Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/514329.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-09-17 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 3848
****** Where enough is not the same (it was before) ******
by dwarrowkings
Summary
     “Uhm,” Stiles mumbles, “maybe I should go,” and starts backing
     towards the door, but in a flash Peter is out of his chair and
     pushing him up against the closed door. His thigh pushes up between
     Stiles’s legs and oh god. He turns his face to the side, baring his
     neck to Peter, thinking kill me quick and Peter scrapes his teeth
     along his neck, but doesn’t rip his throat out. He pins Stiles’s
     hands up, against the door, bracing Stiles’s suddenly limp body.
     Now with bonus porn.
Notes
     Emily is an enabler. A fic enabler. Wherein we complained a lot about
     how there weren't many consensual Peter x Stiles fics and I
     accidentally wrote some in response to her.
     Title from Poets of the Fall's song "Carnival of Rust."
***** Chapter 1 *****
Stiles finds the blog by accident, tucked away in a hidden corner of the
interet protected by passwords (that Stiles totally guesses, how is ‘luna’ even
a good password) and it is the single greatest source of information about what
the hell is going on with Scott that it might as well have been written as a
how-to guide on how to deal with the newly wolf-inated. Maybe it is, and Stiles
is just that good. He makes an account, and follows the blog.
It ends up with him sending an ask to the mod, (it’s totally a collab blog, he
can tell) asking if there are any non-violent ways to secure your newly furred
best friend, and the guy replies using his personal account (which has sparkles
on it, oh my god, this guy is super fabulous) and says that his friend needs to
find an anchor, with the emphasis on ‘friend’ like Stiles is actually the
person having the problem.
He spends a couple of minutes dicking around in photoshop making the guy a
thank you pic, when Scott, for once, doesn’t try to dismember him on the full
moon, and the guy totally freaks out.
He says his name is Peter and he really really likes Stiles’s graphics, and can
he commission Stiles to make more? Like, a background image dark enough to let
his text posts show, but light enough that it doesn’t freak people out and
he’ll totally pay Stiles in advice on any subject he wants, seriously. And
that’s how Stiles befriends a werewolf on the internet.
It doesn’t occur to him until later that there can be only so many werewolves
named Peter and that he’s never told Peter his name when he hears Derek talk
about his uncle, who was in a coma, and they’re looking for an alpha.
He makes Peter a set of reaction gifs in return for information about Alphas,
and that clinches it. Peter is the one who bit Scott, and it is shocking that
someone this eloquent and intelligent and awesome hasn’t figured out what the
fuck his beta is up to.
He tells Peter his name is Stiles, and asks if they can meet.
Peter tells him that might not be possible or well-advised. Pack politics and
all that.
Stiles snorts when he reads that, but goes to visit Melissa in the hospital
with takeout Italian, and she likes him so much, she tells him where Peter is.
He goes up to visit, and seriously, this guy is supposed to be in a coma, and
he’s running a freaking werewolf advice blog.
He walks in the room, and says “You can’t tell me I’m not in your pack,” he
says, when Peter looks at him warily. “As I’ve basically been telling your beta
how to be a werewolf based on your advice for the past two months.”
Peter’s eyes widen, and Stiles continues, “Also, you’re very sweet for someone
going around on a murder spree, which tells me that it’s not random, and you
don’t like killing random civilians for nothing. There’s a pattern, and it has
to do with the Hale fire right?”
Peter’s mouth is open, like he’s about to say something, but can’t. “I like
your blog,” Stiles blurts, like it’s not obvious, like he hasn’t been talking
about it to everyone he knows who knows about werewolves (okay, Scott) since he
found it.
Peter’s mouth curves knowingly, and his teeth aren’t too sharp, but Stiles sees
where they could be, wants to see it, and maybe it’s dangerous, but so was
coming here and that didn’t stop him.
“I like your graphics,” Peter says, and Stiles blushes. It’s always nice to
feel validation. “You have such a gorgeous blush,” Peter says, and Stiles is
probably supposed to think that this is creepy and wrong and that he should be
screaming for the nurse, but he stands there, flushed and hot, and getting more
turned on by the look in Peter’s eyes by the second and he knows that Peter can
smell it, only makes it hotter. He bites his bottom lip, not trying for
anything except to get some of the nervous energy out of his system, thinking
maybe the pain will calm him down, but it doesn’t, and it makes Peter’s eyes
flash red and his teeth go sharp and too many for a human mouth and Stiles
can’t help the way his stomach drops out with desire.
“Uhm,” Stiles mumbles, “maybe I should go,” and starts backing towards the
door, but in a flash Peter is out of his chair and pushing him up against the
closed door. His thigh pushes up between Stiles’s legs and oh god. He turns his
face to the side, baring his neck to Peter, thinking kill me quick and Peter
scrapes his teeth along his neck, but doesn’t rip his throat out. He pins
Stiles’s hands up, against the door, bracing Stiles’s suddenly limp body.
“That’s right, Stiles, submit to your Alpha,” and Stiles thinks that he can’t
take it, Peter is so hot, and he’s basically been fangirling over him for weeks
now, and he’s all up in Stiles’s space, hot and pressing down and scraping
where Stiles needs it most.
“Peter, I can’t,” Stiles cants his hips up, trying to get more friction that
doesn’t crush his dick.
“You can,” Peter breathes in Stiles’s ear. Peter’s tongue flickers out, tracing
the shell, and down, along the line of his neck. He drags his not-entirely-
human teeth across Stiles’s collarbone and Stiles gasps and bucks up into
Peter’s heat all along his front.
“Come for me,” Peter says, his voice much deeper than before, and less human.
Stiles whimpers and does. When his head stops spinning, he feels more than sees
Peter’s nostrils flare, breathing in deep, long pulls of air right against
Stiles’s sweat slick throat.
Stiles thinks he should be awkward or something, but he’s still boneless and
pressed up against the wall, Peter holding his weight, for all they’re the same
height. Peter shifts, and Stiles can feel where he’s hard through the stupid
hospital gown. Stiles licks his lips, because he wants but Peter says “Not
yet,” and it’s not a no, it’s a later.
Peter kisses him then, stubble scraping along his chin. He tastes so good,
which seems so wrong, given that he’s supposed to be a vegetable, and he’s
killing people but Stiles opens his mouth when Peter flicks his tongue along
where Stiles’s mouth isn’t quite closed and lets Peter taste and take and
Stiles gives and maybe takes a little too. Peter makes a sound, Stiles doesn’t
know how to classify it, when Stiles bites at Peter’s bottom lip, and his eyes
flash red, but they’re not angry.
The look on Peter’s face is considering, more than it had been before.
“Next time,” Peter starts, and Stiles’s heart starts beating double, triple
time and Peter smiles. “Next time,” Peter lowers his voice, letting it sound
wrecked and dirty, “we won’t be in a hospital and you’ll give me whatever I
want.”
“Yes,” Stiles says, thinking that he should have reservations about this, but
he doesn’t. He trusts Peter, as weird as it is, because he’d answered his
questions when Stiles had been looking for answers, and Peter didn’t have to.
Peter sucks a mark onto the meat of his shoulder, biting at it hard, but not
enough to break the skin. “Pack,” he says, and lets Stiles go.
He holds the word close to his chest as he drives home, come drying awkwardly
in his boxers the whole way there.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     “Peter,” Stiles half whines, choked and broken. There are tears on
     his face, not because it hurts, but because it feels so good, but not
     good enough, and the only thought that Stiles has is that Peter could
     make it better.
Chapter Notes
     Ooops, I wrote actual porn for this verse. Not even sorry about it.
They still communicate primarily through the website, because Peter is still,
ostensibly, a vegetable, and, well. The less that Stiles knows about his
revenge murder spree, the better for everyone involved.
Which is why it’s embarrassing when Peter shows up in his room in the middle of
Stiles bending his wrist in the most awkward way imaginable to get the dildo
deeper, goddamnit. It’s good and it feels weird and it’s almost enough but it
isn’t, and he’s so frustrated he could cry with it. He makes a broken noise and
something shifts in the room. Stiles opens his eyes, and Peter is looking at
him like the big bad wolf, ready to eat him up.
“Peter,” Stiles half whines, choked and broken. There are tears on his face,
not because it hurts, but because it feels so good, but not good enough, and
the only thought that Stiles has is that Peter could make it better.
Peter doesn’t touch him immediately, and Stiles sees the way he’s digging his
claws into his own palms so he doesn’t claw Stiles. Stiles’s whole body
clenches down on that though, and he almost shouts with how fucking good the
shift felt.
“Peter, please I need--” but he doesn’t get to finish the thought because Peter
is touching him, human fingertips skirting up the back of his calves where
they’e spread, feet pressed down on the bed, heels digging in, trying to get
some traction in. One of his hands is fisted in the sheets, and he can feel the
fabric stretch and warp with the way he’s trying to hold on.
Peter kisses him, sweetly on the inside of his left knee, and then starts
biting his way up Stiles’s thigh. He jerks at the first one, his whole body
trying to get away and push up into it at the same time. Peter huffs a laugh
into the skin, and he grabs Stiles’s wrist and places his hand on Peter’s head.
Stiles tightens his fingers lightly, a question, and Peter smiles at him, his
lips catching on the skin of his thigh. “Good boy,” he mumbles there, and
Stiles wants the words to sink into his skin, to mark him permanently.
He doesn’t say anything about how his fingers are kind of gross from the lube,
but he figures Peter knows and just doesn’t care. Peter nips his way up
Stiles’s thigh, biting lightly and then digging in his human teeth and it hurts
and it feels good and Stiles doesn’t know what to do about it, so he holds onto
Peter’s hair. He doesn’t know how, but  he’s somehow managed to hike his thigh
up, and his muscles are protesting, but he doesn’t care. Peter’s teeth are
making him quiver and jerk, and his skin is burning.
“Peter,” Stiles chokes out, the word catching in the back of his throat,
“please.” He doesn’t know how to ask for it, but he wants it, he wants Peter to
hold him down and fuck him until he’s boneless. He’s hungry for the way it
feels, and his mind thinks cockslut hysterically, and his cock twitches. Oh.
Peter gives his thigh one final bite, so high up it is actually in the crease
of where his thigh meets his pelvis, and instead of moving his head away, he
licks a stripe from the bite up the crease of his thigh. Stiles thinks it can't
be that great, just sweat and maybe lube, but Peter makes a satisfied noise in
the back of his throat Stiles wonders, for the first time, what Peter's hands
are doing, and he realizes that one is in the crook of his knee, pinning it up
and open and vulnerable. His other hand is now stroking the sensitive skin
stretched around the dildo. His fingers are gentle, catching in drying lube and
not quite slip-sliding the way that Stiles's had. It's good, better.
“I thought about you like this,” Peter says, mumbling into the skin of Stiles's
hip. “Open and begging and sweet,” his voice is scratchy, like he's been
yelling, but Stiles knows he hasn't. It's just been them, and the sound of
Stiles gasping and pleading and, yes, begging. “I knew you wanted it, could
tell that first day, how you came when I asked, and begged for it then, such a
dirty little thing. But I didn't know you wanted it badly enough,” Peter
continues, his facial hair scraping along the sensitive skin of his thigh, “to
do this.” He grabs the toy then, pulling it out a little, and then pressing it
back in, watching the way Stiles takes it up close. “Tell me,” Peter whispers,
eyes sparkling when Stiles tries to look at him. He looks vaguely like the
neighbor guy from Home Improvement except for instead of a fence obscuring half
his face, it's Stiles's own body.
“I wanted it to be you,” Stiles sighs, shifting his hips up, unconsciously
asking for friction. “Wanted you to fuck” Peter moves the toy again, “me,”
Stiles chokes out. “Though about it too,” he confesses, “wanted your cock in my
mouth,” another thrust with the toy. “Never had one in my mouth before, but I
wanted to, shit” he breaks off when Peter pushes in rather viciously “wanted to
choke on your dick. Never though about it before I saw you, and I was ready to
fall onto my knees right there.”
“Mmm” Peter hums, pulling the toy all the way out. Stiles feels weird and empty
and wet. Peter pushes the head of the toy back in, and Stiles jerks because it
wasn't this good when he did it, but then, Peter wasn't breathing on his skin.
“Peter,” Stiles whimpers out, begging, “Peter please.”
“What do you want?” Peter asks, and Stiles almost cries, because Peter knows,
it's obvious, but he's going to make Stiles say it. He's making sure that
Stiles knows what he wants, knows how to ask for it, is comfortable asking for
it.
“Fuck me, Peter. Stop teasing me. If you'd wanted to be sure you weren't
forcing me, you should have asked before you touched me, before you snuck in my
room while I was jerking off. You get off on the vaguely rapey vibe, I see
that, but we both know,” Stiles pauses, just to make sure that Peter is paying
attention, “that I want this just as much as you do. Now, take off your
clothes, you creep and fuck me." Peters eyes flash red, probably because Stiles
is ordering him around, but he takes off his clothes. He never took off his
leather jacket – and what is it, some creeper code that you have to wear
leather jackets and stalk people? But he takes off his clothes. He's not
particularly cut, not anything like Derek, but he's sturdy and solid, and
Stiles likes this more. He's not quite so self-conscious like this. Peter's
cock is big, and Stiles's brain goes off line for a second, and when he comes
back, Peter is chuckling at him. Did he say something stupid? Oh god. He
untangles his fingers from the sheet, they're stiff and they hurt, but he
pushes them into his face anyway.
“Not today,” Peter says, which could mean anything, but could also mean that he
did actually ask Peter if he was going to knot him. Stiles is going to die
before Peter even gets to the actual part where he fucks Stiles, and Stiles is
going to beg for death just so the embarrassment will go away.
Peter crawls up Stiles's body, a comforting weight that burns into his skin.
The bed dips, and the dildo hits Stiles in the thigh and seriously? that was in
Stiles's ass, that's unsanitary, but Peter kisses the scrunched up look off his
face. Stiles's fingers are still in Peter's hair, or one hand is, and he
tightens his fingers in it, clinging to the kiss. His other hand slides up
Peter's side, angling for leverage, to get closer to Peter.
Peter's forearm is braced on the outside of Stiles's arm, his hand curling over
Stiles's shoulder, pressing at the fading bruise. Stiles gasps, and pushes
himself up into Peter's body. His other hand is pushing Stiles's thighs open
again, and Stiles pushes his hand down, fisting around Peter's dick, and trying
to force him to get on with it.
“C'mon,” he whines, shifting his hips, “please,” and his voice sounds high and
tight and almost unrecognizeable, but Peter seems to like it.
He moves his hands, pulling Stiles's hips up, his knees falling around Peter's
hips and his ass up and and. Nothing happens.
“What now?” Stiles aks, frustrated. Peter is looking at him like he's mentally
deficient.
“You're not going to ask for a condom?” Peter asks, “I thought all teenagers
were taught to practice safe sex.” Peter looks vaguely disapproving.
“I figure you can't carry diseases, because your wolf would just reject it, and
you probably haven't had that many partners, because wolves are serial
monogamists. That and you probably haven't gotten any in the past, oh, six
years, because hospital and I just.” Stiles cuts off with a blush and looks
away.
“What,” Peter asks, his voice gentle, like he knows the answer, but is only
going to nudge Stiles towards it.
“I want to feel it,” Stiles whispers, hating the way his face burns, the way
that Peter affects him. It was all well and good when Peter wasn't about to
push his dick into him, but now, it seems like a huge thing, a step that Stiles
wants, god he wants but what if it's not what Peter wants, or it's wrong, or
something goes wrong and Stiles ends up pregnant. Peter looks down at him, his
eyes soft like he can read his mind.
“Shh,” Peter shushes him. “Calm down, it's okay. Whatever you want. I'll do
whatever you need. It's okay. I just thought, you know, you might want to be
safer. But it's okay,” he tips Stiles's chin up and kisses him. “It's good to
know what you want, but it's okay if you're not ready for it yet.”
“No, I...” Stiles starts, sighing. “I want it, I just... I want it to be good.
For you.” Stiles is blushing again, and this is stupid. He's such a silly
virgin, thinking one not-even handjob in a hospital makes him some kind of sex
kitten.
“Stop that right now,” Peter says, harsh, “You were doing fine before, when you
were begging for my cock. If you're going to feel that ashamed for this, for
anything, I'm going to put my clothes on and walk away right now. Being
embarrassed about what you want is perfectly fine, as long as you're into it,
but this. This is you and me, and I want you, and you want me.” Peter bites his
shoulder again, and Stiles feels his dick twitch.
“That's good,” he says, worrying the skin with his teeth. He grabs for the
lube, still open on the table beside Stiles's bed. He slicks his cock, and
bites a new hickey into the side of Stiles's throat.
Stiles shifts his hips up, feels Peter's lube-slick fingers pet him, smearing
lube over his hole.
Peter is good like this, urging Stiles gently back upto where he was before,
begging and thrashing for him to fuck him already. It doesn't take long,
because Stiles is apparently easy, but he's easy for Peter, and maybe that's
okay.
“Now,” he gasps, it's starting to feel too good again, and he wants to feel it
before he's lost in it. He wants to know what it feels like, to be fucked by
Peter.
“No,” Peter says, grabbing Stiles's dick and pulling.
“Wait, wait, but I'll come if you don't---” And Peter kisses him silent, still
pulling on Stiles's dick.
“I want you to feel it,” he says, “but you need to be relaxed first. This is
the easiest way. It'll be so good, I promise.” He twists his hand around
Stiles's dick, and his other hand is on Stiles's balls, stroking, and he's
mouthing at the bruise on his shoulder and it's over.
Well, it's not over, but Stiles comes. It feels like the top of his head flies
off and goes spinning around the room. Peter slicks his cock one last time, and
that is Stiles's come, dear jesus christ and pushes into Stiles.
Stiles is grateful, then, that his body is high on endorphins, because the toy
had been medium sized, and it'd felt huge. Peter is bigger than the toy, and
the burn would probably hurt if he were capable of feeling anything other than
good. And Stiles is floating, and Peter is fucking him, and god it feels good,
so good, and he isn't sure if it's because it feels objectively good or because
he's still kind of post-orgasmic feel-good, but he doesn't care.
Peter's thrusts are steady, and he's biting his lip like he is holding back,
and Stiles reaches up to pull him into a kiss. It's dirty and filthy and messy
wet, because Stiles doesn't care what he looks like and Peter is uncoordinated
like it's taking all his concentration to be steady and Stiles licks in his
mouth while Peter whimpers.
“Let go,” Stiles says, fucked out and everything is perfect right now. “C'mon,”
He goads, “fuck me.” Peter's hips snap forward so quickly that it pushes Stiles
up the bed a little. Something sparks in Stiles's spine, and it's staring to
feel better, rather than just good. It's like it was before, good good, but not
good enough. He can't come again yet, but it's okay because he likes this
feeling, Peter's cock filling him up and bumping his prostate and sending jolts
along his body.
He wraps his hands around the back of Peter's neck and bites at the tendon in
Peter's neck. Peter's hips do that unconscious jerking again, and Stiles revels
in it, fucked out and happy. He does it again, and mumbles right up agianst
Peter's ear “Are you gonna come for me?” the opposite of what Peter'd done that
first time, asking and not demanding, but Peter's dick twitches and hardens and
oh, that feels good, and Peter comes.
Peter's arms don't give out, because he's got super werewolf strength or
whatever, but Stiles flops back on his bed, boneless and happy.
Peter seems to need a minute before he unlocks his arms, and Stiles lets him be
quiet. He pulls out carefully, but it's still awkward. He isn't regretting his
decision for no condoms yet, and he probably won't until he has to wash his
sheets or he gets pregnant.
When Peter is pressed all along Stiles's side, nosing at his temple, legs
tangled together, Stiles says “Thank you, for you know, before.” Hoping Peter
knows what he means.
“Stiles,” he says, and his voice sounds so fond that it feels like there's
something trying to escape Stiles's throat. Maybe it's his heart. “It's okay if
you want something, or if you don't. All you have to do is say something.”
Stiles chuckles, “Believe me, I shouldn't have a problem with that again.
You'll probably never get me to shut up again.”
Peter smiles, and it's almost like he's happy that he'll have to deal with
Stiles's mouth for the immediate future. Maybe he is.
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