Work Text:
Stiles took pride in his work. He had been taking photos since he was old enough to push a button, a toddler with a disposable camera clutched in his tiny hands as he snapped photos of his mom, his dad, of the sky and bugs. Then later, six years old with a real camera around his neck and determined to catch every smile on his mother’s face. He stopped when she got bad. When it was too hard and when his dad snatched the battered camera from his hands and demanded that he stop. He understood. It hurt. Everything hurt. At least through the lens, the hurt was at a distance. He couldn’t tell his dad that though.
So he picked it back up just before high school, joined the school paper, entered some contests. He was good at it and he had support. He wasn’t afraid to shy away from the grittier aspects of the art-form and it was that which landed him a job with Neckz & Throats when he was twenty-two years old. Four years later he was leading his first major project.
Then the model dropped out. The primary equipment malfunctioned, causing the effects team to flip out. His boss told him the couldn’t reschedule unless they pushed the shoot back six months. Stiles was close to tears. Angry, frustrated, pissed off at the universe tears; but tears nonetheless. Then Lydia, beautiful, terrifying Lydia, she stood up and raised a brow at him. “Pull it together Stilinski. I’m getting you a model, I’ve got a wolf who owes me a favor and a half. He’s an asshole but he’s got the look. You just get the rest of this setup and I’ll provide the face. Got it?”
That had been three hours, twenty-seven minutes, and nineteen seconds ago. The studio door swings open. His first thought is that Lydia is a genius, the second is that no mortal being could have everything. That jaw, those eyes, that neck, shoulders, waist- then he opened his mouth and it was clear he did not have everything.
“So who is running this absolute disaster of a shoot?”
“I am.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, just that someone of your experience might have concerns. As a new model relying on you for my future career you could understand my concerns.”
“You know, you could just leave. If even one percent of your personality shows through on camera I’m sure I’ll have to scrap the whole thing.”
“Yes, having that much sex appeal would be very bad for your business I’m sure.”
“God, you’re an ass.”
“One you want on camera.”
And he couldn’t argue with that. “We start in twenty minutes, go see Erica and Kyrie to get ready- far side of the room if you can’t see them past your ego.” And Satan, aka Peter Hale, goes to get prepped.
“He’s horrible.”
“Yes, but he’s handsome and he’s going to make you look good to the higher-ups. So play nice and then you can toss him off the balcony.”
“Aye, aye, captain.”
*
Peter embodies the shoot beautifully. Kyrie dressed him in a deep red shirt with the front open down his chest, black leather pants, a gold chain dangling between his pecs. Thin eyeliner made the blue pop out and Erica had done well with his hair. Artfully mussed in a wild look. The set itself was one meant to mimic the throne of hell, open to interpretation of course. From the first set of photos Stiles already knew what his cover was going to be.
Peter on a throne, the camera angled to look up at him as though the viewer were a subject on their knees. The wolf’s chin was tilted up, eyes cut down, legs splayed wide. It was the perfect shot.
As the shoot progresses Peter loses the shirt, buttons come undone to tease the deep v of his hips. There’s a point where he has Peter stretched out, coy smile on his lips, neck bent back and the hint of his knee splayed in the background. It’s a hint of vulnerability. Especially for a wolf. The shot makes fingers itch to caress.
All the while Stiles is fielding comments from his model and, nearly three quarters through the shoot Matt walks in. Matt Daehler who was the biggest douche to ever walk the halls of Neckz & Throats but who, for all he was an ass, had a beautiful eye for capturing a shot. He walks in as though he owned the place and caused Stiles to startle where he’d just finished moving the lights. The movement jars the lamp and he knows he’s going to have to fix it. “What do you want Daehler?”
“Just letting you know that if you don’t finish today it’s alright, I’ve got a shoot they can use in your place.”
There’s a growl behind him and before he can turn Peter speaks. “I think you’ll find we’re doing quite well without you, I suggest you run along before I decide you’re in the way.” Fear takes over Matt’s eyes but he simply stalks from the room. Stiles turns just enough to see the shining blue of Peter’s eyes fade into a softer storm. Blue. Stiles knew well what that blue meant. “Ready to continue, Stilinski? Or has my beauty shocked you into silence?”
“Thanks, Peter. Now get back over there. We have two more sets to finish.”
When they’re done everyone is tired but Stiles is running on the high of a shoot well done. Grinning tiredly he turns and extends his hand to the wolf. “You’re still a dick but thank you.”
“The pleasure was mutual.”
The moment skin touches skin is electric. His bloodstream sings, vision blues and then becomes sharp, his breath stops. This. This was what it felt like when the universe played in your life. When that last piece of the cosmic puzzle clicked into place.
“You’re…”
“Yeah…”
“Well, Stiles Stilinski, would you do me the honor of dinner?”
“Not tonight.” He laughs at the shock on Peter’s face. “I have photos to sort through.”
“Shut up, Stilinski. You’re obsessive sorting can wait until the morning while you go have a drink.” Lydia… Lydia was usually right. Peter was still holding his hand.
“What do you say? Care to get to know more than my body, Soulmate?”
Stiles did get to know more than Peter’s body that night; he got to know his body better too.