tactic.
He was weighing the pros and cons of actually getting dressed and seeking out the kitchen himself when Laura finally tapped on the door half a second before barging in.
She wasn’t holding lunch. Talia was.
Neither woman looked happy.
“Whatever it is,” he said pre-emptively, “I didn’t do it. I’ve been up here the entire time,”
“We know,” Laura rolled her eyes, “That’s part of the problem,”
“You’re driving my alphas—your mates—crazy,” Talia said sternly as she practically threw his plate on the side table; the top slice of bread on his sandwich slid off, teetering on the edge of the plate. “Last night Peter threw Duke through a window. A blind man, Stiles. My brother’s an asshole, but he’s not generally that despicable. And this morning Derek and Jackson had an all-out brawl on the third floor landing,”
“Surprised it didn’t get your attention,” Laura snickered, sobering instantly under her mother’s glare. “Heh-ah. I mean. They weren’t exactly quiet,”
Stiles threw his hands up dramatically, “Not my fault,”
“You were brought here for the sole purpose of unifying them, not making them fight worse than ever,” Talia crossed her arms over her chest and gave him the patented parental-alpha glare of disappointment. It reminded him of his dad and inspired a sharp pang in his chest he chose to ignore.
So naturally, he diverted to righteous fury, pointing his finger in her face in a way he never would have dared do to his father. “I told you! I freakin’ told you! You picked the wrong omega for the job! Ergo: your fault, not mine,”
Her nostrils flared, and he knew she was scenting his anger and a million other things he probably preferred her not to. She stepped forward, towering over him for a moment and forcing him to lower his accusatory finger least he end up touching her. “I made mistakes, omega, undoubtedly, but choosing you was not one of them. The fact you successfully bonded with every last one of them with magic to spare proves that,”
“Well, bully for you then!” Stiles yelled, fists balled, “You got what you wanted! All your alphas are permanently tied to your pack!” He spat out vindictively, “I hope you enjoy every minute of it!”
“You can take out your anger on me all you want, Stiles, but you will STOP tormenting your mates for my decisions—”
Stiles gave a mirthless laugh, talking over her: “Oh, they have plenty poor decisions of their own to—”
Stiles shut up abruptly in response to the pure alpha authority in her tone. Seething, he sat down on his bed and glared at her.
“You will meet with Jackson, Peter, and Deucalion today and hold their hands, or whatever the hell else strikes you in the moment, to encourage the bonds. I don’t care if you bring them up here, or go sit on the front steps with them, but you will immediately start tending to your relationships and give them a goddamn chance. Am I understood?”
Stiles glared harder. If only he could shoot lasers from his eyes, lord knows they were stinging hotly enough. It’d be really satisfying if his new magic could make that happen.
“I said, am I understood,”
“Yes,” He said through his teeth.
“Good,” Talia began to turn, but for a moment he thought the look on her face was pained and seriously regretful. Stiles could only hope.
As the door swung closed behind her, Laura gently nudged the wayward slice of bread back onto his sandwich. She gave him a tight smile and said softly, “You may not believe it, but we do want you to be happy here. Give the guys a chance; I think you might actually like them. Well. Some of them,”
Once he was finally alone again, Stiles flopped back into bed with a huff. Turns out the stinging in his eyes wasn’t laser beams after all, but pure, old fashioned tears.
Peter wasn’t some young pup who needed to rely on expensive gifts and constant prowling outside the door to get his mate’s attention. He’d been romantic and sophisticated in every note and thoughtful gift he’d paid Laura to deliver. And he had been, above all, patient.
Even once he’d discovered the trap that was the so-called pleasure of his own hand, Peter had resolved to stay away and not pester Stiles until the omega asked for him. He’d been painfully hard and unsatisfied for going on twenty-four hours now, and he still maintained that stealing upstairs with a bribe (edible or otherwise) or pacing outside the omega’s door was in poor taste.
“Huh,” Peter said to no one, reluctantly unsettled to find himself on the attic landing when he’d honestly meant to be going to family’s impressive library, “That’s… Peculiar,”
He stepped back on his right foot, only partially interested in returning to his original route. It wasn’t exactly surprising when he found the action wholly uncomfortable, coinciding with he urge to rush through the door. No, not surprising, but still very, very unsettling nonetheless.
Not entirely sure what the etiquette would be in this situation, Peter reminded himself of the enigma that was everything about his mate so far. Then he opened the door.
“You know,” Peter drawled as he took in the sight of the boy angrily sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, “There are easier ways to get my attention. You could have just called,”
Stiles frowned at him, “What are you talking about? Nevermind. Which one are you again?”
“Peter,” he took the initiative and entered the room fully, closing the door and sidling up to the bed. “But you knew that, I think,”
The boy shrugged, “The name sounds familiar. From my heat,”
Peter smirked as he took a seat at the edge of the mattress. There were mere inches between them, and the only reason he wasn’t on the omega already was the strong suspicion that his little mate would make him regret it tenfold. Possibly without even consciously meaning to.
“I doubt that’s the only thing you find familiar about me,”
Those bambi eyes looked him up and down appraisingly. All the intelligence Peter had so desperately search for a hint of during the heat was suddenly being trained on him. Peter wasn’t sure if he was relieved, or in over his head. He’d always told Talia he would only mate with an omega smart enough to keep up with him, but he was also very aware of the state both he and Scott had been in lately. Not to mention poor Theo, who was still sleeping it off.
“Yeah,” Stiles said, after a long moment, considering him, “You called me sweetheart,”
Peter’s smile was charming, he knew, but Stiles didn’t look particularly impressed. Instead of reaching for him, Peter simply leaned closer, hoping the omega would meet him half way. “Yes. And I must say, I am glad to finally hear you speak. Laura tells me you’re wonderfully eloquent when you’re not out of your mind with heat,”
“You mean when I’m not ripe for gang rape?”
Peter kept his flinch to himself. It would do neither of them any good to wallow in the unseemly aspects of their burgeoning mating. Instead, he buried the little seed of guilt Derek had done his best to burden him with and shook his head softly. “That’s not the way any of us would have chosen to do things if it’d been up to us. Surely you know that,”
The omega leaned closer, stopping just before their noses brushed. “I remember the look on your face. You enjoyed it,”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Peter chuckled darkly, “we all enjoyed it. Even Derek. Anything else would be impossible with you. Or do you think what you’ve done to my packmates in the past few days is typical for their sex lives. No, of course not,” he tilted his head and eased forward, as if he might kiss him, and let his breath rush over the omega’s lips as he finished with a whisper: “You’re plenty smart enough to know better,”
They were so close, he could easily read the desire in his young mate’s eyes as his pupils blew out and his heartbeat jumped.
“I am plenty smart,” Stiles agreed, sounding a little breathless, “enough to know what to do with this,”
Peter gave a soft gasp and went still as Stiles’ palm landed on the crotch of his slacks. He didn’t want to make a move until he had a better read on the omega and could figure out what he was getting into. There was a tense moment where they just sat there, staring at each other, neither sure what the other might do.
And then Stiles’ fingers starting moving. Peter was watching the boy’s face, begrudgingly impressed by his mate’s straight expression even as he rubbed Peter to full hardness. It didn’t take much, of course, he was so backed up from the past day that his balls were tight and ready within seconds. Stiles explored the poor orbs deftly for only a torturously suspended moment before moving on and undoing the fastening to Peter’s slacks.
Peter moaned softly, still staring into those amber eyes, as Stiles pulled his length from his clothes with a firm hand.
“What about you?” Stiles asked, hot breath on Peter’s throat and chin.
For the life of him, Peter had no idea what they were talking about. He only knew that he hadn’t come, not for lack of trying, in well over a day, and that his mate had the means to fix that at any blasted moment.
Stiles’ hand released him so that he could use the tip of his index finger to trace circles on his frenulum. “Do you know what I should do with this?”
Shit. Somehow, Peter had completely lost any semblance of an upper hand, and the worst part was… he couldn’t even bring himself to care.
Stiles drummed his fingers teasingly down the length of his cock, the tips rubbing gently at his knot and making him moan. “Any ideas, alpha mine?”
Groaning, Peter licked his lips and nodded. “I can probably think of a few,”
Stiles’ grin was everything mischievous and it sent a thrill down Peter spine. The fingers playing with his knot slid lower, wrapping around his heavy balls and drawing them out of his briefs.
“Yeah?” Stiles gave him a squeeze, and it was literal magic that Peter didn’t come right then. “You said in the shower that I should—how did you put it?—take what I need,”
Peter’s hips lifted as he moaned, “Yes. That. You should do that,”
“I’m not suppose to have sex for another day, Peter,”
“Pity,” the word came out almost a whine.
A flash of genuine disappointment in those amber eyes. “Tell me about it,”
Peter nearly choked as Stiles gave him an unexpectedly tight and fast pump. “Gah-God. What I wouldn’t give to be inside you right now,”
Stiles hummed a little and his gaze dropped to Peter’s lap. “Not a bad idea, alpha mine,”
Peter was speechless as Stiles gave him a few lazy, but oh-so-nicely-tight pulls. His claws extended despite his normally impeccable control; he dug them into the bedding even as he groaned and his hips jerked reflexively.
The omega licked his lips, those amber eyes trained on his cock. “You’re very…” he trailed off with a little, needy whine to his voice that had Peter’s cock leaking with interest. His palm moved a little faster and Peter groaned even louder. “You’re very…” he repeated slowly, as if having trouble finding the right words, “very hot. And hard. Like burning metal in my hand,” With another sweet whimper, Stiles was suddenly pressed flush against his side, his cheek on Peter’s shoulder as he stared down at where he was working the alpha’s cock. “My god,” the omega whispered huskily, his breath breezing down the V of Peter’s shirt. “I bet you’d feel amazing inside me,”
Peter gave a strangled cry as his cock gave a violent twitch, even trapped as it was in the omega’s hand. He wanted to come. He needed to come. Desperately.
Fuck. He was begging aloud, apparently. Burying his nose in his mate’s beautiful, messy hair, Peter belatedly realized he was whispering fast and heatedly: “Let me, sweetheart, just let me come. Please. I’ll be so good to you. Just let me come. Please, sweetheart. My sweet, my—”
“Stiles,” the omega said distractedly, “My name is Stiles,”
Peter nodded frantically against the boy’s hair, his hips jacking up into that beautiful grip. “Stiles. My Stiles. Please. My mate. Please,”
And just like that, Peter was flat on his back, his cock out and standing tall, like a freaking diving rod as it pointed up at the omega who was kneeling over him. His mate was a flailing mess of limbs as he shucked his sleep-pants, then, with his overlarge t-shirt sadly falling low enough to obscure his precious omega-cock. Stiles sat down.
His cock glanced over the omega’s opening, getting sopping wet with slick as he went, and Stiles was rubbing himself all over Peter’s groin, every jerk of his hips spreading his slick. Within seconds, they were both soaked with it.
And Peter was dying to come. “Please, Stiles! Stiles, Stiles, let me come,”
Panting, the omega ground down hard with the next roll of his hips. “I want it. I wanna see—”
Peter couldn’t retract his claws, he was too strained, too out of control. He grabbed at his mate’s hips anyway, pressing in with the pads of his fingers desperately. “Can’t. I can’t. Oh, sweetheart, you—you
have to let me. Your spark. Please, Stiles!”
Above him, against him, Stiles froze. Peter looked up at him, keening in desperation, only to see the omega staring down at him with that perfect, fuckable mouth open in surprise; those intelligent eyes were wide and thoughtful as they stared down at him.
Peter thrust up, raising Stiles with the force of it. “Please, Stiles. I need it. I want inside you so bad. Please, sweetheart,”
Stiles’ lips finally closed, only to stretch into a sneaky grin. If Peter were in his right mind, he might have been wary of that grin.
“Okay, Peter,” Stiles rocked against him, breathless and excited. “You want to come for me?”
“God, yes,” Peter groaned, meeting each of Stiles’ quaking thrusts half-way.
“You wanna come inside me?”
Peter could only whine and thrust up harder. The move was too much force with too much slick, and the omega slid clear over the length of him, only coming to a stop astride Peter’s stomach because he
caught himself with his palms flat on Peter’s chest.
“Alright, but you’re going to owe me,”
“Anything, sweetheart!” Peter groaned, dropping his hips back to the bed and easily shoving his omega back till they were slipping and rubbing groin-to-groin. “Anything, my mate. My sweet, sweet mate—”
Peter’s howl was soundless as he was suddenly overwhelmed by tight, wet, wet, wet, heat. His cock kicked, balls drawing up hard and fast, and finally—finally!—he was coming. He was coming! Pleasure swarmed and lurched, sending him flying.
As his eyes rolled up into his head, he could feel Stiles’ blunt nails digging into his chest, hear the boy moaning: “Come for me. Come in me, alpha. Want it. Want it. Want it!”
Jackson was frowning at his phone, trying to figure out why Peter was texting him even as he headed for the attic. He’d been hoping to get a summons from Stiles—not a demand from his packmate. Even so, he reached the foot of the stairs leading to the omega’s room just in time to see Peter descending. The older alpha was buttoning his jeans as he came down to meet him, his shirt draped over one shoulder instead of covering his upper body like it was meant to.
“Perfect timing,” Peter said with a smirk. He stopped on the landing and Jackson noticed a distinct flush on his face, how his breath was just a little too quick.
Taking a discreet sniff, Jackson nearly recoiled from the smell of sex. Specifically the scent of alpha musk and seed. It was… disturbingly fresh and overpowering whatever hint of omega sweetness lingered on Peter. It was noticeably unbalanced, and it reminded him a little too strongly of the last time he’d been inside his mate.
“The fuck, Peter,” Jackson sneered at the older alpha, disgusted, “Did you forget to pee on him too?”
Peter’s chuckle was every bit as self-satisfied as could be expected. He wanted to wipe the smug expression off his face with his claws.
He didn’t realize he’d been growling until Peter rolled his eyes at him and said: “Oh, relax, Jackson. I didn’t do anything he didn’t want me to. In fact: it was his idea—something our little mate has a good number of. Speaking of, I have more important things to do than sooth your jealousy,“
Jackson sneered at the other’s back as Peter practically skipped past him. “It’s not jealousy, dick-wad. Why would I envy an alpha who can’t properly satisfy his omega,”
Instead of rising to the bait as expected, Peter merely gave him a nonchalant wave over his shoulder, saying cheekily: “Oh, he’ll be plenty satisfied, Jackson, trust me. If I were you though… I wouldn’t leave him waiting,”
He really did hate being right sometimes.
As Deucalion ran his fingers over the book bindings of yet another shelf in Stiles’ childhood bedroom, he wondered how much of the tombs the boy had actually read. His bookshelves were packed, certainly supporting the sheriff’s description of a son with a healthy love for reading and learning, even if it was at times misguided. Duke was proud to know his mate was intelligent, but in light of other facts, he couldn’t deny that it was also concerning.
“He has a history of being troublesome, then,” Duke pointedly didn’t say it was a question, simply continuing their conversation.
“Yeah,” The Sheriff answered anyway with a heavy sigh.
The heaviness was familiar by now; in the mere half hour Duke had been inside the Stilinski home, every word the man spoke seemed to carry the weight of his regret and self-hatred. Duke had taken to breathing shallowly so as to avoid as much of the alcoholic-, depressed- scent as possible.
Duke’s hand paused along the binding of a book that was pulled half-way from it’s place between its neighbors. “And this is…?”
“Stiles was reading that,” John mumbled unhappily.
He felt Theo come up beside him. Duke relinquished the book when the other alpha tugged it from him, presumably to get a look at the cover. “The Name of the Wind. Ever read it?”
Duke folded his hands over the handle of his walking stick. “I have not,”
“Me neither,” Theo hummed thoughtfully, “It’s bookmarked. He was maybe half way through,”
“Then perhaps we should bring it home to him, so he can finish it,” Duke turned his head in the direction he could sense the Sheriff stood. “I don’t suppose you have anything else you’d recommend we bring him?”
John gave a humorless laugh and Duke tried not to flinch away from the fresh wave of scotch and stale pizza on his breath. “Depends. Are you looking for things he’ll need, or a more…. Sentimental approach?”
Duke paused only a moment to consider that. He thought about what his mate might need from his old life to carry into his future, how he was responsible for the boy’s wellbeing now. He thought about the persistent low-grade arousal that had his groin aching for the past few days, relief constantly unattainable. He said firmly: “Both,”
Another heavy sigh left the Sheriff in a loud rush. “Talia agreed that Stiles would finish high school, so you’ll probably want all his text books and school supplies,” He felt the man and Theo move about the room, heard the rustling of cloths and various items being rearranged as John collected his son’s things, with Theo’s help.
“Advanced Human Anatomy?” Theo said, sounding incredulous.
“I’m not sure which of those books is for this year. He’s been taking AP classes for a while. He always was a smart kid,” John spoke sorrowfully, as if he were speaking of the dead.
Theo gave a laugh that probably sounded dry to John, but Deucalion had lived with Theo long enough to catch the derision in his tone.
“Raeken,” Duke scolded softly, so as not to draw the Sheriff’s attention.
The spike of irritation in Theo’s scent assured him the message had been received. The younger alpha shoved a heavy bag into Duke’s arms before continuing around the room. Too quiet for human ears to pick up, Theo snarked back: “I’ve got all the human anatomy he’ll need to know, right here,”
“Crass, Mr. Raeken,” Theo always had been more invested in the physical components of a mate bond, with little interest or appreciate for anything else. Whenever the subject had been broached in the hypothetical, at any rate.
Theo gave a sudden snicker and Duke could hear the flapping of thin pages in the air.
John Stilinski’s scent turned sour with distaste and embarrassment, “Can’t imagine you’ll want to take those,”
“What is it?” Duke demanded.
“Porn,” Theo answered gleefully. Duke caught the musky turn in the younger alpha’s scent, then, quietly, almost to himself: “Huh. That actually might explain a few things,”
Ignoring the flood of arousal coming off his packmate, Duke cleared his throat and addressed the human in the room. “Sheriff, you mentioned something about sentimentality?”
“Sure. For all the good it’ll do you,”
“Every little bit helps, pops,” Theo snarked.
“We would appreciate anything you suggest, Sheriff,” Duke smoothly spoke over Theo’s immature tone, “As you might expect, Stiles has been quite difficult since his heat broke,”
A hint of genuine mirth colored the sheriff’s cool laugh, even if it was mixed in with plenty of suffering. “Yeah. He never did get even when he could get ahead,”
Duke gave a small smile at that. He’d already known Stiles would be more than they bargained for, in many different ways, but the fondness in the Sheriff’s voice each time he talked about his son’s mischievousness was inspiring, nonetheless. If only they could get passed the silent treatment. Duke was getting anxious while he waited for the other shoe to drop. He had the feeling Talia demanding
Stiles see him today wouldn’t do much to help smooth things over.
“I’ve been sorting through our family photos, and I’ve got a few he’ll probably want,” John was saying as he retreated from the room, “I’ll go grab them,”
As the sheriff’s footsteps faded, Theo dropped all pretense. “Our mate is a total nerd,” He said irreverently, but then Duke could hear the smirk in his voice, “And a total slut,”
Briefly, Duke wished his eye roll wasn’t wasted behind his sunglass. “He is no such thing. One is not a slut simply because they have an above average libido,”
And it was clearly true. Despite Stiles having be absence for nearly two weeks and the room being kept reasonably clean, the scent of a familiar omega’s arousal permeated the entire space. It lingered most heavily around the bed and various clothing in the closet. The scent was ingrained in the material, so heavy and consistent that it lasted beyond the effects of weekly tide pods and cleaner. For an alpha, it was… heady. For a mate of such an omega? Delightfully telling.
Damn it all. Theo wasn’t the only one popping an inappropriate erection.
“What he IS,” Theo stressed smugly, “is perfect. We were all so sure six alphas would be too much for one omega. Ha! Six cocks probably won’t even be enough for our Stiles,”
“Crass, Mr. Raeken,” Duke repeated. It didn’t mater that he was privately relieved to know their mate seemed to have a much higher sex drive than they’d been counting on. “Regardless of anyone’s appetite, there is such a thing as too much sex. Or do you really need a reminder of the state he was in at the end of the heat?”
He could here the disregard in Theo’s sarcastic: “Yeah, yeah. At least we don’t have to worry that sex will be a once-in-a-long-while deal,”
“Now if you wouldn’t mind thinking less with your penis, we came here for a reason,” Duke was used to being the responsible one, not only as the oldest of the pack’s alphas, but also by being the most level headed. “Tell me what you see. Is there anything we could use to sooth our darling omega’s temper?”
“Well,” Theo drew the word out, eating up long seconds as he took another studious turn around the room. “It’s a toss up between the Star Wars paraphernalia and the kinky omega magazine collection,”
Duke gave a long-suffering sigh, “Honestly. You have his phone and lap top, don’t you?”
“Already tried that. They’re both password protected. I say we just bring him the photos and call it a day,”
“I got a better idea,” The sheriff said stiffly as he returned at the doorway.
“We’d love to hear it,” Duke said genuinely. He was determined to bring something meaningful to his mate, especially since he had the feeling Stiles was only going to meet with him tonight because Talia demanded it. He was going to need any advantage he could get.
He heard the clinking of keys, “Bring him these. And tell him… just tell him I’m sorry,”
Jackson wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find in Peter’s wake, but this probably wasn’t it. He’d barely entered the room when a white medicinal tube was hurtling through the air toward his face. He caught it, but instead of fending off additional projectiles he found himself staring at the delightful display on the bed.
Stiles was reclined on his bed, simple white sleep shirt scrunched up from where one hand was plucking at his nipple. He was gloriously naked besides that; his other hand teased his lovely, flushed erection, right at the apex of those long legs, which were splayed out and twitching with the omega’s energy.
“Make yourself useful,” Stiles panted, hips canting upward into his own palm. There was a wet patch on the duvet beneath, reaking of Peter’s cum and sweet omega slick. “I shouldn’t have let Peter fuck me, but… I just wanted… I want… Oh, fuck it. Get over here!”
Jackson snapped out of his stricken state at the sound of his mate’s aggravation. Desperation. Fuck.
“Peter left you like this?” Jackson frowned even as he licked his lips, tasting the promising flavor of sex and omega on the air. “That fucker,”
Stiles barked out a sardonic laugh. His stopped playing with himself to tug his shirt off fully. “I needed him to go do something else. Besides, he told me you were on your way,”
Jackson nearly swooned as he knelt on the foot of the bed; Stiles’ scent was so thick, the heat of his body so close. He just wanted to touch—No, wait a minute.
“You’re okay with me touching you, right?”
This time, the omega’s laugh was mocking, “Bit late for that, buddy,”
Jackson growled before he could stop the sound from leaving him. “I never meant to hurt you, I thought you needed—”
“What I need,” Stiles huffed impatiently, “Is for you to give me the rest of my meds, then fuck me till I’m sore again. Now, dammit,”
Blinking down at the tube in his hand, Jackson vaguely recalled the doctor’s explicit “No penetrative sex for a week” rule. He looked back at his mate, legs open and hole slick and needy. He felt bad about how they’d ended the heat, but not that bad. Fuck it.
He flipped over the tube, reading carefully as he spoke coolly: “There’s a numbing agent. You sure you want me, if you need this?”
Stiles gave another impatient groan, one hand going back down to tug at his cock. “Yes. Jesus. I’m barely sore, and it’s not like Peter lasted long. Just give me the last dose and get on with it!”
Jackson was already popping the cap to the medicine and squeezing the remaining cream onto his right pointer and middle fingers. “Are you always this needy out of heat?”
“Either fuck me or get out. Jesus, what’s a guy gotta do to get laid arou-oh-oh! Yes! Fucking finally!”
“Has anyone ever told you, you talk to much?” Jackson said even as he smirked at the way his mate was already riding his fingers.
Stiles shimmed further down the bed, chasing Jackson’s fingers as they pulled back. Jackson crawled forward to meet him, catching one of those slender legs and hooking it on his shoulder; it effectively pinned the omega down and opened him up, giving Jackson plenty of access so he could work the cream into Stiles thoroughly.
All the omega’s words had dissolved into whimpers and groans as Jackson made sure to get the medicine massaged into every corner he could reach. He turned his wrist over as he pulled out, swiping back and forth along the front of his mate’s insides. Stiles groaned and watery omega precum drizzled onto his belly.
“You’re done ranting at me, I take it,” Jackson snarked as he pulled his hand away to squeeze out the very last dots of medication from the tube.
Stiles nudged his head with the knee balanced on his shoulder, a sort of half-hearted kick if anything. “Shut up,” he said breathlessly, “and give me your dick already,”
“Demanding, aren’t you,” Jackson laughed a little as he lowered his hand again. He didn’t dip inside immediately this time though. Instead, he pressed the pads of his fingers over the twitching hole and rubbed hard along the rim.
“I’m not going to give you what you want,” Jackson said calmly, dragging his fingers in a slow, firm circle around the orifice. He licked his lips as he watched Stiles’ pink muscle flutter and grasp for him; his mate’s body was hungry. All without the excuse of heat urging him to find an alpha’s cock.
Stiles made a furious little cry, thrashing like he might try to sit up even with Jackson compromising his legs.
“I won’t hurt you again,” Jackson promised, distracting his omega from his anger with his fingers sliding over his perineum and pressing in deep.
Stiles fell back onto the cushions with a gasp as his prostate was assaulted from the outside of his body. It couldn’t have been as good as having the pressure inside, but Jackson was confident it was pretty damn good all the same. At least, Stiles’ groans and twitching cock certainly suggested as much. He kept it up, pressing hard and rubbing circles up into the flesh behind the omega’s tight balls.
“You can come from this, Stiles,” Jackson whispered heatedly, his own erection straining in his jeans. “I won’t leave you wanting, but I won’t risk hurting you again,”
Stiles’ whines were like music to his ears, even if they were turning a little pouty, “Ugh! But I—oh! I want it,”
Jackson gently squeezed the thigh propped against his shoulder as he repositioned his fingers. Placing only his fingertips inside, he marveled at how the hole gave way so easily, only to cinch tight and desperate around him. A little experimentally, he spread his fingers and twisted, enjoying the way Stiles’ body moved and stretched with him, still leaking slick and come and diluted medicine.
“I’ll fuck you all you want once you’ve got the all-clear from the doc,” Jackson pressed deeper with his fingers while the other hand fell from holding the omega’s leg. Eyes fixed on where part of him was inside his mate, Jackson gave in to the pulsing in his own groin and freed his cock from his jeans.
“No!” Stiles growled.
Immediately, Jackson froze, his eyes snapping up to look at Stiles’ face. For half a heartbeat, he was sure he’d find his mate crying and hurting, like he had the last time they’d been together.
But he only saw hunger and determination on his omega’s face. Especially as Stiles leaned up and grabbed Jackson’s wrist, jerking his hand away from his newly exposed cock.
“Doc can go fuck himself,” Stiles said with conviction, “If you want to come, you do it inside me,”
Jackson felt a shiver run down his spine that felt suspiciously close to magic. He remembered Scott warning him not to self-indulge, remembered Theo’s recent screams. He remembered the whole reason Talia found Stiles for them was because of his spark.
He gaped, “Did you just curse me?”
“Um. No. I don’t think so, anyway,” Stiles’ bemused expression morphed into a mischievous little smirk, “You should probably fuck me instead of risking it, though. Just saying,”
Given the situation, Jackson figured he’d be better off just doing what his omega wanted.
Talia stared at the paperwork in front of her, blinking slowly.
“Oh good,” Peter said cheerily as he sashayed into her study. “Given your shocked and outraged expression, I take it you’ve heard from my lawyer,”
She looked up at Peter, both surprised and somehow… not. “Is this a sick joke,”
“Certainly not,” Peter settled into a chair and crossed his legs, getting comfortable as he grinned at her, “I would never joke about the wellbeing of my mate,”
She waved the papers at him, “How did you even have time to do this…?”
He shrugged, “It was hardly that time consuming, actually, barely an hour out of my day. It turns out, omega custody battles are a lot more common than you’d think,”
Her laugh was tense and angry, even to her own ears. She threw the papers down on the desk and glared at him. “You really want to sue me, Peter? For what—full legal rights to Stiles? May I remind you, you’re not his only mate,”
He hummed nonchalantly, “I am aware,”
“And every last one of said mates are among my pack, Peter,” Yes, her tone was rather condescending, but given how asinine this was, she felt it appropriate, “There’s not a judge in the country who will
side with you,”
He was being far too smarmy for her comfort. “All you’ll be doing is wasting time and money. Both yours and mine,”
That gave her pause. That, and the persistent smirk on her brother’s face. “Peter,” She scowled.
“Talia,” He chirped.
“Why are you doing this? You can’t possibly think you’ll win,”
“Oh, I don’t,” He said happily, “But I’m sure you’d be happy to save on court fees by agreeing to mediation,”
She glared, unimpressed and exasperated, “Just tell me what you’re after, Peter,”
He laughed, genuinely amused. “You’re asking the wrong questions, sister dear. It’s not about what I’m after. Stiles may be my mate, but legally he’s your omega. Your problem. I’m just the messenger,”
With a sinking feeling in her gut, Talia sat down heavily behind her desk. “Let me get this straight. You are suing me,” she spoke slowly, as if each word seemed unbelievable, “for legal responsibility of your mate. On behalf of… your mate,”
Talia stared, wondering where her brother’s logical reasoning had run away to. She was still staring when her email chimed moments later.
Peter’s grin widened, “You like my mediation suggestion, right? You should check your email,”
Fuming silently, Talia pulled up the inbox and there it was, in plain text. From their pack’s lawyer’s office.
“This?” She said numbly, “This is what Stiles wants? From me?”
She was getting really sick of the vicious amusement on her brother’s face. Sick enough, in fact, that for a brief moment she actually entertained the idea of relinquishing her authority over the omega who was quickly becoming more of a nuisance than she’d bargained for.
Jackson’s hips stuttered with nearly overwhelming pleasure as Stiles seized up around him.
“Ah!” The omega screamed, throwing his head back against Jackson’s shoulder. They were on their sides, with Stiles’ top leg bent and lifted where Jackson held it up so he could thrust deeper. The omega pressed back, his hole grabbing greedily as his chased his pleasure.
Burying his face in the crook of his mate’s neck, Jackson held off his own orgasm with sheer will as he let Stiles grind onto him. He’d already come once, but he wasn’t going to be good for more than one more load, and he needed to make sure his omega was well and truly satisfied first.
It was easier said than done. Stiles was insatiable. He’d already come twice, and was going for a third with enough gusto, Jackson was starting to wonder if maybe he’d come with Peter after all. Maybe he was just that hungry.
But God, it felt like heaven inside his omega. Especially when he felt that slender, perfect body coming undone from nothing more than the force of his cock pounding away inside him.
“Fuuuuck!” Stiles cursed, tensing familiarly as he raced towards another peak. Jackson’s hips jackhammered against him forcefully, long past his concerns about hurting the omega.
Stiles was shaking against him, the scent of yet another release thickening the air, and Jackson hopped the third orgasm was enough for the omega. Helplessly, Jackson followed his mate over the edge, succumbing to the hot clenching of Stiles’ body with a bitten off cry.
He collapsed against the bed, his cock still nestled inside even as it grew soft. Stiles went similarly limp in his arms, relaxing easily with his alpha at his back. Lacking the energy for much else, Jackson nuzzled the back of Stiles’ neck affectionately.
“You good?” He whispered against his neck.
Stiles nodded languidly. For a long moment, they just lay there together as their breathing gentled and slowed.
He was nearly convinced they were falling asleep when Stiles startled him to alertness:
“I forgive you, I guess,” Stiles said softly, “But don’t argue with me again. My body, my rules, got it?”
Carefully, Jackson brushed his hands over his mate’s body in gentle apology. “Got it,” He promised and pressed a kiss to the omega’s shoulder blade.
“This is a joke,” Laura said stoically.
“I wish,” Talia sighed as she raised her glass of wolfsbane-laced scotch.
“You’re not really considering this?”
“I have to. Peter’s willing to take it all the way to court,”
Laura scoffed, “He won’t win. He has to know that,”
Talia nodded. She swirled her glass, watching the liquid slosh with a pessimistic frown. “He knows, but he doesn’t care. It’s…. what Stiles wants,”
With an amazed laugh, Laura flopped into a chair. “No way. Stiles is angry, I get that. Justifiably. But he’s not… malicious,”
Snorting into her glass, Talia agreed: “No, worse. He’s petty,”
“With a magic cunt, apparently,”
“Laura,” Talia was too put out to effectively scold.
“Just calling it how it is,” her daughter grossed, “I can’t believe Peter’s willing to pay for a losing legal battle just because Stiles wants to stick it to you,”
“He’s not. At least, no more so than I am,” She gave a heavy sigh, admitting: “Which is why he knew I’d agree to the mediation terms,”
Laura gapped, “What? Really? You’re just going to give it to him without a fight?”
“Well, it’s like he said: at least we got what we wanted. The mating was a resounding success,” And to that, Talia raised her glassed and tossed back the rest of the scotch with a grimace.
Deucalion tapped his walking stick on Stiles’ door in a short rhythm. Only the tightness in his shoulders belied his nervousness. He didn’t know what to expect, not after seeing the conflicting results of everyone else’s ventures into their mate’s chambers. He’d paid close enough attention to know that each of his packmates had left Stiles happily covered in slick (to some capacity or other), but that every last one of them had been surprised and possibly even alarmed by whatever the omega did to them.
Poor Scott still hadn’t found relief.
And Peter had assured them all that Stiles was now well aware of the affect his magic was having.
He was as prepared as he could possibly be. The keys from the sheriff sat comfortably in the pocket of his slacks and the hand not holding his cane carried a full takeaway bag from Stiles’ favorite restaurant, with an extra side of curly fries. As he continued to wait, he reminded himself that the mating had been successful, that everything would be fine.
Deucalion was only as nervous as he was excited. It was a remarkably complicated swarm of emotion, compounded by a lack of confidence he hadn’t felt since the first weeks after losing his sight. He had adapted to being a blind man by committedly never doing what he was about to now: walking into a situation totally blind, without the slightest hint of how this meeting was going to go.
It was possible he was more than nervous. It didn’t stop his cock from twitching with interest the moment he was close enough to smell his mate and the flavor of sex through the door.
He waited only another moment before tapping on the barrier again.
He heard a small scuffle from the other side, then uneven footsteps heading his way. The door swung open and Deucalion choked on the scent of warm, inviting omega and sex that blasted him in the face, sweetly wrapped in the calmer, yet no less pleasant aroma of sleepiness.
Stiles cleared his throat gently with a waking moan. His voice was still tired as he muttered: “Sorry ‘bout that. I was napping,”
Deucalion felt himself smiling, liking the warm, honeyed quality of his mate’s voice. It was a nice voice, a little deeper than he’d imagined it’d be when all he’d had to go on was the memory of his feral, heat-struck cries. The drowsiness was surprisingly adorable.
“Hello, Stiles,” He said smoothly, “My name is Deucalion, though you should feel free to call me Duke, if you’d like,”
On his next inhale, he caught a waft of amusement from the omega, “Deucalion, huh? Sounds like a comic book villain,”
Oh, but his mate was terribly young, wasn’t he. “I find that Duke is a somewhat less pretension moniker,”
His mate laughed and the sound was lovely, more familiar to his memory of heat-influenced moans than the omega’s speech. Duke’s cock betrayed him further, hardening to half-mast as if to spite his
“Perhaps I could come in?” He suggested, raising his offering of takeaway.
As he expected, Stiles made a cute little “ooh!” and snatched the bag from his hand. Most unexpectedly, the omega grabbed onto his arm as well before he could even lower it. Duke couldn’t remember the last time he’d allowed someone else to direct him; he certainly couldn’t remember trusting anyone to be his eyes for him. Nevertheless, the slender fingers on his forearm were firm and strong, and
Duke found himself yielding to their direction instantly.
Then he was sitting on the bed, Stiles’ body warm and so sweet smelling beside him as the boy tore into his dinner with very vocal appreciation.
“This place has the best curly fries! If I could only have one meal for the rest of my life, it would definitely be their philly cheesesteak. Oh! Are there extra onions? Please tell me there are extra onions! Yes! Mmm,” Stiles moaned over the crisp sound of foil being pulled back, and just like that, Duke was hard as a rock, “Perfect. Of course you got it made to order. I will say this much for you guys, you sure know how to feed a guy. I haven’t eaten this well in like… ever. And it’s always really good stuff, even the home-cooked meals,”
As Stiles paused to take a bite, Deucalion inched his knees apart till his thigh was comfortably pressed to Stiles’. “I’m glad you approved. What sort of mates would be if we couldn’t keep out omega well fed,”
Stiles made a grumbling sound of agreement around a mouthful of food. “Definitely well fed. That’s me!”
Duke rolled his head from side to side, trying to relieve the tightness. He couldn’t help feeling a growing wariness, telling himself to tread lightly even as his cock throbbed like it was warning him of the risks inherent to testing his mate’s mood.
Theo said he should just go for it. Like ripping off a band aid. Of course, Raeken was usually the last person he wanted to take advice from.
“Keeping you fed is a simple matter,” He ventured, disguising his nerves with convincing bravado as he brushed his fingers over the omega’s thigh. “Keeping you happy, as I’ve come to understand, may be another matter entirely,”
Beside him, Stiles froze. That delectable scent went spicy and hard with undertones of irritation and anger. Deucalion nearly held his breath at the response but managed to shake it off before Stiles could say anything.
“I know our mating was far from a wholly pleasant affair,” he continued in a mellow tone as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys, “But that does not mean things will continue to be so. I believe I speak for all of us when I say, I prefer my mate happy. This should be a step in that direction, I hope?”
The keys jingled merrily where he let them sway from his finger.
Stiles’ scent changed again. The anger and irritation were still there, but tinged with the sharpness of surprise and titillating pinpricks of delight and wonder. Duke heard him put down his dinner before stuttering out breathlessly:
“Is that…? Do you, I mean, those are…” Stiles fidgeted, his body shifting against Duke’s side, “I can keep Roscoe? Really?”
Duke felt his brow quirk upward at the peculiar question. “Roscoe?”
Stiles grabbed the keys off his finger, “My jeep! It was my mom’s. I thought… I mean, most alphas who use matchmakers are so conservative, and even more progressive omegas end up barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen once their mated. And then there’s all the electrical issues, and Roscoe’s no spring chicken…”
The omega’s scent was a kaleidoscope of emotional impressions, too fast and all over for Duke to track, and his nose was exceptional. Regardless of the exact emotions at work, the boy was surely working himself up into a right fit. Duke squeezed his mate’s thigh and cut him off:
“Dear boy, there are no less than eight alphas in this pack; we’re as far from traditional or concerned with societal norms as you can ever hope to get,”
Despite fretting over the enigma that was the omega beside him, Deucalion was still totally surprised when he found said omega suddenly burrowing into his chest. Lean arms wrapped around his middle in the most genuine embrace Duke had ever been on the receiving end of.
“Yes!” Stiles gushed, rubbing his face into Duke’s chest like cat, “Thank you! Thank you!”
He couldn’t help but chuckle at the burst of relieved exuberance coloring his mate’s scent. “It’s the least I could do,”
“True,” Stiles said shortly, just before swinging a leg over and settling himself squarely in Duke’s lap. “It really is just the bare minimum,”
Duke had spent the past week anxiously awaiting the opportunity to get his hands back on his mate; now that the boy was here, literally in his lap, he almost didn’t know where to touch first. With Stiles’ firm bottom sitting on his legs with just enough space for Duke’s cock to harden without pressing up against him, the boy’s body heat was tantalizing.
Without over thinking it, Duke gently put his hands on Stiles’ thighs, enjoying how his palms covered so much of slender limbs. It was a nice surprise to find bare skin beneath his hands. As he rubbed upwards, he caught the bottom edge of a t-shirt on his wrists. A little further, more fabric pooling where Duke’s hands brushed along his body, and the alpha couldn’t help groaning as his thumbs swiped over smooth, blissfully naked hipbones.
Good god, the boy had no pants on. The room always smelled like omega and sex now, but Duke licked his lips as it thickened in the air anew.
“I take it there is plenty more I can do for you, sweet boy?”
It was so easy to slide his right hand inward, and just like that he was cupping the boy’s crotch.
Stiles’ breath hitched and he rocked forward a little. “Yeah, I’d say. I mean, it would be the mate-ly thing to do,”
“But of course,” Duke enjoyed Stiles breathy moan as he fondled him.
There had been no time to really learn and appreciate his mate’s body during the heat, but now he had the chance to map him out by touch. If he’d ever imagined a mate, he was sure Stiles’ would have met or even surpassed his expectations: his cock was on the long side for an omega, his balls small and firm and perfect in his palm; the whole package filled his hand perfectly, his own fingers the perfect length to reach the furled edge of his boy’s hole. Oh, and how wonderful it was that the boy was so wet for him already, his pointer and middle digits were slick even before he’d gotten around to fingering him.
Stiles was certainly enjoying the attention. He was rolling his hips and running his hands erratically over Duke’s shoulders. In Duke’s attentive hand, his cock kept twitching, his slick flowing.
By the time he was rubbing a single finger determinedly over the boy’s hole, Stiles was whining eagerly.
“Do it,” the boy whimpered as his cock rubbed over Duke’s wrist, “Put it in me,”
Smiling, Duke obliged. “You’re not still sore here?”
He felt the boy’s body shake in response to a vigorous head shake in the negative, “Not that sore. I want it. Now!”
He only needed to lean forward a little to nuzzle the boy’s throat, breathing in the scent of omega and sweet desire. He groaned as his own cock kicked, reminding him of his own pressing need. “You want my fingers? Or do you want to come on my cock?”
Stiles made a frustrated little groan and his forehead thumped down on Duke’s shoulder. Duke buried his nose in the boy’s nape, luxuriating in his delicious scent.
Then the boy grabbed his cock through his trousers.
“Ah!” Startled, Duke straightened up even as his hips lurched under the touch.
Stiles rubbed him hard. “Mmm,” he sighed a little reluctantly, then removed his hand abruptly enough to leave Duke floundering, “As much as I’d love to, you’re probably a bit too much for me right now,”
He jumped forward and rolled his hips pointedly, giving them both some wonderful friction, “I will take those fingers though,”
And of course, who was he to refuse such a demand?
Two days later, and Stiles Stilinski finally deigned to leave his ivory tower and mingle with the commoners. Privately, Talia was glad to see him at the breakfast table, surrounded by pack and readily accepting the affection being shown him. And there was certainly a lot of that; at any given moment, Stiles was never without at least one alpha pawing at him. Each of the alpha males in her pack took every slightest opportunity to touch him, and wonder of wonders, the omega didn’t seem to be shying away from a single one.
Said omega was currently sitting on Scott’s lap, the young alpha cuddling him with a dopey, satisfied smile visible on his face whenever he wasn’t burying it in Stiles’ back like a cuddly pup (apparently, Scott had spent the night in the attic and refused to let go of the omega since). Peter sat in the seat to his right, his chair nearly touching Scott’s so he could keep one of Stiles’ legs draped over his. On the left, Theo sat with a little more distance that was borderline still too close for polite company. Jackson kept finding excuses to walk by the table and pet the omega anywhere he could reach. Derek sat on the other side, glaring in turns at the three alphas across from him, despite Deucalion periodically nudging him and telling him to quite it, that they’d get their turn with him soon.
It was almost sickeningly sweet. Almost enough to make Talia glad she was leaving the house for good.
Almost. But not quite.
Her smile was understandably bitter as she dropped the deed and keys to her family’s house on the table between Stiles and Peter. Despite all the love suffocating the room. Maybe partially in spite of it too.
“The house is yours,” Talia said shortly to her younger brother.
Peter smirked at her as he oh-so-pointedly pushed the keys to Stiles. God, she hated him sometimes.
“Glad you took the deal,” Stiles said, his tone cooler than he’d been using the entire morning when speaking to any of his mates. Then again, it was the first time he’d spoken directly to her since she ordered him to stop messing with them. The little shit.
“We’re still using the house and the land for pack meetings and full moons,” She reminded him sternly.
“Yep,” He said, popping the last syllable obnoxiously, and ending on a cheeky smile aimed at Scott, who just dropped a coffee in front of him and caressed his cheek as he went.
“We’ll see you then,” Peter said brightly.
The entire encounter, Stiles hadn’t even looked at her. Talia supposed she should be thankful it wasn’t worse: after all, she got what she wanted out of the omega.
She just hadn’t expected to be conned out of her ancestral home in the process. But beggars can’t be choosers.
Laura stopped in the dinning room doorway, the last of her bags slung over her shoulder. Her petulant grimace was still in place, but Talia knew it was mostly for show; Laura was pleased to be moving into Beacon Hills, part of the town instead of on the edge of it. And she was rather relieved to escape the abundance of alpha-infatuated pheromones cloying up the air around here.
Legally, Peter now owned the family property. In reality, she was sure the whole damn pack would know it as Stiles’ by the end of the day. As she walked out of the house with Laura beside her, Talia couldn’t help the small smile on her face. Was she pissed and sad to say goodbye to the only home she’d ever known? Absolutely. But sacrifices are excepted of pack leaders.
Thanks to Stiles, her pack was still in tack and stronger than ever.