Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3207494.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Liam_Dunbar/Scott_McCall
  Character:
      Peter_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Liam_Dunbar, Scott_McCall, Malia_Tate, Kira
      Yukimura, Derek_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      UST, Resolved_Sexual_Tension, Flirting, Monster_of_the_Week, Researcher
      Stiles, Druid_Stiles_Stilinski, Nice_Peter_Hale, But_he's_still_his
      asshole_self, Fluff_and_Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual_Smut, Anal_Sex,
      Underage_Drinking, Tattoos, Magical_Tattoos
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-01-21 Updated: 2017-09-29 Chapters: 7/10 Words: 35336
****** Run When the Rhythm's Right ******
by Silver_Moon_Lit_Forest
Summary
     Somehow, when he’d set Peter on fire four years ago, Stiles had never
     really been expecting to find himself standing in the man’s kitchen,
     sneaking a cactus onto his window sill.
Notes
     I tagged underage because Liam is still under 18 and there will be
     more mentions of him with Scott, probably sexual ones.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
Somehow, when he’d set Peter on fire four years ago, Stiles had never really
been expecting to find himself standing in the man’s kitchen, sneaking a cactus
onto his window sill. It was just that Peter’s apartment was so bare. There
wasn’t a single picture on the wall or even a magazine sitting on the table.
Peter had been living there for well over a year now and yet, nothing.
Stiles had never asked him about it; he valued his life more highly than that,
but he was still curious. Peter didn’t seem to collect things. He had his
clothes, furniture and a few random odds and ends the pack had ended up leaving
around after meetings, but none of it was his. The apartment didn’t have that
‘home’ feel that Stiles had grown used to.
The Stilinski house had never seen bare walls or empty tables. Even after his
mom had passed, Stiles made sure her pictures stuck around, as hard as it had
been to begin with. A warm feeling always settled in his chest when he walked
past her picture and it made him feel like she was still there somehow,
watching him live his insane life and looking out for him.
But he knew Peter didn’t have anything like that.
So Stiles had endeavoured to fix this current situation. He hadn’t wanted to
get a flower that required a lot of care. He wasn’t really expecting Peter to
take care of the damn thing. Stiles could take care of it when he was over,
which was at least once a week these days.
The rest of the pack had their own goings ons outside of their super secret
supernatural lives and that left Stiles to just twiddle his thumbs. Except he’d
never been very good at twiddling. Unless it was his dick.
While Scott was off enjoying the single life, and when Kira and Malia weren’t
dragging him off shopping somewhere- he swore it was just like Lydia had never
moved across country to go to school with Allison and Isaac- Stiles ended up at
Peter’s. The first time he’d actually needed the former Alpha’s intel on the
Monster of the Week, but the consecutive visits? Stiles didn’t really have
excuses for those.
And that was how he had found himself now in Peter’s kitchen, sitting a small
pink moon cactus on the window sill. When he’d seen it, Stiles hadn’t been able
to leave the store without it. It was prickly and a little flamboyant, just
like Peter. Not that Stiles would ever say that to his face, but it worked in
his head.
He made sure the tiny plant had enough water and was angled for proper sunlight
before he stood back to admire it. It was only the start of what he had
planned. And it was a good start, if he did say so himself, which he generally
did.
Leaving the cactus for Peter to find when he finally emerged from his bedroom,
Stiles picked up his notes and headed for Derek’s. Peter was probably
hibernating, considering they’d just been up in a nineteen hour researching
extravaganza. They finally had the information they needed to defeat the kelpie
that had decided to set up shop in the lake on the edge of the reserve. They’d
learned that Wikipedia couldn’t exactly be trusted in these things with the
last troupe of fae that had they had come across.
Stiles was still going to salt and burn the damn body when they were done with
it. For reasons.
===============================================================================
It was another three days before Stiles ended up back at Peter’s. The Kelpie
had been tricky to kill, even going as far as to track Stiles through the woods
in it’s human form, which was both good and bad for them since the only way to
kill it was when it was in that form. One tussle in the mood and a attempted
drowning later, the Kelpie was dead and Stiles had a nice bruise across his
chest and down his rib cage.
By luck or miracle, his ribs weren’t broken, but his whole upper body hurt like
the dickens. Sitting through lecture had quickly hit the top of his Not Do
list. He couldn’t even manage to get a good jerk off session in without his
body screaming at him.
Not only was he grumpy, but he was in a whole lot of pain. There was only so
much Tylenol one could take without overdosing and he’d reached that amount
hours ago to no avail. He could feel Peter’s eyes tracking him as he banged
around his kitchen. He’d been aiming for easy, but everytime he picked up the
spatula to move his grilled cheese around the pan, a sharp pain shot up his
side, forcing him to grit his teeth and give up.
Staring at the bread wasn’t getting him any where. He hadn’t suddenly developed
the power of the Force, no matter how much he wished he had.
He was just contemplating a bowl of cereal when a hand pressed against his
upper arm and Peter pulled the spatula from his fingers. Stiles pouted for a
moment, completely missing when a small amount of pain was leached out of him-
just enough to dull the ache of his muscles- as Peter took his place in front
of the stove.
“Watching you cook in that state is like watching a drunk walk a straight
line,” Peter commented, a vicious grin sliding across his lips. Stiles was used
to Peter’s all teeth grins, and it didn’t nothing but amuse him. And only
slightly.
“It’s not my fault I got chosen as bait- again. It’s like everything we fight
knows I’m the human in the group. I feel like I’m wearing a big neon sign that
flashes ‘Hot and Ready Human! Come and Get it!’” Stiles gestured to his chest
with his hands and Peter rolled his eyes hard enough that even Stiles could
feel it.
“You smell like horny teenage and sweaty human ninety percent of the time. You
are literally prey. Lucky for you some of us have enough common sense to stick
by you when the pack’s on a hunt.” And by some of us, Peter meant himself. It
wasn’t like Stiles blamed Scott for being at the front of the pack, his
alphaness and all that jazz, but being stuck in the back, powerless, wasn’t
really where Stiles wanted to be.
“Well, it’s not like I have magical powers that zap out of my hands and I don’t
have a furry form. Maybe I should go find a vat of toxic waste and tumble in
it. It seems to work for most superheros,” Stiles muttered as he oversaw
Peter’s cooking abilities. Peter didn’t even give him a sensory glance as he
buttered another piece of toast and slid it into the pan.
“That sounds horrifying and I think it would actually kill you. Then where
would we be without our resident spastic human?” Peter finished the sandwich
and plated it, handing it over to Stiles with a raised eyebrow.
“Down one piece of bait and half a research team,” Stiles shot back as he sat
down at the small center bar that occupied part of Peter’s kitchen.
“We’re a team now?” Peter asked, an aghast look on his face, “Why, Stiles, I
had no idea I meant that much to you.” Stiles stuck his tongue out at him.
“Don’t worry, sassy wolf. I still hate your guts,” Stiles replied with an eye
roll. He took a bite of his sandwich, flipping through his psychology book. He
planned to use every second of free time he was granted while Beacon Hills was
monster free. Well, as monster free as it could get.
“You wound me.” Peter placed his hand over his chest but the gleam in his eyes
gave the act away. “So, what’s on the agenda for tonight? I see the Algebra
book is conveniently missing tonight. Also, why exactly do you use my house as
a library? Doesn’t the college have one?”
“After you threatened to throw it in the fireplace if I ever dared to bring it
in your house again, I left it in the Jeep. That’s a four hundred dollar book.
I can get at least two hundred back. And because your apartment has more
entertaining people and I get free tutoring,” Stiles muttered as he scanned
over the page he was on, highlighting at random before sticking the pen back in
his mouth to chew on the cap. He didn’t miss the way Peter’s eyes watched his
lips, but elected not to acknowledge it.
He been over at Peter’s enough now to have a good sense when things were going
to start getting...tense. In a bad but also weird-good way. Stiles wasn’t
immune to Peter’s good looks, but the man was nearly twice his age and a psycho
murderer. A psycho murderer that Stiles had killed once before. It didn’t sound
like a recipe for a good healthy relationship.
“I have a bad relationship with math. The language of god, my ass.” He wrinkled
his nose in disgust as he said it, as if math had personally offended and made
his life a living hell. Stiles figured most people were personally offended by
math, unless you were Lydia Martin.
“Lucky for you it’s psychology tonight. I don’t think I want to get into that
creepy ass head of yours, though. God only knows what goes on in there. You
probably dream about murdering us all in our sleep, or eating our hearts out.”
The comment earned him the patented Peter Hale eyebrow raise, but his smile
slid into lascivious. It comforted Stiles none.
“Oh, Stiles. I’d eat you; it just wouldn’t be your heart.” Stiles blinked down
at his book and then turned to blink at Peter. He was sitting across from him,
one elbow propped up on the table and his head resting in his hand. The grin
that greeted Stiles was all predator and sharp teeth. And whoa. Just whoa.
Everything about the situation made Stiles’ mind pull up short and his cock
chub up in his pants. The traitor. Stiles fish mouthed at him for a moment as
his face flushed hot. Then he shook his head with a bit of determination and
returned to his book.
“Jesus, Peter. You think that’s going to help with the horny teenager smell? I
haven’t been able to jack off in three days. Give my libido a break here.” And
there went his mouth, running away from him. His filter didn’t work on the best
of days, but it really needed to get back to doing its job if he was going to
be at Peter’s. Otherwise, things Stiles didn’t need people knowing would slip
out.  
“That is not a picture I needed,” Peter was quick to inform him. He rubbed his
face with his hand like Stiles gave him a headache and it would serve him
right. Someone like Peter had no business going around giving people boners.
Especially if their name happened to be Stiles Stilinski.
“Look you started it,” Stiles accused as he waved his highlighter at the man
across from him. “It’s not like I came here to be flirted with.” The look Peter
gave him said he thought otherwise, but Stiles pushed on. “I need to finish
this chapter so I can write a stupid essay on it for next Thursday.” He gave
Peter a glare for good measure and Peter held his hands up.
“Fine, fine,” Peter gave in with a soft smile as he collected the plate off the
table and put it in the sink. “Let’s move this study party to the living room.
I’m sure you’ll feel better sitting on the couch instead of that bar stool
anyways.” Stiles raised an eyebrow, but didn’t argue as he gathered his stuff.
The aches of his injuries were starting to creep back in and leaning over the
table wasn’t helping his chest in the least.
Peter brushed past him on the way to the living room, hand brushing across
Stiles’ lower back, thumb sliding just under his shirt. They’d grown use to
each other, touch become an easy thing between them. You couldn’t be scared to
touch you battle buddy in the field, so why be scared of touching them in their
home? This wasn’t a random touch, though. Stiles could feel his pain leech away
and leaving his skin tingling.
“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Stiles murmured as he settled on Peter’s
oversized couch. The damn thing could hold the whole pack if a few of them sat
in each others’ laps
“Do what?” Peter asked, voice smooth. He picked up a book from the stack
sitting on the coffee table and glanced at Stiles.
“Take the pain. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” Stiles hated being treated as if
he was fragile. Just because he didn’t have the healing abilities everyone else
did didn’t mean he couldn’t take a hit with the best of them.
“I don’t see why you should hurt when you don’t have to,” Peter replied with a
shrug, “Unless you like that kind of thing. Then that’s a whole other matter
altogether.”
“Did you just casually call me a masochist?” His eyebrows furrowed as he looked
up from his book to stare at the man lounging beside him. Sometimes it felt
like every conversation he had with Peter ended in talking about sex. But maybe
that was just him. Or maybe it was just Peter. Stiles really didn’t know.
“Are you?” Peter asked like it was something he discussed in daily
conversation, lowering his book so he could watch him. Stiles was
flabbergasted.
“I- what?! No!” Stiles could feel a blush staining the skin down his neck and
across his cheeks. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it; it just wasn’t my
thing.” He really tried to leave it at that, sticking his nose back in his book
and ignoring the smirk that played across Peter’s face.
“Done some kinky things in your past, Stiles?” The way his name rolled off
Peter’s tongue shouldn’t have tightened things low in his belly, but god it
did. His pants were a lot tighter than they had been five seconds ago and this
whole situation was doing things to him that he should not have been enjoying
as much as he was.
“Jesus,” Stiles said with feeling as he glared hard at him. Peter waggled his
eyebrows in response. “Will you just go get laid so I can study in peace?”
“I think you’re forgetting whose apartment you’re in,” Peter snapped right
back.
“And who sleeps on your couch more? Me.” Stiles reiterated his point by
pointing to the pillow and blanket Peter had started leaving under the coffee
table after the third time Stiles had passed out on his couch. “This is my
territory buddy. Go be Mr. Creepywolf somewhere else if you aren’t going to
help me with this fucking essay.”
Peter regarded him for a long moment and shrugged as if he was was consenting
to his loss of the wit battle.
“You’re actually going to help me and not flirt with me in roundabout ways?”
Stiles asked as Peter put down his book and slotted himself along side Stiles
on the couch. Their knees knocked together, Stiles firmly ignoring the heat
radiating off of Peter. The werewolves were always like hot water bottles;
their temperatures ran at least ten degrees higher than a normal person, but
Stiles had never checked that theory for accuracy.
“I can’t make promises about the flirting, but I’m I can help you with that
essay. I made an A is Psychology,” Peter said as he threw an arm across the
back of the couch.Stiles tried not to lean into his warmth, but ever since the
nogitsune he’d had problems staying warm; Peter’s werewolf warmth called to him
like a siren to a sailor.
“When was that? Thirty years ago?” Stiles sneered. It earned him a small smack
on the back of the head. Grumbling, Stiles pulled out his laptop and settled in
for a long night of homework and stepping around the sexual tension in the
room.
It was close to one in the morning when Peter excused himself to bed, but
Stiles had one completed essay in his hand and a smile on his face. He could
have managed on his own; psychology wasn’t that difficult and he rather enjoyed
it, it was just more fun to rope Peter into helping. It never took much effort,
especially when they weren’t having to research what was currently eating their
towns people.
Stiles stretched, a loud yawn echoing in the empty room around him. He glanced
down the hallway where the master bedroom was located before making his way
back into the kitchen. The cactus he’d left there earlier in the week was still
there, it’s bright pink top bringing an amused grin to Stiles’ face.
Peter hadn’t mentioned the plant’s sudden presence in his home and Stiles
wondered if he’d even noticed it. There were a few dishes in the sink, so
Stiles assumed Peter had been in there other than when he’d made the grilled
cheese earlier. He’d thought maybe Peter would have questioned him about it-
Stiles was the only pack member that visited him on a regular bases, with Derek
off with Braden and what not- but that hadn’t happened either.
Stiles picked up the little cactus to gauge if it needed water or not, only to
find it had already been taken care of. He blinked in confusion for a second,
hefting it in his palm again. The water in the soil weighted the pot down; it
was definitely heavier than it had been the day he’d put in the window.
“Well, that was unexpected,” Stiles murmured to himself as he put the plant
back in it’s place on the window sill. He stared at it for a while afterwards,
the sounds of the city filling his ears. It looked kind of lonely sitting there
all by itself. He’d always thought all living things had their own little
spirits, but emotions might have been pushing it. But he couldn’t shake the
idea that the cactus need it’s own little rag tag pack of other cactuses.
The next morning, Peter found he now had a growing collection of cactuses in
his kitchen. Two more had materialized themselves overnight, each with their
own labeled pot. One had a bright pink flower that nearly matched the first
one. When Peter read its label, he snorted, a grin tugging at his lips.
‘Stiles’ it read in messy scrolling script and the first cactus now had ‘Peter’
written on its pot.
“Subtle, Stiles. Real subtle,” Peter muttered to the empty room.
The third was a short and ridged, with less needles, but looked like it would
hurt you just as much if you touched it as the other ones. This one was
apparently ‘Scott.’ Peter chuckled at the representation and placed it back
beside the other ones.
When he’d checked the living room, Stiles had been long gone, the pillow and
cover under the table unused. Running to the store in the middle of the night
to buy cactuses for the collection he was building in Peter’s house- the reason
of which were completely lost on Peter- was now something that Stiles was
doing. Peter had long learned not to ask questions. It was much easier to wait
Stiles out and let him finish whatever little plans he was working through.
Unless people were dying. Then Peter was kind of obligated to step in at this
point. He might still chuckle about it at night, though. He was what he was at
the heart of him. Not even a skinny sarcasm filled human could fix that.
===============================================================================
Scott’s apartment was three streets down and four over from Peter’s and only
ten minutes from Stiles’ house. He’d had the route memorized since Scott had
moved. There was no way Stiles was going to go a day without being able to get
to Scott’s place with his eyes closed.
They hadn’t had a lot of time to spend together in recent weeks. The first few
weeks of college had hit them both hard and Scott was now working full time at
Deaton’s at night. Add on the summer they had spent fight an assortment of
supernatural creatures and late nights researching at Peter’s while Scott had
been planning with Derek, and it made it seem like forever since they’d had a
night to themselves just to hang out.
Stiles had phoned Scott when he was on the way, so the last thing was expecting
was for Liam to open the door. Shirtless and in a pair of boxers. A pair of
Star Trek boxers that Stiles’ immediately recognized as Scott’s.
“Stiles,” Liam greeted him with a small sneer. His hair was mussed, cheeks
flushed and boxers riding a little low on his hips. Yep, Stiles had definitely
interrupted something.
“Liam,” Stiles responded and help up the two pizzas he’d gotten as a peace
offering. Liam’s easy smile was almost instant and he moved so Stiles could
enter. Stiles felt like he had appeased some great dragon.
“I thought you were living the single life, Scotty boy,” Stiles chirped as he
flopped down on the ratty couch they found in a dumpster and all but bleached
when Scott had moved in. Scott flushed and shrugged.
“I kind of just happened. About three days ago,” Scott explained and Stiles
raised an eyebrow. “We haven’t really figured things out yet.” Scott glanced at
Liam as the younger werewolf placed himself between Scott and Stiles.
“I’m not going to kidnap him, jeez,” Stiles joked. Liam’s glare could rival
Peter’s, but Stiles had grown immune to Peter’s glare, and gaze in general,
long ago. So instead of the intimidated reaction Liam was aiming for, Stiles
stuck his tongue out at him.
“Can you two at least act like adults?” Scott asked from across the couch, half
a slice of pizza stuffed in his mouth. He was looking between the two of them,
probably expecting a fight. That was how things generally went down between
them, but Stiles decided maybe pushing Liam’s buttons wasn’t how he wanted this
night to go. This was meant to be a relaxing night with his friend. Stiles
could handle a plus one, especially if it gave him blackmail amio for Liam
later on.
“Technically he’s still a kid, so he has an excuse,” Stiles shrugged as he
grabbed a piece of pizza and lounged back against the couch. Scott glared at
him as he threw his feet up on the coffee table, a smug grin tugging at his
lips. Liam had always been easy to antagonize, even more than Isaac was, and
quicker to go off. His button pushing habits would get him in trouble one day.
It was a fact Stiles had accepted when he was ten and teasing Jackson into a
fight had been the greatest form of entertainment.
Liam didn’t stop glaring at him as he settled into Scott’s side, the Alpha’s
arm sliding around his shoulders like they did it all the time. Which, they
probably did. They had always had an easy relationship, nothing like the push
and pull Stiles had with everyone he knew, even Scott. He couldn’t keep his
mouth shut long enough for any relationship to be ‘easy.’
“Anything new in your life?” Scott asked through a mouth full of pizza. Stiles
crinkled his nose in disgust and turned his gaze away.
“I bought Peter a cactus garden,” he replies promptly, making sure not to talk
with his mouth full. He’d learned what manners were despite what everyone might
think.
Scott gave him a funny look, doing the little head tilted he’d picked up after
turning all wolfy. Stiles did not made a dog joke.
“You bought Peter a cactus garden?” Scott repeated be to him slowly, like that
would give him the ability to understand what he was saying.
“Yes, you know the desert plants that have needles and hurt when you fall on
them?? Scott’s face scrunched up in annoyance at his words.
“I know what a cactus is, Stiles.” Liam rolled his eyes right as Scott did and
Stiles had a realization that everyone around him has too much sass. He was
going to have to up his game. “I just didn’t understand why you bought one for
Peter.”
“Oh,” Stiles said and shrugged. “His place is empty, like no one lives there. I
figured it could use a little redecorating.”
“You didn’t even ask did you?” Scott seemed to realize this rather suddenly on
his own and the look he was giving him told Stiles he wasn’t that happy about
it.
Stiles shrugged again. “He didn’t say anything about it and he didn’t throw it
out. So I consider it a win.” Scott rubbed his face like everything Stiles did
gave him a headache. It was a gesture he was used to seeing from his dad not
Scott. On Scott it just looked amusing.
“Are you sure you should be meddling in his life like that?” Oh, wasn’t that
rich, coming from Scott ‘Fix-Everyone’ McCall.
“Are you scared I’m going to go missing one day and it’ll end up being Peter
that murdered me and ate my body after he tore me limb from limb?” The look on
Liam’s face was worth the sentence and Stiles mentally tallied himself a point.
“He did try to murder us. Well, get me to murder you.” Scott’s voice was laced
with concern. Stiles couldn’t say it was unwarranted, but he felt like Peter
had turned over a new leaf. Yeah maybe he got a little carried away when he was
taking down baddies- sometimes they couldn’t even recognize the body- but he’d
proven time and time again that the pack was his highest priority.
“You aren’t around him as much as I am. He’s...well, he’s Peter, but he hasn’t
made a threat on my life in over three years. The same can’t be said about
Derek. If he’d wanted to kidnap me and murder me, he’d have done it the third
time I crashed on his couch.” Stiles came to Peter’s defense without a second
thought. The number of times Peter had protected him in battle were adding up
way past single digits, maybe even doubles. The only schemes Peter had these
days were how to antagonize his nephew.
Scott was still giving him the side eye like he wanted to argue the point.
“Fine. If I promise to be careful, will you leave it alone?” Scott seemed to
consider the idea and then he nodded. Liam looked just as happy about the
subject change as Stiles felt. People changed. The little twerp sitting beside
him as a prime example. Stiles himself, not so much.
“Are we going to spend the night discussing your sad excuse of a relationship
or am I going to get to kick your asses at Call of Duty?” Okay. Maybe not such
a prime example after all.
Scott laughed, leaning over to peck Liam on the cheek as he rose from the
couch. He didn’t even bother asking if they wanted drinks. He already knew
Stiles drank soda like a racehorse after a run- Peter was trying to change
that, keeping only tea and coffee in his house now, the prick- and getting one
for Liam was obligatory.
They spent the next three hours fighting over taking turns and them both losing
to Liam. Stiles hadn’t had a lot of time to practice his FPS skills, and
neither had Scott. Liam, on the other hand, had time in spades in seemed.
“Okay, I’m done,” Stiles sighed as he tossed the controller on the table. They
logged out, shutting down the system while Scott stood and stretched with a
yawn.
“I need a shower. I don’t think I’ve smell this bad since one of the puppies at
Deaton’s happy peed on me,” he shared, a hand sneaking under his shirt to
scratch at his stomach.
“And you felt the need to announce this to the room at large because why?”
Stiles groused with a disgusted look. Scott shrugged, unperturbed and kissed
Liam full on the mouth before meandering out of the room and in the direction
of the bathroom.
Stiles settled a hand on Liam’s shoulder when he went to get up. Liam glared.
Stiles leveled a serious look at him. He had shovel talked everyone else Scott
had dated, Kira included. Liam didn’t get to be an exception.
“You hurt him and they’ll never find your body. Don’t forget who I’ve made
friends with.” Liam’s jaw went slack and Stiles bared his teeth at him. Perhaps
he was picking up bad habits from Peter, but the shock in Liam’s eyes was worth
the gesture.
“Have a good evening,” Stiles said brightly as he patted Liam on the shoulder
and left the apartment. The door closed with a click behind him and Stiles
couldn’t hold back his snicker anymore. The look on the kid’s face had been
priceless. It wasn’t everyday you got to terrify a werewolf as a human.
 
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     In which Stiles deals with his first college midterms, more plants
     appear in Peter's home and the flirting intensifies.
Chapter Notes
     Unbeted- all mistakes are mine.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
“So, I heard you have been making some new friends,” Peter started
conversationally. Stiles jerked his head up from where it had been buried in
his English book. The first thing he’d learned about college was they liked to
bury you in essays. Psychology had only been the start of his pain.
“You what?” Stiles questioned, eyebrows furrowed over his glasses. His contacts
had long been discarded for the night when everything had started to burn.
Glasses weren’t helpful in a run and hide situation. They had figured that out
the hard way running from pixies. Stiles didn’t have the money to fork out for
a new pair.
“Scott said you’d made some new friends.” Instead of clarifying anything, the
statement only confused him more. He had been talking to a couple of people in
his classes- had to make new friends somewhere out side of the pack- but the
tone of Peter’s voice implied something else.
Stiles marked the page in his book, setting it on the couch beside him as he
turned to look over the couch and into the kitchen. The smell of cooking
hamburger meat was already filling the room, spices thick on his tongue when he
breathed in. Peter moved easily around the kitchen, knowing his way around
better than Stiles would have given him credit for. He had known Peter could
cook, but had never seen him in action.
“I get the feeling I’m missing something,” Stiles hedged. Peter looked over his
shoulder to raise an eyebrow at him. When Peter didn’t deign to reply, Stiles
sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He hadn’t expected college to be so difficult,
each week seemed harder than the last, and he didn’t have the mental capacity
to decipher Peter’s riddles tonight.
“Look, I have four essays I need to get done before the end of the semester,
and since I don’t know what beastie is going to ramble into our fair town next,
I’d really like to go ahead and get them done.” Stiles rubbed at his eyes. Even
his hair follicles were aching and he could feel a headache coming on. “Can you
please just tell me what you’re hinting at and skip this whole song and dance?”
 
“You used me in your shovel talk with Liam.” Stiles had to admit, once you
asked him to get to the point, Peter tended to be very blunt about it. More
sharp and pointy, but still. The fact remained.
“Oh,” Stiles said helpfully. Of course Liam had told Scott and Scott being
Scott had skipped right over Stiles, going directly to Peter, like Peter could
help the situation. If anything he would antagonize the situation. He liked to
get under people’s skin just as much as Stiles did, even more so. And in more
gruesome ways.
“I’m flattered,” Peter teased. “I’m glad my repetition carries so much weight.”
Stiles didn’t miss the hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“I didn’t know you’d be offended,” Stiles confessed.  “I mean, you kind of
carry it like a badge most days.”
“If you hadn’t noticed, I’m rather fond of the life I have now.” Oh, yep.
Offended it was. “I’m actually trying to gain their trust back, not flush it
down the drain.”
Stiles was used to poking the proverbial bear and overstepping himself, but he
couldn’t remember a time he’d done it with Peter in recent years. They had an
easy push and pull of wit and snark between then. Now Stiles had a sinking
feeling he might have ruined the little safe haven he’d built for himself in
Peter’s house.
“It was a joke. Mostly.” Stiles slid off the couch and moved to stand in the
doorway of the kitchen. “Everyone gets the shovel talk. If I’d known he’d make
such a big issue out of it, I would have just threatened to feed his balls to
him.”
That earned him a chuckle. Peter shook his head, but there was a grin
stretching across his face. Stiles ginned back.
“Well, well. Maybe you have been spending too much time with me, but I would
have thought you would have learned more creative threats. I’m going to have to
teach you better.” Stiles rolled his eyes.
“I’m sure there are better things you could teach me,” Stiles mused. “Like
maybe how to not get killed during a fight.”
Peter snorted. “You sure that’s something you’re capable of? Last time I
checked, not tripping over your own feet wasn’t something that could be
taught.” And just like that they were back to the general banter.
For a second, Stiles had thought he’d overstepped himself, but now he knew. It
wasn’t something he wouldn’t promise not to poke at, just not right now. Not
when Peter had just cooked a meal for him that smelled so good Stiles could
already feel himself drooling.
“You could teach me how to fight, or defend myself,” Stiles replied with a
cocky grin. “I might not be able to keep up blow for blow, but at least I
wouldn’t go down within the first five seconds.” The noise Peter made at that
told Stiles he thought otherwise but he was nodding.
“If you weren’t so damn headstrong and insisted on rushing in face first into
every situation, it wouldn’t be such a problem. You’re restraint issues are the
root of your problems in battle.” Peter’s grin was feral as he turned to look
at Stiles. Eyes dragged down his body, and oh. Oh. So they had graduated to out
right flirting, huh? Two could play at that game.
“I’m sure you could teach me a thing or two about that, Mr. Control Issues,”
Stiles smirked as he stretched, his shirt riding up with the movement. He
watched Peter’s eyes trace the line of skin, a soft flash of blue filling them
for a brief second. Pulling his shoulders back stretched his white tee tight
over his chest and was that a sharp intake of breath he heard?
He tested the waters further, pushing his chest out with the stretch, letting
his lashes flutter against his cheeks. He wasn’t unaware of how he looked, that
eyes followed him on a regular basis- especially Peter’s. It had just never
really factored into his life. Being the hottest guy in school hadn’t been high
on his list. One’s life tended to take priority over such things.
“Oh, I could, but I don’t know how well you’d be at it. You’re not really that
good at following orders, Stiles,” Peter purred back at him, and his name
should not sound that good rolling off his tongue.
“I’m sure I could be a good boy for the right person.” Oh yeah. He went there.
Toeing the line had never been his thing. It was full on, or not at all. Stiles
didn’t half ass anything, even flirting with Peter Hale.
The fire that sentence brought to Peter’s eyes should have made Stiles step
back, made him rethink this whole situation, but it only tightened things low
in his belly, caught his breath in his throat. His heart jumped in his chest,
and he knew Peter could hear it, knew he could smell the thick scent of desire
that was probably rolling off of him in waves.
Being in control of his libido, that Stiles didn’t know how to do. What
wolfsbane could kill a wolf in less than an hour, what was the best way to cut
off a vampire's head and where the ashes were best strewn, how iron could cut
through a fae’s skin like warm butter, all of those were things Stiles had
learned, memorized until his mind ached with it. Controlling his dick wasn’t on
that list.
“You couldn’t handle me, boy,” Peter growled at him and turned back to the
stove. Stiles let out a shaky breath, willing his boner away. He recognized
when Peter was putting his foot down and that was a little more firmly than
Stiles was used to. So he did what he did best. Stiles poked the bear.
“You have no clue what I can handle. You’d love this ride,” he shot back,
sauntering into the room and leaning against the island. He braced his arms on
the top, hips sticking out behind him. Well aware of what he looked like, sweat
pants clinging to his hips and ass, he watched for  Peter’s reaction.
Peter paused in plating their food, gaze hot enough that Stiles could feel it
as the dragged along the line of his body. The plates clattered as Peter sat
them on the island. He pushed right into Stiles personal space, warm breath
tickling against his nose and fingers trailing across his cheek. Up close, his
eyes were bluer than Stiles could have ever imagined. He’d spent an awful lot
of time staring into that gaze over the last four months, but it hadn’t ever
affected him quite like this before.
“While I would love to explore this little kink of yours further, there are
more pressing issues to attend to. Such as your inability to fight even a human
threat.” Stiles’ come back died a premeditated death on his tongue a fingers
dragged down his neck and squeezed just there. And if Peter had been picking on
his lack of control earlier, he had all the blackmail he need for Stiles’
entire life now. There was no other time in his nineteen years that he’d gotten
hard so quickly.
Peter knew too, just as Stiles expected. His grin was all teeth, feral and
every bit a predator as he pushed off the counter with an easy flex of muscle.
Damn the man for his v-necks. Stiles didn’t know if he wanted to burn them all
or just get him more. He was convinced Peter would look great in pastels.
“I- that- what?” Peter looked entirely too pleased with Stiles’ sudden
inability to speak proper sentences. He placed a plate of spaghetti in front of
him, sitting on the opposite side of the counter as if they hadn’t just done
the dirty two step around kink and each other. Without any other option- the
breaks were on full now- Stiles stuffed his face with food.
The noises he made might have been a touch on the sexual side, but Peter’s
cooking was fucking amazing.Stiles could only imagine what the man would do
with access to fresh herbs. Stiles decided to add balcony garden to his list of
things to sneak into Peter’s house.
He was contemplating the best ways to sneak in a bag of soil when Peter
snapping his fingers in his line of sight dragged him back to the here and now.
Peter shook his head at the sheepish look on his face.
“No wonder I’m always having to save your ass.” Peter groused. Stiles’s
indignant squawk only made him roll his eyes.
“You wouldn’t know what to do if you didn’t have to go around saving me. And
I’d like to clarify that the last time wasn’t my fault. How was I supposed to
know they’d dug a fucking trench? It’s not like I have amazing vision in the
first place. Seeing in the dark at three in the morning isn’t my specialty.”
Peter gave him a bored stare and Stiles figured he might have a point. He
wasn’t the best fighter in the group. Close call could be his middle name at
this point. The amount of scars and bruises that littered his skin from
unsavory creatures increased every time someone be bopped into town.
“You mentioned something about fixing that?” Stiles eventually replied. He
didn’t think he was going to worm his way out of this one. There was a certain
look Peter settled into when he was going to push, push until Stiles pushed
back or gave in. Giving in was the easier of the two on this subject. Stiles
would save the pushing back for later. For more enjoyable things.
“Well, I’ve already spoken with Deaton, and he’s willing to train you in runes
and druidism, but it’ll cost.” Everything cost something now days. Stiles was
waiting for some to have the audacity to tax the air they breathed.
“Oh god, don’t you guys know I’m broke?” Stiles groaned around a mouth full of
food. Peter looked less than pleased about his table manners. Stiles forged on.
“Does he expect me to cut off my leg in payment or what? Is this going to cost
me an arm and a leg? Equivalent exchange and all of that?”
“I don’t think that would work. Besides, last I checked you’re missing the
brother part of that equation,” Peter replied with ease. Stiles wanted to be
surprised that Peter got that reference, but the man had proven to be well
versed in the ways of pop culture. He was going to have to force him to sit
through Big WindUp one day. Or trade sexual favors, whichever was easiest.
Speaking of which...
“Don’t tell me it’s sexual favors. Because while Deaton isn’t half bad, there
are other people and places I’d rather put my mouth and hands.” Three years
ago, Stiles wouldn’t have believed he would see Peter choking back laughter
into a glass of wine, but a lot of things had changed and here he was.
“He wanted me to cook dinner for him for the duration of your training, but I’m
impressed where your mind can go when free to wonder,” Peter said, eyes
flashing bright over the rim of his cup. Jealous, Stiles’ mind supplied. That
was a new one.
“You would do that?” Stiles asked, a bit flabbergasted.
“If it means you can handle yourself in battle and that the rest of us don’t
have to constantly look over our shoulders for you, then yes,” Peter answered.
Stiles rolled his eyes, but was pretty impressed Peter had managed it in the
first place. He’d been trying to get Deaton to teach him for years, to the
point where Stiles had been permanently banned from the vet’s office if it
wasn’t on pack business or an emergency.
“I- that’s- wow. Thanks, Peter.” Stiles didn’t have the words to truly thank
the man for this kind of opportunity. What could couldn’t show with words, he’d
have to show in a different way.
“The other catch is, you’ll have to give up your Saturday evenings and quite a
few of your weekday ones.” Peter chuckled at the face Stiles made at the
thought.
“Dude, I am in school you know. They literally bury you alive with homework,”
Stiles exclaimed, hands gesturing wildly around him. “And, fuck. Midterms are
next week and I have two essays fucking due. Fuck.” He emphasised the word,
rubbing at his eyes with his hands. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been keeping up
with his classes, or home work, but more the innate fear that was deep set him
when he thought about midterms or finals.  
Peter’s gaze was sympathetic as he cleared away their dishes. It gave Stiles
room on the counter to bemoan his life into his arms. Three minutes later, he
jerked in surprise when long fingers carded through his hair. He looked up to
find Peter smiling down at him, one of the genuine smiles Stiles didn’t get to
see often.
“Come on, if we finish them now, we can start your hand to hand training the
week after next,” Peter said, a reassuring smile gracing his lips. Stiles
nodded and let himself be tugged back into the living room.
“Are you sure you weren't an English teacher in a past life?” Stiles inquired
as he settled cross-legged on the couch, his laptop balanced atop his knees.
“I was actually on my way to getting my Phd in creative writing before the
fire.” Stiles shrink away, turning an apologetic gaze Peter’s way. He really
needed to learn not to trample on sensitive topics, even if he never really
meant to.
“Don’t worry. It was a long time ago, and it means I can help you now. Since
you don’t know the difference between a complete sentence and a run on.”
Stiles’ offended noise was drowned out as Peter launched into a series of
questions about which essay he wanted to work on first, what subjects he had to
choose from and which topic he really wanted to pick.
As they got to work, Stiles realized that he liked the comfort Peter gave,
enjoyed spending time with him and maybe he was already a little in love with
the man. But only a little.
===============================================================================
Breaking into Peter’s house was the easiest thing Stiles had ever done, even
running on three hours of sleep and four Monsters. There was so much caffeine
running through his system he could barely see straight. It was a blessing he’d
managed the drive. His hands twitched as he wrestled with the lock open.
Learning how to pick a lock in middle school was probably one of the best
decisions Stiles had made. It had come in handy numerous times, on the run or
pulling pranks. With an audible click, the tumblers fell into place and he
shoved the door open with his shoulder.
Making a beeline for the alarm system, he entered the code quickly. Peter had
given it to him the second time he’d set it off trying to leave at four in the
morning. He managed the number pad without much difficulty and awarded himself
another daily point.
He’d made it through his first week of midterms with much success. He hoped.
Right now all he wanted was to set up the box garden still sitting his Jeep
before the caffeine crash hit him, because when it hit, it was going to hit him
hard.
When he’d walked out of his last class, hands shaking hard from caffeine and
adrenaline- taking a midterm was worse than running from any monster, he’d
decided that then was the best time to implement the next step in his plan to
bring life to Peter’s apartment. The resident zombie werewolf didn’t count.
Peter wouldn’t be home for at least a few more hours, and that gave Stiles
plenty of time. As long as one of the neighbors didn’t call the cops on him
between now and then.
It took a full twenty minutes to set the damn things up; all because Stiles
couldn’t steady his hands enough to use a fucking screwdriver. He fought with
the railing and the box, muttering curses and colorful obscenities at it before
giving a whoop of joy as the screw slid home. All that was left after was the
plants. Basil, mint, oregano, thyme, cilantro, rosemary, sage and catnip just
for kicks.
Sitting back on his haunches, Stiles admired his handy work. There was plastic
and soil everywhere but the damn thing was put together at least, and didn’t
look half bad if he said so his self. Which he did, of course.
He stared down the mess, wishing for the millionth time that he had the Force
and wouldn’t have to put effort into cleaning up. When no such magical powers
were suddenly bestowed upon him, Stiles got his feet with a groan.
Sliding down the wrong side of a caffeine high felt like being slowly dragged
under water for Stiles. Things that had be bright and loud seconds before were
dulled and muffled. A headache was forming behind his eyes and his mouth was
starting to taste as if something had died on his tongue.
The wasted soil was swept over the edge of the building, leaving it to fall
where it would, which was hopefully not on top of someone’s head. Once the
plastic had been tossed, Stiles flopped out on the couch face first. The events
of the last two days were catching up with him, four monsters included, and his
limbs felt weighted down.
Bless expensive couches, Stiles thought. Sleeping on Peter’s couch was some of
the best sleep he’d ever had, including the four full days after the nogitsune.
He pulled the pillow to his chest, yawing into the material as he pressed
himself face first into the back of the couch. The vague thought that
everything smelled like Peter’s cologne, probably stupid expensive, and felt a
lot like safe and protected occurred to him as he floated on the edge of sleep.
The very thought would have made him balk when he’d been a sophmore in high
school. Now it made sense. He’d spent so much time around Peter, learning his
little quirks, the ins and outs of his personality, since he’d helped them
defeat The Benefactor that he considered them friends. Friends with a large
side of over the top, down right dirty flirting, but friends none the less.
It didn’t take long for Stiles to finally give in to exhaustion.
Stiles woke six hours later to the smell of hot chocolate and french fries.
Some time during his midterm induced coma, he’d been covered with the living
room’s resident blanket and a pillow had been slipped under his head. Opening
his eyes proved to be a challenge when he found they’d fucking glued themselves
shut.
Grumbling, he rubbed and pulled at his eyelashes until he could open his eyes
only to find Peter standing at the end of the couch, one eyebrow raised and a
mug in one hand. Stiles didn’t have the energy for a sassy remark about Peter
being a creeper, only held out his hand for the mug.
“Assuming makes an ass out of you and me,” Peter teased. “How do you know it’s
for you?”
“I can smell it from here and I know you don’t drink hot chocolate,” Stiles
replied, tone tired and dry as he pushed himself into a sitting position. “Now
gimmie.” He added grabby hands for emphasis.
Peter’s huff was all laughter as he accommodated Stiles and handed him the mug.
Long fingers wrapped around the ceramic, letting the heat of the drink seep
into his hands. Getting warm was a never ending battle for him in the past few
years, especially when it came to his hands and feet. The layers of clothing he
wore now had an actual purpose other than to be metaphysical protection.
He breathed in the smell of chocolate with just a touch of cinnamon. Stiles
wouldn’t have believed Peter Hale could make an amazing cup of hot chocolate if
he hadn’t witnessed it himself. Folding his legs under himself, Stiles settled
back and sipped at his drink. No one could ever say he didn’t know how to savor
a good thing.
It took a full ten minutes for the heaviness of sleep to slid away. Every part
of his body ached- from his hair follicles to the tips of his toes. Feeling
like he’d gone five rounds with a bear wasn’t anything new. The hanging
weariness was. If this was what midterms were like, finals might actually kill
him.
Peter hadn’t said much since Stiles had woke, choosing to sit beside him and
sip at his mug of tea. There weren’t many people Stiles could have that kind of
companionable silence with. Without fail, Stiles found himself needing to
feeling the silence with needless words and useless facts, but with Peter
Stiles never felt the need to fill the silences. Peter didn’t expect anything
of him. Except for Stiles to be a pain in his ass.
“Productive day, I take it,” Peter observed when Stiles had finished his mug.
Stiles nodded, his head pillowed against the back of the couch.
“Finals will kill me. You’ll have to call my dad and help bury my body,” Stiles
grumbled without opening his eyes.
“That is one conversation I never want to have with your father, or Scott.
Actually, that’s just a conversation I never want to have.” Peter left it at
that. Stiles caught the small hitch in his tone, didn’t miss the way his eyes
burned bright with emotion for a brief and fleeting second. It reminded Stiles
that no matter how close he got to Peter, emotions were a hard thing for the
man to portray. Well, emotion outside of disdain for the general human race,
and annoyance at Stiles for shoving himself in Peter’s life. But Stiles figured
if Peter really wanted him gone, he’d be gone by now.
“Have you regained enough of mental faculties to engage in some post-midterm
partying?” Peter asked, nonchalant. He watched Stiles closely as he settled
himself further into Peter’s couch with a hum. It didn’t take much to think the
idea over.
“If by party you mean become one with your amazing couch and never moving
again, sure,” Stiles muttered.
“There’s a bag of Arby’s sitting on the kitchen counter,” Peter mentioned with
a tilt of his head in its general direction. He’d spoke too soon.
Stiles nearly brained himself on the edge of the coffee table in his haste to
untangle himself from the blanket. Peter helpfully tugged it out from under his
feet as Stiles slid across the hardwood floors and into the kitchen where he
found said bag of food and an extra large soda, Mountain Dew.
“You’re the best,” he praised through a mouth full of fries as he stumbled his
way back into the living room. Peter grunted from the floor where he was
messing with the DVD player. Munching away at his fires- extra large, too,
Peter was the best- Stiles settled himself back on the couch. He paused before
tugging the blanket back over his lap. Comfort was what he needed right then
and that included the huge blanket that felt like it was made from the Golden
Fleece.
“Movie?” Peter’s disgusted look was worth the food flying from his open mouth.
Despite this, knowing his father would slap him upside the head if he dared
speak with food in his mouth forced Stiles’ mouth closed.
“What gave you that idea?” Peter teased, sarcasm dripping from each word.
Stiles rolled his eyes and was setting into his food when the Star Wars theme
started playing. Looking up quick enough to give himself whiplash, he found the
menu for Episode Four playing across Peter’s T.V. screen.  
“Movie and food? You sure this isn’t a date?” Stiles teased, grin cocky as he
glanced at Peter. The older man paid him no heed, just starting the movie and
relaxing back against the couch. It put Stiles almost in the curve of his body,
the crook of his arm, despite how large his couch was. Stiles resisted the urge
to settle closer. Flirting might be perfectly fine, as extreme as it was, but
touching was a line they hadn’t quite crossed. An unspoken mutual agreement
they both followed.
“For an old man, you have good tastes.” Stiles knew Peter could keep up with
all the pop culture references he threw his way; Star Wars should have been
obvious. Neither of them had ever flat out mentioned it, and Stiles had never
thought of asking. This new information could prove useful in coning Scott into
finally watching the series.
“I appreciate the series. It was light years ahead of it’s game when if first
came out.”
“Smooth referencing there,” Stiles chuckled, side eying Peter to find an amused
smile turned his way. This one was less teeth and more emotion. Emotion he nor
Peter had dipped their toe in, but with the way things were going- movies and
dinner, damned if it wasn’t a date- that conversation was going to happen
sooner rather than later. The thought sent a small thrill through him.
He couldn’t contain his own smile as he exchange easy banter with Peter. Yeah,
he could so get used to this.
 
Chapter End Notes
     For a time line, I'd say chapter one was the first two or three of
     school, and two is, clearly, around midterms. I've got a lot planned
     for this story. Now if I can just write it.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Summary
     Peter was in deep. Six feet deep, Stiles would joke.
Chapter Notes
     Peter's POV. Heads up, I suck at fight scenes but I did the best I
     could. Their relationship progresses pretty drastically in this
     chapter, so maybe it makes up for the fight scene. Unbeted. All
     mistakes are mine.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Peter was well aware of the notch Stiles had carved out for himself in his
life. High school ending had given them all more time to devote to fighting the
baddies that were drawn to Beacon hills and it was as if said baddies knew
this. The summer between the kids- Peter didn’t care if they were legally
adults, they were kids to him- senior year of high school and their first year
of college was the busiest time since Peter had first woke up from his brief
death.
He liked to joke that a portal to hell had just opened right under them, gone
as far as to tease Derek that he’d opened Hell’s Gate while he’d been poking
around inside an old mausoleum looking for a ghoul. Stiles found this amusing.
Derek not so much, so it was a win win. If it could piss his nephew off, then
Peter was all for it.
Demons, ghouls, possessed houses, kelpies, pixies, brownies, half of the Seelie
fae, and an honest to god Hydra were only scraping the top of the barrel that
had been the supernatural coming that had invaded their town. All of this meant
that Peter’s time was filled with research, planning strategies and keeping
Stiles from getting himself killed.
Peter had no idea how he ended up on Keep-Stiles-Alive duty. Somehow they
always ended up on the same team, be it patrol or combing the woods for the
latest body. Peter had a suspicion that it was Stiles himself that was forming
the teams, which meant he was putting himself on Peter’s team.
At first, Peter had been a little uneasy with the arrangement. He didn’t
dislike the boy, quite the opposite. Peter probably liked him a little too
much, and in all the ways he wasn’t supposed to. They had an easy back and
forth between them and Peter appreciated that Stiles had never been scared of
him, not like Lydia or Jackson had. Even that night on the field, with Lydia
bleeding out between them, fear of Peter hadn’t saturated his scent. Guilt,
anxiousness, fear for Lydia’s life, determination, adrenaline, but never once
had he looked at Peter and truly feared him.
He treated Peter as an actual member of the pack instead of tolerating his
presence solely for research purposes. Peter returned that favor by not
treating Stiles like the fragile human he was and letting him run head first
into danger.
That generally meant Stiles came out of fights with more bruises and wounds
that Scott would like, but it seemed to please Stiles, which suited Peter just
fine. He managed to keep him from getting himself killed and let Stiles show
off a little of the fighting skills he’d picked up, as dismal as they were.
Stiles’s trust in him had grown exponentially in the past few years. He trusted
Peter to help as much as he could, that Peter would keep them alive- even if it
was only for as long as it benefited him. Peter figured that seed of trust had
been planted during the fight with the Alpha pack and then watered when he’d
helped Parrish save Stiles and Lydia from Brunski, killing him and putting an
end to the whole Benefactor fiasco. He was a bit into security these days,
especially with his money. Helping save Scott from Kate also didn’t hurt.
Add up all of those things and Peter found himself with a human shadow. He
didn’t mind, for the most part, and Stiles respected his space when it was
needed. Over the months they’d had little choice in growing closer, between
researching in Peter’s apartment, letting Stiles drive his Audi on patrols, and
keeping Stiles’ ass from getting too deep in trouble, because a little trouble
was always fun in Peter’s opinion, ended with Peter knowing Stiles better than
he even knew Derek.
Coming to enjoy their conversations had been one thing; coming to terms with
his growing attachment to Stiles, how attracted he was to him, was another
story altogether.
Peter was nearly twice his age, and, for all intents and purposes, Stiles was
still a child in his eyes. Being past the age of legality wasn’t really saying
much. Breaking the rules had always been one of Peter’s strong suits, and
dating the sheriff's underaged son would have been right up his alley when he’d
first came back from the grave. The fact that he was even considering ‘dating’
Stiles, of all people, was also cause for concern.
But the spastic teenager had wormed his way into Peter’s life and the werewolf
wasn’t sure he was willing to push him out. If anything, he was perpetrating.
Helping Stiles with homework, offering to pull all nighters to identify the
newest invasion and proceeding to tuck the boy into his couch, stocking his
refrigerator with the snacks he knew Stiles was fond of, the list went on and
on.
Then Peter had started noticing things about Stiles’ that, as just a pack mate,
he shouldn’t. Things like the way his shirt rode up to reveal a slim strip of
pale flesh while he was stretched out on Peter’s couch, the way his lips always
hung open in the most tempting way while he slept. Peter wanted to slid his
thumb across that plump bottom lip, tug it between his teeth while he slid his
hand under the hem of his shirt to play across the ridges of his ribs, feel him
tremble with need under his touch. Then there was the way his eyes lit up when
he talked about Star Wars and Celtic mythology, like the sun had found its way
into him and was shining through. He noticed the way his laugh echoed around
them until it was ringing in Peter’s ears long after they’d parted each other’s
company.
Peter was in deep. Six feet deep, Stiles would joke.
Now Peter’s life was filled with the boy; Peter didn’t care how old he was,
Stiles was still a kid to him. His living room smelled like fresh cut grass and
rosemary mixed in with teenage hormones and the stress that always lingered
around Stiles. There were cactus plants lining his kitchen window, each one
labeled with a pack member’s name. Tiny action figures and dinosaurs were
making their way into the plant boxes. The T-Rex that had found it’s home in
the peace lily in the living room had recently made lunch of the brontosaurus.
He’d tucked the boy into bed after passing out from midterms, giving up his own
sleeping arrangements so Stiles could get a better nights rest. Five years ago,
he might have let his hands wander as he’d stripped Stiles out of his clothes,
leaving him in his boxers, but things had changed. Peter was just as capable of
taking what he wanted with force now as he had been back then. It was the
principle of the thing. There was a certain satisfaction in earning what he
wanted rather than stripping the choices from people.
They’d danced around each other for ages, each step part of a waltz Peter
hadn’t had the pleasure of dancing since before the fire. It was refreshing.
Stiles gave just as good as he got, never letting Peter forget that he held
just as much power as Peter did, more probably. And that never bothered Peter
in the slightest.
He wasn’t looking for some young little thing who quivered at the knees at the
sound of wolves baying at the moon or collapsed over at the sight of blood. He
hadn’t been looking for anything, honestly, but what he had ended up with more
than he could have ever imagined.
Stiles could be just as aggressive as Peter, pushing back when Peter taunted,
and slipping in sly touches when he thought no one was looking. His grin was
never anything but coy, tempting Peter to toe the very line Stiles was. The
flirting had escalated into even more touching. Then into even more touch,
pushing bodies close when the excuse rose, the slide of fingers down a bare
are, fingers tangling in soft hair when they walked by each other.
They were two steps away from hitting second base- rushing past first with all
they were worth- and Peter was nearly vibrating with the idea of it.
He was making progress in life. Being a good person and all that jazz. Which
was why he was spending a perfectly nice Wednesday afternoon out in the
preserve, teaching Stiles how to fight.
Well, trying to teach Stiles how to fight might be a better way of putting it.
The kid knew how to throw a punch, Peter would give him that, but there was no
finesse or thought to what he did. Throwing himself headlong into a fight had
never ended very well, but that was a concept Stiles didn’t seem to grasp.
“Running at me while you yell at the top of your lungs does nothing but give me
a headache,” Peter sighed as he dusted invisible dirt off of his pants.
“It’s my battle cry,” Stiles shot back. “It distracts my enemies from my
attacks.” Peter watched as he rolled his shoulders and tensed his muscles.
They’d been at this for twenty minutes now and Peter had long knew every tell
Stiles had. He was ready as Stiles ran at him, mouth thankfully shut this time.
Peter had started to worry he’d catch flies in his teeth.
Peter ducked the punch and used Stiles momentum to throw him over his shoulder.
Stiles landed on his back with a loud, “Oomph.”
“I think it only annoys them,” Peter commented from his position five feet away
from him. It wouldn’t do for Stiles to catch him by surprise and sweep his legs
out from under him.
Stiles groaned and pushed himself to his feet. There was a tightness to his
shoulders, fists balled at his sides. The glare he leveled at Peter was less
amused and more annoyed than it had been before. Good. Stiles was realizing how
serious Peter had been about this.
“You’re paying for my hospital bills if you break me,” Stiles grumbled. Peter
smirked. He gave Stiles enough time to settled back on his feet and then he was
on him. The first punch missed on purpose; Peter had no intentions of hitting
him. Stiles eyes went wide and managed to block the next punch. Peter took it
easy, his speed kept just above human slow, as he went in for an uppercut.
The punch was a narrow miss, just catching on the tip of Stiles’ nose as he
jerked back. Peter used his momentum against him again as he hooked a leg
behind Stiles knees and rode him down to the ground. They landed in a heap,
Peter braced above Stiles with one hand and the other pressed to his throat.
“If I wanted to break you, Stiles, I can think of much more pleasurable ways of
doing it,” Peter purred against his ear. Stiles’ ragged breaths hitched and a
surge of arousal filled Peter’s nose.
“Yeah?” Stiles’ voice was strained, and it wasn’t because of the arm across his
throat. A long fingered hand wrapped around Peter’s forearm, not pushing him
away, just holding on. Peter grinned.
“Yeah,” he breathed across Stiles’ neck. Each breath pulled more of his scent
into Peter’s lungs, setting a fire burning inside him. This was as close as
they ever gotten to anything outside of flirting. Peter wasn’t sure how much he
could hold back.
“Would you like that?” Peter asked as he settled himself a little more on top
of Stiles, letting him feel his weight but not crushing him. “Would you let me
spread you across my bed and take you apart slowly, piece by piece, until you
were begging me to put you back together again?”
The answering groan vibrated against Peter’s chest. A sharp spike of want
wafted through the air; Peter bit back a growl.
“Yes,” Stiles breathed. Peter could hear his heart hammering against his chest
and his wiggling his pressed Stiles’ hardening cock against his hip. “Fuck yes,
we can do that. Right now. Let’s go.”
His answer startled a laugh out of Peter. He fell fully against Stiles so he
could press his face into his neck.
“What?” Stiles asked, indignant. “Is sex with me funny? Because you started it
and I’m here to tell you I can end it if you’re just going to giggle at me.” He
punched Peter on the arm, probably just for good measure because he knew he
wasn’t going to hurt him.
Peter pulled back so he could look at him. He knew his expression was fond and
he couldn't keep a grin off his lips. Full lips were pulled into a thin line,
little wrinkles between his eyebrows where he was glaring. It was the cutest
thing Peter had ever seen. Followed only by anytime Stiles thought he was going
to get his way if he put on a good pout. Peter wanted to kiss the look off of
his face. So he did.  
It was only a soft brush of lips, chaste compared to everything he really
wanted to do to Stiles, but it was enough. Stiles’ sharp intake of breath
puffed across Peter’s cheek and his hands tightened on Peter’s shoulders. He
pulled back just as Stiles came to himself and shifted against him. It earned
him a curse.
Peter pushed off of him, leaving Stiles stunned on the ground beside him. He
raised one eyebrow and held out a hand to him. There was a long moment when
Peter worried he’d fucked up, that he’d crossed that invisible no touch line
too soon; then Stiles’ cool fingers wrapped around his own and he let Peter
help him to his feet.
Stiles looked a little shell shocked, pupils blown wide and his lips parted.
Peter could just see the pink tip of his tongue. He ducked in to kiss him again
for good measure.
“You can’t just do that!” Stiles sputtered when Peter pulled back. He was
flushed, red tinging his pale skin all the way down his neck.
“I can’t?” Peter feigned innocence. “You didn’t seem to mind.” Stiles flailed.
Peter had to sidestep or risk taking a hand to the face.
“We’ve been dancing around each other for months, I know,” Stiles answered,
“And yeah I think you’re hot- jesus, those biceps- and the feeling seems mutual
considering you just had a chubbie pressed against my hip, but I never expected
you to follow through with anything. I didn’t think I was really your type.
There has to be plenty of hot werewolf ladies out and about.” Stiles was
getting that look in his eyes that said he was working up to a big rant, and
that hadn’t been Peter’s intentions at all.
“Stiles!” Peter growled. His tone was firm, and he caught Stiles’ hands in his
own. Peter waited for him to look at him, brown eyes locking with is own. “If
you don’t want this, truly don’t want this for reasons other than you think you
aren’t good enough or you’re worried  about any other rejection theory, tell
me. It’ll stop. Contrary to what the pack might think, I have a tight reign on
my self control.”
Stiles opened his mouth, seemed to think better of what he was going to say and
sighed, “I want you, Peter. I want this. But how do you know-”
“That’s enough. That’s all it needs to be,” Peter interjected before Stiles
could get wound up again. “I want you and you want me. End of discussion.”
Stiles searched his face for a second, looking for what, Peter didn’t know.
Then he nodded, slow, but it was still an affirmation.
“Does that mean we get to go to your apartment now and fuck like bunnies? Or
werewolves? Or- what would that be? Considering I’m a human and all.” Peter
groaned. How he’d fallen for such a spastic person, he would never know.
“You were bitching about me kissing you not five seconds ago and now you wanna
fuck? I don’t know if you’ve got your priorities right, Stiles.” Peter pinched
the bridge of his nose and started heading for the car. Stiles kept his hand in
a firm grip, trotting to keep up with Peter’s faster pace.
“Yeah, but kissing is kind of special you know? You can suck someone’s dick and
never kiss them, but then kiss someone and have it mean so much more.”
“Are you saying you love me?” Peter asked with a shit eating grin. Stiles
pulled up short, ending their progress to the car in the process. When Peter
looked back at him, he was as red as a tomato.
“I didn’t- that’s not what I meant!” It was never going to get old how fast
Stiles got riled up.
“I know,” Peter replied with a knowing grin. Stiles’ glare could melt plastic.
“You do not have the right to use that reference with me yet! There is a
mandatory five month wait!” Peter laughed. None of this was ever going to get
old.
“Really? I didn’t get that memo,” Peter mused. “Was that in one of the newer
episodes? You know I was in a coma for those. Maybe we should watch them next.”
“I am not reliving that nightmare. Even with you.” Peter was well aware of the
sore spot Stiles had against the new episodes. It only made it easier to get
under his skin.
“Well then I’ll just have to watch them with Scott,” Peter huffed.
“He is not starting with Episode One! He hasn’t even seen Episode Four!”
“Then you’ll just have to watch them with me.” Peter got a little too much joy
out of how Stiles seethed in anger beside him, but he never let go of his hand.
===============================================================================
“Do I really have to get a tattoo?” Stiles whined from his perch on Peter’s
kitchen counter. Coming in like a mini tornado, leaving homework and food in
his wake, he was now surround by all of the books about emissaries and druidism
that he’d somehow coerced Deaton into loaning him. He’d even raided Peter’s
personal library for what he had. Stiles had always been book hungry, but never
had Peter seen him quite like this.
“It helps build your power structure, gives you a point of focus, and it also
embeds a small amount of magic into your skin, so you can access it when you
might have otherwise depleted your reserves,” Peter explained for what felt
like the fiftieth time. They’d gone over this already when Deaton brought it up
at their weekly training session, but Stiles was now drawing it out for all he
was worth.
“I hate tattoos, dude. I fainted when Scott got his, but you weren’t here for
that. Still dead in the ground, I guess. Well, sort of. And you still have to
explain to me how you did that! Because that was awesome and creepy. Awesomely
creepy, yep.” Peter raised an eyebrow. Sometimes the flow of Stiles’ thoughts
felt like a five car pile up. He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to that.
Stiles pouted at him from his seat, legs swinging like he was a child. Peter
rolled his eyes and went back to making sure his pot of pasta wasn’t boiling
over and nothing was sticking to the bottom.
“It’s part of the training, Stiles. He told you that when we started this,”
Peter sighed, clicking the stove off and straining the pasta in the sink.
“I didn’t think it would happen so soon,” Stiles whined. He was starting too
look green around the gills, and Peter really hoped he didn’t throw up at just
the thought of it. If this was how it was going to be, they were in for a lot
of cleaning up.
Peter left the pasta in the sink and positioned himself between Stiles’ thighs.
Hands settled around each others waists, while Stiles pouted up at him. He had
a good puppy dog look, but it was no where near as good as Scott’s.
“Stiles, it won’t be so bad,” Peter reassured. It only made Stiles pout harder.
“I’ll be there. Someone has to hold you down.”
“That’s really reassuring. Thanks.” Stiles pulled a disgusted face.
“Would you rather I hold your hand?”
“Yes,” Stiles answered instantly. Peter blinked, not really having expected
such a quick and sure answer.
“Is that just because you want me to drain the pain, which I can’t actually do
because it will drain the magic, or because you just want me to hold your
hand?” Stiles blushed, but there was a determined set to his expression that
Peter recognized.
“Both?” It was a hopeful answer. Peter didn’t blame them. They hadn’t done more
than make out on his couch since their last training session. School was taking
up a lot more of Stiles time than it usually did as finals drew closer.
“You do realize you can hold my hand anytime, right?” Peter questioned, holding
one hand up between them, fingers spread wide. Stiles grinned, but hesitated
when he reached for Peter’s hand.
“I didn’t know if it was crossing a line.”
“I’ve had my tongue down your throat and my hands down the back of your pants.
What line would you be crossing by holding my hand?” Peter huffed. The way
Stiles mind worked really was a mystery.
“A romantic one,” Stiles admitted finally, glancing away from Peter’s gaze.
And, well, that explained a lot. They’d never really sat down and talked about
what their relationship meant. Neither of them had used the terms ‘boyfriend’
or ‘lover.’ Peter hadn’t actually thought about it, to be honest. He’d never
thought about what label their relationship might have past ‘wow, you have a
really nice mouth. Let me put my tongue in that.’
Peter regarded Stiles for a moment, watching his hands twitch on his lap and
jaw tick. His feet knocked against the counter, eyes searching along the far
wall of the kitchen. And that was Stiles in a nutshell. Always moving. Always
in action. Actions spoke louder than words with Stiles. So instead of telling
Stiles there were no lines to cross, Peter showed him.
Reaching forward, Peter slid his hand under Stiles’, linking their fingers
together. Stiles’ head jerked, turning to face Peter fast enough to give him
whiplash. Peter smiled at him, and when Stiles’ smiled back, tentative and
shining, Peter kissed him.
He kept it slow, easy. No tongue. No teeth; just lips against lips until Stiles
relaxed into it. Even then, Peter didn’t push. He let Stiles take the lead,
expecting Stiles to deepen the kiss, but he tilted his head and moved against
Peter with ease. They’d kissed enough that the right angle was easy, that
Peter’s fingers found Stiles’ cheek and Stiles twisted his fingers in Peter’s
hair.
When they pulled back, Stiles was flushed, eyes bright with emotion, lips
swollen and parted.
“Was that you staking your claim?” Stiles asked suddenly, startling a snort out
of Peter.
“You’re insusurafable.”
“It’s a term of endearment coming from you.” It really was; Peter couldn't deny
it.
“Would you rather I call you baby?” Peter grinned. “Sweetheat. Cuddle muffin.
Meat bun. I think I like meat bun.” Stiles frowned and swatted at him.
“You’re such an asshole, sass wolf,” Stiles grumbled. Peter leaned in and
pressed a kiss to Stiles’ lips before pulling away and going back to the food.
“You’re the one who picked me.”
“Then you better fuck as well as you claim you do.” The bowl Peter was holding
clattered onto the counter and he glared at Stiles over his shoulder. Stiles
threw his head back and laughed. It was rare he ever got a good reaction out of
Peter and he quite enjoyed it when he did.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Peter dead panned, mixing the pasta
with the sauce and plating the food.
“Then why don’t you show me, lover.” Stiles’ voice had dropped, purring across
Peter’s skin and sending a shiver down his spin. He didn’t miss the endearment,
and the fact that Stiles had taken him at his word- actions- only served to
make his blood boil.
Abandoning the food, Peter stalked across the room and crowded into Stiles’
space, pressing between his thighs and cupping his hips in his palms. He nosed
at Stiles’ jaw, tipping his head up so Peter’s breath ghosted across his lips
and cheek. Stiles blinked at him. That slow grin of his- the one that said he
was getting his way and was pretty proud of himself- spread across Stiles’ face
and the urge to kiss it away surged through Peter.
He dragged Stiles forward until he was balanced on the edge of the counter so
their bodies pressed together. Stiles gripped his shoulders for balance and
leaned forward, making his intentions clear but keeping space between them.
“Scared?” Peter teased and Stiles’ heart rate skyrocketed. Instead of the
bruising kiss Stiles was surely expecting, Peter kept the kiss sweet and a
whole lot more innocent than what Stiles apparently wanted. The kid growled,
low and annoyed, against Peter’s lips before crushing Peter to him.
Peter gave as good as he got, but never pushed for more. Stiles tugged at his
hair, each instant noise lost in Peter’s mouth as he busied his own hands by
sliding them under Stiles’ shirt. Stiles shuddered against him, his sharp
inhale stuttering back out against Peter’s lips.
Stiles’ skin was cold against Peter’s fingers. Stiles was always cold, could
never get warm unless he was bundled up or pressed against one of the wolves.
Warm palms slid up his sides, cupping his ribs on the way to brush thumbs
across his nipples. Stiles wiggled against him, seeking more contact as he
nipped at Peter’s lips and then kissed him. A tongue pressed against the seam
of his lips and Peter let him in with a smirk and a soft chuckle. Stiles tasted
like the hot chocolate he was so fond of drinking. Peter groaned at the taste,
a deep sound that vibrated through the both of them.
Stiles pulled back for air while his hands scrambled at Peter’s shirt, tugging
it up and off when Peter lifted his arms obligingly. Lust blown eyes traced
over Peter’s chest, clear appreciation for what he saw written across his face.
It wasn’t the first time the kid had seen him shirtless, but Peter had never
seen such raw admiration and want in his eyes before.
“Like what you see?” Peter couldn’t help himself as he flexed a little. Stiles’
kiss swollen lips parted and his pupils constricted further. He worked his jaw,
clearly struggling to respond, but then just nodded when no words came. Peter
laughed, the sound startling Stiles, who frowned hard at him.
Peter pushed back against him, leaning in to trail kisses across his jaw and
back down to nuzzle at his neck. He worried at the ragged collar of Stiles’ old
tee shirt and pushed the soft cotton out of the way so he could nip at Stiles
collarbone.
“Never thought I’d see you speechless,” he teased as he tugged Stiles’ shirt up
and over his head, revealing pale skin dotted with freckles and moles. Peter
imagined he could probably spell his name with them, like the connect the dots
games he’d played when he was younger. He made a mental note to try it one day.
He pushed in close, pressing his chest to Stiles’, hands sliding around his
body to rest low on his back. Peter’s fingers pushed under the waist of Stiles’
pants to trace across the swell of his ass. Stiles sighed against his jaw where
he’d been sucking a hickey into Peter’s skin.
“Are we really doing this in the kitchen?” Stiles asked, voice already soft and
lost to their touches. Peter chuckled into his hair and pulled back so he could
kiss Stiles again. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of that mouth, all eger
sounds and protesting nips and licks.
“Would you rather take the time to move to the couch or the bed?” Peter grinned
into Stiles’ mouth while he reached down to flick open the button on his pants.
Stiles groaned as Peter sunk a warm hand into his pants, palming his cock
through his underwear.
“God, no.” The answer was strained and Stiles’ pushed up into his palm, seeking
friction and heat.
“Mm, didn’t think so.” Peter rubbed him through cotton, swallowing down every
noise he made as hands scrambled at his shoulders for a grip. Giving up or
realizing it was a better way to spend his time, Stiles’ hands slid down
Peter’s body and made quick work of Peter’s own button and zipper.
Peter’s breath stuttered out of him as long fingers by passed his underwear to
wrap around his cock. Growling against pale skin, he shoved down Stiles’
underwear and teased his fingers up the underside of his erection. Stiles
shuddered, a whine spilling from his lips and his hand slowing to a stop on
Peter’s cock as fingers teased up and down his own length. His hips came up off
the counter, seeking the contact Peter steadily denied him.
Peter licked his lips, a deep growl building in his chest as Stiles’ eyes
fluttered shut and his head lolled back on his neck. He could see the kid’s
pulse pounding away under his skin. Peter’s mouth watered for a taste of it.
The thought of biting into soft skin and letting the rush of copper flow across
his tongue flashed through his mind, but he shoved it down.
He was more than his baser instincts, damn it. And he wasn’t going to tear into
Stiles’ neck during the first time he had his hand down his pants. Peter was
better than that. At least he felt he could be better than that.
Instead of giving into his wolf’s need for blood, he let a growl rumble from
his chest. The sound didn’t seem to phase Stiles even though it wasn’t close to
a human noise. A full body shiver worked down Stiles’ spine and pre-come
spurted across Peter’s palm. The smell of sex was strong, their scents mixing
and it sent Peter into overdrive.
Pressing closer, chest to chest, Peter pumped Stiles’ cock fast, fist tight
enough to pull tiny sounds from his lips. Stiles’ clamored for a hold on
Peter’s arm, nails biting into his skin, marking him. His hand had fallen from
Peter’s erection to fist in his pants.
Small jerks of Stiles’ hips did little to help him along, but Peter wasn’t
going to mock him for getting what he needed. It was as good as saying it out
loud in his eyes, so he pumped Stiles’ faster.
Stiles’ breath hitched hard and he squirmed on the counter, trying to press
closer. Peter used his free arm to wrap around Stiles, pressing into his lower
back and pulling him closer.
“Close?” Peter asked and Stiles nodded frantically. Peter took a moment to
enjoy the fact that he’d managed a speechless Stiles before a hand was
scrambling to wrap around his cock again.
Peter groaned into Stiles’ ear, clumsy fingers bumping over the head and
grazing the underside.
“You too,” Stiles breathed desperately into Peter’s skin. Peter obliged him by
shoving their hips together as best as he could and wrapping his hand around
the both of them. That left Stiles’ hands to cling to his arms. Stiles breathed
against Peter’s neck, the hot slide of sensitive skin against skin leaving him
shivering and nearly whining.
Peter wondered what Stiles would be like when Peter finally managed to take him
to bed. The combination of the idea, Stiles’ fingers digging into his skin, his
scent in Peter’s nose and cock against his sent his climax crashing through
him. It didn’t take much for Stiles’ to follow, his cock twitching against
Peter’s and leaving Peter’s hand a complete mess.
They leaned against each other long enough to catch their breath and for Peter
to make sure Stiles wasn’t going to fall over and crack his head on his kitchen
floor. Peter pressed a light kiss to Stiles’ pulse point and then his lips
before stepping away. Stiles’ eyes were hazy when he blinked them open. He
tracked Peter across the kitchen and back, flinching when he used a damp paper
towel to wipe away the mess.
“Damn,” was all he managed when Peter came back to help him off the counter. He
used Peter to help hold him up, still a little weak in the knees.
“I take it I fuck as good as I claim,” Peter teased. It earned him a pinch on
the bicep.
“You aren’t the first person to make me weak in the knees,” Stiles gripped,
“But you are in the top five,” he added when Peter’s eyes flashed at him.
“I can do without hearing about your previous sexual conquests,” Peter said,
tone dry as he did up his own pants. He ended up having to help Stiles with his
when his still shaky fingers proved useless against buttons.
“Jealous much?” Stiles snorted. Peter figured an eyebrow raise was enough of an
answer.
Chapter End Notes
     They blew past first base to land solidly on second. Also, why are so
     many sex euphemisms baseball related? Does anyone know?
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Summary
     Peter might be an asshole but that doesn't mean he can't be a
     gentleman
Chapter Notes
     This is equal parts sappy and sassy with a dash of Peter being the
     good person he's trying so hard to be. Unbetad. All mistakes are
     mine.
     Warning for underage drinking and an adult providing it.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
“I really don’t have any choice in this do I,” Stiles asked for the hundredth
time as he eyed the chairs and tables Deaton had set up in his exam room,
knowing no one was going to answer him. Deaton was standing close to the small
group of objects, deep in conversation with a man whom Stiles had never met
before. He was tall, at least six four, skin a golden brown Stiles could never
dream of achieving. It was probably even natural, the lucky bastard.
A warm hand settled on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Stiles
turned his head to look up at Peter. He gave Stiles a brief smile and then slid
past him and moved towards Deaton. Peter had talked more with him about the
process than Stiles had. Stiles had no desire to worsen his fear anymore than
he needed to; it was pretty bad already.
Stiles was still standing at the door to the exam room, staring at the array of
items set up meticulously across the largest table when Peter calling his name
caught his attention. The werewolf was waving him over and Mister Natural Tan
was now sitting in one of the chairs, setting up the tattoo machine and
arranging his stuff where he wanted it.
Fear froze Stiles on the spot. He understood the need for the tattoo, the
convenience, but that didn’t keep his fear of needles at bay. He watched as the
man worked, a knot of anxiety settling in his stomach and tightening his
throat.
“Stiles,” Peter’s voice was gentle, bordering on soothing, and it eased some of
Stiles worries. Peter reached out for him and Stiles took his hand. Their
fingers laced together and the feeling was still new enough to send shivers
down Stiles spine. Peter squeezed his hand, giving what small comforts he
could, and tugged Stiles forward.
They had him settled in the chair before Stiles knew what was happening.
“I still can’t back out, can I?” Stiles asked as he laid a shaking hand on the
smallest table.
“You can, but you’ll never reach the power level you could if you don’t. And it
will be easier for you to handle some of the more complicated spells with
something to focus it through,” Deaton explained as if Stiles hadn’t heard this
spill at least ten times now.
“I can’t just make a wand or something?”
“Wands have a tendency to explode in their wielders hand. Darren will take good
care of you. He’s been tattooing Druids for thirty years,” Deaton reassured
him, but Stiles felt anything but assured. His palms were sweating as the man
wiped the back of his hand.
Stiles looked anywhere except at Darren. His gaze settled on Peter. He was
hovering near Stiles, a worried frown marring his features. Stiles had told him
the story of going with Scott to get his first tattoo, of how Stiles had passed
out cold in the middle of the tattoo parlor; Peter had been adamant about being
there for this. Stiles hadn’t seen a reason to argue.
It just sucked that no one could drain the pain for him as it happened.
Something about it absorbing the magic and what not. Either way, Deaton had
said no and that had been the end of that. Arguing with his professors might be
fun but arguing with Deaton so was not. The man could probably kill them all
with his pinky finger if he was so inclined.
The cold press of a marker against his skin drew Stiles’ attention back to
Darren. He watched as the man drew a pattern of swirls and knots across the
back of his hand and down to the first knuckle on his fingers. Stiles hadn’t
asked a lot of questions about the process, but Deaton had told him that every
druid’s tattoos were free handed, and that only the artist knew what they would
be. Something about the magic talking to them. He’d understand one day, Deaton
had said.
After everything Deaton had taught him so far, Stiles was inclined to believe
him.
So he trusted in the magic of it all, trusted in his teacher and a man he
barely knew, that they knew what they were doing. The ink had been imbued with
his magic just hours before and there was no turning back now as Darren picked
up the machine and it whirred to life.
“Ready?” Darren asked. Stiles swallowed around the lump in his throat and
nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away from his hand. A
hand slid against the back of his neck as he first bite of the needle sent pain
surging up his arm. Stiles prayed he didn’t pass out or fall out of the chair.
Four hours later, Stiles’ hand was wrapped in cling wrap and he was spread out
in the passenger seat of Peter’s Audi. He’d nearly passed out a total of five
times, so the entire process had taken longer than the general thirty minutes
it would have.
No one had bitched at him about it, and Stiles was eternally grateful that
Scott had shown up during the first five minutes. Being able to hold his best
friend’s hand to ease the pain while his boyfriend rubbed soothing circles on
his shoulders and neck had done wonders.
His hand still felt like it was on fire, the pain sharper and stronger due to
the magic. Stiles really wished people would inform him of things before hand
instead of telling him after the fact. It made his head dizzy and turned his
stomach every time he used his hand or something brushed against it.
Darren had told him the pain would lessen with time and should be bearable with
in the next three hours. Stiles had his doubts. With what his pain tolerance
was and how much the fucking thing hurt, he guessed it would be at least until
morning before he could deal with the pain.
He rolled his head on the seat headrest to blink at Peter. Peter glanced over,
a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Stiles smiled back.
“You know what I could go for?” He asked Peter, smile sliding into a grin.
“I can think of a lot of things you could probably go for,” Peter replied,
“Which one do you happen to be talking about?”
“A stiff drink.” Stiles ignored the way Peter rolled his eyes and forged on. “I
just sat through three hours of pain. I deserve a treat.”
“And hard liquor is what you’ve decided on?”
“If I’m drunk enough, I won't feel the pain.” Stiles said, cheeky as ever, even
with his hand throbbing with every beat of his heart.
“If you get drunk, you won’t be able to stand.”
“That’s usually what happens when people get drunk.” Stiles shifted in his seat
to stare at Peter, the seat belt pulling at his neck and shoulder. He shoved
his arm over it, pushing it down to his hips.
“You are such a shit,” Peter grumbled. Stiles shrugged. He wasn't going to try
and deny it.
“So does that mean you will provide me with the alcohol I so desire?” Stiles
questioned hopefully.
Peter’s sigh was heartfelt, but his smile was warm. “I have a bottle of Jim
Beam at the house.”
Stiles pumped his fist in the air and regretted it instantly when it shot a
spike of pain down his arm. He cradled his hand to his chest, muttering under
his breath and wishing the pain would just subside.
“I wish I could help you with that.” Peter’s eyebrows pulled together as he
frowned out at the road ahead. The quick glances he was sending Stiles’ way
were concerned and  held a hint of guilt.
“It’ll ease soon enough, no worries. I’ve had worse, anyways,” Stiles reassured
him, or tried. Peter’s frown deepened and his fingers tightened on the steering
wheel.
“That’s not exactly reassuring, Stiles,” Peter growled, knuckles going white
against the wheel. Stiles blinked, taken aback by the sharp tone of Peter’s
voice.
“You didn’t have to come, you know,” Stiles hedged. He wasn’t sure where this
conversation was going, or how to get out of it. He’d never had Peter react to
his pain in such a way before. It was unexpected and a little endearing. If
Peter Hale could be endearing.
“Of course I did. I was the one who set up the whole thing with Deaton anyways,
pushed you into doing it.” Oh. So that was what this whole thing was about.
Peter was blaming himself for the pain Stiles was in. The thought tugged at
something in Stiles’ chest. He’d be damned if he was going to think his heart
strings were getting plucked, but Peter’s concern warmed him to his toes. The
guilt, though, he could do without.
“It’s not like you forced me into it. If I didn’t want to be a druid, I
wouldn’t have agreed in the first place. You of all people should know I won’t
do something if I don’t want to,” Stiles said. He reached out his good hand to
grip Peter’s arm for a quick squeeze.
Peter seemed to relax at the contact but a tightness hung around his eyes.
Stiles tugged his hand off the steering wheel and laced their fingers together.
Peter let him, sitting his hand on Stiles knee so he didn't have to reach
awkwardly to hold his hand.
“You know, I never really took you for the worrying, guilt trip type,” Stiles
mused as his fingers traced random patterns over the back of Peter’s hand.
“I learned long ago that caring for people only ever got you hurt,” Peter
replied. A darkness crept into his eyes, then was gone as soon as it had came.
There was a story there, a story Stiles didn’t know and might never find out.
Stiles respected that Peter had his secrets. He couldn’t really judge,
considering his own demons.
“I’m glad it didn’t stop you with...whatever this is,” Stiles mumbled. If Peter
had been human, he wouldn’t have heard the admission, but with his werewolf
hearing, there wasn’t much Stiles could hide from him.
Peter startled him by tugging his hand up and leaning down to press a kiss to
his knuckles. Stiles stared at the older man, mouth open, eyes wide in surprise
and blush creeping down his neck. Peter’s grin was lascivious but, given it was
Peter, it didn’t ruin the moment.
“What are you, some nineteenth century gentlemen?” Stiles managed to sass, but
his voice was breathy, giving his feelings away.
“Don’t tell the others. It’ll ruin my reputation,” Peter smirked. His eyes were
back on the road, but his fingers were still twined with Stiles’.
“What reputation? The serial killer one or the creeper one?” Stiles grinned.
“Or the one where you agree to give alochol to underaged adults?”
“The one where I’m a dark, brooding werewolf who’ll rip your throat out,” Peter
interjected.
“I seriously doubt that reputation could be ruined by one kiss on the back of
someone’s hand,” Stiles scoffed. “You’ve worked too hard to cement into
everyone’s mind that you’re an asshole who cares more about himself than the
rest of the pack.”
“But I am an asshole who cares more about myself.”
“Tell that to someone who hasn’t held your hand while they were getting a
tattoo. Or been pulled out of a lake by you when a Kelpie tried to drown them,
or who didn’t watch you take a spell for Isaac. Push Scott out of the way of an
arrow. Sit watch over your niece. Need I keep going?” Stiles raised an eyebrow,
relishing in the tick that had started in Peter’s jaw.
“I think you covered it.” Peter grouched.
“Good. So about that Jim Beam. Or as it Jack Daniels? I don’t really care
either way.”   
“You’re insufferable.”
“You like it.” Peter rolled his eyes but a smile tugged at his lips. Stiles
called it a win.  
Two hours and a few glasses of Jim Beam later and Stiles was nicely tipsy,
working on drunk. The bottle of Jim Beam was perched on the table, two thirds
of its contents already gone. It had been near full when Peter had pulled it
out of his cabinet and Stiles had been doing most of the drinking. Peter’d had
one glass, a couple of drops of a special concoction of wolfsbane mixed into
make it potent enough to affect the wolf.
“Why aren’t you drinking more?” Stiles questioned as he threw back the rest of
the liquid in his glass, gagging a little on the burn. Peter gave him a bored
look, his glass resting on the arm of his chair, not even half gone.
“One of us needs to be in their right mind. That is clearly not you right now,”
Peter informed him. He lifted his tumblr to his lips, taking a slow sing.
Stiles eyes followed the motion, eyeing the way Peter’s fingers wrapped around
the glass, the way his throat moved as he swallowed. He imagined he could taste
the drink on Peter’s tongue if he kissed him. Maybe settle himself in Peter’s
lap, drag his tongue across the pale expanse of his throat, rub his face across
his stubble.  
Stiles flushed, the room a few degrees hotter than it was a few seconds ago.
His cock gave a valiant twitch in his pants, but the alcohol was directly
affecting his ability to get hard.
“Problem?’ Peter asked after a moment of silence. Stiles blinked owlishly at
him before he sat his glass down on the table with a loud clink. Peter winced,
opening his mouth to reprimand him, Stiles was sure, but he didn’t get the
chance to.
Stiles got to his feet, swaying to the side before he got his balance and
stumbled forward to fall into Peter’s lap gracelessly. The air rushed out of
Peter’s lungs in a huff, arm coming up to catch Stiles against him as he
settled into Peter’s lap.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Peter eyed him quizzically. One hand
settled on the small of Stiles’ back to keep him from falling over as Stiles
got his legs under him, straddling Peter’s lap.
Stiles licked his lips; his body hadn't quite caught up with his brain’s plan
and he’d forgotten what he was going to do. He looked down at Peter, taking in
his frown- there sure was a lot of that going on today- and the crinkles around
his eyes.
“Your face is going to get stuck like that,” his brain decided to say. Peter
snorted and rolled his eyes. Leaning forward, he placed his glass down beside
Stiles’. He was a lot more gentle about it, but he’d had a lot less to drink
than Stiles had.
“You’re drunk,” Peter stated. Stiles frowned at the acquisition. He wasn’t
drunk, just buzzed. At least he didn’t feel drunk. But that was part of being
drunk, his brain supplied. You didn’t know you were drunk until you were
falling over on your ass and throwing up in the bathroom.
“Maybe a little,” Stiles finally decided. Stiles reminded himself to be
offended by the amused noise Peter made at that statement, but later, when
Peter’s neck didn’t require his attention. He licked his lips, the taste of
whisky fresh on his tongue, and leaned forward to press his lips to Peter's
neck.
At least that's what he intended to do. Instead he missed and ended up kissing
Peter's shoulder. He paused, gathering his bearings and decided it was better
than nothing. He had a path to follow now.
Kissing up Peter's shoulder and to his neck was easier than leaning in to do
it. Warm hands settled on his hips while Stiles sloppy tongued across the pulse
in Peter's neck. Peter hissed at the contact, fingers tightening around Stiles'
hips and using his grip to pull him away.
Stiles whined at the loss of contact. He blinked at Peter with glazed eyes,
hands scrambling for a grip on Peter's shirt.
The tattoo was nothing but a dull ache now. The pain had subsided, as promised,
and the alcohol had done wonders for fogging Stiles' pain receptors. He was
going to be feeling a lot more than the tattoo come morning.
"Stiles," Peter grit out between his teeth, wrapping fingers around Stiles'
wrists. He held Stiles away from him; clear, unclouded eye watched him, careful
and calculating. Peter's grip was decidedly loose on his tattooed hand, giving
Stiles enough give that he tugged it free.
"Peter," Stiles shot back, trying for the same calculating gaze but falling
short.
"We're not doing this while you're drunk." It was a calm statement; firm.
Peter's gaze was just as hard. He was leaving no room for argument, but Stiles'
alcohol saturated brain wasn't catching on.
"I thought we'd established I wasn't drunk," Stiles whined, petulant and
shifting forward in Peter's lap for more contact. Peter's grip held strong on
his one hand, keeping Stiles at a distance.
"You actually admitted to being drunk and forgetting that now just proves my
point."
"Oh." That was probably a good point, if Stiles had been capable of considering
it. As it was, he was still intent on getting his mouth on Peter's skin. He
wiggled against him, pushing as close as Peter would let him and grinding down
against him.
Stiles' cock was just capable of chubbing in the confines of his pants. It
didn't take much and Stiles' felt an answering hardness against him.
"Come on, you clearly want it," Stiles coerced. He ground down hard to prove a
point and forced a groan past Peter's lips. Suddenly, Stiles' found himself
airborne. Well, it felt like it, only Peter's arms were wrapped tight around
his waist and his feet were dangling above the floor.
"Just because my dick is interested doesn't mean I'm following through," Peter
hissed, anger thickening his voice and sending shivers down Stiles' spine. "I
refuse to fuck you for the first time when you can't remember it."
Stiles' fingers twisted in Peter's shirt as he was carried toward the bedroom.
"Is that so I'll experience the full breadth of your awesomeness or is it a
gentleman, I'm being a better person thing? Also, you're still carrying me to
the bedroom."
"It's a bit of both and I'm putting you to bed," Peter informed him, matter of
fact and to the point. He put Stiles' down, steering him towards the bed until
Stiles' flopped back onto the mattress.
Peter's bed was covered in a patchwork quilt that looked older than Stiles'
Grann would have been if she'd still been alive. He fingered the edge of one
block while Peter tugged off his pants.
"You just wanna see me naked," Stiles simpered and then yawned. It ruined the
effect and he would of pouted about it if another yawn didn't hit him at that
exact moment.
"I've already seen your dick, Stiles. Now go to sleep," Peter snarked. His tone
was fond as he tucked Stiles down into his bed. Stiles huffed while his body
settled into the comfort and scent of Peter's bed of its own accord. He reached
for Peter so he could tug him down onto the bed with him.
Peter settled on top of the covers, arm around Stiles waist. It was much too
chaste for Stiles' tastes but he was tired and arguing with Peter was a
colossal effort. His body was drained; it was working overtime to adjust to the
magic that had been forced into him. Between one breath and the next, Stiles
was out, warm and content with Peter wrapped around his side.
Too bad he didn't get to wake up that way.
===============================================================================
 
A queasy feeling woke Stiles the next morning. His eyelashes were stuck
together, forcing him to rub at his face until he could his eyes open. He
regretted it instantly. The room might have been dark but even the small amount
of light streaming in under the door hurt. His head pounded in time with his
pulse and the queasy feeling that had awoke him quickly became full on nausea.
Stiles scrambled from the bed with one hand slapped over his mouth and the
other pressing against his stomach. He fell through the bathroom door and made
it to the toilet in time to throw up anything that might have been inside his
stomach. What came up was nothing but alcohol and acid. It tasted vile.
When he was finished emptying the contents of his stomach, he fell back against
the floor with a groan. The bedroom door opened, letting in light from the
hallway and Stiles threw an arm over his eyes with a whine. Footsteps
approached from the door and stopped just outside of the bathroom.
“I see you’re alive,” Peter greeted him. Stiles gave him the finger.
“Well, if you can make it on your own. I’ll leave you to it. There’s a hangover
cure in the kitchen when you get there,” Peter snorted. Stiles cracked open an
eye and watched as Peter turned on his heel, making for the door he’d just came
through.
Stiles’ distressed noise drew Peter’s attention and he reached out one hand to
making grabby fingers in Peter’s general direction. Peter stopped to look at
Stiles over his shoulder.
“You want my help?” Stiles nodded as best he could with his head pillowed on
the cold tile of the bathroom floor. Peter sighed, deep and loud enough for
Stiles to hear it.
“You’re more effort than you’re worth.” Stiles grumbled under his breath but
wrapped an arm around Peter’s neck when hand slid under his arms and hoisted
him to his feet.
“Fuck you,” he finally managed when he was secure in Peter’s hold.
“I could always drop you. Let you crawl to the kitchen,” Peter retorted, making
to take his supporting arm from around Stiles’ waist.
“Don’t you dare. I’ll kill you myself and make sure you can’t come back this
time,” Stiles rasped out. His voice was scratchy and his mouth tasted like
someone had shit in it. This was why he didn’t drink as often as he’d like to.
“Then you’ll never get a chance to experience my dick.” Stiles frowned. It was
way too early and he was too hungover for this much sass.
“Why is it always about your dick?”
“Because my dick is awesome.” Stiles choked on his laugh. Peter didn’t threaten
lightly and Stiles didn’t think he could crawl two feet let alone make it to
the kitchen. He caught the sound anyways and raised an eyebrow, an annoyed look
crossing his face.
“You’re so far up your own ass I’m surprised you can breath.”
“You’re one to talk,” Peter commented as he deposited Stiles on the couch, not
bothering to be gentle about it. Stiles let gravity pull him back and down
until his was sprawl across the furniture.  There was a wrinkled comforter
shoved down at to the end and a pillow beside Stiles’ head. It was still warm
from body heat and smelled like Peter’s cologne.
“You slept on the couch?” Stiles asked even though he already knew the answer.
He remembered falling asleep with Peter pressed to his side, werewolf body heat
seeping through the covers and warming Stiles to the bone. The memory was a
little vague but it was there, as real as the man now standing over him holding
a concoction in a glass that looked a lot like what Stiles had emptied into the
toilet.
“It’s part of being a gentleman. Now drink this.” Peter held the glass out to
him with an expectant look. Stiles pushed himself onto his elbows and almost
lost it right then when a wave of nausea swept through him.
“If you throw up on the carpet, I will throttle you,” Peter told him in an even
tone without blinking at the green look on Stiles’ face.
“Saying stuff like that ruins that gentleman vibe, bro.” Stiles reached for the
glass and gave the liquid a disgusted look before downing it in one go. The
substance slid past his tongue and down his throat, the taste almost as bad as
the one he’d woke up with. A disgusted shudder slid down his spine and he shook
his head as if it would dispel the taste from his mouth.
“Oh my god, did you murder someone and put them in there? That was disgusting,”
Stiles choked while he rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. Peter took
the glass from his hands before Stiles could drop it.
“A heart probably would have spiced things up, now that you mention it. And I’m
not your bro.”
“You know, I don’t know if you’re joking or if you mean that,” Stiles told
Peter’s retreating back. “And when did this house get so many rules? If I
wanted to be told what to do, I could just sleep at my dad’s.”
“A virgin’s heart would be best,” Peter continued, ignoring Stiles’ comment.
“I’m sure you know one. Maybe Scott’s friend, Liam. He seems innocent enough.”
“Liam might have been innocent before Scott got to him but I’m sure that kid
has been ruined a few times now. Scott’s got more of a libido than a rabbit.”
“That’s knowledge I could have done without.” Stiles could hear the way he
scrunched his nose.
“You brought it up,” he chuckled as he laid back on the couch. The sounds of
Peter moving around the kitchen filled his ears as whatever Peter had given his
worked its magic. By the time the smell of bacon cooking reached Stiles’ nose,
his stomach had settled and his head didn’t feel like dwarves would trying to
smith a new type of weapon inside it.
He pushed to his feet, pausing to see if the world was going to spin around
him. When it didn’t, he stretched, shirt riding up over his belly and he
reached down to scratch at his skin as he made his way to the kitchen.
“You’d make a great wife,” Stiles teased as he watched Peter move around the
kitchen. A bowl of pancake mix sat beside the stove, a pan sizzled with eggs
and another with bacon.
“You can always go to Burger King and get something from there if you plan on
being an ass,” Peter seethed, but a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“You love me ass,” Stiles retorted as he moved to start the pancakes. Peter
might be a good cook in other areas but he never failed to burn the pancakes.
“It’s always about your ass and my dick. I think it’d make a good combination.”
Peter pressed himself against Stiles’ back and even through two layers of
clothes and soft, Stiles could feel Peter against him.
Stiles swatted at his thigh with a spatula and Peter nipped at the back of his
neck in retaliation.
“You had your chance, last night,” Stiles grumbled. Peter pulled away from him
but his hands lingers on his hips like a brand. The heat stayed with Stiles and
he had to remind himself that he couldn’t just bundle Peter up with him as a
portable heater and take him wherever he went.
“I’m sure there will be another chance. I know how horny you are. Even your
Jeep smells like come.”
“Fuck you and your werewolf senses. Sometimes a fifteen minute drive is too
long to wait.” Peter grinned at him, all teeth. Stiles wielded his spatula like
a sword and waved it in Peter’s general direction. Peter didn’t so much as bat
an eyelash.
“What were you doing sniffing around my car anyways?” Stiles groused. He
flipped the pancake in the pan, pressing it down and transferring it to the
plate he’d sat beside the stove.
“I was riding in it,” Peter deadpanned. “What did you think? That I’m so
possessive I went snooping through your stuff without permission?”
“Well, you are the possessive type. No telling how long before your tracking my
phone and looking through my texts.”
“I already have access to your phones GPS.” Stiles almost broke his neck
turning to gape at Peter. The spatula clattered to the floor when it slipped
from Stiles’ slack fingers. He couldn't tell if Peter was being serious or not
but he didn’t doubt for a second that he’d do something like that. He was
seconds away from a rant when Peter’s face broke out in a grin and he honest to
god giggled.
“You’re way too easy, Stiles.” Stiles wasn’t amused. He sputtered at Peter, his
hands gesturing wildly in all directions while his brain tried to formulate a
response.
“You don’t joke about shit like that,” he finally settled for. “I mean, I know
you’re a creep and all but that’s just too creepy. Stalker. That’s what that
is. Jesus, Peter.”
“Stiles, if I wanted to track you I wouldn’t need modern technology to do it.”
Peter’s tone was flat and even, like he didn’t think Stiles could have thought
of it himself.
“That’s even worse,” Stiles squeaked. This whole conversation was starting to
weird him out. It wasn’t like he didn’t know Peter was protective; he had known
him for three years. Stiles just wasn’t comfortable being smoother- possesed.
In the bedroom? Yeah, he could get down with that, but he liked his life to be
just that. His.
He’d willingly share it with someone, but he was always going to be his own
person, do his own thing. His previous partners hadn’t seemed to grasp that
concept. Yes, he cared- loved- deeply, but he had always been too independent
for the people he’d dated.
He was hoping Peter would be different.
“You’re going to hurt yourself thinking that hard,” Peter commented as he
watched Stiles from across the kitchen. He’d set the table in the small
breakfast nook. Stiles hadn’t seen him move, hadn’t seen him pull out the
dishes.
“Stiles, the only time I would use such a power was if you were in danger. I
might be an asshole and a murder, but I know better than anyone that you are-
need to be- your own person. I’m privileged to be in your life in the first
place. I’m not about to ruin that because of insecurities.” Stiles nodded his
head before the words had really sank in. When he realized what Peter had said,
he couldn't stop a grin from splitting his face.
“Was that a love confession?” He teased. The apples of Peter’s cheeks colored;
he opened his mouth only to close it with a frown.
“You’re insurable.”
“You keep saying that like you don’t like me just the way I am.” Stiles said it
and realized how true it was. Peter was the first person who’d wanted him just
how he was. He’d known exactly who Stiles was when this whole thing had started
and had never once made Stiles feel shitty for being himself. It was more than
he could say for any other romantic relationship he’d ever had. If that was
even what this was.
All he could do was see it out. As he sat the plate of pancakes down on the
table, and flopped down in the chair across from a grumbling Peter, he thought
he could get used to this.
Chapter End Notes
     Okay, the tattoo. It gives them a way to focus their magic and easier
     access to more powerful spells that would take some chanting or even
     a ritual. I'll probably put some latent spells in there eventually as
     well. Things like protection or a warning when danger is coming.
     Enjoy the fluff and sap while you can, folks. Things are going to
     get...well, just enjoy it while it's here. :D
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
     I LIVE!! I'm sorry it's been so long since I posted a chapter! A lot
     has happened in my life while I was gone and I got into a very deep
     writing rut but now I'm back. ^o^ I already have the next chapter
     done and will be posting it in the next few weeks as I work on
     chapter 7. I'm the only person who has edited this, so I can
     guarantee there will be mistakes.
Malia cornered him two weeks after Stiles’ got trashed at Peter’s place. He
hadn’t seen it coming at all. He‘d known she’d grown closer to her father after
they graduated high school but she’d moved up state for college. Peter talked
to her multiple times a week but Stiles’ hadn’t spoken to or seen her for
months.
She was down for fall break along with Lydia and Allison. The whole pack had
gone out to dinner, but the seven of them- Scott, Liam, Stiles, Malia, Allison,
Kira and Lydia- had decided to stop by the local bookstore on the way back to
Scott’s apartment. Stiles had lost sight of Scott and Liam as soon as they’d
walked in. He didn’t want to think about all the indecent things they were
probably getting up to behind the bookshelves.
Stiles was browsing the mythology section when a hand landed on his shoulder
and nails dug into his shirt.
“Ow, fuck,” Stiles hissed, shrugging out of the grip and turning to find Malia
glaring at him. “What the fuck, Malia?” He frowned and rubbed at his shoulder.
He’d have bruising in the morning.
“My father, really Stiles?” She growled at him; honest to god  growled . Her
voice rasped with her coyote and Stiles stomach dropped. Oh. That.
“Um, well, yeah. Have you seen him?” He realized too late that that wasn’t the
right thing to say. She shoved him backwards; not hard enough to jostle the
bookshelf but enough that the wood bit into his back. Getting into his personal
space, she snarled at him.
They’d worked on the whole control thing but she’d never really lost her feral
tendencies. Especially when under strong emotions. You could take the were-
coyote out of the woods but you couldn’t take the woods out of the were-coyote.
Or something.
“I swear to god, Stiles. If you hurt him, they won’t find the body because
there will be nothing to find.” The threat was whispered, just loud enough for
Stiles to hear, but there was a heaviness to her tone that proved she meant
business.
“Shouldn’t this be the other way around? Why aren’t you more worried about him
fucking me over?” And he really needed to work on his brain to mouth filter.
His words sparked fire in her eyes. Fangs bared, she crowded him closer to the
shelf, one clawed hand against it to box him in while she pointed a finger in
his face.
“I know the rest of the pack will take care of you. I also know that despite
every fucking thing he’s done for you guys, Scott and Derek still don’t trust
him. And Liam is going to go along with whatever Scott says. They’d throw him
under the bus in a heartbeat.” Stiles conceded that she had a point. He was
pretty much the only member of the pack who was in constant contact with Peter.
“True,” Stiles said out loud. She huffed, but took a step back.
“One of you could have at least mentioned it instead of me finding out when he
kissed you on the cheek in the middle of dinner, but that’s a moot point. If
you break his heart, you’ll find out exactly how I survived all those years as
a coyote. I might even rip your dick off and feed it to you for good measure.”
She pointed her finger in his face again for emphasis before sashaying away. It
left Stiles’ slumped against the bookshelf, balls drawn up tight to his body in
fear and his hand cupping himself. Any browsing was forgotten in the wake of
Malia’s anger.
It took him a full minute to realize Malia had just given him the shovel talk.
~*~*~*~*~*~
“So, Malia wasn’t very happy last night,” Stiles greeted Peter when he opened
his door the next morning. Stiles pushed past him, not waiting for a reply.
There was an Egg Mcmuffin in the bag in his hand calling his name.
“Good morning, Stiles. Why don’t you come on in? ‘Why hello, Peter, thank you
for answering the door at seven in the morning.’” Peter mocked as he shut the
door.
“I don’t sound like that,” Stiles commented as he dug through the bag until he
found his food. “Anyways, she threatened my dick, dude. Told me she’d tear me
to pieces and everything.”
“Oh, you poor baby. Can’t even handle a good threat even though you like to
dish them out. And don’t call me dude.” Peter said. He picked up the sausage
biscuit Stiles had discarded on the counter in his search for food.
“Dude,” Stiles sassed, drawing the word out just to see the tick in Peter’s
jaw. “She backed me into a corner in the bookstore. I think she meant it, too.”
“Of course she meant it. Hales don’t threaten lightly.”
“She’s going to murder me!” Stiles yelled around a mouth full of food. Peter
raised his lip in disgust.
“What did she tell you, exactly?” Peter asked, wiping down his counter where
Stiles’ had spit on it.
“She told me she would make sure they couldn't find my body because there would
be nothing to find, that she’d show me how she survived all those years as a
coyote.” This time he resisted the urge to talk with his mouth full. Peter
looked like he wanted to murder Stiles already. It was best not to test the
waters.
“That’s my girl.”
“You’re proud aren’t you?” Stiles huffed, incredulous.
“Of course. She is my daughter.” Peter shrugged. He looked like the whole
conversation was boring him and he’d rather be doing anything else. Maybe golf,
if Peter even golfed.
“Can you not remind me?” Stiles whined. He waved his arms widely, scattering
crumbs across the counter and floor. Peter glared.
“It’s not like you didn’t know before hand,” Peter pointed out and Stiles
pinked. “You didn’t even think of it did you?”
“No?” Stiles hedged and Peter looked pained. “I got caught up in all of...”
Stiles gestured to Peter’s body. “That.” Peter raised an eyebrow and leaned
against the counter with his arms across his chest. It framed the V of skin
Stiles could see of his chest with more skin. It didn’t really help.
Was it hotter in the room or was it just him? Peter shifted his weight from one
foot to the other. It pulled the fabric of his shirt tighter across his chest
and Stiles could see the flex of his thighs in his jeans. Yep, just him.
“Look, a lot of shit was going on and I haven’t even talked to her since she
left in August.” Stiles tried to explain, but Peter didn’t look like he wasn't
buying it. So Stiles tried another tactic.
“You didn’t tell her either,” Stiles accused, hands still waving. He'd finished
his food, but the wrapper was still in his hand and it crinkled with each
motion. Peter had all but inhaled his biscuit while Stiles had been talking.
“It never came up.”
“It never came up?!” Stiles squeaked.
“How much coffee did you have this morning?” Peter asked as he ignored Stiles’
statement.
“Four cups, but that's not the point! You could have warned me!” Stiles
sputtered. Peter looked more irritated with every second that ticked by, eyes
glued to Stiles’ hands. Stiles shook the wrapper at him.
“You seem fine,” Peter told him. His voice was tight with an edge of growl.
Stiles elected to ignore it.
“But my dick-” Stiles started; Peter did growl at him this time. He snatched
the wrapper from his hand and tossed it in the general direction of the trash
can. Stiles’ breath left him in a rush when Peter palmed his cock through his
jeans.
“Your dick seems to be fine,” Peter snarled at him. Instead of being afraid and
his flight instincts kicking in, Stiles felt his cock harden. It was probably
time to admit to himself he was a little fucked up. Or a lot.
“So why don’t we make up for the fact that you woke me up at ass ‘o'clock so I
could listen to you rant,” Peter suggested against Stiles' lips. A whine
reached his ears and Stiles realized he was making the noise when Peter
squeezed him and it increased in pitch.
“Yeah, okay. Yeah. Let’s do that.”
After, Stiles decided blow jobs were the best way to make up for stuff now.
That was the only good way to make up for anything, honestly.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Stiles landed on his ass with an ooph. Peter raised an eyebrow from eight feet
away. Stiles hadn't seen him move from when he'd put Stiles on the ground. He
wasn't even breathing hard. The bastard.
Stiles grumbled as he pushed to his feet, dusting his shorts off as he found
his balance. His shirt was sticking to his back and chest with sweat. Dust
stuck to his arms in dirty, nasty patches and he'd sweated the gel out of his
hair so his bangs stuck to his forehead.
Peter waited a heartbeat for Stiles to get to his feet and then he charged.
Peter kept his speed just the other side of human. Slow enough that Stiles
managed to keep up, but fast enough that it proved challenging.
Stiles slid- stumbled- out of the way, bringing his arm to block Peter's punch.
He followed it with his own punch, but Peter spun gracefully out of the way. He
circled around Stiles before he could follow and swept his legs out from under
him.
Suddenly blinking up at Peter's smirking face, Stiles cursed werewolf reflexes
and then werewolves in general.
"Done yet?" Peter questioned. He didn't even look like he'd broken a sweat.
"Fuck you," Stiles panted. He pushed to his feet. Peter rolled his eyes, but he
was grinning.
"That an invitation?" Peter teased while they circled each other. Stiles would
never have the speed Peter did and the fighting skills would come later. Maybe.
For now he'd have to do the best he could. And his best involved landing on his
ass. A lot.
"If you keep putting me on my ass, I'll be too bruised for anything except
laying prone on the couch," Stiles whined as he rubbed his tender bottom.
He took his eyes off Peter for all of three seconds. When he looked up Peter
was right in front of him. Stiles hadn't heard him move.
"I can always kiss it better,” he husked into Stiles’ ear, lips brushing
against skin. He sucked in a sharp breath while he swallowed down a whimper.
They’d been stepping around the whole actually having intercourse for weeks now
and Stiles was nearing the end of his rope. There was only so much teasing he
could take.
“Promise?” Stiles grinned at the small growl his taunt earned him. Using the
small advantage he had while Peter was distracted with sliding his fingers up
Stiles' side, he managed to get in a jab and to sweep Peter’s feet out from
under him. He went down with a winded sound of surprise, Stiles coming down on
top of him before Peter could get back to his feet.
“I think I like this position better,” Stiles breathed against the sweat slick
skin of Peter’s neck. Hands gripped his hips, fingers digging into skin hard
enough to leave bruises. The sudden pain  forced a sharp breath out of him.
“I can work with this,” Peter growled up at him, looking all the world like the
wolf his was under his human skin. It wasn’t the reaction Stiles was looking
for but it would do.
“Don’t you think this has been enough practice for today?” Stiles wiggled on
top of Peter, making his intentions clear.
“Depends on what kind of practice you’re talking about,” Peter replied. His
hips rolled up into Stiles, distracting him long enough for him to roll them
over and press Stiles into the dirt.
“There’s are few things I’d much rather practice at home.” Peter pressed down
into the cradle of Stiles’ hips and Stiles shuddered at the contact. He was in
nothing but workout shorts and a tank while Peter had long ago abandoned his
shirt for nothing but skin and his own shorts. That left very little fabric
between them and next to nothing up to imagination. He could feel the hard line
of Peter’s cock against his thigh. His own cock was quick to respond to the
attention.
“I’m not going to be able to walk,” he warned when Peter rolled against him
again. Peter’s grin was all teeth.
“I’ll carry you.”
“The hell you will.” Stiles shoved at Peter’s shoulders until he moved. Peter
gave a parting roll of his hips and pushed off of him. Stiles took a few deep
breaths to regain his composure, willing his hard on away until he felt he
could get to his feet without hurting himself or having a huge tent in his
shorts.
Peter gave him a long look, eyeing the slight rise in the front of his shorts.
Stiles thought about flipping him off but Peter would probably take it
literally and he had no desire to fuck out in the middle of the woods.  
“Stay,” Stiles instructed, pointing at Peter as he started to walk towards the
Jeep. Peter raised an eyebrow and looked less than pleased.
“Funny,” he growled and started stalking towards Stiles. It took all of his
self control not to turn tail and run back to his car as fast as he could. The
look in Peter’s eyes was intense; Stiles swore his canines were growing more
pointed by the second. He would have joked that the big bad wolf wanted to eat
him up except Peter looked like he was actually going to take a bite out of
him. Stiles didn’t trust him not to, just for the fuck of it.
“No bitty,” Stiles said for emphasis. Peter laughed out loud, the sound echoing
in the clearing around them. Stiles eyed him, suspicious of what he might do,
but Peter only walked towards him and slid an arm around his waist. The same
toothy grin was still stretching his lips.
“I’ll only bite if you ask me to,” Peter told him. The look on his face didn’t
do much to reassure Stiles.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Peter tugged Stiles close as soon as the apartment door clicked shut behind
him. Stiles gasped into the kiss as hands slid under his shirt to palm across
his lower back. His cock pressed against Peter’s hip, hardening as Peter’s
hands roamed his body. A growl vibrated through Stiles, teeth sinking into his
bottom lip. His cock twitched in need until it tented the front of his shorts.
Stiles’ shirt fell to the floor first, followed by Peter’s within moments.
There was no way Stiles was going to be the only one naked. He was going to
make damn sure of that. He shoved at Peter’s pants until they slid down his
hips and off along with his underwear.
As soon as they hit the floor, Peter made a disgusted face and pulled away from
Stiles’ lips. Stiles trailed after him with his eyes closed to try and kiss
Peter again. Peter pushed him away at arm's length and Stiles opened his eyes
with a disappointed whimper.
“Shower,” Peter explained before Stiles could ask what was wrong. “We are not
fucking when we smell like this.”
Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes. “We were out there in 90 degree weather for
like two hours. What did you think we were going to smell like?”
Peter gave him an unamused look and turned on his heel, heading towards the
bathroom. Stiles didn’t move as he watched Peter walk across the room,
completely bare assed. Now that was a sight he could live with.
Peter paused at the door to the hallway so he could raise an eyebrow at him.
“Are you coming or am I going to be enjoying the shower by myself?”
Stiles stuttered a response and tripped over his shoes in his haste to follow.
He left his shoes in the living room. His shorts in the hallway and underwear
in the bedroom. The water came on with a hiss of the pipes as Peter turned the
knob.  It wasn’t long before the room was filled with steam as they stepped
under it.
Stiles wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He’d had sex before but this
was...different. Never had his heart hammered in his chest so hard, nor had
anxiety made his throat tight. Something about being with Peter felt different,
was starting to feel too real. He’d never stopped to give what they were doing
a name but it all felt  right  in a way no other relationship had. He wasn’t
ready to admit that he might be falling in love with Peter Hale of all people,
except that’s exactly what it felt like.
“I know you’ve seen a naked man before,” Peter’s voice husked in his ear when
Stiles hadn’t moved from his position at the back of the shower. “Or am I just
that impressive.”
A breathy ‘yeah’ escaped Stiles before he could reign it in. He could see
Peter’s ego grow at the answer. He couldn’t take it back. It didn’t hurt that
it was true when he was being honest with himself.
“I’m never living that down am I?” Stiles asked when he finally looked up from
where his eyes had been glued to Peter’s ‘impressive’ body. White teeth flashed
in his vision and a nose nudged against his. Chapped lips brushed across his. A
sigh slid past his lips as Stiles stepped into Peter’s body, pressing skin
against skin. Water was slick between them and Stiles could feel the hard
length of Peter’s cock pressing into his hip.
“Is that a flashlight or are you just happy to see me?” He couldn’t resist the
joke. Arms slid around his waist, drawing him even closer, and Peter snorted
loudly in his ear.
“Are you ever serious about anything?”
“Death and finals.” Stiles grinned. He leaned up and kissed Peter, cutting off
any response that Peter might have made. Teeth nipped at his lips and a growl
vibrated through him. Kissing was the quickest way to distracted Peter from
anything, except training.
It worked like a dream now. There was no more talking as Peter slid his hands
down Stiles’ body and cupped him under his ass so he could lift him off the
floor of the shower. Stiles’ arms went around Peter’s neck, fingers tangling in
his hair as the kiss deepened. A tongue slid into his mouth to swipe over his
teeth and across the roof of his mouth.
His cock was hard between them, water slicking their skin so they slid against
each other with ease. Stiles pulled back out of the kiss with a sharp gasp that
tapered into a laugh when Peter shoved him against the shower wall.
“Anything to get out of doing the work, huh?” Stiles teased as he grinned up at
Peter. Their foreheads rested against each other and Siles traced his fingers
down one stubbled cheek.
“I’m still holding you up,” Peter shot back. He ran his hands down Stiles legs
and lifted them until his hips were cradled between Stiles’ thighs. It lined
their cocks up and Stiles rocked up into it. His breath stuttered out against
Peter’s lips as they rocked against each other, slow and easy.
“The wall is doing most of the work,” Stiles managed to get out between small
gasps. Peter didn’t seem deterred in the slightest. He braced himself with one
arm beside Stiles and the other supporting him from under his thighs.
“I’m going to have to shut you up, aren’t I?” Peter growled as he rocked hard
against Stiles. Their cocks slid together, forcing a resulting grown from both
of them.
"The only way you'll ever shut me up is a gag," Stiles gasped out.
"There's an idea," Peter growled. He hitched Stiles higher up the wall until
Stiles' knees were up against Peter's ribs. One hand slid around Stiles' thigh
to palm his cock. Peter gripped him tight, almost too tight, but it sent bolts
of pleasure through his body. He stroked Stiles hard and fast, working a groan
past his lips.
"But I do like the noises you make for me," Peter teased, hands working over
Stiles' skin and drawing more of said noises out if him. "I bet I could make
you scream."
"Do you mean in an I'm-going-to-eat-you-alive kind of way or an I'm-fucking-
you-through-the-mattress kind of way?" Stiles gasped out, his usual cocky grin
spread across his face even as Peter's cock slid slick against his thigh and
his hands worked magic over his length.
"Both," Peter replied without hesitation. He shifted his hips and lifted Stiles
higher at the same time so his cock slid back against Stiles' perineum and
balls. A shocked gasped stuttered past Stiles' lips at the feel of it.
Everything was hot and slick, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach.
Water ran down them in rivulets, adding to the slickness between them.
Peter's lips were hot against the skin of his neck, cock sliding into the cleft
of his ass. The head pressed against his hole, teasing and insistent. It caught
on his rim, tugging at his skin and forcing a strained noise past his lips.
Everything was moving fast, not that Stiles minded. They'd already blown past
the first three bases and were sliding into home now. Fingers inched up the
back of his thigh to slid into the cleft of his ass and tease against his hole.
"Shit," Stiles hissed out between his teeth as Peter worked a finger in. It was
only to the first knuckle, but without lube it dragged and burned in the best
way.
"Needy," Peter whispered when Stiles' hips stuttered back into his hand.
"Tease," Stiles shot back, unabashed. Peter's grin was fereal. Before it might
have been menacing, but Stiles trusted Peter. More than he probably should.
Stiles clutched at broad shoulders, clinging to Peter with hands and legs while
he was slowly worked open. Peter had learned that Stiles liked the burn, the
drag of skin on skin. He always made sure to use it to his advantage and
tonight was no different.
"Keep it up and I'll come before we ever make it to the bed," Stiles gasped
out. Peter's palm twisted over the head of his cock and Stiles thrust up into
it.
"The shower's fine with me," Peter replied. He scraped his teeth down Stiles
jaw, leaving a red line in his wake.
"Bed." He aimed for commanding but it came high and his breath caught in the
middle. Peter's fingers tightened around his cock, thumb pressing against the
head. Pre-come beaded at the tip and Peter smeared it down his length.
"Well, we've already started here," Peter coaxed but Stiles was having none of
it. Even with a hand on his cock and a finger half up his ass, that huge bed of
Peter's was calling his name.
"Bed," Stiles repeated. "It's what it's there for."
Peter pulled back and raised an eyebrow at him. Stiles gave him the cockiest
grin he could manage. Peter's eyebrow climbed higher a moment before he burst
out laughing.
He buried his face against Stiles' neck, muffling his chuckles.
"Are you seriously laughing at me while you're fingering me?" Stiles huffed.
Peter continued to chuckle for a moment longer. He pulled back and caught
Stiles lips in a rough kiss. Fingers slipped out of Stiles' body, leaving him
empty. He whined at the lose as Peter lifted him off the wall.
"You said you wanted a bed, so a bed you shall have," Peter muttered into the
kiss. Stiles couldn't find it in him to answer as he pressed against the slick
skin of Peter's stomach and clung to his shoulders.
Somehow, Peter managed to get them out of the shower and into the bedroom
without breaking the kiss, completely forgetting that the reason they’d even
gotten in the shower in the first place. Muscles bunched under Stiles' hands as
Peter kept him aloft and then he was falling with a startled noise.
He bounced on the bed with a glare, but Peter kissed the sarcastic comment out
of his mouth. Their hips slid together as Peter crawled on top of him. Stiles
pulled his legs up to thrust up against him with a moan. Fingers twisted in
Peter's hair, hauling him as close as Stiles could get him.
"Come on," Stiles begged, grinding up against Peter's cock, "I've waited long
enough."
"I'm going to have to teach you patience," Peter kissed into the skin of
Stiles' chest.
"Later, right now we're having sex." Stiles could feel Peter roll his eyes even
if he couldn't see it, but Peter didn't argue.
He leaned over to grab a condom and a bottle of lube off the end table, using
the movement as an opportunity to roll his hips against Stiles'. Stiles arched
into him, a moan rumbling in the back of his throat and cock twitching.
Peter smirked down at him as he repeated the movement, but much slower this
time. His cock slid against Stiles', pre-come easing the way. Fingers dug into
his shoulder and Stiles' head fell back against the pillow with a soft thump.
"You're gorgeous," Peter breathed against his neck, lips dragging over Stiles'
pulse point as it jumped against his skin. He trailed his fingers down Stiles'
side to grip his thigh and push his leg up.
"You already have me out of my pants," Stiles chuckled, "No need for
compliments." He curled his fingers in Peter's hair, relaxing back into the
mattress and letting Peter take the lead. His wet hair stuck to his forehead
and the sheets were soaked through but Stiles didn't care. Peter was dragging
his lips down his chest and over his stomach.
"It doesn't make it any less true," Peter replied, teeth nipping at the small
rise of Stiles’ stomach. It earned him a squirm and a giggle. So he did it
again, harder this time. Stiles swatted the back of his head, hips wiggling as
he tried to get away.
Grinning, Peter pinned him to the bed with one hand on his hip and the other
pressing his leg against his chest. Stiles shoved at his shoulders, but Peter
didn’t budge an inch. Lips dragged up Stiles' side and back down, teeth nipping
at his hip bones while Peter played his fingers up the other side. A giggle
bubbled out of Stiles against his will and turned into a full blown laugh when
Peter mouthed in earnest at the skin of his side.
“I hate you so much,” Stiles gasped out between laughter and hitching breaths.
He could feel Peter’s smile against him, giving him one last nip before
returning to what Stiles felt were more important matters. Specifically, how
hard his dick was.  
“I’ll have to remember that,” Peter said, matter of fact, as he pressed his
lips to the head of Stiles’ cock.
“I will inject you with wolfsbane,” Stiles grit out. Peter ignored the threat.
Water dripped from his hair onto Stiles’ stomach, and his muscles jumped at the
contact, hips twitching up into the warmth of Peter’s mouth.
“You take too long,” Stiles groused as Peter trailed his lips down the side of
his cock. Peter leveled him with an unamused look.
“Do you want me to fuck you or not?” Stiles nodded hard enough to give himself
whiplash.
“Then be patient.” Stiles whined but let his head fall back against the pillow
with a soft thump. Peter went back to teasing his mouth over Stiles’ cock,
grazing his lips over the head and flicking his tongue out to lick a drop of
pre come off of him. Stiles shuddered in his grasp, biting his lip to keep from
begging Peter to just get on with it.
He was so caught up in Peter  not  sucking his cock that he missed the lube
opening and Peter slicking his fingers up. Just as Peter wrapped his lips
around the head of his aching cock, a finger slid smoothly in.
Stiles cried out, back arching up off the bed and hands pulling hard at Peter’s
hair. Peter hummed in what was probably amusement as Stiles shuddered under him
but Stiles couldn’t focus on one sensation let alone be angry at Peter for
laughing at him.
Peter’s finger dragged along his walls, pushing in deep only to retreat and
press in further. Peter took his time, licking around the base of Stiles cock
and pressing his thumb along Stiles’ rim. By the time he pressed in a second
finger, Stiles was whining out loud for it. His hips pressed down, trying to
find more stretch, more pressure, more of everything.
The muscles in his legs trembled as he thrust, mouth open and gasping. Peter
kissed at his thighs, leaving angry red marks from his beard and teeth in his
wake. Marking him. Making Stiles his.
“Jesus,” Stiles breathed when Peter pressed in a third finger, the stretch just
that right side of too much. He could only imagine what Peter’s cock would feel
like.
“Good?” Peter murmured against his stomach where he’d been sucking a bruise
beside his belly button. He thrust his fingers deep, stretching them apart and
pressing up against Stiles’ prostate.
“Yes,” Stiles all but screamed, shuddering through the pleasure. Peter worked
him open even more, his cock hard against Stiles’ leg. If he’d had the presence
of mind, Stiles would have reached out to return the pleasure he was feeling,
but he was so strung out, sexual tension having built for so long, that he
couldn’t think past ‘fuck me now.’
“I’m good,” he slurred at last, tugging at Peter and licking his dry lips. He
wanted- needed-this and he’d waited long enough, damn it.
Peter nodded without a word. They were past sarcastic one liners and teasing.
Peter pulled his fingers free, leaving Stiles feeling empty, hole clenching
around nothing. He leaned up on his elbows to watch Peter slid the condom on
and moaned at the sight of it.
It wasn’t like Peter’s cock had changed in the last ten minutes but the thought
of Peter finally inside him tightened his stomach and made his cock jump. Peter
just smirked at him when Stiles made grabby hands at him, spreading his things
wide and pulling his knees up. He angled his hips, inviting and open. Peter’s
expression was a mix of softness and love when he leaned in to kiss Stiles
silly.
The head of his cock pressed against Stiles’ slick hole, almost teasing, and
then it was sliding in. Stiles gasped against Peter’s lips and his hands
gripping tight at Peter’s arms. His body stretched to accommodate, cock
twitching and leaking against Peter’s stomach.
Peter bottomed out with a growl and his forehead fell against Stiles sternum.
Each breath fanned the hair on the top of Peter’s head, Stiles carding his
fingers through the damp tresses.
“Move,” Stiles insisted. He pressed his hips forwards, taking Peter even deeper
and gaining a moan from him. Pushing up onto his knees, Peter settled Stiles in
his lap, large hands gripping his hips tight.
“Be careful what you wish for,” Peter warned before he pulled out slow and
thrust back in. Stiles arched off the bed, having to grab at the damp sheets
for something to hold onto. Peter started a fast pace, hips snapping forward
hard enough to bruise. Stiles writhed under him and wrapped a hand around his
cock. He pulled at his length in time with Peter’s thrusts, gasping every time
the head slid over his prostate.
He could feel his orgasam building, balls tightening and pleasure fluttering
low in his belly. He didn’t have the longest staying time to begin with and
with how long they’d built up to this, it was a wonder he was still hard at
all.
Peter did him in, by leaning forward to pull a nipple between his lips, thrusts
not even stuttering. Stiles came with a sharp cry, muscles tightening around
Peter’s cock. Peter thrust through his orgasam, panting against Stiles skin.
Stiles tangled his fingers in Peter’s hair, nails scratching at his scalp.
“Come on,” he encouraged, voice hoarse from all the noise he’d made. Peter
muffled a noise of pleasure against his neck and came with a stuttering thrust.
Collapsing on his elbows, Peter slid out of Stiles with a grunt. Stiles
grimaced with a wiggle of his hips. Even through the afterglow of amazing sex,
he could feel the come drying on his skin. Cleaning up was his first priority
but Peter had settled himself on top of Stiles and seem content to card his
fingers through Stiles’ hair and mouth kisses against his neck.
He figured it wouldn’t be too much trouble to just rest for a few minutes. He
never made it to the bathroom before falling asleep while Peter murmured
against his skin.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Stiles woke up on the couch, Peter pressed against his back and a blanket
pulled over them. He had no memory of how they gotten there. There was no trace
of the previous night on his body except for a few bruises and a dull ache. It
seemed Peter had been a gentleman, cleaning Stiles up and tucking him in, yet
Stiles remembered none of it.
Stiles laid there, pressed skin to skin against Peter Hale and just drank in
his warmth. A year ago he would have never dreamed of this. Hell, three months
ago he hadn't thought they would reach this point. But here they were.
Stiles still ached from the stretch of Peter’s cock, carried his marks on his
skin and he'd bet he smelled like him as well. He had been thoroughly claimed
and couldn't be happier.
He planned to just bask in the glow of it all, but his bladder had other plans.
Slipping out of a sleeping werewolf's arms wasn't a simple task, but Stiles
managed it without much fuss. He even tucked a pillow under Peter's arm for
good measure.
Peter woke to Stiles strutting around his apartment in nothing but one of his
old sweaters and watering the plants. When asked, Stiles' response consisted of
a shrug and a shake of his hips. Peter didn’t ask.
Sometimes it was easier not to question Stiles.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     First off, I wanted to thank everyone who commented on the last
     chapter! I'm so happy you guys stuck around and your support means
     everything. Every comment and kudo means the world to me. Thank you
     so, so much!
     Self- betaed. So I apologize for any misstates.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Everything hurt, from the top of Stiles’ head to his toenails. Midterms had
exhausted him, but finals had all but killed him. His last final had been today
and while he felt pretty confident about it- all of them- it was still hell.
He’d never studied for anything so much in his life, but when their was a
scholarship on the line, one worked one’s ass off. Literally.
Stiles stormed into Peter's apartment without his usual huffing, dropped his
backpack on the floor and promptly planted himself in Peter's lap. Peter didn’t
protest, just marked his place in his book and set it aside.
"I’m going to die now, thanks." The words were muffled against Peter’s chest
where Stiles had curled his long limbs all into a ball that fit across Peter’s
thighs. Arms settles around him, keeping him from falling off Peter’s lap.
Stiles settled in, fully intending not to move for at least the next five
hours.
"What do you think I would tell your dad?” Peter mused. “‘I’m sorry, sir, but
your son died in my lap directly after acing his finals.’ Yeah, I think that
will go over well.”
"Okay, maybe I won’t die, just hibernate, but I feel like death warmed over.”
He rubbed his face against Peter as he said it. Peter smelled like expensive
shampoo and the forest. He must have gone for a run earlier in the day. It was
a combination that was starting to smell like home.
Stiles didn’t want to think how he might smell to Peter. He had skipped
showering the night before in favor of studying for his US History final today
and he’d been so stressed out all week, anytime he’d been around a werewolf, be
it Scott or Peter, they’d wrinkled their nose in disgust at him.
“Today was your last test, right?” Peter asked as he carded his fingers through
Stiles’ hair, scratching at his scalp. Stiles groaned in appreciation. “Well,
how about tomorrow, after you get your A plus grades in, why don’t we go do
something?”
Stiles' change in attitude was instant. He perked up, eyes sparkling as he
looked at Peter.
"Does this adventure involve food? Because I demand curly fries after this
week."
"Demand noted," Peter answered with a nod. Stiles beamed at him, sitting up
completely and pressing a quick kiss to Peter’s lips before falling back
against his chest, face pressed into his neck.
“I think I’m going to hibernate, for real,” Stiles muttered, absented-minded,
as he pressed closer to Peter. He snuggled in, arms wrapped around Peter’s
middle, legs on either side of his thighs.
“On my lap?” Peter snorted when it became clear Stiles had no intentions of
moving any time soon.
“It’s a good lap,” was the response. Stiles shifted, settling in with intent
when  Who Let the Dogs Out  began playing at full volume. Stiles fumbled to
pull his phone out of his pants and would have fell on the floor if Peter
hadn’t wrapped an arm around his middle.
“Hey, Scotty,” Stiles answered as he extracted himself from Peter’s lap.
“Liam’s gone,” came the breathless answer.
“Gone how? Like, gone to the store or-” Stiles started but Scott cut him off.
“Don’t joke right now, Stiles. He said he had something to show me, something
he found in the woods, and I was supposed to pick him up after school, but he
wasn’t there. When I asked Mason, he said he hadn’t seen him since before
lunch. And no one has seen him in the last five hours and I'm freaking out,
Stiles.” Scott was panicked, more panicked than Stiles had heard him since they
had started this werewolf adventure together.
"Please, Stiles, I think someone took him. I've called and called but there's
no answer. He doesn't do stuff like this." The 'only you do that kind of shit'
went unsaid.
"Okay, okay," Stiles soothed. "Peter and I will be over there as quick as we
can. Have you called the rest of the pack?"
"No, not yet. I- you're the first person I called.” Stiles was always the first
person Scott called when their was an emergency. Always had been, always would
be.
"Okay, I'll call them. Just wait at your house and please don't do anything
stupid."
"That's your area of expertise. Thank you, Stiles."
"I will always have your back, Scotty. Even in a search for your angry baby
werewolf." Stiles hung up on Scott’s snort of laughter. Peter was already
waiting at the door when Stiles turned towards him.
 "Your's or mine?" Peter asked while he held open the door. Stiles brushed past
him, his shoulder touching Peter's chest in deliberate contact.
"Your's, and you're driving. I need to rally the troops."
"So I heard. Let's go find the angry baby werewolf."
~*~*~*~
Scott was pacing the length of his living room when they got there with Mason
watching from the couch.
“Okay, everyone is on their way. Derek is still out of town visiting Cora but
Braden has been babysitting his apartment, so she's here to help. Do you have
any clues or did he just go poof?” Stiles questioned when he walked in. He sat
down on the couch beside Mason, pulling his laptop out of his bag.
“He said he wanted some air before we went to eat lunch. I figured that might
be code for making out with Scott while he had time. He said you guys hadn't
spent much time together with finals and all. But he never showed up for lunch,
or the rest of his classes.” Mason wrung his hands, looking between the three
of them as he spoke. It was an easy guess that he was just as freaked out as
Scott was, probably more. Mason had known- been best friends with- Liam for
longer than Scott and Stiles had known them.
“Then Scott called and when I couldn't get a hold of him, I went looking for
him. I looked behind the gym where he usually likes to meet Scott but-”
“The gym? Really? Isn't that - Sorry. Sorry. Go on, Mason.” Stiles stopped at
Scott's glare, holding his hands up in surrender. It was a little too cliched
for Stiles’ tastes, but he knew Scott and Liam took what time they could get
together when they could. Between school and work for the both of them, that
left little time for the two of them to be alone.
Mason looked sceptical, but continued, “As I was saying, when I got there all I
found was blood splatter and these.” He laid a feather and what appeared to be
a long black talon on the coffee table. Scott’s nose wrinkled and Peter’s lips
pulled back in a silent snarl.
“Harpies,” Peter growled. He rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand, like
he was trying to rub out a bad smell. “I would know that stench anywhere.”
“What would harpies be doing in Beacon Hills?” Stiles inquired, picking up the
feather and twisting it between his fingers. “And why would they take Liam?”
“Some tribes are nomadic; they were either passing through or drawn by the ley
lines and nemeton. They’re peaceful, unless you attack or steal something of
theirs. You said on the phone Liam said he had something to show you, something
he’d found?” Peter looked to Scott, nobody questioning that he’d listened in on
Scott’s phone call with Stiles.
“Yeah, but he didn’t say what.” Scott dropped onto the couch beside Stiles,
looking over his shoulder as he pulled out his laptop and booted it up.
“It says here that they like mountainous areas, and sometimes even caves,”
Stiles read after a moment of typing. “That sound right, Peter?” He glanced up
from his reading, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. It was an old nervous habit
he never could break.
Peter nodded. “Yeah, sounds close enough, though it does depend on the tribe.
Some like open valleys and others prefer the shadows of woods and caves.”
Stiles nodded as he typed. They’d amassed a large archive of information about
many different creatures over the years. Scans of books, articles, first hand
accounts, essays, anything they held even the smallest amount of information
went into their documents. They never knew what they would be facing nor what
information they might need on it.
“Okay, found something,” he muttered after a moment of searching. “It says
they’re susceptible to fire but are too difficult to take down without it. “
“Now you’ll have a chance to try out that molotov recipe of yours. Maybe it’ll
work out a bit better for you this time,” Peter said. Scott choked on his own
air while Mason just looked generally confused. Stiles raised an eyebrow and
grinned.
“It worked great, actually. Did it’s job perfectly. Someone just had no
intentions of staying dead,” Stiles responded with a shrug of his shoulder. “My
molotov was not in error, sir.”
“Do I want to know?” Mason asked, looking between the three of them. Scott was
still trying to compose himself, while Peter was full on smirking at Stiles
now. “Is this some weird kind of foreplay I should know about?” His question
only sent Scott into coughing fit.
“After Scott got bitten, Peter chased us around town and tried to date Scott’s
mom, all before I set him on fire and Derek stole his alpha powers,” Stiles
explained.
“And now you’re dating?”
Stiles nodded without bothering to look up from his computer.
“Complicated,” Mason muttered as if that was a good enough description of
Stiles’ and Peter’s relationship for him.
“Can we please stop talking about this?” Scott asked from where he’d buried his
face in his hands.
“It’s okay, buddy,” Stiles reassured him with a pat on the back, “I won’t give
you the gritty or gorey details.”
“Stiles!” Scott barked. Peter made a noise caught between a laugh and a cough.
When Stiles looked up at him, his eyes were sparkling in amusement and a grin
was stretching across his face. Stiles’ responding smile came without thought.
He spent so much time grinning at Peter these days that it was an automatic
response.
“Okay, okay, no more about my love life.” Scott glared at him. “Peter, if there
any way to track them? By scent of something?”
“Yeah, if we get close enough to them. It would be easier if we shifted, too.”
“How about tracking them from the school?” Stiles asked. He closed his laptop;
they already had all the information they would need from there. All that was
left to it was waiting for the rest of the pack and tracking down Liam.
“They fly, Stiles, with wings. They are half bird,” Peter drawled. Stiles
rolled his eyes and stood.
“I realise that, thank you, but the question still remains.”
“We can try,” Peter shrugged. He’d already lost the argument anyways. There was
never any arguing with Stiles, and he knew it.
Stiles nodded. “Okay, now that we have, like half a plan, let’s do this. Don’t
worry, Scotty. We’ll find him.” Stiles squeezed Scott’s shoulder, smiling at
him in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. Scott smiled back, but it didn’t
reach his eyes.
~*~*~*~
It took four hours and a lot of searching, but they finally found where the
harpies had taken Liam. They’d nested in a cave system in the far south of the
reserve. They didn’t appreciate it when someone stole their eggs. Who would
have thought?
There wasn’t much of a fight. It was more an argument than anything. Scott
promised no one would come near their nests until the eggs hatched and the
harpies promised to leave as soon as the children were old enough. Stiles and
Peter were back in Peter’s apartment before midnight and no one was gravely
injured, so Stiles called it a win.
Liam was shaken, with a few scratches- he hadn’t gone calmly- and hurt pride,
but no worse for wear. He’d clung to Scott all the drive home and Stiles had a
pretty good idea of what was currently going on in Scott’s apartment. Not that
he wanted to think about it, but his brain often ran off without his input.
“What are you thinking about?” Peter questioned, suspicious, as he walked out
of the bathroom with a towel over his head. Stiles took a moment to appreciate
the sight of him, shirtless and in baggy sweats, before answering.
“Scott and Liam,” Stiles responded. Peter raised an eyebrow.
“Is that why you smell like horny teenager even though you just showered?”
Peter asked, tone like he didn’t want to but couldn’t help himself.
“I always smell like horny teenager, at least according to you, and a little,
yeah.“
“How does that not wig you out?” Peter climbed into bed, sliding under the
covers with more grace than Stiles would ever manage. “It’s your best friend
and his high school boyfriend.”
“He’s only three years younger than me, that’s what should really bother you.”
Peter opened his mouth to respond, but closed it with a snap.
“Thank you for that very enlightening information,” Peter huffed. “Now, if you
don’t mind, I’d like to erase those images from my mind.” He pulled Stiles
close, arm curving around his waist and his hand sliding under Stiles’ sleep
shirt.
“I don’t mind at all,” Stiles replied. He pressed his body against Peter’s,
from chest to hip. His cock jumped as Peter’s hand dipped below the waistband
of his underwear. Pushing at Peter’s shoulders, he rolled them over until
Stiles was laying on top of him.
Peter smirked up at him, looking like the cat that ate the canary as he slid
his other hand under the back of Stiles’ shirt, rucking it up until Stiles had
no choice but to raise his arms so Peter could take it off.
“How do I always end up naked in your bed?” Stiles asked after Peter had tossed
his shirt to the floor and wiggled him out of his underwear.
“Don’t you like being naked in my bed?” Peter smoothed his hands up Stiles’s
sides until he could thumb at his nipples. Stiles shuddered and let his head
loll back until his neck was exposed.
“Clearly,” Stiles groaned while he pushed his chest into Peter’s hands and
rocked down against him. His cock was aching, pressed against the cotton of
Peter’s sweat pants and leaving a wet spot.
“Then there isn’t a problem,” Peter mused. He leaned up to lick a stripe from
Stiles collarbone to his ear, nibbling on the lobe.
“What if I wanted to just sleep?” That clearly wasn’t the case right then, as
he was grinding against Peter’s own hard on, but something in Stiles wanted to
know the answer.
“Stiles, if you ever don’t want to do something we start, you just need to say
so. I’m not so cold hearted that I won’t listen when you tell me no.” Peter
pulled back, hands stilling Stiles’ hips.
“I know, I know, it just kind of came out. I know you would stop if I asked,
but I liked hearing you say it.” Peter didn’t seem convinced so Stiles leaned
down and kissed him. He took his time exploring Peter’s mouth, tongue sliding
over his teeth and across the roof of his mouth. Stiles pulled back and pressed
a kiss to the tip of his nose. Peter’s brow furrowed.
“I promise that if I’m ever not in the mood, or don’t like something I will
tell you. Scouts honor. Now can we get back to me sucking your dick?” Peter
scoffed, but the smile he gave Stiles was fond.
“We’ll talk about this in depth later, but, by all means, commence sucking.”
Peter let Stiles go with a pat on the ass and a nip on his bottom lip. It
didn’t take much to get Peter out of his pants and then Stiles was nuzzling at
his thigh. He sucked a bruise into the skin there, just to feel the way Peter
groaned and tugged at his hair.
Licking and biting his way back up to Peter’s hip, Stiles reached up to wrap a
hand around Peter’s cock. Peter’s hips came up off the bed, fingers insistent
in Stiles’ hair. Stiles moaned at the feel of it; they’d learned early on that
Stiles loved the feel of hands in his hair, tugging and scratching at his
scalp. He’d almost came in his pants the first time Peter had done it and it
was no different this time.
His cock ached with every pull, the pleasure building in his belly doubled by
the feel of Peter’s cock in his hand. If he didn’t suck him off soon, Stiles
would be too much of a quivering mess to do much of anything and Peter knew it.
“Fuck,” Stiles whined. His face pressed against Peter’s hip, hot breath fanning
across the base of Peter’s cock while Stiles rutted against the mattress.
“Forget what you were doing?” Peter’s voice was strained- teasing; he gave
Stiles’ hair a meaningful tug. Stiles all but writhed.
“Keep doing that and I will.” Peter’s chuckle shook Stiles, but he slid his
hands from Stiles’ hair to cup his face. He lifted Stiles from the dip of his
hip so he could look down the length of his body at him. A thumb teased across
Stiles’ lips and pressed into the hot cavern of his mouth. Without thought,
Stiles started to lick and suck at the pad of Peter’s finger.
“God, look at you,” Peter breathed. “I bet you’d come just riding my fingers
while I play with your hair.” He gave a tug to the hair at the nape of Stiles’
neck for emphasis. Stiles whimpered in response and nipped hard at Peter’s
thumb. His eyes were hooded, color high on his cheeks with his bangs sticking
to his sweaty forehead.
“You want that?” Stiles nodded. “Fuck, okay, but first I think you said
something about a blow job.” Peter wrapped his hand over Stiles’ on his cock
and pressed it against Stiles’ lips beside his thumb. Stiles’ mouth fell open
with a groan. With Peter’s thumb pulling at his bottom lip, Stiles swiped his
tongue across the head of Peter’s cock.
Peter’s hand fell away while the other cupped Stiles’ jaw, dark eyes watching
as Stiles wrapped lips around him. Stiles blinked open his eyes to watch
Peter’s face as he sank down slow, tongue sliding along the underside as he
went. He bottomed out with Peter’s cock pushing against the back of his throat.
Peter’s breath hitched, fingers rubbing at Stiles’ throat as it worked around
his cock.
Sucking air in through his nose, Stiles pulled back to suck at the tip of
Peter’s cock. The deep throating was recent for Stiles and he still hadn’t
quite gotten the hang of it, but he had come to enjoy it. The feel of Peter’s
cock pushing at the back of his throat, his chest tightening as he slowly loses
oxygen, the look of awe and pride on Peter’s face as he does it, all of it made
his cock leak and his balls ache.
It took a moment for him to find his rhythm, but once he did, he fell into it
with relish. He could feel saliva sliding down his chin, Peter’s cock pushing
against the back of his throat with each downward stroke, taking him in as far
as he could. Hands cupped his jaw and Stiles had to resist the urge to nuzzle.
He’d always liked Peter’s hands and liked them even more now that he knew what
they were capable of in the bedroom. Or any other room for that matter.
Peter growled as his hips thrust up into Stiles’ mouth, driving his cock deeper
until Stiles had no choice but to swallow around it. His eyes watered, but he
didn’t pull back. He could feel Peter shaking under his hands; his own cock
heavy and leaking between his thighs. Rough hands cupped his face, holding him
still so Peter could use his mouth, thrusting up into wet heat with ever
increasing speed. Stiles licked and sucked the best he could, but it was easier
to just let Peter take when he got like this and Stiles had no problems with
that.
“Fuck.” Peter drew the word out, hips stuttering as he lost his rhythm. He was
close; Stiles knew the signs by now. Pinning Peter’s hips as best he could,
Stiles sucked hard at the head of Peter’s cock, earning a shout. When the first
spurt hit his tongue, Stiles pressed down until Peter was coming down the back
of his throat. He didn’t think he would ever get used to the taste.
Stiles pulled back and whipped his mouth with the back of his hand. Peter was
boneless against the sheets; his sweat slicked chest heaved with each breath.
Stiles crawled up his body to sprawl on top of him. Hands came up to grip his
sides, fingers tracing across his ribs.
"I believe I made you a promise," Peter told him, breathless. Stiles' cock
twitched hard at the mention of what Peter had described earlier. He could feel
Peter smirk into his hair when he felt Stiles' reaction against his hip.
"Sit up," Peter instructed. Stiles pushed up onto his knees, taking his weight
off of Peter in the process. Peter scooted up until he was sitting with his
back pressed against the headboard. He grinned at Stiles and patted his lap.
Stiles would never admit to scrambling to do so, but Peter would say other
wise. Stiles settled against him, cock pressing against the warm skin of his
belly. Fingers carded through his hair, tugging at the ends.
Stiles moaned as his head went back with the motion. He thrust up against Peter
and shuddered at the feel of it. His cock ached, leaving a trail of pre-come
across Peter's skin. One hand slid down Stiles' stomach until it gripped his
hip. Using that hold, Peter rocked Stiles against him, drawing a long moan from
his parted lips.
"Beautiful," Peter told him as he watched Stiles, back arched with his head
tugged back in Peter's grasp. His eyes were half lidded and kiss bitten lips
parted on small sounds of pleasure.
"Flatterer, " Stiles accused without actually denying anything. The grin Stiles
opened his eyes too was feral, white teeth shining in the dimness of the room.
Fingers dug into his hip with a bruising grip and Stiles shook under that hold.
"We need lube," Peter observed with a quick squeeze to Stiles' ass.
"Might wanna get that, then," Stiles told him. Peter tugged at his hair in
rebuke.
"My hands are full right now," Peter growled. His nails scraped across Stiles'
scalp and finger dipped into the cleft of his ass. The feel sent a shiver down
his spine.
"Jerk," Stiles snarked without much heat.
"Bitch," Peter shot right back. Stiles rolled his eyes but leaned over to fetch
the lube from the night stand anyways. Arguing with Peter when he had that
gleam in his eyes was meaningless.
 He sat the bottle on the bed instead of the offered hand just to annoy him.
Peter pulled hard at his hair for it, but Stiles thought it was worth it. His
cock pressed against Peter’s stomach, pre-come leaveing a sticky trial acorss
his skin. Peter opened the lube one handed and just upended the bottle over the
cleft of Stiles’ ass.
Stiles gasped as cold liquid slid down his skin and into more sensitive areas.
He glared at Peter, opening his mouth with every intention of smarting off, but
Peter’s fingers pressed against his hole before he could. His words stuck in
his throat and all he could manage was a small whine.
“Something you were going to say, Stiles?” Peter asked him, expression
innocent. All Stiles could manage was a soft gasp as two fingers sank into his
body. The stretch burned but he didn’t mind. Actually, he tended to enjoy it a
bit more rough, pain with his pleasure.
Peter grinned up at him, way too sure of himself and cocky for someone who had
came hard down Stiles’ throat only a few minutes before. But Stiles couldn’t
catch his breath to snark at him for it. Peter’s fingers in his hair tugged
hard, pulling Stiles’ head back and exposing his neck for Peter’s teeth. He was
already hard, dripping precome down Peter’s stomach, from their previous
activities and he could feel his orgasam building already.
The pads of Peter’s fingers slid over his prostate, jerking Stiles’ whole body
with pleasure. Teeth nipped at his adam's apple and fingers scratched at his
scalp. His body hummed with pleasure as Peter worked him quickly to the edge
and over it.
He came with a shout, body jerking hard in Peter’s hands. Falling forward
against him, Stiles buried his face in Peter’s neck and just breathed. They sat
there like that, Stiles’ body tingling with aftershocks and Peter murmuring
softly in his ear.
He had just drifted off when Peter shifted and laid him down on the bed. Stiles
listened to Peter move around the room and bathroom as he drifted in and out of
sleep. He jumped as Peter smoothed a wet washcloth across his stomach and
thighs; Peter had the gall to chuckle about it, but all Stiles could manage was
a glare.
Peter gathered him up as soon as he was back in the bed and Stiles pressed
close, enjoying the heat that radiated off of him. He didn’t think he would
ever get over, or stop enjoying, just how warm werewolves were. The look on
Peter’s face when Stiles stuck his cold hands or feet against him wasn’t too
bad, either.
“Still wanna go on that date tomorrow?” Peter asked against Stiles’ head once
they had both settled in for the night.
“You bet your sweet ass I do,” Stiles answered in an instant, “You promised me
curly fries and you better follow through. Otherwise, you’ll lose my trust
forever.” Peter snorted in amusement and shook his head.
“I know, I know,” Peter chuckled, hands finding their way to small of Stiles’
back and resting there.
“Good.” The word was murmured against Peter’s collarbone, sleep finally
dragging him down.
~*~*~*~
“Bless,” Stiles moaned through a mouth full of curly fries, eyes closed as he
chewed. They’d woke up late, close to noon, and Stiles had insisted they stop
for lunch first and foremost. Food was an important part of his day and there
was no way he was going to go without.
Peter hadn’t argued.
“Do you two need a room?” Peter asked, looking between Stiles and his fires.
Stiles swallowed and laughed, but just shoved another handful of fires in his
mouth. He grinned around the food and Peter sneered in disgust.
“You’re an animal.”
“I’m not the one who turns into a wolf hybrid every full moon,” Stiles shot
back after he’d finished chewing. Peter glared at him.
“And yet you slept in my bed last night, fucked silly.” Stiles flushed and
Peter raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for whatever response Stiles was about
to stutter out, but he tensed suddenly, a dark look coming over his face.
Looking like a wolf with his hackles raised, Stiles watched as Peter scanned
the room. He eyed every person in turn, sizing them up with narrowed eyes.
Stiles had been around werewolves long enough to know that look never boded
well.
“What is it?” He was on guard in an instant, letting the magic from his tattoos
seep into him. His hands and forearms tingled with it and if not for his
jacket, he knew they’d be glowing a faint purple. A protection charm was on the
tip of his tongue, ready to be uttered at a moment's notice. He might night be
the best Druid yet, but Deaton said he was a quick learner and with his current
tattoos, he had more than enough magic to make up for what he couldn’t pull
from the ley lines.
“I thought I smelled a wolf I didn’t recognize,” Peter whispered low enough
that Stiles had to strain to hear it.
“Shit,” Stiles cursed. He scanned the crowded restaurant as well, but no one
stuck out at him. They’d dealt with invading packs before; everyone wanted a
piece of the True Alpha, but they always got more than they bargained for.
“It’s gone.” Peter’s voice was strained and his shoulders tensed, ready for an
attack that apparently wasn’t coming.
“Do we need to go?” Stiles questioned. Peter shook his head; he didn’t relax.
He picked up their banter again with ease, but Stiles could tell he wasn’t as
focused on the conversation as he had been before.
They both kept an eye out, and a nose in Peter’s case, for the rest of the day,
but they never saw anything of merit. A sinking feeling settled in Stiles’
stomach. Something told him this wouldn’t be the last of this new wolf that
Peter had scented.
Chapter End Notes
     I took some liberties with harpies and druids in this. I intended to
     have a fight scene in this and then it just didn't happen and sex
     did. Oops.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
     I LIVE!!! I am so sorry it took me so long to update this fic. My
     life has been...good and bad, but a lot had happened. Hopefully this
     chapter will live up to the wait and I pray I can churn out another
     in a reasonable amount of time. Enjoy! Unbetad.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
“I can’t believe they even agreed to let you go,” Stiles muttered from his
perch on the end of Scott’s bed. He watched as Scott flicked through the shirts
hanging in his closet before picking two and tossing them in the general
direction of his duffle bag. There wasn’t much clothing in the bag. Most of it
was scattered around it because Scott couldn’t be bothered to pack like a
normal person.
Stiles was supposed to be helping, but he’d pulled his DS out after five
minutes of listening to Scott babble on about what to wear on his trip to
Hawaii with Liam’s family.
“I can’t either, to be honest,” Scott answered from where he was going through
his clothes. “When Liam suggested it, I was sure they would never go for it,
but they agreed without question when he asked them at dinner the other night.”
“You just seem to pure,” Stiles scoffed. “You better hope they never find out
you’ve fucked him on every surface of your apartment.” The glare Scott turned
on him would have made lesser men cower, but Stiles was immune to it by now.
“Three times last night exactly where you’re sitting,” Scott informed him and
then cackled when Stiles shot off the bed as if it had burned him. Stiles
scrunched up his nose in disgust at his best friend and opted to take a seat on
the floor beside Scott’s dresser.
“You nasty,” Stiles told him. Scott rolled his eyes and went back to picking
out clothing. A forest green button down fell by Stiles feet, followed by a
pair of dress pants and another tee.
“Are you sure you guys will be okay?” Scott asked for the fifth time in the
last twenty minutes. Stiles huffed in annoyance.
“Yes, oh great alpha, we will be fine,” Stiles reassured him. “Peter knows what
he’s doing and Derek and Braeden are coming back into town on Monday. If
anything happens, you’ll be the first person to call.”
Scott looked less reassured than before. With a sigh, Stiles stood. He walked
over to his friend and gripped him by the biceps.
“Scott, you’ve taught us well. Peter’s been helping me with my fighting and
Deaton says I’m on the Druid fast track. You saw us with the brownies last
week. We can handle this. Besides, it’s only for a week.” He gave Scott’s arms
a squeeze.
After a pause, Scott nodded. “Okay. I’ll stop asking. Now, which pair of pants
goes with this shirt?”
Monday
Stiles snuggled closer to Peter’s chest with a sigh of contentment. Peter’s
hands smoothed up and down his back under Stiles’ shirt, preferring skin on
skin contact if he could have it. All of the wolves were tactile creatures and
Stiles had always wondered if all were creatures were like that. Milia
certainly seemed to be and Kira as well, but that was as far as his knowledge
of it went.
“Doing okay?” Peter asked him, voice soft and low in Stiles’ ear. Stiles
nodded, cheek rubbing against Peter’s collar bone. His shoulder ached with his
newest tattoo but he’d grown accustomed to the pain. It still hurt like hell;
that would never change. But now that his arms were covered and they were
starting on his torso, he dealt with it better.
He no longer wanted to suck down a bottle of Jack to deal with the pain; all he
needed was to curl up against Peter and take a nap. And Peter let him without
any fuss.
They were stretched out on Stiles’ couch and he was well on his way to falling
asleep. The midday sun streamed in through the windows, warming his back, and
with Peter pressed against his front, it made for a nice resting spot.
He shifted, pulling his leg up so it pressed against Peter’s hip and settled
further into him. Peter huffed out a laugh against his ear, arms tightening
around him. The rise and fall of Peter’s chest under his cheek was calming and
it didn’t take long before Stiles was asleep.
He woke to the sound of the front door opening and Peter tensing under him. No
more light streamed in through the windows and the room was dark. He’d slept
longer than he’d meant to and now his dad was home.
Stiles shifted, stretching his arms over his head and almost smacking Peter in
the chin in the process. Stiles didn’t need light to know that Peter was
glaring at him, the corners of his mouth pulled down in a frown.
He was sitting up, Peter’s hands a steadying weight on his hip when the living
room light flicked on. Stiles cringed, a whine bubbling past his lips at the
sudden and harsh light. He turned to look at the door as he blinked until the
shape of his dad wasn’t shadowed and blurred.
“Hey,” Stiles greeted. His voice was raspy with sleep and everything was still
muzzy, as if all his senses were stuffed with cotton.
“Stiles,” came his dad’s even response, “Peter.”
“Sheriff.” Peter kept his tone respectful, and Stiles was ever grateful that
Peter behaved himself around his father. His dad could be a hard person to deal
with and even harder to earn the respect of; it was even more so when it came
to Stiles.  
“I brought take out,” the Sheriff told them, holding up a bag and the smell of
food hit Stiles all at once, making his stomach growl. He scrambled off of
Peter’s lap and into the kitchen after his father with a whoop.
Peter was slower to follow, stretching his back and arms before taking off
towards the kitchen at a much more sedated pace. Stiles puttered around, taking
plates and utensils out while his dad unbagged the cartons. Stiles could see
Peter pause in the doorway out of the corner of his eye and he rolled his eyes.
After months of dating, and years of being in the pack, Peter was still
cautious around Sheriff Stilinski. Stiles knew Peter was well aware that his
father wasn’t exactly his biggest fan and that he wouldn't hesitate to arrest
him at the slightest cause.
Stiles hip checked him on his way by and stuck his tongue out at him when
Peter’s brow furrowed in a glare.
“He doesn’t bite,” Stiles told him cheerfully but Peter looked less than
convinced.
“I’m not going to shoot you, Peter,” Sheriff Stilinski said as he settled into
his chair. Peter hesitated a moment more before stepping into the room and
sitting. On the other side of the table from Stiles.
Stiles raised an eyebrow and pouted at him. Peter kicked him under the table.
His dad ignored all of it, already scooping food onto his plate and digging in.
They chatted about school and work; Stiles tried to wrangle information about
ongoing cases out of his dad while Peter looked on in amusement. His dad asked
him about the new school semester, and if he’d gotten the classes he’d wanted.
It continued like that for a while, Peter silent and observing while Stiles
chatted away with his dad. Then Sheriff Stilinski turned to Peter and asked him
how work was.
The three of them in the same room was rare enough as it was, Peter didn’t even
show up to pack meetings half the time, but his dad having a conversation with
his much older boyfriend was a new one for Stiles. They’d only ever gotten as
far as pleasantries and talks about the weather or how to defeat the newest
badie. Conversations had never been a thing. Now they apparently were.
“We’ve gotten an influx of new material recently. A lot of editing to be done
and many Skype calls with authors and the higher ups,” Peter answered after
swallowing a mouthful of lo mein. “It’s kept me busy outside of pack business.”
Sheriff Stilinski nodded in answer, chewing thoughtfully before asking if Peter
had any interesting book recommendations.
Stiles listened to their conversation, a smile spreading across his face. He’d
only ever expected forced politeness between his dad and Peter but here they
were, holding a full fledged conversation. His heart swelled with happiness.
Peter fit so easily into his life and Stiles into his.
He wondered when the other shoe would drop.
~*~*~*~
Stiles tucked himself into Peter’s side, wrapping a leg around his waist and
pressing close. Peter grunted as Stiles’ knee pressed into his stomach but
wrapped an arm around his shoulders without comment. It was past midnight and
Stiles was in the hazy spot between sleep and wakefulness. After dinner with
his dad, they’d ended up having to take care of pack business before heading
back to Peter’s place.
With Scott and Liam out of town for the week on vacation, it left Stiles and,
in turn, Peter, in charge of the pack. As Scott’s unofficial emissary, Stiles
did his best to help his friends, but there were some things he just wasn’t
equipped to handle on his own. That’s where Peter came in, grudgingly, but he
helped nonetheless.
As soon as they’d stepped into Peter’s apartment, Stiles’ cell phone had
started ringing. It was as if the world knew when he was trying to relax and
take it easy. It was Lydia. Apparently, Kira didn’t take it too well when
strange men decided it was within their right to grope her girlfriend in the
middle of a crowded theater.
Once they’d calmed Kira down with Lydia’s help and dealt with the man in a less
blood and gore manner, Stiles was ready to crash. But even when he was on the
verge of sleep, his mouth still overrode his brain.
“I’m glad you get along with my dad so well,” Stiles murmured into the curve of
Peter’s neck. His arm tightened around Peter’s chest, tugging him that inch
closer.
“He’s accepted our relationship well, yes, but I don’t put it past him to shoot
me if it ever came down to it.”
Stiles snorted at that but couldn’t disagree. His dad would shoot whomever he
had to if it meant saving Stiles.
“He didn’t try to shoot you tonight,” Stiles pointed out.
“That he did not. He was extremely nosey, though. I see where you get it from.”
Peter reached up and tugged at Stiles’ bangs before running his finger through
his hair.
“He is a cop, you know?” Stiles muttered.
“I’m well aware of that fact,” Peter scoffed. “I don’t think he’ll ever let me
forget it. He’s makes sure I see the gun strapped to his hip every time I come
over.”
“He’s just protective,” Stiles muttered, “I’m all he has left.” Peter didn’t
have anything to say that wouldn’t make the situation awkward, so instead, he
pulled back so he could catch Stiles’ lips in a kiss. Sighing into the contact,
Stiles pressed hard against Peter. His hand slid into Peter’s hair so he could
run lazy fingers through it.
“Good night, Stiles.” Stiles hummed in affirmation, eyes closed and breathing
already evening out. The sound of Stiles heartbeat filled Peter’s ears. It was
comforting, a warm body pressed close and the sound of life close by. Before
Peter could think better of it, he nuzzled Stiles’ neck and whispered what had
been building up inside him the last few weeks.
“I love you.”
~*~*~*~*~*
Wednesday
“So, we have a problem,” Derek announced as he settled onto the couch across
from Stiles. They were all over at Derek’s apartment for what Stiles called
Pack Time. WIthout their alpha there, everyone was on edge. Being close seemed
to help ease the stress, especially for the wolves.
“Other than you’re bad attitude towards general life?” Stiles asked from where
he was curled up against Peter’s side with an open Flash comic on his lap.
Derek gave him an unimpressed look and rolled his eyes. Stiles could feel Peter
stifle a chuckle and couldn’t keep his grin under control. Irritating Dreke
before had been easy, but it was even better now that he was dating Derek’s
uncle.
“There’s another pack in town.” That caught everyone’s attention. Stiles sat up
straight. Setting his comic aside he could feel Peter tense beside him.
“What do you mean?” Lydia questioned. She been curled up with Kira in the large
lounge chair across the room. They’d been inseparable since they’d came back
from college for spring break the Friday before. Stiles knew there would be
water works when it came time to say goodbye again.
“I mean, I saw all of them, including their alpha, at the gas station on my way
back from the store.” Derek clenched his fists tight, a telltale sign of how
freaked out about it he was.
“How many?” Peter, always straight to the point.
“I saw ten, but there could be more.”
“Shit.” Stiles said it with feeling. He was not equipped to handle this. This
was his alpha’s business, but Scott wasn’t there. So it fell to Stiles to deal
with the situation. He dragged his fingers through his hair and tugged hard at
the ends.
Needing to move, Stiles got to his feet and started to pace the length of
Derek’s apartment. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him and that only made it
worse.
“They were here weeks ago,” Stiles realized out loud. Thinking back to the day
he went on his date with Peter, how much he had been on edge, scenting the air
and keeping Stiles close by until they’d gotten home.
“You smelled them.” Stiles turned to look at Peter, watching as realization
dawned on him as well. “They had to be scouting. Sniffing us out and how much
power we had.”
“Then they know Scott and Liam aren’t here.” Stiles nodded. They had to know.
It was the perfect time for someone to come in and overtake Beacon Hills. The
legendary True Alpha and his beta lover were thousands of miles away. Their
pack was easy pickings.
“I’m going to call Scott.” No one questioned him as he stepped outside.
It took almost twenty minutes of convincing for Stiles to keep Scott from
hopping on a red eye home. It wasn’t his best idea, but Scott had been talking
about his vacation with Liam for the last month. They wouldn’t have much time
to be together once they got home with finals. Stiles wanted them to have that
time. They could handle the situation.
~*~*~*~*~
Friday
They could not handle the situation. Not at all. Stiles had been on the lookout
since Derek had told them about the new pack. He had seen no less than five
suspicious people. Also, he was being followed.
The same black truck had been behind him when he’d left Peter’s the night
before and when he’d gone grocery shopping for his dad. It was behind him now,
three cars, but Stiles had good eyes and the assholes wasn’t fooling anyone.
Watching his rearview mirror, he hit speed dial three on his phone. Peter
picked up on the first ring.
“Stiles?” He sounded worried. The clock on Stiles’ dash read half past four. It
was right in the middle of Peter’s work time; Stiles wouldn’t call unless
something had happened.
“I’m being followed.”
“Call your dad and head straight home. I’ll be there in five.” Peter’s “Alpha”
voice was full force but Stiles didn’t comment on it. Now wasn’t the time to
take offense to an old habit of Peter’s.
“Okay,” Stiles answered with a nod even though Peter couldn’t see him. The line
went dead as soon as the word left his mouth. He called his dad, who kept him
on the phone until he got home and Stiles confirmed Peter was there.
“They’re not very discret, are they?” Stiles asked as they watched the truck
drive past his hours from the main window. Peter’s hand was pressed against the
small of his back, possessive.
“They don’t need to be. We’re down our Alpha and his beta mate. To every other
pack in the world, we’re wide open for an attack.” Stiles scoffed and looked
over his shoulder at Peter. The look on Peter’s face belonged wholly to his
would side and look strange on human features.
“They have no idea what they’re in for.” The confidence Stiles projected in his
voice was not matched in his head. They had no idea how many were in this new
pack, nor what powers they held. But they had their own surprises.
They’d kept Stiles’ Druid training under wraps as much as possible for this
very reason. Everyone knew about the True Alpha, Peter, Derek. Even Lydia and
Kira were talked about in the supernatural circles Stiles had started keeping
an eye on. But Stiles was only ever mentioned in passing. He was just the human
with the fucked up past. The weak link in the chain.
Clenching his hands into fists and feeling the power coursing through his body,
focused by his tattoos into a deadly force. That was no longer the case.
~*~*~*~*~
Saturday
The attack wasn’t unexpected, per say. They knew the rival pack only had a
limited amount of time to act on whatever plan they were working on. Scott was
flying back in on Sunday as spring break ended. Even if they were exhausted,
the pack’s power structure was almost tripled with Scott and Liam back in town.
The invading pack knew this just as well as the pack itself did.
Stiles was pulling into the reservations parking lot when it happened. The pack
was meeting for a reconnaissance mission, checking their borders and Stiles re-
powering the wards he’d recently set. He missed the shadows moving around the
edges of the street lamps, too busy fiddling with his car door and making sure
it locked. Not many people might want to steal his baby but Stiles wasn’t
taking any chances and the lock had started sticking about a month ago.
The blow knocked him off his feet, pain throbbing in his skull and radiating
from the impact of landing on his shoulder. The asphalt bit into his hands as
Stiles pushed to his feet with staggered movements.
Two men stood before him in the yellow lamp light. They looked like any other
person he might meet on the street except for the glow of their eyes. Bright
blue. So this pack had no qualms with killing, Stiles noted as he shook out the
pain and breathed in and out slow. Then he wouldn’t worry about going easy on
them.
“Okay,” Stiles addressed them. From where he was standing by the Jeep, he was
in easy reach of the crowbar he’d rigged to the side of the jeep above the tire
wheel. Custom made silver. His fighting style didn’t have the finesse or grace
the wolves might, but it did the job.
“Let’s do this,” Stiles growled at the wolves, baring his teeth right back at
them when roared in response. Snatching the crowbar, he dodged to the side,
just fast enough to outpace the first wolf as he dived for him. Months of
practice against the other had given him quicker than average reflexes. And
these wolves were expecting anything more than human out of him.
Magic flared to life in his arms, the force spell slipping past his lips as he
swung the crowbar and connected with the second wolf’s rib cage. The crowbar
lit up with pale orange light with the spell flowing from his arms and into it.
Stiles could hear the sound of ribs cracking but knew it would only slow the
wolf down. He went down with a howl of pain.
They hadn’t expected a fight, because Stiles got in another easy swing at the
other wolf, connecting hard with his knee cap before they retaliated. He didn’t
stay to listen to the sound of their bones reshaping themselves under skin. He
could count the minutes it would take for them to be back in fighting condition
on one hand.
Stiles was across the parking lot and crashing through the woods without a
second thought. One hand pressed against the side of his head where the wolf
hand punched him. His fingers glowed lavender as healing magic ebbed into the
wound and eased the pain. He couldn't mend bones, but bruises and pain were
well within his realm of power.
The pounding in his head ebbed away as the scrapes on his hands stiched
themselves up. The lavender light of the magic faded from around him, plunging
him into darkness. He didn’t have the time to pause for his eyes to adjust to
the consuming darkness of the woods around him. By now the wolves were fully
healed or almost so and they would be much better at trampling through the
woods in the dark of night than he was.
Stiles took a deep breath, focusing his magic into the palm of his hand.
Reciting the incantation and trying to navigate the dark of the woods ended up
harder than he expected. It took three tries before he got it right and his
hand lit up with a small ball of light. It was bright enough for him to see by
but not so bright it was a glaring beacon in the night.
He made a mental note to mention tattooing his palms the next time they were
discussing his powers and what they needed to work on next. Having a small
flashlight that would never lose power in the palm of his hand would be useful.
Stiles heard the fighting before he saw it. The the plan had been to meet in a
small clearing near the center of the reserve. They were going to discuss their
plans for taking care of the pack that had invaded their territory and patrol
Beacon Hills. It was safe to say that those plans had been shot to shit.
He adjusted his grip on the crowbar and readied himself for what was to come.
He could hear the wolves that had attacked him in the parking lot crashing
through the trees behind him but that didn’t matter now.
Stiles burst through the trees on silent feet. He took the first wolf he came
across by surprise. She had Lydia pinned to the ground while Kira was fighting
another beside them. Stiles cracked the crowbar across the wolf’s back, putting
as much magic into the hit as he could. The sound of bones breaking and the
wolf’s scream of pain filled his ears as she fell to the side. He helped Lydia
to her feet. Her nod let him know she was fine and he dove into the fray with a
growl.
His fighting style had developed since he’d started taking lessons from Peter.
The only word that fit was brutal. He’d stopped feeling bad at the pained cries
coming from their enemies. The way Stiles saw it, if they rolled into his
territory looking for a fight, they would get one. He took no prisoners when it
came to protecting his people. He was unapologetic about it, even when Scott
gave him distasteful looks as he wiped blood from his weapons.
Everyone held their own. They’d been fighting long enough that they easily
worked as a group. Lydia and Kira fought back to back, while Malia fought
better alone. Derek always kept an eye on Braden but she easily took care of
herself. Peter was never far from Stiles, but this time was different.
They’d gotten separated some how during the fight and when it happened. Peter
was on the other side of the clearing. The alpha was still a no show, and
Stiles was trying not to wonder too much about what that meant. He’d just
knocked the knees out of a wolf when something hit him from the side with the
force of a mac truck. Stiles could feel his ribs crack and instant pain shot
across his chest.
A scream tore from his throat as claws dug into the meat of his sides and the
scent of copper filled his nose. Red filled his vision. Teeth bared in a
menacing snarl, the face of the other packs alpha close enough that Stiles
could smell his breath. Stiles wasn’t new to seeing a wolf in full shift but
everything about this guy screamed evil. His breath smelled like rotten flesh
and his eyes were filled with the need to kill.
Stiles had the time to think that this was it, this was how he died, when a
roar filled his ears. He was well acquainted with the sounds of his own pack,
but none of them had ever sounded like that. He vaguely recognized it as Peter
when the alpha on top of him was just gone.
Stiles stared up at the night sky, listening to the sound of his pack fight to
get to him. Derek shouted his name and he could hear Lydia screaming, but
everything was distant, muffled. He could feel his own blood pooling around him
from the gashes on his sides and it hurt to breath.
Peter’s growls filled his ears, accompanied by the sounds of tearing flesh.
Stiles turned his head, slow and groggy with pain. He caught sight of the fight
in time to see Peter, in full shift, rip the alpha’s throat open deep enough to
see bone.
A small gasp escaped his lips and Peter turned to look at him in slow motion.
Blood coated his snout, matting his fur and dripping down his chest. Stiles
watch with fascination as bright blue was overtaken by glaring red. Peter
whined, long and hurt, at him. Stiles would later think he looked sad, heart
broken even, before Peter was just gone. The sounds of his retreat faded as the
world around Stiles fell into darkness.
Chapter End Notes
     Okay, so...don't kill me. XD I promise I will fix it and they will
     both come out stronger on the other side. Only three chapters left.
     You guys won't have long to wait.
     Hit me up on my writing tumblr for random headcanons, fic updates and
     me just being a general weirdo.
     I will eventually be taking prompts and requests. I have one more fic
     I want to update before I start with that. Shout at me about Steter
     or any fandom in my list of things I love. Or just talk to me. It's a
     little bare bones right now but I'm just getting started.
End Notes
     This started with the idea of Stiles sneaking plants into Peter's
     house and turning it into a greenhouse. Then it kind of got out of
     control, merged with another plot and became this monster of a story.
     I'll tag things for later chapters when they become appropriate for
     not giving away the plot.
     Title from Noosa's "Walk On By." Also, un'betad
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