Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2511869.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Stiles_Stilinski/Malia_Tate_mentioned
  Character:
      Peter_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Rape/Non-con_Elements, Torture, Blood, dark!stiles, Steter_Week, Eichen_|
      Echo_House
  Series:
      Part 1 of 2014_Steter_Week
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-10-25 Words: 1281
****** Darkly Mirrored ******
by Rabid_X
Summary
     Stiles visites Peter in Eichen House to work off some of his darker
     urges and frustrations with the captive werewolf.
Notes
     For 2014 Steter Week. Day 1 prompt was for Dark!Stiles. I think I
     fulfilled the task. This is an un-beta'd work. Please let me know the
     mistakes you find or volunteer for beta-ing! :) HEED THE WARNINGS!
     This is a dark Stiles who keeps him dark side hidden from everyone.
     Previously posted to Tumblr.
Stiles watched with avid eyes as Peter yanked at the cuffs on his wrists. The
room in Eichen House was small, stark and soundproofed. Stiles knew it well.
The only thing in it was the bed, metal framed and bare mattress. Well and
Peter.
The werewolf was still weak from the dose of yellow wolfsbane Argent had given
him and was likely to be for weeks more to come. Add slightly loggy from
whatever it was his cellmate did and Stiles couldn't help but grin. He liked
having Peter helpless before him. It was unique and exciting. He walked over to
the bed and grabbed Peter's chin, tugging his head up to look at his face.
"I found someone willing to take a little of your money for a favor or two.
Brunski wasn't the only one with fluid morality here," Stiles said. "Nice,
isn't it? Knowing you're going to help me get a little... therapy."
Peter frowned, eyes trying to focus. "S-stiles? What the hell do you want?"
Stiles' grin was a papercut in his face and Peter tried to tug his head away,
found he couldn't get far enough. Stiles laughed and settled down on the side
of the bed. "Listen, I know you'll struggle, I know you'll threaten and cajole
and try you best, Peter. But the cuffs are lined with just enough wolfsbane to
keep you from breaking them. Your wrists and ankles are another story but
you'll heal, right? Eventually?"
"I don't know what you want me to do here, Stiles," Peter's voice was low but
too hoarse to be as slick and enticing as before. Stiles swung a leg over
Peter's hips and straddled him. The werewolf's eyes lit up and he licked his
lips. "Oh, well then."
"Yeah it's sorta what you think but so not really," Stiles said as he dug a
small leather case out from under the outer layer of his shirts. His fingers
were nimble as they unzipped the case, displaying scalpels with various shapes
to the blades.
Peter blanched and tried to sit up and Stiles laughed. "Calm down, I'm not
going to operate. And if you buck up it'll only be worse."
"I thought they got rid of the Nogitsune," Peter snarled, lips pulled back,
blue eyes clearing.
Stiles pulled his shirts off, tossing them aside. Then he shoved Peter's
hospital uniform up. Pale hands stroked up quivering muscles and Stiles leaned
in close, lips almost against Peter's ear. "Oh they did. It's gone so this? Is
all me."
A thin line of cold dragged across Peter's belly and he was struck with the
scent of blood. It smelled like rust and bitter herbs, dust and fragile bones.
He hissed and bucked up, a shard of ice lancing though his right side.
"Dammit, Peter," Stiles said as he sat up. He didn't sound too upset though.
"Be careful. I don't actually want to perforate any organs."
Peter's bark of laughter echoed in the small room. "As if you could, you
insolent little faker. I cannot believe I was actually worried."
Stiles backhanded him and Peter snarled, fangs dropping. A blade like half a
little moon appeared under his nose, Stiles' face hovering close. "I know what
you see because I put it out there," Stiles spat. "Stiles hates needles and
blood so he must be weak. Stiles faints so he must be frail and scared."
"You've never been that scared," Peter hissed. "Except when I had you."
"Mmm you never had me, Peter, but yeah you did scare me," Stiles sat up again.
"Lots of things scare me just not what everyone thinks. I didn't want to be a
werewolf, still don't. Can't afford to let it all go. But I am going to let a
little of it out tonight because you deserve it."
The boy looked glorious, like an atavistic priest of a blood god, wallowing in
his sacrifice. It made Peter feel hot all over, the idea that Stiles, pale,
thin Stiles could reduce him so easily. And he had to give him credit. The
scalpels were sharp. The pain, so cold and piercing, took a second to register
with each slice. He watched somewhat dispassionately, as Stiles made abstract
patterns on his chest and belly, golden eyes locked on the thin welling of
blood. When a blade sliced across a nipple, Peter hissed and arched up.
Stiles stopped and tilted his head to the side as if to read something
different on Peter's face. The scent of lust seeped into the thick air, winding
around the metallic tang of blood and sweat. He wasn't sure if it was him or
Stiles.
"Stiles is a virgin," the boy sing-songed. "Because Stiles can't get anyone to
fuck him. I could though, she wants to sooo bad, Peter. Your daughter wants me
to fuck her so bad but I haven't. Tasted her, put my tongue and fingers in
every hole she has."
Peter watched, eyes glazing over again as Stiles sucked his fingers as if he
could still taste Malia there. Spit and blood slicked fingers trailed down his
pale chest. Peter was hard, so fucking hard pressed up against Stiles jean clad
ass that he wondered if he could just rip through his hospital pants and come
against the rough fabric.
"She's done the same to me," Stiles said, shifting back and sitting square on
Peter's cock. "But I've never put my cock in her so still a bit of a virgin in
the Vatican sense. Gonna stay that way too, not... really sure why."
"C-couldn't find the right psychopath?" Peter asked, voice even rougher than
before. He was surprised to realize it was because he'd been screaming.
Stiles grunted and shrugged, sticky fingers undoing the knot of Peter's pants.
He shifted further back and yanked them down, Peter's erect cock springing
free. Bloody fingerprints soon decorated its length and Peter watched spots
dance in front of his eyes, surprisingly light-headed. He heard more than saw
the rasp of Stiles' zipper
"Tasted one Hale, time to taste another," Stiles murmured before wrapping his
lips around Peter's shaft and sucking.
Peter moaned and shifted, keenly aware of the pool of blood in his belly button
and the slowly healing lines along his chest. But Stiles' mouth was so hot, his
tongue talented, that he arched his hips and crooned. "So good, Stiles, yes
like that, sweet, sweet boy..."
"No!" Pain blossomed, hot this time, in Peter's thigh. Stiles sat up, scalpel
buried in the side meat of Peter's right leg. His eyes were wild and his chest
heaving. "You don't get to enjoy this! You tried to kill Scott and used Kate
against Derek... You betrayed them. You - You don't get to touch them. Never
ever get to touch them..."
Stiles' voice was a loud but steady chant. His left hand stabbed down over and
over even as the right one stripped his cock. Peter tried to pull away, tried
to get his claws to do something, anything besides shred useless edges of the
mattress. Words got lost in guttural sounds falling from bitten lips, mostly
parts of names and 'Mine' over and over. He nearly missed the hot splash of
come in all the blood.
Drifting in and out of consciousness he was dimly aware of Stiles moving off
him. His clothes were set to rights and a fond kiss placed on the head of his
still hard cock.
"See you in a month, Peter," Stiles whispered and left.
Peter was sure he was supposed to stay hard until then. He wondered how long he
could do it. If it would please his Stiles at all...
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