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Waiting For It	By : Prentice Category: S through Z > Teen Wolf Views: 4135 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf nor its characters and I do not make money from the creation of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Waiting For It
- 1
Title: Waiting For It
Author: Prentice
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Rating: ADULT++
Warning: Incest, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Daddy Kink (kind of)
Pairing: Sheriff Stilinski/Stiles Stilinski
Author's Note: For the sake of this fic, Sheriff Stilinski's first name is Noah.
Summary: The first week was probably the hardest for Stiles.
The first week was probably the hardest for Stiles but then he knew it would be.
He missed his dad like a missing limb after all and even though he’d called every night since he’d gone back to school, it wasn’t the same as being in the same house as the man and being able to ask him how his day went or pester him about if he’d tried to sneak any shitty takeout while he was at work the way Stiles always suspected he did.
In fact, he’d almost turned back a few times just for that, stomach clenching because he knew his dad wouldn’t eat the way he should, the way Stiles wanted him to, and would probably work too much without Stiles there to remind him that he had someone to come home to at the end of every shift.
He didn’t turn back in the end. Of course he didn’t. He wouldn’t.
He and his dad, they’d discussed it. Stiles would go back to college and finish out the rest of the spring semester. He wouldn’t go home again before that.
At least, not until everything was settled.
Which wouldn’t – it wouldn’t be quick enough for him.
Stiles knew that much even before he’d loaded up his Jeep, fingers shaking because this was wrong, it was wrong, he didn’t want to leave, he couldn’t leave, not yet, not yet, NOT YET.
He did anyway.
It’s what they’d agreed to after all, in spite of all the protests that had initially started the whole thing. Stiles couldn’t stay like he was, head messed up with the scent of an omega – his omega, always his, no one else’s, a part of him growled, possessive and hungry and furious at leaving at a time like this – ripe for the taking. His own pheromones strong enough, greedy enough, that his dad had – had almost – would’ve probably – fuck.
Just, fuck.
Waking up to find his dad shaking and desperate in his doorway, boxer briefs soaked through with the first slick he’d had in years - well before Stiles had even been born, actually, because Claudia Stilinski hadn’t been born with a secondary gender identity and Noah’s slick had run dry sometime after they’d gotten married, his body recognizing that his wife didn’t have the means to satisfy a heat – had been…
God, Stiles couldn’t have even begun to describe it. Not in any coherent sort of way, anyway, because his dad had been panting and shivering. Heat radiating off his skin like a furnace and his slick – his slick had been everywhere.
Soaking into his worn briefs. Drenching his trembling thighs. Even – Christ – even dripping down onto the fucking carpet for fuck’s sake.
Stiles had nearly killed himself scrambling out of bed, the pajama pants he’d fallen asleep in doing nothing to hide the bulge that was suddenly tenting them because fuck. It had taken everything he’d had in him not to simply mount and breed his father right there in the open doorway, the beginnings of a knot already swelling at the base of his cock just from the sight of him. Just from the smell of him, even; Stiles burying his nose in the man’s neck before he’d even realized he’d moved, a low helpless sort of rumble vibrating in his chest because Noah had smelled So. Fucking. Good.
Good enough to eat, in fact.
Which Stiles had: body crowding his dad against the doorframe as he’d fallen to his knees and buried his face between his dad’s thighs. Mouth, tongue, and fingers working the man through the worst of his first heat cycle until his face and hands were wet with slick and spit and come. His eyes blown wide and hungry and his body shaking as his dad – his omega – had whined and begged him over and over again to mount him, to knothim, to breed him, please baby boy, please Alpha, please, please, please.
Stiles had almost done it too.
Had almost given in: the head of his leaking cock pressed against his father’s fluttering hole before he could fully comprehend it. Desperate aching arousal making it jerk and jump in his hand as he’d rubbed it repeatedly against his omega’s beautifully presented cunt. Pre-come and slick smearing messily every time his cockhead caught against the rim, almost sinking in every time, his dad begging so fucking prettily…
He honestly could’ve done it.
Could have just sunk right in right then and there, his dad so wet and slick and open that he probably would have started to knot him even before he’d gotten fully inside, forcing him to have to fuck his omega back onto his knot until they were both completely wrecked with how good it felt.
But…he hadn’t.
He couldn’t.
Not like that.
Crowded up against the door of Stiles’ bedroom, his dad half out of his mind with the first heat he’d had in decades and no more able to give clear consent than a drunken cheerleader at a frat party.
It would’ve been – not wrong, because there was nothing wrong with this, with them, with his dad falling into an unexpected heat and instinctively looking for his Alpha, his mate, to take care of him, no matter how unaware the both of them had been to this possibility – but something so close to not right that Stiles had forced himself to stop.
Even if he’d felt like he was going to shake right out of his skin because of it, head a messy mix of want and need and love and affection and pure unbridled instinct, and he just couldn’t do that.
Not to his Omega. His dad. Noah.
He couldn’t tie them together like that.
Even if he’d wanted to, his cock drooling a steady sticky stream right onto his dad’s ass and gorgeously glistening cunt, because he wasn’t a fucking animal. Couldn’t be a fucking animal. Not with his dad, his omega, and so he’d forced himself away, fingers once more plunging between his father’s dripping folds until he could curl a couple fingers inside; his chest rumbling approvingly when the man’s pussy swallowed them eagerly, greedily, as a new gush of slick spilled from between them.
And, fuck, fuck, he couldn’t give in.
He couldn’t.
Not here. Not now. Not ever.
He was better than that.
They were better than that.
And so instead, he’d worked his dad on his fingers, guiding the man to ride them as he twisted and curled and thrust them inside him as hard and as deep as he could. Body trembling as he’d wrestled with his control every time Noah had begged so loudly for Stiles – for his Alpha – to fuck him, please baby boy.
Knot him, give daddy your knot, baby.
Breed him, know you want to, Stiles, know how much you – oh fuck – like to watch those – those breeding videos, the ones you thought I didn’t know about – but I did, baby boy. Heard them, heard you. Used to –oh! – used to think about it sometimes, after you left for college, wonder what it would feel like to ride my boy’s knot, get filled up the way those men and women did in those videos. God, baby boy, Alpha, I came so many times thinking about you, never thought I’d – that you’d – Stiles.
Fucking Christ but that had nearly pushed Stiles straight into a feral rut, his fingers working his dad’s sopping cunt hard as he’d jerked himself off frantically, knot flaring heavy and thick and no good to either of them, goddammit, against the side of his dad’s ass as he came violently, messily. His chest rumbling with something that had been pure unadulterated Alpha as he’d buried his face in the back of his omega’s neck, teeth scraping in a facsimile of a mating bite until his dad had shouted, muscles flexing as he’d pushed himself back onto Stiles’ fingers and come so hard Stiles’ had groaned and come again, knot swelling even larger.
How long they’d stood there trembling afterwards, Stiles’ couldn’t have said, too busy still working his fingers slowly in and out of his dad’s twitching hole, sometimes pulling them out entirely to scoop some of his own come onto his fingers and drag the mess along his omega’s wet and sticky folds, half-mesmerized by how good it looked, how right.
Eventually, though, he’d sighed, fingers gently pulling out before he’d gathered his father into his arms, slick and come covered fingers trailing over his skin as he’d kissed his omega for the first time.
God, his omega.
His dad was his omega.
He could feel the truth of it all the way down to his bones.
The sweet, nearly sugary, smell of his dad’s slick calling to something inside of him that had snarled and snapped, teeth bared and ready to be bloodied, at the thought of anyone else seeing his father like this.
The Alpha in him – as dangerous and as predatory as any wolf or creature that made its home in Beacon Hills – gathering the man close, nose and mouth nuzzling against his omega’s heated skin as he’d guided them both to his bed where his scent would be strongest and where they could ride out the rest of the man’s heat.
Which they had.
Stiles burying his face and fingers between his dad’s legs, knot heavy and aching between his own, until the worst of it had passed and they were both too tired to do more than fall into an exhausted sleep, his knot still swollen and tender and pressed snugly against the swell of his dad’s ass.
It had been – god – it had been so good – but also…
Fucking terrifying.
Because his dad was his omega.
His.
No one else’s, and Stiles wasn’t an idiot, all right. He knew why he’d had to leave. Why his dad had insisted on it in the end, no matter how badly they’d both wanted to deny it, because Noah Stilinski wasn’t on any sort of Omega birth control, was he.
He hadn’t been in years, decades even, and if Stiles hadn’t had the control he’d had and had mounted Noah the way his dad had begged him to, his omega would’ve been bred true and proper right there in his childhood bedroom, his childhood bed, and there wouldn’t have been any way of getting around it.
Not with Stiles’ age or the sudden influx of Noah’s previously dormant omega hormones. Even with a condom, there would’ve been no guarantee that his dad wouldn’t have ended up bred and swollen with Stiles’ baby; the condom usually breaking due to either the ferocity of the mating or the heat-induced overuse. Hence the birth control his dad was going to get just as soon as he could and the time away back at college for Stiles.
Not just because it would take time for the meds to work their way through his dad’s system – it wasn’t unheard of for a dry-omega, even a dry-omega his father’s age, to start producing slick again, especially once they either met their mate or their mate came of age as Stiles had done just a few days ago (popping his first knot as he’d jerked off in the shower his first morning back home, the lingering scent of his dad’s favorite shaving cream heavy in the air), but it would take time for any sort of birth control to work; the omega’s fertility particularly potent after a long dry spell that it sometimes took twice as long as normal to work its way through – but also because, no matter how much Stiles had protested, his dad had insisted he take some time away to think about it.
“You have to be sure,” he’d rasped out softly, warm fingers threading themselves through Stiles’ hair. He’d tugged it gently, quieting Stiles before he could do more than open his mouth to protest. “No Stiles, I mean it. You – I need you to be sure, baby boy, because once we do this…”
Noah had shaken his head then, adam’s apple bobbing as he’d swallowed thickly and closed his eyes, head tilting back to rest against the pillows Stiles had piled carefully around them after the first and second rounds of his dad’s heat cycle had come and gone in an effort to appease the nesting instinct that was probably screaming bloody murder at the man because they hadn’t had the time to prepare for this and Christ.
It had taken every bit of Stiles’ quickly dwindling self-control not to lean up from where he was resting against his father’s chest and bite at that beautiful stretch of unblemished skin; to put his teeth on the delicate bit of flesh just between Noah’s neck and shoulder and let them sink in until the coppery-sweet taste of his omega’s blood was on his tongue and between his teeth and his claiming mark was ragged on his mate’s skin.
Fuck, just the thought of it had had his cock twitching, knot swelling at its base large enough that his dad had noticed because of course he had; the sudden spill of new slick heavy in the air as his breath had hitched and his eyes had opened, pupils blown wide as his own cock twitched against Stiles’ stomach.
And if the conversation had been tabled for another time as Stiles had once more focused on bringing them both to completion – this time with his cock nestled snuggly between Noah’s thighs as he’d fucked his knot between them, cockhead rubbing against his dad’s clit and balls with such perfect accuracy that they’d nearly broken the damn bed by the time they’d both come, their breath ragged and hoarse as they’d slumped against the mattress – neither of them had mentioned it.
At least, not until the last vestiges of his dad’s heat had passed, and they’d both stumbled their way downstairs and eaten a metric ton of anything they could get their hands on, including the stash of terrible-for-him-but-oh-so-delicious curly fries Stiles tended to hide at the back of the freezer and his dad politely pretended not to know about whenever Stiles was in town, because neither of them had exactly planned for something as unexpected as his dad going into a desperate heat or for Stiles to be his mate.
Which was pretty undeniable now and part of the reason why Stiles had reluctantly, painfully, agreed to go back to school when his winter break was over. Even with his instincts screaming at him not to leave, to never leave, to go back and claim his omega, goddammit, right here, right now, don’t wait, you fucking idiot, because his dad had a point.
Stiles knew he did, even if he didn’t want to admit it.
“You need time, son,” Noah had said, voice oddly raw in the low light from the television, even as his body was warm and perfect against Stiles’ side as they’d snuggled on the sofa. “I think we both do. I – when I met your mother, I never looked back, and when she died, I didn’t,” pausing, he’d swallowed, throat clicking dryly before he’d continued. “I figured that part of my life was over, baby boy, and I was okay with that because I had you and that was enough – more than enough – because you were – are – the greatest gift your mother ever gave me and now…”
“I’m your Alpha,” Stiles had finished softly, throat tight the way it always was whenever they talked about his mother, and he could feel the way his father had shivered against him at the words, body pressing in closer to Stiles’ frame as Stiles tightened his arms around him.
“You’re my Alpha,” Noah had agreed hoarsely, and that was – that was enough.
That was everything. More than everything. It was exactly what Stiles had wanted – needed – to hear right then at that moment to convince him that his dad was right. His omega was right.
They needed time.
They needed space.
They needed…
Fuck, they needed birth control, because if the first week was the hardest, Stiles couldn’t imagine what it would be like once finals were over and he knew he could head home and mount and breed his Omega right there in the fucking living room if he wanted to.
Which he did.
He really fucking did.
He just hoped his dad was okay with that because Stiles was pretty sure not even the normal Beacon Hills bullshit could stop him from claiming him and if it tried…
Well, Stiles wasn’t an Alpha-Spark for nothing.
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Waiting For It