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Stiles doesn't know where they're going. Peter packed for them both, claiming that anything they might think of needing later can easily be found where ever it is he's taking them, so any clues he might have gleaned from clothing and accessories is hidden from him. Even their travel plans are secret—Peter has a private plane on standby. Stiles is a little nervous, but he knows that Peter will make this the most amazing experience for them.
He trusts his mate, his future husband, inexplicably.
Peter warns him that it will be a semi-lengthy flight (roughly six hours, give or take), and if he wants to bring a sleeping draught with him to ease his nerves, the older man understands. But he also has ways to keep the young spark occupied during their travel. Stiles decides he wouldn't mind a distraction in the least.
0 o 0 o 0
The wedding is amazing.
The ceremony is perfect.
The reception is a blast.
The day is a whirlwind of spiked nerves and blessed relief, dancing and food and cake, perhaps a bit too much champagne. And at the end of it all, they make their goodbyes and wave to friends and family before stumbling into the back of their awaiting limo in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Stiles feels bubbly and breathless and indescribably happy.
They stare at one another for long moments, trading gentle, dizzying kisses until they reach their destination—the airport. Stiles wants to continue their make-out session on the plane, but as soon as they're seated and buckled in, the day finally settles into his limbs like sand. He yawns, his jaw clicking as his eyes water from exhaustion.
Peter chuckles and kisses the younger man's temple. “Sleep, my love.”
Stiles hums and lays his head on Peter's shoulder. “Just for a little while,” he sighs, asleep before the plane makes its ascent.
0 o 0 o 0
Stiles groans as he wakes. His head is filled with fog, his tongue is like glue, and his muscles ache for a good stretch. He blinks in the waning light, frowning as the loud whirring of the plane's engines cuts into his temples and makes them throb.
A warm hand glides through his hair, lips press against his forehead, and then the pain is suddenly gone. He sighs and smiles gratefully, tiredly, at his mate. “Hello, husband,” he whispers, like it's a secret that only he and Peter can know.
Peter's smile grows wide at the endearment, and he kisses Stiles deeply, longingly, perfectly. “Hello, my beautiful husband,” he whispers against Stiles's lips, kissing him again and again until the young spark's throat lets known its thirst.
Stiles sits back and swallows uncomfortably, brightening when Peter hands him a can of ginger ale. He opens the can and stretches his shoulders back before taking a drink, sighing in content as the bubbles sooth his throat and ease the small amount of queasiness in his stomach. “How long have I been out?” He rubs at his face and picks crusted sleep from the corners of his eyelids with a wrinkled nose.
“About five hours,” Peter answers smoothly, setting aside a book Stiles hadn't noticed and sweeping the backs of his fingers across the younger man's cheekbone. “We'll be landing in half an hour. I have a change of clothes for you, if you want to switch out of your tux before we land.”
Stiles frowns, staring at Peter's casual clothing—a pair of loose, breathable slacks and a white v-neck shirt that shows off just a hint of his claiming mark. “Shit, now I feel guilty, leaving you all to yourself while I drooled all over you.”
The werewolf laughs, genuine and happy. “I slept a little myself, and I had a book to keep me company. I'm glad you got some rest, sweetheart.” He smirks and leans in. “And it was only a little bit of drool.”
The young spark bats Peter on the shoulder, wiping at his mouth for good measure and finding no drool, dried or wet, on his chin. He looks around the plane curiously. “You said half an hour?” Peter hums in confirmation, and Stiles wets his lips. “Is that enough time to join the Mile-High Club?” He waggles his eyebrows in jest, laughing when Peter picks him up and positions him so that he's straddling the older man's lap—their seats are impressively roomy.
“While I'd love nothing more than to initiate you into such an esteemed order,” Peter says with mock propriety, “I'd rather our first time as a married couple not be a hurried rutting on an airplane.” He smirks and leans forward, lips barely an inch from Stiles's own. “I want to take you apart little by little, over and over again. I want to take my time with you, my sweet husband.”
Stiles's breath stutters out of him in a sharp gust, his eyes wide as he stares back at the older man in awe. “Peter,” he says, tone serious, “are you already a member?”
Peter's smile is all teeth. “I can initiate you on the way home, if you'd like.”
The spark's face flushes a pretty pink. “How far back do these seats recline?”
0 o 0 o 0
Stiles exits the plane first, stopping to stare at the sight beyond the airport. Beautiful skies alight with hazy colors of the sunset, a massive expanse of green in one direction, and a glimpse of the beach in the other. A warm breeze curls around him, carrying the smell of the ocean.
“Wow,” the spark says on a breath, clutching at Peter as the man wraps his arms around him from behind. “Just...wow.”
“Just you wait, my love,” Peter murmurs into his ear. “I have so much I want to show you.”
“Peter, where—”
“Welcome, Sirs!” A man with dark skin and a wide, genuine smile approaches them, arms spread open like he's displaying their surroundings. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and Stiles likes the aura coming off of him—it's friendly and warm. The man's Jamaican Creole is thick on his tongue as he says, “Welcome to the Cayman Islands!”
Stiles nearly chokes. “Oh my God, are you serious?” Peter only laughs, keeping one arm around the younger man as their greeter stops in front of them.
The man shakes first Stiles's hand, then Peter's, grasping each of their hands with both of his own. “Mr. and Mr. Hale! My name is Roje. I am here to assist you with the paperwork for your rental car and your villa.”
“Villa?” Stiles squeaks, and Peter's arm tightens around him.
Roje laughs loudly, deeply. “I apologize if I ruined the surprise. It is your honeymoon, yes? Congratulations! The Cayman Islands are the perfect place to celebrate!” He leads them towards the airport's main building, walking quickly ahead of them and giving instructions for the ground attendants to take their luggage to the rental car parked out front.
Stiles walks beside Peter in a daze. Exhaustion is still fresh in his addled mind, but more so than that... “He called me Mr. Hale,” he says quietly, remembering to breathe again when Peter presses a light kiss into his hairline.
Roje's office is air-conditioned, and the floor-to-ceiling windows allow what little light is left to brighten the place. The chairs in front of his desk are plush, and the water his assistant brings them is clear and cool.
“Of course, all the paperwork was completed before your flight, so all we need from you, Mr. and Mr. Hale, are your signatures and your passports to confirm your identities,” Roje says easily, checking the documents in his hands before sliding them across his desk.
Stiles huffs sharply into his water glass, nearly choking as he inhales some of the liquid. Passports. Shit. He hadn't thought of that. He's never needed one. He's only been out of the country a handful of times—that fun little jaunt to Mexico so many years ago, which wasn't exactly on the books so sneaking across the border had been pretty tricky, and a trip or two to Puerto Rico for some hard-to-find spell ingredients.
Peter places a hand on the young man's thigh and squeezes just above his knee comfortingly, reaching into his back pocket with his other hand and producing two passports for Roje. The man checks both passports briefly before stamping them and handing them back with a smile. Peter and Stiles sign a couple of different documents—the spark is only half-aware as he unhesitatingly signs Stiles Hale, his curiosity about the passport taking precedence in his mind.
Peter smiles, though, seeing the name on paper, seeing it in Stiles's own handwriting.
Roje quickly has copies of the paperwork sent to Peter's email, then escorts them out to the rental car—a sleek, cherry-red convertible—checks to make sure all their luggage has been transferred from the plane, and hands over the keys to the vehicle as well as the keys to the villa. He shakes both of their hands again, wishing them a wonderful stay and a beautiful honeymoon.
And then the airport is behind them as they make their way through Georgetown.
The town is brightly lit and alive with music and dancing and dozens of drunk tourists.
Stiles doesn't notice. His mind is still set on one thing. “I have a passport?”
Peter smiles like he knew the younger man would ask, fishing the object out of his pocket and handing it over. Stiles opens the small document and stares at his picture with a frown. It's the picture from his drivers license.
“This says 'Stiles Hale.'”
The werewolf chuckles. “Well, unless I'm wrong, darling, we did get married today.”
“Today,” Stiles repeats, waving the passport as he gestures with his hands. “As in literal hours ago. Our marriage certificate hasn't even been to the courthouse yet—it's Saturday. And, besides that, we won't have an official copy of it for at least a couple of weeks. This—” He waves the passport again. “—is illegal.”
“Even as a retired sheriff's son, you've never been one to preach about legality, Stiles,” Peter replies coolly. “And much of what we do isn't entirely legal, strictly speaking.”
“I'm not talking about petty stuff. This is a federal offense! You're a lawyer, you should know better.”
“I am a lawyer. And I do know better.” Peter reaches over and rubs Stiles's thigh, hearing his mate's heart rate slow just slightly. “All the necessary measures have been taken, and all the paperwork will be sorted, and legal, by the time we return home. I promise.”
Stiles sighs, covering Peter's hand with his own and squeezing it. “Exactly how long are we planning on staying here?”
Peter smiles wolfishly, the hand on Stiles's thigh sliding precariously close to the younger man's groin. “For as long as I can convince you to stay.”
Stiles gasps, shifting in his seat and swallowing a groan. He refuses to look at the man as he says, “Fine. But if this shit holds me up at customs when we go back, no sex for a month, babe. I'm serious.”
Peter smirks and steps on the gas as they leave behind the tourist area, heading down a long stretch of road right along the beach. “Duly noted.”
0 o 0 o 0
The villa is enormous. Stiles can't imagine needing this much space for just the two of them. But despite its spaciousness, it has a very homey feel to it. The lighting, once they grab their luggage and go inside, is warm and inviting. The furnishings aren't overly extravagant, but everything is clean and well-spaced, not cluttered. Stiles, at once, feels less like an outsider and more at ease.
The kitchen is brightly painted, and with the large windows, it will look gorgeous in the morning with natural light. The refrigerator and pantry are fully-stocked. The young man sees his favorite flavors of Gatorade on the bottom shelf of the fridge as Peter quickly checks through everything.
Peter leads them to the master bedroom without hesitation—digital tours are a masterpiece of the technological age—and helps Stiles set his suitcase on a large dresser for easy access before placing his own on the bed and beginning to unpack. Stiles unzips the suitcase—which is brand new—and shuffles through the items he didn't pack himself, placing them in the dresser drawers as he examines them. Beneath a few folded t-shirts, he finds a shiny black box, wide and flat, held closed with a red silk ribbon. It has a note:
Go get him, tiger! ;)
-Erica, Lydia, and Kira
Stiles huffs and sets the item aside. He'll deal with that in the morning. He shuffles through the clothing a little more, finding a few pairs of comfortable-looking shorts, some new packages of his go-to brand of boxer-briefs, a pair of slacks, jeans, and cargo pants, and what appears to be a small piece of cloth. He pulls it out and stretches it between his hands, raising an eyebrow as he realizes it's a pair of swim shorts.
He holds them up and turns towards Peter. “Who exactly are these supposed to fit?”
One corner of Peter's mouth quirks. “They'll make your ass look amazing, sweetheart. Though if you're opposed to them, you could always wear nothing at all. I certainly wouldn't mind.”
The spark drops the item back into his suitcase with a shake of his head. “I don't seem to have any pajamas.”
Peter turns back to his empty suitcase, zipping it closed and setting it inside the walk-in closet. “What a shame.”
“A shame indeed,” Stiles says, crossing his arms and lowering his chin to study the man through his eyelashes.
Peter centers a hungry look on his mate, slowly stalking towards him and uncrossing Stiles's arms. He backs the young man against the bathroom door, pressing himself as roughly against Stiles as he dares.
Stiles draws in a sharp breath, hands fluttering upward to frame the older man's face. He breathes in the heady scent of want and smiles so, so sweetly. “Hello, husband,” he whispers, liking it even more than the first time he said it.
Peter dips his head, tracing Stiles's jaw with the tip of his nose, dragging his scent in until his lungs feel like bursting. “Hello, my beautiful husband,” he says before capturing the spark's mouth in a bruising kiss. He laves at Stiles's lips until he parts them, allowing his tongue entry. He nips at the younger man's lower lip, sucks the sting of the bite away, delves into his mate's pliant mouth over and over until Stiles has to pull away to gasp for air.
“Peter,” he says breathlessly, desperately, tugging at the man's hair and fisting the fabric of his shirt. “I need you.” His mouth falls open with a groan as Peter thrusts his hips. The bathroom door shudders. “I need you inside me. I need you to fill me. Please, Peter. Please. Husband. I need you.”
And that's what does it. Peter growls low in his throat, lifting Stiles from the backs of his thighs and turning towards the bed. He practically throws the younger man down onto the mattress, stripping his own shirt and slacks and underwear before helping the struggling spark do the same. He wastes no time, grabbing the lube he'd placed on the bed while unpacking. A generous amount of it goes onto the fingers of his right hand, a glob into his left palm, which he uses to start stroking Stiles's leaking cock in a quick, steady rhythm.
Stiles shouts, arching off the bed as his hands grip the comforter beneath him. He moans loudly and writhes as Peter carefully works two fingers into him at once. “Fuck! Fuck, Peter, that's so good.” The last word stretches into a groan as the older man's fingers bottom out and begin to scissor him open. His hips jerk in time with Peter's hands. “More. I need more.”
Peter watches his beautiful spark fall to pieces beneath his touch, revels in the noises he pulls from his mate. Only for him. He works a third finger into the young man, fist tightening on Stiles's cock and hastening the speed of his strokes. “Are you going to come for me, sweetheart? Come before I even have you ready for me?” Stiles sobs unintelligible words, shouting Peter's name as he gets closer to release. “I'm going to open you up so wide after you come, baby. Flip you over and fuck you into this mattress until you come again on my cock.”
“Yes,” the younger man begs, pleads, demands. “Peter, please! Fuck, I need to come. I need you to fuck me. Make me yours.” His knuckles turn white as he grips the comforter so tightly that his fists begin to shake. “Yours, yours, yours,” he chants until he can't find words anymore, just sounds, just beautiful, needy noises.
Stiles cries out as he comes, whimpering as Peter pumps him through his orgasm, matching every stroke with a hard thrust of his fingers. When he's spent, Peter's hand falls away from his cock, but his fingers continue to fuck into him, stretching him enough for a fourth. The young spark breathes and lets the movements of Peter's hand, the stretch of talented fingers that know him inside and out, take over. When feeling returns to his heavy limbs, he starts to move with Peter, meeting him with a roll of his hips and clenching around him greedily.
“Ready for me, my love?” Peter asks, panting as he slicks lube and cum onto his cock.
“Yes,” Stiles whines, desperate to have the man inside him.
Peter's fingers pull out, suddenly, but Stiles has no time to mourn the loss of being full before he's on his stomach, his mate pulling him to the edge of the bed and sliding into him with one sharp, single thrust. He holds there, letting Stiles adjust to him as the young man desperately tries to catch the breath that was forced from his lungs. Peter braces himself over the spark, one clawed hand digging into the comforter and the other curled around Stiles's hip to hold him in place.
“Holy shit,” Stiles pants, circling his hips and finding a comfortable position. “Peter. You feel so fucking good. Fuck, I need... I need...” He breathes harshly as his muddled brain tries to find the words he desperately wants to say.
“What do you need, my beautiful husband?” Peter asks, tone hushed as he presses kisses into Stiles's mole-pocked skin, nips at his shoulder blades, licks a trail up his spine.
Stiles finds Peter's hands, covers them both with his own as best he can and digs blunt fingernails into them. “I need you deeper. I need you to fuck me. Hard. I need to feel it, feel you. Mark me, Peter. Make me yours. My husband. My wolf. Please.”
Peter growls, sucking hard on the claiming bite at the base of his mate's neck and reveling in the groan it pulls from the younger man. “Yes,” he hisses through sharp teeth. His vision sharpens as his eyes glow. It's the closest his wolf has ever come to the surface when he's like this—the closest he's allowed his wolf to the surface when he's with Stiles. He supposes that his inner beast can lay claim to his mate just as much as he can. They are one and the same, he and his wolf.
If Stiles trusts him enough like this, it's only fair that he trust himself.
“You'll tell me if I hurt you?” he pleads, shaking his head and snapping his teeth as the beast growls lowly. “If I hurt you too badly?” he amends. Because he has to be honest with himself—the way his wolf is chomping at the bit to fuck his mate the way he wants to, there is going to be hurt. Delicious ache.
“I will,” Stiles promises, his heartbeat steady though the words sound like a lie. He wants this. Needs this.
Peter tightens his hand on Stiles's hip, breathing harshly as he pulls out almost all the way. The slide of skin is delectable, and the noise he makes as he thrusts back into the pliant body, into slick heat, is barbaric. Primal. He'll lose himself soon, and he can only hope that his beast will know to stop if Stiles tells him to.
Stiles gasps at the first hard jerk of Peter's hips. Because it's everything he needs. Everything he wants from his 'wolf, from his mate, from his husband. If not for the hand keeping him in place, he might be halfway across the bed. The thrusts come faster after that, deeper and harder as Peter pulls almost all the way out every time, dragging a litany of moans and curses from Stiles's mouth that he can't control.
“Yes! Peter! There! Fuck! More!”
Peter drives into his mate with abandon, taking his pleasure greedily. The noises Stiles makes spur him on, keep him attuned to what the young man needs from him. He feels something low in his stomach stir, feels heat begin to pool there. He hastens his pace, uses both hands on Stiles's hips to draw the younger man towards himself as he pounds forward into him. He knows where Stiles needs him to come—deep, deep, deep.
Stiles's mouth is open in a silent shout. He barely has sense enough to breathe. Peter forces the younger man's legs apart further, shifts just a bit deeper inside him. Peter's cock slides relentlessly against the bundle of nerves inside him that makes him see stars. He chokes on a scream when he finally comes, his vision whiting out as he clenches around Peter. The man's hips stutter, jerking wildly as his orgasm overtakes him. The noise he makes isn't human as he comes, coating Stiles's insides with glorious warmth.
It takes several long, rough strokes before he's emptied himself in the young man, and several more strokes after that before his cock is sensitive enough to make him stop moving. He stays inside his mate, inside Stiles's warmth, until he's able to catch his breath and come back to himself. His legs wobble as he carefully slides out of the young spark, fingers fumbling to grab the vibrating plug from the nightstand and gently inserting it into Stiles's stretched hole.
“Stiles,” he rasps, voice raw and broken. “Stiles?” The younger man isn't moving, and Peter immediately crawls onto the bed, turning the younger man over and assessing him quickly. Fast but steady heartbeats. Slow, deep breaths. No scents of pain or physical damage. Peter sighs with relief, stroking his spark's flushed face as he hovers over him. “Stiles, my love. Come back to me.” The young man stirs, drawing in a deep breath as his eyelids slowly flutter open. “There you are.”
Stiles blinks his vision into focus, smiling tiredly at the man studying him with worry and guilt and love. So much love. “Hello, husband,” the younger man says quietly, lifting an arm that feels like lead and stringing his fingers into Peter's hair.
“Hello, my beautiful husband,” Peter whispers, peppering the other man's face with feather-light kisses. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”
The spark hums in content, stretching with a wince and a laugh as he clenches around the plug inside him. “Only in all the ways I asked you to,” he says with a sleepy smile. “Thank you, Peter. Thank you for that.”
Peter continues to place kisses on every inch of skin he can reach while tangled up in the young man's limbs. “My sweet spark, you needn't thank me for anything.” He sighs into the crook of Stiles's neck and buries his face there. “In fact, I wish you wouldn't. I don't like the thought of hurting you.”
Stiles continues to run his fingers through the older man's hair. He's only half-aware of what Peter is saying, and he smiles and breathes contentedly, eyes beginning to close.
Peter sits up and shakes the younger man awake. “Darling, I'm going to get us something to drink,” he says slowly, waiting for Stiles to acknowledge the words before continuing, “then we need a shower. And some food.”
“Mm,” Stiles groans in annoyance, frowning and turning towards Peter's warmth. “Tired.”
“I know, my love. But you'll feel much better once you're well-taken care of.”
Stiles grumbles. “You'll feel better.”
Peter chuckles and kisses Stiles's neck in all the places he knows tickle until the spark is trying to wiggle away from him. “We'll both feel better. Come on. Up, sweet boy.”
Peter stands first, grasping Stiles's arms and carefully pulling him until his legs are dangling over the side of the bed and he's sitting up, albeit a little lop-sided. “I'm going to get us something to drink from the fridge. Stay put. Do not try to stand. And do not fall back asleep,” he commands. Stiles nods tiredly but seems aware enough to leave on his own for a moment, so Peter hurries to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water for himself and a bottle of Gatorade for Stiles.
Stiles's eyes are closed when he re-enters the room, but they open quickly when Peter sits beside him on the bed. He opens the Gatorade and helps Stiles take the first few sips to keep from spilling, making sure he downs at least half of the bottle before opening his water and drinking the entire thing in one go. The younger man manages a few more sips, and then Peter sets both bottles on the nightstand, helping Stiles stand slowly and guiding him to the bathroom.
It's large, like the one they have at home. The tiles and walls are brightly colored, meant to catch the light during the day. The shower is also similar, with floor to ceiling glass walls, though the knobs are different, and the shower head is detachable. Peter may have to invest in one for their own shower after finding how much easier it is to help Stiles get clean when he seems barely conscious.
After washing the young man from head to toe, he cleans the vibrating plug and holds it in front of Stiles so he can see it clearly. “Baby, do you want this back in, or would you be more comfortable without it?”
Stiles blinks as he studies the object in question. “In,” he decides with a nod.
Peter smiles and grabs the lube he remembered to bring into the bathroom, using just enough to ease the plug's way but not enough to be uncomfortable. He goes down to his knees, propping Stiles against the shower wall as he lifts one of the young man's legs and nips and licks and kisses a trail along his inner thigh. The plug fits snuggly into Stiles's stretched hole, and the young spark gasps as it goes in, fingernails scratching at Peter's shoulders.
Peter stares up at his mate, lowering his leg gently to prevent it from locking up, then kneading the muscles in his calves and thighs. “You're amazing,” he professes, smiling as Stiles's honey eyes find his stark blues. “Absolutely perfect.” He leans forward and starts a trail of open-mouthed kisses along the younger man's abdomen. “I am in awe of you everyday, my love.”
Stiles's breath hitches, and he shifts as his cock begins to fill. Peter sucks marks into his skin, starting at his hip and working his way down until his nose is buried into the crease where his thigh meets his groin. A particularly sharp nip of teeth followed by a soothing tongue has Stiles at a respectable hardness, considering he's already come twice.
Peter pulls back to inspect his work, finding the younger man's cock nearly hard, and his mouth waters at the sight. He looks up, finding Stiles staring down at him with half-lidded pupil-blown eyes. “Let me,” he says, hands tightening on the spark's hips.
Stringing the fingers of one hand into Peter's hair and tugging as he clenches them into a fist, he nods, taking a deep breath and managing to murmur, “Slow—please.”
The older man nods, opening his mouth and sucking gently on the tip for a few moments. He takes his time swallowing Stiles down, reveling in each inch as it slides into his mouth. When he's bottomed out, lips stretched around the base of Stiles's cock, he hums and pulls back—slow, slow, slow—to the tip again, sucking on it gently and using the tip of his tongue to swirl around the head and lick into the slit until the younger man whines and tugs on Peter's hair. He repeats the actions again and again until Stiles is choking on a strangled cry, coming in the werewolf's mouth. There isn't much, but it's enough for Peter to get a taste of his mate, to savor the headiness of it.
He releases Stiles with a lewd, wet noise, letting the younger man wipe cum and spit from his chin with the pad of his thumb. Peter stands, capturing the spark's lips and kissing him until they both need air. Turning off the shower, Peter leads Stiles through the glass door and onto the bath mat, toweling both of them off before taking the younger man back into the bedroom. After taking the comforter off the bed and throwing it in one corner of the room, Peter sits Stiles on the bed and gives him the same instruction as before—Do not fall asleep. He finds a clean comforter and grabs a sliced fruit plate from the fridge.
There's a television mounted into the wall across from the bed, and once Peter has them both settled beneath the blanket, he turns on an old black and white film. They manage to finish half the plate before exhaustion conquers them both, and they fall asleep before Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall kiss for the very first time.
0 o 0 o 0
Stiles wakes in the early hours of the morning before the sun is up, breathing deeply and stretching the ache from his muscles. He gasps as his body compulsively clenches around the plug inside him, sighing when warm arms wrap around him from behind.
“Good morning,” Peter rumbles into his ear, and the pit of Stiles's stomach stirs.
“Mm,” he hums, turning in his mate's arms and slinging a leg over the man's hip. “Good morning, Peter.”
Peter's arms tighten, pulling Stiles flush against him as he burrows his nose into the younger man's hair. “How do you feel, my love?”
Stiles smiles tiredly, kissing one corner of Peter's mouth. “Amazing,” he sighs, tilting his head back as the older man licks and nips at his neck. “Wonderful.” He whimpers when Peter fits a hand around one of his ass cheeks, kneading the muscles there as he starts to slowly rut against him. “Happy.”
Peter raises his head, studying the spark's honey eyes as the younger man smiles sweetly back at him.
Stiles runs his fingers through the other man's hair. “You make me happy, Peter,” he whispers, mouth dropping open and eyes fluttering shut as the werewolf continues to move his hips. “You make me so happy.”
“Oh, my love,” Peter breathes, rolling the younger man onto his back and pressing him into the mattress with the warm weight of himself. “I cannot begin to express how happy you make me, how much my life has changed for the better because of you. I owe you everything. Everything. And I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” Stiles shudders beneath him, fingernails digging into Peter's shoulders. “What can I do for you, my spark? My flame? My light? Tell me. Anything.”
Gasping and writhing, Stiles manages to center his gaze on the perfect blue of the other man's eyes. “Make love to me, husband,” he pleads, and Peter at once surges forward and captures Stiles's lips with his own. He kisses Stiles as he gently removes the plug from inside him, nips and licks his way across the younger man's jaw as he coats his fingers with lube from the bottle on the nightstand and stretches him open just a bit further.
Peter slides into Stiles with ease, holding himself still as he bottoms out and reveling in the pulsing heat of his mate. “I love you, Stiles,” he says breathlessly. “I love you with every part of myself. Every broken piece that you've managed to put back together. You are everything to me.”
Stiles's chest shudders, and his fingers tremble as he frames Peter's face. “I love you so much, Peter. I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Peter captures the young man's lips with his own, starting a slow and steady rhythm with his hips as he moves in Stiles, mirroring the thrusts with his tongue. They move together, panting into each other's mouths when they need to break for air, losing themselves in one another. Peter makes Stiles come, again and again, until the younger man's stomach gurgles with hunger.
The older man laughs, kissing Stiles's neck and panting as he lifts himself up off of the young spark. “I'll find us something to eat.”
Stiles hums and stretches, nodding with a content smile on his lips. “I need to pee,” he confesses, and Peter laughs again.
“I'll let you handle that,” he says, getting out of the bed and heading towards the door. “Be right back.”
Stiles watches him leave, reveling in the afterglow of multiple orgasms. With a groan, he forces himself to get up, hissing between his teeth when his ass throbs in protest. He has to limp to the bathroom, leaning against the door frame before he enters and breathing through the pain.
“Stiles?” Peter calls from the hallway. “Are you all right? Do you need help?”
The younger man chuckles, taking a deep breath and letting it whoosh out of his lungs in a contented sort of way. “I'm fine,” he says, tone quiet. “Just sore.”
“Okay,” Peter says after a moment. “Let me know if you need anything. Just a few more minutes and I'll be back.”
Stiles pushes forward into the bathroom, wavering as he uses the toilet and taking his time to wash his hands. He uses a washcloth to clean the cum dripping down his thighs and splattered across his stomach, then leaves the bathroom on coltish legs. Peter isn't back, but the gift from Erica, Lydia, and Kira still sits on the dresser.
He slides the ribbon off the box and lifts the lid. Inside, wrapped in dark tissue paper, are two silk sets of lingerie, one cherry-red and the other a deep black.
The young man's breath catches. Each set comes with panties, stockings, a garter belt, and a corset. The note certainly makes sense now. How in the hell did they even know his size? Stiles closes the box and shoves it into the top dresser drawer, cheeks heating as he thinks about the women picking the items for him.
Fuck. Peter might actually wolf-out at the sight of him.
Footsteps in the hallway bring him back from his thoughts, and he watches Peter enter the room with a large tray. It has bagels slathered in cream cheese, fruit topped with whipped cream, and what looks like freshly-squeezed juice. Stiles's stomach gives another gurgle at the sight, and he smiles, letting Peter set the tray on the bed before sitting on top of the covers. The sheets are a mess. He wonders how many they'll go through before the end of their stay.
As they eat, Peter tells him everything there is to do on the island. The older man has been here a few times before—mostly for business, as this is where many of his clients tend to spend their time. Stiles listens while he chews, humming when something peaks his interest. He lets Peter feed him fruit, sucking the man's fingers into his mouth and smiling around each bite as Peter's eyes go dark.
“I might keep you to myself for another day or two before we venture out,” the werewolf says lowly.
Stiles kisses him with pineapple juice on his lips. He doesn't mind that at all.
0 o 0 o 0
Stiles stretches in the pool-side lounge chair just outside the villa, arms resting above his head and eyes closed behind a pair of aviator sunglasses. The sun is just overhead, warming his skin as a cool ocean breeze flutters through his hair. He can't remember the last time he felt this relaxed—was allowed to feel this relaxed.
He likes what he does, likes making a difference in the world and being apart of a pack. But sometimes the weight of it is daunting, makes him weary down to his bones. He didn't realize he needed this time away until this moment. All the traveling and monster-hunting and spell-casting falls away from his mind, sloughs from his limbs like mud, and leaves him...content.
The young spark hears Peter climb out of the pool, water slapping against the ground as he makes his way towards him. “You need another coat of sunscreen,” the werewolf comments. “Your shoulders are turning pink.”
Stiles hums thoughtfully but doesn't have it in him to move. His chair dips at his side as Peter sits beside him, and the younger man shivers at the feel of cool lotion as its massaged into his skin. “Thanks,” he murmurs, sighing as Peter's hands fall away.
“Do you want to get into the pool and cool down?” the older man offers.
Stiles shakes his head minutely, bringing one arm down and blindly finding Peter's hand. “I'm okay.”
Gentle fingers string through his hair. “Are you sure?”
Peter's tone makes Stiles open his eyes, and he finds a worried look on the other man's face. He smiles and squeezes the hand in his. “Just enjoying not being on edge for once,” he explains quietly, a shuddering sigh falling past his lips. “I don't think my mind knows what to do when I don't have a thousand thoughts running through it at full speed.”
Peter's concerned expression melts into fond empathy. “I'll let you relax then, sweetheart. Will you do me a favor and drink some water first?” He reaches into the cooler beside them and pulls a bottle of water out of the ice, twisting the top off and handing it to the younger man.
Stiles drinks more than half of it in one go, the coolness of it a balm on his tongue and throat. “Mm. Thanks, babe.”
Peter kisses the corner of his mouth and nuzzles his cheek. “I'll be nearby. Let me know if you need anything.”
With a slight nod, the younger man closes his eyes, listening to Peter stand and walk back towards the house. “You were right,” he murmurs around a yawn before huffing in amusement, “these shorts make my ass look amazing.” Stiles hears a bark of laughter from the house before he dozes off.
0 o 0 o 0
They go into town on the third day.
Stiles relaxes into the passenger seat of the convertible, arms stretched over the back of the seat above his head as he revels in the warmth of the sun. He doesn't think his skin has seen so much daylight in all his life. The overload of Vitamin D is glorious. The sound of the car's engine and the soft crooning of jazz on the radio and the call of seagulls overhead lull him into a light doze.
“You look beautiful like that,” Peter says from the driver's seat, and the younger man smiles.
“Do I?” he asks. Fingers ghost across his thigh, rubbing the exposed skin just below his cargo shorts.
“Absolutely gorgeous.”
Stiles hums and turns his head to look at the other man through his sunglasses. “You're not so bad yourself.” Peter smiles wolfishly, squeezing the younger man's knee before shifting the car into second gear. Stiles turns in his seat, leaning towards the other man and running his lips along Peter's jaw, placing a kiss just below the man's ear. “You're really fucking hot, actually.” He bites down on the werewolf's earlobe, and the car jerks a bit. “Is there a scenic route we can take before we get to town?”
Peter's breath shudders from him. “I know of several.”
“Good,” Stiles says, fingers slowly trailing down the man's chest and ghosting over the growing bulge in his pants. “I suggest you take one.”
0 o 0 o 0
Georgetown is brimming with tourists. The crowds are something Stiles isn't really used to, but the noise of people talking and laughing amidst the sounds of street corner musicians and the calls of food cart vendors doesn't unnerve him as much as he thought it might.
He and Peter enjoy some fresh cold coconut water from a fruit stand. The Island Plaza has a cluster of restaurants and shops with lots of little trinkets and souvenirs. They eat at a highly-reviewed seafood restaurant, and Stiles has some of the best coconut shrimp he's ever tasted in his life. Peter takes him to a gelato shop for dessert. The place is busy, and the line goes out the door, but the older man insists it's worth the wait. And it is. Stiles gets mango and lemon, and Peter gets banana and coconut. Stiles likes the coconut one the best.
The beach front is busy, but they manage to find a bench to sit on to enjoy the gelato before it melts entirely. Once they're finished, they find a trashcan to toss their empty paper cups and spoons into, then lazily walk along the beach, fingers tangled together as they hold hands. Stiles snaps a few pictures of the beach on his phone to send to the pack later, then takes several more of himself and Peter. They both look happy. Stiles sets his favorite one as his phone's background.
They find a little bar and grill dive that serves greasy, fried food, and Stiles falls in love with their curly fries immediately. The noises he makes while eating them have Peter's pupils blowing wide. They end up following a crowd of people to a pedestrian street that has live music. Strings of lights flicker on around them as the sun disappears, and they dance and laugh and kiss amidst the drunken tourists like they're the only ones on the street.
Peter takes them back to the villa and fucks Stiles slowly in the shower, kissing every inch of skin he can get his mouth on. The younger man arches and gasps, trembling under Peter's lips and tongue and teeth. He comes in the shower. And in the kitchen. And in the bed. Then falls asleep with his mate wrapped around him, warm and exhausted and oh-so loved.
0 o 0 o 0
Stiles stares at himself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, turning right, then left, then all the way around and assessing himself from over his shoulder.
Fuck, he looks hot.
Cherry-red fabric clings to him like a second skin. The mesh stockings are soft on his calves and thighs, the garter belt holding them in place easily. The silk panties are snug and well-fitted over the curve of his ass, exposing the bottom half of his cheeks. The slight hour-glass effect of the corset has him running his hands up and down his sides over the stretchy material. It's surprisingly easy to breathe in, despite how tight it looks. But he supposes that's the point—he wouldn't want to pass out from lack of oxygen while being fucked, would he?
“Does it look all right?” he asks, breaking his gaze away from the mirror and turning towards his phone, which sits propped on the bathroom counter. Lydia, Erica, and Kira stare back at him from the split video chat on the screen.
Stiles hadn't planned on calling them for input, but he also hadn't planned on having no clue how to actually wear any of the garments the three women had gifted him. Lydia has, of course, been the most helpful and concise about telling him how the lingerie should look on him. Erica has been his hype-woman since the moment they began the call, wolf-whistling and cat-calling and making general high-pitched noises of delight. And Kira has been a constant relaxing presence, balancing the blonde's lewd comments with encouraging and complimenting ones of her own.
“Stiles, you are smoking hot!” Erica blurts loudly, her camera jerking violently as she falls back on her couch. “You have to send me a picture.”
The spark snorts and raises an eyebrow. “I don't think Boyd will appreciate a picture of me wearing lingerie in your phone.”
“You have no idea what Boyd appreciates,” the blonde says with a toothy grin. “It's fine. I've already screen-shotted so many times.”
“Erica!” Stiles scolds, picking up his phone and holding it at face-height to hide himself from view.
“Joking!”
“You fucking better be,” Stiles mutters with a frown, releasing a breath in a stuttered gust. “Peter will be back soon. I should go.”
“You got this, hot stuff!” Erica says.
“You look amazing, Stiles! Peter is going to love it!” Kira encourages.
“The black set is similar, but call if you need help with that one, too,” Lydia offers primly.
“Thank you, guys. Seriously.” Stiles waves and ends the chat, looking himself over again and mussing his hair a bit before snapping a few selfies at some flattering angles that show off the lingerie. He'll send them to Peter later, once he's surprised him—and hopefully after several rounds of glorious sex.
His phone vibrates with a text message.
On my way back. 5 min, my love.
Stiles's heart rate rockets as he replies with a simple heart emoji before he steps out of the bathroom and does his best to arrange the lighting in the bedroom. He sits on the end of the bed, trying a few different positions and settling on crossing one leg over the other and leaning back on the palms of his hands so that the corset is in plain view.
He focuses on breathing and calming his nerves until he hears the front door open, Peter calling his name. “In the bedroom,” he responds, listening to the shuffling of paper bags and the opening and closing of the refrigerator before footsteps sound in the hallway.
“I was able to find a pint of that coconut gelato you like,” the older man says conversationally. “What would you say to dessert before dinner, my love?” The last word stutters on Peter's tongue as he appears in the doorway, the pint of gelato and a spoon falling from his hands.
Stiles watches the items clatter to the floor with a sense of satisfaction. Their dessert is going to melt—what a shame. He glances back up at Peter, who has a grip so tight on the door frame that the wood is creaking beneath his clawed fingers. “Hello, husband,” the spark says softly, smirking as the older man's gaze wanders over him. Peter's mouth opens and closes a few times, but words seem to fail him, which delights Stiles to no end—and also does wonders for his self-confidence. “Peter Hale, I don't think I've ever seen you so speechless.”
The older man releases a punched-out noise, making his way into the room and dropping to his knees in front of the spark. “Oh, my darling,” he says breathlessly, the fingertips of one hand ghosting up Stiles's calf from his ankle, “I don't think in all the world there is anyone or anything that could render me as speechless as you do.”
Stiles gasps as Peter grips the back of his knee and slowly, slowly, slowly uncrosses his legs, spreading them to better look at the younger man. “Do you like it, Peter?” he whispers, head tilting as he watches his mate's gaze rove over him.
“You look...” Peter breathes out sharply and shakes his head as he drinks in the sight of his spark. “I want to say 'exquisite,' but that doesn't seem to be enough.” He meets Stiles's honey-amber eyes with awe and wonder. “Divine. Immaculate. Flawless. Delectable.” His hands slide up the younger man's thighs and hips, curling around the corset at his waist. “You are, without question, the most beautiful being I have ever encountered on this earth.”
There is a flush in Stiles's cheeks as he leans forward, placing a curled finger under Peter's chin and urging him towards himself. Peter's lips part in anticipation, but the younger man stops a mere inch from his mouth, smirking as he says, “That's not what I asked, husband.”
Peter huffs with an incredulous laugh, taking Stiles's hand and pressing kisses into his palm and his wrist before centering his gaze on the spark's bright eyes. “Yes, Stiles,” he whispers, chest shuddering as he fights for air. “I like it very, very much.”
Stiles's expression softens, and he places a chaste kiss on the older man's lips. “Show me,” he commands breathlessly, his body suddenly trembling with need and ache and want. “Show me how much you like it.”
Peter surges forward, capturing the young man's mouth as he rises from his knees to lay Stiles back on the bed. He trails down the spark's jaw and neck, sucking and biting as he pulls whimpers and moans from his mate's throat. Stiles cries out when Peter wraps his lips around one of his nipples, rolling the bud between his teeth and flicking the tip of his tongue across it again and again until the younger man is practically sobbing. He laves at it with the flat of his tongue before starting a trail of wet kisses to the other nipple and giving it the same attention.
Stiles's hand clenches in Peter's hair, tugging as he writhes and arches his back and drags heaving breaths into his lungs. “Peter!” he gasps, moaning when the man slides back onto to his knees at the end of the bed, spreading Stiles's legs wide. The younger man bucks his hips, raising his arms and gripping the comforter on either side of his head in white-knuckled fists. Peter tugs at the elastic of one stocking with his teeth, pulling at it before letting it snap back against the younger man's thigh.
Stiles jolts at the sensation, whimpering and moaning as Peter starts to trail open-mouthed kisses up his inner thigh. The werewolf buries his nose in the crease where the younger man's leg meets his groin, inhaling sharply before sucking and licking and nipping at the sensitive skin there. Stiles cries out, his whole body trembling as the sensations make tears prick the backs of his eyes. “Fuck! Peter, that—ah!—that feels so good! Keep—ngh!—Keep doing that!”
Peter does, making a beautiful line of dark marks along the spot. Then he mouths at the hard line of the younger man's cock through the silk panties, cupping Stiles's balls and rolling them in his hand. The young spark doesn't last long, fingers twisted in the comforter and his back arching as he comes with a shout of Peter's name. He shivers and whimpers as Peter continues to lick at him until he's completely spent, a wet spot appearing on the underwear.
“All right, my love?” Peter asks, pressing kisses into Stiles's abdomen and hip as he kneads the younger man's thighs.
“Mm,” Stiles hums, eyes closed as he brings a trembling hand down to stroke through Peter's hair. “Take your clothes off, husband.”
Peter stutters on a breath, standing and removing his clothing quickly. Stiles gets up onto his elbows, using his feet to move himself further onto the bed towards the headboard as Peter climbs onto the bed after him. The older man slots himself between Stiles's legs, pressing him into the mattress and groaning at the feel of the garments against his bare skin. Peter ducks his head and kisses Stiles's neck over and over, chuckling when the young spark flips them so that he's straddling the werewolf.
Stiles sits up and smirks down at the older man, the sound of a cap popping open loud in the quiet of the bedroom. “Lie still,” the spark commands, pouring a generous amount of lube in his hand and reaching behind him to coat Peter's full cock. Peter is so lost in the slide of Stiles's hand on him that he doesn't realize the younger man has raised himself up, moving aside the fabric covering his hole, and lined himself up with his cock until he's impaling himself on it.
“Stiles—” Peter startles, hands fluttering to the younger man's sides in anticipation of stopping him, but he soon realizes the ease in which Stiles is sliding onto him, the pure pleasure on the younger man's face as he fully encases the werewolf's throbbing cock.
“Oh, baby,” Peter says breathlessly, hands sliding down to grip Stiles's hips as he shifts inside the younger man, “did you stretch yourself for me already?”
Stiles circles his hips with a groan, eyes fluttering shut. “Didn't want to wait.”
Peter runs his hands up and down the fabric of the corset over and over. “Take your time, my love. Whatever you need from me, it's yours.”
Stiles moves on Peter's cock slowly at first, finding his balance with the corset. The garment forces his back to stay straight, and the posture makes the angles he can manage a little awkward. But with a little shifting of his legs, he finds a position that's comfortable and starts to ride the man more eagerly.
“You're doing so good, baby,” Peter pants, hands rubbing Stiles's thighs as he moves. “You feel amazing. Take what you need, sweetheart. Just like that.” Peter grunts as the younger man's pace starts to quicken, as moans and whimpers tumble past his lips. “You're so tight, so perfect for me. Stiles, you look so beautiful like this, so beautiful when I'm inside you.” The older man shakes with the effort of staying still, of keeping himself from fucking up into his spark's delicious heat.
“Peter,” Stiles gasps, leaning back and bracing his hands on the man's thighs as he fucks himself on his mate's cock. He cries out, his back arching and pleasure jolting up his spine with the new angle.
“That's it,” Peter encourages, breath shuddering as heat pools into his stomach. “Say my name. Say it until you come.”
Stiles moans Peter's name again and again like a prayer, his head falling back and exposing the curve of his neck. The sight makes Peter growl low in his throat. “Fuck, you feel so good,” the younger man pants, pulling himself up until the rim of his hole clenches around the tip of Peter's cock, then slamming himself back down again and crying out. “So deep, Peter. You're so fucking deep. Oh my God, it feels so good!”
Stiles's hips stutter, and he shouts as he comes, tightening around the other man. His pace falters for only a moment as he revels in the pleasure coursing through him, but he recovers quickly, continuing to move despite the aching sensitivity.
“Come in me, babe. Please, I need to feel you inside me.” Peter fists the fabric of Stiles's stockings, claws tearing through them like paper. “Come for me, husband,” Stiles demands.
And Peter does, throwing his head back and loosing a guttural howl. Stiles moves on top of the older man until Peter's hands flutter to his hips, gripping tight to make him stop. The spark falls forward, chest pressed flush against Peter's as he pants into the older man's neck.
“Holy shit,” he says breathlessly, and Peter manages a weak chuckle.
“Agreed.”
They stay like that for several moments, breathing and trembling against one another, until Stiles speaks. “Will you stay inside me?” he asks quietly, shifting a little to get more comfortable and clenching around the other man's soft cock. “Until you get hard again?”
Peter wraps his arms around the younger man and holds him tightly as he presses kisses into his hair. “I will certainly make a valiant effort, my love—but it's highly possible we may have found my stamina's breaking point.”
Stiles hums and sighs in content, reaching down and running his fingers over the tears in his stockings. “I'll have to invest in more of these if this is the state you're going to leave them in every time.”
Peter suddenly flips them, pressing Stiles into the mattress and groaning as his cock twitches inside the younger man, already regaining interest. “I'll get you as many as you like, as long as I get to tear them off of you.”
Stiles shudders, jerking his hips and gasping at the sensation of Peter growing hard inside of him. “Deal.” He arches and whimpers as Peter pulls out a few inches and rocks back into him gently, setting his gaze on the man as he circles his shoulders with his arms. “I love you, Peter.”
Peter kisses his mate, soft and slow, as he moves in him. “I love you, my sweet husband.”
They take their time with one another the rest of the night, enjoying the feeling of being together—and also forgetting entirely about the melted gelato near the bedroom door.
0 o 0 o 0
Stiles groans as Peter rubs sunscreen into his back and shoulders and arms. The younger man lies on his stomach, Peter straddling his hips as he works the lotion into his skin. Peter rented a boat for them earlier in the day, and they've been out all afternoon enjoying the sun and the water, swimming and snorkeling and sun-bathing on the deck.
Peter leans down and presses a kiss to the claiming mark on the back of his neck. “Make more noises like that, and I won't be held responsible for what it makes me do to you.”
The spark hums and sighs, shifting his hips up just a fraction and smirking when it gets the reaction he wants. “If you want to be the one to explain to Derek why he's bailing us out of jail over the phone for public indecency charges, then be my guest, babe.”
Peter continues to kiss a trail along the younger man's neck. “Worth it.” Stiles laughs and turns his head just enough over his shoulder so that Peter can capture his lips. The werewolf ruts into him from behind, slow at first then picking up the pace more and more as he starts to get hard.
Stiles turns and presses his forehead into the towel beneath him, bracing himself as he makes small noises to urge the man on. His own cock fills inside his swim shorts, trapped between himself and the boat's deck. Peter groans and growls low in his throat, murmuring all the things Stiles loves to hear when the older man takes pleasure from him.
Peter tells him he's beautiful, gorgeous, sexy. He says that Stiles was made for him, that they fit together so wonderfully, that he feels amazing when Peter is inside him. And there is no one else in the world that completes him this perfectly.
Stiles feels the same. He feels so incredibly lucky to have this.
Peter's hips jerk roughly as he comes, and he moves against Stiles until he's completely spent, taking only a moment to find his breath before flipping the younger man onto his back and sliding down to the tent in Stiles's shorts. The werewolf glances up at Stiles for a moment before pulling the swim shorts down just enough to free the young man's cock. He swallows it down instantly, bobbing his head in a relentless rhythm that makes Stiles writhe and cry out, fingers tangling in Peter's hair. It takes only moments before he's coming down the man's throat, trembling and panting as his limbs go boneless.
Peter releases him and pulls the shorts back up to rest just under Stiles's hipbones, then starts a trail with his tongue up the young man's abdomen, his chest, his neck, and finally bringing their mouths together in wet, open kisses. “How was that, my beautiful husband?”
Stiles sighs happily, wrapping his arms around the man and pulling him down on top of him. “Worth the jail time.”
0 o 0 o 0
Over the second week, they explore the island little by little—as often as Peter will allow Stiles out of bed, anyway. The older man finds a motor museum, where several exotic cars are on display. The spark manages to find a bookstore that has a few older tomes that catch his interest. They go to several different restaurants and eat enough gelato to make them feel like bursting. Stiles opts to gather seashells from the beach for the pack, rather than buy silly trinkets from the souvenir shops—though he does get a magnet shaped like a naked woman for Erica (she'd requested something 'scandalous,' and it seems to fit the bill).
They go on walks down the beach in front of their villa, splash in the cool, clear water, and make out in the sand like couples do in the movies—it's not as romantic when sand gets into places where sand really shouldn't be. They dance under the stars outside by the fire pit late at night—Stiles laughs when Peter picks him up and swings him around while singing along to 'Fooled Around and Fell in Love' as it plays on the outdoor speaker system.
The young man discovers he has a massive outdoor-sex kink. Peter fucks him in the pool—and Lord does the young spark hope that they drain and clean it in between guests. Stiles rides the man on one of the pool-side chairs. Peter blows him on the hood of the convertible, and Stiles repays the favor by sucking the man off during a drive along the beach. The two of them end up spending an entire day lounging on the couch, tangled around one another, just to recuperate.
As the weekend draws closer, Peter asks if Stiles wants to extend their stay for another week, or if he's feeling a little homesick. The younger man is quiet for several moments, tightening his grip on the arms wrapped around him from behind and letting Peter stroke fingers through his hair as he decides.
“Can I think about it?” he asks softly, closing his eyes and humming as Peter presses a kiss to the claiming bite on the back of his neck. Not that he wouldn't enjoy another week in this beautiful place with the man he loves more than life itself—but the tethers of their pack twinge uncomfortably more and more the longer they're away. Derek is almost certainly starting to get antsy in their absence.
“Of course, my love,” Peter says, and Stiles relaxes, sighing as he falls asleep in his mate's arms.
0 o 0 o 0
The black silk lingerie set is somewhat similar to the red, like Lydia mentioned, except that the stockings have more of a fishnet pattern and the panties reveal much more of his ass—honestly, they may as well be a thong with the amount of material they're made of. The corset is the same style but the material is less stretchy—it curves a little more firmly at his waist. Stiles manages to put the outfit on without assistance, scrutinizing himself quickly in the bathroom mirror and snapping a few photos to send to Peter later.
It's possible that the younger man likes the look of the black set more than the red.
With one last steadying breath, he makes his way into the bedroom and then out into the hallway, through the kitchen, and finally towards the living room, where Peter sits on the couch with a book, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. “How was your shower, darling?” the older man asks distractedly, gaze still glued to his book.
The spark walks up behind the couch and runs his fingers through Peter's hair lightly, smiling when it elicits a content sigh from the man. “Wonderful.”
Peter hums. “What would you like to do this evening?”
Stiles slides his fingers out of the man's hair and circles the couch with slow, determined steps, watching Peter's reaction out of the corner of his eye as he comes into the man's view. The werewolf's breath catches, and the book in his hand drops to the couch beside him. Stiles looks down with a coy smile and turns in a slow circle, letting the man see all of him.
With a small breath, he faces Peter, raising his chin enough to look at the man through his eyelashes. “What would you like me to do, husband?”
Peter's mouth opens, but no words escape him.
“Do you want me on my knees for you, Peter?”
The werewolf has enough sense to nod, saying, “Yes, my love. I want that very much.”
Stiles goes down to his hands and knees, crawling towards Peter then spreading the man's legs so that he can slide between them. His hands glide up Peter's bare thighs, fingertips playing with the elastic of his boxers and tugging at them.
Peter lifts his hips and allows the younger man to remove them, hissing sharply when Stiles licks a wet stripe from the base of his cock to the tip. The spark uses his saliva to stroke Peter until he's achingly hard, then wraps his lips around him and swallows him down. Stiles spreads his knees, sticking his ass up a bit to give Peter a good view of him while he bobs on the man's cock.
Peter alternately runs his fingers through Stiles's hair and down the length of his back over the corset. “So good, baby. You feel so good. Your mouth—the things you can do with it.” He groans as Stiles swirls his tongue around the length of him, hollows his cheeks and hums with Peter deep in his throat. His pace is relentless, and Peter's fingers clutch at Stiles's hair as warmth builds in the pit of his stomach. “Just thinking of you with my cum on your lips, on your tongue, in your throat. My claim inside you. Making you mine.”
Stiles moans around the man, holding himself at the base of Peter's cock and swallowing again and again until the older man shouts with his release. He pulls back and bobs up and down until Peter is finished, letting cum coat his tongue and dribble down his chin. Peter's eyes flare blueblueblue at the sight, and he rubs his thumb through the mess on the younger man's face, pushing it into Stiles's mouth and watching him suck the digit down to the last knuckle.
“Gorgeous,” Peter murmurs.
Stiles releases the man's thumb with a lewd, wet noise and climbs onto the couch, straddling Peter's lap and running his hands up and down the man's heaving chest as he attempts to catch his breath. “Still alive, Peter?” he asks softly, smiling when the man opens his eyes and meets his gaze.
“Barely,” Peter chuckles, placing his hands on either side of Stiles's face and kissing him breathless. He pants against his lips for several moments before whispering, “And what would you like me to do for you, my beautiful husband?”
Leaning away, Stiles grabs Peter's cellphone from the side table and unlocks it with the pin number. He opens the app that controls the vibrating plug, then hands the phone to the man and leans forward, pressing his lips to the shell of his mate's ear. “Make me feel good, Peter,” he whispers, sitting back on the man's thighs and linking his fingers behind Peter's neck.
The older man releases a shuddering breath, running his free hand up Stiles's side and digging his fingers into the corset. “Anything for you, my love.” He presses his thumb to the screen, sliding it in a circular motion until the plug inside the younger man begins to vibrate on the lowest setting.
Stiles gasps and arches, eyebrows drawing together as he keeps his gaze on the older man. Peter slowly intensifies the vibrations, pulling moans and breathy noises from the spark. The scent of pleasure comes off of him in waves, making Peter's nostrils flare and his eyes glow brightly. The older man jumps the intensity up suddenly, and Stiles's hips jerk forward as he cries out.
Peter groans at the feel of the silk on his spent cock, his free hand sliding down to Stiles's ass and squeezing as he encourages the younger man to keep moving. Stiles does, hands shifting to Peter's shoulders while he slides into the man's hips over and over.
“Perfect,” Peter pants, letting Stiles move against him at his own pace. “Sweetheart, you're so beautiful. The noises you make—I want to hear them. I want to drag them out of you. Every gorgeous moan. Let me hear them, my love.”
Stiles's mouth drops open, and he releases a litany of obscene noises, hips jerking sporadically as Peter plays with the plug's vibrations—the intensities and the rhythms. He releases a hand from the man's shoulder, reaching behind and bracing himself on one of Peter's knees as he leans back to change the angle of his thrusts. His head falls back, exposing his neck. “Peter! Peter, please, I need more!”
Peter obliges, raising the intensity of the plug's vibrations to the highest level, feeling them in his fingers as he squeezes the younger man's ass. Stiles whines, high and broken, rutting against Peter roughly and clenching around the plug as he comes. Peter shuts the plug off, turning and pressing the young man into the couch. He jerks his hips, sliding his cock along the crease where Stiles's groin and thigh meet until he comes again with a choked-off groan.
They lay together and breathe, until Peter notices the clench of the younger man's jaw, his eyebrows drawn together as he digs blunt fingernails into the older man's arm. “What's wrong?” he asks quickly.
Stiles arches his back with a small noise of discomfort, fingers fumbling at the clasps on the side of the corset. “Help me get this off.”
Instead of going for the clasps, Peter immediately unsheathes a claw and rips the material down the side seam, careful not to scratch the younger man's skin. “Are you all right? Can you breathe?”
Stiles sighs in relief, nodding and running the backs of his fingers along Peter's cheekbone. “I'm fine. It's just a little tighter than the red one—the fabric doesn't stretch as much.”
Peter frowns and runs his fingertips over the small marks on Stiles's chest and sides made by the corset in the short amount of time he was wearing it. “As much as I adore the presentation, if you should choose to wear a corset again, perhaps we should make a habit of removing it before any...strenuous activity.”
Stiles hums in agreement, smiling as he says, “Just the corset, though.”
Peter growls and lifts one of Stiles's legs so that he can run the tip of his nose down the garter strap and use his teeth to nip at the elastic hem of the stocking. “No objections to that, my dear.”
0 o 0 o 0
Stiles leans back on the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the breakfast bar behind him and legs crossed at the knee, as he watches Peter cook them breakfast. The younger man is wearing a combination of the lingerie sets—the black garter belt and stockings with the red panties. Lydia had left very detailed instructions on how to clean them so they wouldn't be ruined (and they had, of course, needed several cleanings). The red corset is somewhere in the bedroom, ripped to shreds because Peter couldn't be bothered with the clasps on that one either.
Stiles isn't altogether sure how these last few garments have managed to survive Peter's claws, but he's sure that as soon as they have access to more, they'll undoubtedly meet their own untimely demise. Beside him, his phone vibrates, and he unlocks the front screen to read the text message. “It's Derek,” he says when Peter glances over at him. “Wants us to call when we have a moment. Just to check in.”
Peter snorts and flips the omelet on the stove by tossing it in the air and catching it in the frying pan. “It has been two weeks since we last spoke.”
Stiles smiles and hits the call button on the screen beside Derek's name and puts it on speaker. “Hey, Der,” he says when the Alpha answers. “How's it going?”
“Good,” Derek says, and he sounds like he means it. “How's the honeymoon?”
“Awesome,” Stiles says, bouncing one leg and giving Peter a toothy grin. “Did you see the pictures I sent?”
“Yeah, it looks like you two are having fun.” Derek chuckles. “Thank you for calling. I just needed to...hear you, I guess.” The unspoken and ask when you're coming home hangs in the silence that follows.
“No worries, man,” the spark says, watching Peter slide the omelet onto a plate beside the first one he'd made. “So, I think we're gonna stay another week.” Peter shuts off the stove and glances over at him with a raised eyebrow. “Probably head home next Saturday. Cool?”
“Sounds good,” Derek says, relief in his tone. “Is Peter there?”
Peter crowds into Stiles's space, uncrossing the younger man's legs and settling between them. “I'm here,” he says, sounding for all the world like he's doing nothing more than reading a book. “Hello, nephew.”
“Hey, Peter. Everything good?”
The older man smiles, running his hands up Stiles's sides. The spark bites his bottom lip to keep from making noise. “Couldn't be better.”
“Glad to hear,” Derek says. “I'll see you both in a week.”
“Bye, Der,” Stiles manages a little breathlessly, ending the call and dropping the phone to put his hands on Peter's shoulders.
“Another week?” Peter asks, dipping his head to kiss at the younger man's neck.
Stiles raises his chin to give the man better access. “Yeah,” he gasps, thighs squeezing at Peter's sides as the werewolf grabs Stiles's ass and pulls him to the edge of the counter. “Hope that's all right.”
Peter growls low in his throat, thrusting his hips into the younger man's and watching with satisfaction as Stiles's mouth falls open with a moan. “I'll call and make arrangements,” he says, hands kneading the younger man's ass so hard they're bound to leave bruises. In an instant, he has Stiles on his feet, spun around to face the counter, and bent over with his forearms braced against the flat surface.
“Fuck,” Stiles says as Peter drops to his knees behind him, nipping and licking at the backs of his thighs. The younger man's legs quiver, and Peter smiles against his mate's skin.
He pulls the panties down just below Stiles's ass cheeks, spreading them and pressing the flat of his tongue against the young man's stretched hole. Stiles cries out and jerks his hips forward, and Peter's grip on him tightens to keep him in place. He laves at the young man over and over until he's whimpering and writhing and begging, then he uses the tip of his tongue to circle Stiles's rim a few times before delving into him with a groan.
Stiles tastes like cum and flavored lube—they'd tried a strawberry one earlier that Peter seems to like. He clenches around Peter's tongue and moves his hips backwards to force him deeper. Peter removes his tongue and sucks at the younger man's hole while Stiles makes frustrated noises.
“Peter!” he chokes out, gasping and panting as the older man suddenly has him spun around again, ripping the panties away with a clawed hand. Stiles shouts as Peter immediately swallows his cock to the base, lifting one of the younger man's legs up and resting it over his shoulder as he sinks two fingers into him. Stiles scrabbles to find purchase against the counter, fingers finally gripping the edge hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “Fuck!” His head falls back as Peter works him roughly, moans and breathy noises tumbling from his mouth as pleasure ripples up his spine.
Stiles looks down and whimpers at the sight of Peter's lips wrapped around him, bobbing on his cock relentlessly. He snakes a shaking hand into the man's hair and grips tight, tugging until he stops and pulls off of him. “Peter,” he breathes, panting harshly as his mate looks up at him questioningly. “I want to come with you inside me. Please, husband.”
Peter stands at once capturing the younger man's mouth with his own and searching blindly for the lube that he knows is somewhere on the counter. His fingers fumble over the bottle as Stiles kisses him desperately, tugging at the man's lips with his teeth and shoving his tongue into his mouth over and over. Peter tugs his boxers down just enough to free his straining cock, coating himself messily before lifting the young man against the counter. He slides into the tight heat of his mate with a low, throaty noise, holding himself still for only a moment before starting a punishing rhythm with his hips.
Stiles's mouth drops open, his eyebrows furrowing as he looses moan after moan. The noises spur Peter on, and he digs his fingers into the younger man's ass, thrusting hard against Stiles's sweet spot until the spark shouts with his release. Stiles pants and whimpers as Peter continues to pound into him several more times before coming with a growl.
The younger man digs his fingers into the older man's shoulders, leaning forward to kiss and lick and nip at the claiming mark on Peter's neck as the man breathes heavily against him. Peter grabs the hair at the back of Stiles's head and tugs, covering the younger man's lips with his and licking deep into Stiles's mouth until they both need air.
They breathe against each other's lips for what feels like ages, eons, content in the closeness of one another.
Stiles presses their foreheads together, hands roaming over the other man's shoulders and chest and arms. “I love you. My 'wolf. My mate. My husband.” He leans back, half-lidded eyes shining as he smiles. Happy. Content. “I love you, Peter.”
Peter reaches up and strokes the backs of his fingers across Stiles's cheekbone, returning the smile with one of his own. “I love you. My spark. My flame. My beautiful husband.” He gathers Stiles against him and holds tight with a simple promise: “Always.”