Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1230901.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Magic_Knight_Rayearth
  Relationship:
      Lantis/Shidou_Hikaru
  Character:
      Lantis_(Magic_Knight_Rayearth), Shidou_Hikaru
  Additional Tags:
      Guro, Underage_Sex, Sexual_Violence, Vaginal_Fingering, Community:
      bloodyvalentine, Bloodplay
  Collections:
      Anonymous
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-02-24 Words: 4732
****** Red on Red ******
by Anonymous
Summary
     "It had started simply - almost innocently the first time, and, in
     fact, it was hard to count where a first time had begun." Hikaru
     wants Lantis to hurt her a little more every time...
Notes
     Originally posted to Bloodyvalentine for Bloody Valentine 2014; the
     prompt: [Any] Gore/mutilation, prodding an open wound or wound-
     fucking, "you're so wet and warm” and less anonymously there.
See the end of the work for more notes
It had started simply - almost innocently the first time, and, in fact, it was
hard to count where a first time had begun. Cephiro as it was under Emeraude
had hardly ever suffered from monsters until the end, when her love shifted
from the land to Zagato, and many of its citizens experienced real fear perhaps
for the first time. They hadn’t forgotten that fear; Cephiro was a recovered,
changed, and healthy land, but it was never as outwardly perfect as it had been
through the Pillar system, and so there were monsters, not enough to be a true
catastrophe but more than enough to require vigilant patrol by skilled
warriors.
The Magic Knights had skill and experience; Lantis was also among the finest;
and despite their importance, they often insisted on leading patrols
themselves, on being among the injured on an expedition even when those who
ranked beneath them were just as willing to put their bodies on the line.
Hikaru knew it was unhealthy, but sometimes it felt like penance. She’d taken
innocent lives, throwing Cephiro into turmoil, and no matter how much she hated
life or death battles, every injury felt like bleeding out a little of her
debt. While she didn’t despair over what she’d done as she had in the immediate
aftermath, sometimes she couldn’t help it - and she knew Umi and Fuu felt the
same way - that they owed a debt, for life, that they could only pay back
through blood, sweat, and tears. So she endured the physical pain that was
hardly a nuisance compared to what she’d suffered in the past and through it,
discovered much more about herself.
At first, there were times where she was injured, lightly, scratches and
abrasions, and magic seemed wasteful (though Fuu would eventually be along to
heal it regardless), and she asked Lantis to touch her. Fingers traced along
cuts, stinging, and while he didn’t understand why, Hikaru insisted. It hardly
hurt, and she had taken from him - but she was slow to verbalize it until she
knew how to put it into words. All she said then was that it made her feel
closer to him, letting him into that vulnerability, trusting him to touch her
injuries without injuring her any further than what she asked.
They’d made love, Hikaru and Lantis and Eagle, but right or wrong she’d felt
him just a little too sensitive to share this (and there were barriers she was
able to let Eagle over that still held up against Lantis, and things Eagle and
Lantis shared that they were slow to bring her into; they had all found that
taking their time was part of being a threesome). At times, this was more
intimate, more indicative of trust than any sex she’d had with him, when she
let him hurt her but only so much, and he responded calmly and gently to her
every need.
~~
That had gone on, for months, never crossing over further, only happening with
those mild injuries, until one day when she hadn’t had time to go for a healer
before she felt like taking a shower (or maybe she’d wanted it to happen like
this), despite a much more serious injury, a deep gash along her back, barely
short of exposing muscle, and the water stung if she’d cared to notice.
“Hikaru…” his voice drifted to her from the entrance to the showers. It had
taken time, but at this point, Lantis entering the shower with only a brief
warning was natural. “You haven’t been to a healer yet.” Lantis stepped into
the shower, already nude, eyebrows raised slightly as he looked down (quite far
down) at Hikaru.
She smiled at the matter of fact statement, tinged with worry despite that,
looking over her shoulder at him. “If you’ve heard, then you’ve heard how many
more needed it…” a twinge of sadness in her voice - no one had died, but she’d
still failed to protect some. “I felt a little too dirty for waiting, and the
bleeding’s mostly stopped,” and the showers were easily cleaned, even if she
had to scour the stone with fire, or else she’d be jumping in a lake. Honestly,
she didn’t mind sitting around sweaty and dirty and smelly normally, it hardly
compared to kendo gear, but she’d felt a need to stand under hot water more
than to clean herself.
Letting out a deep breath, Lantis stepped up behind Hikaru, hands low as they
wrapped around her. He almost had to lean down properly hold her against his
body. For a long moment, they stood like that, breathing and feeling each other
breathe as hot water ran between them - Lantis finally broke the silence,
making enough room between them to look at the red line across her back,
crossing from hip up to the other shoulder, a deep wound that he knew would’ve
stained her clothes redder than they were and that shouldn’t be left unhealed.
He reached a hand between them, placing it on her back. “I don’t have the
natural adeptness at healing that wind user like Fuu has, but please… allow m-”
Lantis was jarred a little by Hikaru pushing back against him, huffing, and
hitting the back of her head against his chest. “No.” It was whispered, only
barely audible above the water, her voice shaking. “No,” more firmly, “touch
it. Touch me.”
He paused, his hand still on her back - nervous again, almost as he had been
when he’d pressed his fingers into her bruises, wondering just why she wanted
the pain, and how much would be enough, but she’d made her intentions clear.
There were emotional indulgences that they all partook of, and he wouldn’t
judge her for this one.
“Like this?” Lantis asked, leaning down closer, as he slid one finger across
half the length of the cut, and she flinched away, gasping. It stung and it
burned, and she knew it wasn’t half of what the more injured soldiers had felt,
but with Lantis controlling it, she could only nod her approval.
His finger moved up, further, more pressure, and she shook. Lantis stopped
then, worried, letting his touch only just linger on her back, small, yet
strong, fragile, with so much weight on it - and she let out the softest
whimper. “Harder,” she said through it, and her felt a warmth rising up in him.
Lantis knew her voice, and that was less a pained sound than it was…
Taking a deep breath, Lantis finished tracing the line of it, with more
pressure than before, holding her against him and up on her feet as he reached
the end, pressing hard enough that red oozed to the surface, to where they
touched, before running away in a diluted stream of water. “More,” Hikaru
whispered, her voice shaking with what was only barely restrained arousal, and
Lantis had always found it difficult to deny her - and when her voice sounded
like that it was one of the most difficult times to say no. He’d already put so
much pressure on the wound though; how much harder could he do it?
“…I… want you under my… skin Lantis,” she answered, and the usual metaphor
meant so much more than that (he was already there metaphorically) and he
pressed his finger against the wound, in the middle of her back again, twisting
this time, rubbing the nail against it. Hikaru moaned, legs shaking, and the
hand holding her up shifted lower to take on more of her weight.
It hurt. This was pain, even if his nails were trimmed and rounded and smooth
and soft from the water, her wound was sensitive, and she shuddered, back
arching away at the burning pain, almost every breath a whimper. Hikaru could
feel her blood rushing, some of it rising to the surface of the injury, legs
shaking, and she put her hand over his, the one holding her up, and nudged it.
Lantis’ fingernail dragged against the wound now, sliding under the edge of the
cut as best it could - even if it hardly could - and she guided his hand,
larger than her own, between her legs.
Lantis didn’t speak, just made a soft sound of acknowledgement, and rubbed a
finger against her lips, against one slit, while his nails traced along another
split. Blood had started to flow under his fingers now and then was washed away
in an instant, and he turned, supporting her with the hand between her legs
cupping her sex, as he turned and leaned back against the wall. Less water on
them, more support for both their weight, and he was starting to poke against
her back despite the strangeness of it. Hikaru was enjoying it, enjoying him,
and that was what he really enjoyed.
Now that he was exerting force on her cut, rivulets of blood slid down her
back, and her hands grasped at the air, and then back to dig her nails into his
thighs for support, slipping against the slick skin before finding purchase.
They scraped against Lantis as he slipped a finger into Hikaru, and then two
when he found her more than ready enough, slipping them in and out. Every
breath was a struggle as he fingered her, hurt her, and she flowed from smile
to grimace then back again, hips shaking and rocking down against him.
“That’s… I need it… keep going…” she whimpered, groaned, and his fingers
plunged more urgently into her wetness, hand twisting so that his thumb could
brush over her clit, too sensitive already for anything more than gentleness;
he was being rougher elsewhere, as he drew what blood he could from her wound,
until her voice and hips finally reached the peak of their crescendo, voice
cracking as she cried out, and came around his fingers, and slumped back
against Lantis.
Spent, she sagged against him, and he slid to the floor with her, hardness now
fully pressing against her back, not that he’d ask her to help after that - not
that she’d let him turn her down after doing that for her. “Let me heal that,
now, Hikaru,” he asked, not pleading but a little forceful, not wanting to let
it get worse than what she’d insisted. “Slowly. I’ll do it…” Lantis pressed a
finger roughly to one end, energy flowing into her, her wound, sealing it just
there. “Like that.”
Hikaru groaned, and laughed, and threw her head back, smiling up at Lantis.
“Like that?” Her hands finally released his thighs, resting on his knees. It
was a strange, crazy indulgence of hers, and he always spoiled her. “Then I can
pay you back. I can tell you need it,” she pointed out with the best facsimile
of ‘seductive’ that someone so sweet and - ha - seemingly innocent could
manage. There was nothing innocent about this, though, and she knew that that
was enough pain to double some people over. “I need to thank you, after all,
for listening to my silly requests…”
~~
The shower was the first time that had happened, but soon, when Hikaru was hurt
and could excuse herself from being healed right away, it continued. A cut in
her leg, and Lantis would lick and bite at it on the way up between them. Her
wrist cut to the bone, and he gently peeled away just enough flesh to feel the
smoothness of it as Hikaru cried out; Lantis worried that he was getting off to
her injury, her pain, but it was only when it was also her pleasure that he
ever found himself aroused as well.
A deep cut in her side, one that she had to hide and hurry to keep from being
healed, and soon Lantis found himself sliding a finger inside of her body from
the side of her torso, shaking as he felt smooth organs beneath it, warm and
wet and red, and she shook as well, tossing her head back as she came; but it
was still only in the aftermath of a battle when she could excuse playing with
such injuries, for the longest time.
Until that too changed.
It had been some time since she’d been injured in a battle, severely enough for
anything that she really desperately wanted stimulated, and - she’d never
thought she’d feel this way about being hurt - she was growing desperate for
it. The pain had become a part of her life and her relationship and one day,
sitting with Lantis, which, outside of those post-battle moments was rarely
sans-Eagle, but he had a day’s worth of personal business that left them alone
and nude and enjoying one another’s company, warmth, touches.
Her mouth was dry, as she opened up a drawer. “Lantis… ah. Um.” Flushing. There
wasn’t much nervousness between them, not in the bedroom, at this point, but
she was immediately cowed, looking down at the floor as she slid the drawer
open further. The demeanor drew a raised eyebrow from Lantis, but otherwise
silence. “…there’s something I’ve missed in… the past few months,” he nodded at
that. It was fairly obvious. “But I’ve been thinking.” And blushing nervously,
she dropped it at that, one hand in the drawer.
Lantis gave her a few seconds to continue until she sufficiently hadn’t, and
leaned over, wrapping an arm around her, hand resting on her thigh, chin
resting on her head. “You do a lot of thinking, Hikaru,” he said, smiling, and
looked at her hand - at the drawer - at the short sharp knife in the drawer -
and put two and two together in a moment. “You want me to… cut you myself?”
He’d inflicted pain on her, often enough, but the wound had always been made
for him, and suddenly he was struck stiff by that - he’d never crossed the line
of cutting her, or cutting her open himself, and here Hikaru was suggesting
that very thing.
“I know… exactly what I want. It’s… hopefully not that strange, but I know you
might… not want to hurt me like this. That you might not want to do this, but,”
she trailed off for a moment, slowly pulling out the knife, curved slightly,
razor sharp, a knife clearly suited to clean cuts in flesh. “Every time, you
hurt me first, and then I have to… finish you off, almost like it’s an
afterthought, and I know we take turns in bed all the time anyways, but…” her
voice rose in urgency, and then another drop. “I thought… this time, you could
hurt me while I… while my body… makes you feel good too,” and she pulled away
from under him, slipping out and standing up.
Frowning at her worming away from him so easily, he watched her hand, and
brought his hands together clenched, wondering at what she’d thought of. “You
know, Hikaru, that your pleasure is mine - and I know that mine is yours,” and
what was his argument again? Trying something crazy was always her idea, but he
was going to do it again anyways.
“So, first… we can’t do this on the bed, or on a carpet, because it… might get
a little messy?” she offered sheepishly, stepping out across the rug, bending
down to start fussing with it to make more room on the floor below. Smiling
warmly, Lantis stood to help her, tugging and rolling it bit by bit. “You can
watch me… cut myself?” Hurt herself, to start with, because that part didn’t
seem to interest him. “And then I’ll tell you what to do, and once we’re done…
you can heal me. Y-yeah, we’ve avoided any awkward questions for the most part,
so I’m not too worried about those.” She was worried about those for sure.
Maybe, soon, they could include Eagle, they could both hurt her at once -
Hikaru wasn’t sure she could take that.
Lantis knew of course that it would be messy, but he wrapped his arms around
her again, holding her close, breathing in her scent. “Like I said. We’ve come
this far… how could I turn you down at this point?” he mused, “whatever your
pleasure is, Hikaru.”
Hikaru laughed, nervously, and squirmed in his grip, holding the tip of her
knife against her belly. Hurting herself wasn’t something she’d ever tried, and
definitely not like this, and the blade shook as she pressed it against her own
flesh. “This… probably looks like seppuku doesn’t it?” Hikaru added morbidly.
“Seppuku?” Lantis’ response was curiosity, although he wasn’t entirely sure he
wanted to know.
“N-never mind.” Hikaru didn’t want him to know. “Maybe some other time.”
Her hand was still shaking, and Lantis held his over it, and steadied her grip.
“You’re entirely sure, Hikaru, that you want this?” If she was nervous like
this, he had to be sure. He couldn’t help her with something that would hurt
her in a way she didn’t want.
Reassurance was enough though, and her hand steadied. Hikaru smiled again,
satisfied with it, and looked up and back at Lantis. “I’m sure. It won’t be a
long cut, just… let me do it all at once…” she muttered, taking one more breath
to psyche herself up -
And then with one swift motion the blade was plunged, deeper than necessary,
half of its four inch length, into Hikaru’s gut, and she gasped, eyes shooting
wide open; Lantis gasped behind her, holding her tight, worry etched on his
face that she’d bitten off more than she could chew, that he’d just helped her
bite off more than she could chew after all this time being comfortable with
her controlled pain, but Hikaru’s voice followed up with a familiar pain-and-
pleasure whimper, and soon the death grip she had on the blade was relaxed
again.
“I feel… it… inside me…” she muttered as the cold steel split through her belly
just above her navel, cutting through organs or sliding against them, sharp
edge down. Blood welled up thick around the cut, running down over her skin to
between her legs, a much deeper red than the curls it ran over between her
legs, and far more blood joined it as she put pressure on the blade, forcing it
down through her. Grunting in pain and exertion, Hikaru opened up a deep cut in
her belly, about two inches long, resting herself against the strong, warm,
comforting body behind her; physically, she had, perhaps, never felt a pain
like it, but she’d caused herself so much more pain emotionally, by killing, by
bringing ruin to Cephiro, by nearly failing to abolish the Pillar system but…
It wasn’t about that any more.
This wasn’t penance any more.
Against all reason this was pleasure. Sharing her pain, her blood and her body
and more with Lantis, had her moaning and whimpering and it was sexual in its
entirety. Her pain, her blood, that essential warmth, flowing out of and down
her body, and then she wrenched the knife out of her flesh with a cry that she
hoped was heard as nothing but sexual if someone overheard them. Hands
weakening for a moment, blood splashed as the knife clattered to the ground,
and Hikaru looked down at herself - Lantis looked with her.
In all this time, he’d gotten so used to her blood that seeing it was almost
beautiful in a way that she only let him see. “There’s something else you want
to feel inside of you,” he spoke quietly into her ear, one hand sliding down
her stomach, then dipping down to run through her blood, then swiping up to
leave deep red lines on her body, up to her breasts, smearing it on the slight
bud of her breasts, just like any more appropriate fluids.
Hikaru nodded, twisting beneath Lantis. “I… need to lay back, though, so you
can do it, so…” Another squirm, and his grip loosened again, this time without
a frown.
Looking down at his hand as she pulled away, Lantis’ expression was neutral for
a moment, watching her blood, his lover’s blood, drying on his hands, not from
a tragedy but from a cut she inflicted on herself that she wanted him to…
He was already hard, from rubbing against her rear, from touching and fondling
her and yes, even from her blood, and he rose to lean over her on all fours,
eyes meeting hers. “It will be even harder to look into your eyes than usual,”
he mused at their height difference, before leaning down, now smearing his
erection through her blood as well, groaning lightly at the warmth.
“We can look each other in the eyes… all we want soon,” Hikaru offered
breathlessly, with a smile, “in fact that sounds… really nice, and then when
Eagle’s back we can look in his eyes too…” She distracted herself for a moment
from the strangeness of the angle as he shifted up her body, length rubbing
against her, until he was positioned just right.
Her heart was pounding wildly, and she reached down her stomach, both hands
drifting down her front, until they reached the wound, stinging and burning now
as she touched it, then slid the fingers of one hand into it, and reached up to
loosely take Lantis’ cock in her other hand, and she guided it down - her skin
split, bleeding, waiting, ready - and then, lined up just right, his hips
pressed down and forward and he sank into her, into her belly, her flesh,
pushing her organs aside. Lantis groaned, loudly, shoulders shaking as he went,
dropping to his elbows, and Hikaru matched that and the wide-eyed expression.
He was inside of her in a way he never had been, length buried deep in her
viscera and then deeper until he hit the base, balls smearing through her blood
as well. He groaned, and shook, and it felt new - different from her sex, from
her or Eagle’s mouth, from her or Eagle’s rear - and he rested inside of her.
It felt like nothing else, having his length buried somewhere she’d never had
anything inside of her quite like it before, splitting her skin, the pain
almost surprisingly lacking - ah, there weren’t many nerve endings where he
was, she remembered - feeling him throb inside of her. Every breath shifted her
body and the organs inside of it, every pulse of her heart beat around his
length, and he was in a place deeper and more intimate, in a sense, than any
man was willing to go inside of a lover.
Hikaru reached up, stroking his firm chest reassuringly, even as tears, of pain
of pleasure and love, sprung into her eyes. “You’re inside me now, Lantis,” she
whispered, as a shudder tore through her. “How do I feel?”
Lantis blinked, looking down at her as best he could. Even this wasn’t too
much; even the pain tearing at her voice was washed away by affection and
something deeper and more sultry, and his voice was low and husky as well.
“Hikaru… you’re so warm,” he muttered, using his elbow to keep him up as he
reached down, traced a finger along her lips, dragged his nail against it.
“You’re always warm, in every way.”
Giggling, Hikaru scratched at his chest, and one of her hands reached down
between her legs, feeling out her clit, where Lantis simply couldn’t reach at
this point. “It’s because it’s you. I love you…”
Smiling, he pulled out, and then thrust back in. “And you’re… so wet for me,
too,” he said with a grin; exercising his dirty talk just a little, although he
was never the best at it, something they both still had to learn from Eagle of
all people more than anyone else. “Wrapped around me, you feel…” Another
thrust, hips pulling away, pushing in. “A-amazing,” he groaned.
Gasping, and then groaning, and then moaning, Hikaru couldn’t quite thrust her
hips up to take him deeper, but he was doing plenty of that himself, as he
began to thrust into her wound, blood and organs squelching beneath and around
him - sex was full of funny noises, they’d found, or Hikaru knew she would
almost laugh at the sound of their bodies - and his skin smacked against hers
as he started to properly fuck her stomach.
Fucking her. So crude, Hikaru thought - blushed at the thought of using crude
language, not at the thought of him doing it to a cut in her belly - and she
rubbed herself, even though she hardly needed it, because his length sliding
against the edges of her cut burned and stung up through her body and down into
her core hard enough that more than blood flowed between her legs, and his
increasingly desperate need for her body and giving something totally
unprecedented to him, trusting him enough to let him do this to her - how could
they last very long at all?
Soon, Lantis was grunting from the exertion of every powerful thrust, shaking
Hikaru’s whole body, vibrating up through her insides and her bones and into
her heart, she could feel him in her heart and her bones literally - and he was
already well and truly deep in her heart emotionally - and she moaned more
loudly than she was sure she ever had before as he thrust, pounded against her
slim, strong body, and she dug nails into his chest so hard that he was
bleeding too. Rubbed her clit so hard that it hurt. His fingers dragged rough
red lines across her lips, cheek, until he needed both hands just to hold
himself up, and the floor beneath her was cold and hard against her back - head
- rear - and it hurt, and he’d have some bruises to heal too.
Then she felt it in his body. One powerful thrust, and suddenly he stopped
inside of her body again, shaking and groaning and nearly losing his balance,
almost falling on her; another thrust, more shaking, and she realized that
there was another stinging inside of her, stinging and warmth deep inside of
her core that was totally new.
He came. Not just inside of her, but in her body, deeper than was ever possible
before, in a place no one else was allowed to touch, even more than her sex.
Another thrust as he finished off, a groaned “Hikaru,” and a quietly muttered
“I love you”. Hikaru pinched her clit, almost twisted at it, and her whole body
shuddered and twisted beneath Lantis, and she came as well, wetting the blood
that was starting to dry between her thighs, bucking so hard that she tore the
wound Lantis was still buried deep inside of, until her vision was full of
light, and darkness, and stars, and Lantis’ face - that was all she needed to
see, the only sight she needed in her whole life at that moment - and she
needed to share this with Eagle too, now, she knew, because this was too
intimate to keep to just one of her lovers - and then the blackness spread in
her vision.
Panting for breath, Lantis pulled out, leaving drops of darker blood from deep
in her body - had he ruptured something? - and drops of his ejaculation on her
body, and slid down until they were face to face, just to see her very nearly
on the brink of passing out. Worry washed over him again - had he gone too
hard? She would’ve stopped him, knew how to in an instant - but she always
pushed herself…
Hikaru shook her head, groaned, smiled up at Lantis, and reached up to weakly
stroke his face. “I’m… alright. Lantis.” It was a breathless, stuttered
reassurance, but strong nonetheless. “…I’ve never felt anything like it. That…
was amazing… can you heal me while I take a nap?” she muttered, almost loopy
sounding.
Lantis nodded, stroking her face as well, already reaching inside himself for
magic despite his exhaustion, because if someone walked in on this and they
weren’t cleaned up and put two and two together and…
She was already asleep, curling up beneath him as he soothed her wound,
wondering how they’d deal with the dried blood between their legs, on their
bodies - they’d crossed a great many bridges when they reached them, though,
and this just put up a few more for them to walk across together. Certainly, to
invite Eagle across as well next time.
End Notes
     The first fic of any sort I've written in years; I'm super rusty on
     writing, and on the characters, and this was mostly just an indulgent
     little fill for a request that ballooned to a couple thousands words.
     Comments and such are appreciated, though, especially if I decided
     I'd like to pick up writing again starting with some fanfic.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
 on his own and Talia
liked him.... Well, he'd talk to his sister and see if she was willing to share
the knowledge with the Sheriff's boy. Stiles was trustworthy, as far as the
Hale pack's experience with him had indicated, and the Hale pack kind of owed
him now.
Stiles was clearly thrilled by the idea, and Peter's grin broadened. He could
use this to his advantage, just as he managed to turn almost everything to his
advantage, eventually.
"I'll see what I can do about letting you see one or two, yeah?" he offered. It
wasn't as though any of Talia's children were interested in reading about their
history. Laura had read a few of the less dense tomes when she'd been about
Stiles' age, but then puberty had hit and she'd turned her attention to other,
less intellectual pursuits. Laura was in college now, Derek was caught up with
his high school girlfriend, and Cora was quickly becoming the most popular
student in her junior high. Only Laura had time for reading and it was spent on
her coursework.
"That would be awesome," Stiles said breathlessly, tongue flexing pink inside
his wet red mouth, gaze going distant for a moment, before snapping back into
focus on Peter's face. "But you can tell me right now; how does that pain thing
work? Does it hurt you? Do you even know how it works? Is it like magic or is
it something actually physical? It's not healing, is it? Or is it? You know all
this, right?"
Peter smiled, opening the water and taking a swig before handing it to Stiles.
He didn't mind talking about the subject, and it pleased him to find that
Stiles was so intelligent and interested. Not that he hadn't already known, of
course. But the more time he spent with the boy, the more this fact was
underlined for him.
Previously, he hadn't had much to do with Stiles and had only been vaguely
aware of him. But that was going to change. And not just because he thought the
boy was delicious enough to eat. He also had potential. A potential that Peter
fully intended to nurture.
Someday Stiles would be a valuable asset. And Peter intended to make sure that
he was his asset.
Besides, that pretty little mouth really did need some more of his attention,
as much as what came out of it. Peter admired Stiles' quick and advanced brain,
it was true, but he wouldn't have been anywhere near so interested if he didn't
find the entire package so appealing.
He wasn't a predator who liked little boys. He wasn't a pervert. But he was
literal predator, and he was growing ever more certain that he was going to
like this one little boy in particular. Only Stiles, and only because it was
Stiles.
He had no qualms and no regrets. And nothing to restrain him from going after
what he wanted.
+++
The Sheriff and Talia came to pick Stiles up about two hours after he'd shown
up on Peter's doorstep. The Sheriff was clearly furious, but not at the Hales,
so Talia must have successfully spun things. Talia was less obvious in her
rage, keeping up her calm facade as she tended to do, but Peter knew his older
sister and he knew she was still just as angry as she had been the day before.
If not more so.
Stiles, on the other hand, seemed perfectly cheerful, even though he'd been the
one who had been set upon and beaten. Of course, Peter had sapped just enough
of his pain to make moving and breathing easier without sending him loopy, and
he'd been answering Stiles' questions as clearly and candidly as he could. It
was no wonder Stiles was so chipper.
"I wanted to thank you," the Sheriff said, standing in Peter's hallway, his son
tucked up against his left side, broad hand holding onto Stiles protectively
and possessively. Stiles sighed happily and leaned into his father, looking at
home against the khaki of his uniform.
"I wish I'd gotten there in time to stop it happening," Peter said honestly,
clasping the hand the Sheriff held out to him and exchanging a firm shake. If
there was a human he respected as much as he did his sister, it would be the
Sheriff. He'd have made a magnificent werewolf, Peter thought, as would his
son, but Talia didn't go turning people willy-nilly.
After all, look what happened when random teens got bitten. They evidently
shifted into raging douchebags. It wasn't as though Talia hadn't been trying to
offer them guidance, either. But evidently they needed a heavier hand.
None of that was Peter's concern, thankfully. The harm had already been done
and he was glad that he'd stumbled across the weeping boy in the woods. He
didn't like thinking about how Stiles might have fared if he hadn't found him.
He could see the same thought echoed in the Sheriff's fierce blue eyes, and he
was actually really glad that it had been Talia who'd been talking to him.
Peter liked the perks of being in authority, but he preferred to avoid its
downside. Like having to deal with unpleasant situations.
The Sheriff expressed his gratitude again, then took Stiles and departed. Peter
wondered if he'd see the boy here again. He'd returned the treasured hoodie, it
was true, but he'd also dangled the promise of literature before Stiles. He'd
said he could get his hands on books about werewolf history, and Stiles had an
insatiably curious nature, so maybe....
Talia turned to Peter once the Sheriff and Stiles were off of the doorstep and
on their way back to the Police Cruiser, and Peter braced himself. She might
want to know why Stiles' skin smelled of Peter's touch, why Peter had the scent
of Stiles on his hands, though that was easily enough explained away by the
fact that Peter had drained some of the boy's pain.
But, no. Talia just wanted to update him on what she was doing with the
perpetrators.
"I called Erica, Isaac, and Boyd into my office last night," she said, striding
into Peter's kitchen and setting the kettle to brew, making them each a mug of
tea. "Confronted them with the photos and what you'd smelled on Stiles and in
the clearing."
Peter could tell how truly upset his older sister was by this situation. She
usually never discussed things like this with him, preferring to make her
decisions alone and to only share what she felt he needed to know.
Btu this was a disturbing situation. An innocent human boy, barely pubescent,
had been attacked in the woods. Not only that, which was bad enough, but he was
the son of local law enforcement. They were just lucky that the Sheriff liked
and respected Talia, and that he'd evidently bought whatever story she'd
dreamed up to explain the scratches on Stiles' throat.
"Erica was defiant," Talia continued, frowning deeply. "She insisted that
Stiles had deserved it."
Peter snorted. "A child she could break in half without even trying deserved to
be punched, kicked, nearly throttled, and then left to bleed in the middle of
the wood."
Talia snarled slightly before catching herself and smoothing her expression
once again. Stiles might not be her child, but she liked the boy and he'd lost
his mother. Peter was pretty sure that Stiles stirred up Talia's maternal
instincts like no other Beacon Hills offspring outside her own actual children.
Which might explain.... "Erica is jealous, isn't she," he said, not bothering
to phrase it as a question. "Even though Stiles is human and not a member of
the pack."
Talia nodded, looking thoughtful. "She didn't say so, but when I pressed, when
I confronted her with the possibility, she didn't deny it."
"What about Isaac?" Peter wouldn't be surprised if jealousy had been a factor
there as well, but he didn't feel that was the whole story. Isaac came from a
bad upbringing, so one might think he would abhor violent acts against someone
smaller than himself... but Peter knew that sometimes the victims of bullies
became bullies themselves when given a bit of power. And as a werewolf, Isaac
was definitely more powerful than Stiles.
"Isaac stayed after the other two left and told me that he hadn't meant to hurt
Stiles but that when he began to look and sound and smell like 'prey' he
couldn't help himself." Talia's lips pursed in a distasteful moue. "Clearly he
needs a lot more training on control."
"And Boyd?"
Talia shook her head. "He didn't speak in his own defense, but as you said, he
wasn't an active participant."
"Being a passive observer who doesn't stop atrocities isn't much better," Peter
felt the need to point out. And Erica might have listened to Boyd if he'd said
anything; they'd been turned at about the same time and had grown close
recently.
"Don't think I went easy on him." Talia said sharply. As though Peter might
have thought that of her, ever. If her own kids had been involved, she still
would have come down on them like the proverbial sledgehammer. Of course,
Talia's kids were too well raised for that. Cora was the closest to Stiles'
age, and she was too busy building her empire in junior high to be seen picking
on a boy a year younger in the woods.
"I'm sure you're not being easy on any of them," Peter said smoothly, because
he never liked to get on Talia's bad side. As the three little monsters now
knew, it was an extremely uncomfortable place to be.
Talia nodded and sipped at the tea she'd made. She always made it too strong,
but Peter didn't complain, just drank his own. They were sitting in his
kitchen, and while a part of him was bristling at the fact that she was
"invading" his territory, the greater part of him recognized her as being his
Alpha.
And, besides, she was the one paying for this place and its utilities. Peter
really had no room to complain, no matter what his instincts urged.
"So where are they now?" he asked.
"You don't actually need to know that," Talia informed him coolly, and there
she was, there was the sister that Peter recognized. The one who didn't share
information unless she needed to.
"I just wanted to be sure they wouldn't come after Stiles again," Peter said
honestly. As if he cared about any of them otherwise.
"Trust me to keep him safe," Talia said, and Peter bit back a grimace. It
wasn't that he didn't trust his Alpha, truly. But who knew better than he, how
one could work their way around behind and beneath her notice. It was something
that he did on a regular basis. And if he could do it....
Well, none of the three teenage turned wolves were anywhere near as crafty or
smart as Peter was, but if they managed to corner Stiles again and lost control
of their tempers completely, the boy might be dead before they stopped. And no
amount of punishment heaped on their heads would bring back the dead.
"Isaac is going to apologize to Stiles once I verify with Stiles that he's
willing to allow Isaac to speak to him," Talia unbent enough to say. "Erica
didn't seem inclined to do the same, so I'll give her two more chances, two
more conversations with me. If she doesn't show any remorse for her actions,
then I'll send her to stay with the Kelly pack, in Oregon. Boyd will have a
choice as to whether to go with her or not."
Peter's brows rose and he was grudgingly impressed by his sister. Really,
though, her actions weren't that unexpected. Werewolves who couldn't control
themselves -- and especially those who attacked defenseless human children -
- only attracted the wrong sorts of attention, and it was for the safety of the
pack that they not be coddled or kept around where they could do more harm.
Even if they were still pretty much children themselves.
He was willing to admit it; Peter was hoping that Erica would fail to live up
to Talia's expectations. While he didn't have anything in particular against
the girl, she was brash and noisy and wore too much makeup. She did too much to
bring herself into the center of attention and then did too poor a job of
hiding her wolfishness.
Cora was doing a much better, much more subtle job. But then, she was her
mother's daughter. She also, as far as Peter knew, didn't have some strange
vendetta against Stiles Stilinski. Which was the real reason Peter wanted Erica
gone. No matter that Talia was giving her two more chances, Peter didn't think
he would ever trust her around Stiles again. And by "around" he really meant in
the same state, much less town.
"Did you have something you wanted to add?" Talia asked tartly, but she seemed
to mean the question as much as she was needling Peter.
Peter looked as innocent as was possible. "Me? Nope." He drank the last of his
tea and rose to put the mug in the sink. "I do wonder, though, how you
explained the scratches on Stiles' neck to the Sheriff."
Talia huffed. "That's not any concern of yours."
Peter rolled his eyes, since he had his back safely to her, then realized she
could probably see his reflection in the window over the sink. Oh well.
"Speaking of Stiles," he said, turning and leaning against the counter. "He's
going to need to learn to defend himself against werewolves. Any chance I could
borrow a few books from the Hale library to show him?"
Talia didn't get angry, instead smiling at him with both fondness and
exasperation. "You already promised him?"
Peter shook his head. "I don't make promises I can't be sure I can keep," he
informed her, trying not to sound snotty about it. "I did, however, tell him I
would see what I could do. So that's what I'm doing now."
Talia nodded, looking thoughtful, and Peter got out of her way as she put her
empty mug in the sink next to his. "I'll think about it. Stiles has proven he
can be trusted, and we both know he's not going to stay out of trouble. I'll
keep him safe from Erica and I think Isaac honestly regrets his involvement,
but anything could happen. A stray omega with poor control could show up... and
Stiles is young and impulsive and he knows about werewolves. He could very well
put himself in danger without even meaning to."
Peter could all too clearly see that happening, and he resolved to make sure
that Stiles learned and internalized several different ways to protect himself
from werewolves. Even if Erica never came near him again, Talia was right,
things might happen. And Stiles was too brash to remain clear of any
potentially volatile situation.
It said a lot, Peter thought, that Talia trusted a thirteen year old boy enough
that she was willing to let him learn how to potentially damage her family and
herself. But Stiles had never proven himself to be less than trustworthy.
"Come to the house for dinner tomorrow night," Talia instructed as she moved to
leave. "It's been too long since we've had you join us for a meal. And once
we're done eating, we'll go see what books might be right for Stiles. You're
going to keep them here, though."
"Of course." Peter was offended that Talia might have thought he'd do
otherwise. "And thank you."
Talia paused just inside the door, and turned give Peter a long look. He was a
little afraid that his nefarious plans for Stiles could be read on his face,
but then she stepped forward and gave him a hug. It was startling at first, but
then Peter kind of melted into it. He'd grown away from his sister and he knew
she didn't completely trust him -- nor should she -- but they were family and
affection was nice. Talia was his big sister and his Alpha, and her embrace was
warm.
"Thank you," Talia said. "For taking care of Stiles and for stepping back and
letting me handle everything."
"It was my pleasure," Peter told her. He meant it, but from here on out he
meant to be the one taking care of Stiles.
Though maybe not in the same way his sister had done.
+++
The next time Stiles turned up on Peter's doorstep, it wasn't until after
several weeks had passed. Peter wasn't actually surprised by this; if he'd been
the Sheriff he wouldn't have let his son venture onto Hale property for a good
long time either, if ever.
But here Stiles was, and he seemed to be mostly recovered, even though he only
had human healing.
"How are you doing, kiddo?" Peter asked, smiling down at Stiles. He was so slim
that he looked shorter than he was, reaching Peter's shoulder as he did, and he
was swimming in his mother's red hoodie. But at least this time he wasn't
bloodied and crying.
"Don't call me that," Stiles said, not rudely but forcefully. "That's what my
Dad calls me."
Peter raised a brow. He didn't have any problem with not wanting to remind
Stiles of his father... but he wondered why Stiles cared. This could either be
promising, or not make a lick of difference. Whichever the cause, he would do
as Stiles had asked.
"Come on in," he offered, and for the third time guided Stiles into his home.
He liked having Stiles here, though. Unlike Talia, Stiles didn't seem like an
intruder. He seemed to belong. Peter couldn't for the life of him have said
why, but he wasn't foolish enough to deny that it was true.
Well. He had an inkling. Though he'd have thought that his feelings for Stiles
were more carnal and less emotionally cloying.
Peter was well aware that having any sort of intentions toward Stiles could
only be seen as something wrong and perverted, and even he wasn't sure how far
his interest went. But he did know that Stiles smelled good, he looked better,
and the warmth of his body pulled at Peter the way the sun drew flowers from
the earth. Maybe he would do nothing but teach Stiles some obscure werewolf
lore and build him up to be a potential ally in the future.
But glancing at the boy's long legs encased in denim, knowing that there was a
lean but soft torso underneath the material of the red hoodie he was wearing,
fixating on that plush mouth with its tempting red lips....
Well, Peter could readily admit that his intentions were far from altruistic.
He'd never really felt any interest toward barely-teenage boys before. Not even
when he'd been thirteen himself. No, he'd been pursuing seniors, both male and
female, with limited success. Not because he wasn't attractive and charming,
but because said seniors probably hadn't wanted to risk getting arrested.
It was something to consider, here and now, when Peter was so much older than
those seniors had been, not to mention how much older he was than Stiles
himself. On the other hand, Peter trusted to Stiles' intelligence and
discretion. Even though his father was a sheriff, Stiles wasn't going to do
anything dumb. Maybe more so because of that fact.
Of course, Peter would have to tread lightly, especially at first. It was
entirely possible that Stiles only cared about the books on werewolf lore that
Peter had gotten for him. The boy was too young to have really formed his
sexual identity yet, but he might well prove to be completely heterosexual.
Though Peter kind of doubted that last. Not the way he'd caught Stiles staring
slack-jawed at his nephew Derek a few times, when they'd all been over at the
Hale house. And that had been back when Stiles had been only eleven; short,
scrawny, and not even really pubescent yet.
Stiles was definitely still a virgin, though. Untouched by any hand other than
his own. Peter would have been able to scent otherwise. He was pleased by this
fact, and felt no shame over this pleasure. Even if he never got to touch
Stiles himself, at least Stiles wasn't coming to him with some other teenager's
stench all over his skin.
He'd smelled of Peter, after that day in the woods and the following day in his
house. That had been weeks ago, though, and he now smelled only of himself, his
father, and his schoolmates. Peter wanted to reclaim the ground he had lost,
but without the excuse of sapping Stiles' pain would he really be allowed to
get his hands all over the boy?
Well, that was up to Stiles. Peter might be a pervert -- information that was
somewhat new and interesting to him -- but he was no garden variety molester.
If anything, anything happened, it would be because Stiles wanted it as much as
Peter did.
Now it was just up to Peter to make sure that Stiles wanted.
The situation was more ideal than it had been previously, Peter thought
cheerfully to himself as he placed a hand at the vulnerable spot between
Stiles' bony shoulderblades and steered him toward the kitchen this time,
rather than the bathroom or living room.
"Would you like tea, coffee, or water?" he asked as Stiles plopped down at the
kitchen table, eyes alight with curiosity, watching him closely. "Sorry I don't
have soda or juice."
Stiles shook his head. "That's okay. I'm not allowed soda on weekdays and juice
is for babies." He contemplated his choices for a moment, amusing Peter, but
then he never liked to make rash decisions either. "Coffee makes me sleepy, so
maybe some tea?"
"Sure thing," Peter said, pouring water into the kettle and getting the mugs
down out of the cupboard. "Do you want to look in the fridge and see if there's
anything in there you feel like snacking on?"
Stiles jumped up and went to do as instructed, pulling open the door. "That's a
lot of power to give me," he said, peering into the fridge, but once he got a
good look at the contents, he amended; "Okay, maybe not."
Peter chuckled. "I don't keep a lot on hand. I like to buy fresh. And I'm about
due to make a grocery run."
"I could help you with that," Stiles offered, taking him by surprise as much
with the casual way he spoke them as with the words themselves. "Dad takes me
with him every weekend. I have to make sure he eats right so he stays healthy."
Peter felt a little sadness for Stiles, that he was so clearly worried about
losing his remaining parent. If he remembered correctly, Stiles had been in the
hospital room when his mother had died. Talia had thought it was awful. Peter
thought it was fairly natural, but it sounded as though his father hadn't been
there, which was troubling. Still, none of it was any of his business, so he
shook that weakness aside in preference to taking Stiles up on his offer.
"We could go tomorrow afternoon," Peter offered, then at the thought of driving
downtown and shopping in the grocery store, something belatedly occurred to
him. "Does your father know you're here?" he asked, since that was kind of
vital information.
Stiles grimaced faintly, pulling a block of cheese out of the dairy drawer and
eyeing as though he expected it to perform tricks. It was pepper jack and Peter
wasn't sure how old it was, so it just might. "He knows I came to see the
Hales," Stiles hedged. "And you're a Hale, right?"
Peter contemplated this and what it might mean, both in terms of the Sheriff
and Stiles himself.
"Do you have any crackers?" Stiles asked, closing the refrigerator door and
brandishing the chunk of cheese still in his grasp. He'd evidently decided that
it was edible. "To go with this?"
"I do," Peter replied smoothly, plucking it out of Stiles' hand. He sniffed it,
and it seemed all right to his enhanced senses as well. "But I'll do the
slicing. I don't trust you around sharp objects."
Stiles pulled a face, but trotted back over to the table. "Just as well," he
said. "I don't have werewolf healing."
"Speaking of which," Peter murmured as he pulled out the cutting board and his
cheese slicer, "How are you doing?"
There was still the faint brush of fading purple around the socket of Stiles'
eye, but he seemed to be moving smoothly enough, so his torso must be doing
better.
"I'm okay," Stiles said diffidently.
Peter wanted to ask if Stiles was relieved that Erica had left, and that Isaac
had promised not to come near him unless Stiles chose to approach him, but
doing so would make Stiles aware that Peter had been talking to Talia about him
behind his back, and Peter thought that might be a bad idea.
Besides, he was pretty sure he already knew the answers to those questions.
While the tea steeped, Peter sliced the cheese, grabbed a salami Stiles had
missed seeing on the second shelf of the fridge, sliced that, and put it all on
a plate with some crackers, which he then placed on the table between them,
just in time to get the tea poured into mugs.
"Do you take it with cream or sugar?" he asked, even though it was green tea,
not black.
"Do I look British?" Stiles asked scornfully through a mouthful of cheese and
meat. Then he seemed to reconsider. "Maybe some sugar."
"Good idea," Peter grinned, spooning in a generous amount. It was raw sugar,
not the same as the fake crap they filled soda with, so maybe it wouldn't
adversely affect Stiles' system.
Peter wasn't read up on ADHD, but he knew it did strange things to brain
chemistry. That was why Stiles said that coffee made him sleepy. Peter wondered
idly as he prepared their tea whether becoming a werewolf would change that
about Stiles. Erica no longer had seizures, it was true, but that was a
malfunction of her brain. Just because Stiles was wired differently than the
norm, that didn't mean it was a handicap. As long as Stiles knew how to
function with his ADHD, it could well prove to be an asset.
The point was moot, anyway, because Talia had no intention of giving Stiles the
bite. Not without Stiles' permission, not without his father's permission, not
without mitigating circumstances.... She just wouldn't risk the boy.
Talia hadn't bitten Erica, Isaac, or Boyd, but they were Beacon Hills'
residents, nominally on Hale territory, so once they'd turned she'd taken them
under her wing and done right by them.
And just look how that had worked out. Erica and Boyd had willingly gone off to
live with another pack after disgracing themselves here, and Isaac was going to
be on thin ice until he'd proven himself to his Alpha.
"Why do you look so annoyed?" Stiles wanted to know, blowing on his mug, then
sipping at it carefully. He made a sour face but didn't complain, and he
continued to drink his tea as he munched on more snacks.
"I'm not annoyed," Peter corrected, though he kind of had been, for his
sister's sake. Not to mention Stiles' sake as well. "Just contemplative."
Stiles snorted but didn't argue. "So..." he crooned with a distinct lack of
subtlety. "Were you able to get your hands on any of those books you were
talking about?"
Peter chuckled. "And here I thought this was a social call."
Stiles wrinkled his nose. "Can't it be both?"
"Why not." Peter set his mug down decisively and stood. They were pretty much
done with the cheese, salami, and crackers now -- Stiles having plowed through
the snack like only a growing teenage boy could do -- and his tea was going
cold, half-drunk and probably pretty unappetizing to someone unused to it as a
beverage. "I've got them in my study. Would you like to come and see?"
He thought Stiles was going to fall and brain himself for how fast he scrambled
to follow as Peter left the kitchen. The boy's eagerness was evident even
before he answered in the affirmative.
"Yeah!"
Peter's study was just a small room, nowhere near as impressive as Talia's
office-slash-library up at the house, but it was comfortable and filled with
books that interested Peter, and the one big window had thick curtains so that
he could either open them to let the sunlight in or shut the entire world out
by closing them, depending on his mood.
Today, he was glad to see that the curtains were already closed. He felt like
being alone with Stiles, here in his leather and vellum scented sanctuary.
"Wow. Can I live here?!"
It was gratifying, Peter thought, to find that Stiles was impressed by his
study. He was quite fond of it himself, of course, but it spoke to Stiles' good
taste. Only one other person had been in here since Peter had moved in, and
that was Talia.
Peter liked it better having Stiles here than when his sister had been in one
of his most private living spaces. Especially since Stiles was so obviously in
awe.
"You can visit whenever you like," he offered, knowing that this wasn't the
most logical thing he could do, opening his home up to a thirteen year old boy.
One who was energetic and excitable and who was the son of the Sheriff. He
didn't care about logic, though. Not when he was doing that he wanted to do.
"Were you interested in the books I promised you?" Peter offered, indicating
the old tomes resting on his desk. They'd been there since he'd brought them
home the night he'd gone up to the house for dinner, just waiting for Stiles to
come and read them.
To be honest, Peter had been expecting to see Stiles at his house sooner. But
he wouldn't have been surprised if he'd never shown up at all, half expecting
that the Sheriff would have forbidden him from visiting the Hales. He was kind
of glad it had taken Stiles the greater part of three weeks, though. Because
now the boy's ribs were mostly healed up and Peter didn't have to worry about
him being in pain or hurting himself worse somehow.
Stiles scrambled into one of the leather chairs, reaching for the closest
volume. He paused just before he touched it and glanced over his shoulder. "Do
I have to wash my hands before I handle these?"
Peter grinned. "Nope. They're meant to be handled and read by young members of
the Hale family. None of my nephews or nieces are really interested in them
right now, so feel free. Just be careful not to rip or bend any of the pages."
"I wouldn't," Stiles squalled indignantly.
"Then you're golden," Peter said magnanimously, sitting in the chair beside the
boy and pushing the book into his outstretched hands.
They spent a good couple of hours poring over the three books that Talia had
allowed Peter to temporarily appropriate. Peter enjoyed the refresher, since he
hadn't had made the time to read them in a long time. He still remembered most
of what was contained in their pages, but it was all new to Stiles and it was
so clearly fascinating to him that it brought Peter even more pleasure.
Stiles asked a lot of pertinent questions, some that Peter actually didn't know
how to answer. When that happened he didn't bullshit; he promised to find out
and get back to Stiles with the knowledge. He could tell that Stiles
appreciated this. It had always been the way Peter had been taught by his
parents, and he'd always appreciated it. It felt weird to use those methods
himself. Not that he was feeling parental to Stiles in the least.
Spending time with Stiles was clarifying a few things for Peter. As he'd
already known, Stiles was bright and he figured things out before they were
explained to him a frightening amount of the time. Well, that's how he'd come
to realize that the Hale family was made up mainly of werewolves all by himself
when he'd been just ten or eleven years old. Peter definitely wanted to nurture
and shape this brilliance in the manners of his choosing.
But it wasn't just Stiles' brain that Peter was interested in. Stiles was such
a pretty little thing.... Especially when he was focused on the text in one of
the books and sat still for extended periods of time instead of fidgeting like
he otherwise tended to do.
He had soft brown hair, cut shorter than Peter would have chosen, but it was
probably easier for the Sheriff to deal with that way. Not that Stiles wasn't
old enough to groom himself, but he was thirteen and unlike Peter at that age,
he didn't seem to care much about how he looked.
Peter had already noted how wide and thickly lashed Stiles' warm brown eyes
were and how red and wet his lush lips were. He also had a cute little upturned
nose and a pointed chin with plump cheeks that flushed unevenly when he got
excited and were speckled with random moles. He was going to be a real charmer
when he got older and grew into his features, but that wasn't to say he wasn't
pretty in his own way right now, right on the cusp of adolescence.
He was swimming in his mother's hoodie, but Peter had seen him in a teeshirt,
had seen under his teeshirt, and he knew Stiles had wiry arms, a tight little
chest, and a flat stomach. Not to mention the perky pink nipples that might
have been more suitable on a girl than a boy.
But thinking about that while Stiles was sitting next to, paging raptly through
books on werewolf lore, smelling of burnt sugar and fresh sweat, legs and feet
curled up under him, made Peter feel even more like a pervert than he already
knew he was.
Eventually, Peter checked the clock on his study wall and realized that it was
going to be meal time soon.
"Do you need to get home to eat?" he asked, squeezing the back of Stiles' neck.
He needed to pull the book physically away and repeat his question, as Stiles
had been completely immersed in the chapter on folklore and legends that he'd
been silently reading.
"Yeah," Stiles sighed reluctantly. Peter could hear his heartbeat pick up a bit
when he glanced at the clock himself, and so he chivvied Stiles on his way,
even though it seemed to physically pain him to leave the books behind. At
least he didn't do anything so gauche as ask if he could borrow them. He did,
however, ask on the way to the door; "Can I come back tomorrow?"
"Sure thing," Peter assured him, and then he quirked a brow as Stiles paused in
the hall before his front door. "What is it?" he prompted gently.
"I wanna say thank you again," Stiles mumbled into his chest, long skinny
fingers plucking at the hem of his hoodie. He glanced up at Peter through thick
lashes. "You know, for getting the blood out of my Mom's hoodie. Well, I guess
it's mine now...."
"It was my pleasure," Peter said smoothly, reaching and running his fingertips
along the collar, close enough to feel the warmth of Stiles' skin, but
carefully not actually touching anything but the material. "My own Little Red
Riding Hood," he couldn't help crooning, even though it was a bit over the top
and blatant.
"Does that make you my big bad wolf?" Stiles asked the question completely
guilelessly, gazing up at Peter with wide brown eyes, but there was no way he'd
mistaken the meaning behind Peter's words or his own. Not considering the books
they'd just spent the last several hours reading.
Okay, so maybe Peter really was that huge a pervert. But Stiles seemed to be
aware of it and not completely disagreeable to it. And Stiles was worth the
risk, worth the effort.
"If you want me to be," Peter answered easily, and then sent Stiles on his way
with a smirk and a promise that they could go grocery shopping and get better
snacks when Stiles came by tomorrow.
Peter was kind of fucked, but he couldn't bring himself to mind.
+++
Peter hadn't really expected Stiles to take him up on his offer to go grocery
shopping, so he was a little surprised when the boy showed up just after lunch,
almost as excited about the mundane chore as he had been about perusing the
books on werewolf lore.
"And then I can read those some more after we get back, right?" he asked
breathlessly, and what was Peter going to do, say no?
It turned out that grocery shopping was actually a lot more interesting when he
had Stiles with him. The boy certainly was vocal when critiquing Peter's
choices.
"We should have sat you down and made up a menu before we came here," Stiles
said in exasperation, watching as Peter put a box of toaster strudels into his
cart. "Shouldn't your taste buds be more refined or something?"
Peter actually laughed at that. "Sense of smell, yes," he informed Stiles,
after making sure that there was no one close enough to overhear. "But
according to those who've been turned, who were human before, there's not much
of a change in their palates."
Stiles glanced around frantically, then relaxed a little upon seeing there was
no one near enough to overhear. As though he thought Peter didn't know better.
Still, it was gratifying to see that he was so protective over the Hale
family's secret.
"You should eat more healthy, though," he insisted. "You got steak and potatoes
but no vegetables, and there is way too much sugar in that brand of granola.
You haven't gotten any fresh fruit, either."
Peter sighed. "Enhanced metabolism," he pointed out, indicating himself with a
thumb to the chest. "Besides, you have no idea what a pain in the ass it is,
cooking meals for just one."
"Yes, I do," Stiles mumbled, so quietly that Peter was pretty sure he hadn't
really meant to say the words out loud.
Rather than verbally responding, Peter reached over and squeezed Stiles'
shoulder bracingly. He knew that the Sheriff was a loving father who clearly
valued his son and their relationship with one another deeply, but the man was
also a single parent who happened to be the Sheriff of a moderately large burg.
He was doubtless away from home often, and the fact that he was doing so to
earn a paycheck to keep Stiles housed and fed probably didn't do a lot to ease
the situation.
"It's all right," Stiles assured him, shoulder shrugging spastically under
Peter's hand, and his smile was a little sad around the edges but it seemed
real enough. "I still think you should eat more vegetables, though."
Peter considered it. "Tell you what. Go and get me some veggies to go with my
steaks, and I'll not only cook and eat them, but I might invite you to join me,
and I'll share the ice cream I'm planning to get on the way out of here."
Stiles' eyes lit up again and he darted off to do as directed. Peter wondered
how he'd gotten saddled with such a little nag. He wondered why Stiles cared
enough about Peter's health that he was fussing over him the same as he must do
over his father. He wondered whether word of this shopping trip might get back
to Sheriff Stilinski and what the man would think if it did.
Well, if the former happened, he'd find out the latter, he was confident. The
Sheriff wasn't lacking a brain-to-mouth filter like his son but he was blunt
and to the point, and just as likely to say whatever was on his mind.
Peter just hoped there wouldn't be any negative fallout. In large part because
then his sister would probably get involved too, and he hated getting scolded
by Talia. There was no dignity to it, even if she was his Alpha. Alpha first,
big sister second, but that didn't make her not his big sister.
"Is broccoli okay?" Stiles asked, waving a bag that already had the chunky
green vegetable in it. "Steamed, and maybe with some cheese sauce?"
Peter nodded peaceably. Stiles smelled anxious, and he preferred when the boy
was warm and sweet with contentment or concentration.
"Broccoli is fine," he said, even though he wasn't too fond of it. Stiles could
have made worse choices, Peter thought. Artichokes were only good for putting
on pizza, not eating straight out of the produce section, and he'd be damned
before he let zucchini pass his lips ever again.
"I can't make cheese sauce from scratch the way Mom did," Stiles said, sounding
sad but not distraught. "We could get some of the kind in the jar...?"
"How about a little butter and some lemon pepper instead?" Peter offered. He
might not have a palate as sensitive as his sense of smell, but he'd always
thought premade cheese sauce was vile. Like spackle from Hell or something.
Stiles nodded and agreed to his suggestion and they moved on.
The rest of the trip went pretty well and fairly quickly. Peter only got enough
food for a few days and Stiles didn't argue.
"We have to make you up a menu before the next time we shop," he said, as
though Peter had issued him a standing invitation to join him on this errand.
Not that Peter minded; he just hoped that the Sheriff wasn't going to react too
violently when and if he found out. "Then we can do the whole week's shopping
all at once and can make sure we don't forget anything."
Peter actually enjoyed the shopping trip far more than he usually did, and he
even let Stiles choose his own flavor of ice cream at the end of it, along with
his own staple, rocky road. He was a little surprised when Stiles chose a
simple vanilla, but then less so when he snuck the chocolate sauce that
hardened into a shell upon contact with ice cream into the cart. Peter
pretended not to notice, and grabbed a jar of maraschino cherries. They might
as well do this right, if they were going to be naughty. Somehow some whipped
cream in a can found its way in there as well.
"I texted Dad," Stiles announced, once the groceries were paid for and loaded
into Peter's car. He buckled himself in and settled happily into the passenger
seat. "Asked him if I could have dinner with you, help you cook it to thank you
for helping me."
Peter blinked, taken aback by the boldness of this move, and loath to admit it,
even to himself. "What did he say?" he asked, his heart beating a little faster
even though he told himself this was a silly reaction for a grown werewolf to
have. There was absolutely no way the Sheriff could suspect the still largely
unformed intentions Peter had toward his son.
"He wanted to be sure I wasn't being a bother," Stiles said, pulling a sour
face. "Then he said it was okay as long as you were okay with it." Stiles
sighed heavily without seeming to realize he had done so. "I think he has
another big case going on. He probably would have bailed on me for dinner if I
hadn't bailed on him."
"Sorry, baby," Peter said absently, turning the key in the ignition. He noted
the sudden flood of pink that suffused Stiles' plump cheeks from the corner of
his eye and bit back a smirk. Stiles had definitely caught the diminutive this
time.
Peter had no regrets.
"I'll tell Dad it's definitely not a bother," Stiles said, as Peter threw the
car into gear and zipped out of the lot, headed home. "Hey, can we stop at
Starbucks on the way?" he queried, thumbs flying over his phone, eyes intent on
its screen, tongue caught at the corner of his parted lips. "I want a hot
chocolate."
Since he had nefarious designs on the boy, whether Stiles suspected or not, and
since he really had helped with the grocery shopping and was going to help cook
dinner, Peter indulged Stiles.
He was gratified to know that the combination of smug happiness and imbibed
chocolate brought the sweet burnt sugar scent to the surface of Stiles' skin
and made him even more delectable.
"Thank you," Stiles said, at least remembering his manners enough for that as
he sipped his treat. He was smiling, his eyes shining, his cheeks still flagged
pink, and couldn't have looked more different from the boy Peter had found
crying in the woods.
"You're more than welcome," Peter murmured, reaching over and softly palming
one tempting, lean thigh. Only for a moment, but enough to appreciate the
muscle and the warmth underneath the denim of his jeans. Stiles twitched in
reaction, but Peter had pulled his hand back after two seconds and was plucking
the mocha he'd gotten himself out of the drink holder and sipping it.
He was glad Stiles was enjoying his hot chocolate, Peter mused ruefully as he
turned the car toward his carriage house, but sensitive palate or not,
Starbucks drinks with coffee in them always tasted burnt to him. Maybe he
should have gotten some hot chocolate too.
+++
"Are you sure you don't want your meat more well done?" Peter asked, wielding a
pair of tongs and squinting at the grill pan he'd set up on his stove top, next
to the steaming broccoli. The potatoes were broiling in the oven, covered in
olive oil, salt, pepper, and garlic powder, and everything was starting to
smell amazing.
Well, except the broccoli. Cooking broccoli always smelled like ass. Literally.
"I like it bloody," Stiles reiterated, snapping his white teeth together in an
adorable little snarl. He probably thought he looked predatory, but he really
just looked like a cuddly kitten.
Which was technically a predator, Peter supposed, but a kitten was about as
dangerous as Stiles was. And vice versa.
"All right," Peter said, pulling the meat off the grill pan and setting it on a
handy plate to "rest", propped on its side. If a werewolf-cooked steak was too
raw for Stiles to handle Peter could always cook it longer -- while mocking the
boy endlessly -- but for now he'd do Stiles the favor of trusting him to know
that he was talking about.
And evidently Stiles had known what he was talking about when he'd said he
wanted his steak rare, because once the meal was done cooking and anointed with
the proper spices and dairy products, he tore into it as though he belonged at
the Hale family table. Which wasn't to say his table manners were bad.... But
he definitely ate with more enthusiasm than grace.
Stiles sopped up his red meat juices with his potatoes and Peter thought that
maybe they should have gotten some bread. Well, next time.
"Thanks for helping make dinner," Peter said, as they both finished up. He had
to admit that he didn't exactly use company manners with Stiles, but the boy
wouldn't have appreciated it if he had, so why bother?
"I didn't help much," Stiles demurred, chomping the last piece of broccoli and
then drinking down the last of the milk he'd insisted they have with dinner.
"You know, you could let me handle a knife. I cut things up at home without
slicing off a thumb or putting out an eye."
Peter winced at the visuals Stiles' graphic words brought to mind.
Stiles laughed at him, and then they did dishes together. One drawback to the
carriage house was that it had no dishwasher, which was part of why Peter
didn't care for cooking too often. But with Stiles helping him the task went
fairly quickly. Even when they did the pots and pans they'd used to cook with
as well at the dishes they'd eaten off of and the utensils they'd eaten with.
Once this was done, before it was time for dessert, the two of them went back
to the books in the den. Stiles was learning a lot, very quickly, but they were
thick tomes and he'd only been at it for a few hours total by this point.
Eventually Peter was going to have to borrow more books from the Hale
collection, but not for a while.
"What time do you need to be home?" Peter asked, before Stiles could get too
deeply involved in his study. He'd recognized quickly that Stiles was capable
of a hyper-focus that it was hard to break him out of without physically
removing what he was focused on. He assumed it had to do with Stiles' ADHD. Yet
another example of how something most people considered to be a drawback could
actually function as a benefit.
"Um...." Stiles sucked on his lower lip and raised wide eyes to Peter where he
was sitting at the desk, then he sighed and slumped. "I'm supposed to be home
before it gets dark, no matter where I am. Unless I'm spending the night with
Scott."
"Well, you're not spending the night here," Peter said, because the Sheriff
might have been okay with Stiles staying for dinner but there was no way he'd
let Stiles sleep over. "So we've got about an hour."
Stiles let out a little whine.
"I'll drive you home," Peter offered. "That'll give you a little longer than if
you rode your bike."
"But we'll put the bike in your trunk, right?" Stiles said anxiously, fidgeting
and staring up at Peter entreatingly. "I wanna be able to make it back out here
tomorrow."
"Are you sure your Dad is okay with you spending so much time at my place?"
Peter asked, sitting down next to Stiles and grabbing the closest book.
"Yeah," Stiles said slowly, sucking on his lip and glancing at Peter out the
corner of his eye. "He might be more okay with it if you talk to him and tell
him it's okay, though."
"Oh, I see how it is." Peter chuckled, shaking his head.
"It is okay, right?" Stiles asked, suddenly anxious.
Peter clasped the nape of his neck. "I wouldn't invite you over if I didn't
want you here, Stiles." He grinned. "You'd better give me your Dad's number,
though. Do you think it would be better if I called him? Because I'd rather
text...."
Stiles laughed. "Text him," he instructed, grabbing a post-it note that Peter
had on his desktop and jotting down his father's phone number. "But he might
call you once he gets your number that way."
Peter sighed, accepting the little slip of paper and resigning himself to
behaving like a responsible adult. It was always so much easier when he could
get Talia to do this sort of thing for him.
Damn it.
+++
Peter didn't text the Sheriff that night, but he did call him the next day,
like a real, live responsible adult. It wasn't even that difficult.
Oh, who was he kidding; it was one of the most difficult things he'd ever done.
But it had worn away at him all night, what Sheriff Stilinski might think of
Peter Hale having his son out to his house, taking him grocery shopping and
feeding him dinner....
So while actually calling and talking to the Sheriff sucked, sitting here and
wondering would have sucked more.
And, anyway, calling was better than having to talk to the man face to face.
Peter was no coward but he kind of wanted to avoid that at all costs.
"Peter. Stiles said you might text. Or call. Or text. He wasn't very clear."
Since he didn't know the man very well, Peter couldn't tell whether the Sheriff
was pleased or angry to be getting his call... but at least he didn't seem
ready to tear Peter's head off for having perverted plans for his only child.
"Well, I did tell him I was likely to text," he allowed cautiously. "But I
decided the direct approach was best."
"Approach to what?" the Sheriff asked, and his tone was sharp but not
dangerous. At least, Peter didn't think so. He hoped not.
"I was just making sure it was okay that he spends time at my place," Peter
said as calmly as he was able. So far he hadn't done anything wrong, and so
there was no way anyone could pin anything on him. He was only suffering from a
guilty conscience because he might at some point in the future venture onto the
wrong side of the situation.
For a wonder, the Sheriff chuckled, a warm rumble over the phone. "And here I
thought I needed to be asking you that question."
Peter finally felt on firm footing in the conversation, and he turned up the
charm a bit, though not enough to be cloying or come off as fake. "Oh, it's
perfectly fine as far as I'm concerned. He's interested in some of the books I
have in my collection."
The Sheriff was silent for a few heartbeats, evidently thinking this over, but
he replied readily enough. "I'm glad to hear that he's not bothering you.
Stiles' heart is always in the right place but he's not always aware that
things that fascinate him might not fascinate other people."
"We have many of the same interests in common," Peter inserted smoothly.
Because it was true. He couldn't get his nephews and nieces to study the lore,
but Stiles had dived into it not only willingly but eagerly.
"If he ever bothers you, be sure to tell him," the Sheriff continued. "I trust
you not to be mean about it, and sometimes he needs to be told."
"I'll keep that in mind," Peter said, "But it's really no problem." He thought
briefly about playing up the 'this place gets so lonely sometimes' angle, but
decided that would be too much and too easy to see through.
"Well, in that case, it's fine with me if Stiles spends time at your place,"
the Sheriff said, speaking the words Peter had wanted to hear. "Better he's
with an adult, learning new things, than off getting poor Scott McCall into
trouble. And I wanted to thank you for feeding him last night."
"It was a pleasure," Peter responded honestly. "He insisted on helping me go
shopping, so it only seemed fair to share the food I bought with him. And he
pitched in with the cooking and the cleanup as well."
"That's good to hear," the Sheriff said, and he definitely sounded pleased.
Which was the best thing Peter could have hoped for when he'd initiated this
conversation. "Although I do worry sometimes that Stiles takes on too much
responsibility for a thirteen year old."
Peter wanted to tell the Sheriff that he felt Stiles could handle it but he'd
only spent time with the boy twice when he wasn't in extremis, or at the very
least in physical pain, so he didn't go there. Even though he thought it was
true.
"I'm just glad that you're not upset that I lured him into my lair with
promises of dusty tomes," Peter took the chance of joking. Hey, so far as
actual events had so far proven, that was all it was; a joke. He hadn't even
touched Stiles inappropriately yet, aside from the times he's drained away some
of his pain. Well, and a very brief squeeze of his thigh in the car yesterday,
but that hadn't lingered past the point of being relatively reasonable. On
purpose.
The Sheriff chuckled again. "I might not know you well, Peter, but I know your
sister. And as long as he stays out of the woods, I trust that Stiles is safe
on Hale property. Especially with certain people gone."
His voice darkened slightly on this last, but Peter was too busy laughing
internally over the fact that his older sister was the one gaining him
approbation. Talia, who couldn't even stand having him live in the house
anymore.
Hey, whatever worked, though.
"Thank you," he said simply. A part of him wanted to tell the Sheriff not to be
so trusting, especially with the beautiful, intelligent child he'd been gifted
with, but the larger, more pragmatic part of him told that first part to shut
the hell up because he was getting exactly what he wanted.
"Thank you for taking the time to call me," the Sheriff said warmly. "And for
feeding my boy as well as keeping him entertained."
"Any time you need to work through dinner," Peter offered, smooth rather than
eager, "Just let me know and I'll be happy to do it again. It'd be better than
me sending him off and both of us wondering if he's eating something healthy at
home or just having junk food."
He was momentarily afraid what he'd said had been too judgmental, but the
Sheriff made a sound of agreement.
"Or Stiles cooking a meal that I don't show up to," he said ruefully. "That's
happened more than once and it makes me feel even more guilty. As it should,"
he added, almost under his breath, mostly speaking to himself.
"I'm sure Stiles understands," Peter soothed, as politely as he was able when
this really wasn't any of his business. He couldn't say he didn't care, though.
The fact that the Sheriff sometimes had to leave Stiles home alone was opening
up avenues for Peter, was rendering Stiles vulnerable and needy in ways that
Peter could work with. Still, it would gain him nothing to rub the Sheriff's
nose in it. In fact, it would be to Peter's benefit to gloss over the matter
entirely.
"Well, thanks again for calling," the Sheriff said briskly, seemingly as ready
as Peter to leave this subject behind. "And for being willing to spend time
with my son. I know he can be a handful."
"Actually, once he gets settled, he's very quiet," Peter murmured.
"When he gets like that, just physically move whatever he's looking at," the
Sheriff instructed, with the air of a man who'd had to do so many times in the
past. "Or else move him. Or put your hand in the way or something."
"Got it." Peter didn't want to tell the Sheriff that he'd already figured that
out; he could tell it made the man feel better to be able to instruct Peter on
how to handle his son.
"Look, I gotta go," the Sheriff said, and Peter could read no lie in his voice.
"I'll take you up on your offer to look after Stiles for me if I need it, as
long as you promise to let me know if it's ever inconvenient for you. I can
always make other plans, and I don't want to treat you like a babysitter just
because my son likes you and you don't mind having him around."
"I actually do like having Stiles around," Peter correctly mildly, though he
didn't want to lay it on too thickly. "But I'm fine with making that promise.
If it's ever inconvenient I'll tell you, even though I doubt it ever will be."
They said their goodbyes and the Sheriff hung up. That had all gone far better
than Peter had expected it might, he thought as he heaved a sigh of relief.
Naturally, this was the point at which his phone rang in his hand, and the
screen read Talia Hale.
Damn it.
"Hey, sis," Peter answered jauntily, because he knew Talia hated being called
that. "What's up?"
"Just checking to see whether Stiles likes the books you borrowed," Talia said,
because of course she knew that Stiles had been to see Peter the last two days.
Snoopy older siblings.... Though, to be fair, she was the Alpha of the Hale
pack and Peter was still living on her property as well as being a pack member
and her younger brother.
"You know he did," Peter said scornfully. "Can you imagine that he wouldn't?"
Talia let out an exasperated little sound. "It's still nice to hear it, when I
let you take the books a couple of weeks ago."
Peter reminded himself that he had to stay on Talia's good side, if only in
order to get his hands on other books for Stiles to read.
"I don't think he could like them more if they were made of pizza," he informed
her with more amusement than he was actually feeling. If she was checking up on
Peter, she wasn't going to come away with much. He was a master at hiding his
plans from his older sister; he'd been working hard at it since they'd been
very young.
Talia snorted.
"Hey, have you heard anything about Erica or Boyd?" Peter asked, as much
because he was curious as to change the subject. He really didn't care about
them, not the way he did about Talia's children, but it was partially because
of him they had been sent off to Oregon. It was all their own faults, but if
Peter hadn't smelled them on Stiles, he doubted the boy would have been willing
to narc them out. No matter that they'd hurt him badly and could have killed
him. It would have been either due to playground rules or just plain self
preservation, in order to keep them from attacking him again.
So Peter was doubly, triply glad that he had found Stiles when he had. And he
didn't regret his part in getting Erica and Boyd sent away.
"I haven't heard from them directly, but I don't expect to," Talia said. "Karin
says they're adjusting well and seem to be finding their places in their new
pack. She's going to keep an eye out for bullying, but I think it was something
about Stiles that set Erica off."
Peter held his tongue, with some difficulty. That was a little too close to
victim blaming for his tastes, even though it was probably true, and he didn't
think Talia had meant it that way. He didn't want to start an argument, or give
Talia any reason to look more closely at his budding protective, possessive
feelings toward Stiles.
"Well, that's good, I guess." Peter didn't need to know more than that. Stiles
had accepted Isaac's apology but evidently still didn't trust him and avoided
him where he could. Considering that Isaac was sixteen and Stiles was thirteen,
that wasn't too difficult. Stiles was still going to be spending time on Hale
property, true, but he'd be in Peter's home for the most part.
Not that Peter intended to completely monopolize Stiles' time and attention.
Doing so might be suspect. Especially when Stiles had always been free before,
to run in and out of the Hale family house as though he was just that, family.
Which was evidently part of what had set Erica off, Peter thought, but to be
honest he didn't really care to delve into the inner workings of her mind. She
was nowhere near as interesting as Stiles had proved himself to be.
Of course, so far as Peter was concerned it was for the best that Stiles was
distrustful of Isaac. With Laura off at college and Derek spending almost all
his time with his high school basketball team or his girlfriend, that didn't
leave Stiles with any reason to visit the Hale house as often as he had used to
when he was younger. He didn't get along with Cora nearly as well as he did her
older siblings, so Peter thought that it might actually seem fairly natural
that Stiles begin spending more time here, with him, instead.
"Let me know when you want to switch out the books," Talia was saying. At least
she seemed to be in a mellow, generous mood. "I don't expect it'll be for a
while."
"Stiles has only visited me twice," Peter pointed out, even though he was
pretty sure she already knew that. "But he reads very quickly and internalizes
what he reads just as quickly. I'll be back for more books before you think I
will."
"Just remember that the price of more books is dinner with the family." Peter
rolled his eyes because he was on the phone and Talia couldn't see him.
"Speaking of which, you're always welcome up here, Peter, you know that,
right?"
"I know." Peter wasn't going to get into the fact that he'd been essentially
kicked out of the house -- though not the pack, the family, or the territory -
- because he liked having his own place.
"Okay then." Talia paused. "And, Peter, if Stiles comes up with something
that's not in any of the books, something that seems new and real, you'll let
me know, right?"
Peter was a little impressed that Talia had that much faith in Stiles' brain
and intuition. He wasn't even sure he thought so highly of Stiles. The boy was
only thirteen.... But then, he'd figured out that there were werewolves in his
town when he'd been years younger than he was now. So maybe Talia's belief in
him wasn't so misplaced.
"I'll let you know," he told Talia. She couldn't hear the potential for a lie
in his voice over the phone. Hey, Peter had every intention of sharing any
innovative ideas Stiles came up with if it was something that could seriously
benefit the pack. But if it was something that Peter himself could make use
of... then maybe he'd keep it to himself.
"Do you want to come to dinner tonight?" Talia asked. "Invite Stiles if he's
going to be there."
"Maybe," Peter hedged. "But probably not. We got some fish yesterday, and
that's always better fresh." He doubted Stiles would be eating with him, but
either way he wasn't kidding about the fish.
"You have a point," Talia allowed. "Well, keep the invite in mind. It's open."
"I'll keep it in mind," he promised, and he actually kind of meant it.
As he hung up, Peter glanced around his living room. He didn't feel the need to
impress a thirteen year old, and Stiles had just been here yesterday, but he
could really stand to clean the place a little. Also, he should do laundry.
Peter sighed. He might not have a job but that didn't mean he was immune to
mundanities. It was either that or live in filth, which wasn't an option. Maybe
he should hire a maid. He wondered for a mad moment if Talia would pay for
that, then decided "no" was most decisively the answer to that question.
Stiles would be showing up promptly after school let out, Peter knew. So he had
a few hours to kill.
Might as well make good use of them. His laundry wasn't going to do itself.
+++
Somehow, without Peter even meaning it to, Stiles showing up at his home after
school became the norm. As did Stiles and Peter doing the grocery shopping and
cooking together. Making up a weekly menu was a pain in the ass, Peter thought,
but it did make the shopping and the preparing of meals exponentially easier.
No one seemed to find this building relationship weird. Talia never said a
word. The Sheriff continued to be grateful for Peter's presence in Stiles'
life. As though it was any great inconvenience; Stiles was there at Peter's
invitation in the first place, after all.
Stiles continued to devour the books on werewolf lore. Peter even learned a few
things along with him, things he'd either skimmed over or forgotten. It
definitely held his attention, even when Stiles was so tightly focused that he
stopped talking or hearing Peter when he said anything to him.
And then somehow Peter found himself helping Stiles with his homework. This
wasn't really too bad because seventh grade coursework was fairly simple and
Stiles was smart enough to manage most of it by himself. Still, Peter had
seriously thought himself done with school once he had graduated from high
school.
Well, maybe not so much, but he didn't begrudge Stiles the time or effort.
Mostly he was there to reward Stiles when he got something right with a warm
hand to the nape of his neck, and to help prod him through the moments where he
had trouble with a few pointed questions.
Having a semi-reasonable excuse to get his hands on Stiles was no real
hardship, Peter would readily admit.
Despite Stiles' bold words to Peter that first day he'd been here, as he'd been
leaving, neither of them had made a move. Stiles did get a warm, somewhat spicy
scent of budding arousal when Peter cupped and caressed the nape of his neck,
and Peter knew he wasn't imagining that or blowing it out of proportion. But
Stiles was only thirteen and Peter could be a patient man when it suited his
purposes. He wanted to see if he could make Stiles come to him. And failing
that, he wanted to be sure Stiles was comfortable with him before he made any
moves himself.
Besides, as ridiculous as it might have seemed to him before he'd begun
actually talking to the boy, Peter liked spending time with Stiles. He was
smart and quick witted, and the better he got to know Peter, the more prone he
was to sass him. Peter enjoyed the exchange of snark, and he came to realize
that he was as much interested in Stiles intellectually as he was physically.
And maybe a little bit emotionally. But he tried to squash that part of himself
way down deep.
So of course that squashed part of him would rise up to bite him in the ass
when he least expected it, a couple of weeks after Stiles had become a near-
regular house guest after school and on weekends.
Between the reading and the cooking and the sassing, Peter had almost
completely forgotten about his intention to teach Stiles some self defense. At
least, until the day that he showed up with a split lip, smelling of blood and
misery, and Peter's mind immediately jumped back to the day he'd found Stiles
crying in the woods.
"What happened?" he asked tightly, as he ushered Stiles inside. The boy was
limping slightly and Peter could see a smear of mingled dirt and blood on the
knee of his jeans. His hands were damaged as well, the heels of his palms
slightly raw.
"Nothing," Stiles replied sulkily, head down. Peter had thought the bullying
was over with the departure of Erica, but maybe not. This could only have
happened at school, or just after. Stiles had obviously done his best to clean
himself up, but Peter could smell the scabs and Stiles was so clearly upset. It
made Peter grind his teeth, his heart thumping extra hard with the desire to
hurt whoever had done this to Stiles....
And that was what broadsided him. Since when had he come to care that much
about this human boy; that damage done to him sent Peter into a fierce
protective rage?
Damn it.
"Don't tell me nothing," he chided, palming the back of Stiles' neck and
sapping away some of his pain at the same time he guided him into the house.
"Not when something so obviously happened."
"It doesn't matter." Stiles shrugged spastically. "I fell, okay? I'm a stupid
klutz and I tripped over my own foot and I fell."
Peter hummed, leading Stiles silently into his bedroom. That was the truth, but
he was sure it wasn't the whole story.
"What then?" he asked, stripping off Stiles' outer shirt and then his teeshirt
without giving him a chance to object. There was no blood or bruising anywhere
on Stiles' torso, but he'd had to check. Once he had Stiles bare from the waist
up and shivering, Peter grabbed one of his softest sweaters and bundled the boy
into it. Something in him calmed a bit once Stiles smelled like him, but he was
still bristling, still ready to rouse to Stiles' defense.
"Some of the kids laughed," Stiles mumbled into his chest, arms wrapping
tightly around himself. Peter knelt and stripped him out of his soiled jeans,
being careful of his damaged knee, then lifted him onto his bed, seating him
there in his underwear while he got a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring that
he thought Stiles might not swim in too badly. He was driven by a desire to
wrap Stiles up and keep him safe, and getting the boy in warm, comfortable
clothing that smelled like Peter seemed the best way to start.
"They laughed even though you were obviously hurt?" Peter asked, gesturing
angrily at Stiles' knee and then his scabbed over lip. When Stiles nodded,
looking up at him with big brown eyes, he snarled. "What assholes."
"It was mostly Jackson," Stiles grumbled, and letting go of himself he reached
for Peter. He seemed to simply want a hand up, so that was what Peter gave him,
letting him loose once he was on his feet, but he did clasp the boy's nape and
drain off enough pain that Stiles swayed slightly. And he had no regrets over
having done so.
Peter was glad that it hadn't been bullies who had done this to Stiles -
- though laughing at him definitely amounted to a form of bullying -- but
still, this situation had jarred the memory loose, that he'd meant to teach
Stiles some self defense.
Well, not today, obviously. Later; when he wasn't damaged and in pain. Or not
in pain and woozy, thanks to Peter.
"It's not like it was anything new," Stiles mumbled, and when he would have
tripped in the overlong legs of the sweatpants, Peter scooped him up and
carried him into the living room. The books could wait; Stiles wasn't really in
a place mentally or physically where he could read them. Not with the way
Peter's draining of his pain had rendered him loose and pliant.
Stiles' head resting on his shoulder felt nice, and since Peter didn't really
want to lose that sensation, he sank down onto the sofa and settled Stiles in
his lap, wrapping his arms around the boy without one hint of hesitation or
shame.
He didn't like the sound of Stiles' typical school day, but he was kind of
limited in how he could deal with it. Holding Stiles close now and taking way
his pain was about as far as he could go. Talia would have his hide if he
started hanging around the school like a giant pedo and beating up junior high
students simply because they mocked a classmate's misfortune.
Even though that last was a really shitty thing to do and they would have
deserved any such beatings.
Peter wished he could get Cora to keep an eye out for Stiles, but he knew
without asking that she was too busy building her little empire of popularity
to watch out for a spastic boy a year younger who was the next closest thing to
a social outcast. Too bad, because that would have been ideal.
Stiles' cheek was mashed, soft and warm, against Peter's shoulder. His breath
gusted hot and moist over Peter's clavicle where it was exposed by his shirt.
He nestled easily against Peter's chest, just the right size and shape. The
scent of misery had faded and now his burnt sugar smell was mingling in
extremely tempting ways with the smell of Peter on the clothing he was bundled
in. Thin fingers clutched at Peter's opposite shoulder and chest, and Peter
found himself rubbing slow, soothing spirals over the hard muscles and bones of
Stiles' back.
This was cozy and sensually satisfying, and Peter felt his cock plump a little
where it was underneath Stiles' tiny, taut little rear, but there was no
urgency to his arousal. It was a slow burn that sent warmth through his body,
making his groin, chest, and hands tingle with heat. He could feel his
heartbeat in his cock, but he wasn't going to do anything about it. Not with
Stiles half-asleep in his arms.
It was like a promise. A promise of things to come in the future. A promise he
could wait to collect on. He wasn't going to do anything if Stiles wasn't
ready.
"Thank you," Stiles said drowsily. Peter glanced down at where the tip of
Stiles' thumb was denting his plump red lip, and he was suddenly completely
certain that Stiles sucked his thumb while in the privacy and safety of his own
bed. His cock jumped and maybe he felt a little more urgency now, even though
he tamped it down. What he wouldn't give to see that....
Well, maybe someday. At this point Peter didn't think there was anything that
could keep Stiles away from his house. And both Stiles' father and Peter's
sister seemed to be perfectly okay with this situation. Being so circumspect
for so long had served Peter well. He felt as though he could be a bit more
bold now.
"I don't like it when you get hurt," he informed Stiles, spreading his hand
over the boy's back, feeling how narrow it was. Stiles' shoulders were
beginning to broaden, and Peter expected puberty was going to be good to him,
but right now he was still very much a child.
"You think I do?" Stiles snarked, albeit sleepily. He blinked up at Peter, and
then smiled. Sweet and soft, not goofy at all despite the haze in his eyes from
the pain sapping Peter had been doing. "I like it when you care, though. And I
like it even more when you make the hurt go away."
"It would be better if you didn't damage yourself in the first place," Peter
chided, wrapping his other hand around Stiles' lean flank. Not quite far enough
to be groping his cute little ass, but definitely too far up his thigh to be an
entirely innocent caress.
He didn't think Stiles was going to notice, though. Not when he was already
half asleep. And, yeah, maybe Peter had overdone things a little when it was
just a few scrapes and bruises, but there was blood on Stiles' gorgeous mouth
and something in Peter wasn't going to be happy until there was absolutely no
trace of pain anywhere about Stiles.
"It's not like I do it on purpose," Stiles argued. His fingers were flexing
lazily on Peter's pectoral, almost like a cat, and Peter wondered if he even
knew he was doing it. Peter certainly didn't mind. In return, he slowly stroked
his own hand up and down, the one that was Stiles' leg, and he only halfway
meant the caress sexually.
"I know," Peter soothed, dropping a silent kiss to the crown of Stiles' head.
He doubted the boy would notice the moment of pressure. At Peter's suggestion,
he'd let his hair grow out, and it really suited him. Far better than the near
buzz cut he'd been sporting when Peter had first found him in the woods.
"I like this." Stiles snuggled closer, tight little ass wriggling on Peter's
thighs in ways that were almost definitely not deliberate. His cheek mashed
more closely against the hard muscles of Peter's shoulder, and Peter locked his
arm more tightly around the boy's slim waist, keeping him close. Stiles had
moved his damaged knee without wincing and that was all the justification Peter
needed to have sapped his pain to the point that he'd sort of incapacitated the
boy.
"What do you like?" he asked, seeking clarification. Might as well use Stiles'
lack of brain-to-mouth filter to his advantage. Stiles was the one who had
volunteered the opening statement, after all.
"I like..." Stiles crooned dreamily, shifting closer, so that his face was
almost buried in the curve of Peter's neck, "Being in your clothes. I like that
you care when I get hurt. I like feeling safe here. I like the way your clothes
smell like you. I like how big your hands are. I like that you could eat
Jackson, even if you won't because that would put you and the pack in danger. I
like how you like me."
Peter was actually a little touched by this litany, even if he tried not to be.
"I'm glad you feel safe with me, little red," he whispered, nuzzling Stiles'
temple. To hell with being discrete. Even if Stiles remembered this later, he
wasn't going to run off telling tales to his father. "Most people don't around
the big bad wolf."
"I like it when you put your hand on my neck," Stiles confessed dreamily. And
maybe Peter had gone a little overboard in draining his pain, but he was
reaping the benefits of it now. "It calms me down and helps me to focus. Dad
does that sometimes, but mostly he does it when he's mad at me for something,
and that doesn't make me calm."
"Hm." Peter wasn't surprised. He'd actually seen the Sheriff once grab Stiles
by the neck when he'd been beyond frustrated with him. It wasn't abusive in the
slightest, at least not in Peter's opinion. More like a father wolf grabbing
his pup by its scruff. He couldn't imagine the Sheriff ever doing anything to
actually harm Stiles -- his incidental and probably unrecognized borderline
neglect aside -- and it helped that Stiles had been familiar with that sort of
touch before Peter had ever clasped his hand on the boy's nape.
"Do you want me to move my hand now?" he asked, squeezing Stiles' leg gently,
right below the hip, where the thigh muscle was at its thickest.
"No," Stiles hastened to squeak, almost startling a chuckle out of Peter. "No,
I like this. A lot."
"All right then," Peter murmured, lips turning up in a wicked smirk. He could
smell the faint arousal wafting off of Stiles' skin, strongest at his groin, of
course. It smelled like fresh boy sweat, and yet the salty scent was also
somehow sweet. The burnt sugar of Stiles' natural scent seemed more burnt, and
it mingled surprisingly well with the smell of Peter's clothing that Stiles had
on.
Peter wanted to bury his nose on Stiles and just breathe him in, especially his
crotch. He wanted to taste his pale skin and see if it was just as delicious as
his scent.
But he held off. Partially because Stiles was loopy on pain-relief, but also
partially because Stiles had just said he was happy and comfortable where he
was. So Peter was going to let him remain here on his lap, in the circle of
Peter's arms, where he felt safe and valued.
"I was thinking," Peter said, after a few minutes of companionable silence, "Of
offering to give you some lessons in self defense. Even though certain people
are gone, and other people have apologized, you know about werewolves and you
might someday find yourself in danger again."
Stiles snorted. "You mean I might get in trouble snooping around," he said
dryly, peering up at Peter even though he was at an awkward angle.
"It wouldn't surprise me," Peter replied, equally dryly. "To be honest, it was
Talia who mentioned the possibility to me."
He didn't feel at all bad about tattling on his sister. That was what older
sisters were for, right? Taking the blame, and taking responsibility.
"Well, I don't know what help self defense is going to be against werewolves,"
Stiles grumbled, coiling in closer to Peter. "You're always going to be
stronger than me and heal faster. I'd be better off carrying wolfsbane
around.... Only that wouldn't be very friendly when you Hales have always been
so nice to me."
Peter kneaded at the outside of Stiles' thigh, really wanting to reach down and
grope his ass even though they were having an actual serious conversation here.
"True," he conceded. "But fighting back against a werewolf might give you an
edge if they aren't expecting it. Besides, Talia's got this place pretty well
locked down as far as wolves are concerned. Werewolves respect boundaries and
territory where humans don't. So you're more likely to encounter an encroaching
hunter than a rogue omega or anything like that, and hunters are human."
Stiles shuddered in his arms. They'd read several chapters recently detailing
the things hunters had done to werewolves in the past. And even if the
werewolves might have been feral and might have deserved it -- it was hard to
tell sometimes, with only the hunter emerging alive to tell their tale -- it
had still been horrific enough to make Stiles very nearly cry. It had even
rattled Peter a little, though he wasn't about to admit to it.
Peter knew that he lived with that danger every day simply for being born what
he was; he just didn't like to dwell on the fact.
"Also," he continued, perfectly willing to gloss over that possibility, no
matter how legitimate it was, "If you start training in self defense, you might
gain more control over your body. Things like tripping over your own foot might
not happen as often."
He wasn't going to make any promises, was just putting it out there as a
possibility. But it was certainly likely.
"Not today, though, right?" Stiles murmured, and Peter could see that his thumb
was denting his lower lip again, on the verge of lazily sliding inside. "I'm so
warm and comfy...."
Peter laughed. "Not today," he agreed. "I doubt you'd be able to stand right
now."
"Could so," Stiles bleated, rousing a little. He lifted his head to glare up at
Peter.
"If you say so," Peter murmured, humoring Stiles even though he knew better.
"But we're not going to start any lessons today."
"Do you know anything about self defense?" Stiles asked curiously, settling
into Peter again. Like this he felt heavier than he usually did, letting Peter
support all of his body weight, his limbs loose, his entire being relaxed. It
felt good and Peter never wanted to let him go.
"I do," he replied, not in the least offended by Stiles' potential incredulity.
"My mother insisted, back when I was younger than you. Before the Hale pack had
built up its name quite as securely. I still remember most of the lessons, and
I'm sure what I don't remember will come back to me as we start."
It occurred to Peter that he maybe ought to ask the Sheriff's permission before
starting the proposed lessons.... But sometimes it was better to beg
forgiveness than ask permission. And as long as he was careful, he shouldn't
damage Stiles in any way and bring the situation to the man's attention.
Now, as to whether Stiles might not hurt himself while training....
"Cool," Stiles mumbled, his head sinking back down again. "Then if Jackson
pushes me around again, I can push back."
Peter scowled, fighting against the urge to tense up under Stiles, trying to
keep his touches gentle and soothing. He'd hoped that the bullying would have
stopped with Erica out of the picture, but evidently Stiles had human assholes
to contend with too.
Well, he'd teach the boy how to deal with such things, and if there was still
trouble, maybe he'd step in himself. Discretely, so that Talia wouldn't rip him
a new one, and Stiles wouldn't be offended that he'd needed help. But if Stiles
was being set upon at school, Peter didn't feel he could just ignore the
situation.
Holding Stiles, warm and breathing and smelling of them both in his arms went a
long way toward actually calming Peter, and he allowed himself to relax into
the sofa cushions the way that Stiles was relaxed into his body. His cock was
no longer hard, but the sensual enjoyment was still there. All closeness was
good, and while it sucked that Stiles had gotten hurt today, it felt wonderful
to have an excuse to hold him like this.
They sat together in silence, and Stiles even drifted off to sleep for a bit.
Peter just held him and breathed in his scent, felt the heat radiating through
his slender body. Then, after about half an hour Stiles roused and began to
shift a little uncomfortably.
It couldn't be because of the pain, Peter thought, reluctantly loosening his
hold as Stiles moved to sit up on his lap. So why was...?
"Hafta pee," the boy slurred out, eyes heavy-lidded, hair squashed flat on the
side where he'd been resting against Peter's shoulder.
Ah. That was it, then.
"Go ahead, then," Peter replied, smirking, thinking back to Stiles' vehement
declarations that he could stand on his own. Because he could be a dick like
that, and he knew Stiles wasn't going to be able to do it.
Stiles pouted at him, and then he actually tried. Peter had to catch him before
he brained himself on the coffee table when his coltish limbs buckled and would
have betrayed him.
"This is your fault," Stiles grumbled as Peter swept him up in his arms and
carted him off to the bathroom. Excitement was zinging through his veins
already, and Stiles' harsh words did nothing to dampen it. Especially when he
could tell the boy didn't really mean them.
"If you'd rather be in pain..." he said, setting Stiles carefully on his feet
before the toilet.
Stiles glared at him, looking frankly adorable. Peter felt the desire to eat
him alive. Though not in the general big bad wolf sort of way.
"I can...." Stiles trailed off, a look of dawning realization widening his eyes
and coloring his face in blotchy crimson waves of embarrassment. No, he really
couldn't do it himself. Peter was holding him upright with a hand under his
elbow, and even though he seemed to have managed to lock his knees, he wasn't
going to be coordinated enough to deal with undoing the drawstring, lowering
his borrowed pants without letting them puddle around his ankles, lifting the
overlong sweater, and holding his dick all at once.
Peter could practically see this revelation work its way through Stiles' head,
and he didn't want to give the boy time to get too flustered, so he took things
into his own hands. So to speak.
"Hold this," he instructed, not unkindly, and bundled the sweater up,
indicating that Stiles should grab the hem. Once he'd done that, Peter wrapped
one arm around Stiles' slender body, deftly untied the drawstring, and let
gravity do the rest, catching the pants with one hand, and with the other
grasping Stiles' prick before the boy could figure out what he was doing and
protest.
"What--?" Stiles squawked explosively, then he went still and stiff in Peter's
arms.
"Just helping you aim," Peter said smoothly, and it was even mostly true. He
didn't really want to be cleaning urine off his toilet or bathroom floor.
"Oh my God, could you not?" Stiles squeaked, his cheeks still burning. It was
too late, though. He was standing there with his dick in Peter's hand and there
was no ignoring the situation.
"The sooner you go, the sooner we're done," Peter told him softly, making sure
not to move, aside from breathing, even though he really would have loved to
squeeze the penis resting on his palm. For his age, Stiles had a good size
going, definitely living up to the promise of his big feet and hands. He was
still slim, had a fair amount of dark pubic hair, and he'd been circumcised.
Peter was a bit disappointed by that last, but it wasn't really unexpected.
"Oh my God," Stiles groaned, but evidently he'd really had to urinate, because
even though he was still tense all over, he still managed to let loose and
empty his bladder in short time.
Peter dutifully held onto his dick for him, making sure the stream was directed
straight into the toilet bowl, not making it in any way gratuitous, feeling the
blazing heat of Stiles' genitals, feeling the delicate skin cradled carefully
in his hand, feeling the flow of urine pulsing through the shaft of Stiles'
dick as it jumped in his fingers....
And, okay, maybe it was a little gratuitous on his part. But he'd been a
virtual saint for weeks now. He almost felt as though he had earned this.
"Okay, I'm done," Stiles said in a tiny, breathless voice, even as his flow was
trickling down to the last little bit. "Help me pull my pants back up, please?"
Wordlessly, Peter let go of the precious prick that had temporarily been in his
possession, but not before he'd swept his thumb across the head to shake off
the last beads of urine in a move that was incredibly daring and dragged a
harsh gasp out of Stiles. Peter was pretty sure that he'd felt Stiles begin to
grow hard just as he'd let go, but for the sake of the boy's dignity and sanity
he ignored it, instead helping him set his pants to rights.
Stiles was still wobbly as Peter tied the drawstring, one hand clutching at
Peter's shoulder, but he seemed to be determined to stand on his own two feet.
His head was lowered, his gaze downcast, very deliberately not meeting Peter's
eyes, and he was gnawing at his lower lip, rendering it red, swollen, and wet.
The moment was fraught, and Peter was suddenly concerned that even though he
had Stiles on the hook with his books and his friendship, he might not see him
back here due to humiliation or fear. So he did his best to lighten the mood.
"I thought you said you weren't allowed to have soda during the week."
"How did you--" Stiles' mouth fell open, his head snapping up, his eyes going
wide. "Dude, gross! Did you--" His upturned nose wrinkled, and he looked
outraged but no longer on the verge of passing out due to embarrassment "Gross!
That's so gross!"
Peter shrugged, not bothering to hide his grin of amusement. "That might be the
reason you tripped, you know," he pointed out smoothly. "Too much sugar in your
system."
"No!" Stiles was bright red now, and he was definitely embarrassed, but now it
was for a different, less potentially disastrous reason. "We are not talking
about this, and that is gross! Boundaries!"
Peter found it amusing that Stiles chose to freak out about boundaries when it
came to smelling his piss rather than holding his dick while he pissed, but he
didn't say anything about it. Instead, he decided it was time to change the
subject.
"Did you feel up to looking at the books some more?" Peter asked, taking pity
on the boy. It had been rather crude of him to mention Stiles' soda consumption
the way he had, but he'd needed to break the tension somehow. And it appeared
to have done the job.
"Snack first?" Stiles asked hopefully, already beginning to bounce back from
his emotional storm of confusion and embarrassment.
"Sure thing." Peter wrapped an arm around Stiles, letting him walk by himself
but offering him the support he needed to keep from pitching onto the floor as
they made their way to the kitchen.
"You're gonna wash your hands first, though, right?" Stiles asked. And while he
didn't so much as glance at Peter as he spoke the words, while his tone was
filled with forced lightness, he'd made the joke and Peter was pretty sure that
they'd be okay.
He'd taken a chance and gained a little ground... and now he knew what Stiles'
dick looked and felt like. He'd call that a pretty successful trip to the
bathroom.
And, yes, he did wash his hands once they reached the kitchen. More for Stiles'
sake than his own, but he did do it.
+++
"Did you know urine is sterile?" Stiles asked, the next day, as Peter got them
both some tea made up in preparation to returning to the books.
"Are you saying I didn't need to wash my hands yesterday?" Peter asked archly,
turning from the kitchen counter and smirking at Stiles.
The boy turned red and glanced away. "No, don't be gross," he said, less than
convincingly.
Since he was still leery about scaring Stiles off, Peter let the subject go,
even though Stiles had been the one to bring it up.
He did wonder, though, whether Stiles had gone home the day before and look up
watersports on the internet that night. He highly suspected that the boy had
had done so, and he wondered what Stiles had thought of what he'd seen.
Peter was fairly ambivalent on the matter, himself. As a born werewolf with all
the feral instincts inherent to the wildness at his core he understood the need
to mark something, or, rather, someone with his scent. As a sexually active
adult -- well, in theory, though it had been a while -- he'd never really
gotten that adventurous. He certainly wasn't opposed to the idea, but it wasn't
something he was just going to spring on Stiles without a clear indication that
Stiles was interested.
Stiles was sucking on his split lip in a way that had to sting, but he seemed
to be feeling better and so Peter hadn't taken away any of his pain. He was
pretty sure Stiles wanted a clear mind for when they cracked open a couple of
the new books he'd gotten from Talia the night before.
Dinner with the family was occasionally excruciating, Peter thought, what with
Derek's sappy smiles as he prattled on about Paige and basketball, and Cora
gossiping about classmates and sniping at her mother, but it was worth it for
the brightness it brought to Stiles' face and the gleam in his eyes whenever he
cracked open a fresh tome.
Of course by "fresh" Peter just meant fresh to Stiles, since very few of the
books were actually new. Peter had ordered a couple of recent volumes off the
internet, researched and written by authors he had met personally -- one a
werewolf, one a human partnered to a werewolf -- but the rest of them were from
the Hale family collection and most of these were older than Peter himself was.
Which was perfectly okay; werewolf legend and physiology hadn't changed that
much in the last century or longer.
They repaired into the study, settling themselves with their tea and some
cheese-flavored potato chips, and Stiles grabbed the shiny hardback book
written by Peter's human friend. Peter had paged through it when it had arrived
and thought it was fairly accurate, so he didn't have any qualms about letting
Stiles read it. Additionally, it had several chapters that were human-centric,
detailing how to safely deal with werewolves when one was a squishy human.
Peter had found it moderately interesting, reading things from a human point of
view, and while he'd initially thought about just giving the book to Stiles,
since he'd bought it himself, he didn't want to do so until after he'd had a
chance to read it himself. Or, well, maybe he could buy a second copy. He liked
Skylar and Quinne both -- he was pretty sure they'd written the book together,
even though Quinne's was the name on the cover -- so he didn't really have any
problem with the idea of paying for it twice.
Peter could be a selfish dick, but he did have a few friends, and he was loyal
to those people that he actually liked and cared about. Besides, the book was
only twenty-five dollars, plus shipping. It wouldn't exactly break the bank.
There was rain pattering against the window, behind the closed curtains. Peter
had driven to the school to pick Stiles up this afternoon. He'd thought that
this might be a bit presumptuous on his part but Stiles had climbed cheerfully
into the passenger seat, waving at a boy his age that Peter assumed was the
McCall kid that the Sheriff had mentioned multiple times. He was cute enough,
Peter supposed, with a mop of dark hair falling in his eyes and smooth, dark
skin, but seeing him had only clarified for Peter that he really wasn't into
thirteen year olds as a rule.
Stiles was just that special.
Also, Stiles was very pretty for a thirteen year old. Like right now, as he
leaned over his chosen book, his mouth hanging open. Peter was, as always,
terribly tempted to just slide something between his lips... over his tongue...
into the humid heat on his mouth....
God.
The night before, Peter wasn't ashamed to admit to himself, he had jerked off
to the memory of holding Stiles' dick in his hand while he'd been pissing. How
could he not have done? The sweet burnt sugar scent of him, and the warmth of
his body leaning back against Peter's chest as Peter's hand had clasped his
prick....
Sometimes when Peter masturbated it was simply a matter of releasing tension.
That was satisfying but never very fun. Last night, though, his mounting
arousal leading to a truly mind-rattling climax had shivered through him with a
very real and visceral pleasure, leaving him panting for breath and loose-
limbed with repletion and satisfaction at once.
It was something he'd very much like to repeat, but even better if at some
point in the near future he could get off with Stiles instead of just thinking
about him and fantasizing about his delectable little body.
Stiles was kneeling on the oversized leather chair Peter kept in his study,
legs curled under him. Evidently his knee was doing better than it had been
yesterday... well, Peter could admit that he may have overreacted a bit.
Stiles had the book open under his hand on the desktop, his other hand cradling
his tea mug. He was wearing his mother's red hoodie, looking warm and cuddly,
and Peter wished he was sitting in the same chair rather than one near it,
holding Stiles in his lap, clasping him in the circle of his arms.
He'd had Stiles in his arms the day before. Both when they'd been sitting on
the sofa and when they'd been standing in front of the toilet....
It burned a little, heated and intimate, in the center of Peter's chest, where
he thought his heart would be if he were like a normal person. He wanted more
of it, and he wanted to treasure what he'd gotten.
Peter was so focused inwardly that he almost didn't notice the sudden rise in
Stiles' body heat and the sugary scent of him, wafting over and filling his
nostrils, tantalizing and intriguing.
Brow furrowing, Peter looked over. Stiles was engrossed in his book, his cheeks
burning, his mouth lax, breath gusting heavily in and out of his parted lips.
Craning his neck a little, Peter took a look at the pages that Stiles had so
enraptured.
Ah. The chapter on werewolf and human sexuality.
He sat back with a curling smile, taking in the totality of Stiles and his
reaction to the pages he was reading. He actually didn't know what that chapter
contained, not having dwelled on it when he'd flipped through the book earlier.
But he knew that Skylar and Quinne had a very active sex life, and he knew that
neither of them would have been shy about sharing their knowledge in the book
they'd put together.
Unlike some adults, Peter didn't think kids should be sheltered from the
realities of adulthood, up to and including sex. That was how things like teen
pregnancy happened. Better they be fully informed as to what they were headed
into, and then they could make educated decisions instead of relying on
instinct and blatant, sometimes disastrous misinformation.
And, of course, Stiles was something special. Not only had he probably already
educated himself all about sex on the internet, but he was smart for his age,
and Peter thought he was quite a bit more mature than most thirteen year olds.
Having been there when his mother had died, having a father who worked a job he
might not come home from someday, feeding himself and making up healthy menus
for those he cared about, carrying his best friend's spare inhaler in case
McCall's asthma got so bad he was on the verge of dying.... All of this had led
to Stiles growing up quickly, Peter thought.
Oh, Stiles was still a child in a lot of ways. There was an unquenchable core
to him. He was bright and cheerful and thoughtlessly spontaneous, and sometimes
he made very bad decisions. But at other times he was quiet and pensive, and he
also made good, informed decisions. Peter was getting to see behind the mask
more and more often the more time they spent together and the more comfortable
Stiles got with him.
And then there were moments like right now. When Stiles was blushing furiously
at reading about how werewolf-human sex worked.
Although.... Peter quirked a brow, taking in a long, slow breath, trying to be
subtle about testing Stiles' scent.
It was more arousal than embarrassment, he realized after a moment. And the way
Stiles was squirming very faintly on his chair was definitely suspect. Peter
thought that Stiles had a stocking-footed heel digging into his perineum, from
the way the boy was situated, and he could smell the rising salt-and-sweet tang
of Stiles' growing excitement.
Silently thanking Quinne, and by extension Skylar, Peter scooted forward a
little, peeking at what Stiles was so avidly reading.
Peter was reluctantly impressed by how graphic Quinne had managed to be while
at the same time maintaining a veneer of professional detachment. It didn't
read like porn, but it left nothing to the imagination. Bless his pervy
friends, there was even an illustration on the page, expertly rendered in
charcoal, completely gratuitous and yet still relatively tasteful.
Stiles' spidery fingers were skirting the edge of the art, as though he wanted
to touch but didn't dare. There was no mistaking the fact that he had an
erection -- Peter could smell it even if he couldn't see it in the boy's jeans,
hidden under the long hem of his hoodie -- and his cheeks were so red that it
almost looked painful. Peter could see the tiny beads of sweat on Stiles'
temples, and he was alternating between licking his lips and sucking on the
scabbed-over split he'd given himself when he'd fallen the day before.
That last looked painful, but maybe Stiles liked the extra stimulation. Or
maybe he was too turned on to even register that it hurt. Peter wanted to reach
out and touch Stiles but he was a little concerned that if he did the boy would
jump out of his skin. Stiles was so focused on what he was reading that he
probably didn't even remember that he wasn't alone in the room.
It was a little frustrating, Peter thought. All those hormones and all that
horniness, right there, right within his reach, and yet he didn't think he
dared to reach.
He was so caught up in this quandary, so overwhelmed by the rich musk of
Stiles' growing arousal, that he didn't actually notice at first that Stiles
had lifted his head and was staring at him with huge eyes. The amber
highlighted brown of his irises had been nearly swallowed up by the ink-blots
of his dilated pupils, and his mouth was a sweet little circle of hot-gusting
breath and swollen red lips.
"Is knotting really a thing?" he gasped out, voice more than a bit raspy. His
cheeks were still painted crimson but his scent indicated it was entirely
arousal without a trace of embarrassment.
Peter blinked, taken aback for all of a moment, then leaned forward to peer at
the book. This put pressure on his cock, making him aware that it was achingly
hard, and he valiantly resisted the urge to grind the heel of his palm into it.
Instead, he reached over and claimed the book Stiles had been reading.
"What does this say?" he asked, curious. He'd had zero experience with
knotting, and all the Hale family books he'd read had skirted the issue, but he
expected Quinne would have gone into the subject in loving detail.
"Um." Stiles stuck part of his hoodie sleeve into his mouth, chewing and
sucking on that rather than his split lip. His oral fixation would be the death
of Peter yet. "That it mostly only happens between breeding pairs, like, a guy
and a girl. And usually only when they're mated."
Peter nodded, skimming the entry himself, mostly to try and distract himself
from the heat building up in his groin, under his arms, along his chest and
throat. He didn't necessarily want Stiles to see him getting flushed, but the
powerful scent of sex rolling off the boy was really getting to him.
"That would be why I don't really know anything about it," he replied absently,
eyes running over the page. Quinne had said what Stiles had paraphrased, only
with a lot more loving detail.
Jesus fuck, his friends were perverts. Peter was definitely buying Stiles his
own copy of this book. And maybe giving it a good review online.
"Oh." Stiles' exhale sounded more like a gasp of pleasure than a sound of
enlightenment. Peter dragged his attention away from the book and watched
silently as Stiles shifted where he was sitting, subtly rubbing his thighs
together, almost definitely as a means of stimulating his hard dick. He
wondered if Stiles was unaware that he was doing it, or if he was just so
turned on he'd left embarrassment and shame behind.
"I think you should probably get used to having a cock inside you before you
build up to the idea of a cock with a knot," he said as calmly as he was able
when he could practically feel steam rising from under his collar, when he
could smell his own arousal as clearly as he could Stiles'.
He wouldn't have thought it possible for Stiles' huge eyes to get huger, but he
was proven wrong as the boy's gaze snapped to his face, sleeve popping out of a
mouth gone wide with shock.
"Have you thought about it?" Peter asked, staring back intently, watching the
heat flood Stiles' gaze, watching his cheeks flare. He looked glorious like
this, he looked like sex, and Peter was going to combust if he didn't get a
taste of this delicious boy soon.
"Um."
That wasn't exactly a helpful response, but Peter didn't really mind. He set
the book down and settled back in his chair, holding out a hand to Stiles. This
was a make-or-break moment -- especially since there was no way Stiles would
miss seeing his erection between his spread thighs -- but he was convinced that
there was no way he was misreading the situation.
"Come here," he ordered, but softly rather than forcefully. He was pretty sure
Stiles was aware that he had a choice, and he was sure the boy was bold enough
to say no if he didn't want to....
Stiles nearly fell headfirst into Peter's crotch, he scrambled to obey so
quickly. Peter found this enthusiasm extremely gratifying, but even more
gratifying was the way Stiles straddled his thighs, settling into his lap,
hands on his chest, face inches away from his own.
"Have you ever kissed anyone?" Peter asked, hands coming to rest on Stiles'
narrow boy hips. The material of his hoodie and the denim of his jeans were in
the way of his soft, warm flesh, but Peter could make do. With Stiles' thighs
spread wide around his own the rich scent of his growing arousal rose up to
smack Peter in the face like an almost physical blow.
Stiles shook his head silently, his eyes immediately fixating on Peter's mouth.
Peter didn't make a verbal offer, but he did lick his lips very pointedly. It
felt a little sophomoric so far as sexual invitations went, but, hey, Stiles
was only just barely in junior high. He wasn't even a sophomore yet.
Peter was leaving this up to Stiles in large part because Stiles was only
thirteen. He wasn't going to force the boy into anything, no matter how much he
wanted. And while Peter didn't care much for things like morals and human
squeamishness when it came to sexuality, he felt that it was better to let
Stiles make this decision.
Maybe Stiles' didn't want to kiss --
Peter didn't even really get to finish that thought in his head before Stiles'
mouth was crashing against his with a distinct lack of finesse but a lot of
enthusiasm.
While it was nice knowing that he was Stiles' first kiss, Peter resolved that
he was going to have to teach the boy some skill, if only as a matter of self
preservation.
Stiles' lips were plump and lush, but he was pushing them against Peter's with
more pressure than pleasure, as though he was afraid of being rejected, as
though he wanted to claim everything he could as quickly as he could.
Removing his hands from Stiles' hips, Peter reached up and cupped Stiles' face,
feeling the softness of his flaming cheeks, the hard bones of his jaw under his
fingers. He shifted the boy's head into a less awkward position and pulled back
a bit in order to gentle the kiss.
Stiles let him take control without so much as a murmur of protest, and Peter
rewarded him with a sweep of the flat of his tongue along Stiles' lush upper
lip. Stiles' whined and tried to surge forward, but Peter held him still.
He was mindful of the scab on Stiles' lower lip -- even though Stiles certainly
didn't seem to be -- and instead of licking at that Peter slid the tip of his
tongue into Stiles' open mouth. Running it between the velvet-soft, incredibly
hot inner surface of Stiles' lower lip and the line of his hard teeth, Peter
was pleased to wring a throttled noise out of the boy. Then he slipped in past
Stiles' teeth and swirled his tongue around Stiles' tongue, feeling it flex
without hesitation against his own, slick and wet and hot.
Stiles leaned into the kiss as Peter slowed and deepened it, and as he seemed
to figure out what he was doing Peter let go of his face, reaching down to
grope momentarily at his ass, since he was pretty sure his carnal interest was
right out there in the open by now. That put paid to kissing, as Stiles moaned
and pulling back, open lips wet and pressure-bruised as he gasped for air,
lightly-dewed forehead pressed against Peter's.
Peter didn't mind. Kissing Stiles was definitely nice, but now he could
concentrate on what his fingers were doing.
Stiles' rear was just as tight and tender at the same time as Peter had
expected, fitting into his hands perfectly. Stiles squeaked and jerked, but
into the touch, not away from it as Peter grabbed. Peter flexed his fingers,
squeezing Stiles' ass through the material of his jeans, but his focus was
actually at the juncture of Stiles' thighs, at his crotch, where he was so
obviously hard and beginning to leak in his underwear.
Steadying Stiles with one hand on his upper arm, Peter reached his right hand
underneath the hem of Stiles' red hoodie, unfastening and unzipping his jeans,
then reaching in without a moment of hesitation.
Stiles clutched at the shoulders of Peter's shirt, fingers fisting tightly in
the material, and keened low in his throat, his hips canting forward into
Peter's hand as Peter palmed the whole length of his erection.
Once again Peter had his hand on Stiles' dick... but it was much different than
it had been yesterday.
Stiles gasped, lurching forward as Peter cupped his entire crotch, capturing
Stiles' hard-on between the heel of his palm and the boy's belly, fingers
prodding at his drawn-up balls. Stiles' wiry arms went around Peter's neck, his
hot-damp cheek smashed against Peter's cheekbone, mingling their sweat together
on their skin, and if Peter had turned his head he could have so easily marked
the flawless white line of Stiles' throat....
He resisted this last temptation, though, because if anyone saw any marks on
Stiles, Peter's life might as well be ended. If the Sheriff didn't get him
Talia would... and vice versa.
Thinking of his sister and Stiles' father, though, was a bit of a turn off. And
why would he want that when he had Stiles right here, humping into his hand
with sharp snaps of his hips and sweet little catches of his breath, almost
sobs but not really.
Peter's hand was twisted at an awkward, almost painful angle where he had it
jammed in Stiles' jeans and yet he had no regrets as he felt Stiles' rutting
into his palm, grinding closer and closer to his climax.
It wasn't like he wasn't doing Stiles a favor, Peter thought vaguely, his own
hips flexing in time with Stiles even though he had no manual stimulation other
than the press of his pants against his straining erection, since Stiles was
raised up on his knees. After all, Stiles' palms were still a little chewed up
from when he'd fallen yesterday. Peter's hands were undamaged.
Speaking of which, he did have two hands, and Stiles had a pretty strong grip
in him now, was unlikely to fall over. So, letting go of Stiles' upper arm,
Peter reached for his grinding little ass again. But rather than squeezing a
round buttock, he pressed his fingertips down along the seam of Stiles' jeans.
They were hanging a little loose, since they'd been undone, but he kept going
until he found that one sensitive spot nestled deeply between his frantically
flexing cheeks.
Peter had barely prodded at it through the material of Stiles' jeans and
underwear when Stiles let out what was almost a wail, writhing in his arms, and
there was a wet burst of heated liquid breaking over his palm and wrist,
Stiles' hard prick jolting and throbbing in the cup of his hand.
It was even more awkward pulling his hand out of Stiles' underwear and open
jeans when his fingers were coated in thin, somewhat watery jizz and Stiles had
collapsed in a boneless, panting slump against his chest, but Peter managed it.
Stiles' face was mashed into his neck, the boy's hands twitching on his
shoulders, and Peter tucked him close with his one arm, raising his soiled hand
to inhale deeply. Stiles was so young that the smell wasn't as strong as Peter
was used to, but he kind of liked that. Maybe it was just because it was
Stiles, though.
Since Stiles had collapsed on his lap, Peter could have ground up into his limp
weight. But that struck him as more than a little rude, considering that this
was Stiles' first sexual experience outside fucking his own fist.
It was tempting. With Stiles panting against his collarbone, smearing his sweat
all over Peter's throat, the smell of his come in Peter's nose, all over his
hand.... The boy was radiating a crazy amount of heat, causing all the hairs on
Peter's body to prickle. He wanted, he wanted so badly.
But Peter was a gentleman when it came to sex -- unless it had been requested
otherwise -- and he'd already dared a lot, sticking his hand down Stiles' pants
as he had done. He didn't want to risk scaring the boy off.
Though, honestly? Was that very likely at this point?
Still, Peter wasn't going to hump Stiles like he was the teenager here. He had
no problem with Stiles spunking so quickly; found it both natural and
flattering, in fact. But that didn't mean the reverse was true.
It would have felt good, the heat and weight of Stiles' ass resting on top of
Peter's throbbing erection, if he hadn't needed so badly to come. Peter could
appreciate anticipation, titillation, but not so much when he was so hard it
actually hurt.
Suddenly Stiles took the choice out of Peter's hands, lax limbs tightening up
as he raised himself up off Peter's chest and sat back. This moved him off of
Peter's hard-on and back onto his thighs, which he wasn't sure was a good thing
or not by this point.
"I wanna see," Stiles slurred, staring at Peter with heavy-lidded eyes. He
looked well-fucked, even though Peter had really only given him what amounted
to a half-assed handjob, his face red and damp with perspiration, his mouth
hanging open and wet and hot.
"What?" It wasn't Peter's fault that he didn't really understand what Stiles
was saying. Most of his attention was on his throbbing cock, the rest of it
taken with how beautiful Stiles looked right now.
"I wanna see," Stiles said more coherently, scooting back a little, his hands
going down to the bulge between Peter's thighs. Peter's poor neglected cock
jumped, pre-ejaculate making a mess of his underwear, even though Stiles was
groping him through his pants. Damn!
"Keep that up and there'll be nothing to see," Peter groaned, exercising all of
his will power to keep his hips still. It really would have been beyond rude to
buck Stiles off his lap. Having sex with a human meant always being aware of
the fact that they were weaker, especially when they were a slender thirteen
year old rather than an adult.
Stiles licked his lips, eyes gleaming. He seemed to be recovering from his
orgasm quickly, and Peter was a little disconcerted by the wicked expression on
his face, but it was intriguing and gratifying at the same time.
If Peter had wanted Stiles to be some blushing, flailing virgin, he'd really
have considered himself a pervert. Well, he was a pervert.... But he was
interested in Stiles for himself, not because he was a scrawny barely-pubescent
little boy with no previous experience outside his own hands.
With a strangely lithe little wriggle, Stiles slid backward off Peter's legs,
pausing once he was on his feet to fasten his jeans, then he stepped forward,
shoving Peter's thighs boldly apart.
Peter blinked, a bit taken aback, but he certainly didn't mind.
Stiles was already reaching for Peter's fly, but Peter got there first himself,
tugging the zipper down and pulling his hard, leaking erection out of his
underwear, hooking the elastic under his balls. It wasn't exactly the most
comfortable thing he'd ever done, but by this point any physical stimulation
was exciting, and having Stiles' avid gaze on his hard-on was even more
stimulating.
"Wow," Stiles breathed, much like he had done when he'd first entered Peter's
study and seen his collection of books. This was a little different, though.
His eyes were wide and he licked his lips involuntarily, then in another move
that surprised Peter, Stiles knelt right in front of him.
"Like what you see?" he couldn't help asking, even though it sounded like
something out of bad porn. He wrapped a hand around the shaft of his dick, the
one that was still glistening and growing tacky with Stiles' thin come, tugging
to pull the foreskin back from its head.
Rather than answering verbally, Stiles was leaning forward avidly, already
reaching for Peter's cock himself, his mouth open and tempting. Peter really,
really wanted to slide his hard-on right in there.... But there was no way
Stiles was ready for that, no matter how bold he was being right now.
The leather chairs in Peter's study weren't particularly high and Stiles had
long legs, so it wasn't much of a stretch for him to get in between Peter's
spread thighs and lean over his crotch. Peter stroked himself lightly a few
times, despite the desire to squeeze tightly and jerk himself off hard and
fast. As more pre-ejaculate blurted from the pulsing tip of his cock, Stiles
reached out and caught it up on curious fingertips.
Peter had to literally bite back a low groan as Stiles sucked his slicked
fingers into his mouth, fattened red lips working around the digits as he
tested the flavor of Peter's pre-ejaculate. God, the boy was going to be
glorious at cocksucking. Even if he wasn't any good, he would look incredible.
"That's different than mine," Stiles said, removing his fingers from his mouth,
his lashes flickering as he glanced coyly up at Peter. His cheeks were still
flushed, his mouth open, and Peter stroked his hard cock a couple of times
before he could stop himself, that much closer to coming.
More than anything he wanted to come all over Stiles' pretty face. Mark it up,
cover Stiles in his scent, leave him dripping with the physical result of what
he did to Peter.
But doing so would be beyond rude, and he might get jizz on Stiles' red hoodie.
It had been Stiles' mother's and so Peter didn't think he'd be forgiven for
that.
Then Stiles' wet hand was closing around Peter's cock, joining his own fingers
in wrapping around the shaft, and that was it, Peter was gone.
Clapping his free hand over the head of his spouting cock, Peter did what he
could to catch most of his load in his palm. He came more copiously than Stiles
had done, and he was pretty sure that he'd just wrecked the leather of his
chair, but Stiles' precious red hoodie was pristine.
"I wanted to put it in my mouth."
Only Stiles could sound so disappointed after watching a man come due to the
mere touch of his hand, Peter thought hazily as he pulled himself together from
the intensity of his climax.
"Maybe next time, baby," he rasped, and he wanted to sink his fingers into
Stiles' hair, stroke the round bone of his skull, but one of his hands was
still covered in Stiles' thin semen and his other hand was dripping with his
own.
Stiles was still holding his cock as it began to slowly soften, and as Peter
removed the hand he'd cupped over the head, the boy got a contemplative
expression on his face, then he unexpectedly leaned in and lapped delicately at
its tip, pink tongue sliding over the slit.
Peter was completely unashamed of the guttural curse that he let out, and even
though he was spent he could feel his cock twitching wildly at the stimulation.
"Sorry," Stiles murmured, drawing back and licking his lips. At this moment, if
Peter hadn't had both hands covered in jizz and hadn't been wary of wrecking
Stiles' hoodie, he'd have grabbed the boy and carted him off to his bed to
spend the rest of the day debauching him and teaching him how to use that
tantalizing tongue and those tempting lips of his.
"Was that gross?" Stiles asked, wide-eyed and anxious. He was still on his
knees, staring up at Peter from between his spread thighs, and Peter kind of
thought that he needed to clean himself up, but he also didn't want Stiles to
move. Ever.
"That was not gross," Peter assured him, smiling down at the gorgeous boy
before him. This really wasn't how he had envisioned his day going... but he
had absolutely zero complaints. "That was amazing."
"I still wanna put it in my mouth," Stiles said, sounding a little dreamy, his
gaze moving from Peter's face to the pink, jizz-slicked head of his cock. "Can
I?"
"Not right now," Peter replied, even though it killed something inside him to
speak the words. "Right now I need to go get cleaned up, okay?"
Stiles settled back on his haunches and gave vent to a heavy sigh. "Okay...."
"Next time we do this," Peter said, tucking himself back into his underwear,
even though it was kind of slimy from the pre-ejaculate he'd leaked in it
earlier, "We're going to be wearing less clothing."
Stiles tugged at the hem of his hoodie, staring down at the red material, then
his gaze snapped up to Peter's face, eyes and mouth wide, realization dawning.
"I can get naked right now," he offered, jumping to his feet.
Whatever Peter might have expected from the first time he had a sexual
encounter with Stiles, this eagerness hadn't really crossed his mind. Not that
he was disappointed by it. The opposite, in fact, but he wanted to proceed with
caution.
"Let's just go wash our hands," he said calmly, fastening his fly. He
desperately needed to change his underwear, but his hands came first.
"And then more kissing?" Stiles persisted as Peter herded him out of the study
and toward the bathroom. "I liked the kissing. Did you like kissing me? I
wasn't too terrible, was I? You were really good. I wanna learn to kiss like
you do. I wanna kiss you more!"
"Hush." Peter clasped the back of Stiles' neck with the hand he'd used to
masturbate the boy to climax. Stiles hadn't shot a lot and most of it had
either dried or rubbed off on the fly of Peter's pants, so he wasn't making a
mess of Stiles' nape. Not that he wouldn't have liked to do so... but not right
now.
"Sorry," Stiles apologized, sucking at the split in his lip again.
"It's fine, baby," Peter crooned, squeezing before letting go to turn on the
water, getting it warm for both of them. "You don't need to talk me into
kissing you, you know. But we should probably talk about this first."
Stiles wrinkled his snub nose. "Really?" He lathered up and stuck his hands
under the stream of water once Peter was done, even though Peter had been the
one to field most of the jizz. "Figures you gotta be all grown up about it."
"Well, I am a grown up," Peter pointed out, drying his hands. Of course, Talia
might argue that. But by human and werewolf standards, Peter was to be
considered an adult. "Whereas, you are many years away yet."
"But you want... this... right?" Stiles asked in a small voice, taking a step
toward Peter, then a step away. His sudden insecurity shouldn't have been as
endearing as it was.
"Don't doubt it," Peter assured him, holding out the towel. "Dry your hands and
go wait for me in the kitchen, okay? Do you want to make us more tea?"
Stiles' expression clearly said that he didn't want to leave Peter's side, but
he reluctantly agreed to go make them some tea and Peter left him to dry his
hands, headed to his bedroom for a change of both pants and underwear. His cock
was warm and still a little thick, tingling, and Peter honestly couldn't figure
out if it was lingering arousal or renewed desire. Knowing that he had Stiles
begging him for more sex.... God, it could go either way.
Peter gave his cock a soft squeeze, much like he'd given Stiles' neck, before
tucking it away. Sort of like a promise. Whether or not he gave in to Stiles'
demands, he was going to be getting off again today, but not until later.
Either he would let Stiles suck him, or he's be jerking off vigorously once the
boy had headed on his way home. Maybe both. Probably both, if he was honest.
When he returned to the kitchen, hoping it wasn't too obvious that he'd had to
change his pants like a horny teenager -- not that he thought Stiles would
judge him for it -- he found Stiles sitting at the table, poring over the same
book he'd been reading in the study.
"Anything in there that interests you in particular?" Peter asked, finishing up
the tea preparations and joining Stiles. The boy's cheeks were red again... or
still, more like. Peter was a little concerned that Stiles might not be able to
act normally once he went home, but his "normal" was fluid and changed almost
daily. It was probable that his father wouldn't notice anything different. Or
so Peter devoutly hoped. Maybe that needed to be one of the things they talked
about.
Stiles squirmed and Peter was pretty sure that he was getting hard again. Well,
it was only to be expected. He was a thirteen year old boy reading a chapter in
a book that talked about sex in fairly graphic detail.
"No," Stiles replied, shaking his head. "Not particularly, that is. Obviously
it all interests me."
Peter smirked and sipped his tea.
"Pervert," Stiles said, but he said it affectionately and he was smiling back
at Peter, his plump red lips curved up in playfulness rather than smugness.
"Well, yes," Peter agreed coyly. "And that's why we need to talk."
Stiles pulled a face. "Is this the part where you say that I can't tell anyone
about what just happened?"
Peter snorted. "I wouldn't insult your intelligence like that," he said
somewhat scornfully. "You know that I know that you know you can't tell anyone.
Not unless you want me to end up in jail... or vanished."
"I don't think Dad would actually kill you," Stiles said, sounding far from
certain.
"Talia might," Peter replied in all honesty. "Though I'd hope that I could
escape before either of them got a hold of me. Hence the vanishing, one way or
another." He sipped his tea calmly once he was done, because they were speaking
hypothetically right now and he felt safe in assuming that they both knew it.
"Well, no one's finding out," Stiles clarified, looking determined, his pointed
little chin high. "I don't want you to die or have to run away; I like you too
much for that. Besides, if I told anyone then I'd never get to put your dick in
my mouth."
Peter blinked, taken a bit aback by the boy's boldness, even though he maybe
shouldn't have been by this point, but he just grinned and answered evenly.
"There is that."
"I'm still disappointed," Stiles said, giving Peter what he probably thought
was a stern look. "That you didn't let me."
"Well, that's something that we can remedy easily enough," Peter pointed out,
raising his brows. He really hadn't expected Stiles to jump straight from
blushing virgin to the eager instigator, but it made him feel better about what
he was doing. After all, he'd wanted Stiles to want him. And that was what he
was evidently getting.
"Right now?" Stiles asked, leaping on that opening, his eyes wide and bright,
his mouth gaping at the same time it curled up at the corners.
"I'm pretty sure that this is the part where I say that I've created a
monster," Peter murmured, eyeing the boy. There was a buzz under the surface of
his skin as he envisioned his come on that flushed face, as he thought about
the two of them getting naked, the way Stiles had urged. He didn't want to rush
into this thing, whatever it was, but Stiles was making it awfully hard to
practice restraint.
Especially given the fact that Stiles didn't want to be restrained and
evidently wanted to rush headlong into everything.
"I'm not the monster," Stiles said earnestly, but with a gleam of humor in his
bright amber-brown eyes. "I'm little red, right? And you're my big bad wolf."
Peter laughed aloud as Stiles preened, plucking at the red hoodie he wore,
smoothing his fine-boned hands over its pockets.
"I guess that makes me the monster," he agreed, and his smile was probably more
of a leer and yet he couldn't bring himself to care. Stiles obviously knew and
liked him the way he was. "So what are you going to do if I threaten to eat you
alive?"
Stiles beamed delightedly. "Take off my hoodie and get naked, right?"
"All the better to devour you, my dear," Peter paraphrased, and one might say
that he grinned wolfishly. "All the better to devour you."
End Notes
     (There will almost definitely be more of this series, but I can't
     make any promises as to when.)
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!