Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2517461.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Peter_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Bloodplay, Painplay, Consensual_But_Not_Safe_Or_Sane, Knifeplay, Plot
      What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, PWP, Light_Sadism, Light_Masochism
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-10-26 Words: 1298
****** Bloodstained Lips ******
by Flammenkobold
Summary
     Stiles doesn't like pain, Peter on the other hand, well that's a
     different story.
Notes
     Written a long time ago for the kinkmeme, slightly edited version.
     Thought I'd finally get it up, so have at it...
The first time it happens, they are alone and Peter leans close to Stiles
whispering poisonous words into his ear. Stiles brings out a small knife he has
bought after Gerard's beating, after the arrival of the Alpha pack. It's not
much, but it's enough to make him feel a bit safer. He presses it to Peter's
throat. “Back off,” he snarls, his eyes wet, because Peter's words stung too
deep, too close to the truth and all he wants is to lash out.
The blade cuts into the fragile skin above Peter's Adam's apple and keeps the
wound from closing immediately. Peter takes a sharp breath that's not in fear
and looks impressed. Aroused, really. They stare at each other and just know.
Peter's lips stretch into a smirk and Stiles' mouth hangs slightly open, his
own breath coming faster.
Stiles doesn't like pain. Not at all. There is too much pain festering inside
him already, to enjoy it when it comes from the outside, when it's just
physical instead of emotional. It reminds him how pathetically weak he is.
Pain is just another step closer to death, after all.
Peter on the other hand revels in pain. There is nothing left that could hurt
him emotionally. There isn't exactly anything left inside him to hurt, the fire
took care of that. So feeling pain reminds him that he is still (again) alive.
Pain is just another step closer to life, after all.
Stiles hates to admit it, but causing pain is something he enjoys very much.
Causing pain means that he can show someone else how much he hurts on the
inside and that, for once, he isn't the one receiving it. It means that he is
the one in control for once.
Peter doesn't hate to admit it that he likes it when someone deliberately
causes him pain. It means that he can still feel something and be hurt. It
means that he has enough control over them to make them want to hurt him, that
he can manipulate them into lashing out.
Stiles carefully slips the knife down, along the strong tendons of Peter's
neck, drawing a red line across his skin, watching it slowly disappear as the
skin heals itself too fast. Stiles licks his lips and suddenly wants more.
Wants to etch his mark into Peter's skin. Wants to cut so deep that the wound
won't heal immediately. Wants him to hurt, just as much as his words made
Stiles hurt.
Peter watches him, enraptured. He lifts his hand and undoes the buttons of his
shirt, revealing the unmarked skin of his chest, his abdomen. “Go on,” he says
and Stiles does. Carves deep red lines into his skin, runs the knife over them
again when they are almost closed. Peter looks down at the wounds.
“That's it,” he growls. And Stiles wants to taste too. “Go on,” Peter
encourages him like he knows his thoughts and so Stiles does. Presses his lips
against one of the bleeding cuts and presses his tongue inside, feeling the
tissue trying to knit itself together around it. Peter hisses and then laughs
raggedly. “Yes.”
Stiles moves back, temporarily brought out of the spell, eyes wide and wild and
shocked about what he is doing. His lips shine red. Peter doesn't let him go
far, takes his wrist into his hand and slowly brings the knife back to his
body. Resting the tip on his waist, where the skin is still whole. He
deliberately bares his throat and breathes out Stiles name like a threat, like
a promise. “Go on.”
And just like that Stiles is brought back into the spell of blood and pain. He
rams his knife deep into Peter's side and presses his mouth against his exposed
throat. Bites down hard. Peter gasps in pain and pleasure alike, his hand
coming up to grasp Stiles' shoulder. Not hard enough to bruise or to hurt, just
hard enough to get some hold.
Stiles pulls the knife out and presses the fingers of his other hand against
the deep wound, feels the blood gushing out, until it's healed enough to just
trickle. Peter lets out a laugh. There is blood everywhere now, between them,
on their clothes and their skin. It's sickly warm and sticky and it smells. But
that's okay. Blood is life after all. And Peter doesn't die easy either way.
Peter spins them around until he has Stiles pinned to the wall, just with the
weight of his body, not by force, and presses their hips together, making them
both moan. Stiles finds Peter's lips with his own and for a moment they stay
like this. Lips pressed together, almost gentle. Then they are kissing harder,
their tongues sliding against each other, slowly but firmly and before long the
urge is back. Stiles bites down on Peter's tongue as hard as he can until his
blood fills both their mouths. This is life too.
Just when Stiles thinks he can't swallow more of Peter's blood, Peter slides to
his knees. He hitches up the hem of Stiles' shirt until he can mouth at the
soft skin there, breathes gently against it, smearing his blood over it. “So
soft, so perfect,” he croons and Stiles fists his free hand into Peter's hair,
pulls hard at it.
“Go on,” he dares him and presses the tip of the knife into his shoulders,
draws it forwards until it catches on the collarbone. Peter groans in approval
and opens Stiles' jeans, pulls it down and without any moment of hesitation
takes him in. Manages to keep it soft and warm and wet. Stiles curses and
whimpers and runs the knife from one of Peter's shoulder blades to the other
and back again.
It doesn't take him long to come. Not with Peter's soft moans at each moment of
pain, not when he keeps it so very gentle with his mouth.
Stiles grabs Peter by the collar of his bloodied shirt and hauls him up,
presses him to the wall and their mouths together. He puts the knife against
Peter's throat again. His fingers are shaking when he undoes Peter's jeans, but
his grip is strong to the point of painful, when he jerks him off. Peter
definitely doesn't mind, especially when Stiles replaces his knife with his
mouths against Peter's pulse. He runs the knife down over Peter's torso, until
it rests at his hip. He slides the knife over until he can dig it into Peter's
lower abdomen, pierce skin and draw blood. Peter shudders, when Stiles tightens
his hand around Peter's cock even more. Stiles bites down on his throat and
then Peter is coming too.
They both take a moment to recover, breathing heavily against each others
shoulder. It's Peter who steps away first, brings his blood stained clothes
back into order, while Stiles just falls back and leans against the wall.
“Well then, Stiles,” Peter says, rolling Stiles name around his mouth like a
good wine. He sounds far to chipper, Stiles thinks. “That has been a pleasure,
don't you think?” And Stiles just nods, still too out of it. Peter takes both
of his hands and lifts them to his mouth. Kisses the one still holding the
knife and licking over the other one, the one covered in blood. Stiles shivers.
“Until next time,” Peter promises with a smirk on his face and leaves.
Wondering how much he can make Stiles lash out then.
When Stiles finally comes back to himself, he curses softly. Wonders how he is
going to get home without anyone seeing him and the evidence of what has just
happened. Without anyone thinking he's committed murder. Wonders how much pain
he can cause Peter next time, too.
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