Work Text:
Stiles balances precariously on two wheels of his office chair. He’s sneaking a peek at the new guy. It’s the only way to watch over his computer monitor without standing up in his cubicle to gawk. HR frowns at ogling. There was a whole seminar about it when people got creeped out by Greenberg, who watched everyone from his corner in the back of the room.
But Stiles can’t help himself. There hasn’t been anyone new to join the company in months, and this guy, well, there’s only one way to describe this guy: H.O.T. As in Stiles will have Heaps of Orgasms Tonight just thinking about him. He should stop before he embarrasses himself. Really, he should, and he’s just about to, but then Scotty, his work hubby who never had much common sense, asks, “Who are you looking at?”
The H.O.T. guy turns their way. Stiles flails. The chair tips and he lands on his ass, making a spectacular ruckus that has the entire office stopping to watch.
Scotty palms his face, shaking his head back and forth. He mumbles, “Why us?” under his breath.
Stiles jumps up, holds his arms high, and says, “I’m fine! Nothing’s broken.”
There are groans and moans, like this is nothing new for Stiles, and it really isn’t. It was only a matter of time before he had his daily dose of office embarrassment. Yesterday, it was his leftover rotten egg salad that stunk up the communal kitchen. The day before, he had some trouble replacing the water cooler jug, and the day before that, the laces of his Adidas magically undid while he was trudging down the stairway during a fire drill. If it hadn’t been for Big Jerry from sales a few steps below, he’d have taken out the entire floor in a not-so-comical domino effect as he toppled forward.
Everyone is used to Stiles’ shenanigans, everyone except the new guy, who is frowning at Stiles from across two rows of cubicles.
Stiles ducks, righting his chair, and hunches over his keyboard. “Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Why me? Why me?” he says, mirroring Scott. He pushes his chair back and rolls over to his BFF, huddling to hide himself. “Is he still looking?”
“Is who still looking? Finstock?” Scott pokes his head up to look for their supervisor. “He’s used to you.”
“Not him.” Stiles smacks his arm. “The new guy.”
Scott glances around, pushing his floppy hair out of the way. “What new guy?”
“Oh, my god, Scotty, you are the worst wingman ever. The new hot guy who’s starting in operations.”
Scott swivels his chair, looking for anything out of the ordinary. “I don’t see him. But I don’t know who I’m looking for.”
“The hot guy. You can’t miss him. Tall, dark, broody, and arms that could hold me up against a wall and fuck me without breaking a sweat.”
“Ah, hello,” a voice says from behind them.
Stiles screams—a high-pitched scream from deep in his belly.
“Bilinski!” Finstock yells. “Don’t make me get out of my seat.”
Stiles claps a hand over his mouth as he turns slowly. His eyes are wide with wonder, tracking their way up the glorious specimen before him. It’s hot-new-guy and the image of him this close and personal will add to the heaps of orgasms he’ll be having tonight.
“Hi,” the new guy says with a smile. “I’m Derek.”
Derek? Not the kind of name running through Stiles’ head. This guy should have a name like Jax or Gage, or maybe Hunter. A name like Raine or Talon. He’d even accept Kade—except it’d be pretentiously spelled like Khayde and Stiles would laugh at it, mock it relentlessly, but he’d still want Khayde to fuck him into the mattress. But Derek? That just seems like an expensive present wrapped in boring brown Kraft paper.
“Hi,” Scott says because Stiles needs time for his brain to catch up and slap the ridiculous expression off his face. “I’m Scott, and this is Stiles. First day?”
“Yeah.” Derek smiles. “Haven’t worked in an office in a while. It’ll take some getting used to.”
Stiles snorts. No one gets used to the soul-sucking hellscape that is an office of cubicles, recycled air, and quirky colleagues.
“Okay,” Derek says, and Stiles realizes he’s said the soul-sucking thing aloud. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right. That was a spectacular fall.”
Stiles can’t speak. It’s the first time in his life it’s ever happened to him. Maybe the fall knocked something loose—it was a spectacular fall, according to the god-like man in front of him, and who is he to argue with a god?
“He’s fine,” Scott says on his behalf, and maybe Scott isn’t such a bad wingman.
“Well, it was nice to meet you both.” Derek smiles and with a wave, he heads back to his cubicle.
Scott jabs him in the ribs. “What is wrong with you? Why were you so rude to the new guy?”
“I wasn’t rude!” Stiles says. “I was stunned. There’s a difference.”
“You’re so weird.” Scott shoves Stiles’ chair, and he rolls back to his own desk. He hears the ping of an email. It’s from HR announcing the “recent addition to the team” and the whole blah-blah-blah spiel of how they need to welcome “Derek Hale into the fold and show him the ropes.” Yeah, Stiles wouldn’t mind showing Derek a few ropes, especially ones that Derek could wrap around Stiles’ wrists and tie to a headboard.
<<o>>
Lost in his thoughts, Stiles walks back to the office after his lunch hour. He doesn’t see the new guy hailing him down.
“Hey.” Derek jogs up to him, causing Stiles to startle. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t.” He did, but not because of what Derek thinks. He’s startled that H.O.T. Derek is speaking to him. “Derek, hey.”
“Stiles, right?” Derek asks as he opens the glass door to their building.
“Yeah.” The silence is awkward as they walk to the elevator. Stiles is reaching for anything to say, but it’s only been a few days since Derek’s first day and he’s still not mastered his speaking skills in front of him. At least he doesn’t get hard, even if he still fantasizes about having Derek’s thick scruff between his ass cheeks eating him out.
Derek pushes the button for the ninth floor. “Did I see you at the dog park?”
Stiles can do this. He can talk—it’s what he does. He’s known to never shut up. There were many monthly reviews with HR telling him he needs to wrap up his customer calls quicker, that time is money and no one else knows their customer’s children’s names or gets invited to their granddaughter’s spring concert. But who wouldn’t want to see a ten-year-old girl play the cowbell? Anyway, Stiles is a talker. The sooner Derek realizes this, he’ll walk away, and they’ll both be better for it.
“Oh, yeah. I spend my lunch hours there when Scotty needs alone time with Kira, which is most days lately. He’s totally abandoned me, which is fine, I get it, but sometimes I need to get out of this place.”
“The whole soul-sucking thing?” Derek asks.
“Yes, exactly. So, I go to the park and play with the dogs. I love the cuddles and love that they love me. It’s the only thing that gets me through a day of Finstock. No one wants to get charged with assaulting their boss. Not good for the ol’ resume.”
Derek chuckles, and they fall into silence again. The elevator chimes and the doors open. They walk through the office with their shoulders almost touching. He could lean closer, but touching Derek might just put him over the edge.
“Do you have a dog?” Derek asks.
“No.” Stiles sighs, meeting Derek’s eyes. They’re a multitude of colors and kindness. “I want one, though. But I can’t. My building doesn’t allow them, and I can’t afford to move right now. Which is a clear indication that I shouldn’t get a dog if I can’t afford a bigger place. So, instead, I spend my lunch hours pining over things I can’t have.” Stiles quickly glances away, desperately avoiding Derek’s benevolent eyes.
They walk down the rows, stopping at Derek’s desk first because it’s on the way. Derek sets his phone on the desk and Stiles spies the wallpaper. It’s a photo of two beautiful women with long dark hair and their fingers buried in the black fur of a large dog. One of them must be his perfect girlfriend and their perfect German Shepherd.
“You have a dog?” Stiles asks because he can’t bring himself to ask about the girlfriend.
Derek glances to where Stiles is pointing at the phone. “Oh, ah, my sisters and our family dog,” he says.
Sisters? Okay, weird to have on your phone, but he’ll allow it because it’s better than a perfect girlfriend. He stops himself from fist-pumping, except he can’t hold off his triumphant expression. Derek catches it and is nice enough to let it go.
“The dog is gorgeous. So are your sisters, but my heart lies with dogs.” He’s kind of happy Derek doesn’t have a dog, and especially not the kind of dog Stiles wants. His cock would be raw every morning just thinking about hot Derek and his best dog living their best lives.
“But I have a dog, too,” Derek says, and it comes out fast, all in one breath.
“You do? Oh, my god, what kind?” Oh, shit. There go his mornings.
“Ah,” Derek says, blushing, “the same. It’s a family thing.”
“You are so lucky,” Stiles says and feels that telltale feeling in his loins that tells him he either needs to calm the fuck down, or head to one of the bathroom stalls and risk another repeat debacle of getting caught wanking in the office washroom. Luckily, it was Scott who caught him, but still, he vowed he’d never do it again.
“Actually,” Derek says, “I have to go away next weekend, and I’m stuck without a dog sitter.” He looks up at Stiles, his eyebrows raised in question like he’s imploring Stiles to catch on.
“Me? You want me to dog sit your dog? But you don’t even know me. I could be some sicko-dog-napper who’ll take your purebred and sell it to some dog-fighting ring.”
Derek rolls his eyes. “Will you sell my dog to a dog-fighting ring?”
“Never! What kind of monster do you think I am? I’m insulted.”
Derek leans back in his chair, folding his arms. It’s very reminiscent of his dad, which is horrifying because he doesn’t want to get friend-zoned, or dad-zoned, by Derek, not when his jacking off nights have been so, so good.
“You’d actually let me?” Stiles asks, his stomach doing flips. “This is amazing. Yes. Yes, I’d love to take care of your dog next weekend. Oh, fuck.” He slams his hand against his forehead.
“What?”
“I can’t have pets in my building.”
Derek shrugs. “Not a problem. You can stay at my place. He’s better in his own territory, anyway. Consider it house-sitting. I’ll even pay you.”
“Derek,” Stiles levels a glare at him, “you’re either way too trusting and get taken advantage of all the time, or you’re from a mafia family who will seek revenge on all my loved ones if I do you wrong.”
Derek laughs, his shoulders vibrating in his chair. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll tell you my extensive family will go all John Wick on you if you harm my dog or destroy my property.”
“Well, that’s terrifying.”
“But it could be true.” Derek winks. “Still want to dog sit?”
“That’s a lot of faith and trust to burden me with—not only with your dog, but your home, too?”
“I know where you work, Stiles. Besides, from what everyone says about you, you’re a good guy. And your father’s the sheriff, so there’s that.”
“There is that.” Stiles grins. “Are you seriously going to let me do this? You don’t have to pay me. I should pay you to have some serious cuddle time with your dog. Is he a cuddler? Will he enjoy cuddling with me? You know what, never mind. I like the challenge.”
“He’s a cuddler,” Derek says.
“Bilinski!” Finstock yells.
Stiles walks backward, finger guns pointing. He can’t stop them, they just come out when he’s excited. “By the end of the weekend, your dog is going to love me.”
<<o>>
Stiles spends his lunch hours with Derek. Some days they head to the dog park and other days they sit on a bench and talk. He’s surprised by how easy-going Derek is. Maybe his name does suit him. He thought Derek was all broody eyebrows—a dangerous guy who should be named Khayde—and that’s who Derek looks like, but it’s not who he is when he’s talking to people or hanging out. With Stiles, he’s just nice-guy Derek from an affectionate family.
He likes Derek, even if he is a little too nice and a little too boring. They’re into the same things, like books and movies. The guy loves his family, who seem to be large and loud, and he loves his dog. Derek talks about him like they have a special bond, and Stiles appreciates that. What he doesn’t appreciate, though? The name of Derek’s dog. He supposes he shouldn’t have expected much coming from a guy named Derek who has sisters named Cora and Laura. What kind of parents do that? Well, their names are Talia and Carrick, which, yes, he can get on board with those amazing names. But when you put them all together...not so much. Talia, Cora and Laura, and Derek and Carrick. Come on, people! He even has a cousin named Malia, but it’s not pronounced like Talia, it’s pronounced ma-LEE-ah. It’s shameful, really. He supposes he shouldn’t judge, not with his given name that’s mistaken for Mischief. Whatever. With all the things Derek and Stiles have in common, he would think a good pop culture name or reference would be imperative for Derek’s dog.
Stiles has given way too much thought to what he would name his dog. Names like: Dumbledog, Jabba the Mutt, The Notorious D.O.G., Bark Obama, or maybe just Steve. The possibilities are endless.
But Derek…well, Derek went with Wolf. Which is funny in a way, he guesses. Especially because Wolf looks like a wolf.
Derek shows him videos of Wolf. It looks like they go on a lot of hikes in the woods. He’s a big dog with glorious, deep black fur. And his eyes are magical. They’re lighter in color, like they’re glowing amongst the darkness.
“He doesn’t have a collar?” Stiles asks, after watching the latest clip of Wolf sniffing around some wild mushrooms.
“He only wears it if we’re in town. Out in the preserve, I just let him run. He doesn’t do well on a leash, so I don’t walk him in town.”
“So, you don’t want me to walk him?”
“I’d prefer it if you take him to the preserve,” Derek says. “My place backs onto the woods and he won’t run off. He’s not so good with other dogs.”
Stiles’ expression must be doing the talking.
“He’s not dangerous,” Derek says. “Other dogs are afraid of him or want to challenge him. It’s easier if you don’t have to deal with that. He’s pretty powerful when he’s threatened.” Derek takes a sip of his iced coffee. “Are you okay with that? Hiking in the woods?”
“Absolutely.” A dog that doesn’t need to be on a leash? Who’ll stick by him while they hike and go on adventures? Ah, yes, please. “Should I meet him before Friday?”
“Normally, I’d say yes, but I’m actually busy this week. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it sooner. I should’ve had you over last weekend.”
“That’s okay.” Stiles shrugs. “This is like a mini-vacation for me. I get out of the box that is my two-window apartment and I get to hike through the preserve, which I haven’t done in years.”
“I’m glad, Stiles,” Derek says, smiling, and it hits Stiles right in the gut and the groin, leaving him feeling all kinds of things a simple smile shouldn’t be able to do. “I promise he won’t be too much trouble.”
“And I promise,” Stiles grins, “I won’t move my stuff in and never leave while you’re gone.”
<<o>>
It turns out, Derek has to depart a day early and doesn’t come to work on Friday. There’s a panicked voicemail on Stiles’ phone with an explanation and an email giving directions on how to get to Derek’s house and detailed instructions with certain quirks about his place, like the passwords and how to operate the barbecue and other things. He tells Stiles what Wolf likes and doesn’t, because apparently the dog doesn’t eat dog food, preferring people food that is unseasoned and plain. He says not to worry too much about feeding Wolf, that he’ll eat when he wants, and if he’s hungry, he’ll find something to eat on their hike. Which, ew, gross?
Stiles is bummed he won’t see Derek before he leaves, and he’s not sure how he feels about going to Derek’s house for the first time without him there, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. He has a dog to take care of and a house to stretch his legs in.
At the end of the workday, Stiles grabs his stuff and makes his way to the house on the edge of the preserve. It’s a modest two-story house, not too big, and has a rustic cabin feel to it, surrounded by trees on all sides. Stiles figures he should make as much noise as possible so as not to surprise the dog, and risk getting a chunk of his leg torn out. He whistles a tune as he gets out of the Jeep, slams the door, and stomps his feet on the porch. He finds the hidden key and, as he approaches the door, he talks.
“Hey, Wolf. It’s just me, Stiles. Your…” Does he call Derek his owner? His daddy? Ah, no, not daddy. That just seems weird. “Derek wants me to take care of you this weekend.” He puts the key in the lock. “Please don’t eat me.”
He hears a sharp bark on the other side of the door, but it doesn’t sound vicious, so Stiles opens the door.
Wolf is waiting for him. He’s sitting in the hallway like the good boy he is, or he’s seconds away from attacking. Stiles can’t tell. The animal is too calm to know how this is going to go.
“Hey, boy,” Stiles says. “Hey, Wolf.” He crouches, dropping his bag to lift his arm. “That’s a good boy.” He holds out his hand as an offering, but the dog just watches him. Stiles has never felt more judged in his life. “Come here, boy. Come on. I’m Derek’s friend. I’m here to take care of you this weekend.” The dog still doesn’t move, so Stiles inches his way slowly, holding his hand out. God, he hopes he doesn’t lose a finger. The dog is a lot bigger than in his pictures, but then again, he’s only seen photos of him in the forest with nothing to gauge his size. His black fur is thick and beautiful, and very imposing, but his light-colored eyes hold nothing but friendliness. Stiles takes a chance. He scratches Wolf under his muzzle, and when the dog doesn’t object, he throws his arms around him, nuzzling up against him.
“You’re so soft! And fluffy!” He rubs Wolf’s head, playing and pushing him. “We’re going to have the best time.” The dog whines and then he finally moves, licking Stiles’ face, panting in his ear and Stiles just knows it’s going to be a great weekend.
<<o>>
Stiles snoops. Not a lot, just enough to get a better sense of who Derek is. He doesn’t go through drawers or deep into the closets, but he opens doors, peruses the bookshelves, and admires the few random photos that are on the walls and side tables. Derek has a lot of family pictures. His parents are just as Stiles imagined, stunning and stylish, and seem loving in the candid shots. What Stiles does find, much to his delight, is a comic book and movie collection to rival his own. Be still Stiles’ nerdy little heart—Derek Hale is his people. He never would’ve thought just by looking at Derek in his leather jackets and dark Henleys, but Stiles should’ve accepted it since Derek has been nothing like his outward, rugged appearance.
“How about we make some dinner and watch a movie?” Stiles asks Wolf. “Derek said you like burgers. We can barbecue and take it easy tonight because we’re hiking tomorrow.” Wolf makes a sound between a bark and a howl, surprising Stiles, and he laughs as he pets the dog’s head. “Sounds good, doesn’t it?”
Derek left a fridge full of food for him, way more than he could possibly eat all weekend, and a cupboard stocked with snacks. Stiles cracks open a beer and takes it outside while he waits for the barbecue to heat. The house is small, but the property makes up for it. No nosey neighbors, and the fence backs onto the preserve. He sits and enjoys the view while the meat cooks. Wolf sits beside him, panting and never taking his eyes off Stiles. It’s kind of eerie, but with Derek gone, maybe Wolf has separation anxiety.
“Figures the perfect guy would have the perfect dog.” Wolf hops up to lick Stiles’ face. “Dude! Gross. I don’t know where that tongue has been.” He tries to push him off, but the dog is heavy, and he ends up tipping Stiles’ chair over. Wolf is all over him, jumping and licking and sniffing, and Stiles squirms to get out from under him. “Oh, my God. Stop. Wolf, stop!” He throws his arms up to protect his face from the dog slobber, and that seems to encourage Wolf as he buries his nose into the crook of Stiles’ armpits, trying to get at his ears and any other skin he can reach.
Giving him one big push, Stiles rolls onto his side and is up before Wolf can tackle him again. “Holy shit.” Stiles laughs. “That’s disgusting.” He’s breathing heavily as he wipes his face with the edge of his shirt. He points to the dog. “You’re a menace!”
They eat dinner, well, Stiles eats his burger, chews it, while Wolf swallows his burger patties whole, licking his chops like he wants whatever is on Stiles’ plate, too. Stiles cleans their mess and grabs another beer before choosing a movie and settling down on the sofa.
As the titles roll, Wolf jumps up on the sofa, turning once, then twice before settling down next to Stiles.
“I sure hope you’re allowed on the furniture.”
Wolf grumbles like he’s saying he doesn’t care what the rules are, and Stiles has to agree. This is a weekend to shuck all rules and propriety. He’s having a vacation.
Halfway through the movie, Wolf has moved so his head rests on Stiles’ lap. The dog inches closer to a place that’s a little too personal. Stiles pushes Wolf’s snout out of his crotch, but Wolf just moves it back. They play a game of back and forth until Wolf rumbles, stretching his whole body across Stiles, burying him under what has to be at least a hundred pounds of weight.
“Are you comfortable, you dingbat?” Stiles tries to move him, but the dog won’t budge. No wonder Derek has so many muscles. His dog is a jerk who doesn’t respect boundaries. “You’re crushing me, asshole. I can’t breathe.” Stiles can shift a little, enough so his ribs aren’t inflamed, and he manages to lie behind Wolf so they’re both stretched out on the sofa. He has nowhere to rest his arm, so he wraps it around the dog, and they finish watching the rest of the movie, curled up beside each other. And when it’s time for bed, Stiles pulls back the covers of Derek’s bed and doesn’t think about dirty things. He doesn’t imagine sleeping night after night with nice-guy Derek or nestled behind him in this perfect little house with its barbecue and scenic view, and the big, stupid dog to keep them active. And he especially doesn’t think more about that when Wolf jumps onto the bed, and lays his head on Stiles’ hip, snoring and taking up way too much room. No, Stiles doesn’t think about it at all.
Okay, maybe he does. A lot.
<<o>>
Stiles fell asleep to thoughts of Derek and when he surfaces from his slumber, he’s still thinking about him. Well, more like fantasizing about Derek’s mouth on his dick. There’s a flutter in his belly at the sensation and if he can just slip back to that dream state, he’ll have Derek swallowing him whole.
He shifts, reaching for his dick only to find a handful of fur. His eyes spring open, seeing Wolf’s muzzle buried in Stiles’ crotch, licking at his tented boxers.
“Oh, my god!” He flails, kicking out at the dog. “No!” He jumps out of bed, his cock flagging, thinking about what was happening. He runs to the bathroom, breathing heavily. “Oh, shit. Fuck. Fuck.” He braces his hands on the sink counter, refusing to look at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t want to think about it, but it’s impossible not to. Derek’s dog was licking his cock. In his bed. And Stiles liked it, or he thinks he did? He was half dreaming and imagining it was Derek’s mouth, but still…how could he not tell the difference between a dog's tongue and a man’s mouth? Holy shit. It’s been way too long since he had sex.
Stiles turns on the shower, leaving it on the colder side, and tries to get past it because it wasn’t his fault. He did nothing wrong. He was sleeping and stopped as soon as he realized what was happening. And really…who has a dog that does that? That’s not exactly an instinctual trait dogs come with. Between the wrestling outside, the sofa sniffing, and now this? Stiles thinks Derek and Wolf have a strangely close relationship.
He finishes up and when he emerges from the bathroom with only a towel around his waist, Wolf is sitting in the middle of the bedroom, waiting.
“Out!” Stiles points to the door. They stare at one another for a few breaths and then Wolf relents and leaves. Stiles slams the door, settling against it, and takes a deep breath. Once he’s fully dressed, he won’t feel so vulnerable. He’ll make a big breakfast, and then they’ll go hiking and be far away from bedrooms and thoughts of Stiles’ getting his cock licked by a canine. The fresh air and exercise will do them both some good.
Wolf is thankfully absent when Stiles heads into the kitchen to make coffee. Inside the cupboard, taped to the coffee canister, is a note addressed to him.
Stiles,
If you go hiking, Wolf will probably lead you to the lake. It’s one of his favorite spots. It’s about an hour's hike, but worth the journey. There’s a packed lunch in the fridge, along with some Gatorade, and there are empty water bottles in the cupboard. I’ve made you some trail mix to keep you going, and if you’re up for a swim, you can borrow swim trunks, which I’ve packed in the backpack near the patio door. There’s a towel in there, too. Wish I could take you there myself, but Wolf will be good company and an excellent guide. Have fun. See you Sunday.
Derek
No wonder Wolf is a loveable asshole, because his owner is, too. Stiles’ dark thoughts disappear, and instead, he thinks Derek is too good to be true. He rifles through the other cupboards, finds a water bottle, and then finds the trail mix. His heart swells. It’s filled with all his favorites; nuts, berries, and chocolate to satisfy his sweet tooth with not a seed in sight. He’s averse to seeds, having told Derek a story about sunflower seeds at school and them getting stuck in his braces. He’s never recovered from the embarrassment and still avoids them.
He laughs, and the sound brings Wolf into the kitchen. He’s hesitant, like he’s afraid Stiles is going to yell at him again.
“Hey, buddy.” He smiles, crouching down. “We’re going to forget about this morning, okay?” Wolf whines but moves so Stiles can scratch behind his ear. “How about a hike in the preserve? Hmm? Derek says you know where we can swim.” Wolf must have understood the words ‘hike’ and ‘swim’ because he hops, turns in a circle, and heads to the door, picking up the backpack in his teeth to carry to Stiles.
“All right, all right.” Stiles chuckles. “I need coffee and breakfast first.”
<<o>>
Stiles isn’t in the best of shape, but he does all right. He doesn’t smoke or drink excessively and he eats somewhat healthily. He may run once or twice a week if he needs to burn off energy and prove to his dad he’s following his own advice. But this dog runs like he’s got the hounds of hell chasing him. They’re so far into the preserve that Stiles doesn’t want to lose sight of Wolf because he’d have to live in the wild, catch his own food, and poop while hanging his ass off a log. And he has never pooped in the woods and he’s not about to start now.
Wolf runs ahead with no hope in hell of Stiles catching him. He’s about to give up when he hears a howl not too far in the distance. Stiles follows, praying it’s Wolf and not an actual wolf, even though there are no wolves in California. He breaks through the brush, coming to a clearing with a lake and rock outcrops all around it. Stiles has lived in Beacon Hills his entire life, never knowing this was here. It’s amazing and the clear, dark water calls to his sweaty skin.
“You did good, bud.” He pats Wolf’s head. “You did real good.”
He changes into his swim trunks, wanting to cool down before eating, and wades into the lake up to his knees. It’s colder than he thought it would be, but refreshing. Wolf stays on the shore watching him, judging him.
“Wolf! Come on, buddy.” Stiles pats his thighs, but Wolf doesn’t move. “Don’t be such a scaredy-wolf, you jam-tart.”
Stiles takes a few tentative steps forward, careful of the sharp rocks underneath his tender feet. The water is mid-thigh now, and the cold water is so close to his dick, seeping up his swim trunks and fuck! It’s cold. He’s blowing big breaths through his mouth, trying to get used to the water, arms high in the air. He should just go for it—dive in and get it over with in one go. If there had been a place to jump from, he would have, but the slow wading is torture. As he bends to splash some water on his arms, there’s a ruckus behind him and Wolf is in the water, barrelling toward him.
“Don’t you dare!” But it’s too late. Wolf tackles him, splashes water everywhere and Stiles can’t catch his balance on the jagged, rocky bottom. He falls spectacularly and the cold knocks the breath out of him. He springs up out of the water, screaming and panting.
“You’re such an asshole!” He yells, but Wolf is swimming toward the little rocky island in the middle of the lake. The dog emerges from the water, shaking the water from his fur. Stiles swears the dog is laughing at him as he sits on his haunches waiting. He should leave him there, and ignore the dog to spite him, but the island looks inviting, so Stiles begrudgingly swims toward it. It’s easy to get used to the temperature, and it is refreshing after the hike. Stiles climbs up the rock, laying on his back, arms spread as he catches his breath and soaks up the sun.
It’s peaceful. He can’t remember a time when he hasn’t heard the ding of traffic or construction and the only thing around them is the wind and the birds overhead. Closing his eyes, he smiles.
He’s unsure how long he lays there. He could’ve drifted off under the bright sun if Wolf hadn’t nudged him, licking at his arms and then his chest, his tongue dragging across his nipple, pebbled from the water. The sensation is alarming. Stiles shouldn’t like it as much as he does, and he certainly shouldn’t lay there wanting more. He jumps up and heads straight into the water, hoping the cool water will kill his chub.
Swimming toward the shore, he grabs his towel to dry off and then spreads the extra towel to unpack his lunch. He lets Wolf do his thing, skirting around the shore, sniffing at whatever scent he’s caught. Stiles doesn’t want to think about the dog and how creepily familiar he seems with Stiles, because then he has to think about Derek, and why the dog is acting the way he is. And imagining your co-worker—the guy you have a crush on—doing unsavory things with an animal is a boner-killer.
Halfway through his sandwich, Wolf comes trotting out of the bushes. He lays next to Stiles like a dog would and Stiles feels shame for having those thoughts about Derek and his dog. He’s disgusting for even thinking about it. Wolf is a dog who does dog-like things, and dogs sniff each other’s butts when they meet. Wolf is just getting to know this new stranger in his house while his owner is gone. That’s all.
He pets Wolf, digging his hands in his fur. He glances at the island where the sun is beating down on it, almost like it’s glowing with the twinkling of the surrounding water. “Maybe I can come back here with you and Derek.” As he says it, his thoughts merge to a naked Derek spread out on the rock outcrop with Stiles hovering above him, swallowing his cock.
“Or maybe not,” Stiles mutters, chastising himself for having such thoughts. He packs up to head back to the house, safely thinking about what to make for dinner and nothing else. Nothing at all.
<<o>>
When they settle for the night, Stiles’ muscles are sore. Derek said to help himself to anything, to use anything he wanted, and there’s a deep, clawfoot tub calling his name. He fills it up but doesn’t find any bubble bath or anything to use in the water. Not a big deal, he gets in anyway. He’s settling in the water when Wolf howls and scratches at the door. Stiles can’t relax with the dog’s misery disrupting his soak. Maybe he does have separation anxiety and with Derek gone, he has to have eyes on Stiles.
It makes Stiles feel needed, so he climbs out of the tub, water dripping all over the mat. Wolf calms the second the door opens, panting as he saunters by Stiles. He sits on his haunches, watching Stiles, like he’s waiting for him to get back in the tub. Stiles feels a little weird about his nakedness in front of the dog. Is this something dog owners do? Get naked in front of their pets and not have any qualms about it? It’s not like Wolf will judge him for the size of his cock or his pale skinny legs, or maybe he will if he’s seen his owner’s body, which is more refined than Stiles’.
The dog is judging him. He feels it, so he gets back in the tub as quickly as he can. Ignoring Wolf, he sinks lower until his chin and mouth are under the surface of the water. Stiles thinks about where he is, what he’s doing, and who’s been naked in this tub before. He wonders how many times Derek has stroked his cock in this tub, or how many times he’s had sex in here with a woman a lot curvier than Stiles. He wonders if Derek takes his time like he’s “nice-guy Derek,” or if he’s rough and demanding like his alter ego with the dark and dangerous eyebrows. It’s the wrong thing to think about in your co-worker’s house while he’s trusting you to be a decent human being. He can’t jack-off in Derek’s tub. Except, when he opens his eyes, his cock has a different opinion. It’s sticking straight up with just the tip breaking the water. It looks like a tiny helmet resting on the surface, nestled between his bent knees, like it’s mocking him.
He huffs a breath through his nose. The wisp of air is the only movement on the calm water. He takes another deep breath and blows out, watching the ripples make their way down to the head of his cock, lapping at its edges.
Wolf whines, making Stiles jump. He forgot the dog was there—a voyeur to his dirty thoughts.
“Yeah, I know,” Stiles says. “Your owner is a much better person than I am. I shouldn’t be thinking about him like that when he’s trusting me with you. Not while I’m soaking in his tub, eating his food, and staying in his house.” He dunks his head under the water, comes up for air, and wipes his face. “I’m a horrible person.”
Wolf wines again, and his paw rests on the edge of the tub. Stiles’ eyes land on a spot of red nestled in a mound of dark fur. Wolf shifts his sitting position, and the red moves with him, bouncing and glistening in the low bathroom light. The dog’s cock is about two inches out of its sheath, red and shiny and out-of-place, like it’s begging to be put somewhere warm and cozy.
Stiles darts his gaze away, feeling shame for looking at it longer than he should. From the corner of his eye, Wolf’s long, pink tongue hangs from his mouth. He’s panting with half-lidded knowing eyes, and if Stiles knew more about dogs and more about this dog in particular, he’d say Wolf looks smug, like he knows exactly where Stiles’ thoughts are.
Stiles groans and dunks his head back underwater, holding his breath while his thoughts drift to things he absolutely shouldn’t be thinking about. Things like long, coarse tongues in places they shouldn’t be, and thick, tapered cocks with fat, bulbous…
He bursts out of the water, wiping his hands over his face. “Fuck!” He grips his cock firmly in his hand, squeezing it. “No. There will be none of that.”
He steps onto the bathmat, reaching for the towel he placed on the counter. It slips from his fingers, falling to the floor. As he’s bending over, he’s pushed from behind and there’s a cold wet thing shoving its way into the crack of his ass.
“Hey! No! Wolf. No,” he scolds, trying to buck away. He’s on his hands and knees with Wolf behind him. That long tongue licks at his hole, once, twice, and nothing can stop the moan from Stiles’ mouth. Maybe it’s the bathwater, maybe Wolf is thirsty, but he automatically bends lower to give Wolf better access to what he wants.
“Fuck, yes,” he says, and maybe this is something Derek does with his dog. Stiles has been around dogs, and this has never happened before, but he’s never owned a dog, so maybe this is just a behavior that needs to be corrected, like chewing shoes or begging at the table.
It frightens and thrills him. It disgusts him and excites him. He’s going to hell. Maybe there’ll be a special place for him right beside Derek.
What if Derek comes home to Stiles like this? What if he calls the police and tells everyone at work? He’ll have to face his dad, and when he loses his job and can’t afford to live on his own, he won’t even have a place to stay. Stiles should stop this. He really should. But Wolf’s tongue is the first tongue that has ever been in that place, and he never knew it could feel this good.
When he glances over his shoulder, the dog’s cock has grown again. It’s about four inches with more still to come. He spies the beginnings of Wolf’s knot—that bulbous glandis. It’s on display like it’s inviting Stiles to a challenge of whether he can take it. And fuck, he wants to take it. He wants that knot so fucking bad. He’s just not sure if he wants to risk his entire future for it.
Wolf’s tongue slides across his balls, making his dick twitch. He’s leaking precome all over the bathmat. He could probably come like this and that would be enough. It’s still risky and taboo and has him so fucking turned on that he’ll come if Wolf continues the way he is.
Getting rimmed on a Saturday night is a win-win. Getting rimmed on a Saturday night by Derek’s dog will keep his spank-bank full of many, many images to jerk-off to.
But then there’s that self-lubricating dog cock that’s just within reach. It looks cold and vulnerable out in the open. It needs somewhere warm to slip into. He could just take the tip, or he could put those four inches of juiciness in his mouth, and taste the slurry that’s leaking from the tapered end. But would it be enough?
“I’m going to hell,” Stiles says, opening a cupboard to look for lube. If he’s going to take that knot, he’ll need a lot of slick inside his ass, and Wolf doesn’t seem like the type to worry too much about preparation. He finds what he needs, a big tub of Boy Butter, and then his decision is made. Derek has done this before. He’s sure of it. No one has a tub of this in their bathroom unless they’re looking to go deep diving.
He scoops some into his hand, spreading it around his fingers, and then rolls onto his back away from Wolf. The dog whines and barks with a sharp yip like he’s annoyed at Stiles for taking away his toy.
“Hold up. I’m not stopping. I just need to open myself up so I can take that knot of yours.”
Wolf licks at the mat where Stiles has leaked and then moves to Stiles’ cock, using long, controlling strokes just like he did on his ass. With Stiles’ two fingers in his ass, the licking is too much, too soon.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he says, but the dog doesn’t listen. “Wolf, stop.” It’s more of a command and Wolf listens. He sits, waiting patiently like the good boy he is.
If there was any doubt about Derek and Wolf, this squashed it. Wolf knows exactly what he’s doing.
“That’s it, boy. Almost. I’m almost ready.”
His back hurts on the tile floor, and it’s colder than it needs to be. He’s already doing a load of laundry in the morning to clean the towels from today, so he might as well fill the machine. He grabs the towel and the tub of lube, positioning himself on Derek’s bed with the towel underneath him. This is going to get messy, but if he’s going to have a dog cock inside of him and a knot locking him in place for an indeterminate time, then he might as well be comfortable.
He shoves three fingers inside his hole, stretching his rim as well as he can from this angle. It’s not ideal, but he’ll worry about the pain in the morning. Right now, he’s fucking horny, and this may be his only opportunity to ever do this with a dog who seems to have done this before. He pumps his fingers in and out and then folds his thumb inside. The burn almost has him giving up. He wants to cry. It hurts so much, but he breathes through it. Deep, long breaths that help him relax. And with every breath he lets out, he opens himself up a little more until his fingers and thumb are moving somewhat easily around his tight rim.
He flips onto his knees, presenting his ass to the dog sitting on the floor at the end of the bed. He pats the mattress, calling him up. Please forgive me, Derek, he prays, and then he takes hold of his ass cheeks, spreading them apart, hoping Wolf understands what he’s offering.
Stiles hears the heavy pants from the wolf and feels him pacing a few times along the edge of the bed. He doesn’t want to force the dog—that isn’t what this is about. He hopes he smells Stiles is a willing and receptive partner, a warm hole for his massive cock that is further out of its sheath, purple and red, and glistening. The dog’s cock looks fat but juicy, and he’s pretty sure that knot will grow inside of him until he can adjust comfortably.
If Wolf can’t get inside him or won’t fuck him, maybe he can suck that beautiful beast into his mouth.
Just as he’s about to give up, Wolf growls deeply. It’s raw and vicious. The sound buzzes through Stiles, making his cock twitch. And then Wolf mounts him. His paws come onto Stiles’ back, wrapping around him, and his hips thrust forward, seeking Stiles’ wet and ready hole. Stiles spreads his ass cheeks further apart, hoping it’s enough for Wolf. He feels the tease of the tip, feels the tapered cock poking and trying to land its target. Wolf shifts his paws and then Stiles feels it breach him. There’s no finesse with the dog. He’s all drive with piston hips, pushing his cock in and out as fast as he can. Stiles has felt nothing like it. All the cocks he’s had have been average size, and relatively the same girth, but a dog cock gets thicker at the end, preparing the way for the knot to tie them together, and each time Wolf pushes in, it feels like it goes further, like he can feel it growing inside him.
“Fuck,” he moans, his voice hitching with the impact of Wolf’s thrusts.
He’s a wanton slut, is what he is. After this, he’ll be ruined for all other cocks. He wonders how often Derek does this because Stiles doesn’t think he’d ever get up from all fours if he could do this whenever he wanted. He wonders how often Derek goes out of town. This can’t be his one and only shot at this, not when it feels this good.
Stiles lets Wolf do his thing. Afraid to disrupt Wolf’s rhythm, he doesn’t move with him. Nothing will stop that knot from popping inside Stiles. He wants to feel that burn and tug on his rim and have Wolf empty his dog-cock seed inside him. He wants the dizzying feeling of being dominated, to surrender to a dog, and to be trapped by his wicked desires.
“That’s it, Wolf. Fuck my hole,” he says with a primal throaty groan.
Wolf attacks his ass at a voracious speed. He’s chuffing and whining as his gland hits Stiles’ rim, trying to make its way inside his tight, puffy hole. Stiles breathes—a few long breaths that help him relax, and when he thinks Wolf is ready, Stiles bears down, and the knot slips inside. It’s jarring enough that Stiles flinches and the knot slips out. Wolf bites at his shoulder, and tries again, slamming his cock into Stiles, and this time it holds. The pressure is too much, though. Stiles is going to split wide open. He needs to get it out!
“Ow, ow, ow. Oh, fuck, that hurts. It hurts,” he cries, bucking to get the dog off him, but Wolf bites down again and Stiles swears he breaks skin. It’s distracting enough to keep him in place.
Wolf has a firm hold on him as he shifts his back paws. It pushes the knot further inside of Stiles and off the ring of muscle inside his rim. He sighs. It’s a sweet relief. The pain is still present, but he no longer feels like he’s going to be ripped apart. He wishes he could see how stretched he is, how big that knot is.
Wolf grinds his hips, shaking with the need to release. The knot presses against Stiles’ sweet spot and the pleasure outweighs the burn. He’s rock hard again. And it’s so fucking good. He feels so full, like he’s owned by that knot. He’ll never be able to visit the dog park again. Those dogs will know. They’ll know he took a dog cock, that he loved it, and that he craves all their knots now. He’s ruined.
Wolf hitches his hips a few more times. There’s so much pressure on Stiles’ prostate, milking him from the inside, that his toes curl and his eyes roll back in his head.
“Fuck!” He comes all over the towel. His gushing dick makes a mess beneath him.
Wolf comes as well. At least he thinks he does. Stiles swears he can feel the hot come emptying inside of him. He feels the knot twitching, squirting everything that was stored up in his massive dog balls, making Stiles’ belly tight with his release.
He can’t hold himself up any longer. With shaky arms, he lies on his chest, head turned to the side, knees bent with his ass up in the air while he’s tied to Wolf. He did this pose in a yoga class once—a puppy pose. And he’ll never be able to stretch this way without getting hard again.
He passes out with Wolf’s cock locked inside him.
<<o>>
Stiles slowly comes to with a pile of drool under his cheek. He’s still in the same pose, muscles tight and cramped, and he’s not sure he can move. He’s lost all feeling in his lower half, numb from pinched nerves, and his head is pounding from the blood that’s rushed to his head from being positioned lower than his body. Oh, god, this was dumb, he thinks. So stupid, so depraved, but so, so fucking good. He’s never been fucked like that. Never passed out—or blacked out—from coming. He can’t wait to do it again.
The room is dark, with the only light coming from the bathroom. He wonders if he can straighten his legs. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees a bare, hairy arm resting across his back. He’s either so twisted up and can’t feel his limbs, like when you fall asleep on your arm and it becomes a different entity until the blood flows again, or that is someone else’s arm lying on top of him. He panics, thinking he imagined the whole thing with Wolf, or he had a bad trip on something he ate or drank, but he sees the scratches on his biceps, long red welts from claws, not fingers, and he can feel the sting from the bite on his shoulder.
Derek Hale doesn’t have a dog.
Derek Hale is a motherfucking werewolf!
And Scott, the jerk, never told him. And this jerk crushing him with his shapeshifter weight is a jackass.
“You fucking asshole,” Stiles says. “Wake up!”
Derek jolts awake, falling to slide on his back so Stiles can see the shock on his face.
Stiles groans, stretching out his legs. “Ow. Ow. Ow. Oh, fuck, that hurts.” The blood rushes back to his limbs in a wave of pins and needles.
“Stiles?” Derek reaches his hand over.
“Don’t touch me!” he says. “Don’t,” he cries because his skin is on fire and any little pressure is unbearable.
Derek moves away and gets off the bed. He keeps his head down, staying silent while Stiles flexes his arms and legs, breathing through the pain.
When he’s recovered enough that it doesn’t hurt to move, the feeling returns to his body, most importantly, his ass. It still burns in the best possible way. With every flex of his muscles, he feels the come leaking from his hole, seeping out and dribbling across his balls. There’s so much of it. With the scratches along his arms, thighs, and pale ass, and the come leaking from his gaping hole, he must look debauched in every way. He wishes there was a mirror.
“I’m so sorry, Stiles,” Derek whispers. “I should’ve—”
“Told me you were a werewolf? Yeah, no kidding, dipshit.”
“So, you know about werewolves? About Scott?”
“I can’t believe he never told me you were one.” Stiles groans again, lying on his back to stare up at the ceiling. Why is this his life?
“He probably doesn’t know. He doesn’t mask his scent, not like born wolves do. He was bitten, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then he wouldn’t know.”
“I can’t believe he didn’t tell me he can shift into an actual wolf! He has some explaining to do.”
“He doesn’t have that ability. It’s a born wolf thing.”
“So, that big, loud family of yours?” Stiles asks.
“Most of us, yes.”
“Goddamn it.” Stiles shifts so he’s leaning on his elbows, finally getting a good look at the glorious naked man in front of him. He’s better than Stiles imagined in his fantasies. He’s hung very well, and Stiles is going to enjoy getting to know that cock as intimately as he did the wolf’s. Wolf. Stiles snorts. He should’ve known.
“Holy shit. You’re a werewolf. An actual wolf.” Nice-guy Derek is not so nice after all.
“I’m sorry.” Derek blushes, a flush of red across his chest and up his neck to the tips of his ears. “I hadn’t planned for this, but my wolf just takes over sometimes. You looked so—the entire weekend—I couldn’t stop. I’m sorry for…” Derek shifts on his feet, making Stiles’ eyes track the heavy weight between Derek’s legs.
“For lying to me? Spying on me? Assaulting me? Which is it?”
“All of it. I’m sorry.” Derek looks him in the eye. “When I offered, I didn’t know you very well, so it was a way to spend time with you and then you seemed so excited about the idea of a dog and a vacation that I didn’t want to let you down. My sisters warned me it would backfire, and I almost told you on Friday, but then I chickened out.” Derek curses. “I should’ve been stronger. It got so intense. It was…” He breathes deeply.
“Yeah.” Stiles blushes. “It really was.”
“I didn’t want you to find out this way. I should’ve shifted back before it went that far, but my wolf was too far gone on your scent.”
Stiles remembers the wolf’s tongue and how it couldn’t get enough of him, and how he spread his legs wanting more. His cock twitches at the phantom memories of it. “I’m glad you didn’t,” Stiles whispers, keeping his eyes downcast.
“You’re not angry?”
“Angry?” Stiles raises his head. “What? Are you crazy? I’m relieved! That was the hottest, dirtiest thing that has ever happened to me. I’m so happy there’s an explanation for how I was feeling and for wanting it.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d go through with it, but fuck, Stiles. I couldn’t believe you were giving me this gift. I’ve wanted you from the moment you fell over your chair.” Derek sits beside him. He’s inches away and Stiles needs to touch him, make sure he’s real.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Stiles brings his hand to Derek’s hairy chest, rubbing gently in circles. “If my ass wasn’t full of your come right now, I’d think this was another dream.” Derek snorts, burying his head in Stiles’ neck as he continues. “There’s been so many fantasies about you. I knew there had to be something underneath nice-guy Derek.”
“Nice-guy Derek?”
“All fluffy on the outside, and beast on the inside—just like Wolf.” He wonders if Derek is open to exploring new names for his alter-ego beast. Things like: Wolf Bader Ginsberg, Babe Wolf, BBW—A.KA. Big Bad Wolf, or maybe just George.
“So, you liked it?” Derek smiles.
Stiles bites his lip, nodding. “Well, apart from the creepy aspect of you watching me all weekend without my knowledge or consent. We’re totally having a long talk about boundaries, Derek. Very long talk. And you’re going to spend a lot of time and money making it up to me. We’re talking steak dinners, back rubs, and lots of blowjobs.”
Derek snorts. “Of course.”
“Also, you’re getting mirrors—on the ceiling, the walls. I want a wolf den of iniquity in here. I want to see that fucking knot in me.” He moans, reaching his fingers to his puckered rim. “Does it happen when you’re like this, too?”
Derek’s eyes flash yellow. “Only as a wolf.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re a werewolf. Because now I don’t have to feel ashamed of loving a dog cock up my ass.” Stiles chuckles. “And there’s no risk of going to jail for wanting something immoral and illegal. I get a dog without having to get a dog. This might be the best day ever.”
“I’m not a dog, Stiles.”
“Yes, yes, fine. Not a dog. A wolf. A werewolf. Even better. You can breed me, knot me and have your way with me, and when the Big Bad Wolf is done, you can suck me off, swallow my cock and make me come down your throat.”
There’s a low growl in Derek’s throat, and his fangs drop. Stiles squeals, flipping over onto his stomach to wiggle his ass in the air. “Come on, nice-guy Derek, show me how respectable you are.”
Derek smacks Stiles’ ass and shoves his cock into Stiles in one smooth movement. He takes hold of Stiles’ hips and puts his mouth over the bite on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles whimpers, because this is the man who’s been starring in his fantasies, the one who fucks him hard and raw, and shares anecdotes about movie and book trivia, but also makes him a packed lunch and homemade granola. He’s the wolf who’ll hike with him in the woods, let him cuddle on the couch and bury his fingers into his fur. He’s the werewolf who’ll satisfy all his depraved cravings and have him wanting more.
“You promised Wolf wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Stiles teases.
“And you promised you wouldn’t move your stuff in and never leave.”