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Stiles' thumb shook almost imperceptibly where it hovered over the number. His number. Not for the first time, he wished he had other options. The problem was that he'd already called everyone else in the pack. Hell, he’d even called Chris Argent for fucks sake and it was not like he was on the best terms with that guy. Stiles chewed his lip and sighed before pressing call. He was the last person Stiles wanted to drive him home after getting his wisdom teeth pulled but he was out of options. This was Beacon Hills and Stiles was probably less likely to be killed by him than he was some rogue supernatural Uber driver. He swallowed as the call connected, "Peter, I need a favor."
He heard a chuckle on the other end of the line. There was a growl in it. And then the line went dead as Peter hung up on him.
This was exactly what he’d been afraid of. Well, he’d also been afraid of what the man would do to him if he’d agreed to his proposition, but he’d been more afraid that Peter wouldn’t feel like giving him the time of day. Which made Stiles feel like shit because he liked him, definitely against his better judgement but crushes weren’t always rational. His big, ugly crush on Peter was equal parts horrifying and embarrassing and generally built on a foundation of his attraction to well-muscled men of a certain age and inappropriate sexual responses to werewolves threatening him with bodily harm. He probably needed therapy.
“Motherfucker,” Stiles swore, stuffing down his hurt feelings because he was desperate and not prepared to deal with them at the moment, and mashed Peter’s name again.
“Stiles,” came the infuriatingly cool voice over the phone. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“You asshole! Don’t hang up again,” Stiles responded frantically. “I need your help with something.”
“Ah, I think your exact words were “Peter, I need a favor,” but I can’t seem to recall owing you a favor, Stiles,” the wolf said mildly.
“Uh…” he stumbled over his words, because damnit Peter is right. He had no reason to help him and it’s not like he was particularly well known for being altruistic. A sneaky cruel little voice in the back of his head reminded him that Peter was important to him but not the other way around. He ignored it.
“Unless you happen to be referring to that time when you set me on fire with a makeshift Molotov cocktail, of course. I had been meaning to pay you back for that little favor.” There was an edge to his voice that made the hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck prickle.
“Look, I’m open to negotiation. If you help me with this, I’ll do something for you,” the boy wheedled, hoping he’d caught Peter on a good day, a day when he felt like helping instead of hindering.
“I think you need to tell me what the favor is, Stiles.”
“Uh, so I kinda have to get my wisdom teeth pulled this Thursday. But the dentist says I can’t drive myself because of the drugs...so I need to have a ride home. And I…uh…don’t,” he responded, wincing at how pathetic he sounded. Then he realized he’d never seen Peter drive anywhere and he backtracked, “you do have a car right?”
“Of course I do, unlike some people I am old enough to drive.”
“Fuck you, Peter! You've seen me drive. And you know I’m eighteen. Sorry I’m not ancient like you but I’m not a child.”
“Rude,” Peter responded mildly. “I’m not a day over twenty-nine.”
“You were twenty-nine last year,” Stiles reminded him.
“And I’ll be twenty-nine next year too.”
Stiles wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him.
Literally no one else in the pack had been able or willing to help him. He couldn’t lie, it had stung to be turned down by each and every one of his friends. His dad, Scott, and Melissa had to work and Chris was out of town, for what Stiles honestly didn’t want to know. The rest of the pack had vague prior engagements and made excuses that all sounded pretty flimsy. Derek didn’t even have a phone for him to try and call. Stiles had thought he’d had a pretty decent pool of people to reach out to in times of need but in the end it felt like an embarrassingly small list.
“I may be willing to help you, for a price,” Peter said evenly, his dry tone giving no indication of his intentions.
“Name it,” Stiles said, a little desperately.
“Hmm, no I don’t think I will,” came the drawled reply.
“Peter!” he responded, exasperated. “You can’t just–”
“Let’s leave it open ended for now. You can owe me one.” His voice was soothing, almost placating, it made Stiles feel like he was being manipulated and it made him nervous. Also kind of horny? He worried about himself sometimes.
But he really was desperate. His left back molar had been killing him and he was tired of popping over-the counter-pills all the time. He needed the damn tooth out. “Fine,” Stiles bit out, “I’ll text you the details.”
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Stiles,” came the smug reply.
His first conscious memory after waking up from surgery was being bundled into a wheelchair by a large, no-nonsense woman. When he tried to wave her hand away, mumbling through a literal mouthful of gauze that he was fine by himself, she rolled her eyes at him. But she let him try to walk to the wheelchair. He immediately fell sideways and she grabbed him by the arm and unceremoniously dumped him into the chair. She had clearly done this before.
“What color car are we looking for?” she asked him, and he could only respond with a Derek-esque eyebrow dance. He’d honestly never seen Peter drive anywhere. He’d always just seemed to morph into places from out of the shadows with no clear origin point. For all Stiles knew, he just teleported everywhere.
He shrugged and made a vaguely “I don’t know” noise.
She rolled her eyes again and started to wheel him out, “just point to them when you see them.”
His next conscious memory was sitting outside in the bright sunlight with no clear idea of how he got there. But he did see Peter. The older man leaned against the side of a flashy red Tesla, wearing his trademark painted-on V-neck shirt and expensive looking jeans that were more than a hair too tight. The navy shirt looked good on him, short sleeves stretched across impressive biceps and deep V accentuating his muscular chest. Basically, he looked like sin. Like always. Stiles tried not to salivate and failed. It was from all the cotton balls stuffed into his cheeks, he told himself. He drooled a little more with impunity.
It’s Stiles’ turn to roll his eyes now. Because of course Peter drove a fucking bright red Tesla. “Oouchebag,” he muttered under his breath and he heard the lady laugh behind him. He also saw Peter tense imperceptibly. Shit, he had forgotten the man had ridiculous hearing. Too busy ogling the hard little pebbles of his (probably perfect) nipples through his tight shirt to remember the man was a werewolf.
As they neared the passenger side, Peter opened the door for him like a fucking gentleman and Stiles was enthralled by that simple gesture. The wolf was not usually nice. Not to anyone, and most certainly not to him. Honestly it felt like the older man’s one enjoyment in life was baiting him. He reveled the warm fuzzy feelings this moment of polite consideration had produced in his chest. Peter’s was nice to him, ergo Peter liked him. He giggled a little to himself.
Stiles wobbled uncertainly as he stood up from the wheelchair and took a few shaky steps towards Peter's car. He was doing better than his attempt inside but he was still unsteady on his feet. He stumbled and the older man caught him, scoffing lightly under his breath.
"T'anks se'eywolf," Stiles mumbled around the cotton balls.
“Don't call me sexywolf, Stiles," Peter responded mildly. “That’s a terrible nickname, even if its apt.”
The boy turned a bratty smile on him, cheeks bulging with cotton balls, "t'anks Daaaddy," he said instead, drawing the word out and mostly managing to avoid slurring. Mostly. There might have been some drool.
Stiles wasn’t really sure what was going on anymore but he was sure that he was more than happy to be wrapped in the older man’s arms. It felt really, really good and he kind of never wanted it to stop. He couldn’t really get a clear picture of his relationship with Peter in his mind. He thought they’d had sex before but he couldn’t remember the details right then. He knew he wanted to have sex with him at least. Everything else went a little sideways when he tried to think about it.
Peter's eyebrows attempted to become one with his hairline and he saw the woman with the wheelchair head back inside, laughing at him. He contemplated dropping Stiles.
He didn’t. Instead he shoved the boy into the passenger seat. "Get in the damn car Stiles.”
Peter felt, very distinctly, a hand squeeze his ass. He looked incredulously at the grinning boy, who looked like a lunatic with unfocused eyes and a mouth stuffed full of cotton balls. “Did you just grab my ass, you little shit?”
The boy’s response was a little tittering laugh and, “iths a ‘ice ass.”
Peter couldn’t argue with that but it was extremely out of character for Stiles to acknowledge his attraction to him. Usually it was all covert glances and embarrassed flushes when he’d been caught staring. It was a slight uptick in the smell of arousal wafting from the teenage boy, who always smelled a little like sweat and want and cum. It was always playing devil’s advocate, always arguing against whatever Peter suggested. It was precious. Sometimes Peter thought he enjoyed toying with him as much as he’d enjoy fucking him. It just fed a different set of his base desires, the need for control instead of the need for release.
He’d given Stiles an appraising glance, this was definitely a conversation they were going to need to continue. The boy was clearly out of his mind on human drugs and Peter wondered what he could get him to admit to before the drugs wore off. He managed to arrange the human’s flailing limbs into some semblance of order and before leaning down to buckle him in.
“Keep your hands to your—” he started to say but stopped as he very distinctly felt lips graze the side of his neck. He froze, body responding to the delicate touch where his shoulder met his neck. It was a very sensitive place for a werewolf, a place where family scented each other and a place where the mating bite was traditionally given. He didn’t know, couldn’t know, the meaning behind his actions. Stiles’ need for skin on skin contact was driven not by the desire to make a grand statement about his relationship with Peter but was instead an expression of overwhelming lust that teenage boys always seemed to suffer from. It was an intimacy Peter allowed to very few, to his family and to no one else. But he allowed it now simply because it felt good to have his lips graze his neck.
He disentangled himself from Stiles and pulled back, leveling the wobbly boy with a hard gaze. He just mumbled something through the cotton balls and Peter was 500% done with trying to decipher his slurring. He also might have had an aneurysm if the boy drooled on his upholstery. “Open your mouth,” he ordered.
Stiles did, without argument. He just locked eyes with Peter and parted those luscious pink lips. It shouldn’t have been intimate but it was. He watched him with hungry, lidded eyes as Peter plucked out several bloody cotton balls from his mouth. When he went back in for the last one, the little minx closed his lips around his index finger and sucked lightly, laving the digit with his tongue. All the while he kept up that steady eye contact. God, it felt good. It felt too good for what it was, just simple lips and tongue on so inconsequential a thing as his finger. He felt arousal begin to pool in his gut all the same.
Peter swore and pulled the last cotton ball free with a small pop. He threw the bits of bloodied cotton on the sidewalk and fixed Stiles with a heated gaze. “Boy,” he chided, “don’t let your mouth write a check your ass can’t cash.”
“My ass is worth all the cash!” Stiles responded cheekily, a smug little grin on his face. It was clear he didn’t really understand his euphemism. It was both infuriating and amusing. Peter had to concede that his tight little ass was very attractive and also probably worth a decent amount of money on the right market.
Peter closed his eyes and tried to summon some patience before getting into the driver’s seat. While Stiles had definitely succeeded in catching his interest, he was out of his mind on anesthetics and couldn’t consent to any of the things he was tempting Peter to do. He preferred his partners both willing and consenting. An overabundance of the former did not make up for the latter.
He locked eyes with Stiles as he started the car. “Behave,” he ordered the younger man.
Stiles did, for the most part. He leaned against the window and dosed. Peter was able to take them to the pharmacy and pick up the prescription of painkillers the dentist prescribed for him. At this point it didn’t look like he needed them yet. The smell of the anesthetic they used was still present, an unfamiliar odor that permeated the boy. He didn’t like it. Stiles usually smelled like his Adderall which had a synthetic, spicy smell to his wolf nose. He smelled like that too, and Peter wondered if his actions were a result of mixing the two medications together.
His point was proven when no sooner had he pulled out of the pharmacy’s parking lot and into traffic did he feel a long finger delicately pulling down the neck of his already deep v-neck to expose his chest. Scowling, he glanced over at Stiles to see that he was laying sideways on his seat, eyes glued to Peter. The older man slapped his hand away. “Behaving means keeping your hands to yourself, Stiles. If you distract me, we could get into an accident. You don’t want that, do you?”
“Nooo,” the boy huffed, looking a little guilty.
“It would be naughty to distract me when I’m driving, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” he says, looking guiltier still. “It’s just, I could see your nipples through your shirt,” he giggled a little maniacally as his gaze shifted unsteadily. “I wanted to know what color they were.”
“My nipples?” Peter asked mildly.
“’cause your nipples are the same color as your cock,” he responded earnestly.
“I don’t think that’s true, Stiles.” He’d genuinely never checked but he was pretty sure his cock was flushed a deeper hue than his nipples.
“It’s true!” he huffed out indignantly, then deflates a little, “at least mine are. Your nipples are pinker than mine, I wanted to see your cock to compare.” He then reached over as if to undo Peter’s pants and the older man had to swat his grabby little hands away again.
“Daddy,” Stiles whined. And there was that word again.
Peter was the sort of man who liked to pretend he wasn’t aging. He wore fashionable clothing and drove expensive cars and did all of the sorts of things a younger man would do with his money. He even preferred his partners a little younger, though not generally so young as Stiles. At the ripe old age of 34, he rather hated being reminded that he was getting older, no matter how gracefully.
But somehow he didn’t mind being reminded that he was old enough to be Stiles’ father. He didn’t mind all of the baggage caught up in that one little word, daddy. It wasn’t a dynamic he’d explored before but suddenly he found himself acutely interested. A daddy would take care of his boy and would make sure to teach him all the most important things, like the right way to suck cock and how to beg prettily for the things he wanted. He very much wanted to be that for Stiles. He was undoubtedly a virgin and Peter would love to ruin him for anyone else. He hadn’t realized quite how much until that very minute. He thought about all the boys Stiles would meet at college, selfish and inexperienced. What a disappointment they would be after a night with him. The thought was tempting. And it didn't hurt that daddies had control over their boys, had the capacity to set and enforce limits. Peter wanted that too.
“Stop!” he ordered, eyes flashing to show the younger man he was serious. “We discussed this. Don’t distract me.” To himself he muttered “Christ,” and tried not to think too hard about Stiles’ words. The last thing he needed was the image of the boy’s cock in his mind because he knew the exact shade of those nipples. Knew they were dusky rose against a pale chest dotted with a constellation of moles. He could imagine the boy’s sweet pink cock, straining against a flat milky belly.
He swallowed thickly and turned his focus back to the road. He needed to distract Stiles and hell, himself as well, from this topic of conversation. The goal was to get them to Stiles’ house alive, not to wrap them around a tree in a moment of distraction. “You’re always researching something. Tell me something interesting.” He saw the younger man’s hands start to wander towards him again and fixed him with stern look. “While you keep your hands to yourself like a good boy.”
“Hmm,” Stiles replied, screwing up his face and looking just a little bit unhinged as his unfocused eyes roved around the interior of the car intermittently as he pondered the question. Peter made a note to himself that dental anesthetics and human boys with ADHD did not mix.
Stiles was struggling to focus. He knew he did research, he knew that it was his hobby, but he couldn’t think of anything very interesting. He was pretty sure that he usually had a mind bursting with facts. Right now all he could focus on was the handsome man in the seat beside him. The shadow of nipples he could still see through Peter’s shirt were very distracting. The bulge in his too-tight jeans even more so. The strong adept hands which held the wheel in a sure grip seemed like they should be holding him instead.
He was eventually able to shift his gaze away from Peter. He gave him a task but he didn’t remember exactly what it was. He was supposed to…say something? Talk about something? He couldn’t think of anything other than the man seated beside him. So he just started talking about Peter. “The way your hands grip the steering wheel is making me think about those hands on my dick. I think you’re good with your hands, adept. The claws you get sometimes? I think that’s so hot. I want you to sink those nails into my skin while you suck me off. Or tangle them in my hair while I suck you. I think I would be very good at sucking cock. Or I am already? I’m not sure.” He wiggled in his seat a bit, enjoying the supple feel of the dark leather, “we should try, just to find out.”
Peter felt unsteady, cast adrift. He despised it even as he reveled in it. He found Stiles to be generally unpredictable but while the drugs were flowing through his veins, the boy even more out of control than normal. One of the reasons he liked the younger man is because he didn’t always do what Peter expected but this was excessive, even for Stiles. It was a mad mix of impulsivity and lowered inhibitions that continued to surprise him and left him reeling. And also aroused. There was no hiding the way his body responded to Stiles’ deepest desires, the nasty things he wants Peter to do to him. That Peter would love to do to him.
This was not the topic he assumed the boy would pick when he said “tell me something interesting.” He’d been expecting to hear about the history of circumcision, not to have all of Stiles’ most secret desires spilled out before him. His grip on the wheel was white-knuckled, this conversation was far from distracting him from the presence of the boy beside him and the cloying scent of his arousal. “Am I to understand that out of all the topics you could pick, you chose to tell me interesting things about me?”
A little furrow appeared between the boy’s eyebrows, as if he was concentrating. “What I want you to do to me,” he decided but there was a question in it too, like he really wasn’t sure. He gave Peter the most absurdly impish look. He thought it was supposed to be a come-hither look but honestly the boy was weaving unsteadily and could barely sit upright in the seat which somewhat interfered with the effect.
“If you must,” replied Peter, putting on a show as if he was terribly weary of the subject. In reality, he was always happy to hear someone sing his praises. If he couldn’t get his cock stroked, he might as well let the boy stroke his ego. And he didn’t even have to pry the knowledge from him, to trick and manipulate it out of him. Stiles was like an open book and Peter was intent on reading each and every page he could. He listened avidly as the boy continued.
“I think about you fucking me all the time. With that werewolf strength I know you could fuck me stupid, bend me in half and just completely destroy me.” His eyes grew glassy and unfocused again, “I think about when you were a monster, half-man and half-wolf. I think about you fucking me like that too, shoving me down in the dirt and the leaves and just spearing me on that giant Alpha cock. Um, I think someone told me, told me about knotting. I can’t remember who…” he paused, momentarily lost in thought. “I want you to knot me up good and tight, lock me onto that huge cock, and let me milk you dry. Want you to tear me up on that big knot until I’m sobbing and begging you to let me come.”
Peter had now popped more than just a boner. His fangs had dropped and his claws had extended as he was pulled unceremoniously into beta shift without conscious thought. Fuck, his cock felt like it was about to burst through his damn jeans. He reached down and, careful of the claws, gently rearranged himself. Stiles was always unexpected, but this is beyond anything he would have predicted would come out of the boy’s mouth, even drugged. How was he supposed to know what he was really thinking about when he gave Peter those blushing, covert glances. He’d been imagining French kisses and frottage, not Stiles pining to be ripped in half on a giant Alpha cock. He was entranced. And maybe a little disappointed he’d lost the alpha spark.
Peter’s eyes were bright and his gaze intent when he glanced over at him. Stiles was fidgeting in his seat and the cause was likely the clear erection visibly tenting his sweatpants. One long-fingered hand reached down to his waistband and Peter snaps out a sharp “Stop!” Stiles froze but didn’t look happy about it. “Good boys wait.”
Stiles clearly wanted to be a good boy but didn’t at the same time. He pouted prettily but his hands stilled. The scent of arousal was rolling off him in waves, filling Peter’s nose and making it difficult to draw back his beta shift. But he did it with a concerted effort. Teeth shrunk and nails receded as he regained his composure.
“Have you ever seen a knot, Stiles?”
The boy wiggled in his seat again, apparently aroused by even the mention of such a thing and unable to stay still. “No but I want to. I want to sit on your knot while you fuck me with your wolf face on.”
Peter managed to stop his beta shift from coming back out but it’s a near thing. His control was usually impeccable. This was embarrassing. “I’d love to feel your tight ass around my cock. Around my knot. But knotting is something boys can only do when they have experience. Do you know how big my knot is?”
Stiles shook his head, “nooo.”
“It’s nice and fat, close to the size of my fist,” he made a fist for demonstration as he finally pulled onto Stiles’ street.
Stiles whimpered and licked his lips. His eyes are riveted on Peter’s fist and the older man can smell the dribble of precum that had just soaked into his sweatpants. “I’ll need practice,” the younger man responded, eyes glassy and scent of arousal practically palpable. “You’ll need to fuck me a lot until I’m loose enough.”
“That’s right. It’ll take dedication. Can you be dedicated enough to learn to take my knot? You don’t have a very good attention span.”
“I can do it!” Stiles responded hotly, eyes skittering over his house as they pull up out front. “I’ll practice a lot. I’ll practice so hard I’ll be able to take it in my mouth too.”
Peter, for his part, was very happy that they’re finally stopped so he could close his eyes and uncurl his stiff fingers from the steering wheel. He wasn’t prepared for this drive. Wasn’t prepared for the shit that would come pouring out of that sweet, fuckable mouth. “Good boy,” he rasped, “now let’s get you inside. You look like you could use a nap.”
Stiles protested but his gaze is lidded and he was still wobbling in his seat, unable to sit up straight. Peter needed to get the boy tucked safely into his bed. Safe from him, mostly. He also needed some time alone with his hand to figure out how to handle Stiles. Who knew how much he would actually remember of this when he woke up. He bundled the younger man out of the car. Now that they’d gotten home, some of the fight had gone out of him. He actually sagged against Peter and looked up piteously at him. “Piggyback?”
“Not on your life, Stiles.”
He pouted prettily and even batted his lashes for good measure. Peter rolled his eyes in response and threw the boy over his shoulder easily. A piggyback, really.
“Spinnyyyy,” Stiles slurred, voice muffled where his mouth was resting against Peter’s lower back. He felt a soft, wet tongue scrape against the base of his spine and shuddered. Little minx. He thought about that tongue on the head of his cock and shuddered again.
The wolf fished the key out of Stiles’ pocket and opened the door, ignoring the erection poking him insistently in the shoulder as he did so. If the boy called him for a ride, his father must be at work, one glance at the darkened house confirmed his theory. His wolf eyes saw keenly even in the gloom as he carried Stiles upstairs and into his room, stepping over piles of clothes to deposit him on the bed. He pulled of the boy’s shoes before he rolled him into the center of the bed and tucked the soft navy duvet up around his shoulders.
Peter fished out the painkillers from his pocket and placed them on the nightstand. Stiles clearly didn't need them now but he knew the boy would be glad to find them nearby when the anesthetics finally wore off. There was an empty glass on the table and he went to the hall bathroom to fill it with water so that the little idiot wouldn’t have to get out of bed until he was feeling back to normal. Whatever normal was for the Stiles.
When he returned, he froze in the doorway, hand clasped tightly around the glass of water like it was a lifeline. Stiles was laying on top of the covers Peter so graciously tucked around him, in a beam of late afternoon sunlight. He had his sweatpants pulled down around his thighs, bunched lightly underneath his hard dick and flushed pink balls. He frantically worked his cock, lips pursed in concentration. He didn’t stop when Peter entered the room, just kept his gaze firmly focused on him as he walked over to the bedside table and set the glass of water next to the little orange bottle of pills.
“Wanna help?” Stiles asked, looking both blissed out and hopeful as he continued to move his hand up and down his straining shaft.
Peter made his way over to the bed and slowly sat on the side, eyes focused and glittering on the scene before him. “I’d love to, sweet boy. But you’ve had some very strong medication and you can’t consent. So not today.” He made a distressed voice low in his throat. “But,” Peter continued, “I’ll stay if you want me to.”
Stiles made a little noise of pleasure at that pronouncement, clearly enjoying the idea of putting on a show for Peter. His hand speed up on his cock, the other slipping down between his legs to press against his pucker. “Oh fuck, it feels good to have you watching.”
“Turn over,” Peter said, voice deceptively mild but the order in it was unmistakable. “I want to see you play with your sweet hole.”
Stiles bit back a moan as he slowly turned over and rested his weight on his forearms with knees splayed wide. He continued to work his hand up and down on his cock, pausing occasionally to swipe at the precum drooling from the head. He got so wet with his pleasure and Peter loved it. The sharp musky smell of Stiles’ arousal was heady and all-encompassing. He loved that too.
“Is my hole pretty, Daddy?” Stiles asked, both impishly and earnestly, like he knew he was a tease but also like he really wanted to confirm that Peter thought he was attractive.
“It’s the prettiest one I’ve ever seen, baby,” he confirmed. It wasn’t a lie.
One long finger reached back and circled that inviting pucker. Peter, for his part, didn’t move. He continued to sit and simply observe. If his claws had come out and he’d pierced holes in the legs of his pants as he gripped his thighs, well then that was his business. Stiles continued to circle his hole before letting the pad of his finger ghost across it. He moaned, long and low in his throat, hips juddering as he reveled in the sensation that simple touch brought. His face was turned towards the light streaming in from the window, turned towards Peter sitting on the side of the bed. His eyes were half-lidded and glassy with pleasure, his mouth was open in a little “o”, and little panting breaths puffed out with each stroke of his hand. He was beautiful.
“Do you ever finger yourself?” Peter asked. “Ever slide those long fingers deep into your ass and get yourself nice and stretched out for a cock?”
“Ye—yes,” came the stuttered answer. “For my toys.”
“Get your fingers wet,” the wolf said, eyes fixed and intent on the finger moving between Stiles’ cheeks.
Slowly the boy brought the digit to his mouth and sucked, heedless of the fact that it was pressed up against his asshole just seconds before. It was wanton and dirty and Peter reveled in it. Stiles brought his fingers, spit slick and glistening, back to his needy pucker and began to press in lightly.
“That’s right,” Peter coaxed, “you’re doing so well taking that finger. How many can you take?”
“Fooouuuur.” It’s gasped out, the vowels elongated in pleasure. “If I try.” He slid a second finger in along with the first.
“That’s impressive. What a dedicated boy you’ve been to take so many.”
Stiles made a wordless sound of pleasure, preening under the praise. Then he was suddenly straddling Peter’s thighs and the wolf had to catch himself with a hand before he toppled backwards off the bed. One second the boy was on his knees and the next he was turning and lunging for the older man. It spoke to Peter’s distraction that he didn’t react in time to prevent it.
“Please Peter I need you to touch me. Oh god I’m so close.”
It was an effort but he remained still, face impassive as he watched Stiles apart. His hand moved frantically up and down his cock, which was leaking so much precum that it was pooling around the base of his dick, darkening the waistband of his sweatpants where they were pulled down around his thighs, tucked under his tight hairless balls.
With a frustrated cry he reached for Peter’s hand, the one that wasn’t holding them upright and wrapped it around his erection. When the hand fell away limply, landing on his thigh he whimpered and Peter could smell the sharp bite of salty tears before they begin to spill. Delicious.
“Pl—please Peter,” he whined out. “I need you. My hands…not enough.” When the wolf continued to observe him coolly he sobbed, “please, Daddy!”
Peter’s cock jumped in his pants in response to the tears and the begging and the desperate cry of ‘daddy’ but he ignored it. Stiles was delicious like this, all tear-stained and blissed out. He adored it. But he also felt like he was on the precipice of crossing a line and he needed to tread carefully. “You can use my hand, baby. But you have to do all the work. I can’t help you.” When Stiles started to whimper again he shushed him, “ah, none of that now. If you’re a good boy you’ll use what I give you.”
Darting and uncoordinated, the boy’s hand shot out to wrap around Peter’s hand again. He pressed the wolf’s palm to his swollen, needy cock and wrapped the older man’s thick fingers around it. Stiles’ own delicate hand was clasped around his, forcing it closed in a tight fist. He bucked his hips, fucking up into their combined grasp and enjoying the feeling of a man’s hand on his cock for the first time.
“Good boy,” he whispered against Stiles’ neck, completely focused on the hot, heavy press of the boy’s cock in his hand as Peter’s breath tickled his ear. “You’re such a pretty baby and I love watching you fall apart.”
Stiles’ movements became more frantic, less coordinated. He liked it when Peter praised him, loved it when he called him ‘baby’. A high keening whine started in the back of his throat as he began to feel the impending burn of orgasm start to overtake him.
“Oh fuck, P—Peter, Daddy. Shiiiit,”
“That’s right,” Peter soothed, “come for Daddy.”
And he did, he shuddered and shouted through his orgasm as it came crashing down on him. It was strong and felt like it was coming from his toes. His whole body spasmed as he shot rope after rope of cum onto his stomach and their combined hands. He was vaguely aware that he was letting out little aborted sobs again, this time in relief. Stiles went limp in his embrace, sucking oxygen into his starved lungs.
Peter had some forethought and leaned away as the boy climaxed, saving his shirt from an awkward trip to the dry cleaners in the process. His hand was still coated in semen and he reveled in the bitter musky scent of it. He raised his hand to Stiles’ face, “you made this mess; you’d better clean it up.”
“Fuck,” Stiles muttered, the word gusting out across those thick semen covered knuckles. He did as he was told, little pink tongue darting out to clean the digits of the evidence of his pleasure. Peter hummed approvingly as he carefully laved each digit with his tongue. The act is intimate, surprisingly sexual. Stiles wondered if he could come again as his spent dick twitched a little in interest.
He reached down between them to press his palm against Peter’s noticeable erection. He was able to grip it, to feel the heft and marvel at the size of that cock but then the wolf’s hands were there, catching his wrist and pushing his hand away. “Not today, Stiles.”
He would have protested but he was just so very tired. Now that his lust had been satisfied, he felt like he could barely keep his eyes open. He flopped back onto the bed, heedless of the cum-stained pants still pulled down around his thighs. Peter gave him a very toothy grin before be bent over, pulling Stiles’ pants off and tossing them into the nearby hamper. He stood and moved around to the top of the bed, doing the same for his shirt. He wiped at the splashes of cum dotting the boy’s belly, leaving him both nude and at least somewhat cleaner when the shirt followed the pants to the hamper. He thought the boy was asleep before he pulled the duvet up to cover him once more. He left quietly, the key tucked under the doormat was the only sign that he’d ever been there.
Peter stepped into foyer of the house he shared with Derek, who thankfully wasn’t home, and shut and locked the door behind him. He had his jeans open and cock in hand moments after that. He brought his hand to his face and inhaled, the musky scent of Stiles and tang of the boy’s cum filling his nostrils and overwhelming his senses. He moved his hand roughly, palm clenched around his prodigious cock as he desperately sought his release. It was over embarrassingly fast, he was so keyed up from the last painful hour of his life, of only being allowed to listen and look and not touch, that it only took a few minutes. He’d have been embarrassed if he wasn’t alone.
The fingers that still smelled and tasted of cum found their way into his mouth and he sucked Stiles’ taste from them as he orgasmed. It wasn’t a simple orgasm, instead of waning the pressure in the base of his cock only heightened when he began to ejaculate. Teeth clenched in a snarl of pleasure, the pressure increased to the point of near pain as he knotted in his own tight grip.
Peter scowled down at his dick. It was clearly confused as to the appropriate time for knotting. It was certainly not in his hand in his front room. He knew enough from his youth, when knots sometimes happened randomly and unexpectedly thanks to the joys of teenage hormones, to know that he needed to tend to it if he wanted it to go down before Derek came home and found him beating off in the foyer. Not wanting to put up with those judgey eyebrows today, he clamped both his hands around the sensitive skin, massaging with sure strokes and swearing as the pleasure began to crest again. And again. And again.
Which was how he found himself on his knees on the floor, back braced against the door as he milked his knot in a too-tight fist. When he was locked up tight inside something or someone, the orgasms kept rolling through him in a continuous wave. There were peaks, when the pleasure was unbearably close to pain and he cried out, and troughs, when he was able to slump back against the door and catch his breath before being caught up in another rictus of ecstasy. He shuddered, hips snapping up to grind lewdly into his own hand, splattering another jet of semen across the floor.
Thankfully, that was the last of it, his knot started to recede and he was able unclench the death grip he had on it before staggering to his feet. He looked down at the messy spray of cum he’d left on the hardwood and smirked, the volume was impressive even for him. The cleaning staff would never be able to get the scent out no matter how hard they tried. Derek would hate it. Peter was unreasonably smug.
It was clear when Peter saw him next that he didn’t remember what happened that afternoon. Or, at least, that he didn’t remember all of it. He hadn’t had a chance to be alone with Stiles again to probe any deeper. Instead, he used the time with him and the rest of the pack to execute his plan. The plan ended up being what his plan always was with Stiles, to flirt with him shamelessly, argue against all of his ideas constantly, and to bait him with little quips and jabs whenever possible. He enjoyed getting a rise out him. He got louder and more animated the more irritated he was with Peter, who found him most attractive when his eyes were flashing with either annoyance or desire, he wasn’t picky which.
And now, because he knew what to watch for, what to scent for, he could smell the arousal wafting off the boy wherever they verbally sparred. Could hear the increase in his heartrate that was surely more from interest than ire. Stiles gave their little squabbles a passable effort but some of the fight had gone out of him, he was distracted and easily embarrassed, sometimes freezing to just stare at Peter like he’d thought of something embarrassing. Cheeks flushed pink when Peter slipped an easy innuendo into their conversation. So, he remembered something. He reveled in the suspense, knowing he would have a chance to corner the Stiles at the next full moon run and bided his time until then.
Which was how he found himself propped up carelessly on the back porch of the pack house at the next full moon. Technically it was his house, well his and Derek’s, but as they’re the only ones financially stable enough to own a (very spacious and exceedingly expensive) house, it became the defacto meeting place for the pack. They couldn’t all very well crowd into Scott’s mom’s tiny house after all.
Peter was in repose, feet propped up on the dark wood porch swing so no one else could sit in the coveted spot with him. Not that anyone would want to. He had growled enough at the rest of them over the years that no one tried to usurp this seat from him anymore. He was dressed casually, preferring comfort over style so close to the full moon. The loose, low-cut tank top exposed even more sculpted chest than his usual v-necks and he knew his biceps looked particularly enticing when he crossed his arms and made subtle muscles at Stiles every time he looked his way.
As night had fallen, Stiles had been sneaking him more and more covert glances at him from his seat on one of the large, plush pillows they keep piled on the porch. His dark hair was messy around his face and he kept licking his plump rosy lips wet with the tip of that distracting tongue. Peter’s tight, capri length shorts exposed a length of hairy calf that he knew the human had never seen before. Plus, they hugged his ass and exposed the bulge of his cock, which was sizable even flaccid. Stiles was flushed, smelling of spicy anxiety and sweet arousal. Peter couldn’t blame him, he was a fine specimen, and he preened a little more each time he glanced his way. He smirked when he met that amber gaze and Stiles’ eyes darted away, caught and embarrassed about it.
As the night deepened and the moon rose, the wolves broke off from the group to shift one by one, Derek into his wolf skin and the rest into beta their beta forms, before high-tailing it into the woods. None of the human pack members chose to follow and even some of the non-humans who didn’t prefer running with the pack decided to stay behind as well. They meandered inside to attack the snacks piled high on the kitchen table and put on some sort of action movie. Before long, Stiles and Peter were alone on the porch. Only the stars and the soft glow from the kitchen lights illuminated the space around them.
Stiles stood, body moving a little jerkily as he stalked purposefully over to where he was lounging in the swing. He smelled like such a mix of emotions that Peter wasn’t even sure if Stiles knew what he was feeling. He just smiled a little toothily and sat up, making space for him on the swing. Stiles froze as he patted the seat next to him invitingly, like he could sense this was a trap, before huffing to himself and sitting next to Peter. Stiles was angled towards him, eyebrows furrowed in such a Derek-like manner that the older man actually chuckled to himself.
“Okay asshole,” he started, “what did you do to me when you took me home after my surgery?”
“Why Stiles, I’m offended you’d even suggest that I would take advantage of an incapacitated teen.” He played it off like a joke but really he was slightly offended. He knew he hadn’t always had the best track record with consent over the years but biting Scott without asking and sexual assault were on very different ends of the spectrum. He thought Stiles would remember that he didn’t bite him when the boy turned down his offer all those years ago.
“Cut the shit, Peter. I woke up naked in my bed with a laundry hamper full of…cu— dirty clothes.”
“You can say ‘cum soaked’, Stiles. I was there after all.” When Stiles squirmed in his seat and the smell of arousal ticked up just a hair he laughed, low in his throat. “Humiliation too? Your list of interests just gets longer and longer.”
“Shut up,” Stiles snapped; there was no bite in it. He knew he’d been caught.
“I think the question should really be ‘what did I do when you took me home after my surgery, Peter?’”
Stiles froze, face growing slack with dawning horror. He shouldn’t let his lips go loose and open like that in front of Peter, he wouldn’t if he knew what he was thinking. Stiles had been geared up to rage against him, to blame him for anything that occurred between them. After all, Peter Hale was evil and manipulative and selfish, and therefore could be the only cause of the sticky mess in Stiles’ laundry bin. He hadn’t considered that his own desires may be to blame. He knew what he liked, what he pretended he didn’t like to avoid getting into awkward situations with Peter. It seemed liked his subconscious had made the decision for him. Well fuck him.
“W—what?” the boy managed to stammer out. He knew full well what.
“What do you remember, Stiles.”
“I—uh, I remember the tech rolling me out in the wheelchair and seeing you propped up against your douchey Tesla,” he started.
“Rude,” Peter interjected.
Stiles just glared at him and continued, “I remember you driving and you were all wolfed out. And I remember you carrying me up the stairs like a sack of potatoes.”
Peter grinned at him then, it wasn’t a nice grin. “Oh but Stiles, you’ve left off the best parts.” When the boy only shudders next to him, his toothy smile widens just a hair. “How about the part where you grabbed my ass and told me you wanted to see if my nipples and cock were the same color?”
“Oh god,” Stiles muttered, burying his face in his hands. “Fuck me.”
“You asked for that too,” Peter replied, he’s clearly enjoying this.
“Motherfucker,” Stiles bit out, hating himself.
“Or the part where you told me you want me to fuck your mouth in beta shift so I could pull on your hair with my claws.”
A piteous moan from Stiles was the only response. He was refusing to make eye contact but the smell of his arousal was growing. It was sweet, like overripe fruit and Peter wanted to bury his face against the boy’s groin and revel in it.
“When I brought you home I tucked you into bed fully clothed. Imagine my surprise when I left to get you a cup of water, because I’m a gentleman, and came back to find you jacking off in your bed like a little whore.” Peter’s eyes were bright and glittering as they took in Stiles’ hands unconscious descent to his groin. He adjusted himself, freeing his hard cock from the waistband and creating an obvious bulge in his basketball shorts as the loose fabric did nothing to hide his erection. That long fingered hand lingered there just a bit too long.
“You asked me for help but I told you I couldn’t, you were under the influence of drugs and that’s a line I would not cross. The first time I fuck you I want you to be fully coherent, I want you to remember. But I’m a nice man so I talked you through it.” Peter chuckled low in his throat, it was a sound that was more sex than violence but only just. “I was surprised that your sluttly little hole could even take 4 fingers. You must have been lonely the last few years to be so loose. You know, you only had to ask if you wanted me to bend you over and fill you up with my cock.”
The sharp smell of precum and salty scent of tears hit him both at once. It was delicious. Stiles was panting, body unconsciously leaning towards Peter as his legs spread to accommodate his obviously straining erection. It was trapped in his shorts, lewdly tenting the fabric as it tried to break free. “Fuck, Peter…p—please touch me.” There were tears pricking the corners of his eyes and Peter wanted to eat him up.
“You’ve soaked your panties, baby,” Peter said as he took pity on him and ground the heel of one hand against that prominent bulge. Stiles cried out, hips thrusting up against the pressure from that large, deft hand. He was so wet that the fabric under his palm was moist from precum. Peter wanted to suck it out of the fabric, to coat his tongue with his flavor and savor it.
“And the best part? That was when you called me ‘Daddy’ and told me you thought about me forcing you ass up in the woods so I could fuck you with my monster cock and give you that Alpha knot you craved.”
Stiles whimpered, body convulsing a little as he tried to fuck Peter’s hand. “Fuck,” he mumbled. “Shouldn’t have admitted that.” He’d laid his full weight on Peter now, they were pressed together from shoulder to hip as he rolled his hips desperately, trying to come.
“It wouldn’t have worked, Stiles. But it’s an intriguing fantasy. You never saw my dick in Alpha form, it would have been too much for even a cock hungry little slut like you to take. Thicker than my arm with a knot you wouldn’t believe. I would have split you in two on that cock. My knot would have torn you apart. But I know you would have tried to take it any way, like a good boy.”
It was that shameful, impossible fantasy that did it. A keening cry slid from Stiles’ parted lips, “Pu—pleeease Daaadyyy. I’ll do anything, fuck, just please let me—”
He was so far gone Peter wondered if he even realizes what he said. His eyes rolled back in his head and he was shaking, hips pistoning like mad as he came long and hard in his shorts. Peter brought his hand to his face and inhaled¸ enjoying the scent of the boy’s cum. He let himself lick the scant sheen of moisture from his palm, wanting more of that sweet taste.
He looked over to where Stiles was slumped against him, blissed out and floating from his orgasm. He placed one finger under the boy’s chin, forcing him to look into Peter’s face. His other hand grasped Stiles’ and brought his soft palm to press against the line of the wolf’s thick, hard cock where it’s trapped tight against his thigh by his pants.
“If you want Daddy’s knot, here’s what you’re going to do.” When Stiles whimpered, hand grasping at that heavy length, clearly enjoying the heft of it, Peter gave in. He swooped down and caught the boy’s pump lips in a bruising kiss. His tongue slipped in, meeting no resistance and plunged in deep to lick against the human’s teeth and cheeks and gums. The younger man moved his own tongue against his, shivering whenever Peter sucked on it.
He broke away with difficulty, “Yeah, fuck I want it,” Stiles confirmed. “Shit like, really bad.” When Peter just smiled down at him Stiles started to squirm under his heated gaze, taking in harsh panting breaths.
“We’re going to play a little game, you and me. It’ll be a game of chase. You run and I’ll fuck you when I catch you.” He grinned down at Stiles’ slack, open mouth and glassy expression. There was no doubt in his mind that his baby wanted this, maybe more than he’d ever wanted anything. “And you better do a good job and make it a good game, because I’m going to fuck you wherever I catch you, even if it’s right in front of our dear Alpha, Scott.” When he felt Stiles shiver, he thought that he had a budding exhibitionist on his hands instead of just a humiliation slut. He filed that information away for later. “You’ll be good for Daddy, won’t you, princess?”
Even if Peter couldn’t smell the increase of arousal he would have known that Stiles liked the nickname. The boy’s eyes went glassy and pleased before he managed to petulantly mumble out “I’ll be good for you.” He was obviously offended by the idea that he wouldn’t be good for Peter and it was precious.
“Sweet boy,” Peter crooned, patting Stiles on the cheek gently. He pushed Stiles off the swing, smiling at the way he wobbled before catching his balance. “Now strip.”
Stiles balked, panicked eyes flashing towards the muted glow of the kitchen lights. None of the members of the pack were within eyesight but there was nothing stopping one of them from coming outside or from coming into the kitchen where Stiles would be clearly visible in the soft halo of light spilling out onto the porch. He looked at Peter beseechingly, “will you tell me if anyone comes this way?”
Peter smiled then, and it wasn’t a nice smile. “No.”
Stiles blew out a breath and made a face at the older man like he’d just bitten into a lemon. “Asshole,” he muttered but pulled off his t-shirt to expose a lightly muscled chest and very appealing trail of hair leading from his navel into his loose shorts. Because he was a brat, he threw his shirt at Peter who caught it deftly and dropped it next to him on the swing. Then he turned around, exposing his back to the wolf’s gaze and bent to pull off his shoes and then socks, pert ass wiggling enticingly. When he pulled off the last sock, a firm hard smack from Peter’s open palm almost sent him reeling. Stiles huffed, “you’re such a dick!” and Peter just smirked indulgently like he knew.
Then Stiles was bending again, thumbs caught in the waistband of his shorts as he pulled them down teasingly slowly, head turned to look back over his shoulder and gaze locked on Peter’s face. He was more than pleased at the growl that emanated from the wolf as he exposed his bare ass to him. He wasn’t naked, underneath the shorts he was wearing a very delicate looking jockstrap in an appealing navy blue color. The straps framed his bare ass enticingly and did little in the way to provide any real coverage. That garment was more lingerie than sportswear. He stepped out of the shorts and tossed them at Peter too, who once again caught the garment but this time brought the cum-soaked shorts to his nose and just inhaled without taking his eyes off Stiles.
Stiles started to slide the jockstrap off his narrow hips but Peter’s hand shot out, covering his own and stilling his motions. “Don’t,” Peter said, voice sounding rough like there was another growl lingering just beneath the surface, “leave it on.”
Coyly, Stiles bent lower, and went down onto hands and knees, presenting his ass for inspection and wiggling a little in delight when he heard Peter’s soft intake of breath from behind him.
Stiles looked up at the wolf from under his lashes and asked “do you like what you see?”
Then Peter was kneeling behind him, running his hands reverently over the pale exposed skin of the boy’s ass. Jockstraps were not a thing he thought he was into but the one that Stiles was wearing hardly qualified as clothing at all. It served to bring more attention to his ass than to cover it. “You look so pretty in that jock, baby,” he said as he slipped a finger under one strap and popped it, enjoying how Stiles jumped in response. “You wore it for me, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, if you ran with the pack I was going to run too.” Clothes were always optional at pack runs. Derek in particular couldn’t stand the feeling of clothing on full-moon nights and Theo, always the sexually aggressive showoff, typically went nude as well. When Stiles had run before he usually just went shirtless but it wouldn’t have looked out of place for him to run with less. “I was going to tease you all night, running just in front of you, making sure you got a good look at my ass and hoping you’d want to fuck me.”
“Mission accomplished,” Peter said, as he procured a foil packet of lube from his pocket and tore it open. Stiles eyes darkened as he saw what the wolf was doing. “I’m going to get you nice and wet and open and then we can play our little game.” He got one finger wet with lube and began to run the pad around the boy’s exposed pucker. The muscle jumped under his finger as he continued to rub gently, without any real intent to penetrate. At least not yet. “Have you ever had someone else’s fingers inside of you?”
“No, just my own. And I have toys,” Stiles said as he sighs into the sensation, wiggling again as Peter continues to slowly tease him.
“You were a good boy, waiting patiently for Daddy instead of going out and giving away that sweet slutty ass to just anyone.” He began to press insistently with his finger and it easily popped in to the first knuckle and he had to push a bit more to get the entire digit seated within Stiles’ tight heat. “I’m proud of you for waiting for me.”
The younger man preened under the praise and tossed a sultry look over his shoulder. “Peter, hurry up. I can take it.”
Peter hummed, “oh, you can, can you?” before slipping a second finger along with the first and scissoring them mercilessly. Stiles sighed again, rocking back against his fingers, thighs slipping wider on the deck as he just accepted whatever Peter had to give him. Peter found his prostate easily and began to work it over mercilessly with his skilled fingers. That was when Stiles started to moan in earnest.
Peter could see he was biting his lip, trying to stay quiet enough that the other wolves didn’t hear him and the rest of the pack inside didn’t come outside to investigate. He had a sense that when he got Stiles into the privacy of the woods, he was going to be very loud indeed. Peter continued to work his pucker open and when his fingers made sloppy wet sounds inside he slipped in a third finger. Stiles started to shake.
“You could—you could just fuck me now,” he managed to gasp out, hips circling as Peter continued to alternate between pressing and rubbing against his prostate and stretching him wider.
“Hmm,” he started, “no, but nice try.” With a dark chuckle he unceremoniously shoved a fourth finger in abruptly, making Stiles jump. His ass was burning now, feeling fuller now than it ever had before. Peter’s four fingers were larger than his own and larger than all of his toys except for the largest plug he’d been too intimidated by to try. It felt completely and ridiculously good, both the burn and the sharp shocks of pleasure from the deft stroking of his prostate.
When Peter’s four fingers slid in and out easily and Stiles was moaning and shuddering under his ministrations like a bitch in heat, the older man abandoned his quest to get the boy’s hole nice and stretched out to take his cock. To take his knot. He focused on rubbing and pressing against Stiles’ prostate with a single minded purpose. He started to make little punched out noises every time the pads of Peter’s large fingers glided across that sensitive bump. Peter used his other fingers, still slick with lube, to rub against his sensitive perineum, providing counter-pressure to his fingers working inside. He could smell the sweet, musty ooze of precum that’s once more dampening Stiles’ crotch. His boy got so wet and messy when he was horny, Peter loved it.
“Can you come just from having your ass played with?” Peter asked him, enjoying the keening moans slipping from between Stiles’ soft pink lips.
“Y—yeah,” he managed to get out. “With…vibrator…once.”
Peter rewarded him by reaching around with his other hand to jack Stiles hard and fast. His back bowed, pressing his ass up even harder into those thick finger. His thighs were shaking, insane heat and tension pooling in his gut as he felt his orgasm start to crest. “Fuck, Daddy—” Stiles began to say, thinking that the mounting pressure was going to spiral into an orgasm any second. But that tipped Peter off and suddenly, he felt the hand release his cock and the fingers leave his now glistening hole. He whined, high and loudly as his hips bucked, seeking sensation that was no longer there.
Then Peter was leaning over him, suddenly bare cock pressed against the slick crack of his ass. He pumped his hips once, twice, against that hot, open pucker before gripping Stiles’ hair and pulling his head back, kissing him ferociously with a mouth that was full of too sharp teeth. His eyes burned blue as he plunged his tongue into Stiles’ mouth before breaking away to whisper in his ear. “Run.” He slapped that tempting ass for good measure.
Sobbing, wobbly as a new colt, Stiles managed to climb unsteadily to his feet and, casting a burning look at Peter, he started for the woods in the opposite direction from the one in which the pack had taken. His lungs were burning from desperately sucking in air as Peter fingered him and his cock felt hard enough to cut diamonds. He’d never been this turned on in his whole life and the anticipation of knowing he was about to be prey to a sinfully hot werewolf who was built like a goddamn brick shithouse and hung like a fucking horse was thrumming through him. It was insane and Stiles had never wanted anything more. But he was nothing if not a mouthy little shit and, a bit annoyed that Peter had just casually edged him and sent him on his merry way, he decided to get a little revenge. Before he reached the tree-line he stopped and called back “Daddy, I hope that zombie cock can still fuck. After all, you were old before you died.”
Stiles was too far away to see the way Peter’s body shuddered, fangs dropping and eyes burning a cold, piercing blue. He was incandescent with rage and he was going to show that twinky little brat how well he could fuck. Just as soon as he caught him.
Adrenaline coursed through Stiles, driving him forward as he darted into the woods. The moonlight bathed everything in a soft glow but the trees filtered out most of the light. The area beneath the canopy was dappled with moonlight, just enough that he avoided running into any trees. At least mostly. He did catch his foot on more than one root and had to hop wildly, arms swinging to stop himself from falling face-first onto the loamy ground.
Stiles was fast at a dead sprint but kind of wasted on long-distances. He had to stop to lean on a tree and suck deep breaths into his burning lungs after only about 10 minutes of running. He loved the earthy smell of the woods, loved the fact that his overheated naked body was enveloped in cool night air. He’d always liked the preserve, always felt peaceful here when he’d visited with his parents as a child. At least until he learned that the preserve was anything but safe. Now that the pack had restored the Nemeton and held the territory with bared teeth and claws, it was probably the safest place in Beacon Hills.
Stiles let himself enjoy the serenity of the cool dark, the sounds of the crickets and the occasional flash of a firefly adding to the feeling of peace, of stillness. Until a distant howl split the night; a sound that triggered the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up and skin to break out into goosebumps. He knew, bone deep, that howl had come from Peter. Which meant only one thing, the wolf had started hunting.
Stiles gave a whoop and tore off into the woods once more. His erection had flagged a bit after running flat out for so long but it now came back with a vengeance. He felt the anticipation of what was to come fill him with a burst of energy. The point of this game was to last as long as possible and have fun doing it. Escaping Peter wasn’t the goal, hell it wasn’t even possible. And he didn’t want to.
Bare feet pounded along the leafy ground as Stiles tried to keep up a good pace but even the excitement of being Peter’s prey couldn’t sustain him for long. He heard another sound, still in the distance but much closer than the howl had been.
“Stiles…” came the teasing voice.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…” Stiles chanted, legs pumping madly as he tried to put more distance between himself and the wolf.
The voice came again, closer still, “Stiles, I can smell you.”
“Oh shiiiiit,” he moaned, feeling his dick plump at those words. “Really?” he asked his cock, “this is what you like?” His cock throbbed in response, it definitely liked it.
He dodged around the trunk of a big old oak tree and made it about 20 more meters before he distinctly felt a hand grasp his ankle and tug, pulling him off his feet. He fell face first onto the ground, hands coming up to brace his fall but knees taking a bit of a beating as they scraped across several roots on the way down. Yet when he turned around, there was nothing there. He swore and got to his feet, lunging forward a few unsteady paces when he felt a hand grab his other ankle and once more pull him to the ground. Again, when he turned to look back there’s nothing behind him. Peter was toying with him. He would be lying if he said he didn’t love it.
He didn’t even try standing this time, just turned over and scrabbled onto his knees as he looked into the dark shadows of the tree line. He couldn’t see anything. “Uh, Peter if this is about me calling you old, I’m sorry.” He was not sorry. Peter could hear his heartbeat and tell he was not sorry. Stiles was rethinking his decision to mock the older man. Yes Peter was old enough to be his father and yes he knew it but it was still a sore spot for the older man, even as it turned him on. Dirty bastard. Stiles kind of adored him for it.
He heard a growl and whipped his head around to see the wolf standing a few paces from him. He was fully shifted, face contorted with the beta change and teeth bared and eyes glowing a clear, electric blue. Just in case Stiles had forgotten he was about to be fucked by a stone cold killer. He hadn’t. Clawed hands twitched at his sides, which were ribbed with thick muscle leading up to a chest coated with a smattering of dark hair. Stiles was jealous, he was practically hairless apart from his happy trail and Peter’s chest hair was hot.
He sucked in a breath as he took in that broad, naked chest, muscled V of his groin, and thick, hard thighs that he kind of wanted to be crushed between. His cock hung heavy and full between his thighs, long and thick in a way that made Stiles’ mouth water. The length of him was flushed a deep, angry red and precum oozed out of the tip in long strings, pooling on the leaves beneath his feet. Stiles wondered if it would be gauche to flip over onto his back between Peter’s spread legs and just let those viscous drops fall into his mouth as he jerked off. Probably.
He opened his mouth to say ‘oh fuck’ again as much of his higher thinking had left him but didn’t get the chance. Suddenly Peter was there before him, a clawed hand anchored in his hair as he brought the weeping head of his cock to Stiles’ mouth and just rubbed, getting those plump pink lips glossy with precum. When he opened his mouth to say something, he didn’t know what, Peter fucked his cock into that open mouth, forcing his jaw open as he plunged deep.
He was not gentle, already it was too much for Stiles to take and he gagged. Peter snarled, pulling back a little only to thrust in harder. His throat hurt from the battering it was taking from the thick blunt head. It was way too thick to fit down his throat, deep-throating a cock that massive was not even a possibility, but that didn’t stop Peter from trying. Stiles loved it, loved the ache in his jaw, the musky explosion of flavors on his tongue, and the burn in his throat. His hands came up to grasp Peter’s ass, holding him close so he could take him just that much deeper.
“You little bitch, you like that big zombie cock splitting you open?” he seethed, throwing Stiles’ earlier words back at him. “Slutty little boys who mock their Daddies don’t deserve cock, do they?” The boy tried to shake his head “no” but couldn’t move far with Peter’s hand tangled in his hair, baring his throat and keeping him still as the older man rolled his hips to fuck his cock even deeper. Stiles gaged again and Peter laughed. “But you know what they say, spare the rod,” he gave another vicious thrust, enjoying the fluttering of the boy’s throat around the head of his dick, “spoil the child.”
Stiles took his punishment and loved it, even as tears started to drip from the corners of his eyes. He ran his hands up and down Peter’s ass, as he tried to soothe him. Tried to apologize through lips and tongue and touch. He was not sorry, because he loved this, but he also wanted Peter to think he was a good boy. The two desires clashed within him, making his head spin. Stiles reached down to roll his heavy balls in one long-fingered hand, enjoying the warmth and the weight of them. They were going to fill him with so much cum.
Peter paused his thrusts, glassy eyed and growling. He let Stiles bob his head, sucking that thick cock and laving it with his tongue and just enjoyed the feeling of that hot mouth closed tight and wet around him. He released his hold on his boy’s hair, his fingers tracing over his hollowed out cheeks and his thumb rubbing across Stiles’ lips where they were stretched wide to accommodate his cock. “Are you sorry, baby?”
Stiles pulled back with a pop, letting the heavy cock slide free to bob temptingly before him. “I’m really sorry, Daddy.”
“You’re such a dumbass,” Peter replied, rolling his eyes dramatically. “You know I can tell when you’re lying.”
Stiles just looked up at him prettily, face wet with precum and lips puffy and red from use and Peter couldn’t help but forgive him. He slid two broad fingers into Stiles’ panting, open mouth to rub across his tongue. His boy sucked obediently and Peter made a low pleased rumble in his chest. “You’re a good boy.”
Only Stiles wasn’t, not really. He was a tricky little brat who liked to fuck with Peter, to make him fierce and reckless with rage so that he could reap the rewards. So when he removed his fingers and began to crouch before him, Stiles flipped around onto his feet, quick as a flash, and took off into the trees.
Maybe it was the hot as hell blowjob or maybe it was his cum-slick, blissed out face that distracted him but Peter didn’t expect it. Snarling, he tried to catch Stiles by the foot again but missed, just a hair too slow. He surged back to his feet and launched himself after Stiles snarling and swearing. “You fucking bratty little whore,” Peter began to chase him, closing in on Stiles who hadn’t made it more than a few yards, “with no goddamn sense of self preservation. I’m going to rip you open on my knot until you cry and beg me to stop.”
Stiles just laughed, darting and weaving through the trees to stay just out of Peter’s reach. “You gotta catch me fi—”
With a whoomph, all the air was driven from his lungs as nearly two hundred pounds of angry werewolf landed on his back, flattening him to the ground like a pancake. Peter’s hand came up to grip him firmly by scruff of the neck so he didn’t have a chance to squirm away and the other gripped the waistband of his jockstrap. Then Stiles felt the hot, heavy weight of his cock slot between his ass cheeks as the wolf began to rut against him. He moaned as the feeling of that heated flesh rubbing against his hole sent tingles down his spine to his already straining dick. Every few thrusts, the wide head caught at his rim and he whined, transfixed by the almost-painful tugging feeling that elicited.
“You are the biggest fucking brat, Stiles,” Peter growled in his ear, warm breath tickling the hair at his nape. “Shit, I am going to destroy you.”
“You love it,” the boy managed to gasp out.
“God help me but I do,” Peter admitted and then slid off the smaller man and used his considerable strength to lift the boy’s hips. When Stiles was presenting just how he liked, face down in the dirt with his ass up and legs wide to expose his sweet hole, Peter said “you don’t deserve this,” before he leaned down and licked a hot stripe from taint to tailbone.
“Motherfucker,” Stiles bit out. “Do that again.” He got slapped on the ass for his effort. It wasn’t gentle.
“Good boys don’t tell their Daddies what to do,” Peter responded and paused to blow a cool stream of air over his fluttering hole. As if he didn’t already know that Stiles wasn’t a good boy.
“Fuck, please Peter,” he begged.
“Hmm, you can do better than that,” came the lazy reply.
Stiles kind of wanted to kill him. “Please lick my asshole Daddy, I need to be nice and wet to take your big cock.”
He was rewarded with the feeling of a tongue flicking lazily across his pucker. Sighing, Stiles leaned back into the sensation. That warm, wet tongue was insistent as it swirled around his hole before slipping inside to lap at his rim. Stiles moaned then, leaking dribbles of precum onto the leaves beneath him as his absurdly hard cock clenched and bobbed with each lick. Who knew a tongue in his ass could feel so damn good? He sure didn’t. He felt like he should have been told.
When Peter started to fuck him slowly and thoroughly with his tongue, he thought he might fall apart. His thighs shook and he slipped closer and closer to the ground as his legs spread wider of their own accord. Stiles reached a hand between his legs to try and free himself from the punishing tightness of his jockstrap so he could jerk himself off but his hand was slapped away before it made contact. He whined and tried again with the same result. He was greatly regretting his fashion choices.
“You’re going to come on my cock or not at all, boy,” Peter growled.
“Then fuck me!” he insisted, growing more and more desperate as he swiveled his hips temptingly.
“Hmmm,” came the response, “no.”
Peter licked him open until his pucker felt puffy and wide and it was dripping wet. Until he was sobbing onto one forearm and pretty sure his cock was actually going to explode if he didn’t get to come soon. Like not in a good way, in a medically concerning way. Only then did Peter lean back and line up his wide cock with Stiles’ swollen hole.
“Oh thank—”he started to say before Peter just began to rub his dick over the mess he’d made of Stiles and not actually fuck him. “You asshole,” he wheezed out, it’s something between a moan and a laugh “what’s the point of having a fucking massive cock if you won’t fuck me with it?” When he looked back over his shoulder at the older man, he just gave Stiles an expectant expression. Right, good boys use their words and ask for the things they want.
“My cock feels like it’s going to split open,” Stiles started as he looked back over his shoulder beseechingly at the older man. “I don’t think my ass could be more wet if you tried.” He swiveled his hips again, this time a little desperately. The feeling of that hot, heaviness rubbing against him was ridiculously distracting. “Oh shit,” Stiles moaned when just the tip of the head slipped in to tease him before withdrawing again. He was going to die. Peter was actually going to kill him.
“Daddyyyy,” it ended on more of a whine than he would have liked. “I’m the worst, such a naughty boy, I don’t deserve your cock but I want it so bad. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Fuck—” he bites off another moan as Peter sinks just the tip into him once more, not letting the head of his cock pop through that ring of muscle before pulling back. “I’ll do anything, give you anything, if you’ll just fuck me,” he begged. “I’m gonna die if I don’t get your cock in me. I want to cum on your knot. I want you to breed me.”
To both Peter’s and Stiles’ surprise, that was what did it. He knew that his boy was, well, a boy, and that breeding wasn’t really on the table. His wolf, his instinct, didn’t really care about what was or what wasn’t possible in reality. It just gripped him with the instant and overwhelming desire to fuck deep into Stiles, to fill him up with cum until he was sloshing with it, and to knot him up hard and tight. He was going to sink deep into that juicy cunt and get his boy so pregnant.
Without preamble, Peter leaned low over his back, one hairy muscled arm coming around to brace against his slender chest and the other grabbing his hip in a bruising grip. And then he pushed inside. Even with the lube from earlier and with him licking Stiles sloppy and open it was not easy. But his determination to be inside his boy was inexorable. He pulled the boy back onto his swollen cock just as he snapped his hips forward. He wasn’t being gentle but even so, that ass was tight enough that his plunge into Stiles’ body became teasingly slow instead of the rapid drive it had been intended to be. Grunting with the strain, he thrust forward again, thighs bunching with the effort as he bottomed out within that searingly hot, clenching hole.
Stiles felt like he was actually being split in two. The burn of Peter’s relentless advance within him was absurd, it stole his breath and captured his whole focus. It felt like he had a whole hand and forearm up his ass, even though he knew he didn’t. Knew it was just a beautifully massive cock. He swore he felt his pelvis creak when it too spread to accommodate Peter. Stiles’ eyes were wide and glassy by the time he bottomed out. It hurt, even with all that preparation the burn was incredible. He wanted more. A smarter boy would have stayed still but he wasn’t always the sharpest crayon in the box. Sobbing a little, he pressed back against Peter and ground the head of the man’s cock against his tender insides. It felt terrible and wonderful all at the same time.
“You’re such a good boy, taking all that thick Daddy cock. Your pussy is so fucking tight around me, baby. It feels so fucking good.”
Peter gave himself a few seconds to come to terms with how insanely tight Stiles was as his hole spasmed around him before rearing back and fucking his cock into him again. And again. Stiles’ back arched and bowed as a keening cry slipped unbidden from his lips. Peter forced that clenching channel to accommodate him as he began to hammer him mercilessly, using his grip on his hip and forearm like an iron band across his chest to hold him close and to fuck him that much harder.
Nerve endings that he’d never managed to explore with his small vibrator lit up like it was the fourth of July. The stretch of his body accommodating what was easily twice the size of his aforementioned vibrator was so intense as to almost be too much. The spongy head of Peter’s dick bumped and glided across his prostate with nearly every surge of those powerful hips. He felt caught between the sensation of being filled, being split apart on a huge, merciless cock and the fiery zings of pleasure that shot to his own severely neglected erection with each bit of contact to his prostate.
Stiles was making little punched out noises, closer to a sob than a moan really. Peter had been right, he was loud. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t even think well enough to form coherent thoughts let alone convince his mouth to actually form words. But he did moan and scream and sob his pleasure; there was no question he loved this.
It didn’t feel like Peter was holding back any of his werewolf strength. He was being absolutely jackhammered to pieces on that heavy cock. His legs had splayed so wide that his hips were pressed against the loamy earth and his knees were going numb from holding him upright against those relentless thrusts. His cock was trapped between the layer of cool leaves covering the ground and his own burning abdomen. He couldn’t even manage to spare a thought for his cock, which was still so hard it ached, because Peter’s relentless pace seemed to be using all of his brain cells in that moment.
Stiles whimpered, cock drooling a steady stream of precum, there was nothing for him to do but dig his fingers into the dirt and let himself be used. With Peter’s hands on him, pulling him back to meet his vicious thrusts, he kind of felt like a sex toy. Like a fucked-out, human-shaped fleshlight for him to rut into. And there was no doubt Peter was using him, using his cock to show Stiles his place. It was here, face rubbing against the dirty ground, knees aching from the relentless force of his plunging cock, held up nice and close while Peter tried to fuck his big dick up into this throat, that he belonged.
“Want to feel you come around my dick before I knot you up tight, baby,” the wolf managed to grind out between growly moans. “Suck me with that pretty hole.”
Stiles just let out a piteous little whine. He wasn’t even coherent enough to figure out what was being asked of him.
“Can you do that, baby?” Peter pressed the boy down more and angles his hips to fuck a barrage of short, sharp thrusts directly against Stiles’ tender prostate. “Be a good boy and come for Daddy?”
No one was more surprised than Stiles when he did. His muscles locked tight and he was shuddering and crying, tears tracking down dirty cheeks as he spilled all over the ground. It felt like the orgasm went on forever, like it started from the base of his spine and exploded out of him and just wouldn’t stop. He was dimly aware his body convulsing, of legs slipping and him falling to lay flat on the ground. Peter hissed and groaned as his asshole clenched and spasmed around his cock like a hot, wet vice.
Then he felt it, a widening at the base of the older man’s cock. It was subtle at first, just a slight increase in the feeling of pressure, but it continued to ratchet up in intensity as Peter maintained his exhausting pace. The growing knot slid in and out of Stiles’ fucked out body with ease until suddenly it didn’t. And still Peter continued to fuck him. The pressure it put on his prostate was unreal. His cock should be softening after the mind blowing orgasm he’d just experienced but he stayed hard even though he didn’t think he could come again. Peter had to put considerable force behind his thrusts in order to fuck his knot into a channel that wasn’t made to take such girth. If he’d thought the sensation of being split in two was intense before, he’d been way, way wrong. The massive swollen bulb of flesh pressing in and out of his poor, abused hole was riveting.
Peter continued to fuck him long past the time when he should have just plunged in deep and let his knot lock himself tight in his boy. But he was nothing if not a sadist and he enjoyed the yelps and whimpers that fell from Stiles’ lips as he pulled back, watching the knot stretch that abused pucker to its limits before it popped out. And the he’d push back in, savoring the moment that he managed to squeeze his bulging knot back inside of the smaller man’s sloppy ass.
“H—holyyyy shit,” Stiles managed to garble out as some semblance of higher thought returned to him after his orgasm. “Your cock is insane.” It felt really, really good. Each little grind of that swollen knot against his prostate had him shivering in oversensitive tremors. It was like being fucked and having someone massage that tender bundle of nerves all at the same time. Stiles was a convert. If this was what getting knotted was like, he never wanted to stop. He rolled his hips, helping Peter sink that knot into him again. “Wan’ you to breed me, Daddy. Fuckin’ me so good on that cock, want your cum.”
It was Peter’s turn to shudder. Peter the man understood that Stiles was a boy, that he was fucking an asshole, and that there was absolutely no way he was going to get him pregnant. Peter the wolf loved the idea of knotting the boy up all luscious and tight beneath him and breeding him full of cum until he was certifiably pregnant. The wolf won. Growling through bared fangs, Peter snapped his hips one last time and sank deep into that willing body below him. Meanly, he pulled back, enjoying watching Stiles’ sloppy hole stretch around him as he satisfied himself with the knowledge that they weren’t going to be able to break apart until the swelling reduced.
“Your tight little cunt is squeezing me so good, baby. Want Daddy to fill you up? To get you nice and fat with my pups?”
“F-fuuaaa—fuck, yes. Oh god, yes!”
Peter grabbed him by the hips and pulled him back until he was sitting upright in his lap. Stiles groaned as this shifted the still-growing knot inside him and sent little zings of pleasure straight from his prostate to his still-hard cock. Then Peter was snuffling urgently at his neck, rolling his hips intently as he felt his knot swell to its full size and lock him up tight within his boy. It was like a switch had been flipped, one second the wolf was smelling his hair and grinding up into him lovingly, and the next his whole body went taut, claws raking across his chest as he howled and started to come.
Stiles felt a sharp pain on the side of his neck as Peter clamped down on that tender flesh with his beta-sharp teeth and broke skin. His torso was crushed in a too-tight grip as Peter kept coming, and coming, and coming. He could feel the fiery splashes coating his insides as his Daddy pumped him full of hot cum. God, he was already so full.
Dimly, Stiles realized he was grinding his hips down on that monster cock and thick, hard knot. Shit, it felt good. He’d thought he’d enjoy being knotted but this was crazy. The warm full feeling in his belly as he was filled with cum and the almost-sore feeling of having his much abused prostate ground against that firm bulb of flesh was riveting. He couldn’t stop himself from swiveling his hips to get more of that distracting sensation. Crying out when he and Peter moved in tandem, rolling that swollen knot across his too-tender prostate over and over again.
Peter kept coming. Not constantly, but every few seconds his muscles would tense, his teeth would snap at Stiles’ neck again, and he’d growl and moan as his body shook in paroxysms of pleasure and released another hot jet of cum into Stiles juicy little cunt. Peter was enjoying the never-ending stream of orgasms. They started strong, almost unbearably pleasurable before slowly tapering of as his body emptied of cum. The time between his spurts of cum grew longer and longer and he was finally able to pull his teeth away from the bloody mess he’d made of Stiles’ shoulder.
“You’re taking my knot so well, princess.” He crooned, clawed fingers slipping down to rub at the sensitive spot between Stiles’ cock and his asshole. The boy started to sob again, weakly this time as his prostate was captured and massaged between his fingers and his knot. “You’re going to come again on my knot, aren’t you?”
“I c—can’t,” Stiles stuttered out through teeth and tongue that wouldn’t obey him.
“Hm,” Peter said, tone of voice deceptively mild, “I think you can, baby.”
Peter gripped his cock in one big warm hand and sped up the movements of his fingers where he continued to pinch and press at his tender taint. Stiles began to buck his hips, unable to stop himself from seeking the orgasm he was positive he couldn’t have. Still, it felt amazing. Peter’s big warm hand made a wonderful sheathe to fuck up into and his equally big, solid knot was still rubbing and sliding against his prostate with his every movement. He was caught between the two sensations, unable to stop himself from rocking back against Peter in a slutty, deep grind. Embarrassingly and surprisingly quickly, Stiles was digging his nails into Peter’s thighs and shuddering to a dry orgasm.
Peter’s teeth slotted into his neck once more, biting at the ruined skin there as his knot was squeezed mercilessly by the contractions of Stiles’ orgasm. He shuddered once more and poured even more cum into him, feeling it bubble out around his knot as he was filled to the brim and the hot creamy liquid had nowhere to go but out.
They sat like that for ages, locked together with Stiles cradled in his lap. It was surprisingly intimate to be held like this, to feel the soothing lap of Peter’s tongue across the multiple bitemarks he’d made in the tender mole-speckled spin. Every once in a while, Peter would gnash his teeth and come again, little spurts that were nothing like the big jets of cum from earlier.
Stiles was a little jealous of werewolf orgasms. Mostly he was just wrung out. He sagged against the larger man, absent-mindedly rubbing his hands up and down the muscular thighs beneath him. Nimble fingers dipped back to feel his much-abused asshole and to press against his tender rim, stroking Peter’s knot from the outside. He snarled, hunching over Stiles and shivered as another small surge rocked him.
Peter’s hands roamed over him, rubbing and caressing every bit of exposed skin he can reach. When he rolled Stiles’ balls in one large hand, he just sighed and enjoyed the sensation of being touched, knowing it wasn’t going to lead anywhere. It just felt good to be touched gently, reverently, like Peter still thought he was precious even though he’d gotten what he wanted out of him. Which was just sex, wasn’t it?
After what felt like forever, but was probably no more than half an hour, the knot deflated enough that Peter’s cock slipped free of his body. Their sudden untying was heralded by a gush of what felt like at least a gallon of cum pouring out of Stiles, coating his ass, thighs, and Peter’s groin liberally with thick, white semen.
“How can it be so hot when you’re coming inside me and so gross now?” Stiles whined before he gently peeled himself away from Peter. They were stuck together with sweat and cum and his skin felt cool when the air met wet flesh.
Peter, who was definitely enjoying the view, just smirked and replied “I think it’s a good look on you, princess.”
Both of them got to their feet, Stiles still a little wobbly and Peter with his ever-present canine grace. They were filthy. Stiles was still dripping little rivulets of cum down the back of his legs, which were liberally coated in dirt. There was more mud on the side of his face, across his forearms, and speckling his chest. Several long slashes across his chest bled sluggishly, he didn’t even remember getting those, and his neck and shoulder throbbed painfully from where he’d been bitten. Repeatedly. With very sharp teeth. The skin there felt wet and he knew he was bleeding. He probably should be mad about that, they were likely to scar, but he wasn’t.
Peter was a little cleaner, most of the filth present on his person was centralized around his knees. However his groin was shiny with cum as well and his lips and chin were smeared with blood from where he’d bitten Stiles while they were knotted together. They made a damning sight. No one would struggle to guess what they’d been up to.
“You’re a mess,” Peter said smugly as they started to make their way back to the pack house. ‘My mess,’ went unsaid but they both knew that was what he’d meant.
Stiles just turned and stuck his tongue out at the other man. He wasn’t looking forward to the long walk back to the house. Without the adrenaline of the chase driving him on and after being fucked within an inch of his life on his hand and knees, his poor body was really sore. And not looking forward to tripping his way back to the pack house in the dark. He’d made it a pretty good distance away in his hormone addled haze and it was going to be a bitch to walk back.
“Sooo,” Stiles started, hanging back to walk alongside Peter. “This is going to take forever at my pace.”
“I could just leave you here,” he commended mildly.
“Rude,” Stiles replied, before looking up at him hopefully. “Or you could…give me a piggyback ride?”
Peter just rolled his eyes. “You asked me the same thing when I brought you back from the dentists.”
“Did you?”
“Of course not, you idiot.”
“Come on Peter, just this once. I’ll never tell anyone.” When the older man just frowned at him he continued, “and I’ll let you and knot me again.”
“You were going to beg me to fuck you again anyway.”
“Yeah but now I’ll beg you with gusto.”
Peter sighed and crouched down. “Fine, get on. If you tell anyone, I’ll smother you in your sleep.”
“Sweet!” Stiles crowed and hopped onto Peter’s muscular back. “Don’t kick me off because I’m dripping cum all over your,” he looked down, “very attractive and well-muscled ass. I can’t help it.”
Peter just huffed in response.
“Onward trusty steed!” Stiles cried, thrusting his arm out like a knight would a sword.
Peter reached back and snapped the strap covering one of his boy’s pale cheeks, grinning when he yelped in response. “Stiles, I’m going to drop you in a bush if you refer to me as a horse again.”
“Duly noted Daddy, please don’t. I have enough problems without pulling leaves out of my ass.”
When they reached the tree-line several long minutes later, Peter set him down and made him walk the rest of the way back to the house. Stiles whined loudly about this but got down anyway.
“By the way,” Peter started, fixing an intent gaze on his face, “I’m calling in my debt.”
Stiles froze, this was not going to be good. He knew when he made an open-ended promise to the wolf that it wasn’t going to be good. But he’d been desperate at the time and not thinking about saving future-Stiles from Peter related woes. Future Stiles was now today Stiles and he was regretting his choices.
“I know you. I know you well enough to be sure that you plan on darting in, grabbing your clothes, and running to your Jeep so you can speed away from the decisions you made tonight.”
Stiles had to admit this was an accurate representation of his plan. He made a noncommittal noise as a cover. Peter wasn’t fooled.
“Instead, you’re going to come up to my room with me, let me wash you off and get you some clean clothes, and we’re going to hang out with the pack and watch whatever stupid action movie Scott has picked.”
“But,” he started, mind whirling as he began to panic just a little bit, “they’ll know. They’ll smell your cum inside of my asshole and know.”
“Yes.”
“But—but they’ll know.”
“Yes, Stiles we’ve established that. I want the pack to know that you’re mine, that I fucked you deep and dirty in the woods tonight.” He gestured between them, “I’m not ashamed of this.”
Well, when he put it like that. Stiles wasn’t ashamed exactly but he was afraid. Afraid of what his friends would say, of what they would imply about him for wanting Peter. But maybe it was time he just took what he wanted without worrying about what Scott, or Derek, or Lydia, or anyone else would say. And really, at the deepest, darkest level he was afraid of getting too attached to a man that only saw him as a convenient fuck moreso than anything else. But he wanted Peter. A lot. And more than sexually. What had started out as an unnecessarily erotic crush had kind of blossomed into something more and Stiles wanted to explore it. Like, really wanted to. Enough that he was willing to take the chance on this, on them.
“Okay,” he said quietly. As long as he wasn’t doing it alone, he could do this.
“Good boy,” Peter responded before tugging him in close with an arm slung around his neck and kissing him soundly.
The two of them snuck onto the porch like thieves in the night with the ever-important mission of putting on pants before anyone realized they were there. Stiles slid his basketball shorts up his dirty legs and onto his dirtier ass and Peter had just managed to tie the drawstring on his yoga pants when Scott flung open the kitchen door with a jubilant noise of greeting for his finally-returned best bro ever. And Peter. None of the jubilance was for him.
He opened his mouth to say ‘oh my god, where were you guys? Come in the movie’s about to start.’ But what actually came out was “oh my g—” and then a retching sound as Scott’s wolfy nose took in their malodorous bouquet which was a particularly strong combination of sweat, cum, and blood in equal measures.
After a few heaving breaths, Scott covered his nose with one hand and said nasally, “Stiles you smell like a truck stop gloryhole.”
And Peter replied smoothly, “no, not enough piss.”
Stiles looked rapidly back and forth from both of them, unsure who he more upset with. “Fuck you,” he replied with a sniff, not sure who he was talking to. Both of them, it was both of them.
“Really Stiles? Peter?” Scott asked him with a little frown. “Of all the guys you could pick, you pick him?”
“Peter what?” came from inside and suddenly half of the pack was crammed behind Scott, wondering what all the fuss was about.
The tableau was damning. Even the human members of the pack, who couldn’t smell the fact that Stiles was giving off a distinctly Peterlicious musk, could put the pieces together. They were both disheveled, half-naked, and dirty. Peter had a mouth stained with blood and Stiles had numerous bite wounds on the side of his neck as well as some pretty obvious claw marks across his chest. A particularly large drop of semen splashed conspicuously on the ground beneath Stiles’ feet, landing in the puddle that was slowly forming there. Busted.
“Finally,” Lydia said, “I was tired of watching you flirt with each other.”
“You have terrible taste,” was Malia’s input. Which was fair.
Liam just muttered “nasty,” before turning back to the TV and shoveling another handful of popcorn into his mouth.
Corey and Mason both gave him very conspicuous thumbs up from where they were sitting on the couch. Stiles winked back at them. He’d finally made it, the gays thought he was cool.
Derek’s eyebrows made a series of leaps and wiggles that apparently conveyed something to Peter, to Stiles he just looked constipated.
All in all, better than expected. Until Theo opened his big fat fucking mouth.
“Glad someone finally took pity on Stillinski. He was always underfoot, sniffing around all the wolves for some dick. I for one was getting tired of smelling his desper—”
Stiles had been about to lay into him but Peter beat him to it. The older man lunged at Theo and, grabbing him firmly by the neck, just smashed him into the ground. The smaller werewolf landed on his back with a ‘whomph’, Peter kneeling over him, fangs dropped and angry as hell.
“Don’t you dare talk about Stiles like that. He’s your pack and he deserves your respect. He’s a million times useful than you are and you’d better believe if it came down to a choice between you and him, you would lose.”
Peter let Theo up and the younger wolf looked suitably chagrined, rubbing his neck and wincing pathetically. Scott didn’t approve of Peter’s tactics but he approved of Theo’s behavior even less. He shook his head disappointedly at Theo and that made him look even more miserable. He hated upsetting Scott.
Stiles was pretty sure Peter was his new hero. People didn’t stand up for him like that. Oh Scott was always on his side but he was a pretty non-confrontational guy who would pick talking things out over fighting any day of the week. But that wouldn’t always work with Theo, who often needed physical encouragement to curb his smart mouth and murderous impulses. And Peter? Peter the OG murderous werewolf in their little pack and he was really, really scary when he wanted to be.
It was super hot.
Scott hadn’t missed his reaction to Peter’s show of manly protectiveness. “Gross, dude.”
“Oh so the fact that I’m standing in a slowly growing puddle of Peter’s cum is fine but heaven forbid I smell into him.”
Scott gagged again. “Please, please never mention Peter’s…his….”
“Cum?” Stiles interjected.
“Yes, that. To me again. And go shower! For all our sakes. Think of the carpet,” Scott continued, looking pained.
Derek grumbled “this isn’t even your house, Scott. You don’t have to worry about the carpets.” He stalked out onto the porch and grabbed the garden hose, tossing it to Peter. “Scott’s right though, you need to rinse off before you can come inside. I don’t want a repeat of the foyer incident.”
Peter just harrumphed and took the hose as Stiles mouthed “foyer incident?” at him. He stared pointedly at the pack before they got the hint and returned to watching their movie. Well, returned to pretending to watch a movie until Stiles and Peter were out of earshot, and then they’d promptly start gossiping.
Peter rinsed his legs and feet off with the hose first before he angled the spray in Stiles’ direction. He got Stiles’ legs mostly clean, though the boy’s yelping and dancing around in the cold spray probably didn’t help. They grabbed the rest of their clothes and slipped upstairs to Peter’s room to use his large shower.
“Of course you’d have a rainfall shower, you pretentious asshole,” Stiles muttered.
“Oh, do you not want to enjoy my large and luxurious shower Stiles? Do you want to sit next to poor Scotty smelling like, and I quote ‘a truck stop gloryhole’?”
“Forget I said anything,” he muttered.
Peter turned the shower on and then yanked his boy’s shorts down before tugging at the band of the jockstrap. Stiles dutifully helped him shimmy the tight garment down his hips and stepped out of the dirty clothes. He was then unceremoniously pushed into the shower where he looked pointedly at Peter and said “alright Daddy, make it rain on me.”
Peter snorted but dutifully turned on the tap. Stiles yelped in the cold spray but it quickly warmed up. The hot water felt heavenly to his sore body. The bitemarks on the side of his neck burned in the spray but it was worth the pain as the stream of water began to soothe his other aches. Then Peter joined him in the shower, big hands wrapping around Stiles’ torso and rubbing at the claw marks and dirt he found there.
Peter was surprisingly gentle. He lathered up a very plush looking loofah and began to methodically wash the mud and dried blood from Stiles’ body. He washed his hair for him too, strong hands massaging his scalp until he sank blissfully against the wolf’s muscular body. It was comforting to just let go and relax, to let Peter take care of him and give him a few precious minutes of not having to think.
His body took Peter’s hands roaming over his body and his own state of relaxation as a cue to become aroused again. Stiles looked down at his half hard dick, which should have been completely out for the night after the orgasms he’d had earlier. “How?” he asked his cock, not for the first time and not for the last.
Peter chuckled, “oh to be a teenage boy again.”
“As opposed to a middle aged woman?” Stiles asked, then cried out as he pinched his nipple meanly.
And then Peter surprised him by dropping to his knees and swallowing him down. Stiles almost died, arms flailing and legs slipping on the tile floor as he briefly lost control of his limbs at the sensation of a tight, wet, and exceedingly hot mouth sucking around him. In his defense, this was his first blow job and Peter was stupidly good at it. He saved Stiles from falling to his death by grabbing his ass before he briefly paused to guide the boy’s hands to his hair, giving him something to hold onto. And hold on he did.
Stiles held on for dear life as Peter expertly sucked his soul out of his cock. This was not a situation in which he was in control, despite who had their cock in whose mouth. Peter was the one giving him the blowjob, he sure as hell wasn’t taking it. He bobbed his head expertly, sucking and licking his way up and down Stiles’ now straining erection, occasionally pausing to suckle gently at the swollen head or lick intently at the prominent vein. It felt amazing, absolutely a hundred times better than even his best jerk off session.
It was over quickly. After the night he’d had, Stiles felt his body should have had more stamina but it did not. Really, the whole evening had seen him coming embarrassingly fast He needed to work on that, for posterity. He was curled around Peter’s head, fingers fisted tight in his dark hair as he shuddered and shot what was more than likely a sadly small load down the other man’s throat. Peter, ever the gentleman, swallowed. And then stood and continued to wash him like he hadn’t just blown his mind as well as his dick.
Only when Stiles was squeaky clean finally able to stand on his own again, breath returning to something akin to a normal rhythm did Peter see to his own cleanliness. Both of them came out of the shower sweet-smelling and flushed. The older man toweled him dry with a pre-warmed towel, because of course Peter had a towel warmer, before he set about treating his wounds. Stiles winced as he dabbed antiseptic onto the bite marks and scratches, as well as the scrapes to his knees. He slathered on antibiotic ointment after that, leaving the wounds open to the air to dry out on their own.
It was ridiculous but Stiles kept getting warm fuzzies when he looked at the other man. Peter was being gentle to him, Peter was taking care of him. He’d expected the other man to abandon him, bloody and cum stained in the woods and to go back to his regularly scheduled werewolf programming. But he hadn’t. He’d carried him home, insisted they tell the pack they were, what, lovers? And had actually fought for Stiles barely existent honor before bathing him, sucking his cock like it was going out of style, and making sure to treat his wounds because he understood that Stiles was a human and therefore fragile.
Peter was being good to him. He should have been suspicious. Should have been looking for his motive, for the long-con the other man had waiting in the wings. Instead he just felt inexplicably fond of Peter. He had to admit to himself that he’d been crushing on the him for a while, probably about half as long as he’d wanted Peter to fuck him. And now? It was kind of turning into something more. He did want to explore a relationship with Peter and most surprisingly of all, it seemed like Peter did too.
The older man found him a pair of slightly too-large boxer briefs, damn the man’s stupidly wide thighs and well-muscled ass, and even larger pajama pants for Stiles to wear as his own clothes weren’t going to be usable without a trip to the laundry. At least his shirt was cum free. Peter also dressed casually, picking out a pair of lounge pants and a long-sleeved v-neck. Of course it was devilishly low cut but at this point if he ever showed up in anything else, Stiles would know Peter had been replaced with a doppelganger.
When they descended the stairs and entered the living room, the pack fell silent. They’d clearly been talking about Peter and Stiles’ new thing, but weren’t brave enough to say what they’d been discussing to their faces. Well, probably to Peter’s face. Ostensibly they were watching a new spy movie but Stiles was pretty sure none of them had really been paying that much attention.
Theo was sitting in Peter’s favorite armchair. It was large, plush, and very comfortable. He just gave Theo the eye and blew a stream of air in the smaller man’s direction. Theo flinched, as Peter intended, and then screwed up his face. “Gross, your breath smells like Stilinski’s cum.” But he did get reluctantly out of the chair and go to sit on the floor near Scott’s feet, who patted him consolingly on the shoulder.
Peter pushed Stiles down to sit on the cushy leather recliner before he meandered off to the kitchen. He returned with a bowl of popcorn and two drinks.
“Move over,” Peter ordered.
Stiles dutifully slid over to make room for Peter too, wondering briefly if this was the twilight zone. He tucked the boy in next to him and passed him the bowl of popcorn. It was adorably domestic and he felt another surge of affection for the older man. He felt vaguely like he was being duped but he really liked this caring, attentive Peter and decided he didn’t care. Sign him up to get brutally fucked and then treated like a princess every night, please and thank you.
“So,” Stiles whispered, unable to quiet his racing thoughts. He needed to know where he stood before he could relax. “Are we…you know?”
Peter looked down at him dispassionately. “You should use your words, Stiles. Did you mean to ask ‘are we together?’”
“Yeah. Do you just want this to be like…a sex thing or are we more?”
“What do you want?”
Stiles squirmed, a little embarrassed to admit it. “More?”
“Then we’re dating,” Peter threw a piece of popcorn at his face, “now watch the movie and stop thinking so hard.”
Stiles grinned at him, snuggling against Peter’s large warm body, “whatever you say, Daddy.”
Scott moaned in abject horror. “Why, Stiles?” he whined.
“Oh suck it up Scotty,” Stiles replied, without any heat in his voice. He was perfectly content.