Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/122676.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_Rowling
  Relationship:
      Teddy_Lupin/Victoire_Weasley, Teddy_Lupin/Lily_Luna_Potter
  Character:
      Teddy_Lupin, Victoire_Weasley, Lily_Luna_Potter
  Additional Tags:
      Fanfiction, Infidelity, Het, Spanking, Harry_Potter_Next_Generation
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-09-30 Words: 3148
****** Adventures in Babysitting ******
by luvscharlie
Summary
     Lily has been roped into babysitting for Teddy and Victoire by her
     mother. The night turns out far differently than she'd expected.
     Teddy/Lily Luna, Teddy/Victoire
Notes
     Warnings/content: Vague age disparity, dirty talk, infidelity,
     spanking, hair pulling, biting, striking, anal play, breath play, no
     plot, totally and completely filthy—and I think that covers it. And
     while we're at it, we'll go ahead and destroy a bit more of my
     childhood by using the name of a favourite childhood film. Depravity
     accomplished. My mother would be so proud.
     Notes: Originally written for prompt number 86. Infidelity fic. Lily
     babysits for Teddy and Victoire submitted by at the 2010 . Thank you
     for a brilliant fest and a beautiful banner!
It's not that I don't enjoy looking after Teddy and Victoire's children. I do…
mostly. I mean, changing dirty nappies is never fun, but on the grand scheme of
things, there are Sickles in my pocket at night's end and the little buggers
have an early bedtime. So, who am I to complain?
I keep telling myself all of this, since I am missing the biggest party of the
year. No matter how many times I say it, I'm no happier about it. I want to
kick my mother for volunteering me to babysit so that Teddy and Victoire could
have a "much needed night away from the children". Oh sure, Lily would be so
happy to keep the kids for you, dears! Would she now? Cause being Lily and all,
I feel like I'm sort of the authority on the matter, and I'm thinking she kind
of minds and she's not too happy about it. Nobody even bothered to check with
me first. As if I even give a fuck that Teddy and Victoire need a night out.
And when did a night out alone become an opening bash for Victoire's new art
show at the gallery she runs downtown? Those are renowned for running late into
the night, so I'm fairly certain I'll be stuck here sleeping on their lumpy
sofa.
So, here I am. Stuck with the sprogs while others go out and enjoy themselves
(if anyone could ever consider one of Victoire's stupid art shows to promote
new talent "enjoyment"). I'm not bitter. Really. Can't you tell?
                                      ***
Three spilled glasses, two disgusting nappies and four near-fatal incidents
later (Shut up! I'm fucking angry and allowed to be a drama queen if I want!),
the ankle-biters were finally upstairs sleeping.
And the alcohol cabinet was unlocked… not even an attempt to keep me away from
the Firewhisky—the naïve idiots.
I was just pouring my first glass…
"Mmm-hmm." Someone cleared their throat behind me and my freshly poured glass
of Firewhisky emptied itself all over the carpet. I had to look twice to make
sure that it was only the Firewhisky puddling on the floor, rather than my
bladder.
"Fuck!" I shrieked, turning to see Teddy, arms crossed, grinning down at
mortified me. "Do. Not. Do. That." Every word came out between gasping breaths
and racing heartbeats.
Still sniggering, Teddy used his wand to clean up the mess I'd made… which was
thankfully all booze. I was almost certain of that fact. Almost.
I wasn't done berating him. "You should not sneak up on people like that.
It's—well, it's bad manners. That's what it is!"
"But not bad manners to steal from the alcohol cupboard?" he cocked a turquoise
eyebrow in question.
"Well—" Damn him and his logic; I didn't have a come back for that. "Well, no
that's not bad manners," I managed to get out the words, though they weren't
convincing even to my own ears.
"Really? Why not?"
I was liking Teddy Lupin less and less by the second, which was rather a shame
as he'd always been one of my favourite people growing up. "Because—well,
because—because I said so. That's why."
"You're going to be an excellent parent someday with that kind of logic."
I didn't appreciate being mocked, so I spun around and stomped his toe, giving
it a good grind into the floor.
He laughed.
I glared.
"Works better if you're wearing shoes," Teddy said nonchalantly, and I cursed
my sock-clad piggies for betraying me. So much for having a dramatic flair if
you couldn't do it all the way, so I stomped off (though rather more quietly
than I'd have liked; where were those shoes anyway?) and flung myself down on
the sofa.
I was surprised when Teddy nudged me over and handed me a glass part-way filled
with amber liquid. "What's this?"
Teddy shrugged. "Peace offering, I reckon. If you won't tell, I won't. Besides,
I don't know about you, but I could really do with some spirits."
It was only then that I thought to ask, "Where's Victoire?"
"Meh. I left her back at the gallery rubbing elbows with some big time
arteest."
The way Teddy stretched out the word 'artist' and from the snarl that twisted
his nose, it wasn't hard to conclude that there was trouble between the two of
them. Not that I cared, nor would I do anything to make more trouble between
them. Not I. Certainly not.
"What's it like being the woman in your relationship?" I asked, looking
innocent.
"I would have expected some ridiculous comment like that from one of your
thick-headed brothers."
Teddy wasn't easy to rile. I'd have to do better than that.
"So what's this artist that my cousin would rather spend time with than her
husband like?"
"Shut up, Lily." Teddy glared at me over his glass.
Sore spot. I really should leave it alone and drink what he'd furnished me.
"I bet he's handsome and charming, with an artist's hands and an—"
"I said shut up!" Teddy was shouting, and Teddy rarely lost his temper. I might
have been scared if I wasn't so intrigued… and aroused by his anger.
"You're going to wake the children," I said calmly. "Do try and get hold of
yourself."
Teddy took another drink and continued glaring. Then he stood and began to pace
the length of the living room area. I let it continue uninterrupted for several
minutes, watching as emotions warred across his features. He'd stop and make me
think he was going to start talking, only to commence his pacing once more.
"The carpet might appreciate it if you'd just sit down and tell me what's on
your mind, Teddy."
"It's not something I care to discuss," Teddy said, grabbing the bottle of
Firewhisky from its place on the counter and refilling his own glass and
topping off mine even though I hadn't yet taken the first drink.
"Thank you," I said politely. I took my first drink and coughed a bit as the
liquid scorched its way down my throat. I looked up to find Teddy smiling at
me. "Don't laugh at me," I admonished. "This is just a bit stronger than I'm
accustomed, that's all."
"Maybe pumpkin juice is more to your taste."
I'd show him. I wasn't a child and he wasn't going to treat me as if I were. I
glared defiantly, tilted up my glass, and drained it all… then thought I was
going to spew fire out my nostrils. Dear God, and bloody hell, and every curse
word known to man rattled around inside my head and it was only through sheer
self control that none of them came shooting out my mouth.
"Well, well, well," Teddy said, pouring me another glass, "look who's wearing
her big girl knickers tonight."
The look of admiration with which Teddy gifted me made the pain of that last
swallow almost worth it… almost. Who needed those taste buds anyway? They were
a small sacrifice to be looked at in such a manner by someone so handsome and
charming and... what was I saying again? It was getting warm in here. I could
feel the sweat beading between my breasts. And when did the room start doing
this spinning thing? I don't remember this spinning thing… but I kind of liked
it. It felt like dancing, only I was standing still… I think.
"So how drunk are you?"
I was offended that he would think me such a lightweight. "I'm not drunk!" I
protested. At least those were the words that I said in my mind. I don't think
they came out quite that way though, judging from the resultant laughter from
my cousin's husband.
Teddy came over to the sofa and took my hand, pulling me to my feet. This was
no small feat considering how fast this room had begun to spin. I was impressed
with his ability to stand so straight and tall amidst the circular motions.
"Why can't you get a house that stands still?" I asked.
Teddy only sniggered and before I knew what was happening, I was pulled close
to his chest, my chin was being tilted up, and he was kissing me. And if the
room was spinning before, it was nothing to the degree in which it was whirling
now that Teddy's lips were on mine; his tongue was licking its way across,
teeth nipping at my lower lip. I held onto him tightly, fisting his shirt in my
hands and grasping at the buttons as his tongue found its way into my mouth.
Jolts of electricity (or maybe the alcohol was just travelling quickly—either
way I didn't much care, I liked the result) shot through me, warming all those
secret places that longed to be touched.
With the alcohol fogging my brain, it was easy to pretend that Teddy wasn't my
cousin's husband and I went willingly when he pushed me down on the sofa and
climbed on top of me. I clawed at his shirt, desperate to touch skin, and
finally gave up making my poorly coordinated fingers attempt to work the
buttons free, and instead yanked his shirt from where it was tucked into his
trousers and touched the warm skin of his lower back. All the time he was
kissing my lips, my chin, my neck—scraping his teeth over my jaw and licking at
my ear.
It was all happening so fast, too quick to contemplate whether it might be
right or was definitely wrong, and with the added booze in my bloodstream it
was easy to throw caution to the wind. All I knew was that I wanted him.
"Take it off," I whined, tugging at his shirt. He made short work of the
material, unbuttoning it quickly and casting it aside, giving my fingers free
reign to slide over his hard stomach muscles, around his navel and up to the
tattooed sword on his chest, ending (or starting, if your view was such as
mine—beneath him) just above his nipple.
And I might have been able to blame all of this on the Firewhisky if it didn't
so closely resemble about a million dreams I'd had of me and Teddy Lupin
entwined on a sofa or a bed or in the grass or against a wall… and the real
thing was even better than those fantasies. His hot, sweaty skin pressed
against me, his eyes half-lidded and looking at me with lust. It was all a
million times better than even my wettest of wet dreams.
I was built nothing like his wife who was tall and slim and perfectly stick
straight. Not me. I was shorter and more lush with big tits and curvy hips.
When Teddy pushed my shirt and bra up to my neck, he seemed unable to stop
staring at how large my tits were and how they bounced beneath him.
"Fuck," he hissed before latching onto one of my nipples and beginning to suck.
And god, was he ever good at that! I tangled my hand in his messy colour-
changing hair. One second it was red, and them moving on to orange and then a
bright yellow that hurt my eyes. Within minutes I was squirming beneath him,
bucking my hips in an attempt to gain his attention where I most wanted it, as
he squeezed and rolled my nipples, alternating his tongue with his fingers and
giving both mounds of flesh equal attention.
"I want you," I said, my voice husky from the scorching alcohol, and I smiled
at how sexy I sounded—sultry even. I was a regular sex goddess. Yes, that was
me.
Unfortunately, just when I was feeling my sexiest, Teddy seemed to regain at
least a bit of his senses. He hesitated going farther and his hair was back to
its normal blue-green shade—normal for Teddy, at least. "Is this the first time
you've—"
"Fuck no," I said, kissing him hard and sliding my hand to the front of his
trousers and working down the zip. Granted, it was the first time I'd fucked
someone's husband, but I didn't feel the need to over-share with Teddy just
right then.
I guess it was enough to resolve his conscience because his hands were rough
when they shoved up my skirt and grabbed the inside of my thighs. Then, his
fingers slid into the side of my knickers and his knuckle pressed down on my
clit. "You're soaked," he said with a groan, and before I knew what was
happening I was jerked off the sofa and pushed over the arm of it. My skirt was
thrown up over my back and my knickers were tugged down my legs and kicked
aside.
"Your arse," Teddy groaned. "I can't decide which I like more, your bum or your
tits. They're both fucking amazing." His hand came down with a sharp smack on
the right side of my arse. He bent over me, his warm chest to my back, and I
could feel his cock pressing hard against my thigh, as he pulled my hair and
forced my head back to him. "I want to pull you over my lap and spank you until
you can't sit for a week on that gorgeous bum of yours."
I whimpered at the sound of his voice hissing in my ear and the thought of
being over his knee, his hand coming down on my arse over and over again.
"Then, after I spanked you good and hard, I'd drop you to your knees on the
carpet and watch my cock slide in and out of your bright red cheeks while you
begged me for more."
And right then, I hated my cousin for having him as her own.
His hand grabbed the right cheek of my bum and I felt his tongue on my left,
then his teeth followed his tongue, and he was biting me, marking my skin, and
maybe it was the alcohol creating the voice in my head but all I could think
was more, more, more. Don't let this ever stop.
Teddy stood behind me, and I heard the metal ting of his belt buckle as it hit
the ground and the soft sound of the cloth as he stepped out of his trousers
and pants. I felt the head of his cock brush against my entrance and I
whimpered as he reached around me, grabbing at my tits. Then, he was pushing
forward, driving into me, and his hands seemed to be everywhere at
once—grabbing at my tits, digging his fingers into my hip, slapping at my bum,
and finally sliding one hand around me to work my clit as he thrust in and out
of my cunt.
I was getting close to orgasm when I felt him part the cheeks of my bum and
slide his finger into my arse as he fucked me. He wasn't my first lover, but he
was certainly my best, and none of the young boys I'd been with were nearly so
adventurous. I hissed a loud, "Yes," as his finger kept time with his cock and
he worked my clit with measured skill. My hands dug into the arm of the sofa as
I came hard around him, begging him not to stop, to keep going, to fuck me hard
and many other words that came out in a sort of litany of gibberish as I came
down from my climax.
Teddy never slowed, still seeking his own release. His hand tangled in my hair
and he forced my head back, then grasped my throat tightly. "Next time I fuck
you, you'll know what it's like to have a big cock in that perfect bum. What do
you have to say to that?" I couldn't say anything, no matter how much I wanted
to agree that it sounded divine, wonderfully perverse, do it now—I was
beginning to see black spots around the edge of my vision as Teddy's hold on my
throat intensified.
I had no control over my own intake of air, and it felt—strange, yet amazing,
and before Teddy had found his climax I was coming hard again, squeezing around
him until he had no choice but to join me, unable to hold back his release any
longer.
His hands grew loose around my throat, fingers stroking where they had only
just been squeezing and Teddy collapsed against my back. I shook him off,
gathering the bits of my clothes and stepping into the fireplace to Floo home
even though I could hear Teddy saying my name in an attempt to get me to stay
and talk to him. I didn't want the awkward after sex talk, and I certainly
didn't want the 'this should have never happened' speech, so I went home and
warded the fireplace against him. No need to mar an otherwise amazing evening
with awkward syllables and guilty eyes.
                                      ***
As much as I wanted to avoid him—or at least my mind said I should avoid him, I
couldn't stop thinking about the things Teddy had done to my body, so when an
opportunity came up to babysit for Teddy and Victoire again, I volunteered…
hopes held high for what might happen.
I arrived after Teddy had already gone and Victoire was running around in a
last ditch effort to find a misplaced earring.
"Oh, Lily," she said, "thank you for coming on such short notice. Teddy got the
children to sleep about ten minutes ago. You are zuch a life saver, ma cherie.
What would we do without you?" She stretched out every word with a fake French
accent (seriously, she grew up in England with the rest of us, what gives with
that?). I wanted to kick her, but instead I helped her find her earring and
watched her go, disappointed that Teddy wasn't here so that I could catch a
glimpse of him.
Victoire Apparated away with a 'pop', and I settled myself on the sofa to sulk
and pout. I wasn't sure what I'd expected when I got here, but this certainly
wasn't it.
An hour later there was a pecking sound at the window, and I opened it up to
find an owl with his leg stuck out so that I could remove the rolled parchment,
before it flew away.
The parchment simply said, "There's a surprise for you in the second left
kitchen cupboard." It was signed with a T.
I approached the cupboard brimming with excitement and opened it to find a
large bottle of expensive Firewhisky and a firm wooden paddle that made my bum
tingle just from looking at it, as well as another note. "Wait for me. I'll
make it memorable."
And I was sure he would.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
t.
While he moves his mouth along the teen’s skin, Peter pushes his jeans down and
bites just above his pulse. He can feel the blood moving through him, can hear
it coursing through his veins, and he bites down a little harder. Blood comes
to the surface and Peter laps at it, sealing his lips around the mark, sucking
hard.
“Fuck!” Stiles hisses, one of his hands going up between the werewolf’s
shoulders, fingers digging into his skin. “Fuck, Peter,” he gasps.
Peter smirks and pulls back, looking down at the reddened skin. He licks his
lips slowly and moves away, tugging Stiles’ jeans down quickly. The denim gets
thrown somewhere behind them and Peter takes his own clothes off, watching as
Stiles spreads his legs slowly.
The v-neck lands on Stiles’ desk chair and Peter undoes his jeans quickly,
hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. He tugs them down, stepping out of
the denim and tossing it away, growling as he comes back onto the bed.
“Get on your knees,” Peter whispers, his back arched as he leans down, his
chest touching Stiles’. “And stick your ass out for me.”
A shiver shoots down Stiles’ spine and he nods, moving once Peter has eased
away. He scrambles onto his knees and holds onto the headboard, sticking his
ass just like Peter instructed him. When he feels a hand move along his still-
clothed ass, Stiles whimpers and gasps loudly at the smack Peter gives him.
“For running earlier,” is the reason the werewolf gives him and Stiles chews on
his lower lip so hard, he’s honestly afraid he’s going to bite a hole through
his skin.
The cotton moves down his ass and Stiles shivers, letting his head fall between
his shoulders. He lifts his knees when Peter tells him to and spreads his legs,
moaning at the feel of the older man’s hands running along his thighs.
“You know,” Peter murmurs as he leans in to kiss the small of Stiles’ back, “I
was going to tease you a little but I can’t wait any longer.”
The words make Stiles shiver and he nods his head, smiling. “Are you going to
handcuff me to the bed again or do you trust me?”
Peter growls and shakes his head slowly as he moves off the mattress, grabbing
the keys. He unlocks the cuff that’s still wrapped around the bedpost and pulls
Stiles’ hands, securing his wrists behind the middle post. 
Once that’s done, Peter puts the keys down and hums. “Lube?”
“Nightstand,” Stiles answers, lacing his fingers together with a smirk.
Rolling his eyes, the werewolf opens the drawer of the nightstand and grabs a
bottle of lube that was lying on top of everything else. He’s not surprised to
see that half of the lubricant is gone already and shudders, thinking about
what Stiles does with it.
“How often do you…” Peter trails off, making a vague motion with his hand.
“You wanna know how often I fuck myself?” Stiles grins and shrugs his
shoulders, swaying his hips a little. “Every night if I can,” he answers and
gasps, hearing Peter growl beside him.
Without saying anything else, Peter pushes his boxers down and climbs onto the
mattress behind Stiles, popping the top on the lube. He pours some onto his
fingers and presses two against the teen’s entrance, pressing them in slowly.
The boy gasps quietly but doesn’t show any signs of distress, so Peter slips
the digits in all the way.
Stiles is tight and hot around his fingers, the feeling making Peter’s wolf
howl underneath the surface. He stirs, wanting to be let out, and the older man
manages to keep a hold on himself. The sound of Stiles’ moans and soft pleas
for a third finger anchor Peter and he obliges, sliding another digit into the
teen.
“Fuck,” the teen gasps, pushing his hips back against Peter’s. Stiles screws
his eyes shut and moves his hands to the bed post, gripping it tightly. He
never thought that having someone else finger him would feel so amazing and
Stiles’ cock throbs at the thought of having Peter inside of him.
All three of Peter’s fingers sink into Stiles and he starts to separate them
slowly, getting them as wide as they’ll go before pushing them together once
more. He starts to thrust them in and out slowly, the pads of his fingers
dragging across Stiles’ prostrate a few times, causing him to whimper loudly.
This goes on for another ten minutes and, okay, Peter is teasing Stiles a
little bit because he can’t not do it. He enjoys the squirming and the noises
he pulls from the teen’s throat, revels in each gasp and every thrust of
Stiles’ hips back against his hand.
“Peter,” Stiles moans, breathing hard.
“Tell me what you want,” is Peter’s response as he pushes his fingers in a
little harder, pulling them out halfway just to shove them back in.
Stiles gasps and tips his head back. “F — fuck me,” he manages.
“Say it again.
“Fuck — ah — fuck me…” Stiles begs.
With a wicked grin, Peter pulls his fingers out of Stiles and pours lube onto
the palm of his hand. He strokes it over his cock before running the head along
the teen’s rim, going clockwise and then counterclockwise, making Stiles beg a
little more.
Just when the teen opens his mouth to ask for Peter’s cock, he pushes the head
in and grips Stiles’ hip with his free hand. Bruises will be there tomorrow, he
knows, but right now he doesn’t care; the only thing Peter cares about is
fucking Stiles.
Stiles bites down on his lip and whimpers around it. He pushes back against the
werewolf and gasps when Peter slides a couple more inches inside of him. The
teen feels full and wonderful and amazing and he wants the older man to fuck
him harder, wants to feel it.
And he says just that.
“Shit,” Peter growls, slamming his cock in all the way. He groans the second
his hips are pressed tightly against Stiles’ ass and gives him a moment to
adjust. When the teen tells him to move, Peter just barely rocks his hips and
lets out a quiet howl because, fuck, Stiles feels amazing around him.
It takes Peter a moment to pull out of Stiles and he leaves just the head of
his cock inside of the teenager. He bites his lower lip and slides back into
that tight heat, his fingers digging into Stiles’ hip tightly. 
Peter hasn’t done this in a long time and he wants to make it good for Stiles,
wants to make his first time enjoyable, but his wolf is telling him to claim.
To mark, to fuck, and to claim what’s his. 
So, of course, Peter obeys his more primal instincts. He moves his hand up from
Stiles’ hip and wraps it around his throat, feeling his Adam’s apple flutter
against his palm. The werewolf doesn’t squeeze, just holds on gently as he
thrusts in and out, Stiles’ moans vibrating against his hand. 
And Stiles is moaning like an amateur porn star. He’s got his eyes closed and
moves his hips back against Peter, moaning and whimpering his name loudly,
hoping and praying that his neighbors can’t hear them.
“You okay?” Peter asks and Stiles nods his head, barely managing to say that
he’s fine, that he wants more. That spurs the werewolf on and he starts fucking
him harder, bringing a pain that Stiles has felt before but it’s more intense. 
The pain fades into a burn that radiates through Stiles’ body and he’s
shuddering, his cock throbbing. A bead of precome slides across the head and
Stiles whimpers, slamming his hips back as much as he can.
God, he wants to come. He wants to feel Peter squeeze his throat and wants the
werewolf to bite him, wants to have proof that all of this happened because
Stiles is almost positive he’s going to wake up in the morning and think this
was all a dream.
Stiles grits his teeth and swallows against Peter’s hand. “Choke me,” he says
and the words sound strange coming from his mouth. “Fuck, Peter — choke me,
bite me, do it.”
“Fuck.” The werewolf closes his eyes and slams his hips against Stiles’, sweat
trickling down the back of his neck. He breathes in deeply through his nose and
squeezes the teenager’s throat a little. Not enough to hurt him or completely
cut off his breathing, just enough to sate him.
Peter keeps his hand wrapped around Stiles’ throat as he leans down, brushing
his lips along the teen’s shoulder. He bites down a second later, tasting blood
on his tongue, and he growls, sucking on the mark before moving onto another.
As he bites and marks Stiles, Peter moves his hips, keeping his thrusts deep
and slow.
After one more bite, Peter pulls away and drops his hand from around Stiles’
throat, wrapping it around his cock instead. He strokes him in time with his
thrusts and stops suddenly, pulling his free hand away from the teen’s hip.
Without warning, Peter brings his palm down on Stiles’ ass and rubs the cheek
slowly before smacking him again.
“Peter! Ohmygod, Peter, fuck…” Stiles gasps and hisses, flinching every time
Peter’s hand comes down on his ass. His cock throbs and his body is trembling,
the coil of heat in the pit of his stomach tightening. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna
come, fuck, lemme come.”
When he hears that, Peter grips Stiles’ ass and digs his fingertips into his
flesh, thrusting into him harder than before. He strokes his cock and twists
his wrist, leaning down to whisper in his ear, “Come for me, Stiles.”
It takes those four words, Peter’s hand working on his cock, and the hard
thrusts to make Stiles come. His orgasm hits hard and he’s a shaking, moaning,
writhing mess as he comes on the sheets underneath him. The hand on him doesn’t
slow down and Stiles whimpers, twitching a little until Peter finally pulls
away.
Peter growls, feeling Stiles’ muscles tighten around him, and he continues to
fuck him slowly. He enjoys the sounds that come from the teen’s throat — the
little broken whimpers, the breathy moans, and the shuddering gasps — and slams
into Stiles harder.
“Shit,” the teen moans and laughs brokenly. “Come — come in me, Peter. Just
— mmm — just like a bitch, huh?”
“Stiles…” Peter growls in warning, moving his hand back to the teen’s throat,
wrapping his fingers around it. He squeezes, the cut-off gasp that escapes
sending him over the edge. 
When he comes, Peter presses his hips tightly against Stiles’ and grabs his
throat a little harder. He sees red for a moment and tips his head back on a
howl, the sound echoing through the entire house. Sweat is pouring between his
shoulders and he’s shaking, toeing the line between staying human and shifting.
The hand around Stiles’ throat falls away and the teenager coughs, gasping
quietly in between hacks. He whimpers when Peter pulls out of him and looks
over his shoulder at the werewolf, his lips swollen and red, eyes dark and
pupils blown.
Peter swallows and curses under his breath as he grabs the keys. He unlocks the
handcuffs and helps Stiles onto the bed, making sure to keep him away from the
mess of come on the sheets.
“Jesus,” Stiles says and laughs, closing his eyes. “I’m glad I stayed.”
“Me too.” Grinning, Peter grabs his boxers, tugging them on before moving out
of the room and into the hallway. He goes down to the bathroom and grabs a
towel, turning the water on before running the fabric underneath the stream.
When he comes back, Stiles is half asleep and Peter shakes his head. He moves
onto the mattress and cleans the teenager up, getting every last bit of come
and blood off of his skin. Once that’s done, he picks Stiles up and moves him
over to the chair, gingerly sitting him down, frowning when he protests.
Peter kisses his forehead and mumbles, “I have to change your sheet.”
“Mmm…” Stiles hums and nods, pointing to the dresser. “Last drawer.”
The werewolf moves over to the dresser and opens the bottom drawer, grabbing a
fresh sheet. He throws it over his shoulder and moves over to strip the bed. 
Five minutes later, he’s shoving the dirty sheets into the hamper and moving to
pick Stiles up again. The teenager doesn’t protest, just slumps against Peter,
and clings to him until he’s laid back on the bed. He lays back on the mattress
and yawns, watching the werewolf through his lashes, smiling lazily when Peter
dresses him in a pair of pajama pants.
“You leavin’ me?” Stiles asks, pouting.
“No,” Peter answers and rolls his eyes, moving to lay next to Stiles. “I’m
staying here until Derek and Scott come back. Then I’ll probably sit in the
chair.”
Stiles nods his head and turns over, wincing. He curls up against Peter’s chest
and puts a hand over his heart, sighing. After yawning loudly, the teenager
nuzzles Peter and starts to doze off.
While Stiles sleeps, Peter listens out for his nephew and the pack, idly
running his fingers through the teen’s hair. He dozes off here and there but
stays awake, moving away from Stiles hours later when Derek and Isaac come to
check on the two of them.
Neither say anything about the smell in the room or the already-forming bruises
on Stiles’ body. They fill him on what happened and tell Peter to stay with
Stiles until the morning, so he doesn’t wake up alone and afraid.
Once his nephew and his beta are gone, Peter climbs back into bed with Stiles
and holds him close, nuzzling his cheek gently. He falls asleep with the boy’s
scent in his nostrils and sleeps peacefully for once.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     The he Alpha pack is defeated and the wolves are healing. As per
     Derek’s request, Peter keeps Stiles occupied for a little while
     longer because some things went wrong and Scott is at Deaton’s,
     dealing with some major wounds.
     (I apologize for any mistakes you find.)
The morning comes with the sound of birds chirping and warm sunlight pouring
through the window. Stiles is laying on his stomach on the middle of his bed
with his arms shoved underneath the pillow and his cheek pressed against it. He
stays asleep until he feels the mattress dip beside him and feels someone
moving around, frowning deeply as he awakes.
“Stop movin’, Scott,” he mumbles and swats his hand toward the body moving
around, his fingers inches away from touching anything but air.
Peter stills and looks at the teen, chewing on his lip. “It’s not Scott,” he
says and moves off the bed quickly, moving to grab his phone, which has stopped
vibrating by the time he gets there.
“Who s’it, then?”
“Don’t worry about that right now,” is Peter’s answer and Stiles murmurs an
agreement before taking a deep breath. He pushes his face against the pillow,
yawning loudly against it, and turns his head the other way, facing the wall.
Once the teenager is looking away, Peter checks his phone and chews on his
lower lip as he scrolls through the messages. Most of them are from his nephew,
saying that the Alpha pack was taken out and they’re fine, but the last one
says that Peter needs to keep Stiles occupied for a little longer. 
The only explanation Derek offers in his text is that Scott is hurt.
Peter sighs and runs a hand through his hair, tossing his phone onto the ground
before moving back onto the bed. He looks at the bite mark on his shoulder and
lifts a hand to trace the teeth prints with his fingertip.
“Stiles,” he whispers, running his hand down the middle of the boy’s back,
rubbing his muscles slowly. “Wake up. I have to tell you something.”
A grumble escapes Stiles’ lips and he rolls over toward Peter, moving onto his
back with a loud yawn. He blinks his eyes open and settles his gaze on the
werewolf, screaming in surprise. “Whoa, what are you doing in my bed?!”
“I slept here last night.”
“You — what?” Stiles blinks rapidly and sits up, wincing a little as he settles
back against the headboard. He’s about to open his mouth and ask what Peter
means by he slept there but then he remembers the night before. The way Peter
fucked him, how he had a throat around Stiles’ throat, and he blushes harder,
chewing his lip. “Um,” he says and laughs, lifting a hand to run through his
hair, “what’s up?”
Peter purses his lips and sighs. “The pack took out the Alphas but something
happened. I don’t know much, so don’t ask about it, but Scott is apparently
hurt,” he whispers, his eyes soft as he looks at the teen.
And Stiles’ face goes from being full of embarrassment to concerned in just a
few seconds. His eyes go misty and his bottom lip is trembling only slightly
and Peter can feel the atmosphere in the room change.
“Is he — do you know if he’s okay?” Peter shakes his head and swallows thickly,
watching as Stiles moves to grab his phone off his nightstand. He unlocks it
and brings his messages up, immediately sending one to Derek, asking if Scott
is okay.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” the werewolf murmurs as he takes Stiles’ phone away,
despite the protests, and tucks it underneath his thigh. “But I have to keep
you occupied here for a while. Probably because Derek knew you’d want to run to
Scott’s side the moment you found out and he’s trying to spare your feelings.”
Stiles’ eyes are rimmed in tears as he looks at Peter, gulping. “Of course I
want to be by his side — he’s my best friend, for fuck’s sake!”
The phone vibrates under Peter’s leg and he grabs it, reading the text from his
nephew aloud. “Scott is healing but it’s going to take a while. We’re at
Deaton’s, I’ll let you know when you can come visit.”
“Fuck that,” Stiles murmurs and pushes the blankets away before standing up,
sniffling hard. He moves to grab his clothes from the floor and Peter watches
him for a moment before grabbing him, settling the teenager on his lap. “What
the fuck are you doing? I want to see Scott, I have to make sure he’s okay!”
“He’s with Deaton and Derek, he’s going to be fine.” As he speaks, Peter kisses
the nape of Stiles’ neck and nuzzles his nose against the bottom of it,
breathing gently. “Just calm down and stay here with me,” he whispers, running
his hands along the teen’s thighs slowly.
The lips and nose and hands on his skin are enough to distract Stiles for a
moment and he leans back against Peter slightly, sighing. He closes his eyes
and thinks about Scott —  his best friend in the whole world — and how he could
have died the night before.
Peter, sensing Stiles’ mood, kisses the back of his head and says, “I don’t
feel you calming down.”
“It’s kind of hard when my best friend is possibly dying.”
“Scott isn’t going to die. If anything, he’ll have scars for the rest of his
life and that’s better than not having a life at all, isn’t it?”
No answer comes from Stiles, at least not a verbal one, and he just slumps
against Peter for a while, nuzzling him. It’s surprisingly sweet and the
werewolf is being weirdly gentle, which is something Stiles would never think
of when someone said “Peter Hale”.
Everyone changes, he guesses, and turns around so he’s straddling the wolf’s
lap, arms curled on his chest between them. Stiles leans his head down onto
Peter’s shoulder and focuses on the way he’s touching his back. 
Peter’s fingers move along Stiles’ spine slowly and the touches aren’t anything
like the teenager has experienced with anyone else but Scott and his father.
They’re comforting, full of worry and concern, and maybe if Stiles were in a
better mental state, he’d question what the wolf wanted from him.
But, Stiles thinks, Peter already got what he wanted.
“So we had sex last night?” Stiles asks quietly, closing his eyes.
“Before you say anything — you seduced me,” Peter murmurs in response before
nodding his head and laying it against the boy’s. “We slept together and I’m
sorry about the bites on your shoulder… and everything else.”
A laugh bubbles up from Stiles’ throat, surprising them both, and he shakes his
head, curling up against Peter more. “It’s fine. I knew things would hurt the
morning after I lost my virginity but I didn’t expect it to be this…”
“Bad?” The wolf suggests, quirking a brow.
“No, it’s not bad. Just — awesome, you know? My hips hurt, my ass is sore, and
I’m half convinced that the saliva in the bite marks in my shoulder will turn
me into a wolf one day but…” Stiles trails off with a quiet chuckle, moving his
hands down Peter’s chest. “I’m fine with it.”
Peter shakes his head again and laughs, kissing Stiles’ temple. “You aren’t
going to be turned into a wolf just because I bit you last night,” he mumbles,
brushing his nose along the teen’s hairline.
“Hey! You never know.”
“I do know,” the wolf argues and snaps his teeth at Stiles. “Derek is the Alpha
now, not me.”
“You could still have some Alpha juice in you…” Stiles sits up on Peter’s lap
and moves his hands to either side of his neck. “And it could be just enough to
turn someone like me into a furry monster.”
The wolf rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Or a scaly monster like Jackson,” he says,
grinning when Stiles smacks his shoulder. “You aren’t going to become a furry
monster — or a scaly one, for that matter.”
Stiles opens his mouth to say something but then Peter is kissing him, slow and
gentle, a hand cupping the back of his head. All of Stiles’ thoughts seem to
bleed away and he closes his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose as he
presses against the wolf a little.
The kiss is sweet and slow and everything that Peter isn’t or, well, shouldn’t
be but Stiles isn’t complaining. He’d rather have sweet Peter than have the
murder-crazed, blood lust-driven psychopath version of the wolf any day of the
week.
When Peter’s tongue moves along his lips and he starts to pry them open gently,
Stiles opens his mouth and lets the wolf’s tongue inside. He shivers, pressing
his against Peter’s once it’s in his mouth, and moves a hand to the back of his
head, fingers tangling in his hair.
A gasp falls against the older man’s lips and Stiles moves his hand down the
length of Peter’s stomach, fingers skimming across his skin. Which is a lot
softer than it should be and Stiles is still trying to figure out how in the
world Peter Hale became so hot.
There’s a thin trail of hair leading down from Peter’s navel to the top of his
boxers and Stiles follows it with his fingertips, shuddering. He hooks two
fingers underneath the elastic of his underwear and kisses Peter harder,
moaning against his mouth.
Peter eventually pulls back to breathe and laughs quietly, the noise settling
deep in his chest as he looks at Stiles. The teen’s cheeks are tinged pink and
he’s licking his red, swollen lips, biting at the skin gently.
“Do you want to go for round two?” Stiles asks, almost innocently, as he bats
his lashes at the wolf and grins. His fingers are toying with the waistband of
Peter’s boxers and he closes his eyes, nodding his head, finding it difficult
to speak at the moment.
Before he knows it, Peter is pushed down onto the mattress and Stiles is
pulling his boxers down his legs. The fabric is pulled away a moment later and
Peter instinctively spreads his legs, pushing himself up onto his elbows as he
looks down at Stiles, biting his lip.
And Stiles looks back up at him, blushing harder than before. It’s kind of
adorable in a sexy way and Peter smiles, moving one hand to touch the side of
the teenager’s face.
“I’ve — uh — never done this before,” he says and chuckles, wrapping his hand
around the base of Peter’s cock, stroking him slowly, feeling him harden
against his fingers. 
“That’s alright,” Peter whispers, licking his lips as he watches with hooded
eyes, his hand moving to the nape of Stiles’ neck. “Just take your time.”
Stiles nods his head and continues moving his hand up and down slowly, biting
the middle of his lip. Once Peter is fully hard, he leans in to press the flat
of his tongue against the head, closing his eyes for a second. He looks back up
at the wolf, smiles, and seals his lips around the head before sucking slowly,
sinking down a couple of inches.
The sight of Stiles taking his cock makes Peter growl and his hips twitch
forward, just barely, before settling back down. He brushes his thumb along the
teen’s scalp encouragingly and bites back a moan, feeling more of his cock
slide between those perfect lips.
“Shit,” he moans, tipping his head back as Stiles starts to suck quickly,
working his tongue around his cock. If the boy had waited until after to say
he’d never given head before, Peter might not have believed him; he just
guesses Stiles has watched a lot of porn.
Stiles blushes hard and continues to take Peter’s cock. He takes a couple more
inches and attempts to deep throat but he gags. When he does that, Stiles pulls
off and mutters an apology in between coughs, his hand still working Peter’s
cock.
Once he’s able to go again, Stiles takes half of Peter into his mouth and suck
slowly, stroking what he can’t take. He moves his free hand between the wolf’s
legs and plays with his balls, rubbing the pads of his fingers against them,
his heart beating hard when he hears Peter moan his name.
And it shouldn’t be this good, Peter thinks. He shouldn’t be feeling like a
teenager about to blow his load while having his first blowjob — but that’s
exactly what’s going to happen. It’s not his fault, not really, because Stiles’
mouth is perfect and he may be inexperienced but he’s a fast learner.
“Stiles, stop.” The words rush out of Peter’s mouth and he pulls the teenager
away, his cock throbbing and his wolf whining inside. “I’m going to come way
too fast if you keep doing that,” he explains and chuckles quietly.
The teen licks his lips and crawls onto Peter’s lap again. “I’m sorry,” he says
but he’s grinning, the flush on his face starting to go away.
“Sorry my ass,” Peter mumbles, moving his hands to Stiles’ ass, gripping it
tightly through the thin fabric covering him. “Do you think you’re okay to be
fucked again or do you want me to do something else?”
“Some — something else?”
Peter grins and nods, moving a hand underneath the waistband of the teenager’s
pants, slipping it over his ass. “There are plenty of things I could do to
you,” he whispers, moving a fingertip between Stiles’ cheeks and back up.
“Well, no, I know that — but what did you have in mind?” Stiles asks in a
breathless voice and he bites his lip, pushing back against Peter’s hands.
The wolf thinks for a moment and flips Stiles over onto the mattress, shoving
him down on it. His eyes burn a brighter blue and his fangs extend just before
he leans down to take the waistband of Stiles’ pajama bottoms between his
teeth.
Peter tugs the fabric down with his mouth and his hands, working it off before
throwing the pajamas somewhere on the floor. “Flip over onto your stomach,” he
says, looking up at Stiles with a smirk.
A shudder passes through Stiles and he watches Peter move away before obeying
his order. He rolls over onto his stomach and lays on the bed with his arms
folded, his chin resting on his elbow.
Without saying a word, Peter spreads Stiles’ legs and then moves his hands up
to spread his cheeks. He licks his lips and leans in to press the flat of his
tongue against Stiles’ entrance, licking a broad stripe up.
“Holy — ” Stiles gasps, his eyes screwed shut. He squirms a little and
whimpers, feeling Peter’s teeth on his ass cheek. The wolf bites down just a
little, fangs barely breaking the skin, before going back to licking Stiles. 
Peter’s tongue works slowly and he licks from Stiles’ perineum to the cleft of
his ass, then back down again. Occasionally he stops to suck the teen’s balls,
smirking when Stiles moans and gasps loudly above him.
The whole time, Peter can’t stop thinking about how Stiles still tastes like
his come from the night before. He growls when he keeps tasting himself on the
teen’s skin and it only makes him want to get more, though he knows his come is
long dried up by now.
When he wiggles his tongue inside of Stiles, the teenager moans loudly and
moves his hips backwards, then forwards, against the bed. He rocks himself
slowly, fucking back against Peter’s tongue and then thrusting against the
mattress, his cock sliding across the sheets. Precome smears along the fabric
but Stiles is too far gone to care about that.
A smirk appears on Peter’s face and he holds onto the teen’s ass before pushing
his tongue into him. He pushes it in as far as he can before pulling out,
running the tip along Stiles’ rim for a moment. Then he wiggles his tongue back
inside and shakes his head a little before moving down, licking across Stiles’
balls.
“Fuck! I’m — oh, god, Peter — I’m gonna… I’m gonna come, fuck, keep… keep doing
that, please.” Stiles rambles, his words blurring together as he speaks, and
Peter growls in response.
Obeying the teen, he continues to lick him. Making broader stripes along his
entrance, along his crease, and back down. He even manages to get a finger
inside of Stiles as he drops down to suck his balls once more.
Stiles continues to move his hips against the mattress, the fabric rubbing
against his cock and making it burn a little but he’s in heaven with Peter’s
mouth on him. He grips the pillow and drops his face onto the bed between his
arms, his moans muffling against the mattress.
It takes a few more thrusts against the bed and Peter moving his finger in and
out while sucking on his balls to make Stiles come. He writhes and trembles,
his hips slowing down as he comes underneath him. The wolf’s name slips from
his lips in a loud moan but it muffles against the mattress, though Stiles is
sure Peter heard it.
When he comes down, Stiles lifts his head and looks over his shoulder at Peter,
biting his lip. “Holy shit,” he breathes and laughs, the noise tapering off
into a whimper when Peter smacks his ass.
“I’m glad you liked that,” the wolf murmurs as he kisses his way up Stiles’
spine, kissing between his shoulders. “We’ll have to do that again one day.”
“Wait — this is going to happen again?” Stiles sounds surprised and Peter
quirks a brow, nodding in response. “Holy… shit.”
Frowning, Peter kisses Stiles’ shoulder and nudges his nose along the mark he
left there last night. “Why, don’t you want it to happen again?”
“No, oh my god, of course I want that. I just — I wasn’t sure if you did, you
know? I mean, Derek told you to babysit me so you did and you fucked me to keep
my mind off of things,” the teen answers, the words coming out in one rush of
breath. “But it’s nice to know that you want it, too.”
“Of course I do.” A smile forms on Peter’s lips and he kisses the back of the
teenager’s head before running the head of his cock between his cheeks. “Now
I’m going to come, if you don’t mind,” he whispers and something warm spreads
through his chest when Stiles laughs and tells him to go ahead.
Peter knows that it’s not going to take long for him to come, not with the
taste of Stiles on his tongue and the smell in the air. Still, he wants to drag
it out as long as he can so he can actually enjoy what he’s doing instead of
letting it go to waste. 
So he leans over Stiles’ body and starts thrusting his cock against the
teenager’s ass, the head of his cock brushing against Stiles’ entrance more
than a few times. Peter moans and drops his head down, resting it against the
boy’s, his breath coming in harsh pants.
Apparently he can’t “drag it out” because it takes a few more thrusts and
Stiles’ hand around his cock, stroking him awkwardly to make Peter come. His
hips stutter forward and his orgasm hits him hard, causing him to grip the
sheets underneath them as he comes all over Stiles’ ass, lower back, and hand.
Peter falls on the bed with a huff and closes his eyes tightly, breathing in
slow through his nose. Once he’s calm, he blinks to look at Stiles, then down
at the mess on his back, grinning. He moves a hand down and spreads his come
along the teen’s skin, moving it all along his ass.
“What are you doing?” Stiles asks, groaning quietly.
“It’s like scent-marking,” Peter answers and shrugs, continuing to rub his come
against Stiles until he’s satisfied. He pulls his hand away when he is and
grins at the teenager, licking his lips quickly.
Stiles snorts out a laugh and rolls toward Peter, pressing his back against he
wolf’s chest. “You’re so weird,” he murmurs and yawns, snuggling against the
older man.
No response comes from Peter, though he does scoff like he’s truly offended by
those words, and he wraps his arms around Stiles protectively. He listens to
the teen’s breathing, his heartbeat, and lets it lull him back to sleep. 
For once since the fire, Peter is happy. He’s changing his ways, becoming a
better person, and he thinks maybe he owes all of that to Stiles for helping
him. 
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