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Of course, nobody told them that being a True Alpha was decidedly different from being a regular Alpha. Stiles had no idea if Derek and Peter knew and just ‘forgot’ to mention it, but about a month after everything with the Darach and Deucalion was resolved and he had to rush a feverish Scott to Deaton he had no clue what he was getting into.
Doctor Deaton just took a glance at Scott, and said,
“Oh.”
That wasn’t ominous. At all.
“What?” Stiles asked a bit more biting than he planned. Werewolves were supposed to be immune to most diseases and he was about 60 percent sure than nobody was trying to kill them, so yeah… He was a bit worried.
Doctor Deaton helped Scott sit down in his office, before turning to Stiles.
“Did you find him like this?” he asked, he was a bit pale. Not good.
“Um, no. He just sort of climbed in my window. Well, no, he managed to scale the house, and then fell through my window,” Stiles clarified. He was a bit panicked.
That was apparently no what the man wanted to hear, because he just seemed even more nervous.
Stiles was fed up with the long pauses.
“Okay, okay, so I kind of need answers. What’s going on? He isn’t supposed to be sick, shit, with the Alpha power, he is supposed to be nearly invincible, so what the fuck?”
Doctor Deaton nodded to himself, like he was coming to a decision.
But he didn’t care to elaborate, naturally.
“Come, let’s get him in the basement,” he said, dragging Scott to his feet. Stiles instinctively moved to help and soon enough they were helping Scott down a flight of stairs Stiles never seen before.
“I didn’t even know you have a basement,” he said, grunting. Werewolves were fucking heavy.
The vet just hummed, and stopped in front of a door. From the direction of the hallway, Stiles thought they were pretty far from the building, somewhere under the empty lot behind the clinic.
Doctor Deaton produced a key and opened the heavy metal door. The hinges creaked like they haven’t been used in a while. Stiles noted with absurd fascination, that the door had a little window, like a prison cell.
The room was pretty empty. The floor was concrete, with a corner tiled, holding a toilet, an sink and a shower stall, though the walls were bare; there wasn’t even a curtain. Most of the space was taken up by the king sized mattress on the floor. It wasn’t exactly new, but it didn’t seem to be too disgusting either.
Oh, boy. Poor Scotty.
Stiles only noticed that Doctor Deaton wasn’t with them anymore, when the door closed with a loud, metallic clang behind him and Scott.
He whipped around - making sure to push his friend in the direction of the mattress - and was instantly trying the handle. He was a second too late, the key had already turned in the lock.
“Doc? What the fuck are you doing? What the hell is going on?” Stiles asked, yanking on the door to no avail, it wasn’t budging.
“Stiles,” the vet said from the other side, “This is very unfortunate, and I’m very sorry, but I’m afraid, you will have to weather the next week alone with Scott. I will bring down food and whatever you might need.”
“What?! A week? For what? Why the hell do I have to stay with him? I mean, seriously, I’m not exactly the nursing type,” he babbled, feeling panic well in his chest.
“Stiles, please try to calm down,” the man told him. It was easy to say that from out there. “Scott is going into a rut.”
Stiles just kind of stared at the door blankly.
“It’s a rare thing,” the vet continued, “but occasionally, it happens to True Alphas. Some say, it’s because werewolves who gained their power by virtue can become much more closer to their wolf side…”
Stiles banged his head against the metal.
“Okay, what the fuck does it mean?”
“Scott needs to claim. In a traditional pack, he would choose a trusted, loyal female werewolf and mate with her.”
“In case you didn’t notice, I’m none of those things,” Stiles said quietly. He already knew he was defeated. He knew Deaton enough that he wouldn’t just change his mind and let him out.
There was a second of silence, he was almost afraid that the man left.
“No, Stiles. I think you are at least a few of those things… Otherwise Scott wouldn’t have chosen you.”
Well, fuck.
Scott knew that Stiles was tired, so he tried to stay quiet. He felt bad, he knew that Stiles haven’t slept enough but… It was hard to think. His head wasn’t as blank as it had been in the first few days, but he still couldn’t concentrate for long. He wondered if Stiles always felt like this with his ADHD…
Stiles.
Scott growled, he had no idea why, because Stiles was lying on his stomach before him and there was no one threatening them. Wait, what was he doing? Oh, oh yes.
Scott used his clawed hands - the claws never really went away since he first knotted Stiles - to part his friend’s ass cheeks, looking at the reddened, puffy hole hiding between them with a primal sense of pride. Even as Stiles slept, it kept blinking, unable to close after being used so many times. It was beautiful. There was come leaking out of it, thick and white and Scott’s.
He couldn’t help smiling and burying his face between the firm globes, breathing in the intoxicating scent of Stiles and him. He licked at it, making a point with his tongue to dig into that little, swollen opening, trying to get as deep as he could to chase the taste of them together.
Stiles moaned, but didn’t wake up.
His Stiles was exhausted. Scott didn’t want to wake him, but he couldn’t stop himself from turning his head and taking a mouthful of that pale, mole dotted flesh between his teeth and just… squeezing.
He didn’t bite. Biting was bad. He was an Alpha, and Stiles didn’t want to be a werewolf, so he was very, very careful not to break the skin, but he had to, he had to feel it.
He squeezed until it hurt to hold himself back, and then let go, watching with awe as Stiles’ skin bloomed into a purple bruise where his teeth pushed into it.
It wasn’t the first.
Stiles’ beautiful white skin was a patchwork of bruises; the first ones already turning slightly green, the new ones still bright and dark and pretty. His marks.
His.
His cock was hard again, he barely even went soft since they began, but he tried to give Stiles rest, because he was human, and fragile and Scott had to protect him.
But it was difficult.
Stiles twitched, wincing in his sleep, turning to his side. Scott helped, shifting his body effortlessly until his Stiles was on his back.
His mouth watered.
He loved the nipples. Stiles loved the nipples too, or at least, he always moaned and whined so hotly when Scott played with them.
They were hard and dark pink, the left one a bit more swollen, because Scott spent a lot of time sucking on it before Stiles fell a sleep. That didn’t seem right. Both of them should be equally pretty.
Scott scooted up and lay down beside Stiles, taking the neglected nipple into his mouth. For a few minutes he just kept it there, fighting down the urge to bite.
No, no biting. Careful, careful…
After he was sure that he wouldn’t hurt his Stiles, he started to suckle that pretty, pretty little tit. It tasted a bit salty from sweat, but after he bathed it thoroughly with his tongue, there was only Stiles left.
It was the best taste.
Scott closed his eyes and just sealed his lips around it - it was a bit difficult with too many teeth in his mouth, but he managed - and sucked, feeling that delicious nub rise and harden.
He did it for a long time, he even dug his teeth in a little, because the need to mark was stronger than him.
But then, Stiles was moving, moaning and twisting under him. Just in time, because Scott had to… He was burning down there.
He watched as Stiles’ eyes fluttered open.
“Sc… Scotty…"
Scott grinned. Now that Stiles was awake again, he could have him, the could bury his dick in his hole and fill Stiles with himself.
He reached down a hand - careful of the claws - and palmed Stiles between the legs, frowning when he found him soft.
He always made sure that Stiles was hard, that he was feeling as good as Scott was. Always.
Well, he tried.
Now that he could think a bit better, he didn’t know when Stiles came last. There was dried come on his skin, stuck into his pubic hair, and in the crease of his thigh where Scott didn’t lick it up properly, but… he didn’t remember. He kept his hand moving, trying to get Stiles to feel good, but it didn’t seem to work.
“S-scott… fuck. No, please, no,” he moaned, making Scott freeze.
That wasn’t right.
That wasn’t what Stiles was supposed to say.
He looked up at his friend with a frown, what was wrong?
Stiles tried to bat his hand away from his still soft dick.
“Please, too much, Scotty… Bro, I love you, but I can’t… I can’t go again, man, just please…”
Stiles was crying.
Scott climbed up his body, and kissed him. He tried to be gentle, but it felt too nice. The inside of his Stiles’ mouth was soft and warm and inviting, so he thrust his tongue in deep, trying to taste every corner, sucking his friend’s own tongue into his mouth and trapping it between this fangs.
Stiles was moaning, tears running down his face.
He was pushing at Scott chest, so he reluctantly backed off, but stayed close, in case Stiles wanted more kisses. Scott wanted more.
“Please… I’m all… I’m all oversensitive and sore and really fucking exhausted… Scott, Scott, please, I can’t do it again,” he said, voice scratchy and wet.
No.
No, that wasn’t right. He knew, he knew that Stiles was tired, but Stiles was…
Stiles was his.
His Stiles.
He wanted to make it good for Stiles, but his instincts… His instincts were telling him that Stiles needed him. Stiles needed to be protected, and the best protection was an Alpha’s protection.
If he could just… If he could just have Stiles again, then everybody would know that Stiles was his, right? Yes. Yes, that had to be right.
Stiles kept talking, telling him to stop or at least wait a little. Telling him that the rut was almost over, and if could just wait a bit…
But that was no good. He needed to protect Stiles.
His Stiles wasn’t a werewolf, so Scott had to make extra, extra sure that everyone knew who he belonged to.
He grabbed a cloth - a t-shirt? - from the floor and gently, but firmly pushed it into Stiles mouth. He didn’t want to hurt him, but he needed to do this, and he couldn’t if Stiles kept saying silly things.
He grabbed Stiles wrists in one hand when they tried to take the gag out and held them to the mattress.
Stiles looked at him with wide, tired eyes, so Scott nuzzled his cheek, licking at his tears to let him know that everything was okay.
It was easy to part Stiles’ legs and guide his cock to his wet, sloppy entrance, and Scott couldn’t help growling in satisfaction as he sank into it.
Stiles’ eyes rolled back, like they did when he was coming, even though he was soft. That had to mean that he was still enjoying it. He had to, because he was Scott’s.
His Stiles breathed heavily as Scott started moving, slowly at first, because it was important to make it good, to not be too rough.
But…
He really couldn’t help himself, he had to pick up a speed with every stroke, it just felt too good to be in there, to fill that sweet, hot hole with his dick and soon enough he could feel that weird itch at the base of his cock that told him that his knot was coming.
That was good.
His Stiles needed to be knotted, so Scott’s come could stay inside and make him smell pack.
Stiles was moaning behind the cloth, the fabric dark with saliva. His head was thrown back, spine arching as the knot kept growing and it started to catch on his rim.
Scott grinned, soon, soon he would be locked inside and then Stiles would be his.
He reached between them again, just to check, but Stiles was still soft.
It was okay. Scott just petted his limp cock, rubbing the pad of his thumb against the head.
Stiles whined. It must have felt good.
When the knot finally caught - it was almost completely full, because Stiles’ hole loved Scott’s knot, and was open and fluttering for him - he roared, curling over his friend. He let go of Stiles’ wrists, it didn’t matter anymore, because he was coming, shooting thick, rich spurts of come deep inside.
His Stiles was crying again, but when Scott collapsed onto him, he raised a hand, and patted the back of his head tiredly.