Not As Good As You Think You Are

Summary: Tag to season one, episode Second Chance at First Line. Stiles’ dad has a conversation with him about lying
Warning(s): Spanking; spoilers for the first two episodes of season one of Teen Wolf; some references to violence

###

“Come on, Scott,” Stiles muttered, staring at his phone before pressing it to his ear again. “Pick up. Where are you?” He glanced at the door of his bedroom. Thought about leaving the house. Taking the car. Driving round until he found his best friend.

But what would he find? Scott the werewolf? Or Scott his best friend?

“Damnit,” Stiles muttered, dropping his phone to the floor as it clicked onto the answerphone once more. He opened his laptop and scanned the pages he’d left open.

Wolfsbane was supposed to be poisonous to werewolves. And Scott had showed a clear reaction to it. But Derek was a werewolf. And who else would have planted the wolfsbane but him? Or another werewolf? And even if it was another werewolf, how could he or she have tolerated the plant enough to actually plant it?

“I need to run some tests,” Stiles muttered, skim reading through the pages. Maybe he could persuade Scott to touch it. See how close the plant needed to be before having an effect. Would it be as potent if it was crushed? Dried out? All the sites mentioned was that it was a weakness to werewolves, but not exactly how to make it more or less effective.

If he wasn’t in so much trouble with his dad, he’d seriously consider sneaking into the jail just to ask Derek questions. Maybe with some wolfsbane to hand. Just to protect himself.

Stiles’ door opened before he could close down the site and he twisted round in his chair to see his dad standing there. “Geez, Dad! You ever heard of knocking?!”

His dad wasn’t looking at him; was instead frowning at the computer screen. “You’re researching werewolves?”

“Yeah. School project.” Stiles shrugged carelessly. “You need something, Dad?”

“We need to talk.” His dad walked over and sat down on Stiles’ bed, then rested his hands on his knees and leaned forward slightly. “More specifically, we need to talk about you lying to me. And about that invasion of privacy.”

Stiles squirmed in his seat. His dad had been busy; really too busy to give him more than a scolding for listening in to the case when everything had started. And Stiles knew that, under normal circumstances, he’d be facing far worse than a scolding.

He’d just assumed his dad had forgotten about it, what with all of the excitement of Derek Hale being arrested.

“We don’t need to ‘talk’ about it,” Stiles said quickly. “I won’t do it again.”

His dad raised his eyebrows and leaned forward slightly. “How many times have you promised me that, only to do the exact same thing the next time you decide you want to go off and investigate something on your own? Or the next time you decide that lying to me is easier than telling me the truth?”

“But I always have reasons for what I do,” Stiles protested. “Like when I told you Scott wasn’t with me. I didn’t want him to get into trouble. Shouldn’t I get let off for having noble intentions?”

His dad opened his mouth, but Stiles rushed on before he could speak. “And if you don’t want me to investigate on my own, you shouldn’t have been talking on the phone around impressionable youngsters.”

His dad held up his hand, looked into Stiles’ eyes and said, his voice clear and concise, “Get the paddle.”

“That’s not fair,” Stiles protested, not budging.

“No, son. What’s not fair is you betraying my trust and my faith in you, again and again. What’s not fair is that you’re blaming me for not keeping things from you when I should be able to trust you to keep your mouth shut about anything you overhear.”

“Even around Scott?” Stiles asked quietly.

“Even around Scott,” his dad confirmed. “If you keep acting like this, I won’t be able to trust you at all. Do you want that?”

That hurt. Stiles could have argued. Even opened his mouth with the intention of doing so. But then he closed it again and sighed before shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to lie to you. It just came out.”

“Lying is a choice, Stiles,” his dad said seriously. “You chose to lie to me. And you chose to listen in to a private conversation I had with my deputies and to use that information for your own ends.” He waited a beat and then said, quietly, “I won’t tell you again.”

Stiles’ shoulders slumped and he muttered, “I don’t want you to paddle me.”

“That’s what makes it such an effective deterrent,” his dad responded. “You know the consequences for lying to me, Stiles. It’s either this or being grounded. And we both know confining you to the house does nothing but make you miserable and even more argumentative than usual.”

Stiles’ shoulders slumped and he gave one last pleading look to his dad. When the older man didn’t budge, he sighed heavily and walked over to his desk. He pulled open the bottom drawer and took out the small, round, wooden paddle. It was smooth and varnished and Stiles glowered at it before he brought it over to his dad and held out the implement.

Taking the paddle from Stiles, his dad placed it on the bed next to him and then reached out to unbutton Stiles’ pants. He pulled them down and then guided Stiles across his lap.

His boxers were still in place, but that was more to protect his modesty, as Stiles always found the paddling to be effective even when his butt was covered. He tangled his fingers in the bedsheets and breathed in deeply, waiting nervously for the first strike to land.

The anticipation of the blow was always worse than the blow itself. Which wasn’t to say it didn’t hurt, because it did. The paddle impacted his left buttock and Stiles let out his breath in a long, hollow gasp, gripping the comforter even tighter.

The second strike landed on his opposite buttock and Stiles hissed out another gasp, beginning to squirm as the paddle continued to rise and fall. None of the strikes were unbearably hard, but they had a cumulative effect that made his bottom sting and begin to ache.

The paddle rose and fell, punctuated by Stiles’ gasps and eventual whimpers. His fingers gripped tighter when the paddle moved a bit lower and began to impact against the tops of his thighs.

The paddle began to fall a bit harder and Stiles let go of the comforter to throw his hand back over his backside. “Dad, stop,” he whined.

His dad simply took hold of Stiles’ hand, moving it to the small of his back, and the paddle continued to land in hard, implacable blows. “You don’t lie to me, Stiles. I don’t care what your reasons are and I don’t care who you’re lying for. Each and every time you decide to lie to me, you’ll end up getting spanked.”

Stiles’ whimpers increased and tears began to trickle down his cheeks. He squirmed frantically a bit more under the smacks from the paddle, then finally slumped over his dad’s knees and cried out, “I’m sorry!”

The paddling stopped and his dad rubbed Stiles’ back for a few moments before pulling his pants back into place and then helping Stiles up and wrapping his arms around him.

Stiles let himself stay in the embrace for a few moments, long enough for his tears to die down, and then began to squirm to be let go. “Dad. I’m too old to be cuddled on your lap.”

“I love you, Stiles.” His dad hugged him a bit tighter and then let go.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Back at you.” Stiles rubbed at his bottom and then picked up the paddle. He wanted to throw it out of the window, but instead, he put it back in its place. At least no one was likely to be looking there; not even Scott. Then, he gingerly sat back down on the chair, biting his lip to stop from whimpering at the throb his bottom gave.

His dad stood up. “You need any help with that project?”

“Nah. I’m good.” Stiles flashed a grin at his dad, then turned back to his computer as he heard the man leave his room.

So maybe he could sneak some wolfsbane into the drink of a known werewolf….

The End