♞Pairing: Steo ♞Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Theo Raeken ♞Tags/Warnings: mentions of rape, mentions of murder, explicit content ♞Words: 6233 ♞BTHB - Breaking a Promise | Kinktober '23 - Cock Warming
ao3
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this thing between us
“You’re fucking yourself up like this.”
Stiles closes his eyes and lets out a breath. It’s almost five in the morning. His body aches, he hasn’t eaten in almost a day, and all he wants is to collapse into his bed. He doesn’t need a lecture from Theo Raeken of all people. Scoffing, Stiles shoves his key into the lock. “You always preferred the fucked-up version of me.” His door clicks open, and he pushes it out of the way of his escape.
“You know that’s not true.” Theo gets to his feet.
Stiles considers slamming the door in his face, but the thing about Theo is, he used to appreciate a lot of his persistence. “What are you doing here?” Although his first question should’ve probably been ‘how did you find me?’. But this is Theo, and Theo always finds a way. It was just a matter of time until they crossed paths again.
Dodging questions is another of Theo’s strange talents. “Why do you keep doing that?”
“Because the tips are fantastic.” Stiles turns around, trying to fill out the doorway as much as he can. Theo doesn’t need to get the impression he’s allowed in.
The message seems to be clear because Theo’s expression darkens with annoyance. But the worst part is, Theo still looks hot as hell and so much better than anyone Stiles has ever hooked up with in the past four years. “You don’t need the money,” he accuses in a hushed tone.
“And since when do you know what I need?” Stiles knows he’s right. After everything that has happened, he doesn’t have to lift a finger for the rest of his life — he doesn’t have any friends or family either. So, what good does all of this money do? It doesn’t erase the memories. It doesn’t stop the nightmares from finding him in the darkness. It doesn’t prevent people from whispering about him behind his back. “I haven’t seen you in almost five years, and now you’re here, acting like— acting like you’re my savior or some shit.” He’s been alone for too long now, he doesn’t need anyone; especially not Theo.
Drawing his brows together, Theo studies him for a moment. “You’re drunk.”
“Stellar conclusion.” Stiles rolls his eyes, “if only I drank alcohol.” And that’s true, although it’s not always easy as a bartender when everyone else around him is hammered.
Theo uncrosses his arms. The worry carved onto his handsome features makes Stiles want to punch him. “Did you take something?” As if he couldn’t be any more condescending. Looks like the past few years without him caused Theo to pick up some of his mother’s annoying mannerisms.
“I haven’t slept in 48 hours, I’m starving, and I just had mind-blowing sex—“ which isn’t entirely true, but Theo doesn’t need to know that “—not that that’s any of your business, by the way.” Although Stiles knows he doesn’t need to explain himself to Theo or anyone, really, he cannot deny himself the petty revenge — and he knows it hit home, can see it in the way a flash of pain cuts through the worry on Theo’s face. If only it would make Stiles feel any better or could undo what happened to and between them.
Unsurprisingly, Theo doesn’t deign this with a response. Instead, he doesn’t hesitate and wrestles Stiles into the apartment. It doesn’t take him a second to overpower him, easily forcing Stiles back enough so he can kick the door closed with his foot — like he owns the place.
“Get the fuck out,” Stiles snaps, nearly elbowing Theo in the face as he wrenches himself free from his ex-boyfriend’s all too familiar grasp. It’s a shame he missed.
The light flickers on. Theo neither moves nor reacts when he’s faced with a flight of stairs. He shoots Stiles a look before climbing them, making it abundantly clear he’s not going to leave any time soon. Because why would he? He’s Theo Raeken after all. Beloved and cheered on by his adoring fans. Everybody loves him. Everybody wants to be with him — even the person he hurt the most by breaking his fucking promise.
Stiles hates how much he still yearns for his touch.
Too tired to fight him or deal with the cops, Stiles shoves past Theo and hurries up the stairs. He hates them with a passion, especially after long nights, but they’re a pretty good advantage if someone decides to break in.
“So, what. You let random strangers fuck you for a few extra bucks every night?” There it is. Of course, Theo couldn’t just let it go. Five years, and the jealousy is still as strong as it used to be.
Stiles spins around at the top of the stairs. The moment Theo popped up at his bar, he should’ve had him kicked out. But that probably would have caused even more issues. “Are you pissed about me having sex, or are you pissed it wasn’t you who bent me over the bar and fucked me?”
Theo’s face darkens, which is already answer enough. As well as he may be able to hide his feelings, anger has never been an emotion he could control. “I’m not here to argue,” Theo tells him coolly as he steps onto the main floor. His gaze scans the room, slowly traveling from the immaculate and pretty much unused kitchenette, to the dining table with a bowl of fruit, the clean couch and empty coffee table, and the little office in front of the French windows.
Stiles can see the things Theo is seeing, the black exposed brick walls, the half empty shelves, the way his loft apartment doesn’t seem to be lived in if it weren’t for the clothes thrown over the steps of the ladder leading to the bedroom, and the mouth wash by the sink. No pictures. No personal items. Nothing that needs to be packed in case of a hurried departure.
“I’m going to bed,” he says, kicking his sneakers under the coffee table. “Make sure to be gone when I wake up.”
“You need help.”
Stiles whips around, and Theo can only consider himself lucky, he doesn’t own anything he could potentially throw at him right now. “No,” he snaps. “I needed you. Needed. You hear that? Past tense. So, you can fuck off.”
Theo’s anger visibly deflates. “Stiles—“
“You know what I needed? You, keeping your promise five years ago.” Stiles advances on Theo, and he’s never realized how much he wanted to get everything off his chest. “I needed you by my side, but instead you’re in your private clinic while I’m being stitched up and sent home. I was fucking alone, and you didn’t bother returning a single call or text. Instead of getting through everything together like you promised, I got a money-hungry guardian who sold the rights to my life to a journalist who gets off on other people’s trauma. I had to get a lawyer who couldn’t do anything to stop the publication of the book, but hey, at least I got a bunch of money while my worst nightmare is being read and discussed by people I’ve never seen. So, I was eighteen, and I was alone because my friends and family have been slaughtered by a fucking psychopath. I fired the person who got paid to make sure I stay alive, and the person who I thought loved me hadn’t bothered to talk to me in over a year.” Sties shoves Theo, and Theo doesn’t do anything. He merely stumbles back a couple of steps, catching himself on the railing. “I moved to LA only for your cunt of a sister to release the snuff film her psycho fiancé filmed. Just that he didn’t get to kill me like he wanted to. No, instead the world gets to see how I stab him twenty-five times. I packed my shit up again and moved to New York, and after I went through all of this by myself, you have the fucking nerve to come here, take one look at my life and decide I need help?” Stiles grabs Theo by the collar of his expensive leather jacket and slams him against the kitchen counter. “Your fucking family ruined everything for me. I’m 21. I should have a college degree. I should be on the way to the FBI, but do you think they’d hire the guy who stabbed someone over twenty times? No, they don’t. Not when the world doubts it happened in self-defense because Tara only released what she wanted the public to see.” Taking a shaky breath, Stiles yanks Theo closer. “So, get the fuck out of my life.”
Tears start burning in his eyes, but the last thing he wants is allowing Theo to see how he really feels. Stiles shoves him once more for good measure and turns around. Part of him hoped he would feel better after finally getting to tell Theo most of the shit he wanted to throw in his face for years. But he isn’t. Not even a little bit.
Stiles is about to climb the ladder to his bedroom when Theo finds his voice again. “I never knew.” His voice is soft, almost inaudible.
It makes Stiles stop in his tracks regardless. “I wonder why,” he mutters under his breath, fingers tightening around the ladder. Just move. Still, his body refuses to cooperate. Something keeps him drawn to Theo, like a part of him refuses to let him go. Stiles lets out a breath. “Knew what?” But he knows the answer, deep down, he knows exactly what Theo is going to tell him.
“That you tried to contact me.”
Stiles lets go of the ladder and decides to collapse onto the couch instead, face in his hands. He’s tired and exhausted and not even close to ready to have this conversation. His life got turned upside-down five years ago, but his wounds are still bleeding as if it happened mere hours ago.
Theo crouches in front of him, one hand gently placed on Stiles’ knee — a touch just as familiar as the pain. “You were the first person I asked for when I woke up. My parents said you didn’t want to see me, and when I finally got my phone—“
“I had changed my number.” Stiles crosses his arms over his thighs. “I didn’t want to believe your parents when they told me you thought it would be better to go separate ways, but the silence from you… it got to my head.” Perhaps he should’ve tried harder. Perhaps he was the one who broke their promise.
Theo is shaking his head lightly, gaze fixed on something over Stiles’ shoulder. “I never saw any calls or texts… I don’t…” He draws his eyebrows together and looks at Stiles again. “I don’t understand why they would delete them.” When it comes to trusting Stiles or his parents, Theo doubts his family.
It should make Stiles feel good, instead he feels hollow, like someone carved out every single emotion. Theo never particularly liked his parents because they had his life planned out for him, yet he never distrusted them, always believed that they wanted what’s best for him. Becoming a famous football player deviates from that what they wanted. So, his parents either changed their tune after almost losing him, or Theo stood up to them.
Stiles smiles, and he knows it looks as empty as he feels. The Raekens didn’t want their son to pursue a career in football, and they had very specific expectations for his partner — expectations Stiles didn’t even come close to. “Theo,” he says in a soft voice, cupping the other man’s cheeks, “your parents despised me.” While they never cared for Theo dating a guy, they very much disliked that said boy was not from the same social bracket and struggled with ADHD and anxiety, which was decided not up to their standards.
“They never said anything.”
“To your face.” Stiles bites his bottom lip and puts his hands in his lap, tugging at a loose thread at the hem of his hoodie. Swallowing heavily, Stiles looks down at his fingers. “Do you know why… he did what he did?” All those years, he can’t bring himself to say the name. It’s easier to think about him in describing factors.
Tara’s fiancé.
He.
The monster.
Theo grabs his hands, squeezing his fingers gently. The touch alone makes Stiles’ heart beat in a way it hasn’t in a long time — almost like it just now remembers how to be alive. “He had a criminal record.” Which really begs the question why he was welcomed into the Raeken family with open arms, after all, his criminal record was impressive. Then again, he came from a family with old money, and boys that age simply make mistakes. Nothing to worry about. Theo squeezes his hands softly. “People think he wanted to get back at your father… but it doesn’t make any sense because…” Theo trails off, unable to look Stiles in the eye any longer.
It’s something people tend to do mid-conversation when they suddenly realize who their bartender really is. Theo doing it hurts more than he’s ready to admit. He swallows the pain, something he’s accustomed to do. “Because why keep me for last?” Stiles finishes the question in a hoarse whisper. The tears threaten to return, and he pulls away from Theo, curling into the corner of his couch he’s always hiding in when thing become bad. His throat aches with unspilled tears, but he can’t stop. Not now. Not when he can finally say all the things he’s buried for too long. “Your mother knows the truth.” Stiles wraps his arms around his shins, pulling his legs to his chest. “You can ask her.”
“My mother?” Theo repeats slowly, drawing his brows together in confusion.
Stiles nods, staring at a single drop of coffee in the white fabric he’s never noticed before.
“Why would my mother know?” Theo stands up and sits down next to him, the dip in the cushion almost causing Stiles to fall into him.
He curls his fingers into his jeans, barely resisting the urge to get up and leave. Where would he go? Where could he go knowing exactly what’s going to happen in a matter of minutes? The dam broke open. This isn’t the first time. It won’t be the last. The memories will return whether Stiles says it out loud or not. “Do you remember Tara’s 21st birthday?” Every word feels as if it is ripped out of his throat.
Theo nods slowly. “You left that night. I still don’t know why.”
Taking another shaky breath, Stiles keeps his gaze fixed on the coffee stain. He can’t look at Theo, not now. “I excused myself to the bathroom because I needed a break from everyone.” Social gatherings still get to him. His job as a bartender doesn’t make it easy to deal with but the bar separating him from everyone else helps. “He followed me upstairs.”
Next to him, Theo stiffens — either because he remembers that night, or because he can tell where this story is going.
“I went into your room. I didn’t lock the door.” Why would he? Why? At that point, Stiles didn’t need to be afraid. He licks his lips, curls his fingers tighter into his jeans. “He found me there. At first, he was sweet and understanding. He tried to coax me back down… but then—“ The words get stuck in his throat, choking him; one of the dirty secrets nobody is allowed to hear.
“Miecio.” There’s a crack in Theo’s voice, cutting the nickname in half Stiles hasn’t heard in more than five years. Fingers dance ghostlike over Stiles’ back, waiting for a reaction, for permission. Theo understands what he’s trying to tell him.
“Your mother came upstairs. That’s when he stopped.” His knuckles turn white, his joints aching from the pressure. The coffee stain is the only thing he sees. “I tried telling her what happened. She told me to leave before I ruined her daughter’s party. So, I left, and I didn’t tell anyone, and eight days later, Melissa found her son’s body on the front porch.” Stiles wishes he could point a finger at Theo’s mother, blaming her for his secret, for the silence that killed everyone he loved.
Almost everyone.
Theo cups his cheeks again, gently tilting his head and forcing Stiles to look at him. “This isn’t your fault.” He knows him too well, knows the inner working of his mind — sometimes better than Stiles does himself. “You couldn’t have known.” But Theo doesn’t know the whole story, and he certainly doesn’t know the ending.
The memory hits hard, but it doesn’t come out of nowhere. It does, what it always does when his mind can’t stop wandering; wrecking him.
Stiles tears away from Theo and rushes to the sink, throwing up bile and guilt, but the memory claws itself into every fiber of Stiles’ being, refusing to leave, ready to make him suffer for the rest of his life. It burns his body with shame, and it’s something he can never purge, no matter how many strangers he’s going to fuck in the back of his bar.
In an instant, Theo is by his side, trying to calm and comfort him. But there’s nothing he can do, nothing to stop the memories from coming back, from reality crashing in on him like an avalanche.
When the worst is over, Stiles runs the water and rinses his mouth with the mouthwash until he can’t taste the bile burning on his tongue any longer. Then he collapses in the corner of his kitchen, the one space in his apartment that lets him see everything and pulls his legs to his chest again. He really hoped the high of an orgasm would help him through the night. It barely lasted long enough to get home.
Theo kneels next him, brushing sweaty strand from Stiles’ forehead. “Something else happened that night,” he says, and his voice is even, almost as hollow as Stiles felt mere moments earlier. “And my sister knows.”
For a long time, Stiles wanted to tell Theo exactly how fucked up his family is. Theo’s always been aware they’re far from perfect, but Stiles doubts he knew how far they’d really go to protect their reputation. Now, that he knows the truth, Stiles doesn’t feel any better — not with the flashbacks, and most likely not without them.
Stiles leans against Theo, pressing his face against his chest. Then he’s in Theo’s arms, shuddering, curling his fingers into his soft shirt. A strong contrast to the rough hands tearing off his pants and boxer briefs, rolling him round and pressing his face against the dirty floor, an arm’s length away from Theo bleeding out. He told him Stiles could save his life as long as he behaved. So, he whispered, “okay,” and didn’t make another sound, didn’t dare to move as the monster claimed his body, tainting him for the rest of his life. But that was okay as long as he got to keep Theo. Because that’s what he promised; Stiles’ body for Theo’s life. It seemed like a simple trade at that time.
Theo rocks him softly, protecting him from ghosts.
“We’re going to get through this,” he had promised, bleeding from his wounds. None of them lethal. They were supposed to kill him only if Stiles didn’t behave.
“You promised,” Stiles whispers.
Because he behaved. Stiles behaved. He said so too only to decide that Theo needed to die anyway. It would be better that way, he’d said.
To this day, Stiles doesn’t know why the knife was left on the ground next to him. Maybe he thought Stiles to be too broken to do anything. But he forced himself to move, and he got dressed, grabbed the knife, and hid it behind his back.
You promised.
The words ring in Stiles’ ears, making it impossible to understand anything Theo is saying to soothe him.
Because he’s stuck in the past, stuck with Tara’s fiancé crouching in front of him, smiling as if he’s won their little game. Stiles didn’t smile back. He rammed the knife into his throat instead. He still remembers the feeling of the warm blood on his face just as much as the rage that took a hold of him as he stabbed him twenty-four more times before he collapsed, unable to move for what feels like an eternity.
Just like he is now.
Theo kisses the top of his head. “I’m here,” he whispers reassuringly. “I’m not going to leave, okay?” It’s a promise he’s heard before, a promise that was broken by outside force — it’s a broken promise, nonetheless. But Theo’s arms feel safe, and Stiles wants to believe him, wants to trust that this time nothing is going to come between them again. “How about you go to bed, and I find something to eat for you?”
“Sure,” Stiles whispers, although he’s neither hungry nor tired, however, he’s aware when people need a minute to breathe. Theo’s life has been crumbling too when Stiles was having his mental breakdown. His life will be falling apart for a little longer while the truth carves its place.
Stiles gets to his feet, Theo’s hand secure at the small of his back, and then he crosses the room, alone and feeling just as empty as every single day of his life.
Upstairs, Stiles tosses his clothes in the hamper and slips into his sweatpants. He doesn’t go to bed though, instead he crouches by the opening, listening to Theo looking through his kitchen. For a few moments, that’s all he hears.
Then Theo’s icy voice cuts through the apartment. “I don’t give a shit about how early it is, Tara.”
Stiles swallows and backs away. He should’ve known. Squeezing his eyes shut, Stiles curls into bed, trying his very best to block out Theo’s voice. It should be easy. Theo doesn’t yell when he’s angry after all. But his cold tone crawls into his consciousness, and there is nothing Stiles can do about it.
“You know exactly what video I’m talking about.” A drawer slams shut, the only outbreak Theo will allow himself to have. A Raeken does not lose his temper. They are composed and always in control of the situation. That’s why Theo is made of repressed rage. “Tell me what he did, and don’t you dare lie to me.”
Biting back a sob, Stiles curls into a ball and pulls the blanket over his head. That’s how the monsters stay away. He covers his ears with his hands. That’s how Theo’s words won’t reach him.
That’s how he stays until the mattress dips.
Stiles lowers his arms, moving the blanket enough that he spots the sandwich Theo placed on his nightstand. He doesn’t say anything, neither does Stiles. Both waiting for what will happen next. Theo told him he wouldn’t leave, but that was something he said before he knew the full extent of what happened.
The mattress dips again. This time, Theo is crawling into bed with him, slipping under the blanket and back into his life as he wraps an arm around Stiles’ middle. His warmth and body are familiar, safe, a remnant from a time that was easier, happier, hopeful.
Sleep refuses to come regardless. Theo doesn’t fall asleep either, Stiles can tell by the way his body never fully relaxes, and how he tries to breathe softly enough as if not to startle him. With the truth out in the open, Theo considers him fragile. Stiles wonders what the world would think about him if they knew the whole story.
When the first rays of sunshine find their way into his bedroom, Stiles turns around only to find Theo already looking back at him. “Hey,” he whispers.
Theo’s eyes crinkle slightly. “Hi.”
Stiles watches as the soft morning light draws patterns on Theo’s cheek. He traces one, unable to stop himself, and smiles as blue eyes flutter shut. He looks peaceful like this, as if nothing bad ever happened in his life. But his body speaks a different language. Stiles trails his fingers down Theo’s chest, eyes never straying from his face when he finds his scars; scars he got because of Stiles, because he’s stubborn and needed to learn which battles to pick.
Before he can talk himself out of it, Stiles kisses Theo. Everything from the shape of his lips to the way they fit against his makes his whole body ache — and Theo kisses him back, arm tightening around his waist. The familiarity is breathtaking. Suddenly, no time has passed. They’re in Stiles’ bedroom, trying to be quiet, trying not to wake his dad.
But when Stiles slips his fingertips underneath the waistband of Theo’s boxer briefs, he grabs his wrist and stops him inches away from his dick. He doesn’t pull away. Not yet, at least. “What are you doing?” he asks, lips moving against Stiles’.
Drown out the memories. Reclaim his past, his body. Trying to be whole. “What do you think?” Stiles replies instead, casual, like this is something that happens every other day. It doesn’t. Not like this. People don’t usually stop him when he tries to hook up with them. Usually, they can’t fuck him fast enough. Theo used to be like that. He couldn’t get inside him fast enough, and usually, he enjoyed his afterglow still buried deep inside of him.
This is new.
Stiles doesn’t like new.
Theo pulls away, not far, just enough to study his face. “Stiles…”
“I’m not broken.” Stiles dragged himself out of the gutter too many times to be broken. He won’t deny that he’s damaged, but he is fine. After all, he has survived so far – and most of it, he did on his own. Stiles doesn’t need to be coddled, especially not by Theo; not years after everything has already blown up in their faces.
Smiling, Theo brushes his thumb over the back of Stiles’ neck. A soothing gesture. The exact opposite of what he needs. “I know.”
“Do you?” Stiles yanks his hand free and sits up, anger and shame and desperation swirling inside of him. This is why he fucks strangers. Commitment causes issues. Commitment means people look at him and see him for how fucked up he really is. Commitment means allowing someone in the way he let Theo in, and Stiles can’t go through that again. “Maybe you should leave.” Stiles closes his eyes and falls back into the mattress.
Theo rolls over and leans over him. “I don’t think so,” he whispers before bending down again and crashes their mouths together. It’s too hard, a bit to clumsy, not the way Theo would usually kiss him. But there’s something desperate in the way clings to him; almost like he’s afraid that if he lets go, Stiles will force him out.
Perhaps he would.
But Stiles is just as desperate for this than Theo. “Good,” he mutters into the kiss, pushing a hand between them again. This time, Theo doesn’t stop him when he reaches for his dick. “Then fuck me like you mean it.”
Theo shudders above him, either because of his words or because Stiles is dragging his thumb over the tip of his dick. He still remembers what Theo enjoys, what gets him hard the fastest, how to wrap him around his little finger and make him cum so hard he forgets his own name. Today, however, isn’t about Theo.
And Theo is aware of that.
He pulls away and grabs Stiles’ waist, easily turning him onto his stomach. “Lube,” he commands in a low voice as he pulls him onto his knees. There’s nothing particularly gentle about it, not his touch, not the way he opens Stiles’ pants and yanks them over his ass, or the way presses a finger against his rim.
This time, Stiles shudders and closes his eyes. It’s easy to forget how well Theo knows his body too. He needs a few seconds to remember that he’s supposed to grab lube. Although Stiles doesn’t take anyone home with him, he keeps a bottle of lube in the box next to the bed. He pushes the lid open just enough to push his hand in, fingers brushing over pill bottles before he manages to fish out the lube, which he tosses unceremoniously at Theo.
The hands vanish from his ass, and Stiles uses the time to get rid of his clothes. In his hopeless dreams, his reunion with Theo always ended up being a bit softer, full of longing and love. There’s love still, somewhere deep inside of him, but as of right now, there’s lust and despair, the desire to drown with hard sex what he’d usually use pills for.
Theo’s hand returns, grip tight on his hip and stilling Stiles, as two wet fingers push against his rim without any hesitation. He pushes into him until his second knuckle, making a sound that’s somewhere between annoyance and want. It’s not too hard to figure out that Theo’s thoughts are wandering to what he saw earlier tonight.
‘Your fault,’ Stiles wants to say, but he merely groans and pushes his face into his pillow. “Warn a guy,” he utters against the fabric, sounding way too breathless already. They’ve barely started.
Theo huffs and pulls his fingers back. There is even less softness now that Theo is clearly pissed off at Stiles sleeping around – as if he has any right to be angry or hurt. Nobody forced him to watch. He’s free to leave. But he doesn’t. He stays and buries himself in Stiles with a quiet grunt. When they’re pressed together so close nothing could fit between them, Theo stills, and Stiles reminds himself to breathe because he forgot how good it felt to have Theo inside him.
There used to be a time when Stiles could relax like this after a stressful day. Sometimes, he even managed to fall asleep with Theo balls deep inside of him – for a while, at least. Usually, he woke up to his boyfriend’s resolve breaking.
Ex-boyfriend.
Stiles licks his lips and looks over his shoulder, watching Theo staring down at him. “Do you need any help?” he asks and quirks a brow. “Or are you going to fuck me anytime soon?”
For a few heavy heartbeats, Theo simply looks at him, eyes almost searching for something. His lips curl into a disapproving line as he isn’t successful – and then he pulls back, only to snap his hips forward in a way that’s so familiar, so achingly hard, so right. Theo fucks him confidently and without further hesitation. His mouth explores every inch of Stiles’ body he cans reach – as if he doesn’t know him inside out. His fingers leave marks, reclaiming ownership of something he thought has left him.
But it’s worse.
Someone stole it.
The desperation and anger are clear in every thrust, in the way his fingers press into his skin, short nails digging in enough to leave little half-moons.
It’s hurts just right. The edge of pain making him harder than he’s been in the past few years – since he’s lost Theo. There could probably something be said about him, said about the way this type of sex feels so much better than all the other random hook-ups with strangers in the back of his bar. Maybe it’s the pain, or maybe it’s simply Theo; his body remembering everything.
His name rolls over Theo’s tongue, and this hurts in a different way. It cuts deeper, memories cursing him, a future that could never be trying to drag him under.
Stiles bites into his pillow and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to match Theo’s thrust as best as he can. Although he doesn’t have to do much. The hands holding his waist in an iron grip are doing the work for him. They’re having sex, yes, but in a way, they both are chasing their very own needs that simply seem to line up in some way.
Theo keeps fucking him in the same all but violent pace. Hips snapping forward, slapping against his own with an almost obscene sound, and nailing his prostate with almost every thrust.
Stiles spits the pillow out, propping himself up enough that he can see. A gasp escapes him, every sound punched out of him by Theo's dick. He grabs his own, fingers cool against the hot skin. Opening his mouth, Stiles watches the muscles in Theo’s thighs work, how his fingers dig deeper into his skin – as if he’s scared, he might vanish. Theo is chasing something, something he lost years ago, something Stiles gave away to protect him.
Part of him hopes he’ll find it again.
Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t.
Squeezing his eyes closed, Stiles moves his hands up and down his dick, fingers tightening near the tip. He’s chasing his release, the moments of freedom it gives him from his thoughts.
His muscles tighten when Theo’s thrust turn shallow, more irregular, and he’s so fucking close to cum. But Theo beats him to it. He moans his name, a sound somewhere between a curse and a moan.
Stiles cusses under his breath, struggling to keep up on his legs and arm with Theo’s weight splayed on top of him. He’s jerking himself off, desperate for his orgasm. His brain all but short-circuits when it finally hits him. For a few blissful moments, Stiles is in heaven – no thoughts, no memories, just his body, unchained.
Perhaps that’s part of the reason he’s chasing this so much.
But the return to earth is never fun.
This time, however, Stiles feels Theo’s hands brushing over his sides, his mouth placing soft kisses over his back, on his shoulders, the very bottom of the nape of his neck. He’s also still buried deep inside of him.
Stiles lets out a breath. For the first time, he prefers that his hook up hasn’t moved an inch. He embraces the weight of his body on top of his, although he’s gained some muscles in the past few years while Stiles isn’t much more than skin and bones. “Theo,” he says anyway, trying to get the word ‘move’ out of his mouth but it refuses to pass his lips. Things can’t be like they were before. Theo can promise him to stay all he wants, too much has happened, too much has changed. Stiles is too much.
But he can’t bring himself to end it.
Very carefully, Theo eases them both on their sides without pulling out. “What happens now?”
Stiles closes his eyes. So much for his afterglow. “You go back to being a football star, I go back to fucking myself up further. Everyone’s happy.” The lie burns on his tongue, but it’s easier to pretend than to open himself up emotionally only to lose Theo again. He’s not going to survive that. It’ll be a miracle if he survives this night.
“What if I don’t want that?” Theo runs his left hand up his chest, resting it above his heart. “I didn’t come here to walk away from you again.” His breath is hot on the back of his neck, the arm around him pulling him closer.
Despite himself, Stiles grabs Theo’s hand and intertwines their fingers. It comes so easy, so natural. “You don’t want that.” He would like to pretend it’s more instinct than his fear of losing Theo as well. Everything with Theo feels so natural, like nothing ever happened, like they’ve never been apart for even a fucking second. “My life’s a shitshow, and the world’s going to drag you into it.” I’m going to drag you into it a nightmare.
Theo kisses his shoulder. “I don’t care.”
“Don’t—“ There’s a part of him that wants to pull away, to get out of bed, but Stiles doesn’t want to lose the feeling of Theo against his back or his dick inside of him – despite a bit of cum sticking to his thigh, cooling against his skin.
“I promised we’d get through this together,” Theo whispers, running his fingers up and down Stiles’ sternum.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Even though it still feels like it. Five years of believing Theo simply dropped him aren’t going to vanish overnight. Stiles places his hand on top of Theo’s again, squeezing his fingers tightly.
Theo kisses his shoulder, lips curling into a smile against his skin. “I’m never going to leave you again.”
“It’s not worth it.” Stiles can see the headlines, can already tell what the world is going to think if their golden boy is seen with him. The stories they spin. They’re going to dig deep. They’re going to find out Theo’s been there too; keeping his name out of the media is the one thing Stiles and the Raekens could agree on.
But Theo pulls him closer, body so warm and safe and comforting. “You’re worth it. You’re worth everything and more.”
Stiles hums and closes his eyes, allowing himself to believe Theo.
At least for one day.
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