
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1410628.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Rafael_McCall/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Rafael_McCall, Derek_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      dubcon, blowjob, Accidental_Voyeurism, bad_men_doing_bad_things_to
      stiles, Jossed, Nonnies_Made_Me_Do_It, PWP
  Collections:
      Anonymous
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-04-03 Words: 2108
****** Slight of Hand ******
by Anonymous
Summary
     In order to retrieve some things from his father's office, Stiles
     needs to set up a distraction for Agent McCall.
Notes
     I wrote this between 3A and 3B, I think; literally all the info we
     had was that Scott's dad was in Beacon Hills to try and get Sheriff
     Stilinski out of a job. Thus, please do not look too hard at the plot
     or the timeline.
It was one of the worst ideas Stiles had ever had, and he was counting that
time he decided to go dig up a body and got Scott turned into a werewolf.
Maybe if they had more time to sneak into his dad's office before Mr. McCall
searched it, he would've been able to come up with something better, but he
hadn't. Derek had listened in on the conversation inside the station and
realized they had five minutes or so to distract the asshole before he rifled
through the Sheriff's desk drawers and uncovered something very incriminating.
Obstruction of justice, ignoring evidence in an ongoing murder investigation-
levels of incriminating if you didn't know about werewolves.
"H-hey, Mr. McCall," Stiles said as he breezed into the station. "I'm here to
see my dad."
Perrish looked like he was going to allow Stiles into the back without any
further objection, but McCall stepped in his way. "You know we can't do that.
He's in holding, pending a murder investigation."
Stiles swallowed down the rage that came roaring to the front the same way it
did every time he thought about his father sitting in his own holding cells. He
jammed his clenched fists in his pockets and looked up at Mr. McCall through
his eyelashes. Scott's dad had always hated him, but since he came back to find
Stiles grown up there had also been something else between them. He gentled his
voice and tried to sound as pathetic as possible: "You know he didn't do it,
c'mon."
"Stiles..." McCall glanced back at Parrish, who was watching the conversation
with undisguised interest. "Why don't we step into the office and talk?"
Stiles tried not to panic. He needed McCall away from his dad's office for
Derek to sort through it, but he had no logical reason for asking to talk
elsewhere. Maybe once things got started he could plead for them to take it to
the bathroom or one of the interrogation rooms? He followed McCall down the
familiar hallway to the office where Stiles spent half his adolescence.
McCall door closed with a final-sounding click and offered Stiles what he
guessed was meant to be a comforting smile. It made him look like a shark.
Stiles squirmed a little as he sat down, and he wasn't sure if it was acting.
Instead of taking his father's chair, McCall picked the other visitor's chair,
closer to Stiles. It also made things less weird when he didn't occupy the
space that Stiles considered to belong to his father; maybe that was why he did
it.
"How are you doing?" The question surprised Stiles, though maybe it shouldn't.
McCall always liked to pretend he was the good guy, even when he was three
sheets to the wind and yelling at Scott. "Are you staying with Melissa while
your dad's away?"
"I turned seventeen two weeks ago," Stiles answered. "I'm not a kid, and my dad
won't be away that long, anyway."
Silence stretched. McCall tried to meet his eyes, but Stiles stared at his
shoes instead.
"Stiles..." A big hand landed on Stiles' knee and he tried not to jump. He
inhaled a loud breath instead; that could sound like anything at all. "You
really don't think he did this? Even with his history of being unstable?"
"I know he didn't. He's not even capable of it."
The hand came up a few inches, closer to the fold of Stiles' hip than his knee
now. The warm weight of it might have weighed a thousand pounds. He squirmed
again, unsure if he should try to get it away or invite it closer. "We never
expect the people closest to us to be the bad guys, Stiles."
McCall's fingers brushed Stiles' inseam. He looked up, meeting McCall's eyes.
"Yeah. We never do."
McCall either missed the irony or ignored it; either way, he took the
opportunity to bracket Stiles' face with both his hands and study it intently.
Stiles tried to look as open and innocent as he could, but he sucked at playing
innocent. Still, licking his lips like a girl in a movie seemed to do the
trick. McCall breathed out like someone had kicked him and Stiles took the
invitation to lean in and suck the rest of the air from his lungs.
When they broke apart, Stiles expected McCall to protest. He was suprrised,
then, when McCall said: "Let me take care of you."
"Take care-?" Stiles' question was cut off when McCall kissed him and dragged
him up, pushing both of their bodies together. Stiles felt an erection McCall's
cheap suit pants and his own jeans.
Somehow they wound up with Stiles pressed into a supply cabinet with the
ancient plywood shelving digging into his back while McCall dropped to his
knees in front of him. Stiles froze except for his eyes, which stretched wide
on his face. "What are you-?"
McCall laughed at him even as he palmed Stiles' dick through his jeans. "I know
you've watched enough porn to know where this is going. You've never been all
that quiet about what you like.."
"I thought..." Stiles clamped his mouth shut and shrugged. Really better not to
give the guy any ideas.
"When I fuck you, Stiles," McCall said, not bothering to look up, "it's going
to be in a bedroom where I can have you comfortable and take our time. Your
first time should be special."
Stiles sucked in a deep breath and jerked, banging his head against one of the
shelves. It hurt like hell, but it made him look away from McCall long enough
to focus on what was happening outside the tiny closet: Derek, werewolf-silent,
slipping through the window.
"Fuck," Stiles said, with feeling. Derek stopped with one leg still out of the
window, but McCall just smirked and shook his head. That reminded Stiles - if
McCall turned his head at all, he would see Derek from his position halfway
into the closet, and they'd be screwed. Figuratively.
In a panic, he clapped both his hands to the sides of McCall's head and forced
him to look up at Stiles instead of anywhere else. "I want - I want that.
Soon."
McCall made no attempt to free himself from Stiles' grasp as he worked open the
button of Stiles' jeans with one hand and pulled the zipper down without
looking. "Sure. You've got a big, empty house right now. I'm sure there's a bed
big enough for both of us somewhere."
His parents' bed. Stiles' imagination flashed to McCall there, on top of him,
inside of him, and it made his stomach roll. He couldn't tell if it was
revulsion or lust and he didn't care when McCall's hands rested on either side
of his shaky hips. They burned hot strips where they pushed his skinny jeans
and underwear down in one smooth motion; he hadn't known that your hips could
be an erogenous zone until the ordinary touch nearly buckled his knees.
"Hmm?" Stiles jerked. McCall wanted an answer for his statement - and Stiles
couldn't say no, not with Derek rifling through the Sheriff's desk not ten feet
away. He couldn't say no to anything. "-I'd like that. You seem like you, um,
you really know what you're doing here."
Stiles hoped that sounded like a lie.
"I know better than you," McCall said. "Try to relax."
Stiles nodded but kept his hands where they were on either side of McCall's
head. It made him feel grounded. If he could keep control over one little
thing, he wouldn't feel like he was losing control of his entire body. Bad
enough that his brain betrayed him constantly these days.
"I'm perfect -" McCall jerked his pants down, taking his underwear with it.
They dragged on his dick, uncomfortable friction that lasted only a few seconds
and then faded to a memory of a sting. "-ly relaxed. Oh my god."
"Stiles." McCall sounded disappointed, so Stiles forced himself to look down.
He was - he wasn't hard, for the first time ever. Someone finally wanted to
touch his dick and he couldn't even get it up.
"Sorry. This, uh, doesn't usually happen to me?"
"You're nervous. It's understandable." Stiles remembered the clipped tone in
his voice, the way he'd hold back from yelling at Scott when Stiles was in the
house. Scott would make Stiles stay for hours, just to hold off the storm of
his father's anger. McCall's nails dug into Stiles' thighs, hard enough to
hurt. Stiles thought maybe he'd ruined some kind of fantasy - he wasn't the
desperate, eager virgin McCall wanted.
"I want you, though," Stiles said. Out in the office, Derek's head jerked up.
"I always ... for a long time."
That produced a reaction: McCall licked his lips and eased his hands off
Stiles' hips, leaving halfmoon bruises behind them. They hovered over Stiles'
groin, instead, and McCall looked at him like he was waiting for permission.
Stiles didn't want to tell him to go for it, not with Derek right there and
listening, but he worried with every passing second that he was losing McCall's
interest. He steeled himself and said: "Help me relax?"
"All you had to do was ask." McCall broke eye contact, finally, and ducked his
head. Stiles thought - from what he'd seen in porn, mostly, and half-remembered
locker room bullshit - that McCall would just stick it in his mouth and get on
with it. It surprised him when McCall kissed the inside of his thigh, first,
and moved upward with a trail of them. Stiles' dick twitched with interest.
He wondered if he had done the same to Melissa, back when they were married.
Idly thinking of her was nothing new, but this felt more real: now that he'd
seen what McCall looked like on his knees, Stiles could imagine what he looked
like buried face-first in his ex-wife and it was wrong, but it worked for
Stiles.
"There." McCall sounded pleased that Stiles had managed to get half-hard
without being touched. Stiles relaxed his grip on McCall's hair and closed his
eyes again. He thought maybe it would be better not to see - he could think of
someone else's mouth on him and look at himself in the mirror tomorrow morning.
He was wrong: with his eyes closed he couldn't see what McCall was doing or
guess when the next touch was coming. Every touch of McCall's tongue on his
dick came as a surprise that jolted Stiles out of his calm, until he was tense
in anticipation every time.
"Relax, Stiles," McCall reminded him. "Is this really so bad?"
"No," Stiles whispered. "It's good. Y-you're good."
"Then relax," he repeated. Stiles nodded and opened his eyes again, meeting
McCall's eyes. They were too much like Scott's, Stiles couldn't hold the gaze
and his erection at the same time. He looked away and grappled for an
explanation.
"I don't want to be bad at this."
McCall laughed. "There's no way to be bad at this. Not when you look like you
do."
Stiles made the mistake of looking up instead of down and accidentally caught
Derek's eye. He was standing there with the files in hand, clearly finished,
but he hadn't left. Stiles looked frantically over at the window and back
again, urging him to go, but lost all focus when McCall took the head of his
dick into his mouth and started to really get going.
McCall's hands were smaller than Stiles' own and their calluses different; they
felt strange at the base of his dick when he latched on there. Stiles didn't
care, though. He couldn't even care about Derek watching when he looked down
and saw his cock disappearing into the mouth of a grown man over and over
again.
"Holy -" Stiles whispered. He involuntarily closed his eyes again and tried to
slow himself down so Derek could still have enough time to get out. When Stiles
next looked, he was still frozen to the spot, but Stiles couldn't hold back any
longer. He came without warning, and without letting McCall back away.
Derek was still there, but Stiles' orgasm seemed to break the spell as it sent
him scrambling toward the window. Unable to think of anything else, and
desperate not to get caught after what he'd just done, Stiles yanked McCall up
off the floor and kissed him.
The kiss was hot and disgusting all at once, filled with jizz passing between
their mouths and too much of McCall's tongue, but it gave Derek enough time to
slip out the window and away. Stiles could do no such thing.
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