Archive of Our Own

The text message said ‘Come at nine ’ and Stiles was in the man’s driveway by half-past-eight, hungry and feral for the older man he had been chatting with for the past couple of days. 

His GPS had stopped working two miles prior, confused and empty data leading him down a rickety wooden bridge through a clump of forest trees. He was truly desperate for cock, with the lengths he was going just for a taste. 

‘That you in the driveway?’ 

Stiles startled from his text tone ringing out from his center console. 

‘Yeah’ he replied.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath. He looked like an overly-eager booty-call, arriving much too early to the party. 

‘Come on in’ the man texted back. 

Stiles took a breath before opening the door to the cold air, his hair blowing backward from his movement paired with the strong wind of the impending storm that was supposed to come through later that evening. 

He felt himself immediately shiver with the piercing cold, and despite his initially planned cool-headed demeanour, Stiles treaded quickly towards the house that exuded the promise of a warm embrace. 

He knocked rapidly against the hardwood door, then retracted his fist under his armpit to keep warm. Stiles silently hoped that his insistent knocking would be recognised as desperate to be out of the cold, and not desperate to be hanging off the man’s cock. 

Even if it was a bit of both.

Or more of the latter.

He wouldn’t let himself come off that way, however, not if he could help it. 

Having seen his hook-up’s photos, he doubted that he would be able to come across as reserved at all. The man was one of the most sexually attractive men Stiles had ever seen. Just his type. Older, taller, and with a killer body. Stiles couldn’t help but gravitate toward him. Quickly replying to his initial message and neglecting the others in his inbox at first sight. 

The pictures Derek had sent screamed experience, confidence, raw sexuality, strength, and power. Many of the photos Derek sent him had been taken from an aerial view down at his naked body, lightly peppered with hair and leading all the way down to his thick eight inch long and cut cock. If the man’s handsome face wasn’t enough of an attractant, his massive cock alone would’ve sold him. 

The door opened to a man holding a tumbler of whiskey in his hand and a wandering pair of half-lidded eyes, he brought the glass to his mouth for a pull, staring the pretty younger man up and down. Just like his photos, sinfully cute, slight, and with pretty pouty lips and big brown eyes. 

He stood to the side, grunting and nodding his head for the boy to step inside. Stiles felt the warmth seep through his clothes as he walked into the small cabin, greeted by a warm fire. The man smelled of bourbon and worn leather. He wanted immediately to be ravaged by him and the heat his body alone radiated. 

“I invited a friend over. Hope you don’t mind,” Derek said, his voice gruff and flippant, but kind, an air of sincerity about it. Stiles trusted him blindly.

Derek nodded to Stiles' left and he turned to see another man, sitting back carelessly on the couch, his legs spread wide open, shameless. He too was holding whiskey on the rocks and in the same hand was a lit cigarette. Stiles audibly swallowed, having met the other's indecipherable gaze.

He was close in age with Derek, perhaps slightly older. He had short brown hair and his facial hair was grown out into a short beard. He was handsome, but not as much his type as Derek was. Still, he wouldn’t mind his company. He would gladly ride his cock if asked. 

"That's Peter," Derek gestured casually, but his eyes stayed on Stiles, scanning for any discomfort on his face. It was daring to have assumed that bringing another person without prior knowledge was on the table, but Derek only saw a blaze of craving in the young man's eyes.

Stiles smiled alluringly. "Hey, how's it going?" 

Peter said nothing for a moment. Stiles would've assumed that the man hadn't heard him at all if it weren't for the almost condescending amusement that had spread over his face.

The man on the couch looked Stiles up and down, his stare a slow scan, sizing him up, a deep chuckle ending his look. He took a deep drag of his cigarette, before speaking. His thin lips curling around the smoke. 

“You think he can handle it?” Peter said with a chuckle, ignoring Stiles and speaking directly to Derek, his cadence deep and gruff. 

Derek shrugged, drinking his own whiskey again. “His profile did say he was adventurous and down for...what was it?” 

“New experiences,” Stiles said, his voice almost at a whisper. 

“And.” 

“B...Barebacking.” 

“That’s the one,” he smirked. “Never had one raw before have you?” Derek nodded toward Peter. 

Peter, with his hand wrapped around his drink and finger holding his cigarette steady, managed to scratch his lower lip with the same thumb, an open smirk on his face. 

“Nah.” 

Stiles’ heart was pounding, his mind cloudy, heady, intoxicated off the men’s individual presences. He knew he was in for a night of being used, ten steps above debauchery. He was going to give his soul to these men, and he would be happy to do so.

Peter nodded his head, looking as though he were deep in thought. 

“‘New experiences’, huh?” He repeated, a mocking mimic of Stiles’ own whispered response to Derek. 

Stiles said nothing, but felt a fierce fire light inside of him, but in no way was it in anger. Sure, the man was treating Stiles with such patronising ridicule when Stiles had barely said four words to the guy, but the burning heat he felt was pure humiliated arousal. The fact that he was the ‘guest’ and the two men were talking about him like he wasn’t even there, or worth even hearing from, like he was simply their new toy, he had never been so aroused in his life. 

“I wonder how long that list is,” Peter pondered, his eyes dark, but not meeting Stiles’. “Or.. how short.” 

Stiles glanced at Derek, who had raised his eyebrows slightly.

Peter smirked again. “I imagine there isn’t a lot you haven’t tried, hm?” 

Stiles looked down and felt his cheeks growing warm. 

“Bet you’ve been through the fuckin’ wringer and back, taking it however and whenever you can, little whore, yeah? Look at you.” 

Feeling both sets of eyes boring into him, Stiles’s heart fluttered. However, in a split moment’s decision, he gazed up at Peter from under his thick eyelashes and the edges of his lips quirked upwards in a sweet and shy smile. 

“What do you see?”

“I see someone not worth my time,” Peter said, exhaling deeply as he relaxed back against the couch. “If I’m being blunt.” He took another drag of his cigarette that was almost down to the filter. “But you’ll do for now.” 

Stiles’s cheeks were on fire. He had never been spoken to in such a degrading way, and yet he wanted nothing more in that moment than to prove this man, this Peter, wrong. He was worth his time. He would do anything he could to show just how worth his time he was.

Stiles’ breath caught in his throat when Peter moved to unbuckle his belt and button and zipper of his pants with his unoccupied hand. He shifted a bit and brought his cock, thick and heavy, half-hard into view. He stroked himself. “Why don’t you get that pretty little ass over here and suck my cock. You’re worthless just standing over there.”

Without another thought, Stiles promptly moved towards the lax man, who continued moving his hand on himself, downing the rest of his whiskey.

He dropped to his knees immediately between Peter's legs, licking his lips before reaching forward for his length. He gasped when a sudden sharp sting whipped his head to the side. His cheek burned and Stiles turned back in shock towards the man who had slapped him.

"I didn't fucking say you could put your needy hooker hands on me, bitch," Peter growled, using the same offensive hand to grab onto Stiles' short hair and tilt his face up, ignoring the younger man's mewl. "I said 'suck'."

Stiles held back the moan that crawled up his throat, the rough treatment making his own cock twitch in his pants. If he wasn't mindful he knew that he'd let the man do anything, everything.

Behind him, he heard Derek tut and put his glass down.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whined, leaning back into the man’s hand holding his hair, subconsciously wanting him to card his fingers through his locks. 

Peter dropped his grip on the boy, not wanting to give Stiles anything he was asking for. 

“Save it,” he grunted. “Nothing more pathetic than a half-assed apology.” He took a quick drag. “Just shut up and suck my cock.” 

Stiles nodded, and scooted forward a bit further on his knees. He looked up at Peter, his brown eyes wide and his pupils dilated. 

He hoped Derek was watching. He was putting on the show for him. 

“And don’t fucking look at me,” Peter said, coming off a pull of the very last of his whiskey, the ice in the glass clanging together. “Not unless I tell you to.” 

Stiles dropped his gaze, feeling inferior in every way possible. 

Peter’s cock lay heavy against his groin covered by a thin maroon sweater. Stiles leaned forward and ran the flat on his tongue up the man’s cock, over every vein and groove in the flesh, drooling on his way up to the head, making sure to keep his head down. 

Stiles was sat back on his legs and his hands were kept in his own lap, tugging, fidgeting at the wrists of his own sweater, pulling them over his hands again and again as he licked up, getting to the leaking head of Peter’s cock and wrapping his lips around the the girth of it. 

He was hyper-aware also of the presence behind him, the creaking of the cabin floor beneath Derek as he walked forward.

Stiles slowly and gradually took Peter in deeper, sucking when he lifted his mouth up and swirled his tongue as he bobbed back down. The feeling of the man’s thick vein against his tongue had him itching to play with his own erection, but he refrained and dug his nails into his palm in order not to.

Peter flexed his shoulders and hummed, taking a slow drag of a newly lit cigarette. He then leaned down to the least of his ability and exhaled the smoke onto Stiles and his task. The boy, breathing solely through his nose, jerked at the sudden toxicity, choking on the length that had reached his throat, his eyes rolling back into his head. If he wasn’t already floating with dizziness, the smoke made sure of that. Peter hissed and thrusted his hips upwards. 

Stiles pulled up quickly, heaving heavily through his mouth, his plush lips coated in spit. 

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Did I say stop?” 

Before Stiles could apologise or dip back down and get to work again, he felt the bristle of Derek’s facial hair on the side of his neck, and then a warm and open-mouthed kiss, as rough hands graced themselves down Stiles’s sides.

Stiles melted into the man’s kiss, his eyes closed and mind floating, accepting his tongue and lips, dancing, rubbing with his own. He moaned into the embrace feeling the man’s hands on his smooth hairless body under his jacket. Derek dipping his hands under Stiles’ sweater and shirt to travel slowly up his torso, finding their place cupping his pectorals and his fingers pinching and rubbing at his now hardened nipples.

He and Derek had been messaging for only a couple of days but his words held promise. He was kind and his messages were filthy. The messages were everything Stiles desired sexually and even piquing his hard-to-access romantic interests. 

He was on the site for a quick hookup but he found himself really enjoying the man’s company and messages and the way he made him feel beautiful and sexy and desired, all of those thoughts coming to a head at the unexpected embrace. 

Derek wasn’t like the boys Stiles had hooked up with in the past, he was older and more experienced, more gentle. All of Stiles’ past university one-night stands had been quick roll over and done affairs. There was never any sensuality, never any romantic touching, and hardly ever any kissing. Derek had Stiles melting, and he wanted to hold onto the feeling as long as possible. He could mold him into anything he wanted him and be and Stiles would go along with it. As long as it was Derek saying the words. 

He wanted to be good for Derek and his guest. He would please them both if it would make them happy. He was enjoying Peter’s rough treatments just the same as Derek’s sensual ones. The contrast was nice, accessing repressed parts of Stiles’ young brain. 

“We’re not trying to suffocate him to death, Peter,” Derek murmured at the side of Stiles’ mouth before turning to make eye contact with his Uncle. Stiles’ eyes remained closed as he nuzzled against the man’s neck.  

“What do you want, beautiful?” Derek said, his forehead pressing against Stiles’. 

Peter guffawed. “Really? Asking him what he wants? Cock, of course. All he’s good for.” 

His exclamation went ignored by both Stiles and Derek, pressing into each other, Stiles’ breath hitching at Derek’s calloused fingertips gently pinching his other nipple. 

“Do you want to try to take us both at once?” Derek asked.

Feeling dreamy and high off Derek's touch, Stiles could only moan and nod frantically in approval, arching his back against the older man's ministrations. 

He heard Peter chuckle at his response and felt Derek smile against his neck.

"Use your words, whore," Peter snapped, lunging forward to clasp tightly at Stiles' chin. "We haven't fucked you brainless just yet."

"Please," he breathed as best he could with Peter's hand smothering his lips together. "I want it, I want both of you."

"Course he fucking does," he muttered, roughly removing his hand and throwing his own sweater over his head, chucking it across the room. His jaw aching, Stiles ogled at the uncovered body.

Peter wasn't ripped, but he definitely worked out. His body was defined, but not nearly as much as Derek’s was. Peter was more stocky and filled out around the middle, and he had more body hair. Stiles wanted to curl up onto the man's chest and live there. But something about Peter’s demeanor told him he would never allow such a thing. 

"Your turn, flower," Derek purred into his ear, giving the lobe a gentle lick and bite that made Stiles whimper. "Undress for us."

Peter snubbed out his current cigarette and lit his third of Stiles’ stay, taking a deep drag before flicking the ashes over his own chest, hissing at the embers burning into his chest hair, no longer in need of the couch-side ashtray. He rolled his eyes, witnessing how flushed and frozen Stiles was to the spot. 

“Fucking get to it. M’trying to make it home before this goddamn storm hits.” 

“Give him a moment,” Derek said, petting the side of Stiles’ face with the hand that had previously been touching his body. “You can always sleep here if you need to. Not like you don’t already live on that couch anyway.” 

“What are Uncles for,” Peter laughed again. “If not to drink up all your whiskey and steal a carton or two.” 

Uncle? This is California, not Alabama. Fuck it, they’re both hot. 

Peter took another drag. 

“And fuck my hook-ups,” Derek said.

“You invited me, cunt.” 

“Because I know it’s been a while.” 

“Fuck you.” 

Stiles was ignoring their conversation, hearing it muffled in his head as though they were speaking through pillow. He ducked his head into the warmth of Derek’s neck, nuzzling and kissing there. 

Finally their bickering subsided and Stiles leaned back and began to undress. His sweater came off first and then his black t-shirt, his blue plaid boxers peeked out the top of his jeans. 

“Not a fucking hair on him,” Peter chuckled. “You sure he’s legal?” 

“He’s in his fourth year of college,” Derek said, keeping his eyes on Stiles’ as he undressed, staying on his knees for the moment. 

Stiles’s lip twitched with a smile, knowing Derek had been listening enough to their conversation to remember such a tiny detail about his life.

It was endearing to him, unlike a usual hook-up, where the ins and outs of your daily life were irrelevant, merely small talk while arranging the one time fuck, Derek actually seemed to care. And thinking about that made him wonder if it was possible for his cheeks to get any hotter.

He moved on to his jeans, leaning back against Derek as leverage to scoot himself out of the tight material clinging to his soft thighs. Kicking them off, he heard a scoff from Peter.

“What’s the point in a fuck doll even wearing underwear?” he commented, but Stiles didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes trailed appreciatively over his legs. “You probably only stain them with stranger’s come anyway, huh boy?”

Ironically, Stiles felt his cock leak against his boxers at Peter’s words, so before he could say another word, he hastily pulled the material down and threw them to the side. Derek immediately smoothed his hand down Stiles’ back, tracing his middle finger between Stiles’s ass cheeks, petting his furled hole. 

“So pretty,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I’ll need to get you stretched real wet and open if you’re going to take us both.”

Stiles allowed himself to moan aloud at that. In their messages, Derek had expressed how he wanted to eat Stiles out until he sobbed his release, and that he’d milk orgasm after orgasm out of him. Stiles had enjoyed himself, reading those messages alone with his hand. 

“Get onto his lap,” Derek said softly, tucking a strand of Stiles’ short hair behind his ear and nodding his head toward Peter. “And face me.” 

Stiles hesitated before looking over at Peter, not knowing what his reaction would be to his nephew’s instruction. He was taking another long drag of his cigarette. 

“You’re too nice to him,” Peter sighed, exhaling more smoke. “We should’ve been balls deep by now.” 

“Treat people with respect and you’ll get some in return,” Derek said. “Maybe that’s why you haven’t gotten anywhere in life.” 

“Oh, and you have?” 

“At the very least, I get responses from people on dating sites. You’re too busy sending unwarranted dick pics and blocking people who don’t immediately want to meet up and fuck.” 

“Why waste my time if I’m not getting laid? Not like I’m going to call them again afterward, anyway.” 

“Charming,” Derek said, flatly. “At least treat this one well. I might like him.” 

Stiles’ cheeks blushed again, looking over into Derek’s kind eyes. He liked him too. 

Peter gestured with his hand, beckoning the boy onto his lap, with another roll of his eyes. 

Stiles crawled up and settled himself with his back against Peter’s furry chest. Peter placed his arm over the boy’s torso and held him down with his other hand not holding his cigarette. 

“Tiny little cock,” he chuckled looking down at Stiles hard against his own groin, breathing more smoke into his face. He was a mere three inches fully erect. “Not much you can do with that thing.” 

“Spread your legs for me,” Derek said, his fingers gently raking against the tops of Stiles’ naked thighs, settling himself on his knees between Stiles’ and his Uncle’s legs. 

Stiles pulled his legs back to reveal his perfectly waxed hole, already prepared with lubricant, leaking down to pool against Peter’s groin beneath him.

Feeling rather than seeing Stiles’ ready entrance, Peter snickered, his breath surrounding and practically intoxicating Stiles, invading his lungs. “Fucking soaked, isn’t he?” he said, stroking at the boy’s tummy. “Can’t even stop himself leaking, such an open little whore.” 

Derek ignored him, using his hands to gently push Stiles’ inner thighs that much more open. Peter, using the same hand in which he held his cigarette, used his unoccupied fingers to keep the smooth thigh spread wide. “Stay still for Derek,” he barked, his hard grip threatening to leave marks on Stiles’ skin. Stiles was hopeful. “He might be a fucking softy but I’m still gonna make sure you don’t make this shit tedious.”

Leaning forward, the kinder man brushed his nose gently along Stiles’ perineum, causing Stiles to clench up in anticipation. He then ran his tongue up heavily against the boy’s opening, not stopping to break once as he began his onslaught. He used his thumbs to spread Stiles’ hole open, welcoming his ravenous tongue inside of his eager body. 

Stiles threw his head back against Peter’s shoulder and whined, struggling to keep his hips still. The tickling sensation of Derek’ short facial hair around his hole was driving Stiles round the bend, twitching as Derek insisted on tasting as much as he could inside of him.

“Fucking, quit squirming,” Peter hissed, landing a loud smack onto Stiles’ thigh, squeezing the soft reddening skin. Stiles bit down onto his lower lip to keep from making too much noise. The pain and pleasure was creating an overwhelming sensitivity that had Stiles curling his toes.

“I wanna hear his sweet voice, Peter,” Derek asserted, staying pressed against Stiles’ hole. 

“He hasn’t shut the fuck up the entire time.”

“Sounds like someone else who hasn’t,” Derek retorted and moved forward, continuing to pleasure Stiles, who was whining, his body flexing with every lick inside of him.

The back and forth between the two men who sandwiched him amongst them had Stiles leaking against his abdomen, their deep voices made him feel weak and powerless in the best way possible.

Derek began adding his fingers gradually, spreading Stiles open for more tongue access, and eventually both of their cocks.

“Fuck, please, please!” Stiles begged, not certain what exactly he was pleading for, when there was a sudden excruciating burn pressed into his groin, to the skin to the right of the base of his cock. Stiles wailed out, jerking forwards and came across his stomach, tears welling up in his eyes and beginning to stream down his cheeks.

“Shhhhh, baby,” Derek cooed, leaning up and meeting Stiles’ panting mouth with a soft kiss, then kissing his cheeks where his tears fell. “We got you, I’m here.”

Stiles looked to his left and saw that Peter had pressed his cigarette butt against his skin, not putting it out completely, but enough to leave a painful welt in its wake. ‘His mark. ’ Stiles thought, eyes widening in realisation as pride flushed through him. 

He belonged to someone. 

“God dammit,” Derek said, deep and agitated, running the pad of his thumb across the tiny burn next to the base of Stiles’ cock. “He isn’t one of your common whores you can just mark up.” 

“Fooled me,” Peter chuckled. 

Derek lowered his head to lave and leave kisses against the small red welt. “Does that feel better?” He whispered against Stiles’ skin. 

Peter guffawed. “You give him too much credit. He’s here after all. If he wasn’t a whore he wouldn’t have driven miles into the woods just for some cock. Would’ve turned me away at first sight. Nope, little slut had me in his mouth seconds after his arrival.” 

Stiles was lost to Derek’s soothing kisses and cold spit being rubbed into his reddened skin with the tip of his tongue. Derek, ignoring his dipshit Uncle, moved around the base of Stiles’ cock to lick up the come he had dribbled there too. 

“He does orgasm real pretty though, I will say.” Peter said, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Didn’t spurt, like a real man. Was cute, like a little feminine leak. Ain’t that right?” Peter left a kiss on Stiles’ cheek that had the boy turning to the side away from the man. 

“Aw, he doesn’t like me.” 

“Would you?” Derek said. 

“Just trying to take a leaf out of your book.” 

“Give him a kiss, Stiles,” Derek cooed, continuing to clean Stiles. “Peter, be gentle with him.”

Stiles turned hesitantly, to look at the older man, wishing not to displease him or make him angry any further, even if it was all rough play, he hated the idea of Peter actually not liking him. He had marked him, after all. 

The man looked expectantly at him, and Stiles could’ve sworn he’d seen a flash of remorse in his eyes, but he didn’t dare get his hopes up. 

“C’mere,” Peter encouraged, and Stiles leaned the rest of the way, easing his mouth open slightly to meet the other’s. The scruff of his facial hair itched and prickled against Stiles’ plump lips, but it was a sensation that Stiles found he wanted to get used to, especially when Peter’s tongue salved over his lips, soothing the bristle. Stiles opened his mouth eagerly, moaning into the man’s mouth as he traced his tongue over the his lips, as though he were applying a ghosting of gloss. His mouth smelt of smoke, and Stiles was heedy off the embrace.

Derek watched intensely, his mouth quirking upward at the sight as he nosed gently at Stiles’ spent cock, that twitched at he and his Uncle’s attention.

Peter cupped Stiles’s jaw with his free hand, pulling him in closer and sucking solely on the young man’s tongue. Stiles felt as though he was only breathing in air that the other had already exhaled, like life from now on would go through Peter’s whiskey and tobacco flavoured filter before reaching him. 

He couldn’t say he minded at all.

The man then tilted Stiles’ chin up, pulling back from their kiss, and grinned at him. Stiles could see his jaw work before he leaned down towards him again and Stiles knew exactly what he was in for. His cock was half-hard again already. Peter slowly, filthily let his saliva drip down from his lips, some catching onto his beard, and into Stiles’ open mouth. The boy’s eyes rolled back in arousal and he moaned lowly, letting it pool on his tongue and savouring it, before swallowing, his pupils dilated.

Peter pulled back from their steamy embrace and left a solid slap playful against Stiles’ face, emitting a moan from the wriggling boy. Stiles opened his eyes to look up at Peter, half-lidded and full of lust. 

Stiles hasn’t expected the burly man to make his toes curl from his lips on his alone. 

Peter chuckled at the boy’s reaction. “Look at that, he’s looking up at me like a little puppy. I think I stole your date.” 

“Let’s take him to the bedroom,” Derek ignored him. “I want him to be more comfortable.”

“Aw, come on,” Peter lit himself another cigarette while Stiles’ eyes were closed, nuzzling back into the man’s chest hair, focusing on the little pleasured shocks of the tickling against his groin and the familiar smell of smoke mixed with Derek’s gentle kisses. “Who gives a fuck? Just slide in.” Peter has started stroking himself below Stiles’s body, his cock head stroking Stiles’  inner thigh from underneath. 

“Come on,” Derek said, ignoring Peter and sitting up and holding his hand out for Stiles’, tapping his hand with his own to get his attention. 

Stiles accepted the gesture and stood. Derek immediately wrapped his arms around the lithe hairless boy and lifted him up. Stiles’ legs wrapped around the larger man and clung to him as he easily carried him into the other room. 

Peter groaned and sat up, grabbing his pack of cigarettes and the half-full bottle of whiskey from the table in his wake before following them.

Stiles let himself be carried to another room in the cabin, not fully aware of which direction they were going in, snuggling close to Derek and bathing in his leathery scent. He opened his eyes a little to see Peter walking behind them, assets in hand and looking at Stiles with almost a softness in his eyes, one that Stiles knew he wouldn’t get the luxury of seeing if he’d fully opened his own eyes and Peter had noticed.

The boy was placed down onto soft, cotton sheets with a quiet grunt from Derek and Stiles gathered himself up onto his knees, awaiting the man’s next move.

Derek took a step back from the bed, but didn’t once take his eyes off Stiles as he pulled his sweater over his head revealing the sculpted torso Stiles had memorized from all of the photographs he had seen. 

Derek watched in amusement as Stiles practically drooled over the sight of him. He continued down, unbuckling his belt and chucking that aside, then undoing his fly and tugging his trousers down. Stiles’ mouth dropped, realising man had gone commando. His tongue pressed into his cheek. 

He knew of course what Derek’s cock looked like, had seen it in both photo and video format, but to see it for himself in person was something else. 

Stiles personally wanted to thank God and shake his hand for creating such beauty. 

Peter sauntered over to the bedside table, putting down the bottle of Irish whiskey and his pack of cigarettes before peering at Stiles ogling his nephew.

“Get’s all that physique from his Uncle,” he rumbled into the boy’s ear, watching him lick his lips subconsciously.

“He’s beautiful,” Stiles said, lost in the sight in front of him. 

“Yeah yeah,” Peter rolled his eyes. “What about me?” He grabbed at Stiles’ chin and turned his head to face him. “M’not beautiful?” He took a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle, some of it dripping into his beard. He gasped shallow from his pull and offered the drink to Stiles. 

Stiles accepted the bottle and took a pull of his own. 

“You have your charm,” he said, his tongue playing on the rim of the bottle for a moment before winking and handing the bottle back to the burly man. 

“Gunna fuck you silly, you fuckin’ brat,” Peter groaned under his own breath, as if talking to himself more than to the boy. He stood and flicked his cigarette ashes onto the floor. He was completely nude and was stroking his own cock again, rubbing the tip against his own stomach in anticipation. 

Stiles licked his lips heavy at the sight.

Derek laid down on the bed and laced his fingers with Stiles’. Stiles didn’t notice Derek’s hand until they were touching and he turned to see Derek’s head propped against a pillow. “Lay on top of me, gorgeous.” 

Stiles allowed himself to be pulled until he was straddling him. His ass over the tops of Derek’s thighs, their cocks rubbing together. Derek ran his hands over Stiles’ smooth body as the angelic boy stared down at him. Stiles laced his fingers with Derek’s as he explored him, the man’s hands guiding the movement. 

Derek’s hands moved up until they were carding through Stiles’ hair and tugging him down. They were laying chest to chest, Stiles’ thighs opened on either side of the man, nuzzling until Derek was capturing Stiles’ lips in a kiss again. 

“C’mon, fucking softies,” Peter mumbled, clasping onto Stiles’ locks and pulling harshly to hitch Stiles’ head up and off Derek. “My cock’s been hard and cold for too fucking long.”

“Charming,” Derek replied with a sigh and eye roll, and trailed his hands down from Stiles’ hair to trace lightly down to his hips. “Alright, beautiful. Do you think you’re ready?” 

Stiles nodded, beaming down at the man.

“We’ll go slow and get you settled, alright?” Derek assured.

Hearing an impatient sigh from his Uncle, Derek shot Peter a warning look before encouraging Stiles with his hands to kneel up so he could position his cock between the boy’s legs. He noticed the young man bite his lip in eagerness, holding back a whine as he began to lower himself down onto Derek’s length.

Stiles tilted his head back in relief as he gradually took the man into his warm, sopping wet hole. 

It was what he’d waited for for weeks, once a fantasy, now coming to fruition. A deep moan escaped his throat from the intrusion. Derek filled him up so well, Stiles could barely feel any pain coming from his earlier burn wound, the only thing within him, his new lover. He could’ve sworn he could feel every indentation and vein on the man’s cock. Stiles promised himself that he’d memorize it.

He bounced up and down, whining all the while, completely past any self-consciousness he would’ve felt from his volume. His eyes closed and focused selfishly on himself and his own pleasure for the moment. 

Stiles’ first time ever going bare, and already he was drunk off the feeling. He allowed Derek’s hands to clutch into his hips and he rode him, his own hands finding purchase on Derek’s chest and shoulder. 

Peter chuckled, knee-walking on the bed, cigarette in hand, behind the boy, opening his stance to either side of Derek’s legs. “The party starts,” he said under his breath. 

He bent and stared at Stiles’ hole, stuffed full with cock, taking deep drags of his cigarette as he enjoyed the show, breathing smoke against were they were joined. 

“Takin’ that like a pro,” he nodded, exhaling smoke again over Stiles’s sweat-sheened back as he raised up. “You sure I’ll fit?” 

Stiles slowed his stride, his hands reached behind himself to spread his cheeks, giving the man behind him an even better look, the sin of it heating his own skin. He was just teasing him, not expecting much. 

Peter stuck his index finger out, turned facing upward and traced the boy’s hole before pressing in alongside Derek’s cock. He chuckled when Stiles didn’t even tense at the added girth. 

“Plenty of room. Can you even feel that, Princess? Or has your cunt been used so much you can’t even tell the difference?” 

Stiles flexed his muscles, hugging Derek’s cock and Peter’ digit in his hole and stilling his hips. Peter’s cock twitched from where it hung heavy. “Fuck,” he sighed.

“You’re fucking lucky I feel like stretching you out, otherwise you’d be in for a fucking rough time,” Peter muttered, pressing in a second finger and beginning to gape Stiles’ hole while establishing a rhythm bouncing on the other man.

“There you go, baby” Derek grunted, throwing his head back against the pillow as Stiles rode out his pleasure. “So pretty.”

As Peter added a third finger and continued to split Stiles apart, he leaned forward to whisper filth into the young man’s ear. 

“You’re just about ready to swallow me up, huh slut?” he growled. “Best be warned, I’m bigger than your little date and together we’ll rip you in half.”

Stiles sobbed loudly, leaning back against the firm and hairy chest behind him as Peter removed his fingers from his sopping wet hole. Not wishing any unnecessary pain on the boy, he grabbed the bottle of lube from the bedside table and squirted some more onto his cock as an extra precaution before lining himself up with Stiles’ stretched out hole, lining the rim. 

Derek slowly pulled the boy down against him, feeling Peter ready to join them. “Look into my eyes,” he cooed. “It’ll be okay.” 

Stiles hadn’t been scared, still wasn’t, soothed by the beautiful man’s voice. He nodded his agreement. 

“Hold onto me,” Derek directed before pulling him down for a quick open peck. He continued fucking up into Stiles, slowing down his speed for Peter to slide in. 

Peter clutched Stiles’ hip as he slowly pressed in. Stiles gasped at the added girth, looking down into Derek’s eyes, who focused on petting his face and speaking affirmations of how well he was doing every moment. 

Peter’s fingers had done little to prepare Stiles for the stretch, but the boy was determined to take it, wanting to make the men happy, especially Derek. He felt like he could accomplish anything, if he continued speaking to him the way he did. He could listen to his voice forever. 

Peter’s hips pressed forward again, filling the boy further, and Stiles let out a broken sob. 

“Slowly,” Derek spoke to Peter. 

“M’going as slow as I fuckin’ can.” 

Peter paused to accommodate the boy and allow him to get used to the stretch every inch until he was fully buried inside next to Derek. 

Stiles cried and Derek leaned up and pressed gentle kisses against Stiles’ smooth chest, sucking on his nipples and muttering a string of praise and loving affirmations to the boy. 

“You okay?”

Stiles nodded. 

“Fuck,” Peter drawled out, pausing to let himself feel the throbbing tight heat around him, and letting Stiles adjust fully to the stretch. 

“Please... fucking please,” Stiles cried softly, neck straining with his head tilted up to the ceiling. “Move. Please.”

It hurt a lot when one of them was still. 

“Focus on me,” Derek pet Stiles’ face, guiding his attention back down to him. “There he is,” he cooed, petting the boy’s trembling face and quivering lips. 

“Slowly, Peter.” he reiterated. “Don’t hurt him,” he said, continuing to stare into the boy’s teary eyes, trying to calm him.

“Like I could,” he chuckled, pressing his hips forward a bit. “Fuck, he’s tight,” he spoke to himself at a whisper, finding purchase on the boy’s lower back. 

Stiles let out a long whimper that Derek kissed away immediately. He pet his hair and shushed him. “You can do this.” 

Stiles nodded. He could.

He rocked his hips forward and back a little, as though testing the waters, whimpering at the pressure. As he adjusted to that slow continuous movement, Stiles found himself beginning to relish the overwhelming stimulation and faint hint of pain of both men fully inside him. 

Derek gazed up at him with something akin to pride or worship in his eyes as Stiles moved, developing a short rhythm. "There you go," the man whispered.

Behind Stiles, Peter groaned, intently watching where his cock stretched the boy. "Fuckin natural," he said, starting to jerk his hips upwards in time with Stiles' rock towards him. "'New experience', my ass."

Stiles keened when both men met his thrust, rubbing against that spot inside him. 

He wailed out. 

“Sounds so pretty for us,” Derek cooed, petting Stiles’ hair back from his sweaty forehead as he rocked forward, a whimper reverberating off his lips. He shushed him again. “Gunna plug up that pretty hole after we’re done,” Derek said. “Give you something to remember us by.” 

Derek’s hand moved to cup the whimpering boy’s cheek and Stiles blindly wrapped his lips around Derek’s thumb and began to suck, his cries muffled from the thick digit in his mouth. 

Peter’s hand moved to card through Stiles’ hair and found a strong purchase in the base of his scalp and held firm. The curve of the boy’s back taking both of their cocks was impossible, the boy was made for it. How he was able to remain so composed, so gorgeous, even with his body being pushed to the limit, was beyond him. 

“God damn, gorgeous,” he blew smoke out from between his lips again, using his hand wrapped around his cigarette to spread Stiles’s cheek to the side to get a better view of his and his nephew’s cocks spreading the boy.

As Stiles sobbed behind the older man's thumb, he felt almost as though he was having an out of body experience, and yet at the same exact time, he'd never felt more secure or solid in his body than in that moment. Part of him was floating, while the other was hyper aware of the men’s hands on him, at the stretch he was just the right size to handle. 

Of course, Stiles was always confident and knew he was good-looking, as he would shamelessly flaunt himself at bars, clubs, and around campus at other boys his age. Drunk off the power of having them fall over him. But there was something about this affair that left Stiles feeling nothing short of euphoric in his being. 

Fuck those boys, he had men now. 

He wanted everything Derek and Peter had to offer, the thought of them spilling inside of him, marking him so intimately had him inwardly beaming, more tears flowing down his cheeks.

"Please," he cried, his pleading stifled by Derek's digit. He moved the man’s thumb from his mouth and placed it on his own pectoral. Derek took the cue and began rubbing the wetness into his bud. "Fill me, both of you, please! I want...I want it so bad."

Derek shushed Stiles again, stroking his face, catching the boy’s tears against his own face. He pulled the boy down to kiss his wet face and nuzzle him again. “We’ve got you, Princess.” 

Stiles’ hole tightened around the two men, as he rocked forward himself, sobbing a whine out against the curve of Derek’s neck as he came untouched again, his hands gripping at Derek’s arms, squeezing and lax again and again. His body bucking forward of its own accord. 

“That’s it,” Derek cooed, petting the boy’s hair over Peter’s hand still buried there. He thrust up from his laying position and gripped the boy, holding him in a hug and lacing his fingers with Peter’s against the boy’s head. 

Their boy. 

“Fuck,” Peter groaned, continuing to thrust forward.

"You want us both to come inside?" Derek said softly to the overstimulated boy in his arms. "Gonna keep you nice and warm and plugged up?"

He felt Stiles' frantic nodding in the crook of his neck, his tears merging with the older man's sweat there, still riding the aftershocks of his orgasm. 

"You close?" Peter grunted, glancing at his nephew as he continued thrusting into Stiles' hole, his pace faltering as he neared his own release. He blindly put his cigarette out against his own thigh and tossed it across the room. 

“He’s got that effect on me."

"Well I'm not coming first," Peter panted, laughing breathily. "I know I can last longer"

"Don't get to come very often, no?"

"Fuck off."

It was an almost inaudible mewl that Stiles had squeaked out that brought Derek over the edge. He tipped his head back and grunted as he released inside the sweet boy. 

Peter followed seconds after, groaning loudly as his thrusts stammered into a stop, spurting deep into Stiles, trailing a slew of crude profanities from his lips. 

Both men continued thrusting, milking their pleasure from the boy’s gaped hole as the man held tightly in Derek’s arms whimpered and keened. 

Peter finally pulled out, his chest heaving as he left a playful slap of his cock against the leaking hole before stroking himself a couple times to salve off his aftershocks. He collapsed sideways onto the bed and hid his face into the crook of his own arm, trying to regain his breath. 

Derek pulled out moments later, only to blindly trace the tips of his fingers around the rim of the boy’s messy and stretched hole. He kissed the side of Stiles’ face as he pressed a couple fingers into the boy again, causing Stiles to whine. 

He shushed Stiles, who was on the very cusp of falling asleep, as he felt how wet the boy was. From the lubricant, to the two loads of come. The boy was wrecked, while Stiles laid feeling sated, and yet almost delirious, feeling Derek’s fingers blindly and delicately explore him. 

Derek could feel the boy falling asleep in his arms, his body dead weight on top of him. He too began to doze off.

“Peter, turn the light off,” he said under his breath.

The sound of the storm roaring outside the cabin had become clear to the three men. Once was an ambient sound while drunk with lust, now was a threat. 

Nobody would be going anywhere that night. 

Peter groaned, from either his age, sore muscles, or of being awoken from his half-awake stupor, and crawled to the side of the bed to turn off the bedside lamp. He collapsed again on the other side of the king-sized bed, multiple feet from the entwined men. He began to doze off again when he felt a gentle tapping and yanking on his shoulder. 

“What?” he groaned, assuming his nephew wanted to bother him again.

He turned to see Stiles in the dark with his head on Derek’s chest. It had been he who had tapped him. 

His hand reached to curl with Peter’s hand and laced his fingers with his, pulling him closer. 

Derek was already snoring softly. 

“What do you want?” Peter said, his voice the gentlest it had been that entire evening, too tired to understand what Stiles was asking. 

Stiles was silent, yanking on his hand again until he got the hint. He wanted him to join in on the sensual way they were holding each other. To cuddle him. 

“I don’t do that,” Peter scoffed. 

“You do now,” Stiles said.

Peter sighed, rolling over and scooting close, his inhibitions regretfully lowered in his drowsy state. The boy was beautiful and very convincing. He wrapped his arm around Stiles and ducked his face into his upper back, quickly dozing off along with the other two men. The boy’s body fallen to Derek’s side and stayed wrapped around him, their breaths all falling into sync. 

The storm continued raging outside, beating unrelentlessly against the walls of the cabin. The rain picked up steam half-way through the night, the building waning and creaking around their unconscious bodies, but nothing roused the three men. They were all happy and content for the moment, within the safety of the warm cabin, and in one another’s arms.