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Peter doesn't really do regret.
He does anger and frustration and revenge and fixes things. That is, of course, even if he makes a mistake in the first place - which is so rare it's laughable.
But if there is one, god forsaken thing in his life he does regret, it's biting Scott "goody-two-shoes" McCall.
Worse, it's not that he bit Scott that he regrets.
It's that it wasn't Stiles.
Too late, he smells the whiff of potential on the boy. And it's intoxicating.
The first time had been when he had held his mouth up to that thin, delicate wrist, inhaling ozone and petrichor - power, waiting to be unleashed - and the sweet scent of caramel, of his untapped fertility.
Thankfully, he was in enough of his right mind at the time to recognize the marks of a mate. Of someone who could make him infinitely more powerful.
Of someone who could not be bitten unwillingly, who, as it turns out, it was a good thing he had missed in the woods that night.
Stiles is someone who has to ask for the bite and mean it with every fiber of their soul.
Thankfully, the ritual of his resurrection comes with his power returning completely - the fire of his inner Alpha that Derek had taken from him with his death filling him up with his first fresh breath of life. Gerard thinks Derek is still the Alpha, and when he's busy being confused as to why nothing is happening after being bitten... Peter runs the old bastard through with his claws.
The alpha pack is dealt with swiftly.
Brutally.
He never figures out why those three virgins were sacrificed though. Nor does he really care.
What he cares about, in the end, is building his pack. Peter cares about getting Derek, Jackson, Isaac, Boyd, and Cora in shape and ready to handle anything the world wants to throw at them. Scott can come or go. He doesn't care about the kid any more than he has to.
What he really cares about though, is getting that sweet, pale, freckled ass into his bed as soon as possible.
Stiles flirts like he was born and raised in a whore house. He smiles with those beautiful cock sucking lips like he knows what everyone is thinking when they look at him. He smells like arousal and teenage stamina all the fucking time and if Peter were a lesser Alpha, he would simply take what he wants from the boy until he knew nothing but Peter and would ask for anything Peter so much as suggested he wanted.
But he is not a lesser Alpha.
So he touches him with subtlety. He whispers innuendos in his ear. He parades around shirtless when Stiles comes to his apartment ahead of the rest of the pack because Peter told him a time half an hour early. He argues with the boy.
Honestly, he shouldn't have been surprised when at the end of a discussion on Roman battle strategies in which they had bickered for most of it Stiles had been more aroused than after any of Peter's other attempts at seduction.
The first time Peter knows it's working, that he can officially up the ante, is when Stiles stays after a pack meeting. Actually, what he does is follow everyone right up to the door like he will be on their heels and then shuts it with him still inside and then turns the deadbolt with a loud, echoing click.
"I know what you're doing," he says before turning slowly and striding up to Peter. Despite his dark tone and serious words there's a heavy scent of excitement permitting his pores that Peter inhales deeply and lets fill his own lungs with anticipation.
This is going to be very good.
"What, pray tell, would that be Little Spark?"
Stiles stops a mere breath away from Peter. Their bodies don't touch, but there is nothing between them. No distance, no room to breathe without falling into one another.
"Derek did the same thing to Erica, and I won't fall for it."
Peter knows exactly how Derek failed Erica. There were many ways, in the end. Too many to count.
"I have no intention of abandoning you to your painful death, if that's what you're getting at."
There's this face Stiles makes when he's annoyed and despite its youthful ridiculousness, somehow doesn't diminish from the boy's attractiveness. Especially when his lips part and Peter only thinks about filling the space with his cock.
"No, asshole. It's not. The seducing thing. Being all sweet and sexy and..." He gestures to Peter in a general sense from head to toe with an incredulous scoff like that means anything.
It means everything and Peter smirks down at him.
"You can't seduce me into taking the bite. Especially just to do the deed and then move on to your next target."
Peter narrows his gaze at Stiles for a moment before slowly, deliberately, dragging his broad hands down those pale, skinny, bare arms. He ghosts his thumbs over the boy's wrist, feeling his heart rate go wild while it pounds in his own ears. Then he brings both hands up to his own lips, and his body closer, letting Stiles feel his heat and desire.
" When I seduce you, Stiles," he says quietly, voice nearly growling as he lets his warm breath glide over Stiles' flesh, suddenly covered in a million little bumps. "It will not be just to bite you."
Peter kisses those long, nimble fingers while Stiles stares, slack jawed, and a sudden rush of thick arousal fills the air between them.
His own arousal is growing, tightening his pants.
"Can I be honest with you, for a moment?" He asks with a butterfly kiss to Stiles' trembling knuckles.
"I highly doubt that," he gets in return, Stiles voice almost a whisper before he swallows thickly..
"I am going to seduce you, Stiles. And I will bite you when you ask for it." He kisses the back of Stiles' hand, then turns both of them over and does the same to his wrists. "But I will never, ever, let you go once I do."
Stiles squeaks, the noise coming from his throat, when Peter slowly rocks his hips forward just enough to let him feel, to let the boy know that he's hard as well, that he does want him, even if it will take Peter time to convince him of the rest.
"I... I need to go."
Peter doesn't push, doesn't hold him there. He lets go and steps back, though Stiles doesn't move an inch.
The boy barely breathes.
"Well then, go on," Peter shoos his hands at him then keeps heated eye contact while beginning to work the buttons of his shirt. "I think it's time for both of us to go to bed."
Stiles runs like the hounds of hell are after him.
But it's okay.
He will be back.
Soon.
Peter buys Stiles a high end laptop and ensures it is quietly, discreetly delivered to his home.
He would buy the boy a luxury car, but despite his general air of irreverence he actually does pay attention. In general he pays attention to all of them. They're his pack, and he would be nowhere without them. But Stiles loves that jeep because it's a piece of his mother. One of the very few things he has left.
So instead, Peter just steals it one day while Stiles is away for a weekend with the Lacrosse team at some ridiculous team building camp and pays a mechanic far too much money to make sure it won't break down on him for a very, very long time.
There are other things, here and there, that Peter leaves for him.
Other ways he makes sure Stiles is still paying attention.
But he's pretty certain it's the jeep that gives him that first inch.
Peter takes a mile.
Under the light of the October full moon, the whole pack heads out to the Preserve. Under his - and Stiles', he isn't afraid or ashamed to admit - training they all have control that would rival that of a young born wolf. By now, they can be taught and reinforced with new things. New skills.
Like how to really hunt.
Stiles and Lydia have been in the woods all afternoon leaving false trails and hiding places, using a bit of Stiles' spark to mask themselves from their senses. It's not real, full on magic. It's purpose and intent, but not much more.
It's enough.
It's enough to fool the betas anyway.
For Peter, Stiles could never hide. His scent is too unique, too precious to him. No magic great or small could get in the way of an Alpha and a Mate – even a potential one.
So once the betas are all running about in the woods, Peter carefully strips out of his clothing, neatly folding every article and placing them on a nearby stump, and shifts fully into his wolf.
Thank god this form had gone back to something more natural once he had a proper pack.
Once he had his sanity back.
On all fours, feeling everything around him in sharper detail - from the grit of dirt beneath his paws to the crisp scent in the air - he heads off. More than once he almost falls for a false trail, but the real thing is too enticing to lose for long.
A quarter of an hour later, he finds a lightning struck tree whose trunk had burned from the inside out with the faintest of heart beats emanating from within. Clever.
The scent of the recent ash would hide his own scent from the newer wolves even without his spark, and Derek and Cora would be highly reluctant to go anywhere near it in the first place.
He really is a clever boy.
Peter shifts back to his human form and circles the tree in his bare feet, being sure to crunch plenty of sticks and leaves so Stiles knows he's been caught before he even says anything.
To his credit, he keeps silent.
Far better to hope someone will move on.
Good thing for Peter he plans on never - ever - doing that.
"Little Spark, Little Spark, let me come in," Peter taunts slowly, continuing to circle, so his voice changes and echoes within the confines of the wood.
"No by the hair of my ass," Stiles snipes back.
"That's not how it goes at all, Stiles. Did you learn nothing as a child?"
"I learned that wolves are usually full of hot air."
Peter comes to stand by the small lip of wood that hides the opening into he dead tree, one that Stiles' scrawny body even probably struggles to get through.
"Well, at least I can be thankful someone got one thing right," Peter says back.
He inhales deeply, waiting.
Slowly the tiny gap seems to expand - not much, not more than making the tree look like it's inhaling as well - and then there is a bright red form slipping through.
"I also learned wolves have a tendency to blow -" Stiles' words are cut off in a choking sound when he's finally free of the tree and gets a good look at Peter, naked and nearly glowing in the bright moonlight.
Peter doesn't hesitate to press his advantage and back Stiles up against the tree, putting both of his arms on either side of the boy's head, palms pressed flat against the tree.
"I wouldn't say a tendency to blow, but I can be persuaded very easily," he says, so close to Stiles he could kiss him. So close Stiles could do the same to Peter.
But he doesn't.
Not yet.
For now, he waits. And he watches.
Peter listens to the rapid flutter of Stiles' heart beat as it drowns out all other noises. He smells the smoke and ash of his hiding place blended with that sweet cloying caramel Peter has sought since that night in the parking garage. He sees Stiles' pupils dilate, his eyes go wide, his mouth drop, his gaze flicker from Peter's down to Peter's lips and back up again.
He can taste the arousal I'm the air between them.
"Would you like to persuade me, Stiles?"
Stiles' mouth opens and closes a few times.
"Aren't you... are you cold?"
Peter leans closer, shifts his feet and drags his hands up the trunk of the tree, pressing closer, closer, closer... until Stiles is completely hidden from view of the outside world and Peter can feel the soft whisper of his hoodie against his bare skin, feel the heat of his erection even through his jeans. The scent of his arousal is intoxicating, cutting through all others and making his own cock twitch and fill and push against the damp, hard bulge between Stiles' legs.
Desperate for a taste, Peter tilts his head and drags his nose up that long, deliciously pale neck, inhaling deeply with a groan.
"I thought you would know by now we wolves tend to run a little...." he lets out a long, slow breath with his lips ghosting against the tight point just below Stiles' ear... " hot. "
"Oh god," Stiles moans and the sound curls through Peter's senses. He can hear the rush of blood through the boy's veins, the small sounds of his body shifting as his muscles tighten, of how he digs the tips of his fingers into the wood behind him, and the tiny little squeak when he bites his own lip.
Peter brings a hand between them, squeezing and rubbing his palm along the outline of Stiles' length. Stiles writhes against the tree.
"Has anyone ever touched you, Stiles?"
Stiles shakes his head, and Peter is less than surprised.
"Tsk. One as lovely as yourself should have been claimed ages ago. The moment you blossomed into such beauty." He flicks open the top of Stiles’ jeans with just his thumb and forefinger, opening him up just enough Peter can slip his hand down beneath the fabric. "Honestly quite surprised you weren't part of the sacrifice a few months ago. Yours would have been a true power rush for whoever performed the ritual."
For a moment, Peter thinks he might have actually rendered the boy speechless for the first time since he met him almost a year ago. His erection throbs in Peter's hand, thin and long and burning hot.
"Aren't you supposed to be convincing me of something?" Peter asks with a firm stroke.
Stiles gasps out an incredulous laugh while he rocks into Peter's grip. "Feels like you're doing a good job convincing yourself."
"I already know exactly what I want, Stiles." He rolls his palm around the head of the cock in his hand, smearing precome around the ridgid flesh until Stiles stiffens and arcs off the tree and against Peter's naked body. His own pleasure sings just under the surface, the friction against his cock bright and brilliant while Stiles comes with a sharp cry. He strokes him through it while watching, while imagining what he would look like naked and writhing on his knot, bathed in glittering moonlight while Peter takes him apart.
The moment Stiles slumps back against the tree with a heavy thud Peter brings his come coated hand up, and with his eyes glowing red, catching Stiles' amber gaze before licking a broad stroke of his thumb through the mess.
Peter's eyes flutter closed involuntarily for a moment while he groans at the musky, rich flavor, then leans in closer. His lips ghost against Stiles', open and panting, chest heaving.
"I take it back," Peter whispers. "That was more than convincing. You taste divine Stiles, and I can't wait to suck you off at the next opportunity."
Stiles kisses him, and Peter knows he has won.
It's a bit clumsy at first while Stiles moans into his mouth and twists in his hold but Peter gets his other hand behind the boy's head and guides him to where he needs to be, uses his mouth and his tongue - still tasting of release - to get him exactly where and how he wants him.
When Peter hears a beta approach - far enough there's no way they'll be here any time soon - he backs away only for Stiles to mindlessly chase after him so much he almost falls forward.
Peter chuckles.
Stiles is already hard again.
"You know, now seems like an excellent opportunity, Peter. Like, right now. This second. Why wait, really?"
Peter doesn't answer with anything more than a smirk, and a shift. Stiles blinks and Peter stands before him in his wolf form - dark, sleek, chocolate brown - and then leaps off into the night.
He doesn't go far, just enough that whoever is approaching - which turns out to be Derek - won't notice him over the overwhelming scents Stiles is radiating there in his former hiding spot.
It is just enough he can still hear Stiles cuss when he's found, and try and stumble his way through why he was standing right out in the open, reeking, like he was waiting to be captured and eaten by something in the dark of night.
Derek alternates between yelling at and giving the silent treatment to Peter for two days.
As patient as he can - which he knows doesn't ever come across that well - Peter tries to explain to Derek that if he had gotten his head out of his ass and trusted his senses, Stiles would have been the first one he went after as soon as he'd taken Peter's power.
"Why would I ever bite a kid like Stiles? He's weak. He's scrawny. He's hyperactive and annoying as hell."
Peter tsks.
"While I understand you were a little out of your depth at the time, if you learn nothing else about your failures as an Alpha, learn this. Power is not just about physical strength. There is so much more to it. Try and think back to when you had first changed, when you had first felt the rush of power. Who was the first one you noticed once I was dead? Whose was the first scent that filled your head and made you question everything ?"
Derek scowls. Or maybe not, maybe his face is just stuck that way.
"He must have just been... the closest. Or the most unique..."
"Derek," Peter stops him with a hand raised. "Don't think of WHY. Think of what he smelled like. And then remember what that would have meant. " He pushes off from the pillar he'd been leaning against and heads for the door to give his nephew time to brood over his own failures.
On the way, he pauses by Derek's side, leaning in and whispering as if sharing some great secret.
"If you had bitten and claimed Stiles first, my ritual with Lydia would have still worked, but your eyes would still be red and mine blue. Nothing but death could have taken that power from you once it was anchored in such a powerful way. And even that would be more difficult to achieve."
In the grand scheme of his overarching sexuality, Stiles had never figured 'hot daddy type' to ever play a role in it.
But Jesus Christ is he suddenly the only thing Stiles can think about.
And he does.
Often.
For weeks he lives in a perpetual state of turned the fuck on. A stiff breeze makes him hard and he's disappearing into the school bathrooms three or four times a day to rub one out while thinking of how the bark of the tree bit into his shoulders even through his hoodie, how hot Peter's breath was on his neck, how his voice made his toes curl, how his kiss drove him out of his fucking mind far worse than the orgasm that had preceded it.
"You are a whole entire asshole," Stiles declares the next Friday evening while storming into the penthouse and immediately straddling Peter where he's sitting on his couch watching the news.
He is not disappointed in the reaction he gets.
Peter doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around him to drag him in for a deep, filthy kiss. Stiles is still learning, but Peter is an excellent teacher in far more than just pack tactics and werewolf training. It helps that Stiles has always been a quick fucking study.
His body instantly feels like it's burning from the inside out, like he's empty and wanting and desperate for something he doesn't understand, can't even comprehend. He whines when Peter breaks the kiss to drag his lips down Stiles' jaw, then keeps going until he’s mouthing at the side of his neck.
"At least you know I'll never half-ass anything," he growls before sucking a mark right there, so deep and hard Stiles trembles from head to toe with his cock already leaking in his pants.
"I seem to remember you... you..." Stiles is panting, rocking his hips and grinding both down and forward to feel the thick bulge of Peter's cock beneath him and press his own against his rock hard abdomen. There is nothing soft about Peter Hale and Stiles is half delighted, half terrified to find out how wild that makes him.
"You don't seem capable of remembering much at the moment, Darling," Peter mumbles with a wicked smirk. He gets a hand down the back of Stiles' pants, under his boxers, down the curve of his ass, fingers between his cheeks. Stiles keens and jerks at the pressure on his rim, at the teasing and the promise in the white hot touch.
"Blow... uh..."
"Hm, oh yes. There was talk of a blow job, wasn't there?"
"Peter..."
"Oh, alright. If you insist."
There isn't much talking - let alone insisting - after that. Peter's mouth is too occupied after he lays Stiles out over the coffee table and Stiles' head is too full to have any single thought beyond the way Peter's mouth feels around his dick. He doesn't last long...
The first time.
Because not only does Peter swallow him down to the root and swallow every drop like a man starving, he keeps fucking going. Stiles is crying by the time Peter drags him through the crashing wave of a second orgasm with no signs of slowing down.
Once upon a time, Stiles had attempted to test the limits of teenage refractory periods and frequency of orgasm by several different marathon wanking sessions, using all sorts of varying techniques.
His own hand has nothing on Peter Hale.
Over the next few weeks he is pretty certain he is the most satisfied creature in all of Beacon Hills. Possibly California. Peter takes him to his bed and takes him apart, he kisses him in the halls and in dark corners. He steals him after practice. He comes to his house when his dad isn't home. Stiles learns not just how to suck a cock, but how to deep throat, how to relax his jaw and clench his thumb in his fist to help hold back his gag reflex - which is important with Peter's size. Hands and mouths are always on something of the other, though his favorite is when he and Peter are both naked and sweaty, Stiles' chest covered in blooming purple marks while he grips their lengths together and ruts until he gets to watch Peter fall apart just as much as Stiles does every time.
They discover Stiles has a hair trigger. That any time Peter touches his cock after getting him worked up it practically sends him right over the edge. He is sensitive and Peter may just be a sex god. Not that he's about to admit that out loud. The asshole’s ego is big enough as it is
And still – something is missing.
Still he feels like it's not quite complete.
At first he thinks perhaps it's the emotional connection. But when he thinks about backing away, perhaps even from the pack as a whole, it's not the sex he immediately knows he would miss.
It's the snipping at each other that would leave a gaping hole. It's the teasing. It's the playful looks and the long debates where they disagree but still treat each other exactly the same. It's the way Peter looks at him when he thinks no one is looking. It's the way Peter trusts him like no one in his life ever has before.
It's the way Peter listens to him when everyone else seems to tune him out.
Stiles doesn't love Peter, and he's not sure Peter knows what love is, but there is a connection, something he's not willing to give up, either.
Perhaps it's physical. Perhaps Stiles just needs to get fucked and he'll feel like maybe he's not so empty, not missing a piece of himself like a limb he didn't know he was supposed to have in the first place. But Peter hasn't done that yet - hasn't offered. He hasn't even done more than tease his ass with a few strokes of thick fingers and an occasional slide of his cock between Stiles’ cheeks before going back to gliding both their lengths together.
The day before the December full moon, two months after that first night, Derek, of all people, sneaks into his room well after midnight and nearly gives Stiles a heart attack.
"You know he's using you, right?"
"Hello, Derek. Nice to see you, Derek. How have you been since the pack meeting two days ago, Derek? Yes, it's fine if you come into my bedroom in the middle of the night while my dad the Sheriff is home and sleeping two rooms down. That's not a problem at all, Derek!"
Stiles stares at him wide eyed and expectant while Derek stares right back, brows drawn low and looking like he's trying not to breathe too deeply.
When the silence has gone on too long, Stiles throws his covers off and stalks over to where Derek is standing by the window. Stiles is shirtless (because he had been sleeping in the privacy of his own room thank-you-very-much), and still covered in Peter's marks It's clear instantly that the sight makes Derek uncomfortable. However...
"At least he's not sneaking into a teenager's bedroom in the middle of the night."
"No, he's just taking that teenager to his own bed!"
"His is way roomier," Stiles says without an ounce of shame. "Why do you even care? It's not like I'm not aware that Peter is using me to get his rocks off. I also know he wants to give me the bite but if you haven't noticed yet, I'm still human, and he's had plenty of opportunities to bite me." Stiles pauses, then smirks down at his marked up torso. "Everywhere. "
Stiles only feels about half an ounce of guilt when Derek actually flinches back and plants his ass on the open window sill. He's silent for a moment before apparently recovering his resolve to come and beat some sense into Stiles. As little good as it is going to do.
"He wants more out of you than just easy orgasms and a new beta," Derek says while fishing something out of his jacket pocket. He flicks the small bit of pink plastic - a flash drive - over to Stiles who catches it easily. "A lot more."
Stiles stares down at the little bubble gum colored device in the palm of his hand and frowns. "Derek, what..." But when he looks up Derek has vanished, and Stiles almost throws the damn thing out of the window after him on principle alone. He's not stupid enough to think Peter couldn't be using him for something besides sex. The whole pack only trusts him so far, after all. And Peter is nothing if not a conniving, smarmy, elitist asshole.
More than that, Stiles does trust Derek. Probably more than he should after everything but he considers the guy a friend. It helps that the poor sap couldn't lie his way out of a paper bag - kind of like Scott.
Maybe that's why they're his friends, and Peter is the one he wants to fuck.
Realizing he will never get a damn wink of sleep while not knowing what is on that flash drive, Stiles sighs so hard it becomes a rattling, chest deep groan, and plops himself down in front of the computer.
While it connects, he curses Derek again as he has to get up and close the window to the icy cold air.
Once it opens, there's only one file.
A pdf, titled 'alpha_mates'.
Stiles doesn't sleep that night for an entirely different reason.
He skips the full moon run the next night much to the clear frustration of one Peter Hale, expressed in a series of irate and shorter and shorter text messages.
Well.
He skips the outing anyway.
While the pack is out running around like the animals they are (minus Lydia as well, since she's off with her mother on Holidays) Stiles uses his key to the Penthouse he'd stolen from Peter to slip in and heads directly for the master bedroom. Of course, he realizes once he's there that Peter had more than likely allowed him to steal it. But at that moment, he doesn't care.
Right now, all he cares about his getting his scent *all over* the Alpha's bed.
He doesn't waste any time at all, immediately stripping down, pulling back the duvet and kneeling in the center of the sleek, soft, king sized mattress. Once he's settled, he starts stroking himself. He's got a bottle of lube to help - both for this and what comes next. His first orgasm is quick and sharp, spilling across the dark black sheets with satisfying streaks of white. Once he's done that, he takes a moment to breathe, and moves on. He slicks up his fingers and imagines what it would feel like for Peter to open him up, working first one and then two and then three at the odd angle he has to twist at to finger himself open. Peter would be quick and efficient, thrusts sharp and demanding. What would his cock feel like, stretching Stiles open?
His knot?
That thought sends him over quickly. Twenty-four hours ago, Stiles hadn't known knots were actually real, anything more than internet fantasy. But now that he knows, it's all he can think about. Peter is already huge, already drives Stiles wild wondering what it would feel like to be impaled on something so thick and fucked hard and raw.
Now he trembles and comes apart thinking of something even bigger. Of not only being fucked full, but bred.
Something primal inside of Stiles had reacted to that information, had sparked to life and turned into a raging inferno of need. He had realized exactly what was missing and it had taken all of his will power and common sense not to drive to the penthouse and beg Peter to take him before dawn that morning.
But he does have some sense left.
He hopes.
Though what he's currently doing may, in fact, be a mark of insanity.
Stiles keeps going until he's wrung himself dry, until he can barely move any more let alone get it up. And just in time too as a few minutes after he slumps onto the bed, chest heaving, body spent, he hears the front door open.
And then a growl.
A dangerous growl.
The door slams.
Stiles grins, feeling like he's drunk in the aftermath of so many orgasms, high from the volume if not the strength. He hears Peter stalking through the place, up the stairs and down the hall. He's shirtless and already shoving out of his pants, nearly pouncing on Stiles naked and hard as a rock the second he's through the bedroom door.
With every movement his low, steady growl grows, until it is reverberating through Stiles' chest while he kisses him, while he rocks low against the thick mess on Stiles' body.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He demands to know, teeth sharp but still short, eyes flickering red.
"Peter," Stiles moans as his soft cock gives a valiant effort to harden again at the feel of Peter's throbbing flesh against it. "Peter, stop ."
The Alpha's teeth are longer now. He hears the tearing of the pillow beneath his hands as his claws come out and he begins to shake where he's completely covering Stiles' body from the rest of the world.
" What ?" He groans, trying to keep control, but complying all the same.
"You don't get to touch me tonight," Stiles says carefully, feeling the fear twisted in his gut but too light headed and stubborn to listen to it. He's playing with fire, holding a roman candle while doused in gasoline, staring into the one holding the canister.
"You come into an Alpha's den, into my bed, and cover it in the thick scent of your sex on the night of a full moon and have the balls to say no to me? Are you insane?"
Peter's gaze is fully red now. His teeth are long and sharp and easy to see, glittering in the moonlight with the way his mouth hangs open as he pants above Stiles.
"You have no idea just how insane I can be, Peter. Mostly for even considering to agree to what you want from me."
Peter trembles while he ducks his head into the curve of Stiles' neck, which Stiles allows for now because he's gracious like that. (And because he really, really likes it when Peter can't seem to get enough of his scent. )
"What is it you think I want from you, Little Spark?"
Stiles stretches beneath him, letting his body glance against Peter's, letting him feel just a taste, just a touch, letting their skin slip together for a half a breath before settling back against the bed with a moan.
"I know you want to fuck me," he whispers.
"Observant as always."
"I know you want to knot me," Stiles adds with a nip to Peter's slightly elongated ear. Peter pops his head up with a curious stare which Stiles meets with a seductive bite of his own bottom lip. "Know you want to breed me," he says against Peter's lips without completely closing the distance. "To claim me as your own."
Another tearing sound rips through the large open space, and Stiles thinks maybe Peter made it all the way to the mattress itself this time.
"Derek finally told you."
Stiles laughs, and shakes his head. "Derek didn't tell me shit, but he did try to warn me off and gave me a file with everything I needed to know in it."
"And you're still here?"
If Stiles didn't know any better, he would swear there was a genuine note of surprise and almost hope in Peter's voice. But that can't be possible.
He nods. "I'm here to put down a few ground rules. To make you prove a few things before I even think about giving in. To make you show me you're capable of treating me like the equal I should be if I agree."
Peter takes one, very sharp clawed hand and drags it down Stiles' torso, flicking a nipple just light enough to not scratch, down to just above his spent cock and then back up again, getting those thick, strong fingers around his neck and teasing a grip, just enough pressure to let Stiles know he's there. A warning.
A promise.
Somehow, it only makes Stiles' body thrum with anticipation. With excitement and desire.
"And what's to stop me from just taking what I want regardless of your ridiculous stipulations, hm? You are still very much just a human. Small. Weak. Fragile. I could break you, Stiles."
There isn't a doubt in his mind that Peter could do just that. Or that he would, if provoked too hard.
But he also knows that's not what Peter wants out of him.
"Because if you take it, if you take me without my complete, genuine consent, then you will turn me, you may even successfully breed me, but I will never be bound to you. Because when you're through with me I can just walk away and I will take a piece of your power with me."
Peter snarls, pressing further.
Stiles' cock actually pulses and thickens.
"Fine," he gets eventually though Peter is still a millimeter away from choking him, from taking him apart. "I'll play your little game for now."
Despite his words, there is no mistaking the heat in his gaze or the admiration in Peter's voice for anything but what it is.
"Good," Stiles says with a satisfied smirk. "Then do whatever you need to do to get off without touching me and then get some sleep. I've got a big day planned with my dad tomorrow. After that, we'll talk about the rest."
For a moment, he thinks Peter might actually bite him with the way he sneers. But it takes almost nothing for him to stroke himself to completion right over Stiles, coming in thick stripes over Stiles' chest and stomach, his come joining the mess less than a minute later with a deep, rumbling growl.
Stiles still doesn't know exactly what he's going to say. What he's going to demand. But as he turns to his side, still come sticky and filthy and wrung out from his own evening activity and latches onto Peter's overheated, heaving form, he knows he'll figure it out.
And that Peter, for all his faults, will give whatever he demands every ounce of his attention and effort.
Peter doesn't really do regret.
He does anger and frustration and revenge and fixes things. That is, of course, even if he makes a mistake in the first place - which is so rare it's laughable.
But if there is yet another , god forsaken thing in his life he does regret, of course it has to do with Stiles Stilinski. He agrees to the boy’s demands, that he prove himself a worthy Alpha and mate, capable of not only controlling himself but also ensuring the brat that their connection would be more than just fantastic, mind blowing sex at all hours of the day.
What more does he need anyway?
He agrees, but jesus fucking christ does Peter immediately regret.
Because Stiles had put a complete halt on their sex life. No touching. No kissing. Nothing.
But he hadn’t stopped the teasing. Peter gets texts at all hours of the day laced with innuendo. He comes home to find the kid in his bed. He hosts dinner for Christmas and Stiles sits in his lap like Peter is fucking Santa Claus smelling like he’d just finishing jerking off not five minutes earlier.
Peter really doesn’t know if it's better or worse that he also starts staying around more, striking up actually engaging conversation and taking things into consideration that Peter had thought no one else cared about. He asks about other near-by packs - something Peter had mentioned off hand at the beginning of summer but he assumed the teenagers were too wrapped up in their own worlds to care about or ever remember. Stiles doesn’t just read the Hale bestiary, he adds to it commentary after questions from Peter and discussion with Chris Argent.
He comes over for dinner, and actually seems to enjoy the things Peter makes for him.
They even cook together sometimes.
Surprisingly, those are the nights Peter finds it most difficult to continue to keep his hands to himself.
Three days after Christmas, Sheriff Noah Stilinski disappears.
It takes the entire pack working non-stop for two days to even find his scent.
When they do, the man is unconscious and hanging on by a thread being slowly bled to death, and it’s Stiles that drives the metal hook into the wendigo’s heart The creature is absolutely a devourer of human flesh, but looks mostly like nothing more than a terrified fifteen year old kid.
Stiles collapses once the light of life vanishes from the creature’s eyes, once his muscles stop spasming and there is no more breath to be had. Peter makes sure Derek, Scott, and Isaac get the Sheriff patched up as much as possible and taken to the hospital, promising that he and Stiles will be right on their heels.
As soon as he can convince Stiles to move.
When he crouches down to where Stiles is kneeling over the body, he expects to see tears - to see shock. He expects disbelief and an edge of hysteria.
What he sees instead is cold fury. The glisten of tears is still there, shimmering in the swinging lights from overhead in the cold empty warehouse. But none have fallen yet. Stiles looks at the creature, then at his own blood soaked hands.
“I killed him.”
Peter nods. “He was going to kill your father.”
“Shouldn’t I…” Stiles takes a deep breath. “Shouldn’t I feel bad about this? He was a kid. A terrified kid who had just lost his parents? Didn’t know how he would survive?” There is a well of emotions pouring off of Stiles, both in his voice and in his scent even over the almost overwhelming smell of death and decay around them. But he doesn’t sound upset in the slightest.
Just very, very confused.
“He was going to kill your father,” Peter repeats, a little more insistent this time.
“So that makes it okay?”
“You want my answer, or something someone else in our pack would tell you?”
Stiles looks at him and he feels the cold calculation from that glittering gaze. His eyes are piercing, features firm and determined. “Tell me the truth, Peter.”
“The truth is, everything dies. I won’t sit here and dither about self defense and justifications or how murder is bad. Because everything dies. You and I will die one day. Our pack? They will die one day. It is my job, and yours if you accept it, to make sure that doesn’t happen prematurely. And if that means taking another life, I will never, once, think twice about it. Do you regret it?”
“He was gonna kill my dad,” Stiles repeats, like it’s obvious, like Peter is a bit simple.
Despite himself, Peter smiles. Stiles returns it – if a little timidly – and then ducks his head.
“For what it’s worth, watching you wield a giant meathook was incredibly arousing,” Peter tells him with a dark tone and nothing but honesty as he holds out his hand for Stiles to take, then helps him to his feet.
At the hospital, both of them keeping vigil over his dad in his private room, Stiles crosses the cold tile floor in his socks as he softly counts down to midnight, slips quietly into Peter’s lap, and kisses him. It’s slower and far sweeter than anything they’ve ever done before and Peter is more than a little surprised to find he likes it.
“We have to tell him everything.”
Peter hums, internally cringing though he keeps a straight face.
“We have to tell him most things,” he corrects with a stroke to Stiles’ cheek.
“I won’t keep things from him that could wind up getting him killed.”
“Fair enough I suppose. Though I must ask, who do you think will be the one at the other end of a wolfsbane bullet if you inform your father, the Sheriff, who is legally allowed to shoot people under certain circumstances and is very good friends with an Argent, that his under age son is being fucked by a werewolf?”
Stiles, the little shit, brings a finger up to tap against his chin and makes a show of pondering for a moment.
“His under age son isn’t currently getting fucked by anyone.”
Peter grips him a little tighter and snaps his teeth playfully with a low growl just from the base of his chest. “An oversight I intend to correct as soon as possible.”
“So you think,” Stiles says as he leans his head on Peter’s shoulder and settles in for a while.
There’s no reason to move him right away, once he falls asleep like that. Peter would hear anyone coming close to the room or Noah threatening to wake - which isn’t likely to happen for quite some time anyway. So he holds him, and doesn’t exactly find it an unpleasant experience.
In fact, he finds he would rather like to keep doing so.
Though he would never admit it to anyone even under pain of death.
Shortly after he is released from the hospital, Noah Stilinski is introduced to the realities of his world, and to everyone in the pack as they really - truly - are. He is different from his son, the kind of man who prefers order and justice to a little bit of mischief and, well, vigilantism. He is so different from his son Peter almost wishes he could have met Claudia. Stiles must be just like her, carrying on her memory.
Perhaps it was her side he got his spark from, as well.
Because Noah is as surely as mundane as they come. He threatens to arrest Peter, only backing down when all of the wolves prove just how easily they can bend steel and punch through walls. (He has no doubt that won’t be the last time he gets threatened by the man.) There are a truly metric ton of questions about Jackson that take quite a while to work through - mostly that unlike Peter, Jackson isn’t actually at fault for any of those brutal deaths. Not by a long shot.
Lydia confuses him as well, but she smiles and wiggles her fingers at Noah and he just moves on to the next set of interrogations with a heavy puff of air and a look like maybe some mysteries are best left unsolved.
In the end, what really seems to matter to him, what he sticks around after everyone but he and Stiles has left to make sure he gets across to Peter, is that he owns a gun, he knows Argent well, and he better not ever find out his son was bitten.
Peter gives him his most winning and charming smile. “Sheriff. I assure you from the bottom of my cold, once dead heart, your son and I have quite a clear understanding with one another. Never shall I ever bite him without his explicit consent, nor even ask. Should he request it, however, I will not hesitate.”
That doesn’t reassure Noah in the slightest.
Smart man.
That much, at least, Stiles could have gotten from him.
“If you touch him I will find a way to make sure you can’t come back this time.”
Stiles, wisely, keeps his mouth shut until he and his father have left the penthouse. Though Peter can hear him the moment the door is closed already going a mile a minute about everything.
That night, Peter gets a picture instead of his usual innuendo laced text.
It’s of Stiles from the shoulders down at a sharp angle, mole splattered chest bare, in nothing but his underwear which he has a hand in, the waistband gapped to show just the base of his hard cock and the trail of hair that leads there. Peter stares at it, at the way his body is j ust defined enough to have gone from scrawny teenage boy to that of a young man who runs with wolves.
Are you trying to get me killed?
Peter sends back, already idly stroking himself through his underwear.
Instead of an actual response, he gets another image, this time with the underwear gone.
Am I allowed to touch yet?
You can kiss me
Stiles’ text is a reminder. A reminder of his boundary. Of the line Peter isn’t yet allowed to cross, but is being teased through more and more each day.
Can I kiss that pretty little cock of yours, darling?
The next is a video. A long video.
A video that ends with an orgasm and a moan that Peter finds he misse s and he’s almost mad about it.
But he watches it again anyway.
Things become… difficult.. . for Peter after that.
Kate, of all fucking people, shows up to kidnap Derek thinking to find him alone and helpless, not realizing that no one in the pack is really - truly - alone any longer. When Stiles is the one to put her down without remorse or pity Peter has to make sure he and Stiles stay several blocks apart for a few days so he doesn’t just jump him and fuck the boy sensless. Bite or not, watching Stiles wield that metal, wolfsbane laced bat had been enticing enough. Putting down the woman who had torn his entire life apart, and then stepping on her chest until he knew for certain there wasn’t anything left of her?
That had been the moment Peter knew he was no longer invested in this just for the power.
Now, he is invested in Stiles.
Even a week later, when they are alone and in Peter’s bed, he has to work hard to only touch in ways he’s allowed, his eyes flashing red and Stiles finding no small amount of joy in making him suffer.
“You are an intolerable wretch,” Peter growls against his throat, bared to him like he has a right .
“Of course I am. But you like it.” Stiles nudges him with his nose until they’re kissing again, and Peter fucks him in the only way he can, the only way he’s allowed, dragging his tongue through those sweet, soft lips, deep and filthy.
He doesn’t just like it. He fucking loves it.
Peter jerks back, suddenly under complete control, with his eyes wide and alert.
After a moment of confusion, Stiles frowns at him. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No. No, of course not,” Peter lies smoothly with a slow, sweet kiss. “But I did suddenly remember someone bitching all through dinner about an exam tomorrow?”
Stiles’ smile is as incredulous as it is beautiful and Peter huffs and flops over to his back before pulling the brat close.
“Okay, dad ,” Stiles mumbles, sounding incredibly fond.
“Dear god, please do not tell me you have a secret Daddy kink.” Peter groans, but finds himself happily stroking Stiles’ bare back while they both settle further into the bed and get comfortable for sleep.
“What if I did, hm?” Stiles glances up with a mischievous smirk on his face and glint in his eyes. “That a deal breaker for you , Daddy?” The way his face breaks and the scent of disgust rolls off him gives Stiles’ true feelings on that away though and Peter lightly smacks the back of his head while the boy shivers. “Right. Never doing that again.”
“Good. Get some sleep, Stiles.”
Peter doesn’t sleep. Not for a long, long time.
Stiles turns 18 on the night of the June full moon.
Peter spoils him rotten, of course. But Stiles hadn’t really expected anything less. Thankfully, Derek takes everyone else out to their romp through the preserve and they have the whole night to themselves.
If things go to plan, they’re going to need it.
“I have to actually get into these schools in the first place and my SAT scores are more than good enough for the UC system but I need to take them again first thing this school year to try and get that edge for plenty of scholarships. I would really rather not finish undergrad in debt when I’m going to have to take loans out of the ass for law school.”
Peter saunters over to the wet bar while Stiles closes the front door behind him. They’ve just returned from dinner where he gave Stiles a set of keys to his McLaren and then let him drive it as fast as he wanted. Stiles almost gave in and blew him in the parking garage.
“UC? Are you still thinking about Berkeley? Stiles, you made a 1500. You could apply to Yale and they wouldn’t throw your application out.”
“I can’t afford to pay out of state tuition anywhere else, let alone a single semester at an Ivy League.”
After pouring himself a small tumbler of very old, very expensive scotch (“It’s about the taste, Stiles, not the alcohol content.”) Peter sits rather elegantly on the expansive couch in his well fitting suit and lays back with one leg crossed over the other and swirls it about, watching Stiles.
“You should apply to whichever school you want and accept, regardless of location or cost. If you’re going to be such a damn stickler about paying for something then fine, contribute. But I refuse to live in some slum student housing run by a man named Earl missing half his teeth. I will be selecting our short term residence.”
Stiles sort of… blanks out for a moment, standing there in the middle of the living room.
Peter continues. “At least it’s just you and Scott I have to worry about actually forking much over for. Erica insists on becoming a pediatric nurse - why she would want to be around other people’s slimy crotch goblins all day I will never understand. Isaac is undecided for the moment so will be going to BHJC which is fine . Maybe I’ll send him on a backpacking tour of Europe so he can find himself. Boyd wants to teach.”
“Literature,” Stiles says quietly, brain buzzing and feeling almost like he’s in some sort of strange dream.
“A noble enough pursuit, I suppose,” Peter says with a heavy sigh before taking a slow sip. “Jackson and Lydia’s fathers will both be fitting their bills, which is acceptable - not even sure either of them will have any desire to return, honestly. I’m just glad someone was there to talk sense into the administrators who wanted to try and put Malia in with all of the rest of you as if she hadn’t missed out on eight years of schooling. What kind of idiot thinks that she could just go straight into high school let alone Junior year when she’s been missing for eight years ?”
That had been quite the difficult task to achieve without anyone wondering why Peter was taking such a keen interest in the education of someone he shouldn’t have any connection to whatsoever. And yet he’d managed to get her a private teacher who worked with her constantly, and found ways to slowly get her reintegrated with her peers outside of what support the pack as a whole was providing. He also, apparently, not only plans on paying for every one’s University costs… he knows what they want.
He’s paying attention.
He cares enough to remember.
“I didn’t think you… cared,” Stiles says carefully, biting the cuticle of his thumb.
Peter waves him off. “A well educated pack is a strong pack, Stiles. You know this. We’ve spoken about it before. I pay for their education and when they return everyone contributes in their own ways and grows stronger in turn. This isn’t new information.” He peers curiously at Stiles for a moment, taking another sip of his amber liquid.
But paying for their school, funding their education, isn’t the same as knowing what they want.
Boyd hasn’t told anyone what he wants to do. Stiles only knows because he’d dragged it out of the guy when he caught him purchasing the entire summer reading options list instead of just choosing one like all the other sane people. None of them just sit around talking about the future. The future is too terrifying.
Something sort of clicks into place for Stiles and he relaxes from his head down to his toes with one, slow, drawn out breath. It’s not the first time Peter has surprised him, and he realizes it won’t be the last. After kicking out of his shoes, he crosses the room and carefully lowers himself into Peter’s lap, straddling him right there on the couch while grabbing the drink from his hand and tossing it back himself. It burns, and Stiles will never understand why he likes the stuff, but it’s in his way and he needs the shot of courage for what he’s about to do.
Peter’s hands immediately latch onto Stiles’ hips, fingers tugging just enough to get beneath his shirt, skin to skin. Though his features remain placid, there’s an instant fire in his gaze that Stiles knows exactly how to fuel.
He sets the glass down on the end table before draping his arms around Peter’s shoulders.
“Please refrain from informing your father I am contributing to the delinquency of minors,” Peter says with a smirk, dragging his hands up Stiles’ sides.
“Not a minor any longer.”
“Underage drinking then.”
“Duly noted. Peter,” Stiles says as he slowly lowers himself further, getting his ass properly down to Peter’s lap and leaning in to tease at kissing. “You care .”
“Lies,” he says, tugging the slim fitting blood red polo up and off Stiles’ body. “Slander,” he adds, kissing his shoulder. “I won’t have it.”
This is more than Stiles has allowed since before the new year, but he has no desire to stop him.
“If you really only wanted a strong pack, you would just pay for their education and be done with it. Maybe encourage them to go to better schools. I bet you talked to them all about it, didn’t you?”
“So what?” Peter asks, pulling back a touch and almost sounding genuinely annoyed. “Would you rather me be pushy and everyone miserable?”
Stiles has no doubt that Peter thinks himself quite the benevolent unflappable Alpha, doing what he must to keep a happy, healthy pack and nothing more, nothing less. He desires power. He desires strength. He wants to ensure that he and his pack will live long, fulfilled lives.
And he won’t sacrifice the pack’s desires for that end.
Oh, he’ll coerce and convince them to do the things he wants when he needs to, when he feels like it's necessary. Stiles will help him, when he must. Because in the time he’s spent in Peter’s pack he’s learned how to apply his life long skill in lies and deceit for the better, for good.
Or at least, the pack’s good.
He’s learned to live and thrive in the grey, and he kind of loves it.
Peter, as it turns out, also fully intends to stay at Stiles’ side regardless of where Stiles winds up going and had said as much as if it was a given. As if there wasn’t a question in his mind that is how everything would happen.
And until this moment, Stiles hadn’t even decided yet if he would agree to that.
Knowing full well there’s a very high chance this is all going according to Peter’s plan, Stiles gives in entirely.
“I have another task for you, Peter,” Stiles says with a smirk while he runs his hands through Peter’s hair, nails dragging against his scalp in the way he knows Peter likes but does his best not to react to.
“Another?” He kisses Stiles’ jaw, then his throat. “Will there be no end to the incessant demands before you finally just give me what I want?”
“I want you to bite me,” Stiles says like it’s nothing, like it’s a request to pick up the laundry or take out the trash.
Peter responds instantly, yanking his head back, eyes wide and genuinely surprised, like he hadn’t expected Stiles to actually say it so casually. Or perhaps at all any time soon.
“Why so surprised?” Stiles teases. “Isn’t this what you’ve been…”
“Shut up,” Peter snaps with a finger to Stiles’ smirking lips. He watches Peter breathe deeply and recognizes how he’s scenting the air, picking up on Stiles’ chemo-signals and emotions. There’s the faintest bleed of red in his steely gaze before he finally speaks, voice soft and intimate. “Now. Say it again.”
Stiles bites his bottom lip, letting it drag slowly from between his teeth. He tugs Peter’s hair just a touch, just enough to tilt his head back and stare into those piercing grey, red streaked eyes.
“I want you to bite me,” he says with a whisper.
Peter’s kiss is like nothing Stiles has ever experienced in his life. It’s deep and filthy and thorough . His lips are firm and so, so insistent. His tongue invades Stiles’ mouth like he belongs there, like it belongs to him. In a way, it does. It does now and it will continue to do so for a very, very long time.
“Just like that?” Peter says into his mouth before diving back in. Stiles can feel him growing hard beneath him and begins working the buttons of his expensive silk shirt to get a little skin beneath his own fingers. “No more caveats?” Peter asks. “No more proof? No more tests of my worthiness?”
Stiles rocks his hips in a low, slow grind that has Peter growling into the next kiss, and then the next.
“Do you want another task?” He asks, feigning innocence. “One last token of your dedication and proof I should spend the rest of my life with you? I’m sure I could come up with something.”
“You should never give anything away for free,” Peter reminds him. It’s a lesson he’s been trying to teach all of them on and off, but one he’s been drilling into Stiles since the beginning.
There isn’t anything Stiles wants at the moment except for Peter. He wants what he has been denying himself for months. He wants to taste and feel every inch of him. He wants to kiss him until he can’t see straight and then do a whole hell of a lot more. What he really wants is to not be a virgin any longer and despite everything they had gotten up to before Stiles called a halt to everything, he technically still is.
If he has learned anything about Peter, however, is that if he gives him an inch, he will take the whole world.
Right now, the world is what Stiles needs.
“Make me come…”
Peter bites his shoulder with blunt teeth, then grabs his ass and squeezes tight.
“Far too easy.”
Stiles shakes his head, feeling the heat and roll of pleasure beneath his skin building steadily. “Without touching my cock.” At Peter’s raised eyebrows, he adds. “Or using yours.”
“You think that will be difficult, darling? You think I couldn’t torture you with my voice alone? With my hands on every inch of your body except your prick? I could talk you into an orgasm if I so desired and you know it.” As if proving his point, Stiles shivers from how Peter’s whiskey smooth, Alpha deep voice curls down his spine. “A kiss in the right place,” he growls, pressing his lips to the soft spot just below Stiles’ ear. “A glancing touch.” Peter drags his claws up Stiles’ front, flicking his nipples in the way he loves, in the way that sends sparks flashing through his veins. “A reminder, that before tonight is done you’ll be locked on my knot and out of your mind screaming in pleasure that only I will ever be able to give you again.”
A shudder rolls through Stiles’ body. He hadn’t so much as forgotten about getting knotted, about what that means for them, for his future, as much as he had pointedly not been thinking about it ever.
In order to keep his hands off Peter as much as he expected Peter to keep his own hands to himself, Stiles had to compartmentalize a lot of his fantasies and desires.
His cock throbs when he ruts against Peter, delighting in the friction of his own boxers and the layers of clothing between them. But he yelps in surprise when he’s suddenly lifted into the air by that delicious Alpha strength like it’s nothing, with only one of Peter’s arms secured under his ass.
“If I am not allowed to touch, neither are you,” he says with a low grumble and a hand still in Stiles’ hair, keeping him at the perfect angle to kiss breathless while he walks. Each step is a jostle of his body, adding to the heat and friction despite Peter’s words, despite the death grip he has on Stiles’ body.
By the time they make it to the master bedroom Stiles’ head is spinning from lack of oxygen and pleasure and he’s not exactly sure what’s going on when he’s tossed to the bed, landing with a bounce right in the center. He shakes it off quickly enough and opens his mouth to teasingly protest the treatment when the words are caught in his throat and forgotten. Because Peter has already stripped out of his jacket and shirt. Stiles gets to watch his strong hands work his pants, and how his cock immediately juts out once he shoves them down, thicker than Stiles remembers and already hard.
What really gets him, what steals not just his words but his breath and all reasoning, is how Peter stalks toward him. He gets on his hands and knees on the bed over Stiles, eyes glowing red, prowling like the predator he very much is.
“Tell me again, Stiles.” Peter licks up his bare chest, pausing to flick his tongue against one nipple, and then the other, until they're both stiff and aching. “Tell me what you want.”
Stiles swallows heavily, knowing exactly what Peter wants to hear but having trouble making his mouth do anything but hang open and try to catch his breath.
“I… I want you to bite me, Peter.”
Still with blunt teeth, Peter does just that, right at the junction of his neck and shoulders, biting down hard and sucking deeply with long, firm laves of his tongue in a way that make Stiles squirm and writhe beneath him. His eyes flutter closed and he tries to rock his body up but Peter stops him with a firm, bruising grip at his hip, pushing him back down into the mattress.
“No touching remember?” Stiles can feel the smirk against his neck before Peter kisses him, then higher, then his jaw and finally his lips. He whines into Peter’s kiss, cock throbbing, aching, and desperate to be touched after so long. Peter’s smirk isn’t going anywhere. “Having second thoughts about making me work for it, darling?”
“What kind of Mate would I be for an Alpha if I didn’t push you every once in a while?”
“I think you have a very backward idea of who will be doing the pushing.” Peter gets his hands on Stiles’ hips and with a flick has him flipped over on the bed. Before Stiles can parse out what is going on his pants and underwear are being forced down over his hips, only as far as his knees so he feels trapped, Peter manhandling him into getting his ass in the air.
His cock hangs heavily in the air, no warmth, no friction.
His ass is spread wide.
A gust of cold makes him shiver.
And then the fiery heat of Peter’s mouth descends over him.
“Oh god ...” Stiles moans and arches while every muscle twitches and jerks simultaneously trying to get away and also get more of the never before felt sensations. He quickly overcomes the urge to escape as Peter’s tongue swirls and licks and flicks across his hole, fluttering pleasure sparking through his veins and skin, through his limbs. His hands grip the duvet so tight his muscles turn white and he can feel the fire pouring through his spine and tightening and claiming him with every single flick and push of Peter’s tongue.
It doesn’t take long until he’s as tight as a live wire and nearly overwhelmed in the onslaught of sensations, but just on the edge. Peter keeps him teetering there, too much and not enough all at once even once he gets Stiles loose enough he can push through, push in with the sharp point of his tongue in a way that has him seeing fucking stars. But it’s not enough.
“Peter… Peter I need…”
Peter growls and fucks him on his tongue harder making Stiles cry out and try to bring a shaky hand up to his own dick, leaking and so hard it hurts.
The movement makes Peter stop, but only long enough to grab both of Stiles hands and press them to the small of his back so that Stiles’ upper body is only being held up by his shoulders. Peter gets one hand around *both* of Stiles’ thin, fragile wrists, and holds him tight enough to bruise.
THey’ll be faded in the morning, once they’re finished. Once Peter has what he wants.
“The only thing you need ever again is me, Stiles.”
With a sharp nip of his teeth into the meat of Stiles’ ass, Peter sinks two fingers of his free hand into Stiles’ loose, spit slick hole.
It burns, and Stiles’ face screws up tight in pain and a twisted sense of pleasure because beyond the stretch and the sudden understanding of what else is going to happen to him, he finally feels like this is right. It doesn’t just twist through his nerve endings with bright explosions of pleasure, it curls around his heart, a hint, a tease, at what is coming once they’re connected not just by their bodies.
“Yesss….” he moans, pushing back just to hear the deep, amused chuckle from Peter.
From his Alpha.
Pinned in place by Peter’s hand on his wrists and back, by his pants caught around his knees, by Peter , Stiles gets lost to the way he’s opened up and stretched without any way to push back, to seek more. Peter plays his body, first with his fingers deep and then stretching, then getting his tongue back and helping to keep slicking the way. Every drag of his fingers in his body, every flutter of his tongue on the sensitive flesh of his stretched out rim drives Stiles to new heights and new levels of desperation.
“Peter…” he begs, sounding wretched and lost. “Peter I can’t. ..”
Peter growls, and fucks in deeper. Harder. He curls his fingers and twists his hand until something sparks and ignites in Stiles’ body and he gasps, sharp and high pitched. Another sound, pleased and full of himself, escapes Peter’s lips while he does it again, over and over until Stiles’ chest feels like it will explode from his inability to breathe, like his body is going to shatter to pieces any moment, twisted up too tight, too much, too hard, too fast. And still Peter goes.
Harder.
Faster.
The dam explodes and everything - every touch, every built up breath and moment of pleasure - crashes through Stiles all at once like an out of control freight train. He cries out, loud and broken. The only reason he doesn’t collapse after the first thundering pulse of his orgasm is from how Peter is holding him up, keeping him stretched on his fingers and a death grip on his hands until his shoulders are pulled back too tight, too much.
But none of it matters.
None of the odd twists of his body or the wrenching spasms of muscle can overpower the pleasure rolling through him, the way his cock spurts and his body trembles in pleasure that pours through him while Peter keeps going.
The second Peter lets go, Stiles collapses to the bed.
But he isn’t there for long.
Peter is gone for just a moment, returning to flip Stiles to his back once more, finally getting his black jeans pulled off and tossed to the side before kneeling between Stiles’ still trembling legs and stretching him wide.
“I… god fuck, Peter…”
“Glad to see there is a way to actually shut you up without putting something in your mouth,” Peter says through a mouth full of elongated, sharp teeth. When Stiles manages to get his own gaze into focus he sees the way Peter is struggling, how he’s shaking himself, how his eyes are solid red and his face is slightly distorted while he strokes himself with a slick squelching sound from the lube he had grabbed from the nightstand and stares down at Stiles’ trembling body.
“Where’s that famous Alpha control now, hm?” Stiles asks, already reaching down to grab his own legs, to pull them up to his chest and open himself to Peter, to invite him in for whatever he wants.
For everything.
Peter doesn’t waste a moment of time, lining himself up and forcing the thick head of his cock through the loosened, but still too tight, ring of muscle. Stiles bites his lip but can’t hold back on the whine. He’s still relaxed and buzzing from his orgasm but Peter is far wider that just his two fingers had gotten, harder and more solid and intrusive than anything Stiles has ever played himself with.
Head already swimming in sparks of pleasure and pain and overwhelming sensation from how oversensitive he is, tears start to well up in Stiles’ eyes when Peter answers.
“I have been practicing control around you since the moment I met you, Stiles.” Each word is accompanied by a slow roll of his hips, a slow glide and slip of his cock until the head finally pops through and Stiles keens. “The first night I offered you the bite, I almost bent you over that car and took you then and there.”
Stiles holds his breath.
Peter slams balls deep with a growl so low and so deep it reverberates through the walls of the room and shakes the bed, not to mention rattling Stiles’ bones and teeth while he grips Peter’s back, digs his nails in and clings to him to tightly he breaks skin.
“Knew this is where you belonged,” Peter manages, mouthing against Stiles’ neck, sharp teeth grazing soft, pale, fragile skin. But Stiles can’t answer, doesn’t know up from down, pleasure from pain. All he knows is Peter–Peter’s breath hot and panting against his skin, Peter’s body sliding against his, Peter’s cock, filling him like he’s suddenly aware he’s been missing his whole fucking life. “Locked on my knot and full of my come. This is the last time we’ll have to use anything you know. Your body will always be ready for me after this, slick and open and waiting to be fucked.”
His last word comes with a particularly sharp thrust that makes Stiles arc off the bed. He can imagine it. Riding him in the living room, bent over the McLaren, Peter sneaking into the school lockeroom to fuck his teenage mate in the showers between classes, maybe, if he’s feeling particularly filthy and a bit suicidal, in his childhood bed.
“You promise?” Stiles manages through heavy panting and moans of his own.
“Make you my cock sleeve, darling. Always plugged up on my knot.”
“At least until I’m too fat for it…” he moans, because that’s what this is leading to, what a large part of being a mate means, what Stiles is about to be made for. For expanding the pack. For growing an Alpha’s strength.
For breeding.
The reminder seems to be enough to drive Peter into wild, savage thrusts as he chases his own pleasure and the lines of his face grow sharper from his lack of control. His cock thickens and Stiles doesn't know how much more he can take, how much bigger Peter can get before he actually breaks Stiles in half and he becomes useless to either of them.
With a particularly sharp thrust something pops and snaps and the bulge at the base of Peter’s cock is not only through Stiles’ rim but ramming against his prostate with such ferocity every muscle in his body curls and tightens suddenly yanked to the edge of reason.
Peter roars .
His head falls back down and he snaps his mouth around Stiles’ neck and shoulder, sinking his teeth in with a sharp snarl and pop as he breaks the skin and everything rushes through them both all at once. The pleasure and sensation of their physical connection, of their suddenly entwining power and life force, of the way Peter pulses and thrums deep in Stiles’ body, how Stiles’ own body shatters to a million pieces only to be knit back together instantly in a new form, a new way, a new life.
All Stiles knows is Peter.
Peter’s mouth, Peter’s cock, Peter’s body.
Peter’s heart.
He can feel it beating alongside his own as he slowly comes down from the mind numbing orgasm, like something that should feel foreign and strange but is nothing but right. Perfect. It fills a hole in his chest that he suddenly knows was shaped and carved out just for this.
Just for Peter.
It’s so overwhelming when the first tear slips down Stiles’ cheek he doesn’t even fight it, though he won’t acknowledge it in the slightest. Won’t admit to how he suddenly feels just on the edge of being too full, like there’s too much of him beneath his own skin begging to be set free. But Peter slowly draws his fangs from Stiles’ flesh and the pain is a quick, stabbing sharpness and then gone again from the way he licks across the mark, from the way he kisses and cleans the wound until they’re both smeared in blood and spit. It should be gross. It should be disgusting. But all Stiles can think of in his muddy state of existence is how sweet it is. All he can think is what a good, caring Mate Peter is making by taking care of him like this.
The thought should confuse him. Peter is anything but sweet.
Stiles groans and slowly takes stock of, well, everything.
He’s not sure he’s ever felt so light headed in his life, like he’d held his breath for hours on end. His skin tingles from head to toe, still bright and sensitive and feeling like he’s got a million light, sharp needles being dragged across his flesh. His chest is tight. His heart beats wildly. His abdomen is… tight.
Unlike the rest of him that feels metaphorically too full, like there’s too much, his lower stomach is actually beginning to feel tight beyond the after effects of the most mind blowing orgasm of his life. When he manages to take a deep breath, he realizes he can still feel the way Peter trembles against him, how his cock pulses and his balls are throbbing.
“Are you… fuck Peter, are you still coming?”
All he gets is a growl and rock of his hips, like the answer should be obvious. Peter is more Alpha than human at the moment though, the hair down his jaw tickling Stiles’ neck and shoulder, muscles of his back thicker, more dangerous.
Stiles lets out a breathy laugh, clenching his muscles with purpose so tightly that Peter whines and grips him tighter, sinks in a little deeper.
“No fucking me as a dog, alright? That’s just a step too far.”
Peter finally pops up and stares at him, still very much a werewolf but with that withering, judgemental stare Sitles has come to know and love. His lips tremble as he growls with a playful snarl, making Stiles laugh even brighter.
“Good,” Stiles says with a smirk and a lingering kiss. “Good to know you’re still in there when you’re like this.”
As it turns out, Peter is still not only there, he is still extremely horny. Within a few minutes he’s worked Stiles back up to a panting, writhing, desperate mess of pleasure and tension all without his knot ever deflating.
It turns into a very, very long night.
In the morning, with the soft orange glow of sunrise filtering through the curtains, Stiles lays on his side with Peter behind him, both of their arms wrapped around his rounded middle, and listens. He listens to the way his own heart beats slow and steady. He listens to how Peter’s is strong and louder than he’d ever thought possible. He strokes his protruding stomach and can hear the soft whisper of his fingers against his own skin, and wonders how long before he’ll hear yet another life growing between them.