Best worst ideas and heat centers
Pairing: Sterek (Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski)
Summary: The undertone of his own scent on top of the alpha stranger hits him. It makes the voice of his wolf go from a loud growl to a low whine. He swallows thickly. Stiles takes a couple of seconds more, adjusting to the idea that now it was too late to change his mind.
My first smut, my first A/O/B fic and my first exchange ever, so if this sucks you guys know why. You might want to take a seat guys ‘cause IT’S BETA’D - thank you, Cara mía @roseszain
Heat is inconvenient. That’s the first thing that parents and teachers tells you when you get of age. There are hormones that rocket to the sky. A fogging desire to hump everything near you. And of course you can’t forget the loss of rationality that makes you end up presenting for strangers just because your primal side tells you to. Your senses are too sharp; smells make your mouth water. Things start to overwhelm you. Suddenly smells cause your skin itch. Lights and shadows make your ears ring and feel dizzy. And that’s without mentioning how your genitalia reacts. Like clothes and chairs getting drenched. Or your dick pointing to things that you didn’t even know turned you on.
So heat is pretty discomforting.
But it also is pretty unfair. If you’re in luck of being an Alpha, it doesn’t strike you full force. You get the need to mark, to claim. And every little thing ends up being a territorial problem. But you get that every two months. And just under the length of two days. Lucky bastards.
Instead, an Omega heat is baring your throat and pumping out your ass to almost everyone around you. It’s whining because the scent of an alpha hypnotizes your mind. Shuddering because you need fangs over your neck and claws marking your body more than breathing. And the best thing of it all is that it happens every month, and rolls over you full force for four long days or longer. Sometimes even a week. Just peachy.
And yeah, you get time out of school, work, fighting crime under a mask or whatever duty you have with a ticket straight to Jack-Off-Ville. Really wonderful. Who doesn’t want to stay home and play Hand Solo, am I right? But the painful arousal numbing your mind takes away the fun.
There are some solutions that school and goverment are glad to inform new pups getting their first heat each year. Pretty much the usual: stay inside, in a locked room with enough food and water. Have someone you can trust to check up on you once in a while. Sexual toys can be really helpful, but the heat fever may or may not dissapear just with that.
There’s also the option of the social health centers.
Those places are like fucking five star hotels for your heat. As easy and expensive as one would dare to think. You just go, fill some papers with the usual information. Name, age, social security number. What kind of room would you prefer? Are you an alpha or an omega? At what age did you have your first heat? What are your usual symptoms? Are there usually complications? Do you want some specific toys? Would you like a partner? Will you pay with cash or a credit card? Y'know, the usual.
And after all that, you got a nice room that has an unique code to get in. Safe from people in heat running around. And inside you are welcomed with food, water, a private bathroom and lube. Probably more lube than food but hey, you can’t really complain.
And the thing is that there he was. For the first time in his life. Getting the full experience. Fidgeting on the bed. Twisting his hands on the bed sheets. Licking and biting his lips.
Because that’s exactly what Stiles is best at: overthinking.
He breathes deeply. In for three, out for three. Goosebumps travel across his naked body. It’s not cold nor fear. It’s anticipation. Anxiety. The good kind of anxiety. Or at least that’s what he expects. He sighs, closing his eyes trained at the ceiling.
His mind is starting to get fuzzy at the same time the door to his room opens. He can feel his eyes flare yellow for a couple of seconds even though they’re closed. Instinct kicking in, trying to warn him about an intruder in his den. The undertone of his own scent on top of the alpha stranger hits him. It makes the voice of his wolf go from a loud growl to a low whine. He swallows thickly. Stiles takes a couple of seconds more, adjusting to the idea that now it was too late to change his mind.
“You requested an alpha to knot you?,” says a low voice that sounds like a growl and makes his insides flip. He isn’t sure if it’s because of the heat or the guy actually has the voice of a sex god, but probably at this point it doesn’t matter. He nods slowly, acknowledging with a huff in exchange. “My name is Derek Hale. I have to check that you fully understand the gound rules which are no intimate touching, no foreplay, no feral activities, no marking besides the knot and scenting.”
“Basically a bunch of noes that– fuck,” he isn’t prepared for the sight that welcomes him once he opens his eyes and looks at the door. His voice is from a sex god. Damn, how good it is to be right. And he is going to tap that. Or get tapped by that. Semantics.
The alpha keeps standing awkwardly at the door, dressed in just black briefs and a t-shirt a couple sizes too small that Stiles recognizes as his. There’s muscles bulging under the layer of fabric. Muscles that he wants to lick and bite and do all kinds of things that were already on the not-to-do list. And if the frown that he has is anything to go by, Stiles isn’t being as subtle about it as he thinks.
The silence is getting dense in the room. The alpha - Derek - rakes his eyes all over Stiles’ body, who starts to wriggle, feeling suddenly exposed and utterly horny at the same time. Huh. He prays it’s just a side efect of the heat and not a new kink of his. Stiles averts his eyes to a point over Derek’s shoulder, trying to look more composed that what he feels.
“I’m Stiles Stilinski–”
“What the hell is a Stiles?”
That is a question that he hears quite often and always loves to answer with as much sarcasm as possible. But in this case, a sincere bubble of laughter burst through his throat. He wasn’t expecting it. And by Derek’s face of utter disbelief at that slip up, neither was he. It’s completely priceless. He thinks about how for a moment it doesn’t feel like a medical procedure with a patient but more like two guys alone in a room. More of a cheesy porn scene than a Doctor House rerun. He lets out another laugh, a bit high pitched. Perhaps he isn’t as composed as he wants to believe. He’s slowly going into hysterics. Just peachy.
“Me, I am a Stiles. But don’t worry about it,” he gets up in a sitting position on the bed and watches somewhat amused at how the alpha’s eyes never leave his body. “Shall we start?”
Derek snaps his head up to Stiles’ face. Like some sort of trained puppy. He almost laughs out loud in response, barely containing himself. A bold nod followed by clothes falling to the ground is the last missing piece before Stiles’ brain starts to melt. The pit of his stomach getting fuzzy. He feels like a teenager again, letting his heat take the best of him. Which is his mind. But he couldn’t care less. A greek god is sitting by his side in the bed, ready to knot him. Losing his mind is just a side effect. And he can live with it.
His mouth feels dry for a moment once their eyes locks. Stiles tries to figure out what to call Derek’s eye colour and how is it possible that with the green and the blue there is also grey and gold giving him the same effect as a kaleidoscope. Plumb pink lips swollen and parted from bitting and licking nerviously. Honey brown eyes scanning the alpha up and down like a predator behind heavy lidded eyes. Derek looks away, swallowing hard. And that, my friends, that’s something Stiles is going to have in mind for future reference.
He can feel his throat close and the voice of his wolf growling claim claim claim and mine mine mine over and over. The heat taking over almost completely. This is such a bad idea, he is so sure. He runs a hand down his face, trying to focus. His skin prickling with the need to touch and his gums trying to flash out his fangs, to claim and mark down what clearly isn’t his to do. He balls his hands into fists, trying to ground himself.
“How would you like to proceed?”, Derek’s eyes again lock with his. Stiles feels taken aback because it is almost like if he was about to devour him. You need to keep this proffesional, Stilinski. This time he is the one adverting his eyes away.
“Just… stay there”, said Stiles, his long and lean figure standing up and walking slowly towards Derek. Stiles’ dick is hard and red, a normal response to the heat, but he’s sure it would have happened even without it involved. He’s mesmerized to see that Derek’s is erect and pulsing too. How many times had Derek been professional knotting for him to be so casual about this? Casual and calm but also looking like he would pounce and fuck the shit out of someone at any moment? It makes his insides churn with a bit of jealousy. He’s definetely going insane because of the heat. He swallows hard again in an unsuccessful attempt to avoid thinking, trying to stay calm even with those kaleidoscopic eyes now scrutinizing his face up close. Stiles’ not sure when they got so close or if it was him or Derek the one who took it further. He bites down a moan when the alpha starts scenting his neck with little to none delicacy. He’s going to have beard burn for days. A small whimper escapes from his lips.
“Stiles”, a voice hoarse and cracked says. Stiles can feel his knees tremble at how wrecked Derek sounds. Like Stiles was more than just a client. Was it supposed to be like this? Feel so personal? Something pulls inside his chest and makes him want to get on board with the crazy ideas on his mind and forget whatever fucking rules they should follow. Like biting every inch of skin and bruise the rest with kisses until his primal side feels satisfied. Like carving his back with blunt nails and make Derek smell like him for the rest of his life.
Derek let out a soft growl, making his wolf howl, loud completely restless. Insisting to claim this man, to make him his. Persistent to a point in wich it ached, his skin prickling with unstoppable desire. This is definitely one of the worst idea he ever had, but Derek’s already under his skin. It’s too late now. He can’t leave. He can’t stop it. He don’t want it to stop.
With his mind attune to his primal side, it was easy to stop thinking and get going. He wanted to howl out loud. Bracing his hands on Derek’s shoulders, Stiles put his legs around the alpha’s sides. The arousal written all over his face. He can see Derek clawing the matress to keep himself from touching Stiles and that won’t do. Moving his hips a bit for both of them to feel the lust pool down in their groins. Alpha red eyes flashing at the feel of his insides breaching. Stiles gives a mischievous half smile before starting to lower himself on Derek’s shaft; his hole damp, clenching in anticipation, needing to be fucked raw and hard, to take the heat away.
His mind trying to convey if it is something normal, but losing the train of thought at how good it starts to feel. Derek growls low, which makes him huff a small laugh that dies into a moan. He wants to provoke Derek, get under his skin too. If it is the only way he could get him to remember his awkward self, so be it. “You can’t touch, big guy; s'on the ground rules”
Derek growls even louder, which makes Stiles’ insides vibrate. Everything feels amplified, smells stronger. Would Derek’s taste get stronger too? A whine escapes from his lips, thinking about testing it out. He wants to lick, to kiss, to suck and bite.
It was supposed to be something easy to do. That’s what pamphlets said about health centers. Lying liars who lie. It was supposed to be a big “fuck you” to his heat not plain torture. Not literally because he gets to fuck Derek at least. Sort of. Does it counts when you do it all yourself? The torture is the idea of not being able to touch or mark his skin. It’s driving him crazy. The rhythm of Stiles’ movements get quicker each time a new wave of heat crash over him. The frenzy that pushes his mind into wanting to just come and be knotted is another whole new level of mental distress. In Stiles’ perfect scenario, Derek would take things slowly, make Stiles babble and beg to be fucked and marked. He wants to cry his name out like a prayer and leave no place free of the smell of him and come and them together. But they’re being so impersonal that it’s slowly killing him.
Derek leans near to the pulse point on Stiles’ neck, supporting his forehead there. Stiles stills for a moment before resuming the movement of his hips. He tries to think of a loophole to get around the rules. Something. Anything. His eyes close tightly while his mind tries to break the fact of this just being something professional. They’re not patient and a knotting somewhat-doctor. They’re not. But it doesn’t matter how hard he wishes, they are. His heightened senses flooding with Derek’s everything makes Stiles’ insides twist in a mess of angst and deep desire. The one you can’t shake away. The smell and the sound of skin hitting skin. The moans and whimpers. He can’t handle it. Too much out of his control. Stiles wants to know how Derek does it. How does he stays focused and pretend like this is a nice day in the office with a coffee mug in hand? He wants to know and wants to yell at him for it. But before he can say anything, another growl slips out of Derek’s throat as his hips buck up, slamming in to Stiles. Followed quickly by a surprising, growled out “Mine”, making Stiles gasp and completely stop moving.
And he knows.
Stiles knows how fucked up this is but can’t find a fuck to give. The alpha teeth dragging across the sensitive skin of his collar bones. His tongue caressing the places roughly scraped. A constant rumble on his chest making everything inside Stiles’ vibrate with him. He’s clawing Derek’s shoulders and back while Derek’s hands are on Stiles’ hips, clawing back. A combined loud moan fills the room.
This is wrong and he knows he should stop.
But the sudden urge to make Derek fall apart the same way Stiles is and mark him up so he can’t forget he is his. It’s stronger than anything he ever felt before and it clouds his mind from all reasoning. He starts scenting Derek feverishly. Nosing along his neck, licking and nudging his jaw. Only to suddenly claim Derek’s mouth almost painfully. A clash of fangs, teeth and tongue. The movement of their hips stop, allowing their primal side go. Derek is clearly as intensely affected by all of this, touching every little piece of skin he can - running a hand down Stiles’ back, squeezing his ass, scraping his thighs, scratching his happy trail, pinching his nipples. But never his shaft. Just close enough to make Stiles beg for more. When Derek somehow seems satisfied, he sums up the movement of his hips into deep strokes that draw gasps and moans out of Stiles’ mouth. He can feel something inside himself melt. His wolf side’s ecstastic. Mine. Mine. Take. Mark. Bite. Mark. Scent. Give. Scent. Mine. Mine. He’s not sure when he started, but he can hear his own voice babbling the words out. Wrecked to the core.
A small whimper catches his attention and the next thing he knows, Stiles’ is pinned down on the bed with Derek biting down on his shoulder. Hips stuttering, Stiles feels the swelling of the knot forming in him just as both of them are coming. White lines now covering their bare chests. Stiles can feel joy and pride forming in his chest at the scene. Derek is his and he’s Derek’s. A strange purr comes out of him while scenting Derek’s neck, still holding onto him. He can feel the cloud of arousal dissapearing slowly. The calm and the afterglow turning in to sheer panic.
How high was he on hormones? He can feel Derek tense slightly under his touch. Derek retracts his fangs looking at the bruise on Stiles’ shoulder. He looks at it too and yeah, that’s definitely a mark that’s never going to leave. Neither physically nor emotionally. Stiles’ face blushes, a small smile tugging at his lips. The same bruised, bitten and parted lips after kissing Derek senseless just moments before. They’re both breathing heavingly. And Derek keeps looking at him, probably in the same way that Stiles is. With awe and surprise. And something fond that make him feel all gooey.
He tentatevely takes one of his hands and cups Derek’s face, who nuzzles into it and relaxes completely. Stiles can feel his heart rate increasing and his insides flip. He wants this forever so much. The soft alpha wolf by his side, nuzzling and cuddling. His other hand slowly traces every feature on Derek’s face. From his eyebrow and the crinkles at the side of his eyes, to his lips and the stubble around it. Every little detail that makes him beautiful. Stiles’ is sure the memory of it all will never leave his mind.
“That wasn’t– We shouldn’t–,” he can hear Derek’s voice crack and go soft before he finishes the sentence. Words dying somewhere along the way between reason and feelings. Warm hands caress Stiles’ side slowly. Derek hides his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck and he can’t avoid the delightful smile that appears on his face.
Everything starts to fall in to place. The tugging in his chest. The jealousy. His wolf going nuts. Even how sappy he is feeling right in this moment. It finally makes sense. It wasn’t normal. That literally wasn’t supposed to happen. Not in such a big world, with so many chances. But what exactly in his life was ever normal? The answer is exactly nothing. And there they were. Making theirs a one in a million case.
He laughs out loud, shaking their bodies with it. Derek rumbles still tucked in Stiles’ neck, making Stiles grin. “Don’t be such a sourwolf.”
Unique and awkward but perfect in their own way.
This was definetely his best worst idea ever.