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The mountain trail curved far off into the distance, rocky and with a gentle incline but ultimately not too challenging. Tall grass framed it on either side, bending under a wind that cooled the sweat on the back of his neck. Stiles adjusted his hat to keep the setting sun out of his eyes and decided that he’d make camp in the distant stand of pines further down the trail.
The world was quiet but for the crunch of dirt and rocks under his boots, the wind, and the call of birds. If he sat very still and listened really hard, he could sometimes hear the scuttling of smaller creatures in the grass or underbrush, but right now his steps covered any other sounds.
He didn’t particularly want to stop, anyways.
It wasn’t often he got to back country hike. Normally he took day trips, anywhere from a few hours to sun up to sun down, but multiple days like this were rare. But hey, it was his birthday and it wasn’t like missing an extra day of school so he could tramp around the woods would kill his GPA. He’d even gotten parental approval! Though, if his father had it his way, Stiles would be out here fully armed and decked out in every first aid kit possible.
The thing about back country hiking though, was that every ounce of weight counted. He had to be able to carry all of his gear in and then out again, without exhausting himself, but also without running out of food or water, or needing a tool but not having it. So no guns and no heavy duty med-kits. Instead he carried a can of bear mace in a side pocket of his bag, a utility knife on his waist strap, and a standard but lightweight med-kit with a satellite phone tucked inside. All precautions he hadn’t been forced to use yet, though of course the knife was a bit of a laughable last resort. If a predator was close enough for him to use it on them in the first place…well, the odds were good that it wouldn’t help him any. It was useful for cutting down thin branches and such though.
Today, Stiles almost wished he was armed. There was always a bit of low level anxiety in the back of his mind on these trips. If he encountered trouble of any kind, he was all alone and miles upon miles away from the nearest human being. The phone helped of course, but only if he could physically get to it, and also was conscious enough to, you know, use it. He could imagine plenty of scenarios that ended in his death or, worse, injured him so badly that he was forced to abandon his gear to get to safety. This shit was expensive. He’d had to work two summer jobs just to afford most of it, and the rest he’d begged as birthday and Christmas gifts.
But his anxiety today was not of the generalized variety that he was used to. His mind was not playing ‘what-if’s and conjuring imagines of himself falling down the mountain side.
Instead, sweat prickled on the back of his neck and the hairs on his arms stood perpetually on end. The hike had started well enough early that morning, but now…now something just felt off. Like he was being watched or hunted. Like something lurked in the tall grass behind him, always far enough away that he couldn’t catch sight but still close enough to perk up those ancient animal instincts that reminded him he was prey.
He’d felt silly checking behind him every few minutes though, so Stiles was doing his best to ignore the strange sensation. Maybe his meds were acting up. Maybe he just wasn’t in a great head space. Regardless, he’d made the decision to continue on with his trip. To turn back now would be to waste that extra day he’d taken off and all the preparation he’d done.
Stiles lifted his head, checking the position of the sun again. He had a few hours until full darkness he figured, the perfect amount of time to set up camp and get some dinner going. He picked up his pace, tucking his trek pole under one arm since the trail had evened out under his feet. The dense pines ahead cast deep shadows and the air beneath them was cooler than it had been in the meadow when he stepped into their shade. A carpet of dead needles muffled his steps, and the scent of them was strong in the air as he scanned the area. The trees grew fairly close together, too close for him to comfortably make camp between them, so he kept on until the newer growth gave way to older trees and sparse underbrush that was more evenly spaced.
When he finally found a spot he liked, he unbuckled himself from his pack and pulled it off, careful to use the carrying strap at the top so as not to damage the shoulder straps. The damn thing was expensive as hell, hundreds of dollars, but it handled his fifty pounds of gear easily, and the mesh backboard was a lifesaver. Not to mention the special compartments for his sleeping bag and camel back, and the outer straps for his trek poles.
Stiles made camp quickly, pulling out his hammock instead of his tent since it seemed like the weather was going to hold. It was a familiar and comforting routine, one he’d been doing for years now. It helped soothe some of his still squirming instincts.
He couldn’t really remember when he’d transitioned from day hikes to back country hiking, but he loved it. It was a physical challenge that had required training in the beginning, and upkeep now that he could put in the miles he wanted, which normally wasn’t his style at all. But unlike organized sports or P.E. there were no outside expectations of him. He simply picked a trail and…walked. When he got tired he sat and rested. If he was hungry he ate. At the end of the day he made camp and slept and then got up the next day to do it all again, surrounded by quiet, beautiful nature. If he went far enough, or chose lesser used trails, he could go days without seeing a single other person. Of course, with his ADHD he still needed distractions from time to time so he carried his phone with a portable battery, and an old mp3 player with a lifespan that would outlast even him. Between them he kept himself entertained easily enough when his own thoughts and the trail started to bore.
His father wasn’t as thrilled with Stiles’ hobby as he was. His biggest issue was just that Stiles did it alone as Scott had no interest, and he himself being an adult with an adult job couldn’t usually run off into the woods to play mountain man whenever he wanted.
And it wasn’t like the sheriff didn’t have valid concerns. As much as Stiles loved his hobby, it had it’s dangers.
By the time the sun had fully set, Stiles was nestled comfortably inside his sleeping bag in his hammock. He’d stowed his gear, hung his food up in a tree a decent ways away, and beaten one out nice and quick to get himself relaxed. His day clothes -hiking pants, an under shirt, and a flannel- were hung up to dry any sweat on them, and he’d put on the thermals that would let him sleep comfortably even though it was still April and he wasn’t in a shelter.
He got the hammock swaying gently and then watched as tree boughs and stars shifted above him. This far from any major city the night sky was alight. The pines blocked a lot of it of course, but he could still see enough. Maybe next time he’d pick a meadow to stay in, stretch out on his back in the grass and try to name as many constellations as he could.
Stiles’ eyes were just starting to grow heavy when the night suddenly went quiet. No insects, no rustling, no nocturnal animal calls. He swore for a second even the wind stopped blowing and the trees grew as still and as silent as gravestones. Goosebumps instantly broke out along Stiles’ arms and his skin crawled. For a long moment he didn’t move, didn’t pull his gaze from where it was still fixed on the sky above.
If his instincts had been setting off warning bells before, they were blaring eardrum-piercing klaxons now.
Mentally he tried to pinpoint exactly where he’d left his bag. It was leaning against one of the trees he’d tied his hammock to, the one closest to his head he thought. The bear mace was still in the outside pocket. The knife was on the waist strap and might be trickier to get to with the pack on the ground, but it was also close by. Two weapons within fairly easy reach, so long as he had the time to reach them.
Breathing shallowly, Stiles turned his head a fraction, trying to see if he could-
A loud snuffling, distinctly animal, sent a wave of icy, paralyzing shock running through him. Stiles paused, listening as something huge and close, way too fucking close for comfort, moved just on the peripheral of his vision. It was off to his left, near where he’d hung his food up.
Was it…a bear? It certainly couldn’t be a wolf, there were no wolves in California. Most likely a black bear then. And while still dangerous, they weren’t grizzlies or anything, and fairly easy to scare off if he remembered everything he’d read correctly.
But when Stiles shifted his head again, the tiniest amount possible, he could see clearly by the light of the moon that the thing sniffing through the underbrush was not a bear. For a long, terrifying second he thought his eyes must be playing tricks on him. But the longer he looked the more sure he became.
It was a monster, plain and simple. With four legs, but the first two ended in paw-like hands with thumbs and everything, and the shoulders and musculature looked sickeningly human under dark fur. When it turned its head slightly, he caught a glimpse of reflective red eyes and fangs that were far, far too white in a long, pointed muzzle. A muzzle that was distinctly canine in nature.
Werewolf his mind supplied. And though it seemed impossible, in that moment Stiles wholeheartedly believed it. How could he not when he was literally watching the thing snuffle through the dirt, huge back arched and shoulders hunched?
It made a loud chuffing noise and then licked the ground once, again, several more times in quick succession, with a slight whine building in its throat. For a moment Stiles just watched in confusion and horror, until a nauseating fact hit him.
Stiles hadn’t beaten off in his hammock. He’d stepped away from the camp before putting a hand on himself because he hadn’t waned to deal with accidentally getting anything on his hammock or sleeping bag. And the place he’d gotten off, ejaculating into the dirt with his back pressed into the trunk of a pine, was exactly where the werewolf was snuffling around.
The werewolf was licking up Stiles’ cum.
That was…he didn’t even know what that was. His brain was barely processing the fact that there was a fucking werewolf in front of him, much less the fact that it was interested in Stiles’ cum for some reason.
If werewolves were real, which they clearly were -unless some freak who liked to run around in the woods and creep out hikers was also incredibly good at special effects- then what else was real? Was there an entire supernatural world that normal people didn’t know about? Were werewolves common? Did it actually turn into a human person, or was it less shifter and more wolf monster?
Fuck, now was not the time to be asking stupid questions. Now was the time to be arming himself because a giant slobbering monster was creeping around Stiles’ camp. A camp that was hours upon hours on foot from the nearest civilization.
Moving as slowly as he could, Stiles tried to turn onto his side. But hammocks were not made for discrete or delicate movements. The fabric rustled loudly and the whole thing swayed, his balance shifting precariously. So of course the creature’s head jerked up and whipped towards him, the animal eyes in the canine face glowing a bright, unnatural red.
Stiles froze, but the wolf didn’t move otherwise. They stared at each other for a long, tense moment before Stiles risked another movement, slowly levering himself up until he was sitting instead of laying down. The wolf didn’t so much as twitch, not even blinking. Its chest rose and fell steadily, and even at a distance Stiles could hear it sucking in air through its nose, sniffing with long, exaggerated breaths. Like it could taste Stiles’ scent and wanted more. Like it was trying to memorize him.
Stiles’ body felt cold and clammy with fear and he swore his heart was going to bruise his ribs it was beating so damn hard. But still he swung his legs over the side of the hammock, not even bothering to glance at his boots before he stood.
The wolf did twitch then, ears flattening against its skull as it gave a little growl, a warning, before they perked up again. The sound made Stiles’ stomach feel like it was trying to crawl out of his body it dropped so hard. But the wolf didn’t do anything else, didn’t try to approach, and Stiles let out a shaky breath.
“Good wolf,” he found himself saying as he took a small step to the side, towards his pack. “Just…just stay over there.”
The wolf’s gaze tracked him with an intensity that made Stiles’ throat dry. It didn’t acknowledge his words except for another flick of its ear and he had no clue if it could understand him. If it even was a werewolf and could become human and therefore understand speech. Maybe it was always a monster and had never understood human language to begin with.
Stiles slowly crouched, never taking his eyes off the thing as he patted at the pack beside him. His trembling fingers brushed over straps and zippers before he finally managed to tug the bear mace loose.
Finally the wolf broke their staring contest, its red gaze flicking down to Stiles’ hand and the canister clutched in it. The upper lip lifted slightly in a snarl, another low growl vibrating the space between them.
Stiles paused, then continued on just as slowly, transferring the mace to his other hand and using the closer one to pat around some more until he found the knife. He didn’t bother trying to pull the sheath off the waist strap, and instead just tugged the blade free. Then he stood again, holding the weapons close to his body.
The wolf obviously glanced between them, growling even louder now as its gaze shot back up to Stiles’.
Stiles swallowed hard and fought down the instinct to take a step back. “You need to go,” he said, as firmly as he dared. “If you…if you’re a shifter or a werewolf or something and you understand me then you know what these are. And you know I’ll use them. So just, fuck off, go terrorize some other hapless camper.”
The growling cut off, but Stiles almost wished it hadn’t because the wolf took a single step forwards instead, leaning forward onto its hands and using them like paws. Another step, and this time Stiles couldn’t help the way he shifted his body, moving to try and get the hammock away from his back. He needed space, a way to get away, to run-
The wolf snarled and lunged, and instead of standing his ground like he was attempting to do, Stiles bolted. He couldn’t help it. His entire body sang with a primal, desperate fear, the kind of fear that drove prey into burrows and up trees and into dens that the predator couldn’t get to.
But Stiles had none of those things. He was a single, stupid human, running barefoot through a dark, deserted forest with an open blade in hand that was more of a threat to himself than to the monster crashing through the underbrush behind him. He could hear it, hear the loping gait as each massive paw propelled it forward, hear the steady, constant growling and the occasional bark. Sometimes it got close enough that he swore he could feel its breath, its teeth nipping at his calves and ankles. He tried not to stumble, to let fear lock his joints.
His panicked brain realized he was being herded back out of the forest and into the meadow he’d traveled through earlier in the day. But he couldn’t do anything about it, was powerless to do anything but run. His arms and legs pumped and his breath sawed out of him like each one was coated in razor blades. Already his lungs and throat were burning, and his stomach clenched so hard he tasted bile in the back of his throat. His muscles burned and his face and hands had gone numb in his terror.
And yet…behind the terror, behind the overwhelming certainty that he was about to e eaten, there was a kind of thrill to it. Maybe it had something to do with how the growls of the beast sounded almost playful, its barks joyful and happy.
Or maybe Stiles’ brain was turning to mush and spitting out complete nonsense as a result.
Soft pine needles gave way to tall, rough grass that lashed against his legs as he rushed through it. After the shadow of the forest, the sudden unhindered moonlight felt blinding and Stiles stumbled despite himself, that silver glow disorienting him.
It was the slip up the wolf was waiting for, apparently. One moment Stiles was running, the next a huge, heavy weight was baring him to the ground. He screamed, curling in on himself as he waited for the pain of landing, that moment where momentum and gravity collided and bruised.
But it didn’t come.
Huge arms wrapped tight around him, and Stiles could feel their bodies rolling and jostling together. When they came to a stop Stiles was dizzy and out of breath, adrenaline and panic a high pitched buzzing in his ears, but there was no pain, no jarring impact.
There was, however, a hulking monster crouched over top of him, blocking out the light of the moon and panting down at Stiles. Its fangs were bared and dripping with saliva that soaked the torn fabric of Stiles’ thermal shirt, its red, red eyes intense as ever. It closed its mouth and a low growl bubbled up from its throat in a steady stream.
The knife and bear mace were long gone, lost when Stiles fell, and really he was lucky he hadn’t gored himself on that blade. But he still missed the weight of it in his hand as he laid there and sucked in huge gasps of air, empty, useless hands pressing up against dark fur and hard muscle as if he could possibly keep the monster at bay.
As if to prove how very little Stiles’ strength meant to it, the wolf leaned down even closer, sniffing loudly at Stiles’ face even as he turned away from it.
“Fuck,” he gasped, then again, “Fuck,” when a burning hot tongue dragged across his cheek. It was so big it caught the corner of his mouth and he grimaced.
That tongue was recently in the dirt. That tongue was recently lapping up Stiles’ fucking cum.
Unable to help himself, Stiles’ squirmed, trying to push at the wolf’s head and get himself out from under it. But the wolf growled and one huge, clawed hand came down hard on his chest and held him in place as easily as he might keep a piece of paper from fluttering away on a breeze.
“Shit, please don’t eat me,” Stiles said as his head was knocked back by a strong muzzle and the wolf continued sniffing and licking down his throat. It spent a long time snuffling at the junction of throat and shoulder. “Seriously man, er, not man? Is that offensive? I don’t taste good I promise I- fuck, hey, watch the teeth!” he squeaked.
Grunting, the wolf yanked backwards, the fabric of Stiles’ shirt in its teeth. Since it was already tattered in a few places, most of it came away with a loud ripping sound. But some held and Stiles’ torso was jerked upwards by the force. He flailed, batting at the wolf until it grew irritated and dropped him in order to snap at his hands. He yelped, jerking them into his chest.
“Stop, stop, there’s no need for biting! I’ll take it off, okay, just-” His breath was sawing in and out of his chest again but the wolf blinked at him and. Sat back on its haunches. Stiles’ mouth fell open then closed again. “You…you understand me?”
Besides a slow blink and a huff that sounded annoyed, the wolf gave no answer to his question. But the fact that it was clearly waiting for him to strip was answer enough for Stiles. The monster understood what he was saying.
Sitting up, Stiles shakily felt for the hem of his shirt, not taking his eyes off the monster for more than the split second the fabric obscured his vision. He tossed the ruined shirt away, skin prickling in the cool air. “Okay. Okay so you understand me and you chased me down and you…want me half-naked so uh,” he swallowed hard, trying not to think about the cum thing but now that his brain was working even marginally the pieces clicked together.
Stiles’ eyes slipped down the monster’s body, even though his instincts screamed at him for taking his attention away from the giant ass fangs and those angry looking eyes.
And…yeah. That was an erection curved up under the creature’s belly, as animal in nature as the rest of the thing. It was thick and red and wet, dripping into the dirt beneath, and covered in these thin little veins. Stiles’ breath caught and held at the sight and suddenly the panic he’d started to shake came flooding back in full force.
“No no no no no,” he chanted, scrambling back in an awkward shuffle, but obviously he didn’t make it far. Not with this thing so interested in him, so willing to hunt him down. It knocked him onto his back all over again, growling and huffing hot, humid breath into his face. He cringed, unable to help the whimper that rose unbidden from his own throat. The sound seemed to appease the wolf and it backed off, huffing at him at it pressed a paw against his throat this time, the threat obvious. He couldn’t feel its claws but the weight was more than enough, not to mention the sheer size. If he were sitting up he had no doubt those thick fingers could wrap all the way around and meet on the other side.
“Okay,” he said, reaching up to grab at a furry forearm. “Okay, I’ll stay, just- just don’t-”
But the wolf clearly wasn’t listening. It was snuffling down his body, stopping to lick at Stiles’ bare torso. He couldn’t help the way he twitched away from the heat and wetness. It made his skin crawl even as the stimulation lit him up. A hot, purposeful tongue lapping at his nipples and belly button would obviously arouse he tried to tell himself. It’s not like the monster was unintelligent or unaware. Of course it’d be able to read his body and try to turn him on.
“Shit,” Stiles said when huge claws hooked in the waistband of his pants. “That’s not-” Not even the hand around his throat could keep him from trying to push the wolf’s muzzle away when it buried itself in his crotch. “Hey!” he yelped.
Even through the thermal fabric of his pants he could feel the way the monster’s hot, damp breath. It was huffing loudly, drawing in deep breath after breath.
And Stiles…well, his dick twitched. He flinched at the sensation, the way his lower belly had started to prickle with those first stirrings. “Shit, this is-” he broke off in another yelp as the wolf turned and laved its tongue across Stiles’ groin, soaking the fabric. “Stop!” But not even tugging on the wolf’s ears would move it. All the action did was cause the thing to growl in warning at him and fuck that should not feel as good vibrating through his dick as it did.
This was so, so fucked up that Stiles could barely comprehend it. Pinned down by some kind of monster, unable to do anything as it snuffled and licked at his junk like an animal in heat. Stiles finally gave up on trying to push the wolf away and instead crossed his arms over his face, unable to watch as the monster finally grew impatient enough to yank at his pants. They were soft and loose enough that it didn’t take much to get them off his hips, especially now that he wasn’t resisting.
Oddly, the wolf took the time to work them all the way down Stiles’ legs and off his feet. Another mark towards the thing being intelligent. In literally any other circumstances, Stiles would be fascinated by that. Did it turn into a man? Did that man live out here in the woods like a hermit or was he just a normal member of society during the week with a nine to a five and rent to pay? Could it control the shift or was it a mandatory thing every time the moon was full?
But in these particular circumstances, knowing the thing was sentient honestly made the whole experience worse in Stiles’ opinion.
Being mounted by an actual animal was humiliating and terrifying yes, but ultimately it wasn’t like the animal realized it was hurting him. It was just following instinct.
But if the monster truly knew what it was doing then this was rape. Plain and simple.
Maybe there was a middle ground? Animalistic monster instinct meeting man’s reasoning and clearly coming out on top. He wasn’t sure that made it much better.
The first flick of that hot, broad tongue across Stiles’ cock made his entire body flinch. He sucked in air through his teeth, belly clenching as his dick began to fill rapidly. He’d already been half-hard and it only took a few seconds for him to get the rest of the way there. Even the monster’s cold nose brushing against him, sniffing along the base, only added an extra jolt of sensation.
“This can’t be happening,” Stiles moaned, and flinched again as the wolf licked at his balls and then his inner thighs, laving the sensitive flesh until he felt like he was dripping. “Fuck, this has to be a dream.”
But when Stiles pulled his arms away from his face and glanced down his body, the monster was still there in all its horror. It had let his throat go at least, but only so it could pin his hips instead. It’s not like Stiles was fighting it anymore anyways. The thing was watching him, head cocked to the side like it couldn’t understand his reaction.
Aren’t I making you feel good? that head cock seemed to ask. Aren’t you hard?
“This is fucked up,” Stiles tried to say as firmly as possible.
Pointedly, without breaking eye contact, the wolf dipped its head and lapped again at Stiles’ cock. He couldn’t help the small sound that came out of him, a catch of breath ending on a soft whine. If it was possible for a monster to look smug this thing did, eyeing him for a long, drawn out moment before finally breaking eye contact.
Stiles winced preemptively as the wolf used its free paw to trap his cock against his belly, keeping it from bobbing against the thing’s muzzle as it continued to lick and lick and lick. But it was careful with its claws, keeping them far away from sensitive skin. The same thing couldn’t be said for its rough paw pads that scraped and made him squirm, confused by his body’s reaction to the slight burn of it. He moaned, breath shaking out of him, and tried to ignore how amazing the wolf’s tongue was. It felt like all of his blood was rushing south and his skin had become sensitized everywhere the monster so much as brushed up against him. Its fur, its paws, the faint hint of claws where it held his hip down. And of course that tongue, its fangs flashing in the bright moonlight every time it shifted its massive head.
Stiles’ own pale skin seemed almost luminescent in the silver glow as he gazed down his body, unable to resist pushing himself up on his elbows. The wolf rumbled in warning but didn’t stop its ministrations. Its dark fur was a stark contrast against Stiles, a being made of shadows except where fang and claw caught the light, and those red eyes that were slitted in contentment. They flicked up to him every once in a while as if trying to gauge his reaction.
Personally, Stiles was also trying to gauge that same reaction. Obviously his body was settling into the pleasure, into the quiver of his stomach and the tensing of his thighs, the way his breathing was picking up. The wolf’s tongue was just so warm and strong the way it pushed against him, lapping up his pre-cum and dipping to briefly cup his balls. Considering he was still a virgin he didn’t really have anything to compare the sensation to but fuck it was good. Good enough he didn’t think twice about reaching down to card his fingers through the wolf’s fur between its fuzzy ears. Not pushing or pulling this time, just holding on as his orgasm approached. The wolf closed its eyes fully and made this rumbling, content noise, almost a purr, and Stiles moaned at the sensation, that vibration running straight though him.
“This is so fucked up,” he repeated, soft and breathless. “Like, there are no words to describe how fucked up this is. You know that, right?”
The wolf obviously didn’t care, and if anything seemed to grow tired of Stiles’ babbling because it lifted its head and leaned forward, the tongue that had just been on his dick lapping at his mouth instead. Stiles gasped and tried to turn his head away. But like an overly eager, overly friendly dog the wolf followed, using Stiles’ open mouth to its advantage. That warm tongue slipped inside, curling oddly against the roof of his mouth, sliding along his own tongue and it was…it was…fuck Stiles didn’t even know. He hadn’t been aware the inside of his mouth could be so sensitive. He froze, body unsure if he should lean into it or turn away in disgust. The taste was indescribable, earth and musk and Stiles’ own pre-cum, which should have made his stomach roil but instead made it twist up in arousal.
Before Stiles could really comprehend what was happening, his orgasm rocked through him and he groaned, jaw slack as the wolf continued to lick into him. Its paw was still pressed against his dick, but other than that the only stimulation was that tongue against his own, on occasion slipping so deep into him that he nearly gagged on it. Only once Stiles was done twitching and shaking from his orgasm did the wolf retreat, giving Stiles’ face one last wet, hot lick before it pulled away.
Stiles closed his eyes briefly, giving himself a second for his brain to come back online. His thoughts were fuzzy and scattered, still stuck in a state of shock and pleasure. When he blinked his eyes open again, the wolf was sitting back on its haunches and watching him closely. It…no, he had one hand on his own dick, not stroking but squeezing it close to the base. The red, pointed tip was still dripping steadily into the grass and for a long moment Stiles couldn’t tear his gaze away.
“Do you-” Stiles stopped and swallowed hard, flicking his gaze back up to the wolf’s face. “Do you want- should I-?” It seemed only right considering he had made Stiles come, never mind that absolutely nothing about this situation was right.
The wolf rumbled low in his throat and shuffled closer, arching back further onto its hind legs as if…as if to leave enough room for Stiles to get close. To touch it.
Fuck, was he really going to do this? Willingly put his hands on this monster? Jerk it off?
He was apparently because Stiles was already sitting up, crossing his legs and awkwardly pushing closer, closer, until he could feel the warmth radiating off the wolf and smell the dusty, animal scent of his fur. The wolf rumbled, leaning down to press his cold nose against Stiles’ throat and breathe in huge, greedy gulps of Stiles’ scent.
Stiles huffed, finding the gesture oddly sweet despite himself. “Okay there big guy, you like the way I smell, I get it.” Reaching out he placed one palm tentatively against the wolf’s chest, letting his fingers sink into the thick, coarse fur. He breathed out slowly, letting that hand slide down. The wolf rumbled again, more annoyed this time, and knocked his muzzle against Stiles’ jaw. Stiles didn’t know if it was because of what he’d said or his slow approach, but either way he didn’t appreciate it.
“Hey, no more being a dick! You already chased me down like I’m some kind of prey and yet I agreed to get you off anyways so be nice.” That earned him teeth pressed warningly into his shoulder and he yelped, instinctively twisting his body away. Apparently it wasn’t a serious threat though because the wolf just chuffed and nosed him again, amused.
“Asshole,” Stiles grumbled, then huffed when the wolf sat up straighter and rested his head directly on top of Stiles’. He leaned his weight into it too, and Stiles hissed, “Asshole,” again, even more emphatic. But he still let his hand slip lower down onto the wolf’s belly even as he rolled his shoulders and tried to shift the new weight pressing down on him.
The wolf didn’t respond, but his chest rose and fell a little faster. Stiles darted a glance further down his body, letting himself focus on his cock now that he was close enough to touch. Close enough to see those spiderweb vines clearly. It twitched as if aware of Stiles’ attention. The knot had already slipped out of his furry sheath, thick and imposing. It had to be bigger than Stiles’ fist and he couldn’t help but wonder at how it’d feel pressing into a body. He’d read a rumor somewhere that the knot was why most people who slept with dogs did it. To feel the hot, hard flesh press into them and hold them wide open.
The wolf rumbled again and Stiles snapped out of his thoughts, disturbed at the direction they had taken. Biting his lip, he dropped his hand further, down past the wolf’s cock. It brushed against his wrist, slick and pulsing with heat and he sucked in a breath at the sensation. Still he slid further down, until he palmed at the sheath, the fur there thinner and finer. It filled his palm, so hot it nearly seared his comparatively cooler skin. It twitched under his touch, a contraction of muscle that sent the wolf’s cock bobbing.
Licking his lips, Stiles finally sucked up his courage and took that cock in hand. It was so big he couldn’t wrap his fingers all the way around, filling his hand in a way that had heat coursing through Stiles all over again. He bit his lower lip as the wolf let out that purring sound, shifting his weight off of Stiles so he could press his nose into Stiles’ throat once more. Stiles flinched, that canine nose still too cold despite the rest of the wolf being so hot, then laughed.
“I’ve never done this before, you know,” he said, firming his grip and staring a slow rhythm up and down. Despite the smoothness and the slick heat, it really wasn’t anything he hadn’t done to himself. “To someone else, I mean. Just my fucking luck the first time is with someone who can’t actually tell me how I’m doing.”
The wolf shifted, jerking his hips up into Stiles’ grip like it was telling him to go faster, then chuffed into his ear.
“Okay, so maybe you can communicate in your own way,” Stiles relented, and sped up his hand. Growing more bold, he used his other hand to massage as much of the wolf’s knot as he could fit into his palm. The wolf really seemed to like that, his chest heaving as he leaned into Stiles with a surprisingly human groan. His front paws found the dirt on either side of Stiles’ hips, claws gouging into the dirt.
“That shouldn’t be hot,” Stiles muttered to himself, his teenage libido already plumping his cock again where it was laying against his thigh.
Suddenly the wolf shifted again, this time grabbing the back of Stiles’ head in one of those huge hands and pushing. Not hard necessarily, but insistent, like he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Stiles knew immediately what he was demanding, swallowing hard as he resisted for a long moment. Jerking the wolf off was one thing. Putting his mouth on the massive canine cock was completely different. Right? But then the wolf growled and Stiles pushed onto his knees with a shaky breath, acquiescing. If he’d already jumped that first hurdle why not this one too?
Still, deciding he was going to blow a giant werewolf was much different than actually doing it. Even as he tried to shuffle closer and the wolf pushed up onto all fours over him, his breath shook with nerves and his hands trembled.
With both of them on all fours, the wolf fit neatly over top of Stiles. His belly nestled against the back of Stiles’ neck and his spine, all that coarse fur brushing against Stiles and sensitizing his skin. He felt small like that, tucked up under the much larger monster. It also hot in a way he couldn’t define, dirty and wrong and base.
Still trembling, Stiles reached up to grab onto the wolf’s cock where it was bumping up against the monster’s belly, dripping more than ever and the red more vibrant and angry. When the wolf rumbled above him the vibration traveled through Stiles’ entire body and he moaned softly, even as he leaned forward. Even as he tentatively licked at the pointed tip. The pre-cum was thin and salty, less bitter than he was expecting but still not entirely pleasant. Not enough to put him off though, and Stiles leaned in further, sealing his lips over the tip. It didn’t have a head necessarily, the whole length of it uniform in shape except for the way it thickened as it got closer to the base.
The wolf rumbled again, pleased, and his hips hunched forward in a movement so animal it sent a wash of ashamed arousal through Stiles. He groaned, inching his way further down the thick cock to test his gag reflex. It was strong, he knew that from various curious experimentation with various food items. But it seemed moving slowly was working for him as he took in as much as he could. Even if it wasn’t more than a few inches, the wolf still seemed into it. Especially when Stiles grabbed his knot again, squeezing the thick, hard flesh. His hips were still jerking forward, an involuntary motion he seemed to be holding back as much as possible since he wasn’t hurting Stiles or shoving himself down his throat, both of which would be extremely easy to do in this position.
Stiles was just starting to build up a rhythm, bobbing his head in time with the way he squeezed the wolf’s knot, when he one huge hand wrap around his thigh. The wolf jerked it to the side, then the other, forcing him to widen his stance until his hips complained. Before he could try to shift into a more comfortable position, that muzzle brushed against his thighs, followed by the wet, rough tongue. The wolf must be contorting himself slightly because a moment later he shifted again, putting more weight on his hind legs and giving himself room to reach Stiles’ ass.
Stiles gasped around his mouthful, not expecting the lave of hot flesh down his crack and across the core of him. That was not exactly what he had signed up for here. But the wolf was already going to town, licking and licking and licking the same way he’d done Stiles’ cock, occasionally stopping to huff in Stiles’ scent.
Stiles pulled back enough to speak. “You are not fucking me, so get that thought out of your wolfy head,” he said sternly, trying to glance back behind himself. But all he really got was a view of a muscled forearm where the wolf was holding himself up on one paw. The other paw gripped at his ass cheek to hold him open. He could see the canine head bobbing with his movements and already his ass felt dripping wet and sensitive, that tongue too huge to focus in on just his hole.
Another warning growl had Stiles huffing. “Bossy,” he muttered, but turned back to the task at hand. His mouth felt just as sensitive as his ass when he put it back to the wolf’s cock. Between the two sensations he was fully hard again, but he couldn’t get a hand on himself in this position. Only press back into the wolf’s tongue, then forward again onto his cock. He fell into that rhythm, brain slowly going hazy again as he lost himself to it, focused only on everywhere he and the wolf touched. Heat and wetness and coarse fur rubbing against him, that intense body heat that was making sweat prickle along his spine even as his exposed belly grew chilled from the night air.
He couldn’t help but wonder what they looked like. Two figures out in the middle of nowhere, the grass around them trampled into a soft bed, one dark and hulking the other lithe and pale, dwarfed and half hidden under the monster hunched over him. Slick sounds filled the air as they rocked and moved into each other, growls echoed by muffled moans. Stiles’ entire face felt wet with saliva and pre-cum, the mixture sliding down his throat and collecting in the hollow of his throat before it dripped off him. His cock dripped too, and his ass and thighs where the wolf drooled all over him.
The wolf had managed to soften Stiles enough that his tongue dipped into him now, pushing past his rim and curling against his insides in a way that made Stiles want to pant and whine. He could only manage the latter with his mouth full though, and if the pleased huff the wolf let out was any indication he was a fan of the sound.
The cock in his mouth was starting to pulse when the wolf suddenly pulled away from Stiles, sitting up on his haunches and pulling out of Stiles’ mouth.
Stiles stilled, slightly disoriented now that his rhythm had been interrupted. He looked up the wolf’s huge body to make eye contact, the moon shining bright behind his canine head and turning his fur silver around the edges and a deeper black where it didn’t touch.
“What-?” Stiles started, trying to push himself up too. But the wolf grabbed him up bodily, huge hands with those rough paw pads scrapping all over Stiles. He gasped, even more disoriented as he was moved and positioned like nothing more than a doll, until his shoulders were in the dirt, hips raised and ass in the air with the wolf behind him.
It hit him what the wolf was about a moment too late, paws clamping down on his hips to keep him in place.
“Shit,” Stiles hissed, wriggling ineffectually. “I told you no! I can’t- there’s no fucking way you’re going to fit,” he protested.
His words fell on deaf ears once again. The wolf licked his ass once more, perfunctory, before shuffling into position. The same as before, his bulk hunkered over Stiles, hemming in on all sides, but with them facing the same direction this time. His cock brushed against Stiles’ thighs, slotting between them when the wolf hunched his hips and rocked forward. The way he brushed against Stiles’ cock had Stiles gasping despite himself.
“Seriously,” he said, voice shaky. “This won’t work, I promise you I can’t take you.”
The wolf shifted, fumbling and animal as he tried to line himself up. A low whine rose from his chest as his cock slid against Stiles’ ass, over it, then back between his thighs again. But it was only a matter of time before he found his mark and Stiles hissed, trying to crawl away on instinct even when he knew it was futile.
And futile it was. That huge cock punched into him and he cried out, nails scrabbling in the dirt at the intense pressure of it. The stretch and fullness, the pure invasion of his body. At least the wolf paused, only partially inside him, to give Stiles time to adjust. Stiles tried to breathe through it, surprised when the pain was minimal, there for a moment before it seemed to leach out of muscles that were starting to go lax. Only when he’d relaxed into his supine position did the wolf start to rock into him, little shuffling thrusts until he was fully seated inside Stiles. His knot pressed against Stiles’ rim, hot and insistent but not pushing. Not yet.
“Fuck,” Stiles gasped, then all he could do was cling to the dirt and grass beneath him as the wolf hunched his hips and fucked him, this fast brutal pace that barely left Stiles any time to gasp for air. It was so primal, so animal. He was being mounted, one thick paw scrabbling at his waist to keep him in position, keep those animal-dumb thrusts from pushing him across the ground. The baseness of it, the debauchery had Stiles’ stomach clenching with pleasure and his head swimming.
The wolf panted above him, groaning and growling and drooling from an open maw. He was worked up and desperate and Stiles the same, even if all he could do was hang on for the ride. With one hand he reached out to grasp the wrist of the arm the wolf was using to hold himself up, clinging to fur and feeling the way the muscles tensed and flexed under his fingers.
Stiles felt drunk with all of it, the way his body stretched and filled, the intolerable fullness that took his breath away. It seemed impossible that he could fit something so huge inside himself and yet it carved a path through his body all the same, lighting him up deep inside until he was sure he would come from a single touch if he could simply get a hand on his cock. With the wolf’s weight baring down on him though, and the way he had to brace himself against the ground, there was no way he’d be able to. Not unless he was willing to sacrifice the skin on his cheek and shoulders. So he moaned and whined and wondered if he was capable of coming hands free. Fuck he hoped he was because if this kept up he was going to start crying from the lack of release, from the way his body teetered on that edge but couldn’t seem to fall over it.
He needn’t have worried though, because the wolf suddenly hunched further, grabbing Stiles’ waist heard enough to hurt, to bruise, to make the bones in his pelvis grind together as the wolf’s hips slammed into him, pressing and pressing and pressing until Stiles’ cried out and that fat knot slipped inside him. He couldn’t breathe around the pain of it, the tears that had been forming in the corners of his eyes finally springing free as he screamed. Even as he gasped for air though, the pain faded as if being drained from his body, until all he was left with was an insistent pressure against his prostate and the feeling of being split in two but in the best way possible.
With a growl and a howl, the wolf threw his head back and came. Stiles could feel it, the jerk of his cock, the sudden rush of warmth that gushed deep within him until he moaned and came himself. That answered that question he supposed. He could do nothing but press his cheek into the dirt and pant, eyes drifting closed. His lashes stuck together wetly and his cheeks were growing itchy from the salt of his tears, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Couldn’t so much as twitch a muscle. The only thing keeping him somewhat upright was the knot in his ass and the paw on his hip, holding him much more gently now.
Above him the wolf whined and panted, tongue lolling out of his muzzle. His seemed cum drunk on his own orgasm, barely aware of Stiles’ presence except as a warm body he occasionally rocked into as his huge form shuddered with pleasure.
Stiles wasn’t sure how long he lay there like that, drifting on the rush of endorphins and the pure satisfaction radiating through him. But eventually, when the sweat had chilled enough to make him shiver, the wolf finally stirred. It shifted awkwardly, hips pulling away from Stiles’ until he whined and mustered the strength to reach back and grab onto the fur of the wolf’s thigh, trying to keep him in place. His knot hadn’t gone down at all and if he pulled out now Stiles thought he might really rip in two.
The wolf whined as if in apology and shifted again, this time tucking Stiles’ pelvis tightly against his own. With some more awkward shuffling he somehow managed to get them into a sitting position, Stiles in the wolf’s lap, leaned back into all that fur with thick arms tight around him. One hand pet at his belly and chest, rough paw pads scraping against skin far too sensitive and making Stiles jerk and twitch.
That huge muzzle bumped against Stiles’ chin until he relaxed into the wolf’s arms, head tipped back to leave his throat barred. The wolf licked at him, laving the skin and pressing his teeth to it with little whines like he wanted to bite but was restraining himself. Then he licked at Stiles’ cheeks, cleaning the salty tracks of his tears away until all Stiles could feel was tacky saliva. He wasn’t sure it was a great trade off but was too tired to object.
“You’re really shit as respecting boundaries, I hope you know,” Stiles slurred, reaching up to pat at the wolf’s muzzle. Mostly he bumped his fingers against fangs and the soft, wet skin around the wolf’s mouth but he figured he got his point across regardless. “Like. So bad.”
The wolf huffed, and Stiles could here the You came, why are you complaining? as clearly as if it had been spoken in plain English.
Stiles dozed for what felt like a few minutes and probably would have fallen asleep in the wolf’s arms if it didn’t start to shift a while later. He felt himself being tipped forward, back into the dirt, and was just grateful that the wolf controlled his fall so that the knot, now considerably smaller but still sizeable, didn’t just get ripped out of him. Instead it tugged gently as his weight pulled against it, until it came out with an audible pop and a rush of cum down his thighs that splattered into the dirt.
“Fuck, how did you come so much?” he said, trying to push up onto his hands. Weight at his back made him pause and he hissed, kicking ineffectually at a furry thigh. “No! Absolutely not! You are not fucking me again, wolf, my body quite literally cannot take it.”
The wolf huffed an irritated sound against Stiles’ spine, but it didn’t actually seem like it was planning on mounting him again. Instead it shoved his thighs apart and then lowered its muzzle to Stiles ass.
“Oh my god, you and cum,” Stiles moaned plaintively as the wolf began lapping at his ass like it was a fucking delicacy. Eating himself out of Stiles’ body. At least the warmth and wetness was soothing where Stiles felt fucked open and sore. He found himself relaxing into the attention, his body going pliant and soft again. His eyes slipped closed and he sighed.
He had no memory of falling asleep, but when he blinked his eyes open again he was no longer in the meadow. His face wasn’t pressed into the dirt and there was no werewolf rumbling and huffing pleased sounds behind him, lapping at his ass.
Instead, Stiles was tucked cozily back into his hammock, his sleeping bag tucked around him. The sun was shining and birdsong echoed from the trees above.
Stiles blinked groggily at the boughs over him, wondering for a second if it was all dream. But no, he couldn’t entertain the idea for more than the briefest of moments. His body was too sore and he could feel that he was naked, the sleeping bag’s slippery material brushing against bare skin.
“What the actual fuck,” Stiles said to no one. He half expected the wolf to rumble or huff at him in response, or possibly even the call of a human voice. But none came.
When Stiles finally found the energy to move some time later, he found his camp in perfect order. Even the bear mace and knife had been returned, tucked into their respect places in his pack.
Who knew werewolves could be so considerate, tucking their lovers into bed and cleaning up after themselves. Stiles laughed at the mental picture of the wolf giving him a little kiss on the forehead before departing. What the fuck indeed.
Technically Stiles had planned on spending one more day in the woods, but after his nighttime adventure he decided it might be best to just pack it in. After a leisurely breakfast he gathered up his things and started the trek back.
It took considerably longer on the way back than it had coming in, mostly because of the stiffness of his body and the way his hips twinged if his stride grew too long. Apparently having his pelvis shoved that far apart to accommodate a literal monster cock could cause some problems.Who knew.
By the time he reached the place he’d parked, the sun had already set and he was using the light of a small lantern to find his way. If the mountain trail had been more dangerous he would have made camp again, but the trail wasn’t particularly steep and there were no drop offs to watch out for so he’d continued on.
He didn’t notice the slip of paper under his windshield wiper until he’d already put his gear in the back and slid into the driver’s seat. He paused, squinting, before opening the door and leaning out to snag it.
It was a scrap that had been torn from some kind of notebook. Not like he’d been expecting some kind of flyer or solicitation considering he was in the middle of nowhere, but he’d kind of thought maybe a ranger had given him a ticket for parking somewhere he shouldn’t.
Instead, when he unfolded the slip, it had just two things inside it. A name, and a phone number.
“Derek Hale,” he read as he settled back into his seat. The area code for the number was local to Beacon Hills.
So the wolf could turn human after all. And apparently the one night wasn’t enough for him.
Biting his lip, Stiles pulled out his phone and programmed the number. He didn’t have service out here but he still typed out a text and hit send. It wouldn’t until he got closer to a cell tower, but that was fine.
Hey big bad wolf, it’s little red.
