Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3253829.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Peter_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Non-Negotiated_Kink, Daddy_Kink, bladder_desperation, Watersports,
      Panties, Manipulation, Power_Exchange, BDSM, Anal_Sex, PWP, Pre-Season/
      Series_04, Crying_During_Sex, Established_Relationship, Omorashi
  Collections:
      The_Steter_Network
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-01-30 Words: 3638
****** Timid, driven by thirst ******
by Malapropian
Summary
     Peter always thought it was ironic how triumph smelled just a like
     pretty boy crying in his lap.
Notes
     I started this in November, but I had angrily tossed it aside until
     this week when I showed a snippet to Taylor and Laura. They nagged me
     to finish "peefic", and now we have this. This would not have
     happened without the encouragement of Taylor, Laura, and Elpie. Thank
     you for loving pee as much as I do. Special thanks to Laura for
     basically dropping in the doc at every 300 words or so to tell me not
     to delete everything.
     I'm pretty sure it's not explicit enough to rate an E, but, at the
     same time, it sort of is? Either way, this is my first explicit fic
     on AO3. Does that rate some kind of celebration?
     The timeline for this fic is whenever you believe it's happening, but
     if I had to pin something down... I guess sometime before 3b?
     Definitely before season 4. Maybe it's canon compliant. I really
     didn't quibble with the details. I was just trying to write pwp
     peefic.
      
     Tag notes at the end.
See the end of the work for more notes
 
 
Over the last few months of this thing he and Stiles had been doing, Peter
couldn't help but notice the way Stiles would fill up on liquids and then,
after hours of fidgeting, relieve himself. Peter has seen Stiles literally
forget that he was on the way to the bathroom. He didn't think Stiles was doing
it on purpose, but it was hard to be certain without experimentation. He knew
asking the boy would likely result in denials and evasion. Really, it’s not as
though he wanted to manipulate Stiles through his caffeine addiction and poor
impulse control. It was for the good of his darling, boy. It simply wasn't
healthy to deny himself that way—not when he had Peter.
He pushed the brew button as soon as he heard the unmistakable sound of his
boy's tread coming down the hallway. This was followed in mere moments by the
turn of a key, and Peter had just enough time to stir the requisite amount of
sugar into the mug of fragrant black coffee. Only the first cup if all went
according to plan. He spared a moment to be grateful that his current glee
would be indiscernible from his usual expression of “smug son-of-a-bitch” and
turned to greet his very welcome visitor.
Stiles grinned when he saw the mug and reached out with eager hands. "Aww,
Daddy." He cooed at Peter in a particularly obnoxious voice he saved for just
these occasions.
"For me? You shouldn't have." He shut his eyes after the first swallow. "Mmm.
This is just what I needed. It already feels like today won’t fucking end, and
I still have homework after we go through those books you found."
“Hm. Then it’s a good thing that I decided to set up the Keurig today,” he
offered a charming smile, then sipped at his own suitably sugared and lightened
coffee. “All the better for us to concentrate.”
It wasn’t fair at all for Peter to use that tone of voice for mundane matters,
and he knew it. He’d spent many enjoyable evenings training the boy to respond
to it in a particular manner, and now was no exception. Stiles gave a full-body
shudder and his coffee sloshed dangerously close to the rim before he grabbed
it in both hands and glared.
“Seriously unfair,” he gritted out.
“Why, darling, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Peter sat on the
slip-covered leather couch and patted the cushion next to him. “The sooner you
finish, the sooner we can do something… more to your liking.”
 Stiles grumbled as he sprawled on his half of the couch but let Peter place
his coffee mug on a coaster carefully positioned out of the way of flailing
limbs.
"You’re such an asshole,” he sniffed. “Are you actually trying to remind me of
my grandma with the couch cover and the coasters and your spotless, hardwood
flooring?”
“Yes, Stiles. My greatest ambition is to give you an erection while making you
think of her.”
He looked back in horror. “I can’t tell when you’re joking anymore. I hate you.
Just pass me the creepy lamb book, and we can forget the last two minutes ever
happened.”
At that blatant attempt at manipulation, Peter raised a brow. “This book has
been around longer than your family has been in America. It is made of vellum,
and it’s staying away from all food and beverages.”
“Ugh. Whatever,” he muttered and quickly arranged his laptop and his half of
the books.
“I’ll make it up to you after your homework,” Peter offered. “If you’re a good
boy, then I’ll give you a surprise.” He hid a satisfied smile at the way the
boy’s pupils dilated briefly.
“Is it a nice surprise or one of your douchebag surprises?” Stiles asked in
hard-won caution.
“Oh, I think it’s a very nice surprise,” he said, “but you’ll have to let me
know what you think.”
===============================================================================
Peter watched in avid hunger as Stiles stood up from the spot by his feet where
he had absently migrated within the first hour of reading. His single-minded
focus on cataloguing, and later American history, was such that he had barely
acknowledged the way his mug never quite ran empty except to drink while it was
still warm. A willing victim, he had released the most delicious, little whines
after drinking the last few cups; now the habitual fidgeting had taken on an
air of urgency—Peter could almost call it distress.
It was time for the next step.
He was in the middle of bending in a precarious backwards curve that exposed
the faded tracery of scars and the startling line of dark hair on his abdomen.
He was the picture of vulnerability—which is when Peter chose to make his move.
Peter stalked forward on light feet, though his stealth was wasted on the
completely distracted boy flaunting his belly to a predator. The soft moan of
relief as Stiles popped his back only enhanced his presentation as something
soft and vulnerable—ripe for the taking. Without warning, Peter jerked Stiles
up into a standing position, easily pulling his boy into his arms so they’re
pressed together from shoulders to groin. As always, using a werewolf’s greater
strength against Stiles made him stretch out his long, pale neck and thrust his
hips up in a mindless plea for attention.
“Hey, Daddy.” Stiles panted. “Did you miss me?”
Peter hummed as he scraped his stubble against Stiles’ bared neck and enjoyed
the rapid bloom of pink on such pale skin.
“Of course, I did, sweetheart. I always want to be inside you. Are you ready
for your surprise?”
“Yes, please.” Stiles moaned and rocked his hips forward again.
“None of that now.” Peter smirked as he released the boy and took two steps
back. Stiles was already fully erect and obscene in his want. It was clear to
see that only sheer force of will to be a good boy kept him from throwing
himself back at Peter and begging to be touched. The combined scent of their
arousal was delicious.
“You’re going to take your clothes off and fold them neatly. Then I want you to
kneel on the couch, holding onto the backrest. You’re going to wait there
quietly and not touch yourself. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Daddy,” he agreed thoughtlessly. The cloud of arousal was tinged with
slightly sour discomfort, and Peter wondered if he even noticed that he was
rubbing his thighs together and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Perfect.
“Good boy.”
Peter settled back in a recliner that had not been slip-covered to within an
inch of its life. So far, the plan was progressing nicely, but Stiles wasn’t
nearly as desperate as he should be. He tsked as Stiles wrestled himself out of
his shirts and flung them off and simultaneously tried to divest himself of his
shoes. “Slower, baby. It’s not a race. Don’t forget to fold everything when
you’re done.”
The man allowed his eyes to trail over the mussed hair, bitten lip, and chest
littered in fading bruises and bite marks - his marks. He popped open his
button fly and began to stroke his cock. “Now the pants.”
Stiles whimpered at the sight of Peter jacking off to his half-naked body, but
he obeyed the order of “slower”. He took in several deep breaths before moving
his hands to his waist and slipping the button out and easing the gently zipper
down. By the time he pushed the jeans off of his hips, the boy was trembling in
only a pair of indecently sheer purple, mesh panties that had decorative black
ribbons lacing up the sides. It was almost cute the way the tip of his wet cock
shyly peeked from the top.
“Oh fuck,” he breathed as he stroked himself faster. “Aren’t you just Daddy’s
sweet boy? Did you wear those for me? Leave on your pretty panties and get on
the couch, so I can give you your surprise.”
The awkward way his boy clambered on and gripped the couch back was forgotten
when he stuck out his ass without shame and let out wordless, pleading whines.
They grew to a fever pitch as Peter remained in his chair, though he’d stopped
stimulating himself once his boy was in position.
“Is that how good boys wait?” The noises ceased abruptly at his question, but
Peter simply cleared off the coffee table. “All of this whining makes me think
that you haven’t learned to be patient. Do you want me to touch you, or do you
want to be left here with the vibrating plug until I think you’ve learned a
lesson?”
He stowed the books and laptop on a random shelf and unlocked the table’s lid.
Peter plucked out the toy and trailed it over Stiles’ ass. At the sad whimper,
he began to push it against the cloth barrier protecting his clenching hole.
“Baby,” he reminded, “I’m still waiting for an answer.”
“No. Daddy, I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. Please don’t leave me here like
that!”
“Shh,” he soothed, continuing his teasing motions. “I won’t leave you like that
as long as you keep showing me how sweet you can be. Now, be still for Daddy.”
All at once, he let the plug drop onto the couch and landed a solid slap to
Stiles’ ass before spreading it apart. Peter smiled in genuine pleasure when
the boy was able to cut off his gasp and rewarded him by leaning forward to
lave at the spasming muscle through the mesh. His baby boy was always so
responsive. Even an indirect rimming had him biting his lips nearly bloody in
an attempt to hold in his sounds. Peter redoubled his efforts, stretching the
fabric to its limit as he mimicked the fucking Stiles had to look forward to.
He pulled back only when the pretty, purple panties were stretched and soaked
through, darkened with his saliva. They weren’t nearly close enough to ruined
in his opinion.
Clinging to the couch, Stiles had his teeth buried in one wrist, attempting to
stifle the pathetic keens Peter had reduced him to. Beautiful.
“Did you enjoy having my tongue on you? Having your greedy ass licked out?”
Peter dragged human-sharp nails over the reddened skin of Stiles’ inner thighs
and laughed at the muffled shriek. “Poor, baby. Is something wrong? Go ahead
and tell me.”
The boy sniffled once, wetly, and said in a quivering voice, “I have to pee.
Please, Daddy. I’ll be right back.”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart. You knew we were going to play after your
homework, but you drank all that coffee. If you want to pee, then you’re going
to do it here... and you’re going to ask me very nicely.” Peter stroked over
the boy’s back as he processed this new demand.
But Stiles had neither signalled a wish to stop play, nor had his body
indicated anything resembling unwillingness. No, he knew beyond doubt that
Stiles wanted this as much as or more than Peter did. The longer the boy had
ignored his full bladder the more his usual scent took on the musk of arousal,
and it only grew stronger as it was joined by the distinct smell of discomfort
edging into pain and the perfect amount of piquant shame to make it
interesting. Shame and sex were one of Peter’s favorite olfactory combinations,
but there was a touch too much of the former. An excess of humiliation could
cost him the whole game.
Succumbing to his stunted nurturing instinct, Peter plucked up the kneeling boy
and arranged him on his denim covered lap, wiping away the distressed tears
with gentle fingers.
“Do you want to continue, Stiles?”
His reluctance to answer was palpable, and when it came it was whisper soft.
“Yes, please.”
It wasn’t a resounding yes, but it was good enough for his purposes. As they
said, the show must go on.
“Then prove it.” Peter leaned back against the soft, water-resistant cover.
“You’ve been a rather selfish boy neglecting your daddy this way. You’ve been
here hours without even kissing me when I’ve been so nice.” At the surprise on
Stiles’ face, he lifted a brow in response—a sign the boy recognized because he
immediately lurched forward in a clumsy kiss.
Amused by the rapid reaction, Peter took control of their kiss. One hand easily
spanned the width of Stiles’ throat while his thumb came to rest at the hinge
of his jaw. Stiles groaned at the pressure and grew pliant in his hold. His
mouth opened obediently; and he sucked on Peter’s tongue, uncaring where it had
been a few short minutes ago.
Kissing Stiles was no hardship with his plush, pink lips and remarkable
enthusiasm for any sort of oral activities, but Peter was past ready to move
things along. If the restless squirming atop his bare cock was any indication,
then so was Stiles.
He tore himself away from that eager mouth, shoving him away so he could drag
his stubble against a puffy nipple. With each scrape, he could feel the
uncontrollable twitch of Stiles’ cock where he was helplessly grinding on
Peter’s abs. He wrapped his lips around a nipple and pinched at the other. The
rising smell of desperation told him that he’d be able to bury himself in the
young body perched on his lap—as soon as he fetched the lube.
Peter regretfully abandoned both nipples and pulled Stiles into another kiss
while reaching into his pocket for the tube. A quick flick and a twist saw his
fingers coated in the stuff. Before he’d dealt with the panties. For a moment,
he considered the simple expedient of ripping them off, but no. He wanted to
see them ruined. The decision was made in a tiny moment, so there’s no hint of
a pause before he tugged them aside and plunged one slick finger in to its
limit. He couldn’t help but swallow down the squeal released by Stiles. The
sharp hunger for all of the boy’s sounds drove him to add another finger before
he intended, but the hole barely rippled around him, accepting his rude
intrusion even as Stiles rocked in a jerky, halting motion.
There was something undeniably beautiful in the feeling of Stiles's rim
stretching around his fingers or his cock like it was made to fit only him.
Under normal circumstances, that combined with the titillation of this new
experience might have been enough to make Peter fuck him hard and fast - to
forget his plans and simply fill all these pretty holes with his cum; but Peter
refused to ruin everything when, judging from the desperate sounds coming from
Stiles, victory was literally almost close enough to taste.
Peter bit down on the lush, bottom lip he’d sucked into his mouth before he
said, “Are you ready to ask for what you want, sweet boy?”
His only answer was a convulsive shudder and the plaintive cry of “Daddy”.
He narrowed his eyes and shoved in two more fingers at once, but Stiles
stubbornly refused to beg. Clearly the boy needed encouragement, so Peter upped
the ante by jabbing those fingers into his prostate with unerring accuracy and
teasing his perineum with a thumb nail.
“You know what I want to hear. There won’t be any orgasms from you until I do.
You know I can come in your tight ass and leave you high and dry after a good
pounding. Is that what you want, pet? You know I hate to leave you wanting.”
Eventually, the stimulation proved too much for him, and he couldn’t stop
trembling and clutching at Peter. He whispered, “Please.”
Never above petty meanness, Peter spread all four fingers inside of him and
asked, “What was that, baby? I can’t hear you.”
Stiles gave a full-body jerk and moaned, “Fuck! Please, Daddy. Fuck me. Give me
your cock. Please. Daddy. Please.”
“Ohh, baby boy. That was so close, but it’s not what I need to hear. Try
again.”
He writhed on Peter’s fingers, his face twisted with shame, his scent suffused
with desire, and then he sobbed, “Daddy. Let me—I need to piss. I’m so full .
Hafta pee. Let me piss myself while I ride your cock. Wanna soak my panties in
piss and cum. Daddy, please. Let me be good for you.”
And there. Exactly the surrender he’d been waiting for. Peter always thought it
was ironic how triumph smelled just a like pretty boy crying in his lap.
Peter captured his mouth in one last tongue-filled kiss before sighing out a
pleased, “Sweetheart. That was perfect. Hold your panties for me.”
Stiles held them out of the way and whimpered at the feel of Peter’s fingers
easing out of his sore hole. He went still at the touch of Peter’s cock on his
rim, but he kept his grip on them and sank down until he felt denim scratch his
ass and thighs.
“There you are,” Peter crooned as he grasped his waist and showed Stiles the
speed and rhythm he wanted. “Don’t you feel better admitting to Daddy what you
want?”
“Yes, Daddy,” he breathed into Peter’s neck. “‘m a good boy. I’ll tell you next
time.”
“I know you will, sweetheart. You can come as soon as you piss all over us.
Just keep on bouncing. Make it good for me.”
Peter knew that Stiles wouldn’t last much longer, but his attempt was all the
more lovely for its futility. The boy’s needy ass clutched at him, but he’d
ceased riding and reverted to dirty, circular grinds making the fat cock drag
across his prostate and bringing tears to his lust-darkened eyes.
If he was being honest, then he’d admit that Stiles wasn’t the only one who
wouldn’t last much longer. Peter was perilously close to coming though he’d
only been fucking him for a few minutes. He’d let the build up go too long to
expect endurance now. However, that didn’t mean he was willing to come before
his boy did.
With that goal in mind, Peter reached past the waistband to grip the boy’s
slender cock in a rough hand, ruthlessly running his thumb over the head. He
stroked in counterpoint to the grinding on his own cock, and pressed his nail
hard against the slit - not quite breaching it. That was all it took for Stiles
to stiffen on and around him. His inner walls clamped down viciously on Peter
as he released the painful hold on his bladder, spraying them both in dark
urine that carried the faint aroma of coffee.
Stiles waws all ecstatic, surrender as his mouth dropped open and he wailed.
The look on his face was transcendent. Glorious. Seeing and smelling the
blissful state from emptying his bladder was all it took for Peter to orgasm,
cradled by the hot clench of Stiles’ body. Snarling, he grabbed the boy’s hips
and dragged him down as he thrust wildly, using him like a toy on his pulsing
cock.
Finally sated, sitting in a puddle of piss, Peter nudged Stiles’ lips with his
own. “Come for me, pet.”
He shifted on Peter’s still hard cock and made a half-hearted protest. “Can’t.
Peed it all out.”
“Hm. Somehow I don’t think that’s the case.”
Ignoring Stiles’ mutters, he fisted the tacky, wet cock in a tight grip and
pumped. At the rising moans, Peter anchored him with his free hand and angled
his cock to bump his swollen prostate. “Do it, sweetheart. Be a good boy. Come
now.”
“Fuck! Daddy!” Stiles yelled as he lost control for the second time. Spent and
shivering, he collapsed in a sticky heap on Peter’s chest and blinked slowly.
“I did good?”
“So good, baby. My good boy.”
“Can it be naptime?”
“Dirty boy,” he said fondly. “Let me clean us up and get you into bed.”
 
===============================================================================
 
As Peter eased him off his softened cock, he’s surprised at how much he meant
what he’d told Stiles. He really had done well—the whole scene was so much more
than he hoped it would be. He mused on experience as he carried him to the
bedroom.
Filled with an uncharacteristic tenderness, he allowed his nurturing instinct
free reign. He took great care in laying out Stiles, stripping him of his
sodden underwear, and wiping his sticky skin with the soft cloth resting in the
heated basin he’d prepared beforehand. He paid careful attention to the raw,
stubble burned patches and red, swollen rim. Stiles simply laid there pliant
and unbearable in his trust.
He made certain that water bottles as well as Stiles’ favorite flavor of KIND
bar were close at hand. It was a necessity as much as an escape when he left to
toss the slip-cover and the rest of the urine-soaked clothes in the washer and
take a two minute rinse in the shower.
The way Stiles lit up and stretched out a hand on his return was like a gut
punch. “C’mere, Daddy.” He yawned.
Months ago, Peter might have kicked him out after a scene, but now he’s wrapped
around a soft, warm body that curls around him in something like adoration.
He’d never been the cuddling type, but somehow he kept finding himself here. In
bed with Stiles. Out of bed with Stiles. Spending enjoyable, non-sexual time
with Stiles. It wasn’t boring or tedious as he’d first expected. In fact, it
was always… interesting.
“Sleep, baby.” He murmured before indulging in the impulse to kiss him soft and
sweet and so good - miles away from dull mediocrity.
Maybe he’d want to keep Stiles around indefinitely if he continued to exceed
expectations like this.
 
 
End Notes
     Tag notes:
     The non-negotiated kink is explained pretty early on, but Peter
     decides to set up a bladder desperation scene without discussing it
     with Stiles. Stiles is totally into it, and has a safeword if he is
     not. He never uses his safeword.
     As always, please let me know if you saw a typo or other mistake that
     was missed during the editing process.
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