"Scott, it's fine, I'll be back in like ten minutes, I just needed to check something out and I was right, as usual, so we're all good!" Stiles smirked, holding up his prize: a tiny flower, petals a deep purple with black tips. He had the phone propped between his shoulder and his ear as he carried his bat in one hand and the Ziploc baggy containing the flower in the other.
"That's not the point, Stiles! God, how many times do we have to tell you not to go out into the woods alone? It always ends badly!" Scott reminded him. Which well, yeah, he was mostly right.
"Whatever, I'm almost out anyway. Tell Derek and Isaac to meet us at Deaton's, I need to show you all this. I'll be there in fifteen minutes," Stiles told him. Scott said fine and they hung up.
Stiles kept walking, beaming over his discovery. Until he felt that tingle at the back of his neck. The teen slowed, glancing around him.
"Derek?" he called. It was usually Derek. But there was no answer.
A lump was forming in the pit of Stiles' stomach. He wasn't alone. He could feel it. Fuck, he really didn't want Scott to get to be smug over this.
Shoving the flower as gently as he could into his jeans' pocket, Stiles settled into a defensive position and raised the bat with both hands.
"That won't do much good."
Stiles whipped around, trying to find the source of the voice. Once. Twice. The third time around he finally spotted it, the glow of red eyes in the shadows of a big oak tree. Stiles readjusted his stance and raised the bat again, ignoring the voice.
"Who are you?" he asked, squinting his eyes to get a better look at the dark shape of a man.
"You get one guess." The voice was smooth, deep and more sultry than expected, Stiles thought.
"You're the Alpha? Like, the Alpha Alpha," Stiles clarified, ignoring how ridiculous that sounded as he swallowed thickly. Shitshitshit.
The werewolf stepped forward into the light, a smirk playing on his lips as he raised eyebrows in affirmation. "Name's Deucalion. But you already knew that."
Deucalion was tall, hard muscles standing out sharply in the fading light. He looked to be late 30s-ish and Stiles had never seen a face that more encompassed the word "chiseled." He was wearing what looked to be combat boots under his beat-up jeans and a plain, tight gray t-shirt.
All in all, not exactly what Stiles had pictured.
"Derek might have mentioned you," Stiles said nonchalantly.
Deucalion's smirk widened. His nostrils flared and he looked Stiles up and down with steel-grey eyes. "I'm sure he has," he said.
Stiles' eyes narrowed, blushing at what the Alpha was implying. He was sure Deucalion could smell Derek from earlier, when he'd been over to his apartment to get more info on the flower he was looking for, and he wasn't sure if that would help or hurt him. "Look, what do you want?" he asked, tightening his grip on the bat.
"You might as well just put the bat down," he advised, ignoring the question and taking a step forward. Stiles responded with a step backward, in which he of course tripped on a root. He threw out his arms for balance, the bat flying wildly for a moment before he righted himself. "See, it's throwing off your balance. Not a smart choice, if you ask me."
"Well Duke- can I call you Duke?" Stiles asked, gesturing with the bat.
Deucalion flashed his eyes red. "No," he deadpanned, voice icy.
Stiles smirked. "Alright then, Duke, I didn't ask. I like my bat. It's wood, ya know, nice and sturdy." He knocked on the bat a couple times to show his point.
"Seems like you're compensating," he commented with a pointed glance down.
"Ah!" Stiles huffed, offended and more amused than he would admit.
"Or you're projecting. Which, judging by the scent you wear, is more likely. You like 'em long and hard, Stiles?" There was amusement playing in his eyes and lips as he took another step forward.
Stiles gaped at him a moment before swallowing to regain composure and stepping back again, the bat hanging uselessly at his side now. "Not really any of your business. Don't you have poor townspeople to torment or something?"
Deucalion ignored him. "Or maybe it's the power. An Alpha werewolf must be pretty hard to resist for the pack's token human," the Alpha mocked, stepping forward again.
Stiles took another step back, glaring. "Not my pack," he ground out, the words bitter on his tongue. Derek was the last thing he wanted to discuss right now.
"Does that mean you're up for grabs?" Deucalion asked, mischief thick in his tone.
This wasn't going so well, Stiles thought. "No, Duke, it does n-" But he didn't finish the sentence. In a flash, he found himself pinned against a large tree, one clawed hand at his throat, the other pressing his wrist into the bark beside his face. The bat clattered to the ground. Bright grey eyes flashed red and the Alpha's body was pressed against his own.
"Don't. Call. Me. Duke," Deucalion whispered harshly into his ear.
"Right, yeah, totally, won't happen again," Stiles rambled out, gulping. He could feel the palm of the Alpha's hand against his Adam's apple and it hit him how much shit he was really in.
"Good." Deucalion released Stiles' arm to run fingertips down his side on the inside of his red hoodie, causing Stiles to startle, then shiver. "The flower you picked. Do you know what it's for?"
"What flower?" he asked, knowing his act was ruined by more than just the high pitch and crack in his voice.
Deucalion, however, didn't call him on it. Instead, he flattened his hand upside-down on Stiles' stomach, inching the fingers downward slowly. The breath flew from Stiles' lungs as the hand went lower, playing at the waistband of his jeans before dipping into the pocket. Despite the fact that what he was looking for was easily reachable from the top, Deucalion shoved his hand deep into the pocket, a spark of mischief in his eyes as he met Stiles'.
The Alpha pulled his hand out roughly, clutching the baggy. He brought it up in front of Stiles' face.
"Oh! Yeah, that flower. I, um, got it for Scott. It's pretty, I figured he could give it to Allison, help win her back, ya know," Stiles lied, rubbing at his nose. Deucalion still had him by the throat.
Deucalion glanced at the flower with a smirk. "Trying to kill the girlfriend? Wouldn't have thought you had it in you," he remarked. "But then, you have always been the most surprising one, Stiles. The rest, they're predictable. But not you. You always surprise me."
"Thanks."
"Not really a compliment, but at least you keep things interesting. Now," Deucalion's voice dropped low, sultry, almost a whisper as he breathed the words against Stiles' ear. The teen cursed his traitorous dick, which was growing harder by the second. "How did you know about the belladonna?"
Stiles swallowed thickly, knowing his heartbeat was probably going nuts and hoping Deucalion thought it was all due to fear. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Stiles knew lying would only get him so far, but he was afraid of what Deucalion would do once he had what he wanted. He and his pack had been painting the town red since they got here.
Deucalion's eyes narrowed. "Hm." He smirked again. Other than the name sensitivity, he seemed to be making an effort not to seem threatening and that set Stiles on edge. "Well, don't worry; I know how to be creative."
Stiles had enough time to look wide-eyed, both confused and cautious, before the Alpha was palming at his erection over his jeans, flower dropping to the ground unceremoniously. The sensation was explosive. Stiles let out a shocked sob, hands scrabbling to find purchase in the bark at his back. His head fell against the tree and he gulped, squirming in his indecision of whether to lean into or away from the touch.
Deucalion was watching Stiles' reaction with a playful expression. He gave a squeeze and Stiles' brain shorted out. Hot man. Touching. There. Stiles didn't care anymore, pressing hips forward, looking for more friction. The Alpha pushed him back, and then Stiles' felt warm, rough lips against the skin of his neck. A soft moan escaped and he tilted his head, baring his throat, cringing internally at the gesture of submission.
"Hmm, aren't we eager?" Deucalion observed, whispering the words into the mark he was sucking into Stiles' pale skin. "It's almost as if no one else has ever. . ." he trailed off, pulling back to look at Stiles, all motion halted for a moment. He had a look of amused surprise on his face. "That makes things interesting."
Stiles didn't respond, couldn't. His brain was overloaded with sensation and the fact that someone was touching him, someone else. He should probably be bothered about. . . something. There was definitely something about this situation that should bother him. Several things, he thought, but he just needed to think of one. . .
"How did you know about the belladonna?" Deucalion captured the lobe of Stiles' ear between his blunt teeth, pulling a whine from the teen.
"The Vervain," Stiles breathed out. "Break-in. Next town over. Herbal shop. Bunch of Vervain stolen." Stiles took a deep breath to compose himself. Sentences, he thought, he could at least manage sentences. Deucalion slowed his movements, looking surprised. He was watching Stiles closely, as if searching for the lie. "It's needed to grow certain rare species of plants. Black Belladonna is the only one relevant to werewolves, since it's the antidote to wolf's bane."
Deucalion's eyes were flicking back and forth between Stiles', hand motionless against Stiles' crotch. "Officially that species doesn't exist. How did you even know about it?" His voice had lost its playful tone; he was all business now.
Now that his senses weren't being bombarded, Stiles could think. "Officially neither do werewolves, but there's plenty of information on them if you know where to look." He was breathing heavily, brain flickering through more thoughts than he could keep track of.
Deucalion raised his eyebrows. "And what did you find?" His thumb resumed movement, rubbing along Stiles' hard length and causing him to draw a shaky breath.
"Uh um. Black Belladonna is a flower of the Deadly Nightshade family. It's basically the antithesis of wolf's bane in that it either repels, prevents or cures the infection," Stiles squeaked out, words mushed together by how fast he was talking. "Problem i-i-is that all belladonna is, um, poisonous. To like everything." Deucalion tilted his head, a curious expression on his face. His fingers reached down to fondle Stiles' balls through his jeans in an encouragement to keep going.
Stiles swallowed, Adam's apple pressing into Deucalion's palm. "But, um, the Black Belladonna, the one that shouldn't exist, it ahh, can be grown with Vervain to neutralize the poison." Duke was nuzzling at Stiles' neck now, disrupting his thoughts. His brain was alive with sensation and he was finding it really difficult to remember what he was talking about, let alone find it in him to protest. "The pistil produces this special toxin that bonds with the Vervain and they, like, cancel each other out. But the petals are still poisonous," Stiles added breathlessly, deflating against the tree.
Duke halted his movements again, meeting Stiles' eyes. "Very good. That is far more information than you should have ever been able to find, so I commend you." He began stroking his thumb up and down along Stiles' neck, almost soothingly. "And I can suppose you also discovered where it must be grown, seeing as you found my little garden?"
Nodding, Stiles rubbed at his nose nervously. "Banks of a river, always shaded and in shallow soil over a clay deposit," he answered.
The Alpha regarded Stiles for a moment, as if trying to figure him out. "You're clever. And I underestimated you, that's for sure. Even intended to kill you," he admitted, almost purring the words into Stiles' ear. Stiles' eyes grew wide; he was frozen, heart-stuttering in fear.
Duke's fingers moved upwards and ducked beneath the hems of Stiles' shirts, the touch causing Stiles' ab muscles to immediately recoil. He took in shallow, quick breaths as the werewolf flattened his hand to Stiles' stomach and circled around to his back ever-so-slowly, leaving a trail of fire. He then pulled the hand back around to Stiles' chest, rucking up his shirts; Stiles shivered at the exposure to the cool fall air.
Spreading his fingers, Duke explored Stiles' chest, rubbing sensitive nipples and lingering over the hollow of his chest. He began pressing rough, biting kisses down Stiles' throat, sucking a mark into the crook of his shoulder and neck.
Stiles was still frozen, afraid that any movement would provoke the Alpha. He'd been right to be cautious before, if Duke's intention all along had been to find out what he knew and kill him. His faculties were returning to him now that he wasn't being questioned, so he focused all of his attention on not reacting to the way Duke's fingers trailed through his happy trail or sent sparks flying down his side. And Stiles ignored the part of him that was enjoying this, that was reveling in the touch of another hand, that didn't care whose hand that was. Or at least, he tried to.
He could feel the skin of his neck being pulled into Duke's mouth, body longing to lean into it as he was choking off moans in response to the intense pleasure-pain. His skin was alight, Duke's fingers exploring every inch of his body that he could reach with one hand still gripping his throat. Stiles knew what was happening, knew he was being marked. But marked meant Duke was sending a message and Stiles could only hope to deliver that message alive.
Finally, Duke's hand slowed and he returned to facing Stiles, intense gaze sending heat down Stiles' spine. His nostrils flared a moment and the light in his eye made it clear what he could smell. "Almost too easy," he sneered. "But I'm not going to kill you. At least, not today."
"What are you gonna-" Stiles couldn't help but ask, but he was cut off when he felt Duke's hand at the button of his jeans, popping it open.
Stiles startled, flailing a moment before his hands flew to Duke's, to pull it away, to stop him. But then Duke's hand clenched around Stiles' neck and he could feel the claws biting into his flesh, his airway briefly cut off. He froze, arms dropping to his sides again.
Duke held up one finger, wagging it back and forth. "Ah ah," he said in a warning tone. His hand returned to Stiles' jeans, looking him straight in the eye as he slowly pulled down the zipper. Stiles bit back the urge to squirm away, exhaling sharply through his nose. Duke pushed the jeans to the ground, causing Stiles to flinch.
"Now," Duke began, fingers inching slowly beneath the waistband of Stiles' boxers. "Imagine how fun it will be when our dear Derek finds you."
Stiles' eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "Why-" He swallowed, trying to focus with Duke's hand inching ever lower. "Why would he care?" he asked indignantly, voice shaky, but jaw tight. Duke pushed his boxers down over his hips and he was completely exposed.
"Don't play dumb," Duke snapped playfully, finally making contact with Stiles' cock. Stiles tried to bite back a soft moan and failed, head falling back against the tree. His body was screaming contradictions; half wanted to squirm, to shove Duke away and the other was trying to make sense of the sensation of a hand other than his own. "I've been watching your little pack for a while now. I've seen the way he looks at you. "
At that, Duke wrapped his fingers fully around Stiles, dragging roughly down his cock to capture the pre-come leaking from the tip. He kept talking as he began pumping, ignoring Stiles' little moans and twitches. "Can't say I blame him, you definitely know how to hold one's attention. And hmm, definitely not compensating," he added with a squeeze. "But Derek, he's not an easy one to snare."
Stiles brain had short-circuited. He was only barely registering what Duke was saying, most of his attention being forcibly drawn downwards. This was so much different than when it was his own hand and his brain was having trouble processing all the new sensations. He opened and closed his mouth uselessly, unable to find actual words as Duke's hand worked quickly, jerking him furiously.
"I can't deny," Duke continued. "I was a bit annoyed that all you have to do is snark and flail around a bit and you've got him basically falling over himself like a puppy. Took me weeks to even get him to talk to me."
That caught Stiles attention. "Wa-eh-ate. You nngg knew him befo-ore?" he managed to ask. His tongue darted out to lick his lips again nervously.
Duke picked up the tempo, adding a twist over the head of Stiles' cock that had him seeing stars. He was close. Very close. "Let's just say, when Derek finds you reeking of sex and me, it won't be an unfamiliar combination."
Stiles' eyes grew wide as he registered the meaning behind Duke's words, but a second later he tensed up, biting his bottom lip against the high keen spilling from his throat as his orgasm rocketed through him, burning deep in his lower belly. It was messy, spurting into Duke's hand and all over Stiles' stomach.
When it was over, Stiles sagged against the tree, devoid of energy. Duke's hand around his neck was all that was holding him upright. Duke was looking down at his fingers, rubbing them together. At first Stiles didn't understand the action and then Duke was pressing them under his shirts again, rubbing the come into his skin and he understood. He wanted to make it very clear who had done this to Stiles.
"Wha- what do you-" Stiles began to ask breathlessly, but Duke's hand clenched around his neck again, cutting him off.
"Shh, Stiles, it's quiet time now." Duke pulled his hand back out from under Stiles' clothes, reaching up to cup his jaw, face not inches away. Stiles' jaw was shaking as he met Duke's stare and the Alpha reached his thumb to stroke Stiles' trembling bottom lip, smearing it with sticky come. "You definitely make things interesting," he said softly.
The hand around Stiles' neck twisted back and his claws dug into Stiles' skin in one quick motion. Stiles' body seized, every muscle tensing at once and he let out a cry. His mind was. . . something was happening. . . but he couldn't remember.
Stiles dropped to his knees, a hand around his neck following him down. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to focus on something anything. There was a sharp pain at the back of his neck followed by a soft voice in his ear saying, "Catch you later, Stiles."
When Stiles opened his eyes a minute later, he was alone. In the woods. He felt the breeze on his ass and scrambled to pull his clothes up, knocking his head against the tree as he flailed. When he'd gotten his jeans buttoned, he looked around, trying to figure out how in the hell he'd gotten here.