Fic: The Thin Men
Author: fluffyllama
Title: The Thin Men
Rating: Adult
Pairing/s: Adrian Harris/Stiles Stilinski
Character/s: Derek Hale (sort of)
Summary: Stiles fills Derek in on some surprising developments in Beacon Hills, though there are a few details he leaves out.
Warnings: underage, corporal punishment (caning)
Word Count: 1000
Prompt: crossover
Author's Notes: I've been working on a Teen Wolf/XCOM: Enemy Unknown (and XCOM: Enemy Within) crossover for my video game crossover/fusion square at longfic_bingo recently. This isn't actually part of it, but it does refer to events that happen in it. Since it hasn't been posted yet, that's not terribly helpful, but it is also related to another ficlet written for this community last year - Discipline (Harris/Stiles).
You can see a picture of a Thin Man here. Info on the actual game(s) for those unfamiliar is here, but basically it's a secret project to deal with alien invaders coming to earth, and you don't need to know anything else.
Okay, so there's been a lot going on in Beacon Hills lately, what with the door-in-our-minds crap trying to drive us insane- but it's too early in the morning to think about any of that. You can catch up if you ever come back. What I'm trying to say is that we thought things were bad enough already.
And then the Thin Men came.
Don't blame me for the name, it wasn't my idea. Personally I call them all 'Harris', because I half thought it might be him the first time I saw one. I mean, come on. Even I don't go straight to alien without a good reason. And the suit, the short dark hair, the rat-like face - I'll send you a photo - it totally could have been him. I only had a glimpse, that first time, but there was something about it. Him? I don't know, what are we supposed to call them?
Let's go with 'him'.
I remember shouting after him, but he didn't stop. Harris had been gone for a while, but no body had been found. If there was anyone in Beacon Hills who'd slink off when bad shit was going down, it'd be Harris. I was just surprised he'd come back. Surprised and-- angry with him, I guess. I followed him before Scott came out and saw me, because--
“Today, Mr Stilinski.” Harris tapped the cane impatiently against his palm, and Stiles shoved his boxers down quickly. He reached for the far side of the desk, fingers curling around it, blunt nails digging into the wood.
The first stroke was a shock, even though Stiles was expecting it.
“Fuck!”
“You forgot to count, Mr Stilinski,” Harris said smoothly. “Let's try that one again.”
--well, let's just say that there were certain conversations I didn't want to have in front of Scott.
Anyway, as soon as I turned the corner it was obvious it wasn't Harris. Then I was hit by a cloud of green, foul-smelling gas, and I collapsed to the ground. The weird guy, he just folded up his legs like he was an insect and sprang up into the air. I heard later they found traces of someone having crossed the roof, so I guess he jumped straight up there.
Not gonna lie - aside from the part where I thought I was going to choke to death, it was actually pretty cool.
By the fifth stroke Stiles could feel his eyes start to sting.
It wasn't just the pain, though he swore he could feel every stripe burning across his skin. Somehow he felt more exposed like this than he ever had bent over Harris's knee in countless after hours detentions.
Maybe because he hadn't needed it then. Not like he did now.
“Six,” he choked out as the cane whistled through the air once more.
Halfway. It was always better after halfway.
When I woke up, it wasn't to see my dad, or Scott, or anyone else I expected sitting by my bed.
No, it was fucking Harris sitting there. In a uniform I didn't recognize, but that had a patch saying 'XCOM', whatever that was.
“So it was you?” I said, because what the hell, it would make as much sense as anything did these days.
“I'm just the one who found you,” Harris said, as if I was going to buy that.
It wasn't just the uniform, or Harris, or the fact that this place looked nothing like any part of Beacon Hills hospital that I'd ever seen. There was something else, something I couldn't quite take in.
And then I got it.
Windows. There were no windows.
The desk was wet under Stiles's cheek when he counted the final stroke.
“We shouldn't-- I have a meeting before class starts,” Harris said, but his hand closed around Stiles's dick anyway. He pressed himself against the stripe marks burned into Stiles's ass, and Stiles came with a whimper of relief.
“Better?”
Stiles was always better after his unofficial morning detention. He nodded. He'd be able to feel the sting of those marks all day, helping him focus, keeping him calm and grounded like nothing else he'd tried had ever been able to.
“Let's hope you can stay out of trouble for another day then, Mr Stilinski,” Harris said, putting his teacher persona back on with his jacket.
I know it sounds ridiculous, but it turned out I was in a secret (well, secret-ish) underground base. One that monitors alien threats to the planet, and uses anything it can to eliminate those threats. You should have seen Lydia getting the tour of their labs; five minutes in there and they were falling over themselves to impress her. I think she might even still be there. They have these really cool cybernetic-- but that's not why I'm leaving you these messages.
It's because even with all the tech they have, they're probably going to lose. There are more than just these humanoid infiltrator type aliens; those are just the first wave when they choose an area to focus on. After that, things get really nasty. They have psionics experts, giant armored robots, invisible vampire squid... things. I don't know what they all are yet, but I'm gonna kick their sorry excuse for a database into shape if it's the last thing I do.
Harris is a bit more clued up these days thanks to our old friend the Darach, and he-- well, we came to an agreement. A mutually beneficial arrangement, my part of which is to contact you. If you wanted to come back, his new employers would like to meet you and your super-werewolfy muscles. And Peter, I guess, if they're really desperate. I have no idea where he is these days.
I expect you'll ignore these messages like all the others. It's up to you, dude, I've gotta go.
I don't want to be late for detention.
Title: The Thin Men
Rating: Adult
Pairing/s: Adrian Harris/Stiles Stilinski
Character/s: Derek Hale (sort of)
Summary: Stiles fills Derek in on some surprising developments in Beacon Hills, though there are a few details he leaves out.
Warnings: underage, corporal punishment (caning)
Word Count: 1000
Prompt: crossover
Author's Notes: I've been working on a Teen Wolf/XCOM: Enemy Unknown (and XCOM: Enemy Within) crossover for my video game crossover/fusion square at longfic_bingo recently. This isn't actually part of it, but it does refer to events that happen in it. Since it hasn't been posted yet, that's not terribly helpful, but it is also related to another ficlet written for this community last year - Discipline (Harris/Stiles).
You can see a picture of a Thin Man here. Info on the actual game(s) for those unfamiliar is here, but basically it's a secret project to deal with alien invaders coming to earth, and you don't need to know anything else.
Okay, so there's been a lot going on in Beacon Hills lately, what with the door-in-our-minds crap trying to drive us insane- but it's too early in the morning to think about any of that. You can catch up if you ever come back. What I'm trying to say is that we thought things were bad enough already.
And then the Thin Men came.
Don't blame me for the name, it wasn't my idea. Personally I call them all 'Harris', because I half thought it might be him the first time I saw one. I mean, come on. Even I don't go straight to alien without a good reason. And the suit, the short dark hair, the rat-like face - I'll send you a photo - it totally could have been him. I only had a glimpse, that first time, but there was something about it. Him? I don't know, what are we supposed to call them?
Let's go with 'him'.
I remember shouting after him, but he didn't stop. Harris had been gone for a while, but no body had been found. If there was anyone in Beacon Hills who'd slink off when bad shit was going down, it'd be Harris. I was just surprised he'd come back. Surprised and-- angry with him, I guess. I followed him before Scott came out and saw me, because--
“Today, Mr Stilinski.” Harris tapped the cane impatiently against his palm, and Stiles shoved his boxers down quickly. He reached for the far side of the desk, fingers curling around it, blunt nails digging into the wood.
The first stroke was a shock, even though Stiles was expecting it.
“Fuck!”
“You forgot to count, Mr Stilinski,” Harris said smoothly. “Let's try that one again.”
--well, let's just say that there were certain conversations I didn't want to have in front of Scott.
Anyway, as soon as I turned the corner it was obvious it wasn't Harris. Then I was hit by a cloud of green, foul-smelling gas, and I collapsed to the ground. The weird guy, he just folded up his legs like he was an insect and sprang up into the air. I heard later they found traces of someone having crossed the roof, so I guess he jumped straight up there.
Not gonna lie - aside from the part where I thought I was going to choke to death, it was actually pretty cool.
By the fifth stroke Stiles could feel his eyes start to sting.
It wasn't just the pain, though he swore he could feel every stripe burning across his skin. Somehow he felt more exposed like this than he ever had bent over Harris's knee in countless after hours detentions.
Maybe because he hadn't needed it then. Not like he did now.
“Six,” he choked out as the cane whistled through the air once more.
Halfway. It was always better after halfway.
When I woke up, it wasn't to see my dad, or Scott, or anyone else I expected sitting by my bed.
No, it was fucking Harris sitting there. In a uniform I didn't recognize, but that had a patch saying 'XCOM', whatever that was.
“So it was you?” I said, because what the hell, it would make as much sense as anything did these days.
“I'm just the one who found you,” Harris said, as if I was going to buy that.
It wasn't just the uniform, or Harris, or the fact that this place looked nothing like any part of Beacon Hills hospital that I'd ever seen. There was something else, something I couldn't quite take in.
And then I got it.
Windows. There were no windows.
The desk was wet under Stiles's cheek when he counted the final stroke.
“We shouldn't-- I have a meeting before class starts,” Harris said, but his hand closed around Stiles's dick anyway. He pressed himself against the stripe marks burned into Stiles's ass, and Stiles came with a whimper of relief.
“Better?”
Stiles was always better after his unofficial morning detention. He nodded. He'd be able to feel the sting of those marks all day, helping him focus, keeping him calm and grounded like nothing else he'd tried had ever been able to.
“Let's hope you can stay out of trouble for another day then, Mr Stilinski,” Harris said, putting his teacher persona back on with his jacket.
I know it sounds ridiculous, but it turned out I was in a secret (well, secret-ish) underground base. One that monitors alien threats to the planet, and uses anything it can to eliminate those threats. You should have seen Lydia getting the tour of their labs; five minutes in there and they were falling over themselves to impress her. I think she might even still be there. They have these really cool cybernetic-- but that's not why I'm leaving you these messages.
It's because even with all the tech they have, they're probably going to lose. There are more than just these humanoid infiltrator type aliens; those are just the first wave when they choose an area to focus on. After that, things get really nasty. They have psionics experts, giant armored robots, invisible vampire squid... things. I don't know what they all are yet, but I'm gonna kick their sorry excuse for a database into shape if it's the last thing I do.
Harris is a bit more clued up these days thanks to our old friend the Darach, and he-- well, we came to an agreement. A mutually beneficial arrangement, my part of which is to contact you. If you wanted to come back, his new employers would like to meet you and your super-werewolfy muscles. And Peter, I guess, if they're really desperate. I have no idea where he is these days.
I expect you'll ignore these messages like all the others. It's up to you, dude, I've gotta go.
I don't want to be late for detention.