Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/902579.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Peter_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Oral_Sex, Rimming, light_blood_play, Light_Dom/sub, Table_Sex,
      Breathplay, this_wasn't_meant_to_be_a_series_thing_but_its_turning_into
      one
  Series:
      Part 2 of Someone_Else's_Angels
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-29 Words: 3170
****** Sharpen My Bones ******
by collie
Summary
     Stiles' world stopped spinning for a little while and everything
     centered on him and Peter, and for that he was oddly appreciative.
     For awhile, maybe this could be his eye of the storm.
Notes
     Spoilers for 3A. Takes place immediately following episode 3x08
     'Visionary'.
     Dedicated to both Nixy and Katie. You bitches. I'm sorry I can't
     write shorter porn.
See the end of the work for more notes
It was very late and Cora had gone. It was still raining a bit, and Peter
didn't especially care why or where she'd gone, but he was a little glad.
Sure, she was family and that was great and all, but he really didn't
appreciate the way she looked at him most of the time. It was the same way that
Derek looked at him, but Cora hadn't earned the right to glare. She still
hadn't told anyone where she'd been or how she escaped the fire. Peter
stilldidn't trust her, and that was saying a lot. But he figured he knew more
about deception and manipulation than any of the rest of these kids combined,
so they really should give him a little more credit.
Peter deserved a little more respect. After all, he'd been a good guy lately,
right? Doing good things and giving a shit. Helping out and all that. Just
because no one else was open-minded enough to appreciate his kind of 'help',
that wasn't Peter's fault.
Now, Stiles understood. Well, as much as he could. Well, no, he really didn't,
but neither Stiles or Peter cared as long Peter could grab a fistful of the
kid's soft hair (it really was a good choice, growing it out) and slowly fuck
his mouth, and as long as Stiles could concentrate as that sweet ache in his
jaw and the way he almost lost his breath each time the slick tip of Peter's
cock nudged against his uvula.
Stiles liked the choke; the way he felt just a little bit used. It made him
feel both unimportant and insignificant, but also strangely precious and
special. But most of all he didn't feel overwhelmed. He didn't have to think.
And after the glut of information Peter had metaphorically shoved down his
throat earlier tonight, it felt fucking primal and perfectto have
somethingphysical shoved down his throat, instead.
Stiles' world stopped spinning for a little while and everything centered on
him and Peter, and for that he was oddly appreciative. For awhile, maybe this
could be his eye of the storm.
                                       –
Stiles was on his knees. The thin rug beneath really didn't do much to cushion,
but that was fine. The pain, discomfort, was all part of this... whatever it
was. It hadn't been long enough for the scabs on his back to fall off before he
was in it again, and though a small part of him wished Derek were here, because
Peter still scared him, he supposed he indulged that fear just as much as he
indulged the pain.
For Stiles, these days, pain and fear walked hand-in-hand with his every day.
"Unzip your jeans, Stiles," Peter said gruffly, rocking his hips back and
pulling hot, hard flesh along Stiles' lips, leaving just the swollen head in
the boy's mouth as he palmed over the back of Stiles' head. With a soft whine
and a light suck, Stiles complied, dropping long, slender fingers to spider
over the front of his jeans, almost shaking in his eagerness to loosen his
aching dick from its confines as he dragged his tongue over the tip of Peter's
cock.
"Feel free to jerk off at your leisure," Peter drawled in that infuriatingly
lazy way of his, blunt nails scratching at Stiles' scalp like he was a
treasured pet as his thighs tensed, his erection twitching and throbbing gently
against the kid's lips and tongue. "But if you come before I do, we're just
going to have to do this all over again."
Stiles groaned hard around Peter's cock as he wriggled, shoving his jeans and
boxers down over his hips until they caught at where his thighs rested against
his calves. Far enough. He was suddenly faced with a choice; did he get himself
off as quickly as he could, not knowing what the punishment would entail, or
did he oblige Peter and follow the rules, enjoying the safe play?
It was like what Coach was talking about in Econ awhile back; risk versus
reward. Was the risk worth the bigger gain, or- wait, why the hellwas he
thinking about Coach right now? What a fucking boner-killer.
Stiles wrinkled his nose before lifting his eyes to look at Peter, his tongue
firming and pressing up against the underside of Peter's cock and stroking
slowly, swirling back and forth against the soft ridge where the head met the
shaft. The wolf stared down at Stiles, lips parted slightly as he breathed, and
though his lidded eyes were naturally blue, Peter didn't bother holding back
his base desires and urges, allowing his eyes to shift from the pale, glassy
blue to the brilliant steel as they pleased; as his pulse quickened and greedy
lust swam his veins.
A few errant strands of hair hung curled against Peter's forehead, betraying
his currently neat hairstyle and reminding Stiles of the wavy mop the former
Alpha had once sported. He wondered, idly, why Peter cut it.
“You are so good at this,” Peter breathed huskily, slipping one hand down to
drag fingertips along Stiles' cheek, tracing over the freckles there, before
moving to thumb over Stiles' stretched lower lip and giving a low rumble in his
throat as he brushed his fingers down along his own shaft. “You practice on
anyone I know?” he asked, smirking and quirking an eyebrow.
Stiles narrowed his eyes and reached a hand up, smacking Peter hard on the hip
as he sucked the older man back in deep, his hand grabbing the hip he'd just
slapped and holding Peter as his lips slid tight along the length of the older
man's cock, Stiles' nostrils flaring as he sucked in air through his nose,
trying not to choke as he swallowed Peter down as deep as he could. Even if it
was all he could get right now, he enjoyed the smug satisfaction of making the
wolf hiss and grunt, the former Alpha's head tipping back as his hips jerked
and he had to curl his hand around the base of his own cock, pressing against
the prominent vein that ran along the underside to control his own pleasure.
“Brat,” Peter muttered, though his tone was strangely laced with affection.
“Alright, that's enough,” he half-growled as impatience crept in, too, and
Stiles once again felt self-satisfaction curl in his chest as he slowly pulled
his mouth off of Peter's cock and made a show of wiping his flushed, swollen
lips, having not even touched himself once yet.
Peter tugged his shirt off and shoved his jeans down completely, not even
giving Stiles a moment to admire the view before his hands were on Stiles'
upper arms, dragging him to his feet and shoving his hoodie off and tugging at
the tee-shirt he wore underneath.
“Why do you wear so many layers?” Peter asked as he stripped the kid, sounding
lightly annoyed before he turned Stiles around and marched him over to the
table they'd spent the better part of the evening all talking around. Stiles
did his best impression of a guy who couldn't actually walk with all the blood
in his head currently residing in his dick. He only tripped over his feet once,
so... accomplishment.
“You have a nice body for a kid your age,” Peter continued as he grabbed Stiles
by the back of the neck and unceremoniously bent him over the table, pressing
his cheek to the cold, hard surface. “You should show it off more.”
“Thanks..?” Stiles blushed at both the compliment and the feeling of being so
exposed; he could feel the heat from his cheeks bouncing back at him from the
smooth surface of the table, and he knew his shoulders and the back of his neck
were tinged pink. He licked his lips around a soft sound in his throat as Peter
kicked his legs apart – no, really, he literally kicked at Stiles' ankles until
the Stiles obliged and spread his legs indecently wide – before reaching down
between them and palming Stiles' balls.
"Mmnn, fuck," Stiles gasped and grasped the edges of the table, his slender
hips lifting slightly off the table as he rolled to his toes, rocking back and
greedily attempting to get more of that touch. He just wanted more. Stiles had
never been with a girl, and he still didn't think he was gay, despite whatever
this was happening here, but all he knew is that he felt good right now and
that it was thinking that always got him into trouble.
“Has anyone ever eaten your ass?” Peter asked as conversationally as one would
ask about the damn weather, cocking his head as he watched the view from
behind; the way Stiles' toes scrabbled against the cold concrete floor as he
attempted to rock against Peter's hand, desperate for more friction, more
touch. The way his skin flushed even deeper pink at Peter's question, and the
way he craned his neck so he could turn to give Peter a comically wide-eyed
look, mouth hanging open in that catching-flies way that only Stiles could make
endearing.
“I didn't think so,” Peter said, his eyes actually crinkling at the corners as
he smiled – crinkling! - because he was genuinely enjoying himself right now.
“The other night with Derek, before me; that was your first time, wasn't it?”
“Oh my god,” Stiles muttered as he turned back to smush his face against the
table, breathing hotly against the surface, maybe half-hoping he'd suffocate on
his own carbon dioxide before Peter could ask any more horrifying questions
while okay that was a thumb rubbing against his asshole.
“Oh, stop being embarrassed,” Peter said loftily, as if he hadn't just stuck
his own thumb in his mouth and coated it liberally with saliva just so he could
fuck Stiles' ass with the thick digit while still continuing to massage and
squeeze his balls. Basically torturing him. “You're only seventeen. In my
opinion kids shouldn't be having sex any younger than that. No emotional
maturity.”
“Peter, aaaaargh!” Stiles exclaimed suddenly, frustration and edgy anger and a
near-guttural sound in his voice arching the older man's eyebrow. “Just... shut
up and fuck me already!” Peter opened his mouth as if he were going to speak
before clacking his teeth together and rolling his eyes up, giving a tilt of
his head, gently pulling his thumb out of Stiles'.
“In a minute,” Peter replied, reaching out to drag blunt fingernails hard along
Stiles' back, moving them along the still slightly sore claw marks on the boy's
skin, having every intent of breaking the scabs and opening the wounds again.
They wouldn't bleed as freely as they did the first time, but Peter was more
going for scars. He wanted his mark on Stiles, especially if he was right about
what he thought was going to happen in the future. A little spiteful gesture to
calm the small little bitter swirl in his stomach.
Stiles hissed in a breath and squirmed suddenly, jerking himself toward the
table and instinctively away from the pain, but there was nowhere for him to
go. So he just pressed his cheek back against the hot wood and endured the
pain, because the initial sharp jolt to his body passed quickly, and when Peter
dropped to a knee behind him and grabbed his ass-cheeks in two handfuls, Stiles
was shocked that the thudding of his heartbeat didn't break the table in two.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck...” Stiles gasped out, like a mantra, as he simultaneously
felt both the sharp warning of claw-tips pricking against his ass and the hot,
slick drag of a tongue against his tight, puckered asshole. His cock hung heavy
and neglected between his thighs, twitching and leaking precum, and he didn't
think he'd ever been this hard before. He couldn't stop blushing and his skin
was sheened with sweat because of it. The rain outside made it moist inside the
loft, and the air was so thick with sex that even Stiles could smell it.
Peter's clawed thumbs slid into the cleft of Stiles' ass and pulled at his
hole, prying him open and scratching lightly over the incredibly sensitive
flesh as the tip of his tongue teased firmly in it's wake, soothing the sharp
pain. Prodding, pushing his tongue in passed the tight muscle, Peter fucked the
boy's ass with the strongest muscle in the human body until Stiles couldn't
stop squirming and shuddering, and was a pliant, whimpering mess all laid out
on the table like the delicious little meal he was.
Stiles had no idea if he could come without having his dick touched but he
thought maybe he already had, like a hundred times, because he was trembling
and gasping and he could literally feel his heartbeat reverberating through the
table and he couldn't stop rocking his hips and holy fucking god, this was both
shamefully humiliating and hot as fucking hell.
“Peter, fuck...” Stiles choked out between clenched teeth, fingers white-
knuckling where they gripped the edges of the sides of the table, his thighs
tense and a little sore, and the muscles in his calves straining as Peter kept
him up on his toes. “God, please just... please...” he begged, hating that he
was begging, but fuck it. He needed.
Peter at least had the decency not to quip, or maybe he was just as hungry as
Stiles, but after a few more lazy drags of that wicked tongue he stood back up,
hands massaging the twin globes of Stiles' ass before giving one of them a firm
smack.
“Stay,” Peter ordered, his hand moving to rest in the center of Stiles' back
with a firm press, and the boy just nodded, a soft sound catching in his
throat. He wouldn't disobey, not if he wanted more. It was only moments later
that Peter's presence returned, and two slick fingers prodded at Stiles hole,
the boy shaking and whining a desperate, wordless plea as they pushed inside of
him, thrusting slowly in and out, scissoring to stretch him and open him even
more.
“Just say when,” Peter crooned, and Stiles hated him a little bit for the
arrogance that laced the wolf's voice, but at the same time his tone shot
straight through the boy, making his dick ache. Blunt human nails dug into the
table as Stiles arched his back as much as he could, and with a heavy groan he
pushed back hard against Peter's fingers, eyes rolling up into his head as he
felt them bump against his prostate. Peter grinned and pushed his fingers in
deeper, harder, knuckles denting into Stiles' firm ass as he pressed and rubbed
against the gland, send Stiles into a tizzy of sobbing curses and trembling
limbs.
“Now, now, fuck me, god...” Stiles gasped, pleaded, and with no preamble Peter
slipped his fingers out and pressed the slick, swollen head of his cock against
Stiles stretched hole. A low rumble curled in Peter's throat as heat crawled
and prickled his skin, his mind and senses heady with the scent of the boy,
with the desperate want coming off of him in waves.
Peter gave no quarter as he grabbed Stiles by the hip with one hand, his grip
firm and bruising (claiming, possessive; oh fuck, what would Derek say?) as his
other wrapped around his own cock, guiding himself before thrusting in hard.
Peter wanted it to hurt a little, to remind Stiles that they weren't lovers or
even really friends. That this was about sex, blood, flesh, sweat, and that
nasty little drop in your stomach when you thought about something you really
wanted but shouldn't have. This was about everything else that wasn't love.
This was something primal. This was about vital, basic need.
Peter fucked Stiles hard, making sure the boy's hips would bruise against the
edge of the table, making sure he lost his breath and couldn't do more than
gasp and cry out with each heavy rock of the wolf's hips, the table pitching
and wooden legs skittering a bit on the concrete floor with each powerful
thrust. Peter thumbed over the re-opened wounds on Stiles' back, giving them
only a single lick, but blunt teeth dug into Stiles' shoulder and Peter sucked
firmly at the flesh and muscle, and Stiles knew Peter meant to mark him. The
older man couldn't help himself; he thrived off of causing discord with Derek.
It would bother Stiles later, but right now, with those teeth on his flesh and
the hot, painful friction of being so completely filled and used and wanted in
this moment, Stiles couldn't think about anything else than the utter clean and
pure pleasure he felt when Peter finally wrapped a lube-slicked hand around his
dick. Stiles lasted maybe twenty seconds before his hips were bucking and
jerking, raw-throated gasps misting the table with his breath as he came,
shooting hard over the floor, into Peter's hand. The wolf who had claimed him
practically purred into his ear as he slicked Stiles' dick with his own come.
A few more thrusts, almost cruelly hard, now, and leaving Stiles breathless as
he struggled not to feel faint because the edge of the table was pressing
against his stomach and he couldn't catch his breath – but fuck it was good, so
so fucking good – and Peter came, and Stiles groaned a base, animal sound as he
felt Peter's cock throbbing hard inside of him. He could feel Peter's come, and
it was lewd and disgusting and incredible, and Stiles felt something twist in
his stomach and in his chest and he was terrified that he'd just become
addicted to something more dangerous than any drug he could have ever snorted
or shot up.
“Go take a shower,” Peter said after he pulled out, capable hands helping the
weak-limbed and woozy boy to his feet, and Stiles just stared at him, his eyes
unfocused and blinking, not accusing but as if to say 'you have to be fucking
kidding if you think I'm going to be able to stand in there', but Peter just
smirked and sent Stiles on his way with a pat to the ass. The kid toddled off
like a baby deer and Peter half-assed cleaning up the come on the floor. He
wanted Derek to know. It was all part of the fun.
                                       –
Derek didn't come home that night, but Stiles slept in his bed anyway. Peter
didn't sleep, he just sat up on the couch all night, reading in dim light, eyes
occasionally trailing between the windows and the door, vaguely wondering when
his family was going to come back to him.
Whether for the sake of mischief or because he honestly just missed his pack,
Peter really couldn't even tell himself. And regardless of whether Stiles was
still here because he was waiting for Derek or just too sore to move, that
didn't much matter, either, because at least tonight Peter wasn't alone.
End Notes
     tumblr . twitter . policy
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!