Sciles Fic - Chapter 1 (of 3)
Title: Take You Down
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Stiles is trapped in the house with a feral Scott, who's spending his first moon as alpha terrorizing his best friend.
Warning: Noncon/Dubcon, Blood, Concussion, Non-sexual Vomit, Graphic Violence, Explicit Sex
(Fic also available on my AO3)
Take You Down:
The Stilinski house is dark and silent, dangerously so, and Stiles can barely breathe, heart pounding in his ears as he slowly descends the staircase. Scott’s in here somewhere, wolfed out and acting like a raving lunatic, and Stiles doesn’t know quite what he’s supposed to do. He’d call for help, but Scott’s already crushed his cell phone. There’s a landline in the kitchen, if Stiles can just get to it…or he can just leave. That hasn’t worked in his favour yet though.
Scott’s playing a game with him, Stiles knows it. He can’t quite figure out where the game’s going, though - at best, Stiles thinks it’s an odd type of chase. The sequence of events always seems to go the same way - Stiles tries to find an escape, Scott comes out of nowhere and tackles him, Stiles either gets loose or blacks out. They’ve been at it for about an hour now and Stiles is exhausted, his head throbbing from where he’d knocked it last time and passed out (and he’s pretty sure he might have a concussion) and his body is aching all over.
So the front door’s out. The windows are all out too. Stiles had a bit of luck with the backdoor - he’d at least gotten outside that way, before Scott had tackled him into the grass. He earned himself a nice little cut during that one and blood joined the grass and mud stains on his trousers.
Stiles really isn’t sure what’s gotten into Scott. It’s his first moon as alpha and they’d chained him up, just as a precaution, but something had gone wrong and he’d gotten loose. It shouldn’t have been a problem, but Stiles is just banged up enough to be profoundly worried. And frightened.
Stiles reaches the bottom of the staircase, cringing when the steps creak under his weight. Stiles takes a deep breath, looking around with wide eyes. He can’t see Scott in the darkness - which, he’s learned, doesn’t mean that he’s not there - and the phone is right there across from him. Stiles figures it’s his best shot.
He doesn’t run. Running will only draw Scott out faster, but he walks, his steps perhaps a pace too fast in his desperation. As he crosses over the entryway, he feels exposed and on edge, spine prickly with fear and adrenaline and breaths becoming more ragged. He feels like he did in the school - locked in and desperate - but he’s a little less reckless this time, far more aware of just how bad this could go and just how quickly.
Not sure whether it’s the silence or the small sounds that break it that are slowly destroying him, he draws closer to the phone, heart beating impossibly louder and stomach twisting into nauseating knots. He reaches out shaking fingers, inches away from the receiver, when Scott comes out of nowhere, barreling towards him. The impact’s rough, knocking a broken sob out of Stiles, who manages to knock the phone of the hook on his way down. That small, teasing touch of plastic during his descent is the final straw, and Stiles feels the last of his determination leave him as he slams into the floor.
Stiles lets out a broken moan, his body throbbing roughly from the collision on both sides, and his eyes slip shut. Stiles goes limp under Scott’s weight, taking in deep breaths and waiting for whatever Scott has in store for him. Acquiescence is apparently not what Scott was expecting, because the werewolf freezes above him.
Stiles peaks a tired eye open, looking at his friend curiously.
Scott’s head is tilted and he’s watching him with burning red eyes, lips pulled back to expose his fangs. Scott’s body tenses when their eyes meet and he lets out a growl, claws scraping against the wood floor on either side of Stiles’ body. Stiles grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to convince himself that he’s ready for whatever’s coming.
Scott presses down on him, hot breath wafting over Stiles’ neck and making his heart beat faster.
‘This is it’ Stiles thinks.
Scott’s clawed hands pull roughly at Stiles, shifting him onto his back and trapped under Scott’s weight. Scott’s face presses into the side of his neck, and he starts lapping at Stiles’ throat.
Stiles’ eyebrows tick together in confusion and he blinks, looking up at the ceiling as Scott bears down on him. His eyes widen when he feels a distinct, unmistakable hardness in Scott’s jeans.
“Scott?” Stiles asks quietly, voice hoarse and grating as it comes out. Scott pushes between Stiles’ legs, settling against his groin and giving a slow roll of his hips. A breath hisses past Stiles’ lips and he has trouble thinking past the swimming sensation in his mind. Stiles shifts under Scott’s weight and Scott lets out a warning growl, fangs sinking into Stiles’ neck, holding him in place.
Stiles’ eyes go wide and his fingers twitch as Scott bites him, his flesh burning and blood bubbling up around the bite. The fight comes back in him and he lifts his hands, pushing at Scott’s shoulders, batting against him and trying to push him off. Scott snarls around his flesh, the sound reverberating through him, and his claws wrap around Stiles’ wrists, pressing them roughly back into the floor. Stiles squeezes his lips shut, whimpers pushing against his throat and hands squeezing into fists.
Scott ruts against him more quickly, and Stiles feels torn between the burning in his writs and neck and the steady pressure of Scott’s cock against his own. Against all odds, he finds blood starting to flow downward, cock growing harder under Scott’s ministrations.
Scott’s body moves, shifting against bruises and scrapes, and Stiles grits his teeth, vision blurring and cock twitching. A slow rumble travels through Scott’s chest, shaking against’ Stiles’ torso, and Stiles feels the claws dig deeper into his skin as Scott’s thrusts go desperate. Stiles lets out a slow moan, hardening further.
Sweat builds up on Stiles’ body, mixing in with grime and dirt and blood, and he feels like he’s sinking, his vision fading in and out. He probably needs to go the hospital. He probably desperately needs to go to the hospital.
Scott lets got of Stiles’ neck, lapping at the bite marks. His tongue’s soft and gentle against the incisions and Stiles’ stomach flips, his skin tingling and his breath going ragged. He thinks Scott may have come, because Scott’s relinquishing his grip on Stiles’ wrists and moving downward, nuzzling along Stiles torso. Stiles lets out a slow breath, eyes slipping shut as Scott’s face presses into his body, leaving a slow, tingling trail in its wake.
Stiles jumps when Scott’s nose suddenly presses into his groin. Stiles thinks he may have faded out for a second, and he blinks his eyes open, looking down at the blurred outline of Scott. The werewolf’s between his legs, nuzzling him through his pants, and Stiles lets his had fall back against the floor, groaning when Scott presses his open mouth against the outline of Stiles’ cock.
Scott’s clawed fingers pull at Stiles’ jeans, tearing them open and mouthing at his cock through his underwear. Stiles moans, mouth falling open on harsh breaths and body shuddering. Precum leaks from the head of his cock, staining the inside of his thin, black briefs, and his toes curl in his sneakers. He’s not sure if Scott’s intention is to get him off, but the werewolf’s reverent in his actions and Stiles feels himself becoming swept up in the sensations.
His stomach lurches when Scott finds a particularly sensitive area, and Stiles can’t help the high-pitched moans that slip past his lips. He’s always wondered what a blowjob would feel like. He thinks it might be even better without the clothing in the way.
Scott moves downward, pulling Stiles’ trousers down further so he can lick at Stiles’ balls. Stiles is pretty sure he’s dying at this point, the intense sensation making his thighs quiver and his back bow as everything inside of him burns and throbs. He digs his fingernails into the floorboards, scrambling helplessly to find purchase. Scott licks a long line up his cock and Stiles cries out, hips jolting upward as his balls draw tight, orgasm tearing through him.
Blinding lights flash behind his eyelids and his body shakes desperately. And then he passes out.
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Stiles is trapped in the house with a feral Scott, who's spending his first moon as alpha terrorizing his best friend.
Warning: Noncon/Dubcon, Blood, Concussion, Non-sexual Vomit, Graphic Violence, Explicit Sex
(Fic also available on my AO3)
Take You Down:
The Stilinski house is dark and silent, dangerously so, and Stiles can barely breathe, heart pounding in his ears as he slowly descends the staircase. Scott’s in here somewhere, wolfed out and acting like a raving lunatic, and Stiles doesn’t know quite what he’s supposed to do. He’d call for help, but Scott’s already crushed his cell phone. There’s a landline in the kitchen, if Stiles can just get to it…or he can just leave. That hasn’t worked in his favour yet though.
Scott’s playing a game with him, Stiles knows it. He can’t quite figure out where the game’s going, though - at best, Stiles thinks it’s an odd type of chase. The sequence of events always seems to go the same way - Stiles tries to find an escape, Scott comes out of nowhere and tackles him, Stiles either gets loose or blacks out. They’ve been at it for about an hour now and Stiles is exhausted, his head throbbing from where he’d knocked it last time and passed out (and he’s pretty sure he might have a concussion) and his body is aching all over.
So the front door’s out. The windows are all out too. Stiles had a bit of luck with the backdoor - he’d at least gotten outside that way, before Scott had tackled him into the grass. He earned himself a nice little cut during that one and blood joined the grass and mud stains on his trousers.
Stiles really isn’t sure what’s gotten into Scott. It’s his first moon as alpha and they’d chained him up, just as a precaution, but something had gone wrong and he’d gotten loose. It shouldn’t have been a problem, but Stiles is just banged up enough to be profoundly worried. And frightened.
Stiles reaches the bottom of the staircase, cringing when the steps creak under his weight. Stiles takes a deep breath, looking around with wide eyes. He can’t see Scott in the darkness - which, he’s learned, doesn’t mean that he’s not there - and the phone is right there across from him. Stiles figures it’s his best shot.
He doesn’t run. Running will only draw Scott out faster, but he walks, his steps perhaps a pace too fast in his desperation. As he crosses over the entryway, he feels exposed and on edge, spine prickly with fear and adrenaline and breaths becoming more ragged. He feels like he did in the school - locked in and desperate - but he’s a little less reckless this time, far more aware of just how bad this could go and just how quickly.
Not sure whether it’s the silence or the small sounds that break it that are slowly destroying him, he draws closer to the phone, heart beating impossibly louder and stomach twisting into nauseating knots. He reaches out shaking fingers, inches away from the receiver, when Scott comes out of nowhere, barreling towards him. The impact’s rough, knocking a broken sob out of Stiles, who manages to knock the phone of the hook on his way down. That small, teasing touch of plastic during his descent is the final straw, and Stiles feels the last of his determination leave him as he slams into the floor.
Stiles lets out a broken moan, his body throbbing roughly from the collision on both sides, and his eyes slip shut. Stiles goes limp under Scott’s weight, taking in deep breaths and waiting for whatever Scott has in store for him. Acquiescence is apparently not what Scott was expecting, because the werewolf freezes above him.
Stiles peaks a tired eye open, looking at his friend curiously.
Scott’s head is tilted and he’s watching him with burning red eyes, lips pulled back to expose his fangs. Scott’s body tenses when their eyes meet and he lets out a growl, claws scraping against the wood floor on either side of Stiles’ body. Stiles grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to convince himself that he’s ready for whatever’s coming.
Scott presses down on him, hot breath wafting over Stiles’ neck and making his heart beat faster.
‘This is it’ Stiles thinks.
Scott’s clawed hands pull roughly at Stiles, shifting him onto his back and trapped under Scott’s weight. Scott’s face presses into the side of his neck, and he starts lapping at Stiles’ throat.
Stiles’ eyebrows tick together in confusion and he blinks, looking up at the ceiling as Scott bears down on him. His eyes widen when he feels a distinct, unmistakable hardness in Scott’s jeans.
“Scott?” Stiles asks quietly, voice hoarse and grating as it comes out. Scott pushes between Stiles’ legs, settling against his groin and giving a slow roll of his hips. A breath hisses past Stiles’ lips and he has trouble thinking past the swimming sensation in his mind. Stiles shifts under Scott’s weight and Scott lets out a warning growl, fangs sinking into Stiles’ neck, holding him in place.
Stiles’ eyes go wide and his fingers twitch as Scott bites him, his flesh burning and blood bubbling up around the bite. The fight comes back in him and he lifts his hands, pushing at Scott’s shoulders, batting against him and trying to push him off. Scott snarls around his flesh, the sound reverberating through him, and his claws wrap around Stiles’ wrists, pressing them roughly back into the floor. Stiles squeezes his lips shut, whimpers pushing against his throat and hands squeezing into fists.
Scott ruts against him more quickly, and Stiles feels torn between the burning in his writs and neck and the steady pressure of Scott’s cock against his own. Against all odds, he finds blood starting to flow downward, cock growing harder under Scott’s ministrations.
Scott’s body moves, shifting against bruises and scrapes, and Stiles grits his teeth, vision blurring and cock twitching. A slow rumble travels through Scott’s chest, shaking against’ Stiles’ torso, and Stiles feels the claws dig deeper into his skin as Scott’s thrusts go desperate. Stiles lets out a slow moan, hardening further.
Sweat builds up on Stiles’ body, mixing in with grime and dirt and blood, and he feels like he’s sinking, his vision fading in and out. He probably needs to go the hospital. He probably desperately needs to go to the hospital.
Scott lets got of Stiles’ neck, lapping at the bite marks. His tongue’s soft and gentle against the incisions and Stiles’ stomach flips, his skin tingling and his breath going ragged. He thinks Scott may have come, because Scott’s relinquishing his grip on Stiles’ wrists and moving downward, nuzzling along Stiles torso. Stiles lets out a slow breath, eyes slipping shut as Scott’s face presses into his body, leaving a slow, tingling trail in its wake.
Stiles jumps when Scott’s nose suddenly presses into his groin. Stiles thinks he may have faded out for a second, and he blinks his eyes open, looking down at the blurred outline of Scott. The werewolf’s between his legs, nuzzling him through his pants, and Stiles lets his had fall back against the floor, groaning when Scott presses his open mouth against the outline of Stiles’ cock.
Scott’s clawed fingers pull at Stiles’ jeans, tearing them open and mouthing at his cock through his underwear. Stiles moans, mouth falling open on harsh breaths and body shuddering. Precum leaks from the head of his cock, staining the inside of his thin, black briefs, and his toes curl in his sneakers. He’s not sure if Scott’s intention is to get him off, but the werewolf’s reverent in his actions and Stiles feels himself becoming swept up in the sensations.
His stomach lurches when Scott finds a particularly sensitive area, and Stiles can’t help the high-pitched moans that slip past his lips. He’s always wondered what a blowjob would feel like. He thinks it might be even better without the clothing in the way.
Scott moves downward, pulling Stiles’ trousers down further so he can lick at Stiles’ balls. Stiles is pretty sure he’s dying at this point, the intense sensation making his thighs quiver and his back bow as everything inside of him burns and throbs. He digs his fingernails into the floorboards, scrambling helplessly to find purchase. Scott licks a long line up his cock and Stiles cries out, hips jolting upward as his balls draw tight, orgasm tearing through him.
Blinding lights flash behind his eyelids and his body shakes desperately. And then he passes out.