Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/587769.
  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, Derek_Hale, Scott_McCall, Isaac_Lahey
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, Fuck_Or_Die, Witches, Oral_Sex, Oral_Fixation, Frottage,
      Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Maybe_A_Little_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-12-09 Words: 3703
****** We Had a Good Time Crossin' Those Lines ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     Peter has a spell cast on him, and he either finds release, or dies.
     The pack seems adamant on chaining him up though, that is, until
     Stiles had that gorgeous mouth of his comes along.
Notes
     I've seen enough Sterek stories with this, but not nearly enough
     peterstiles. Sorry not sorry. Also special thanks to tsuuu for the
     feedback (and also distracting me with her awesome, but that's
     another story all together). :D
See the end of the work for more notes
In the corner, chained to the wall, Peter is panting, sweat soaking his
clothes. He’s burning from the inside out – he’s not on fire, no, but he might
as well be. It’s been like this for the past two or three hours, he can’t be
sure, but it very well feels like it’s been days at least. Grinding his teeth
together, he curses every hunter on the face of the planet and the witch who
sided with them by casting this spell on him in their defense. Making him go
into heat like some fucking dog. Even worse, the spell is sure to kill him if
it isn’t remedied quickly, and Peter is not about to die engulfed in flames –
however figurative they may be at this moment – again.  
 He’s not much of a praying type, but at that moment he prays to whatever’s out
there that the witch burns in hell for this brand of suffering she flung on
him. He doesn’t have much time and this idiot pack isn’t doing much to help.
They figured they’d just lock him up in the cellar of the Hale House – twisted
little shits – and try to find a “safe” way to break the spell. For Pete’s
sake, give him a break.
“Perhaps if you unchained me I could handle this myself,” he grits out, testing
the restraints by yanking at them periodically. He figures he can wrench out of
them if he applies enough force, but he’ll save that for when he can get the
pack to vacate the area, otherwise they’ll be sure to stop him.
Derek, the bastard, just glares at him and says, “That wouldn’t work and you
know it. Besides, all you’d do is run out and hurt someone.”
Peter rolls his eyes at his nephew, “Well, if you waste any more time, then
I’ll be dead.”
“Maybe that isn’t such a bad thing,” Scott retorts.
“But you need me and you know it,” Peter smirks, because they do. Without him
they wouldn’t have survived this long. He’s the one with all the information on
how the Alpha Pack works. Their weaknesses and strengths. And not only that –
he has a bank of knowledge on supernatural entities that they have yet to even
think of, some knowledge that even Deaton or the Argents don’t have.  
They hate it so much and he loves that they do, because there is nothing they
can do about it, really. They could only learn to accept his presence, and hope
he wouldn’t stab them in the back. Which, he probably will, but there’s a time
for that and now isn’t it.
“That doesn’t mean we’re going to make some poor bastard suffer for you.”
Peter throws his head back, riding a particularly strong wave of heat, before
panting out a response, “Please, they’d enjoy every minute,” he gasps out
haughtily and then moves his head to sneer at Derek, “Maybe you should take one
for the team. After all, you are the Alpha.”
At that, Derek snarls, eyes flashing red while Peter barks out a twisted laugh.
It was too easy to get under Derek’s skin sometimes. Though, he probably would
have lunged forward to slash at Peter’s neck again if it weren’t for a rather
loud entrance.
 “I’ve got good news and bad news, people. Werewolves...were-people. Wolf
people? ”
And it was Stiles, his mouth as out of control as ever.
Peter’s cock twitched at the thought of the young man’s mouth. Derek might have
somehow noticed from the look he sent Peter’s way, but the older Hale couldn’t
care less.
“What did Deaton say?” Isaac asked, first time he spoke after the whole problem
started.
“There is a way to fix Peter’s, uh, state. There’s this herb that does wonders
for healing and breaking spells, apparently. It’s called a foxglove. The flower
is tubular, shaped like a finger of a glove and it grows in bunches on stalks
that are, like, three to five inches in height?  They come in a few different
colors but the one to look for is pinkish. Or kind of purple. Well, it’s more
of a lavend–“
“Where can we find it?” Derek cut him off impatiently, but it wasn’t like
Stiles didn’t expect it. He did give the alpha a dirty look, however.
 “The woods.”
Derek narrows his eyes, “That’s it?  That’s all you can give me? ‘The woods’?
Do you know how long it’ll take for us to find one fucking flower?”
“Well I got more information than any of you did! And if it’ll take so long
then I suggest you guys go now. I’ll stay and keep an eye on the asshole over
there,” Stiles waves his hand in Peter’s direction to indicate the asshole he
was talking about.
Scott made a noise of protest, “Dude, no way I’m leaving you with him.”
“The guy is all chained up, Scott. Besides, Deaton gave me mountain ash. I’m
good,” Stiles rolls his eyes.
“I’m right here you know,” Peter drawls, “Teenagers these days. So rude.”
“Shut up,” Derek tells his uncle before turning to Stiles, “You’re the only one
who knows how the flower looks like, Stiles. You’re coming.”
“Yes, because I can definitely see in the pitch black night of the woods,”
Stiles says, “Look, I’ll be tripping over everything and slowing you guys down,
and we’re short on time. I have a printout for you so you can find the flower
anyway.”
Stiles takes out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to Derek.
Sure enough, there’s a picture of the flower when Derek opens it up. As Derek
studies it, Stiles throws his keys at Scott.
“Go now. And don’t scratch my baby.”
Derek levels him with a look, “Don’t go near him, okay?”
“Yeah, Stiles,” Scott agreed – and what a fucking miracle that was, “be
careful. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Stiles scoffs and makes a gesture as if he had no clue what they were even
talking about. Derek gives him a stern look and then walks out, Scott and Isaac
following behind him. There was a bout of silence after that. A few minutes
passed and Stiles spun on his heel, stalking towards the area where Peter was
chained up.
The werewolf leaned forward as far as he could, a sharp grin spreading across
his face.
“So, Stiles. Why all the lying?”
Peter tilts his head, taking in Stiles’ startled reaction.
“You said there was a fix for me, and you talked about how the flower is used
to break spells, but you never explicitly stated that the flower would help me.
Half-truths are still lies, Stiles.”
Stiles didn’t answer right away. He pressed his lips into a thin line and
studied the werewolf in front of him, body tensed. He thought he was doing a
good job hiding it – his heart hadn’t skipped once despite his nerves, but of
course Peter would still notice. The man was too sharp for his own good. Stiles
takes in a deep breath, and slowly exhales.
“Deaton said the spell was too strong to break. The only way to get rid of it
is if you carry out what the spell was intended for.”
Peter’s nostrils flared, and he flexed his hands – now clawed hands – as he
bared his teeth.
“And you didn’t explain this before, why?” Peter gritted out.
Stiles tensed even further, body frozen. He clenched and unclenched his jaw and
hands. He doesn’t want to do it, but he knows he has to. Peter is an asset to
the pack, and Stiles’ll be damned if he lets something that’ll help keep him
and Scott alive go. And if he’ll feel disgusted with himself afterwards, who
cares? It’s not like he doesn’t already feel that way most of the time. His
eyes grew intense, locking onto Peter’s feral expression, as he bit down hard
on his lip. In seconds, he relaxed, coming to a decision. To Peter’s surprise,
Stiles dropped down to his knees, hands grabbing a hold of the zipper of
Peter’s jeans.
“I’m not doing this for you. Just so you know,” he says, slowly pulling down
the zipper, face impassive, with just a trace of trepidation underneath.
Peter’s eyes flash an eerie blue as he watches Stiles’ long, pale fingers open
his jeans and tug them down. Free, Peter’s erection bobs in front of Stiles’
face, because of course the man didn’t wear any underwear. Stiles raises a brow
up at the chained man.
“Really, Peter?”
“Just get your mouth on me, Stiles,” Peter says through his teeth, straining to
get his body as close to Stiles as the chains allowed him. The amount of
wantneedwant burning through his veins was making him dizzy.
“I’m sure it’ll satisfy that oral fixation of yours,” he adds scornfully,
because it was hard not to notice how the boy always had something in or around
his mouth no matter what he was doing or where he was.
Stiles glares up at him then, but he doesn’t say anything; he just takes Peter
into his mouth – only to slide his mouth right back off. God damn it. Peter bit
back a howl of frustration as Stiles took time to contemplate the taste in his
mouth. It was definitely salty, musky even, but Stiles isn’t necessarily sure
he likes it. He licks a stripe up Peter’s length, and swipes his tongue over
the slit of Peter’s cock before pausing again. Glancing up, Stiles can see the
way Peter’s chest heaves, the way his eyes flutter and jaw goes slack – and
something in him stirs, because he’s doing that; he’s the one causing Peter to
writhe the way he is.
 He moans softly, sucking at the head of Peter’s cock, and his own dick
twitches at the gasp Peter makes. Right here, right now, Stiles has all this
power over him – and fuck does that get to him; he can feel himself getting
hard too and he can’t be bothered to pretend otherwise. He should be freaking
out right now, but he finds he rather likes it too much. He won’t admit it
though, he’ll never admit it. He’ll lie if asked, even if Peter would be able
to hear as much. Fucking werewolves.
“More, Stiles,” Peter orders, and when he looks down, the boy is giving him the
biggest shit eating grin he’s ever seen.
“How about a please?” he says, giving only a tiny (obscene) kiss to the tip of
Peter’s cock. The little asshole.
“Stiles,” he growls a warning.
But the boy only huffs out a husky chuckle and mouths at him. Stiles lets his
tongues trail up and down Peter’s length, swirl around the head – just toying
with him. He slid his hands up Peter’s thighs and gripped them, nipping at the
hanging flesh in front of him.
And apparently that’s what it took to get Peter to snap. Above him, Stiles
hears the screech of twisting metal before it breaks, and there’s a hand
sliding through his hair, fisting it. Stiles groans at the sharp pain of his
hair being pulled; he fucking knew he shouldn’t have let his hair grow. When
Peter gives another hard tug, Stiles’ mouth drops open in a gasp, and Peter
takes the opportunity to shove his cock in.
Stiles makes a sound of protest, and Peter pulls out, only to thrust back in
harder, making him gag. Peter doesn’t show any signs of stopping though, so
Stiles learns to breathe through his nose, let’s his jaw go as slack as it can,
and his eyes go half-lidded at the moans he hears slipping out from Peter’s
lips. Soon Stiles finds himself digging his nails into Peter’s thighs, and then
reaching around to caress Peter’s balls in his hand, urging the older man on.
And with a glance upwards, Stiles can see when Peter’s head falls back, the
tendons in his neck straining as he tightens his fist in Stiles’ hair.
Stiles tightens his lips around Peter and sucks with earnest, and Peter
literally howls.
“Fuck, Stiles,” he gasps, “Your mouth.”
And if his mouth wasn’t full, Stiles would say, “Well, I think that’s what
you’re doing.”
Peter is groaning, deep and low, cock hitting the back of Stiles’ throat with
every jerk of his hips. Stiles grabs onto Peter’s ass and squeezes, enjoying
the firm globes underneath his hands. The moan coming out of Stiles’ mouth this
time can’t be described as anything other than filthy. His jaw aches, his knees
are sore, and his dick is painfully hard now, but the feeling of Peter’s cock
on his tongue, filling his mouth, is almost euphoric.
“Stiles,” Peter’s growling, fangs cutting into his lip, “God, who knew you’d be
such a cock-slut? So eager. You’re practically begging for it.”
Stiles makes a growling noise of his own and purposely slips in a tooth or two.
It does the opposite of what he’d intended though, because all Peter does is
hisses, and it feels like he gets harder (is that even fucking possible, holy
shit, Stiles thinks) in Stiles’ mouth, and Stiles can taste the bit of pre-come
leaking out his cock.
Stiles glares up at him, and is met with Peter’s stupid glowing eyes and smug
face.
With the hand that isn’t curled in Stiles’ hair, Peter strokes Stiles’ face,
almost tenderly.
“It would have been different if you’d accepted my offer, you know,” he coos.
“I would have probably bent you right over and fucked you right after I dealt
with the Argents,” and he thrusted even harder, seemingly spurred on by his
train of thought, “I bet you would have begged me to do it too, even if I was
drenched in blood. What do you think, Stiles?”
I think you’re a psycho,Stiles wants to say, but he can’t with his mouth full
like this, and Peter doesn’t really seem to care for a response either. The
werewolf decides to push two fingers alongside his cock, down Stiles’ throat,
pressing on Stiles’ tongue as sharp pants tumble out of his mouth.
And oh shit, too much, Stiles thinks, eyes rolling to the back of his head. He
makes these small, helpless noises, and tears are prickling the corners of his
eyes, but he takes it. And soon enough Peter’s fingers slip out of Stiles’
mouth to cradle his jaw , while the fingers in Stiles’ hair go lax as he spills
down Stiles’ throat with a shout. Gasping, Peter slumps back on the wall he was
previously chained on, but he keeps coming in hot spurts, the strength of his
orgasm sending tremors all over his body. The searing pain of the curse
replaced with an almost comforting warm buzz.
It’s a wonder that Stiles doesn’t choke, and he takes Peter’s temporary state
of boneless-ness as an opportunity to slide his mouth off of Peter’s cock. It
slips out of his lips, smearing come over them and down his chin, and Stiles
finds himself licking his lips and swallowing before he realizes what he’s
doing. He makes a show of wiping at his mouth and spitting out what hasn’t
already gone down his throat, but Peter had already seen the way his Adam’s
apple bobbed up and down when he’d swallowed.
He hadn’t taken his eyes off Stiles for a moment, staring hungrily at the boy’s
red, and used mouth. Stiles leaned back to sit on his butt to give his knees a
rest, stretching his legs out in front of him. He briefly thinks about how they
must be bruised by now, but shakes the thought away as he has more important
issues to address.
“Now you owe me,” Stiles rasps, and fuck his voice is absolutely wrecked.  
“Oh?” Peter raises a brow, “Do I, now?”
The glare Stiles sends Peter’s way does nothing but make the heat pool in his
groin. Peter decides to smirk at the boy then. Licking at his chops would
probably be too much, he thinks.
“Yes,” Stiles growls, “I didn’t save your life for free. When I need help –
when I ask for your help later, you are going to help me.”
Peter slinks off the wall, closer to Stiles, “And if I don’t, Stiles?”
Stiles narrows his eyes, and opens his mouth to retort, but Peter effectively
cuts him off by straddling him.
“And what if I wanted to repay you in my own way?” he whisper’s into Stiles’
ear, sliding his hands over the very obvious bulge in the boy’s pants.
Stiles gulps, and promptly pushes Peter off of him, scrambling back only to
have Peter grab him again, and pin him down onto the cold floor.
“No. I don’t want that.” Stiles admonishes, and Peter lets out a mean laugh.
“Always with the lying, Stiles. Even if I couldn’t hear your heart beat, this,”
he Peter squeezes Stiles through his jeans, causing him to gasp, “Would tell me
otherwise.”
“It’s not –“
Peter doesn’t let the boy finish, instead he crashes his mouth into Stiles’,
bites at his wrecked lips and makes them worse. He licks at the blood welling
up before shoving his tongue in Stiles’ mouth, exploring and reveling in the
fact that he can taste himself there. The boy fights to take control of the
kiss, and Peter feels himself hardening again. He opens Stiles’ pants with one
hand and pulls down, taking his underwear down with it. In seconds Stiles’d
dick is free from restricting denim and cotton.
“Peter, please,” Stiles gasps when Peter breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t finish
the sentence because he’s not entirely sure he’s ready for Peter to stop, as
fucked up as this all is. But of course Peter had no intentions of stopping –
he just moves to bite and suck at Stiles’ neck, and Stiles is sure there’ll be
a huge mark there for a few days.
And Stiles is pissed, because he didn’t want anyone to know about this whole
thing and it’s going to be really hard to cover the hickey that he can
basically feel forming without makeup. In retaliation, Stiles rips at the shirt
Peter still had on, and laughed at the way the buttons scattered everywhere.
And Peter growls, because he actually liked the shirt, and takes it off all the
way before ripping off Stiles’ in revenge.
“Damn it, Peter!” Stiles yells, voice still rough, and Peter laughs at him
before shutting him up with his mouth again.
Their movements are frenzied then, heated, as if somehow they both had the
spell casted on them again.  Peter bites Stiles all over, hard, and sometimes
breaking skin, while Stiles scratches at Peter’s back and shoulder, not caring
at all how rough he’s being because Peter will just heal anyway. They rut into
each other, and Stiles’ hand finds its way into Peter’s hair, holding it in a
tight grip like Peter had done to him only moments before.
They moan together when Peter’s hand finds itself between them, grabbing their
cocks together in his fist. Peter jerks them off hard and fast using the spit
and come left on his dick, and the pre-come of Stiles to slick the way. And
Stiles hates that he loves it, the way Peter works him – the way he counts
every bruise and bite mark and scratch on his skin as a blessing.
Their breaths mix together in pants between attacking each other’s mouths –
because it can’t really be called kissing, the way they’re going at each other.
It’s not too long before they both find release, come splattering all over
Stiles’ stomach.
Peter collapses on Stiles then and they both blink rapidly at the
disorientation they feel at the intense orgasm they just shared. When he
recovers, though, Stiles pushes at Peter to get the man off of him – and Peter
obliges, only to roll over and plaster himself against the boy’s back and throw
an arm around him, caging him in. Stiles merely rolls his eyes in annoyance.
They’re both panting, and sweaty, and covered in come – the epitome of
disgusting, really.
“This doesn’t change shit, Peter,” Stiles says, ruining Peter’s afterglow, “You
still owe me. In fact, maybe you owe me twice. You know, for getting a piece of
this.”
Peter chuckles into the boy’s neck, slides his hand to palm at Stiles’ ass and
whispers,
“Next time, I’m going to fuck this ass of yours.”
Stiles swallows. Well. That was rather crude. Not to mention presumptuous.
“It’s hilarious that you think there’ll be a next time,” he snarks.
“It’s hilarious that you’re trying to tell yourself there won’t be,” Peter
comes back easily, teeth scraping at the shell of Stiles’ ear.
Stiles shudders, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of Peter’s words or
actions. Probably both.
“I fucking hate you,” he spits, glaring at the empty space in front of him.
Peter hums in response, enjoying the way the boy seethes in his arms.
“Perhaps you should go. The pack will be coming back soon. I’m sure I can come
up with a good cover up,” Peter says, “After all, you wanted to keep us a
secret, right Stiles?”
Stiles grinds his teeth at the way Peter says “us” like there really was.
Delusional, psychotic bastard.
“There won’t be a next time,” Stiles says.
And then he curses himself, because from the way Peter’s smirking, he knows the
wolf heard the lie.
“Of course, Stiles.”
---
A week later Stiles comes home to find Peter Hale on his bed, laying down with
his arms crossed behind his head as if he belonged there. The smug bastard had
even taken off his shoes to get comfortable, placing them by the window. Stiles
couldn’t help the string of profanities that came out of his mouth but he shuts
up completely when Peter rises off the bed and prowls towards him, crowding him
against the closed door of his bedroom.
“Hello to you too, Stiles,” he leers, and how Stiles wants to wipe the look off
his face, “You ready for that next time?”
Stiles inhales sharply.
But he doesn’t say no.
End Notes
     This seriously got way out of hand. Basically 3k of smut, what am I
     doing with my life.
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