Archive of Our Own ^beta

He stares down at the book, blood curdling in his veins as he tries to make out the title but only sees gibberish.

DALESI XIS ANLA

It's a dream. It has to be. Except it doesn't feel like a dream at all. 

The problem is, he's woken up four times now and each time, the world around him has felt real. The way the soft cotton of his shirt brushes against his skin, the slightly musky smell of his bedroom (or the subtle, unmistakable scent of chalk in the classroom), even the faint tang of blood on the back of his tongue from screaming himself raw.

He just can't tell what's real anymore.

"Hey." His dad's voice from behind startles him from his thoughts, breath catching in his lungs as he spins to face the sound. Stiles can tell by the way his dad is leaning against the doorframe that he's doing his best to keep it casual, but there's a crushing worry in his eyes that he just can't seem to hide. "You alright?"

Stiles looks away, back towards the book in his hands. Part of it is to see if he can read the words, if he can convince himself that he's truly awake this time, but a bigger part than he'd like to admit is because he's embarrassed. Ashamed.

His nightmares last night left him screaming and thrashing, struggling to escape the terror that's been lurking in the shadows of his mind. He hates that his dad had to see him like that. Hates that his father's powerful arms wrapped around him and the quiet reassurances whispered into his ear were the only things to quell the tremor that racked his body.

But lately — ever since they went into those ice baths, ever since they suspended themselves halfway between life and death — having his dad curled up behind him is the only time Stiles feels safe at all.

Still, he does his best to calm his breathing, to slow his racing heart. It helps that as he looks at the textbook in his hand, he can actually make out the title this time.

ALLIES AND AXIS

Maybe he's awake after all.

"You ready for school?" 

It's a damn good question. Stiles isn't sure he has an answer.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm good." The lie slips easily from his tongue. God, he hates worrying his dad.

It doesn't seem to ease the distress that's creasing his dad's forehead and tugging down the corners of his lips. It just earns him a tilt of the head that practically screams his disbelief.

"Dad, seriously, I'm fine. It was just a nightmare." Stiles casts his eyes down, unable to meet his dad's gaze as he lies to him again. It's not just a nightmare, and Stiles knows it. It's something more. 

Something so much worse.

"You gotta stop lying to me, kiddo," his dad says quietly, bending down to place the storage box he's holding on the floor just outside Stiles' door, a movement Stiles only catches in his peripheral vision. He doesn't have time to work up the nerve to look back up before those strong arms are wrapping around him once again, pulling him back against his dad's chest in a grip that's uncompromising but still achingly gentle, just like it was only hours ago when he held Stiles after his nightmare. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

The thing is, he does know that. Knows he can talk to his dad about anything (now that he's been introduced to the world of the supernatural that exists around them). But his dad has been so busy with work lately, looking more and more worn down at the end of each day, that Stiles doesn't want to add to the load he's been carrying.

"You know," his dad says, breath warm against Stiles' neck, "I think I can actually hear the wheels turning in your head." His dad gives him a light squeeze as he whispers, "You're not a burden, Stiles. You're my son, and I love you. Talk to me."

Stiles huffs out a shaky breath and tilts his head back onto his dad's shoulder, forcing his muscles to relax as he reminds himself that he's truly awake now.

That he's safe here.

"I'm okay, dad. Honestly. I just—" Stiles struggles for the words to describe how he's been feeling lately. It's hard to put a voice to the all-consuming dread that claws at him from inside, leaving him raw and exposed and no less sure that he's awake for it, because the gnawing fear follows him into his dreams, too.

And he definitely doesn't know how to explain that he thinks he might be losing his mind.

"Just what, sweetheart?"

Stiles sucks in a breath and says the one thing that he knows how to articulate. "Everything is better when you hold me."

There's a quiet sigh next to his ear and then lips pressing soft against his throat, moving along his jaw in the gentlest of kisses, and Stiles can't help himself. He turns his head, capturing his dad's lips with his own, swallowing down the surprised gasp the movement provokes. The surprise fades away quickly enough, though, and soon his dad's tongue is swiping over his lips, pushing into his mouth.

A tiny moan escapes from Stiles' throat, but it becomes louder, longer, as his dad's hand splays open over his stomach, holding him close before sliding down his t-shirt, just far enough to tug it up and slip his fingertips into the waistband of Stiles' pants.

Having his dad's hand against his skin, having the heat of the man's body seeping into his own, helps to uncoil the pervasive fear that's made a home inside of him.

And it's like he can finally breathe.

"Dad, please," Stiles begs, grinding his ass back against his dad's hips. He's not sure how he didn't think of this sooner.

They haven't been together since the night of the ice baths. The night his dad had gone missing. When they'd gotten home after everything that happened in the tree grove, the relief of finding his dad alive had been almost overwhelming and he'd had his dad pushed up against the door before it was even fully closed, frantically kissing him, tugging at his clothes. 

The sex that night had been hard and urgent at first, his dad bending him over the couch and taking him quickly, reaffirming that they were both alive and so very much together. After that first round, though, the rest of the night was about reconnecting. His dad took him to bed and made love to him after that, fucking into him so slowly and with so much love that Stiles could barely breathe, though that might have been because their lips never left one another's for an instant.

But then things got busy. And Stiles started to pull away, trying to protect his dad from whatever was wrong inside his head.

Now, though…

Now his dad is moving his hips in time with Stiles', his hand dipping lower until his fingertips are just brushing the line of hair at the top of his pubic bone, and Stiles feels good for the first time in weeks.

"Dad, please. I need you. Need to feel you inside of me. Need to know this is real."

His dad stops moving at that, his hand freezing down Stiles' pants, hips stuttering to a halt, and Stiles thinks he may have just ruined everything with a simple slip of the tongue. Before he can pull away, though, his dad's hands are sliding to the button of Stiles' pants, popping it open and pulling down the zip as he murmurs, "Oh, sweetheart. Daddy's gonna make you feel so good."

Just like that, Stiles is rock hard, his cock throbbing as his dad tugs at his underwear and pants together, pushing them down without ever removing his lips from where he's sucking lightly against Stiles' pulse point. As he's stepping out of the pants that pool around his ankles, his dad brings one hand up to Stiles' mouth, pushing his middle and pointer fingers inside as he continues to lick and nip and suck at Stiles' throat. 

Stiles doesn't need to be told what to do. He runs his tongue over the digits, let's the saliva pool in his mouth and get his dad's fingers sopping wet. It's only a matter of seconds before the fingers are pulled from his mouth, and seconds more before they're pressing between his legs, wet and slippery as they rub along his taint before finding his hole, prodding gently, seeking entrance.

The first press inside has Stiles' eyelids fluttering closed, his breath stolen from his lungs as his dad pumps the single finger in and out, nice and slow, opening him up.

"More," Stiles sighs, relishing the slight burn as a second finger is added, stretching him perfectly. "Yes. Fuck."

"Does this feel real, sweetheart?" His dad whispers in his ear, pressing his fingers in deeper, deep enough that Stiles cries out at the fullness after being so fucking empty for weeks.

"Yes. But I need more. Need your cock." Stiles' hands squeeze tight around his dad, one on the hand that is still pressed flat over his belly, the other reaching up and back to tangle in his dad's hair. "Fuck me. Show me I'm yours. Show me I'm here."

"Anything for you, sweetheart," his dad says, finally sliding his hand lower, taking hold of Stiles' cock and stroking slowly.

"Hnngh." Stiles is already past the point of coherent sentences. It's been so long since he's felt anything other than fear that the sudden pleasure nearly knocks him on his ass.

"That's it, Stiles. Just relax. Let me take care of you."

So he does.

With two fingers still buried in his ass and a hand still pumping his cock, his dad walks them back towards the bed. He doesn't even stop stroking as he sits down on the edge of the mattress, pulling Stiles between his legs. He does, however, finally let go in order to reach for the lube in the night stand.

Stiles waits, hard and aching and yearning to be filled, as his dad unbuttons and unzips his uniform pants and pulls his dick out. And god, does Stiles love his dad's cock. It's thick and long and fits so perfectly inside of him that Stiles sometimes wonders if they were made for one another.

Watching him now, as he slicks himself up with fingers that were just inside of Stiles, he wants it more than ever. It feels like those tendrils of fear and uncertainty are already creeping around his heart and lungs again and he needs his dad's touch to keep them from taking root.

Fortunately, his dad doesn't make him wait.

"Come here, sweetheart."

Stiles expects his father to turn him around, so they're face-to-face, but instead, the hands that land on his hips just tug him back. It isn't long until he's settled with his back to his dad's chest, his knees on either side of his father's thighs, his dad's dick running along his perineum as he rocks his hips.

"Whenever you're ready, Stiles. Take your time."

The thing is, he doesn't want to take his time. He wants to feel him inside of him. Now.

He pushes himself up on his knees, just a little, just enough to reach down and grab his dad's dick, lining up so the head just breaches his hole. He loves this moment. The anticipation of knowing what's coming, the way his dad's cock nestles just inside of his body, waiting; it's the perfect suspense. A glorious expectation. 

There's only one thing better.

Stiles drops down in one smooth motion, impaling himself on his dad's cock and crying out at the burning stretch.

"Fuck, kid," his dad grunts, one hand coming up to rest over Stiles' chest, just over his heart, the other settling low on his belly again, both hands firm in an effort to keep him from moving. "Slow down. Don't hurt yourself. We have time."

He doesn't want to go slow, though. Doesn't want to wait. And the burn, the ache that blooms inside of him, just helps to anchor him in the here and now. He can't dream this kind of pain, which means he must be awake.

Right?

He doesn't give himself time to adjust, just starts to raise and lower himself on his dad's cock, knowing his dad's grip will keep him from tipping forward as his knees slip off the edge of the bed with his frantic movements.

"Stiles," his dad pants, holding tight as Stiles bounces hard and fast. "Sweetheart."

"Don't stop," Stiles begs. "Please. Fuck. This is real. I know this is real."

The hand over his heart slides up, wraps over his shoulder for a better grip, but his dad never moves to hold him back or slow him down. Instead, he's held just a little more securely as he fucks himself as fast as he can.

"Okay. Okay," His dad murmurs against his back, hot breath washing over his skin, chilling the droplets of sweat that start to bead up as he builds speed. "Can you feel me Stiles? Deep inside? Feel my pulse right here?" The hand on his stomach presses down for emphasis, right over where his dad's dick is buried as deep as he can get.

"Yes. Yes. Yes," Stiles breathes with each slap of skin on skin. He can feel him, can feel that pleasant ache that only his father can provide.

"You want it harder, Stiles? Need me to really make you feel it?"

"Fuck, yes."

Stiles isn't sure how he manages it, but somehow, his dad hauls him off his cock and tosses him onto the mattress, face up with his own dick standing flushed and proud as it aches for release. He whimpers as his back hits the bed but it cuts off when his dad crawls between his legs, looming over Stiles with a hunger in his eyes that leaves Stiles breathless.

"This is real, kiddo. And if you're ever doubting that, you come to me, okay?"

His dad doesn't wait for an answer. He shuffles forward and tugs Stiles' hips up, stuffing a pillow beneath him even as he lines back up and thrusts hard inside, punching the air from Stiles' lungs.

"You come to me, and I'll make you feel this, okay?" His father leans down and kisses him so deeply that Stiles feels like he's putting him back together, piece by piece, righting his world and mending his mind.

If only he could stay like this forever, with his father around him and in him and keeping him safe. If only he didn't need to battle this darkness that's spreading through his body and his soul like a cancer.

He knows he can't though, and his father seems to recognize it, too, because he straightens up and pulls Stiles' legs over his shoulders then starts to piston his hips with a fervour of which Stiles didn't even know his dad was capable.

It's fucking glorious.

Stiles grasps at his dad's shirt, fisting the starched fabric until it's wrinkled and crushed in his grip, holding on as his dad absolutely rails him.

"This is real," his dad pants, breathless already from how hard he's fucking into Stiles. "Say it, sweetheart."

"This is — hnngh — this is real," Stiles practically screams.

"Again."

Stiles is close. So fucking close. So close he can barely find the ability to repeat the words. It's breathy and weak, but he believes it as he cries out, "This is real."

He's only kept from slamming into the headboard by his dad's unrelenting hold on his hips. And Stiles wants it to last, but then his father speaks again and it's all over.

"Good boy. Now come for me."

As Stiles shoots warm and white all over his shirt, his dad unloads his balls deep inside of him, filling the empty space inside.

After a moment, his dad plants his elbows on either side of Stiles' head, peppering his face with kisses as they both work to even out their breathing. Only once they're no longer panting does his dad finally speak.

"Are you okay, Stiles? Really?"

Stiles considers the question. He's honestly not sure just how okay he is, but there is one thing he knows for sure is the God's honest truth.

"I'm better when I'm with you," Stiles murmurs into his dad's mouth before pulling him into a heated kiss. He'd swear he can feel his dad's cock twitch valiantly in his ass, though he knows he won't be able to get it up again this soon.

"Alright, kiddo. But you need to go to school and I need to get to work." His dad pulls out of him and Stiles bites back on the wince at the slight ache. "But Stiles, if you're struggling throughout the day, I want you to call me or come find me. We're gonna get through this. Together."

As his dad tucks himself into his pants and zips back up, Stiles lays back and hopes that he's right. That this is something they can move past together.

But a little voice in the back of his mind whispers it's a lie. Whispers that something is wrong and that it's not just going to go away.

And that voice sounds an awful lot like himself, just...wrong. Distorted.

Vacant, somehow.

Like there's a void inside of him.

For now, though, he pushes that thought aside and follows his dad's lead, dragging himself out of bed and hurrying to get cleaned up and dressed. He needs to get to class.

And with any luck, now that his dad has convinced him he's awake, he won't be questioning what's real anymore.

At least, for now.