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Derek had sent out individual texts to both Stiles and Scott, urging the two of them to head over to his new address in Beacon Hills. The location of Erica and Boyd had been just recently discovered and there was a plan to be devised if it meant actually rescuing them from the alphas. And whilst Stiles made it to the loft without any trouble whatsoever, Scott had alerted Stiles to the fact that he was stuck roadside with some trouble regarding his motocross bike.
Stiles didn’t even bother to knock before striding into Derek’s loft. He felt as though he didn’t actually need to knock anyways, considering that they fucked each other. What was the point of privacy if they had already seen every inch of each other in sinfully dirty ways? Plus, Stiles had been somewhat eager about seeing the new place. It was a huge step up from the old Hale house—with a functioning ceiling and non-charred furniture.
“Where’s Scott?” Derek questioned, standing across the room. His figure was illuminated by the moon’s beams that blasted through the large window that overlooked the city.
“He texted me about some engine trouble.” Stiles said, not entirely sold on the excuse. “He actually might just be trying to avoid sharing a room with us after he caught us with each other’s cum all over ourselves. But, who knows for sure?”
“So—that’s what I smelled the moment you walked through that door.” A voiced piped up from the shadows of the loft—somewhere located up in the spiral staircase that was located directly in the back left corner of the loft. “What a potent little bitch, you are. Didn’t it occur to you to take a shower, Stiles?”
As the figure descended from the stairs, Stiles realized that it was Derek’s crazy, previously dead uncle—Peter. He just rolled his eyes and scoffed at the crude judgment. He was probably just as backed up in the ejaculation department as Derek was, because apparently Hales liked to be broody every minute of every day, which left no time for post-orgasmic bliss.
“I took a shower, but it’s actually more difficult than you think to scrub cum off of your entire body.” Stiles crossed his arms, shooting a glare in Peter’s direction. “I don’t know if it was tough to clean up because ‘permanence’ is a unique attribute to werewolf cum, or because your nephew creams like a fucking fire hydrant.”
“Were you at least smart enough to bring the bank vault schematics that you talked about through text?” Derek asked, scanning over Stiles’ body.
Stiles dramatically pat down different areas of his body, pretending as if he were looking for the bank schematics that Derek foolishly asked about. “Does it look like I have anything on me right now, Derek?” He sneered, lifting up the front of his shirt to show where he wasn’t hiding anything.
Both of the Hales didn’t waste their chance to eyeball Stiles’ body under his shirt. Tantalizing skin with some slight muscle definition, with a trail of light hair leading right down to where the waistband of Stiles’ boxers rested above the waist of Stiles’ baggy jeans. Stiles knew what he was doing. His flirting was blatant and unapologetic, strengthened by the small smile on the boy’s face.
Stiles chuckled to himself, confident in the raw sexual power that he held over fellow men. He brushed past where Derek stood, patting him friendly on the chest, and then walked over to the large window at the back of the loft. If they were all going to have to wait around on Scott, exploring the loft seemed like a good time-killer. Though, it wasn’t anywhere as interesting as what he had done with Derek back at the Hale house.
Derek went back to his typical pacing around, occasionally rummaging through his bookshelves for something to help him pass the time. Stiles remained at the window, watching the orbed reflections from the traffic lights and car tail lights sparkle through the dirt-covered glass of the window. It was a pretty nice view for whatever Derek was paying for rent.
“There’s certainly something different about you, Stiles.” Peter said, stepping up behind where Stiles stood. “I don’t remember you being this interesting when we meet those months ago.”
Stiles scoffed and spun around. His back pressed against the window and his face came to rest directly in front of Peter’s. He took special notice in how close they were—so close that he could actually feel the hot huffs of breath from Peter’s mouth blasting against his face. The man smelled rough—like wood and metal, with just a hint of natural musk. It was enticing to say that least.
“That’s funny, because you’re exactly the way I remember you. You’re just as incapable of understanding the definition of personal space.” Stiles said, pressing his index finger into the meat of Peter’s thick chest—pushing him backwards just slightly.
“I’m an inquisitive soul and I don’t mind going after the things that peak my interest.” Peter explained, grabbing onto Stiles’ wrist. “And there’s something fascinating about your boldness.”
“Or maybe you’re just desperate for some hot body-to-body contact. I can’t imagine that you’ve felt more than a punch or kick against your skin for the longest time.” Stiles snickered. “You must be a little jealous that I gave it to your little nephew good and dirty, while you missed out on all the sticky fun.”
A low growl settled tight in Peter’s throat. His eyes flickered blue and his voice drew raspy. “Don’t toy with me. I don’t play nice.”
Stiles ripped his wrist out from Peter’s firm grip and scoffed. “I don’t want you to play nice.”
Peter’s hand flew up and gripped around Stiles’ neck—not to tight, not too loose, but just enough to assert some much needed dominance over the boy. He pushed Stiles tightly against the back of the glass window, watching attentively at the way that the tips of his elongated claws pressed tautly against the pale skin of Stiles’ neck. He listened to the way that the boy’s breath quickened and watched his bright eyes spark with heat.
Their mouths crashed together hard and rough and infused with furious passion, unconcerned with their surroundings. Stiles gripped hard at the tight fabric of Peter’s shirt, digging his nails into the softness. The two continued to kiss, spilling heated moans and grunts into the foundation of the loft. Stiles’ hands trailed up Peter’s chest and to the sides of the man’s face—letting the palms of his hands glide sensually against the scratch of his stubble and the wrinkles of his aged skin until his fingers could tangle into the softness of Peter’s hair.
“What the fuck are the two of you doing?” Derek interrupted, coming up to where the two stood against the window.
Stiles pushed back against Peter’s chest, separating them from their kiss. “I’m scratching something off of my bucket list. What the fuck does it look like, Derek?”
“Your bucket list?” Derek questioned authoritatively.
“I’m like—half his age.” Stiles said, gesturing up and down Peter’s body. “Older dudes are hot and I want to ride the fuck out of his big werewolf daddy cock. Are you going to try to stop me…or do you want to join in and get something out of this, too?”
Derek looked over to Peter with a raised eyebrow, obviously struggling to break away from where the others stood before him. He remembered how fucking amazing Stiles was back at the Hale house and throbbed at the thought of going for a second, uninterrupted round. Even the idea of partnering up with his uncle and fucking Stiles down into a puddle of sweaty filth was more enticing than it probably should have been.
Peter grabbed Derek by the forearm and tugged him closer into the sinful fold. The touch alone sparked heat across the expanse of Derek’s skin—seemingly singeing his arm hair. Peter traced his fingers up Derek’s abdomen, against the ridges of his abs, and up his body until he could get his hand on the back of Derek’s neck. When he did, he urged Derek forward, just enough so that his mouth could collide with Stiles’.
Whilst Derek and Stiles’ tongues worked lustfully against each other, their hands dragged uncoordinatedly against one another’s bodies—hungry for something more to touch. Peter’s hands joined the mix, unfastening both Stiles’ and Derek’s individual belts simultaneously with his two free hands, all while his mouth sucked against the skin of Stiles’ neck.
Stiles turned over to focus on Peter, letting their mouths share some of the fun. Derek grunted at the missing stimulation and quickly compensated by sucking at the opposite side of Stiles’ neck. He reached his hand down to Stiles’ crotch and pawed roughly at the thick bulge that stretched the coarse fabric of the boy’s jeans. The sound of Stiles groaning into his uncle’s mouth was satisfying to hear.
Peter fucked his own jeans-clad erection into the side of Stiles’ thigh as his hands dominated over the boy’s presence. He pulled his mouth off of Stiles’, tugging wickedly at his bottom lip for a moment with the bluntness of his teeth. He tilted his head downwards and sucked sloppily against Stiles’ jaw and down to his Adam’s apple where his head butted gently against his nephew’s position on Stiles’ neck.
Stiles’ right hand slipped into Peter’s hair, while his left hand slipped into Derek’s. He tugged the both of them upward so that they could stare at him. The two of them looked utterly lost in lust, mouths puffy, red, and wet—eyes flickering uncontrollably between the normal human state and the glowing eyes of their werewolf forms. Stiles smirked and slowly led the two by the strands of their hair so that they faced each other. The two werewolves almost immediately picked up the hint that Stiles was pushing for, so they obliged to play along so as long as they’d get to toy around with Stiles.
Derek and Peter pressed their mouths together almost violently. Their teeth knocked together and their tongues chased each other’s tastes. Their kisses, the placement of their hands, and the movement of their bodies—pressed intensely together—were calculated, clearly performed as a show for Stiles’ pleasure. Stiles watched with peaked interest, palming the bulge in his pants.
They eventually broke their kiss and slowly pulled back with half-lidded stares, drunk off of the power of their kiss. They both turned to look at Stiles, curious to see his reaction. Stiles had slipped his hand into the front of his pants so that he could feel the pulsing warmth of his hard cock in the grasp of his hands. He wore an enthusiastic grin on his face, seemingly pleased with the werewolves’ little incestuous show.
“Which one of you are going to fuck my throat first?” Stiles asked, shifting his gaze between both of the two men—trying to get a feel for where their situation would lead.
Peter grabbed onto the shoulders of Stiles’ sweatshirt and pulled him away from the loft’s window, yanking around to bump into Derek’s metal desk. It was certainly sturdy enough to hold the weight of one simple eighteen year old boy, and Peter planned to use it to his advantage. Quickly, he gripped the sides of Stiles’ waist and hoisted him up to sit down atop the desk’s surface. Stiles practically cooed at the movement.
“Lay down.” Derek instructed.
Stiles snickered and did as he was told. He swiveled around just enough so that he could lie horizontally across the length of the metal desk. His legs hung off one side, while his neck and head hung off the opposite side. Stiles was well aware of the position that the two were placing him into. One of the two would fuck his throat from one side of the desk, whilst the other one would have his entire bottom half to fuck around with from the other side.
“Eat him out—” Peter said, passing by Derek as he walked over to the side of the desk with Stiles’ ready mouth and throat. “—and give him everything that you fucking have. He’s going to feel us for weeks and smell even more like a Hale bitch.”
“Yeah, Derek…” Stiles teased, wiggling his hips. “Make me your guys’ bitch.”
Derek’s eyes flashed a brutal red as he walked around to his part of Stiles. He pulled off the boy’s socks and sneakers, tossing them across the room where they could be easily forgotten. He unbuttoned Stiles’ jeans and tugged them down, along with the boy’s boxers, and cast those aside as well—paying attention to the way that Stiles’ thick cock bounced out and slapped hard against his own stomach.
On the opposite side of the table, Peter spread his fingers across the boy’s plush lips and played with the saliva that trailed out. Stiles’ eyes were shadowed and sparked with ravenous desire. Peter unzipped his pants and reached inside, pulling out his flushed cock for Stiles to drool over. Stiles’ mouth seems to open instinctively, seemingly impressed with the thick length.
Peter’s cock throbbed proudly in the air of the loft, drooping slightly from its own unyielding weight. It curved slightly to the right and oozed thick drops of pre-cum from its leaking slit, which dropped down to splatter innocently against Stiles’ blushed cheek. Peter gripped his fingers around his girth and shook his cock slightly, teasing the boy beneath himself. He enjoyed pushing against Stiles’ obvious dwindling patience.
Eventually, Peter hunched over and pressed the length of his cock into the eager wetness of Stiles’ precious mouth. He shivered the moment he felt the boy’s lips close down around him and couldn’t help but thrust inwards in response. The abrupt movement shook Stiles’ body and dragged dirty gags from deep within the boy’s tight throat. Stiles’ eyes stung with tears, but there was something so passionate hidden within those hazel eyes.
As Peter gripped the sides of Stiles’ head, he fucked into the boy’s throat with a quick, punishing pace—refusing to let up much for Stiles to catch his breath. Across the way, Derek worked over Stiles’ hole with the fierceness of his skillful tongue. His stubble scrapped brutally against the inside of Stiles’ thighs as he savagely ate the boy out, pushing his tongue in deeper and gnawing delicately at the sensitive skin with his teeth. It seemed to make Stiles’ body writhe on the desk.
Peter watched his cock bulge inside of the boy’s throat every time that he fucked in. He could feel Stiles’ cheeks hollow out and he could feel Stiles’ tongue work around his dick with the best of his ability. Peter pulled out with a huff of satisfied breath, drinking in the sound of Stiles taking in as much fresh air as he could manage. Peter just slapped his dripping cock against the boy’s face, leaving behind wet marks of saliva.
“Are you ready to take that big werewolf daddy cock you’ve been dreaming so much about, Stiles?” Peter asked, slapping softly against the side of the boy’s face with his hand, prompting him to nod.
Derek stood up from where he had crouched down to eat out Stiles’ ass. He traded spots with his uncle, eager to get Stiles’ mouth on his own aching cock. Stiles was such a fucking slut for cock and had given Derek one of the best blowjobs that he had ever had back in the loft the first time around. Any opportunity to take that sweet throat as his own was an opportunity not wasted.
Peter grabbed Stiles by the hips and pulled him closer to the edge of his side of the desk, then flipped Stiles’ legs up to rest atop his sturdy shoulders for support. He grasped his hot cock in his hand and pressed it slowly against Stiles’ entrance—which was still gleaming with spit from Derek’s rimjob. As he looked across the table, he watched his nephew pull out his own cock and feed it gingerly into the body’s wanting mouth. Swiftly, Peter thrust into Stiles’ ass and watched Derek’s body jolt as the force from his thrust made Stiles take in more of Derek’s length.
Together, the two werewolves tossed hesitation to the wind and started to hammer into Stiles’ body from both ends with reckless devotion. Derek’s rough hands held Stiles’ face in place as he fucked his big cock into Stiles’ throat, growling at the sight of his own cock bulging through the same place where his uncle had just fucked through. He paid special attention to the way that Stiles’ Adam’s apple bounced with timed swallows in-between thrusts and at the way that the boy’s lips stretched to accommodate his rapidly sliding girth.
Peter was equally as aggressive with his own movement, if not more hungry to pleasure Stiles from the inside out. The tips of his claws pressed obscenely into the skin on the sides of Stiles’ waist as he pounded deep into the boy’s hole. He felt Stiles clench and flutter around his brutal thrusts, desperate to keep Peter’s thickness inside of himself for longer than Peter was allowing. Peter didn’t care. He just continued to beat down hard and inhumanly quick into Stiles’ frame—pitching his poor body forward into Derek’s waiting cock.
“You were made for taking this kind of damage, weren’t you, Stiles?” Derek slurred, mind nearly lost under the control of Stiles’ tongue and throat. “I know your body is screaming for more of us. You want us even deeper, even harder, and even dirtier.”
“I doubt you’ve ever had both of your pretty little holes fucked at the same time.” Peter chimed in, breathing heavy. “Riding my nephew in that old fire-trap was one experience, but this is something entirely different. And I can feel how much more you love it.”
Stiles moaned around Derek’s cock, gripping both sides of the metal desk for leverage against the devastating thrusts from the two. Stiles worked hard to absorb absolutely everything that was given to him. His throat burned and his tongue ached against the weight of Derek’s heavy cock pressed against it with ruinous rhythm. Meanwhile, he could feel Peter’s massive cock plunge deep inside of his ass, scrapping deliciously against his inner walls. He could have sworn that he could feel Peter grow bigger with each pound.
“Put those pretty fingers around your cock, Stiles.” Derek whispered, caressing his hand against the side of Stiles’ sweaty face. “Touch yourself for us.”
Stiles obeyed and wrapped one of his hands around his twitching cock. He ached worse than he ever had. The jolting blows from Peter’s solid hips pummeling against the meat of his ass bore electricity into the very veins of his being. They made his cock and balls tightened with a dull, erotic ache. His cockhead was so sensitive that he could barely stand the shock of brushing his thumb across his leaking slit.
Derek eventually stopped thrusting—wiping the sweat away from his forehead and slicking back his sweaty hair. He let Peter’s thrusts pitch the boy’s throat forward, effectively allowing for Stiles’ throat to fuck itself on Derek’s length. Derek spread his legs as far as they could manage with his jeans still caught at his hairy thighs and tossed his head back in ecstasy.
Peter had become addicted to the sound of his own skin slapping wildly against Stiles’. He chased the sound with even more eagerness than when he had started, increasing the speed of his thrusts and tapping into his own barbaric superhuman strength for extra measure. Stiles cried out with frantic thrill, unable to control himself. He let Derek’s cock slip out from in-between his raw lips.
As Peter bucked against him and ravaged his hole, chasing his own approaching orgasm, Stiles stopped stroking his own cock. He wanted something more than himself in his own hands. He didn’t want to be the one to stroke himself to completion. No, he wanted Peter’s skill to push him over the edge and cast his body down into a reactive pit of voltaic pleasure. But he could stroke Derek in the meanwhile. He could get Derek off and feel the boiling heat of a sticky load blast across his body.
Stiles reached up above where his own head laid against the metal desk and wrapped his fist around Derek’s sticky cock. He felt Derek twitch in his palm and watched a mischievous smirk curl the man’s soft lips. Stiles shared the expression and smiled as he began to rapidly tug and twist and squeeze at Derek. He occasionally flit his fingers across Derek’s slit, prodding against it gently with the tip of his fingernail. It forced Derek’s knees to momentarily give out and for him to grab onto Stiles’ wrist to keep him from doing it again.
“You like that, Derek?” Stiles breathed, voice shaky under Peter’s unending thrusts. “You want to blow your load all over me? Wanna ruin my clothes for the night? Wanna defile me with your sticky werewolf cum and press the smell into my skin?”
The words squeezed at Peter’s mind from across the desk, despite the fact that they weren’t necessarily directed at him. But watching Derek’s body wobble and sway with unstable felicity as Stiles’ words soaked into his brain and corrupted the very essence of his control made Peter’s own body feel ignited. He couldn’t hold out any longer. Hurriedly, he jackhammered into Stiles’ asshole with amorous brutality, shaking the boy down to his core.
A particularly rough and vocal grunt from Stiles pushed Peter over the edge, eliciting a powerful roar of his own as he thrust forward and stilled inside of Stiles—pulsing his heavy load into the sensitive pink heat of Stiles’ insides. Stiles cried out, tilting his head up to watch in amazement as his own cock spit out an immense load, stimulated by nothing more than the flaring air of the loft. The lower half of his body quivered, legs shaking against where they remained mounted on top of Peter’s shoulders.
Peter’s head dropped down to hang low, chin pressed against the damp neckline of his shirt. His hair dripped sweat down to sop into the material of Stiles’ already sweat-soaked and cum-stained shirt. He felt his cock spurt another couple powerful streams of cum into Stiles at the thought, whilst his hearing focused on the sound of Derek’s throaty grunts that seemed to escalate in volume and desperation as he furiously stroked at his cock.
The sound of his nephew crying out made him look up and watch a wave of unfathomable bliss overtake Derek’s body for a couple vivid moments. Peter watched as Derek coated Stiles’ clothed chest and abdomen with glossy ropes of potent cum and then watched Stiles playfully run his fingers through the accumulated mess, mixing together seeds both human and werewolf. Derek pinched the last few dribbles of his hot cum and let the rest fall down to strike against Stiles’ lips—to which prompted him to lick it up with a smile.
Peter pulled his spent cock out of Stiles’ ass and let the overwhelming volume of his cum leak out of the boy’s beautiful raw hole and spread against the metal surface of his nephew’s desk. The three of them refused to move for a couple moments, letting their minds connect back with reality and disconnect from their urge to jump for a second round. There would time in the future for that, and even if there wasn’t, time would need to be made for it.
Stiles sat up from where he had been laid out for the majority of his fucking. He had a proud look of satisfaction fixed upon his face. The whiteness of the cum that he wore on his clothing had muted and become somewhat opaque against the dark grayness of his t-shirt and sweatshirt, but it was still incredibly visible and equally as potent to both Peter and Derek’s werewolf noses. Though, neither of them were complaining.
“You guys must have some great ‘fucking’ genes running through your blood.” Stiles piped up, sucking at his cum-covered fingers. “Derek was great back at the Hale house as a solo act, but the both of you tag-teaming me like damn professionals has my mind reeling.”
Peter shrugged, stretching his arms outward. “Well, what the fuck can we say? Hales know how to pleasure a good little bitch that drops into our laps. And I might have just found my new favorite fuck-toy.” He boasted, smiling.
Stiles lapped at his lips and looked down to the mess that Peter had made between his legs and at the mess that both himself and Derek made on his clothes. Peter stood powerfully at the foot of the desk, muscles bulging through his sweaty shirt and his thick spent cock still jutting out from the opening in his pants. All the while, Derek stood behind Stiles, equally as sweaty and out of breath, with his cock still dripping a feeble amount of watery cum down to the cement floor below.
“You better have something for me to change into.” Stiles said, turning back to look at Derek. “I’m not going to be the one to explain this shit to Scott this time around.”