shiny_luv: (Erica + apple)
[personal profile] shiny_luv
Fic Title: Electric embers will ignite
Author:[ profile] shinyslasher
Characters/Pairings:Chris/Isaac, Isaac and Stiles as bffs.
Word Count:6363
Warnings: adult language, some dub con, references to past physical abuse.

Summary: Isaac is a hooker who shares an apartment with his best friend Stiles. One day Stiles digs too deep into Peter Hale’s company files and disappears. Isaac has to hire someone to help. Basically AU set in cyberpunk-ish world.

Notes: Many thanks to [ profile] akadougal for quick beta <3 and [ profile] dephigravity and Ro & Sid for cheering *mwah*. Remaining mistakes are mine because I rewrote like half of the fic after the beta was done lol And a HUGE thank you to my artist for being awesome, patient and joy to work on this with ;) Seriously, this wouldn't have been half the fun without [ profile] ladytiferet's cool art and all things cyberpunk advice. So go check out hooker!Isaac art, he is the prettiest! <3
Art link: Art Masterlist

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EXCLUSIVE WEB HOLOGRAM NEWS: “This is Linda Webb with an exclusive report about the Beacon werewolf virus that has now claimed the lives of 35 victims in the California area. The latest death occurred at 5 pm tonight on the transit when a still unidentified at the time of this report werewolf female went into a body deforming experience, an incomplete shift into a wolf, before her body exploded. One of the witnesses on the scene, Stiles Stilinski, told us that ‘she seemed normal, just sitting there, and then her whole body started to shift under her skin, like you could literally see the bones moving around.’ Werewolf Disease Control and Hale Biowere organization are working non-stop on prevention policy as well as the cure. For the latest interview with Hale Bioware CEO, Peter Hale, please slide down the blue tag. We remind you that all suspected Beacon virus cases must be reported immediately to WDC headquarters. The virus symptoms that require attention are unexpected body heat changes, incomplete shifts, inability to heal and radical eye color changes. The Beacon werewolf virus is currently non-contractible by humans. In other news…”

“Please press the palm of your hand into the WDC disease identification device. Do not remove your hand until appropriate signal sounds or the designated door opens.” The metallic voice is familiar, almost soothing in its impersonality and in a world that is changes too fast and too brutally to keep up, routine is Isaac’s drug of choice. The sweat glistens under his hairline, a light sheen under the bright neon pink, as he prays the concealer glove he got this morning for whatever credits he still had works. He doesn’t have the virus, he reasons with himself, he is just feeling stressed lately. But just in case…he had to be prepared to pass the scanner. He needs this strip gig tonight, badly. With the virus making waves in the news and werewolf community, finding clients has been pretty hard lately and Stiles…god, last thing Isaac needs is him getting into more trouble trying to investigate the latest werewolves’ deaths. Stiles makes most of his money by hacking into the secret files of big corporations but sometimes he gets too reckless and nosy for his own good. Isaac bites at his lips, blood healing just as quickly as it wells up on his lower lip, as the scanner green lights go up and down his palm a few times. There are a few frightening moments when the wait gets almost too much for him until there is a ping at the door and he releases the breath he has been holding as the door slides open and he enters the dark hallway with flickering neon lights in the distance. Show time.

Isaac loves the quiet nights in the strip club, when there are just a few patrons seated around the place, their faces grotesque colored masks reflected in the mirrors that are scattered around the room for decor. He can already feel the sweat beading lightly under the few pink strands that keep falling into his eyes as his hips gyrate and roll with the beat of his new chosen song. The stage lights flicker red, blue and stars across his skin, urging him to spin faster as hungry eyes watch, a rush in his blood he only ever gets from running on the full moon in the forest, other bodies sharp and quiet next to him, moving nameless shadows of the nightly realm. He misses it more than he will ever admit to anyone and this rush of heat and power pumping in his veins is the closest to that feeling he can get in the city. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the middle aged guy palming his dick across from the stage, his other hand holding a cred card like a lifeline. Isaac will definitely approach him later to see if he can at least score a blowjob. He makes sure to wink at the guy as he spins around the pole, letting a hint of fang into his grin, knowing that whoever comes to this strip joint isn’t here to see humans shake it. Some of them like the rush of adrenaline to be owned by a were, some want to put a were on their knees, some want revenge, but all of them pay well enough to keep Isaac fed and clothed so he doesn’t really care what floats their boat. The werewolves can heal from anything. This is another reason why humans appreciate werewolves’ bodies. It is easier to divulge in your deepest, darkest fantasies when they leave no visible scars.

The song’s beat picks up and Isaac shimmies out of this shirt, letting his abdomen muscles flex above the waistband of the black tight fabric, his body arching toward the crowd, an offering that better pay off later when he is going to go into the crowd and mingle. Touch me, claim me, fuck me. Just about anything for the right amount of creds. He wraps his thighs around the pole, throwing his head back and exposing the dark collar around his throat to the club lights. As he arches and twists, Isaac is happy to see the guy’s hand speed up and the way his eyes are not leaving Isaac’s body even for a second. He releases the pole to tease the waistband of his pants, thumbs twisting in the fabric, pulling it tighter around the hard bulge of his dick, watching the tableau of the screen where the tips’ number climbs up as the patrons swipe the cred cards into the discreet slot of their table. When the number hits a 100, Isaac gives the audience his dirtiest grin, slowly pulling the fabric down and gliding his hand across his dick, licking his lips as he tries to look each person in the eye. ‘I’m dancing for you.’ He slides his thong down slowly just as the final beats rock the room, wrapping his hand around his dick and sliding it up and down a few times as the patrons cheer him on, thumb catching the drop of precome glistening in his slit just as the lights go out to signal the end of his performance. He puts his clothes back together with as much grace as he can muster, leaving the shirt off, and gets off the stage to make his way to the middle aged guy who was watching him earlier.

The alley behind the strip club is dirty, full of garbage, and barely lit when Isaac and the guy, “David” as he introduces himself earlier, slip out of the back entrance door, Isaac trying to find a comfortable place to get the blowjob as quickly and discreetly as possible. The club has rooms in the back for “private dances” but Isaac didn’t book any in advance nor does he want to share his cut with the club. There are always human pimps and alphas watching and waiting for fresh meat in the shadowed corners of the clubs around the city and Isaac knows firsthand how long it takes to heal from standing up to them. The wind picks up but the alley is not too cold and it will do fine for just a blowjob. David leans back against the wall, watching Isaac drop down to his knees in front of him, hands deft and sure as he pulls the zipper down and pulls out the guy’s dick. He spits into his hand, curling the fingers around the guy’s hard cock, making it slicker and cleaner if only a bit. The humans can use condoms under pretence of disease, but there are different expectations when it comes to werewolves. He covers his teeth with his lips and lowers his mouth, sucking hard and fast on the head before sliding down and opening his throat to take the guy deeper. Above him David moans, hand sliding down to tangle and pull on Isaac’s hair as he gets closer under the expert tongue and begs,

“Fuck, c’mon, the teeth!” and Isaac remembers what they agreed on earlier in the club. He lets his fangs grow slowly inside his mouth, sharp tips pressing against his tongue and the man’s hard flesh and he uses them skillfully, just that little hint of danger that sends the guy over the edge as swiftly as Isaac hoped for. He pulls back and spits a mouthful on come on the ground, carefully avoiding the client’s shoes, and tucks him back in. The hand in his hair petting his curls almost absentmindedly and he shakes it off, getting to his feet and sorting out his own clothes before turning to leave. He gave the guy his phone earlier in case he wanted to hook up again, but right now he needs to go home and see if he could get Stiles to stop hacking into shit long enough to eat something. He checks his collar and creds, popping a gum to get rid of the last traces of the guy from his mouth and hoping the soup place he wanted to stop at on the way home hasn’t been torn apart by scavengers or bored werewolves.

Isaac moves through the familiar streets quickly, not wanting to linger in the shadows of deserted houses and dirt piles in this area. The small black collar still hanging around his neck, he usually only takes it off at home. Such a small thing but it saved him more than a handful of times. In the dark corners of the city, it helps when someone thinks you belong to something bigger, stronger and better. No everyone wants to go against whoever managed to leash a were. He pulls the hood over his head, hoping to hide the bright beacon of pink hair, and tries to keep his pace just below a run when his ears pick up the sound of footsteps definitely coming in his direction. He looks around, searching for a place to hide but before he can even turn into another alley, strong hands grab him, pulling his arms behind his back and immobilizing him. Isaac twist and turns, but he might as well be trying to fight a brick wall. Alphas. Deucalion’s cronies. Whoever holds him hostage breaks his grip just for a second and Isaac turns around, claws at ready, low growl already tearing out of his throat and a woman steps out from shadows to block his escape, her eyes glinting red in the flickering street light.

“Isaac, you know better than to run from us again, don’t you?” She says, her voice deceptively calm and sweet, almost as if she didn’t try to gut him for refusing to work for Deucalion last time they met.

“My answer is still the same, Kali.” He tries to turn away from her and flinches when her hand flies towards his face, the hands of the werewolf behind him tightening to hold him still. Kali draws a claw down his cheek, watching in fascination as his body is trying to resist an alpha inflicted wound and heal in vain. The red rivulet glides down his cheek and she raises her claw to her mouth, tasting his blood and smirking,

“This is your last warning, Isaac. We want you to join us. This club already belongs to Deucalion, this street belongs to Deucalion. Hell, this whole fucking city will soon belong to us, the Alphas. Just think what you can do with that kind of protection.”

“I am not going to be Deucalion’s whore.”
“Pity.” Kali sighs, looking almost put upon as another one of her claws strokes down his neck and slices the collar in half, letting it flutter to the ground.

“He would even let you wear his collar if you like it so much.” Isaac cringes, not even willing to consider what Deucalion might want in return for that kind of personal protection. He pales when Kali goes on:

“You should also think about that pet human of yours. Stiles, right? Human are so fragile after all. One wrong slice of the claw…” Kali lets the words hangs in the air and Isaac struggles harder, fear curling inside him at the thought of Stiles in their hands. Maybe…No, he has seen what happens to hookers who worked for Deucalion and his Alphas. Death is a blessing by the time they are done with whoever displeased them.

The arms holding him back finally let go, pushing him down onto the dirty cracked pavement and he looks down, listening to footsteps heading back into the direction of the club, holding his sigh of relief until he is sure they are gone.

“Last chance, Isaac.” The words still echo in his ears long after they are gone. Finally Isaac gets up, wiping the remaining blood off his face and takes off running, hoping he won’t be too late to get the food.
The soup joint he usually goes to for takeout is a small hole in the wall guarded tightly by two bots. They are older models and some of the metal is worn around the edges, but they stand unmoving, flanking the small counter with a tiny gap inside the cross stitching of rusty window guards.

“Hey, Jake,” Isaac greets the owner, a thick-bodied guy with bionic eye that occasionally twitches either from cold or lack of maintenance. While bionics gotten flawless in the last decade, the older models still require a lot more expensive care from their owners which Jake probably doesn’t bother with.

“Hey, were-boy,” Jake answers, a perfect row of teeth out of the place with the web of scars scattered all over his face, “you want the usual? Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwich?” Isaac mouth waters simply from hearing his standard order. It’s been almost two weeks since he had enough creds for takeout and now he and Stiles can have an awesome dinner. He hasn’t seen Stiles in two days, staying with Boyd, one of the bouncers from the club he danced at sometimes, so that fucker better be alive when he comes home. Isaac doesn’t do this often, but Stiles has been acting strange and seeming more off than usual since the werewolf on the transit incident and Isaac wants his best friend to be his snarky self again. The rent for their apartment is due at the end of the week and god knows Isaac needs to fix the window in their living room, but he sighs and slides more creds towards Jake’s waiting hand.

“Add a chocolate bar too.”
“Celebrating, huh?” Jake’s smile turns predatory with some kind of speculation but Isaac just shrugs until the tiny window opens and the owner slides the non-perishable bag with his order towards him. He looks around quickly. Last thing he needs is a rogue were or scavenger to fight off, but the street seems as deserted as before, with a few lone hookers huddling under the street light on the corner, burrowing into their clothes as the early autumn chill picks up towards the night and Isaac sprints towards the apartment he and Stiles share. The building is hidden away from the bright lights of the city, away from the chaos of steel and blood in the sleepless technology jungle. The neighborhood is not exactly a safe haven but it’s the closest to it for the price that Isaac and Stiles can afford.

He pushes the door open carefully, not hitting the lights in case Stiles, who keeps crazy hours with his hacking projects, is still asleep. It only takes him a second to panic as the unfamiliar werewolf scent assaults his nose right in the doorway, making him drop the food and creep towards the strange pinging sound he can hear in coming from the living room. Isaac doesn’t need a light to see the mess in the living room, his vision providing him the clear picture of total destruction in their apartment. The couch Stiles usually sleeps on is turned over and laying on its side, various papers, boxes and clothes scattered everywhere, lamp crashed on the floor in the obvious struggle that took place while Isaac was away. There is no sign or smell of blood for which Isaac is grateful because that probably means whoever took Stiles at least wanted him alive or didn’t bother killing him in their apartment.

“Fuck, Stiles, what did you do?” Isaac says to the empty room and almost jumps a foot and wolfs out when the screen on the floor suddenly comes back to life with rapidly changing images that slowly settle into a web-enhanced program. Isaac’s eyes skim through it quickly and he realizes that this is another article where Peter Hale and Biowere’s co-owner Deucalion praise themselves and their company for developing yet another bionic-related modification. This one will apparently help those whose bodies reject all the bionic models currently available in the market. Isaac has warned Stiles not to get mixed up in Hale’s business. He stares at the creepy toothy smile Peter gives the reporter and feels cold tendrils of fear travel down his spine. At least with Deucalion he can try and bargain, even offer himself in exchange for Stiles, but Peter…If Stiles was right about the virus, there is a pretty good chance he won’t be alive for much longer knowing that kind of information.
Isaac searches for any clues of Stiles’ presence throughout the night, throwing caution to the wind and trying to catch a scent, a trace, anything that would give him clues about who took his friend. After he returns around early morning hours, Isaac eats a cold soup still sitting on the floor where he dropped it and he goes through Stiles’ computer files.

Despite living with him for 2 years, Isaac is hardly any good at hacking and he is sure that whatever hidden files Stiles hidden in the depths of his system, he will not be able to access them. After the night cloaks the city with darkness, Isaac conceits defeat. There have been no calls for ransom or from Deucalion asking for Isaac and he knows time is running out. There is only one person that might be able to help him now and Isaac can feel his stomach twist with anticipation at the thought of seeing Chris Argent again. He knows there are dark circles of worry under his eyes and there is a small echo of a scar where Kali’s claw bit into his skin. He picks up a makeup bag he rarely uses, sorting through the various tech-enhanced brushes, eyelash illusion kits and lip magic sticks, but finally just settles on a small tint of rouge on his lips and a small pink star to cover the scar. He presses highlighter to his cheekbones, waiting for the ping, watching as they become sharper and more pronounced in the mirror. Even if Argent doesn’t appreciate Isaac’s look, the patrons of the club will shell out creds a lot faster with his lips looking fuller, ready to be tarnished. He slides the collar on, picking a soft black one with a little ring at the center. He assumes the ring is there to put the leash on, but it also gives his fingers something to play with as he tries to calm down his nerves. He takes one last look around the still mostly messy apartment and closes the door behind him, ready to track down the guy that will probably know where he can find Chris Argent.

The building Isaac enters looks just as run down and deserted on the outside as everything else in the city, former glory of someone’s successful company is covered in dirty torn papers and rats in the hallway that scatter with annoyed squeaks when he turns towards the metal doors with a small recording device hanging above. He glances up, letting whoever is on the other side take a good look at his face and waits. It doesn’t take long for the door to slide open with barely a hiss and Isaac walks through them, eyes easily getting used to the dim light in the office Argent apparently works in these days. Isaac had to fuck a human, a squealer who sells in synt-uppers and information, just to get the right location. Men like Argent can’t really stay too long in one place, not anymore; the city is not safe for anyone anymore. Therefore Isaac is hardly surprised to find Chris Argent training wolfsbane-boost blaster gun on him, eyes impassive as they look Isaac up and down.

“Isaac.” There is something about Chris that makes Isaac feel like he is back in high school, still shy and unsure in his own skin, admiring Allison’s dad. That feels like another life now. He feels pathetically grateful that despite all the bio and tech enhancements Isaac can easily notice in Argent, his sense of smell isn’t good enough to pick up what Isaac has been doing just before he came here. The white t-shirt under his jacket is smudged with dirt where his back rode against the wall when one of his johns hooked his legs around his hips, making Isaac bite his lip and forget if only for a second that he was desperately trying to find Stiles. His hair is still tinged darker pink from the freezing rain on the way to Chris’ office and he knows even his makeup can’t hide the dark circles after the sleepless night he spent outside looking for Stiles. He hopes the light shimmer of lipstick is still enough to hide the slowly healing bites from earlier on his lips.

Isaac wonders if coming to Argent for help was a foolish idea after all. He can’t remember the last time he felt self conscious about his appearance or the way he earns his money. He stares back at Chris and his weapon, raising his chin almost defiantly and fighting against the urge to wolf out at the threat.

“Mr. Argent.”
Argent winces, shaking his head, but still not lowering the gun.

“Call me Chris. Mr. Argent was my dad, may the old bastard rot in hell.” Isaac cracks a smile because his own probably makes Gerard look like a saint. At least he didn’t sell his son’s body to the first food trader he could find.
“What can I do for you, Isaac? I must admit I haven’t expected you to ever try and talk to me again. You were angry with me the last time we saw each other.”

Isaac hides his surprise but just barely. His memory easily recalls the night when he saw Argent watching him in the club, almost completely hidden in the back of the room, the want that he could smell on him mixed in with the scent of leather and sweat. Isaac can still remember the enrapt expression on the man’s face, the flush of arousal that barely faded when he turned down Isaac’s offer for something more than a dance. He didn’t think Argent would bring it up and he can feel an unwanted flush creeping onto his cheeks.

“I have a business proposition for you.” Chris arches an eyebrow and Isaac smirks in answer: “Not that kind of proposition. Stiles has been missing for the last two days and I need you to find him for me. I have tried on my own already and couldn’t even pick up a scent of whoever took him.”

“Stiles?” Chris finally lowers his weapon, motioning Isaac towards a chair and taking the other one, situated behind his desk.

“Shouldn’t you call his dad? I am sure the sheriff has enough resources to find him.”

“I can’t! Stiles would kill me. His dad has been having problems with his heart lately, not to mention he is not exactly proud of Stiles’ hacking jobs.” Or that he lives with a hooker, Isaac silently adds. Chris looks at him inquisitively for a few long moments, his gaze assessing with a hint of something that makes the blood rush through Isaac’s body faster, sweeter. Then he takes out a data pad and puts it on the table between them.
“Tell me everything that happened since you came home and discovered that he was missing.”

Isaac starts from the beginning, omitting what happened with Kali, and instead focuses on Stiles working on breaking into Hale Biowere’s files. Argent’s face turns grim at the mention of Peter and Deucalion.
“Fuck, I really hope Peter is not the one who took him. You know he’s fucking crazy and no one gets away from him alive, were or human alike.”

Isaac stares at his hands, claws digging into the soft skin of his palms, willing the tremor to go away at the thought of never seeing Stiles again. He doesn’t really have any close friends other than him and his father, the only family he had left, is long gone. He bites his lip and focuses on Chris’ worried face:
“I really need you to find him. Whatever it takes, I’ll pay you.”

Chris sighs, looking down at his hands which twitch slightly around the data pad edges:
“It might cost quite a lot, Isaac. You know that information is everything in this city and no one will betray Peter for less than a fortune.” Isaac clenches his fists angrily, trying not to growl and lash out like the wolf inside him is demanding:

“I have some creds saved and I can get more. I’ll get more clients each day, I can let them fuck for 24 hours if I have to…” He trails off at the horrified look on Chris’ face and looks away, flushing. Chris sighs, reaching out suddenly and briefly squeezing Isaac’s shoulder.

“I hope it will not come to you having to do that. I’ll do my best, Isaac, I promise you. I’ll find him, you can count on me.” His eyes hold Isaac’s for a minute before flickering lower to the dark strap of fabric still wrapped tightly around his neck. Isaac’s fingers started fiddling with the small ring absentmindedly and there is an undisguised need in Chris’ eyes, a brief flicker before the impassive look slides back in. Isaac’s breath hitches and he cannot help but want to get that look back, to check if that was a fluke.
Feeling emboldened, Isaac reaches down and lets his hand slide over Chris’ dick covered by layers of fabric and metal. With this new proximity he can easily spot the hard lines that working as skip tracer has drawn on Argent’s face. His eyes still glow with the cold, calculated fire Isaac remembers from way back but there is also a tinge of pain in them, a slight edge one can only recognize when they live long enough in the shadows. The horrors of post war city leave a mark that can never be erased. A steel grip stills his hand.

Isaac doesn’t pull back, letting his hand stay where it is. “Why the hell not?”
“There is no turning back after you start this.” Sometimes Isaac forgets not all humans are fragile anymore. Even with tech progress there is no matching for werewolf strength or intensity, but Chris didn’t get to be a good at his line of work without being able to take down even the strongest monsters. Isaac cannot help a surge of lust he feels at the thought of bowing under that strength. His eyes don’t stray away from Chris’ gaze and he hopes that the man can see just how much he wants this. Chris’ hand still holds his immovable.

“You don’t need to whore yourself out for me to help you.”
“What if I want to?”
“Doesn’t mean it’s right. I already said I will try my best to find Stiles.”
Isaac shakes his head, trying not to let disappointment show on his face. He should’ve guessed that despite bringing up that night in the club, Chris wouldn’t want anything from him. Something must still show on his face because the touch of Chris’ hand gentles and he says almost too quiet to anyone but a werewolf to hear:
“It’s not that I don’t want you, Isaac. But this will complicate a lot of things for both of us.”

Isaac tears his hand away, feeling both anger and humiliation warring inside him.

“Fuck you, Argent! My best friend is missing and he might be dead already! It doesn’t have to be anything else, all I fucking want is for you to fuck me and I can see you want it too. I can fucking smell it on you.” He huffs a bitter laugh, looking down and feeling annoyed with himself for the outburst. He doesn’t want to look up and see the look of pity on Argent’s face. Before he can say anything else, he finds himself pressed against the wall, Argent’s weight a heavy but welcome presence against his body, the hard dick pressing into Isaac’s is all the proof he needs that he is no longer alone in wanting this. Chris’ eyes seem keener, his expression sharp and predatory as his gaze takes in Isaac’s body and comes back to the band of fabric around his neck.

Two fingers slip under his collar, pulling it tight against the skin of his neck, where bruises form and fade away as Isaac gasps for breath.
“This says to me that you belong to someone. Last thing I want is a fucking angry alpha after me.”
Isaac licks his suddenly dry lips, glad Chris can’t smell just how much the idea of belonging to someone turns him on, pushing away from the wall and pressing harder against the clear evidence of Chris’ interest in him.
“It’s just for protection.”
Chris inclines his head, assessing him before nodding:
“That’s smart. In that case…how about we move this somewhere more comfortable?”

“After you.” The doors slide open to reveal large rows of guns and surveillance equipment, but Chris leads him further down, to the couch in the end of the room that looks like it has seen better days. Isaac just hopes it can hold their combined weight because he is not backing down now that they are finally on the same page. Chris pushes him gently onto the couch, following him down, hands fisting into Isaac’s t-shirt immediately to pull him into a kiss.

Kissing Chris Argent is just like what Isaac imagined in his many jerk off fantasies after seeing him in the club. His lips are hard and insistent, tongue plunging in and prying Isaac’s lips open almost instantly but the thumb on his cheek is soft and gentling, rubbing right where the edge of pink hair starts. Isaac eventually pulls back, breathing hard, glad that he’s not the only one with a slightly dazed look on his face.

Chris’ hand slides lower, clever fingers slipping into Isaac’s underwear, teasing where he is already shamelessly slicked and loose. Chris’ leans to whisper right into the shell of his ear:
“Did anyone fuck you today?” Isaac nods, clearing his throat:
“How many?” The fingers slide deeper, two of them, eager in their stretch, making Isaac shudder as another wave of want slams into him.

“Just one.”
Chris’ other hand slides over Isaac’s dick, cupping the hard and Isaac finally remembers himself enough to use his strength to flip them over, letting his eyes glow gold for a second as he presses against Argent’s body, rubbing their dicks together and making Chris moan low and dirty. Isaac’s fingers work on getting rid of Chris’s clothes. He pulls off layers of metal and leather interwoven into intricate armor and gasps when he finally reveals long lines of tanned skin covered in multiple scars from claws and bullets. His body is strong, fortified by bio-technology, but there is also natural raw strength and it pulls Isaac in like a magnet.
Isaac rubs his thumbs over the tightening nubs of pink nipples, quick to learn what makes Chris tick and arch his spine into Isaac’s knowing, eager hands. He slides down lower, lips trailing the soft trail of hair leading towards Argent’s cock, stopping only to sink his human teeth into the thick, hard muscle of Chris’ abs, wishing he could leave more permanent mark, his own tattoo, his own scar to add to the ones scattered all over Argent’s body. One tattoo in particular catches Isaac’s attention, glinting brightly under his questing fingers.
The tattoo is a simple bullet, silver with strange markings, Isaac has seen similar designs on were hunters before. He traces it absently with his hand, noting the sharp intake of breath from the man when his hand circles it slowly. Isaac’s eyes widen when the bullet shifts and changes into an array of smaller bullets that scatter under his hand. Chris watches him, amused or maybe delighted by his exploration. Isaac has seen nano-tats before but he never expected Chris to have something this advanced. He is distracted by the slow circles of tiny bullets around one tight nipple when Argent finally shoves a rough, impatient hand into his hair, making Isaac meet his eyes:

“Are you planning to just watch all night?”
Isaac laughs and grinds down onto Chris’ cock, feeling the hardness riding his ass before he stands up to take his clothes off. For someone who does striptease for a living, he feels strangely graceless now and undressed himself in just a few swift motions. Chris lies back, watching him, hand stroking his own cock unhurriedly, just teasing as he waits for Isaac to climb back on top.

He done this so many times yet it still feels exhilarating, touching Chris for the first time, his hand wrapping easily around the hard cock to replace Chris’, thumb teasing over the already wet slit, spreading the precome until he gets a good rhythm going. Isaac leans forward and uses his tongue and teeth to try and catch the little bullets, making Chris laugh and huff fondly as his hand returns the favor and molds itself around Isaac’s dick.
“Do you want me to fuck you, Isaac?” Chris’ voice is hoarse, a testament how close he is and Isaac bites his lip and shifts into a more comfortable position. He is already pretty stretched, but still gasps when he slowly lowers himself onto Chris’ hard dick, not stopping until his thighs are flush with Chris’ hips. He grinds down slow and easy a few times, teasing, testing, until Chris starts fucking up into him, making him pick up the pace. Isaac can’t remember when he lost himself so much during sex. His whole body feels tight and shaky; their moans mingling as they both race towards their own completion and Isaac can feel his eyes try to change color, his fangs piercing his lower lip.

“You can let go, Isaac,” Chris whispers, his hand a sure weight on the back of Isaac’s neck, guiding him and his throat bursts open around a growl, eyes burning gold as his hips pick up a frantic pace. They are both rutting against one another, desperate and sweaty, Chris’ hands digging hard grooves into the skin of Isaac’s hips, knowing he can take it, wants to take it as fast and hard as he can get it now that his orgasm is so close. He leans over, taking Chris’ mouth in hard, biting kisses, both of them groaning into each other’s mouths, tongues trying to battle for dominance until it becomes too much.

“Fuck! Isaac, come on!” Chris hand is stripping his dick hard and fast, and Isaac can feel the moment he comes, body bowing and it doesn’t take long for Isaac to follow and his come to spurt all over Chris’ hand and stomach. Chris pulls him close, encircling him, letting him rest and come down from the intensity of their orgasm.
They lay in silence, coming down from intense orgasm, Isaac letting the wolf recede back, a curled, sated beast. He lets Chris run a gentle hand up and down his back, occasionally dipping where they were previously joined. It feels comfortable, almost sweet and Isaac suddenly feels lost. His wolf is relishing in their mingled scents and Isaac doesn’t want to let go of the warmth of Chris’ body but he needs to go. Stiles is still missing and he still needs to work to make enough creds to find him, no matter how much he enjoyed being with Argent. He stirs slightly, turning to get up and Chris lets him slip away and watches as Isaac puts his clothes back on.

“Somewhere you need to be?”
“I have to get to the club soon and I need to get home and change before that.” Chris hums noncommittally, but Isaac wonders if he imagines the brief flicker of disappointment in his eyes. He runs a hand through his hair, straightens out his clothes and leans over for one last kiss. Chris’ lips are still warm and slack with pleasure and his hand tightens on the collar for just a moment before letting go.

“I’ll see you around.” He almost makes it to the doors before Chris’ voice stops him.
“Isaac.” He turns around with a detached expression on his face he struggles to keep.

“Call me if you discover new information. And I will get in touch with you as soon as I have news about Stiles. We will find him, I promise.” Chris’ eyes are warm and Isaac feels a little less lonely for the first time since Stiles went missing. Unable to resist, his mouth twitches with a flirty smile.

“Call me if you want…” he licks his lips, still tasting Chris.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Chris shakes his head, exasperated, and says,
“Go, Isaac. I’ll be in touch. Stay safe.”

The doors slide open into the darkness and rain, enveloping Isaac’s body as he heads towards the club, a small, secretive and hopeful smile on his face.

Date: 2014-03-01 09:18 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Still adore this! So good.

Date: 2014-03-02 01:28 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
It's an awesome story, thank you again! :D


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