
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1158816.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Chris_Argent/Stiles_Stilinski, Rafael_McCall/Stiles_Stilinski, Rafael
      McCall/Stiles_Stilinski/Chris_Argent, Rafael_McCall/Chris_Argent
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Chris_Argent, Rafael_McCall
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe, Orphans, Orphan_Stiles, Porn, Smut, Extremely_Dubious
      Consent, Sexual_Abuse, Authority_Figures, Father-Son_Relationship,
      Father/Son_Incest, Pseudo-Incest, Daddy_Kink, Daddy_Issues, Adoption,
      Underage_Sex, Threesome_-_M/M/M, Marriage, Married_Couple, Open_Marriage,
      Polyamory, Drama, Dark, Seduction, Depraved, Twisted, Twisted_and_Fluffy
      Feelings, Amorality, Age_Difference, Cross-Generation_Relationship,
      DILFs, Loss_of_Virginity, Anal_Sex, Oral_Sex, Fingerfucking, Emotional
      Manipulation, Abuse_of_Authority, Father_Figures, No_Dialogue, Disturbing
      Themes, Triggers, Begging, Barebacking, Unsafe_Sex, Bukkake, Facials,
      Guns, Target_Practice, Bad_Touch, Inappropriate_Behavior, Same-Sex
      Marriage, Forbidden, Desire, Loss_of_Innocence, Statutory_Rape, Multiple
      Orgasms, Marathon_Sex, Rough_Sex, Abusive_Parents, Parent/Child_Incest,
      Explicit_Sexual_Content, Badwrong
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-29 Words: 1470
****** A Common Hunger ******
by Saucery
Summary
     Chris and Rafa have a new son. Trouble is, they want him in ways they
     shouldn't.
     HEED THE WARNINGS.
Notes
     In this universe, Chris married Rafael rather than Victoria, and thus
     never had Allison, just as Rafael married Chris rather than Melissa,
     and thus never had Scott.
See the end of the work for more notes
===============================================================================
 
Chris and Rafa have been married for a decade. In those years, they've matured,
fought, made peace, made love, and discovered that they really are meant to be
together. It's time they added to their family; Chris, in particular, has
always dreamed of being a parent. So he and Rafa adopt the recently orphaned
Stiles Stilinski, sixteen and vulnerable and all alone in the world.
Well, he isn't alone anymore. Stiles arrives at their home with his gangly,
awkward limbs and his shyness and his sweetness and his warmth, and although
Stiles has every reason to be uncomfortable with his new guardians, he tries
his best to be a good boy, a good son, like he'd been for his dad. He wants so
much for this to succeed - he wants so much to belong again - that he does
everything he can to win Chris's and Rafa's approval. He helps out around the
house and cooks dinner for them and blushes whenever he's complimented on his
cooking, like he doesn't deserve compliments, but he does, because he's
beautiful and generous and giving. Chris and Rafa can't believe how lucky they
are.
Things get complicated when Stiles's need for approval changes, when it grows
in unexpected ways. Neither Rafa nor Chris get why exactly Stiles's blushes
have become a constant phenomenon, but when they find out that it's because
Stiles had accidentally seen them having sex through their slightly ajar
bedroom door one night, they sit him down and have a talk with him, like normal
parents, reassuring him that it's okay, that he hasn't done anything to be
ashamed of, that they'll be sure to close the door from now on.
And that should be it - problem solved - except it isn't. They know that Stiles
is aroused by the idea of them fucking; they know that, on some level, Stiles
sees them as sexual beings, and likes it.
That's when Chris's feelings darken into something else - something greedy and
guilty and wrong - and what begins as a simple desire to make Stiles smile
transforms into a desire to have Stiles near, to stand behind him in the yard
as Chris teaches him how to shoot guns, to place a guiding hand on Stiles's
wrist and adjust Stiles's grip, to feel the heat of Stiles's back against his
chest, to hear Stiles's breath stutter when Chris eases his shoe between
Stiles's feet and gently urges his legs apart, ostensibly to correct Stiles's
stance. Stiles never manages to hit a single can, and maybe that's because
Chris is distracting him, or maybe it's because Stiles's fingers are trembling.
Rafa isn't any less immune to Stiles. Whenever he sees Stiles emerging from the
bathroom after a shower, sleek and slender and lissome, with droplets of water
glittering jewel-like on his flushed, damp skin, Rafa has to wonder if it's
deliberate, if Stiles is consciously putting on a show, or whether his
seductiveness is a natural extension of his youth, and he doesn't understand
what he's doing, at all. The tiny towel around Stiles's waist scarcely covers
his thighs - his soft, soft thighs, that Rafa suddenly yearns to lick, to bite,
to claim as his own. Stiles has already given so much to him - unconditional
love and endless devotion - that Rafa wants to return it by looking after
Stiles in bed, by training Stiles in how to suck a cock without choking, or how
to move his hips when he's getting fucked.
It's wrong. It's so horribly wrong, but they can't resist, and they can tell
that Stiles feels it, too, even though he sometimes looks at them with a
terrified sort of innocence, an innocence that should make them feel worse but
instead makes them want more, makes them want to see Stiles wanton and lost,
sobbing through his release, no longer ignorant about his body's needs.
God, he's so - Stiles is so perfect for them, a gift neither of them deserve,
but they're going to claim it anyway, because it's theirs. Stiles is theirs.
They don't even have to discuss it; they've been married long enough to know
themselves and their bond inside and out, to instinctively recognize what they
both hunger for. They just meet each other's eyes over Stiles's head, on a
Friday evening, while Stiles is reclining between them on the sofa, watching
television and blinking sleepily at the screen, warm and pliant, trusting and
relaxed. Stiles doesn't even stiffen in surprise when Chris tilts his chin up
and kisses him - a chaste, affectionate kiss, more fatherly than not. All
Stiles does is make a murmuring, questioning sound - and that sound goes
straight to Rafa's dick, thickening it and lengthening it, so he has to slip a
hand under Stiles's T-shirt, has to feel that hot, smooth skin, miles and miles
of it, punctuated by a pair of small, tight nipples.
Stiles gasps, jolting to life like a struck nerve, because this isn't chaste,
because it can't be explained away, because there's no excuse for it. His eyes
are wide and shocked and, yes, a little wet, but Chris deepens the kiss as
carefully as he can, making it slick and slow, making it serious, convincing
Stiles that Chris will be there for him, that they both will, forever.
And they are. They're there for him during his first orgasm at someone else's
hands (Rafa's hands, rough and callused on his dick, working it and working
it), and his first blowjob (Chris's mouth, expert and skilled), and his first
experience with anal play (Rafa's finger sinking into him, glossy with spit).
Afterward, Rafa carries Stiles, naked and shivering, up the stairs. Stiles's
arms are locked around Rafa's neck, like he needs shelter, like he needs
protection from what's happening to him, because it's too intense to bear.
They fuck him in their bedroom and hush him when he begs, Chris tenderly wiping
the tears from Stiles's cheeks as he slides himself into Stiles's kiss-swollen
mouth, inch by molten inch. It's as powerful as Chris had imagined, as
intoxicating and dizzying, and the sense of defiling Stiles, of doing the
forbidden, only makes it better. Richer. Sharper.
Stiles is slippery with sweat and sticky with his own semen, because he can't
stop coming. When Rafa finally pushes his cock into Stiles after an entire hour
of steady, relentless prep, Stiles screams, so ready for it that he arches,
that he curves right off the sheets, his fists tangling in them, his erection
twitching and spurting a fresh dribble of pre-come onto his stomach. It must
hurt to be hard, being sore and sensitive after having come so many times, but
he pleads with Rafa to give it to him faster, to speed up a bit, just a bit,
please, please, please.
But Rafa doesn't quicken his pace, because this has to be unforgettable for
Stiles, because Stiles has to remember Rafa as the man who taught him this
about himself, who taught Stiles that he's made to be fucked. Only when Stiles
starts shuddering uncontrollably, his eyes rolling back, does Rafa allow his
hips to snap forward, slamming into Stiles over and over again, until Stiles
tosses his head and cries.
Chris comforts him, wraps a broad palm around Stiles's leaking dick and strokes
it in counterpoint to Rafa's thrusts, giving Stiles what he craves, making
Stiles come. Chris uses his other hand to jack off onto Stiles's face, and the
sight of Stiles marked like this, dirtied like this, makes Chris grunt like
he's been punched, because he can barely take it, because he's doing this to
his precious boy, god help him, and he's loving it.
Rafa's clearly loving it, too, teeth bared in a snarl as he jerks one last time
and fills Stiles to the brim. Stiles's hole squelches obscenely when Rafa
withdraws, sloppy with Rafa's leavings, and as Rafa runs a soothing thumb along
its red, inflamed, glistening rim, Stiles sighs exhaustedly, mewling in
complaint.
Stiles goes boneless after that, eyelids heavy and legs still spread, because
he's too weak to bring them together. Chris wipes him down with a cool
washcloth and then turns him onto his belly to expose his ass, rubbing cream
into his anus to reduce the pain that will inevitably follow.
But Stiles is too far gone for pain or pleasure, now, his eyes swept clean of
everything, transported beyond ecstasy into a state that's almost sacred,
almost free. Stiles doesn't protest when Chris and Rafa settle on either side
of him, pressing their bodies against each other, and if it seems for an
instant that the blankness of Stiles's expression crumples, surely it's an
illusion, because soon, Stiles is falling asleep to endearments whispered in
his ears. He's safe here. He's cherished. And, most importantly, he has a home.
 
===============================================================================
                                     fin.
End Notes
     Like my writing? Check out my_blog!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
