Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8928370.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Peter_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Manipulation, Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics,
      Alpha_Peter_Hale, Omega_Stiles_Stilinski, Consent_Issues, pregnancy
      mention, Forced_Pregnancy, Mating_Cycles/In_Heat, forced_mating, Forced
      Heat, Alpha/Omega, Mpreg
  Collections:
      Steter_Secret_Santa_2016
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-12-21 Words: 2887
****** Should Have Read The Fine Print ******
by Eenna
Summary
     Stiles didn't always act rationally when it came to protecting his
     dad and making a deal with Peter wasn't one of his brightest moments.
     Especially when he unknowingly signed away more than he bargained
     for.
Notes
     This is a Secret Santa Gift. I had plenty of fun writing this. Hope
     you all have fun with it!
See the end of the work for more notes
Stiles has done a lot of questionable things in his life. But this, this took
the cake.
He always knew that police officers faced short lifetimes. He just never
thought that applied to his dad. His dad, who was in the hospital recovering
from a botched assassination attempt with the assassin back to finish the job
any time now.
So he made a deal with the devil to stave it off. In exchange for Stiles’
autonomy, Peter would protect his dad. In the eyes of the law, it wouldn’t even
be a big deal. Stiles was an omega: he needed a strong alpha to keep him safe
and in line.
Stiles didn’t trust Peter, but when it came to killing people, Stiles trusted
enough for Peter to do his job correctly. The rest of his responsibilities as a
mated omega wouldn’t be such a hardship if he knew his dad would be safe.
The door to Peter’s apartment slammed shut, startling Stiles. He was staring at
the file folder containing the mating papers where they were carelessly tossed
last night on the coffee table. They had his signature on them. What a weird
concept, being mated. He’s been staring at them since Peter disappeared last
night to do good on his promise and left Stiles in his apartment. Well, their
apartment now.
“Stiles?”
Stiles snapped his head up. Peter was leaning in the doorway, a smirk on his
lips and every inch the alpha he was.
“Well?” he asked, already rising from the couch.
“He's safe.”
The words made tension bleed out of him. “Oh thank god.” He slumped, feeling
like an idiot for getting up.
There was an expectant silence. Stiles looked up, and Peter said, “You're not
going to welcome me home?”
Stiles’ mood soured. Peter wanted the traditional ‘welcome home’ kiss all the
bad romance movies featured.
Objectively, Peter was attractive. He kept in good shape, had money to burn,
and was the very picture of a successful alpha. He was charming and
devious—qualities Stiles usually admired. But he was also manipulative and
entitled and Stiles hated being a victim of both. The only thing missing before
was a mate, and the only thing missing now were kids.
Stiles pushed that thought as far back into his mind as it would go.
He reluctantly went for the kiss Peter was expecting, but Peter leaned back
before their lips could touch.
“Put your arms around my neck and at least try to pretend you're enjoying it,”
he said.
“Fine,” Stiles muttered, making his lips form a fakest smile he could. “Welcome
home, honey.” And then he kissed Peter to stop whatever commentary the man
undoubtedly had about his sarcastic tone.
Obediently, he wound his arms around Peter. But where he planned to make it a
quick peck, Peter had licked into his mouth and made it filthy.
God, but it felt good. Peter's strong grip on his hips made him melt into his
warmth. Peter smelled amazing and he tasted amazing and his hair felt soft
between Stiles’ fingers. Stiles couldn't get enough.
When Peter pulled back, Stiles followed, letting out a needy noise.
Once he realized what he did, he felt his face heat. He swallowed and backed
away.
“Thank you, Stiles,” Peter said. He had a shit-eating grin on his face. It made
Stiles want to slap him. He was an omega, of course he would respond to Peter
like that, and Peter was using his instincts against him. Peter knew that and
Stiles knew Peter knew that, and yet he felt embarrassed anyway.
But before Stiles could call him out, Peter said, “I stopped by the pharmacy on
my way back and got you something.” Stiles stepped back when Peter let him go
to pull out a small bottle from his back pocket. The label was unfamiliar to
Stiles.
“I know your heat isn't for another month,” he continued, shaking the bottle
from side to side. “But I thought we could start early.”
Stiles took another step back, stomach twisting. Peter wouldn't . . . would he?
“You want to—” Stiles swallowed nervously. “To what? Induce a heat?”
Peter's expression turned annoyed at Stiles disbelieving tone. “Yes, Stiles. I
want you to have your heat right now.”
“No fucking way.” Stiles was not prepared to have his heat so soon after
getting mated. With Peter, of all people. He was glad for a month's respite—it
was just time enough for him to go on birth control, with or without Peter's
consent. He never had any reason to before but many reasons now.
He definitely wasn't prepared to be pregnant. Oh god, kids? Maybe someday, with
Peter or not, but definitely not right now. He was seventeen. He had never
spent a heat with another person before. He knew the statistics—there was a
very, very high chance he was going to get pregnant.
Peter raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“Yes!” Stiles was very sure he didn’t want his heat.
“I mean,” Peter said, palming the bottle and slowly advancing. “Are you really
sure?”
Stiles froze. This was the way things were going to be now, weren't they. Peter
would want something, and Stiles would have to say, ‘yes, Peter,’ without
question. ‘Yes, of course I will carry a child for you, Peter. Nothing else I'd
rather do.’
Stiles grit his teeth and stuck his hand out for Peter to hand over the bottle.
“I'm glad we agree.” Peter's pleased smile sent unpleasant shivers down his
back.
“That wasn't agreement,” Stiles said. He read the label and the instructions.
He didn't know if it was safe and didn't have the time to research if it
wasn't, but at least it was fast acting and looked officially manufactured. “If
I die,” he said, “It's your fault.”
“Take your medicine, Stiles.” Peter walked past him to the next room. “And come
to the bedroom when you're done.”
“Take your medicine, Stiles,” Stiles mocked under his breath. “We’re going to
have so much fun, Stiles. Fucker.”
“I heard that,” Peter called.
“Good!”
He followed the prep instructions and then chugged it back when it was ready.
It tasted vile. But in . . . five hours, he was going to be burning up and
begging for Peter's cock, so it didn't really matter.
He didn't want to go back but he couldn't dally long. Peter's apartment was
pristine, so he couldn't even say he was cleaning up. Probably had a cleaning
service come in every week, the pompous ass. Weird to think of it as Stiles’
new home. Stiles figured it would feel like it once his stuff arrived.
At least the sex wouldn't be bad. Despite how much Stiles didn't like Peter’s
personality, he couldn't deny being attracted to him. And once his brain was
scattered with heat hormones, Peter's body would be the only thing that
mattered.
“Stiles?” he heard.
“I'm coming,” he said. Now if he could get his body to move.
Peter was lying sprawled on the bed in just his underwear when Stiles finally
decided to suck it up. Stiles could clearly see the outline of his dick through
them. It was an impressive size already and Peter wasn't even hard yet. Stiles
wanted it in his mouth.
Instead, he approached the bed and laid down on his side facing away from the
temptation. He'll get his chance eventually, but right now, he’ll exercise his
will for as long as he still had it.
Except Peter wouldn't let him. Peter dragged him to the middle of the bed and
slowly began undressing him. He peppered kisses all over the newly exposed skin
and Stiles’ nerves lit up with each sensation. He didn't want to like it, but
it felt good all the same.
His omega instincts screamed at him to give into it, to give in to Peter, to
his alpha. He wanted to present himself, to expose his throat to Peter and let
Peter mark it up. To show Peter how good an omega he can be for his alpha.
But he squashed those desires down, and forced himself still as Peter removed
the rest of his clothing. He ignored the urge to cover himself up out of sheer
embarrassment. If Peter wanted to look then Stiles was going to stubbornly let
him look.
His legs spread apart without his consent but it felt natural and easy so he
let them stay.
“You smell so good,” Peter muttered. He buried his face in that spot where neck
met shoulder and Stiles’ scent was strong, blanketing Stiles with his body.
He couldn’t stop himself from running his hands all over Peter's back once it
was available to him, feeling every muscle and inhaling lungfuls of Peter's
scent. Peter scraped his teeth over Stiles’ skin, making him whimper. He tilted
his head as far as he could to give Peter room.
Stiles arched up when Peter bit him. Not hard enough to draw blood but it was
going to leave a nice purple bruise. His cock rubbed up against Peter's clothed
one and that felt amazing. So he kept at it, wrapping his legs around Peter's
hips to get closer.
But it wasn't enough. He was wet and empty and he just wanted more. And Peter
wasn't doing anything other than mauling his throat.
“Peter,” Stiles moaned. “Come on.”
Peter kissed his neck one last time and pulled back. Stiles had to let go.
There wasn't enough room to turn, but Stiles tried anyway. Peter caught him.
“No, stay.”
Stiles obeyed. Peter's fingers started circling around his hole, spreading his
slick around but maddeningly not pushing inside. It frustrated Stiles beyond
belief. He surged up with his hips to try and force them, but Peter pulled his
hand away.
God, the self satisfied asshole. “Fine,” Stiles muttered, shoving two of his
fingers inside.
He felt infinitely better. It soon turned into three. He knew he could come
like this, he did it before.
Peter gently smoothed his hands over Stiles’ thighs, over and over. He watched
as Stiles fingered himself, one hand in his ass, the other fisting his cock.
Stiles smelled amazing, aroused, frustrated, and completely unashamed. He
couldn't wait until Stiles’ heat hit. Then he would be desperate as well.
Stiles was letting out these small little whimpers and his arm began to tremble
from the awkward angle. Peter pushed Stiles’ arm away, quickly filling him up
with his fingers and looking for that one spot that would make Stiles see
stars. He kissed Stiles’ open mouth, wanting more of Stiles’ taste.
Stiles jerked when Peter scraped the pads of his fingers across Stiles’
prostate. He sucked in a deep breath. Peter wasn't giving up and Stiles was
getting so close. And from Peter’s fingers, no less. Stiles couldn't imagine
how much better his cock would be.
“S-stop,” Stiles gasped into Peter's mouth. “I'm—I'm gonna come. Peter!”
His orgasm washed over him with a blinding fury, making each muscle tense. He
couldn't catch his breath afterward and he whimpered when Peter pulled his
fingers out. Peter kissed him one last time before pulling back.
“That wasn't so bad,” he said.
Stiles got the sudden urge to smack him with a pillow for that comment. “Could
have been better.”
Peter chuckled and rearranged them until Stiles was sitting in his lap, leaning
against Peter's chest. He could feel Peter's hardness against the small of his
back and realized Peter didn't come. Good. The asshole deserved to suffer.
“Plenty of time to make it better,” Peter said.
“Yea,” Stiles said. “A whole week of non-stop sex. That should do it.”
“Take a nap, Stiles,” Peter said, grabbing the remote and turning the tv on. He
kissed Stiles’ temple. “You'll need your strength.”
“I will take a nap, but not because you said so.” Stiles settled into Peter's
warmth, deciding to hate the man later.
He closed his eyes and didn't even notice as he started dozing.
He wasn't sure how long he was out of it for, but he was instantly awake when
he heard what the newscaster said.
. . . following the death of Sheriff Stilinski—
Stiles sat up.
—a tragic event that has upset the political balance. The nominations for a new
Sheriff will begin next week—
“Peter! You promised me he was safe!” Stiles wrenched himself away from Peter.
“Stiles—” Peter tried to hold onto him, but he slid away like a cat.
“You said he was safe! You lied to me!” His body was burning up. Slick was
running down his thighs. He must have slept away the hours and now he was going
into heat. There was an insistent itch under his skin and Peter smelled
mouthwateringly wonderful, and Stiles just wanted to go to him. Oh, God, Peter
was going to get a baby into him. And then Stiles would be tied to him forever.
The law would not let him leave if he had Peter's child to look after.
“Stiles, wait a moment—”
“Don't touch me,” Stiles screamed and backed away. He swayed on his feet. The
cacophony of emotions running through him—arousal, and anger, and disgust—were
making him feel queasy.
“Stiles, your dad is fine.”
“I think I'm going to be sick,” Stiles whispered and ran for the bathroom. He
barely made it in time. Peter was instantly at his side rubbing gentle circles
into his back and gripping the nape of his neck. That grip made his muscles go
slack, his omega instincts making him submit to his alpha through that one
simple touch. Tears gathered in his eyes. “I hate you.”
“Okay, enough,” Peter barked, getting up and Stiles cringed away. “Your dad is
alive. And once you brush your teeth, we're going to have a rational
conversation. Better hurry. Your heat is hitting you hard now, and I'd rather
you were attentive.”
Then he left the bathroom, leaving the door open on purpose.
Stiles didn't want to get up nor did he want to believe Peter. But hope was a
bitch, and it sunk its claws into Stiles’ heart, making him get up and do as
Peter said.
He caught his red eyes in the mirror. It made him momentarily pause, toothbrush
halfway out of his mouth. He was still naked. He tried to imagine himself
swollen and heavy with Peter’s child, big stomach protruding from his body. He
couldn't do it.
He spit and rinsed his mouth. Washed the tears from his face, too. Wiped up the
slick from between his legs for good measure.
He was as ready as he was ever going to be.
“Feeling better?” Peter asked once he stepped out.
Stiles nodded. The tv was turned off and Peter was sitting on the bed.
“Where's my dad?” Stiles asked.
“I didn't lie to you. He is safe. I had him moved to a different hospital while
he recovered.”
“The news said he was dead,” Stiles accused.
“Because Sheriff Stilinski is dead. He died at the hospital. That was the only
way to get Deucalion’s assassins to stop. Your dad will get a new identity
setup for him and he's going to start over in a new city. If you're good, I'll
even let you visit him.”
It was getting hard to think. Even with a full room of space, Stiles could
still smell him. His fingers twitched in Peter’s direction. He made himself
focus.“That's not what we agreed on.”
“That's exactly what we agreed on,” Peter argued, relaxing against the
headboard. “Your dad’s safety in exchange for your submission. What, did you
think I was going to field threats for the rest of his life?”
That was exactly what Stiles thought. But having Peter point it out so bluntly
made Stiles realize just how stupid it sounded.
Stiles swayed forward.
“Come on, Stiles. Come here,” Peter goaded, and Stiles was helpless against
that self assured tone. It reverberated against his skin.
Fuck it, they could have this conversation later.
With frenzied energy, he gave into his instincts. Before me knew what he was
doing, he was in Peter's lap, desperately rutting against him, kissing him
senseless.
He wasn't sure what else he did. It all became desperate touches and burning
need and Peter, Peter—PeterPeterPeterPeter. . .
                                       ~
The sun was too bright when Stiles finally came to. He shut his eyes tightly
and groaned. He felt terrible—sore, uncomfortable, and sticky. His hair was
sticking to his forehead and he smelled terrible.
Peter was sitting up in bed, reading . . . something. It was rectangular, and
rattled when it was moved.
Stiles didn’t want to know.
“I got something for you,” Peter said and made the box rattle on purpose. The
last time Stiles heard those words was a week ago and he had the most terrible
week because of it.
“Fuck off,” he muttered and turned over.
Peter cuddled up to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Fine. But don’t stay in
bed too long.” He wrapped Stiles’ fingers around the rattling box. Then,
blessedly, he left.
Stiles was happy to ignore the thing in his hand and just go back to sleep. But
his curiosity got the best of him. He brought the box up to eye level and read
the label. Pregnancy test.
He groaned. Fantastic.
End Notes
     Tell me what you think?
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