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Who's On First

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Apparently unclaimed magical emissaries were like catnip for werewolves. Wolfnip? Stiles didn't know a good name for it. He just knew that there was a werewolf alpha who really, really wanted him to be her emissary. Her pack was entirely female, strong and smart with a reputation for not putting up with bullshit, and she had given him a sharp smile when he'd compared them to Amazons.

Normally he wouldn't be against being toted off by a really strong lady, especially if if it was over her shoulder--he had fantasies, okay?--but the problem was that she wanted to tote him way away. Like, to Australia. He didn't understand, but whatever. They were there to talk about the alpha pack or something, to ask after Deucalion, and that was an old wound to re-open after all these years.

But anyway, the alpha--Jannicke--had zeroed in on him immediately, crowding him against the fridge in Derek's kitchen. He had squeaked, holding him drink against his chest as she sniffed him. She wasn't as tall as he was, but height meant nothing for a wolf.

"Do they know how powerful you are?" she asked in her accent.

"Buh?" he replied, confused.

"I know how powerful you are." She grinned at him, stepping back. "And that you're unclaimed. Interesting." She turned and left then, and he stared after her in ever increasing wtfness.

Ever since that baffling encounter, he had seen her a handful of times. She kept giving him food and smiling when he ate it. She even gave him presents, once some Microsoft Points and another time a thumb drive with an even better bestiary. Once she even gave him a little ceramic figurine of a fox.

Then Derek announced that the Tassie pack was leaving soon, and Stiles was honestly relieved. He didn't have to tell them no if they were just leaving. Or, at least, that was what he had thought, but then the alpha cornered him again on the second floor of the Hale house.

"It's time to go," she told him, eyes going a little red.

"Uh," Stiles said, shrinking away from her. "Have a safe trip over the pond?" He gave her a hopeful smile.

But she just shook her head. "You're coming with us. We'll take you to your house to pack, then we'll leave. We're going to work so well together."

"Oh," Stiles said, flicking his eyes to the side, before he slid along the wall to put some distance between them. "I... have to pee, so... Yeah." He scampered away, trying to figure out how he was get the hell out of the house with Jannicke blocking the staircase.

Window?

Window.

Stiles went into one of the bedrooms, shutting the door before going over to the window. Okay, he was probably going to break his ankles. He jumped as a hand grabbed him, almost screaming his head off but for the the hand over his mouth. He was pulled into the closet and flailed a bit before he was turned to face his attacker.

"Peter?" he asked as Peter pulled the door closed and plunged them into darkness. "What are you doing?" He put his hands out, trying to feel around, but all he touched was warm, solid werewolf.

"Saving your dumb ass," Peter murmured, too close for politeness.

"Wha--" Stiles sucked in a sharp breath as Peter's strong arms came around him, their bodies pressing together. He let out a tiny gasp as Peter's hands came under his layers, sliding up his back and cupping his rib cage. That mouth pressed into his neck, lips dragging along the skin and leaving a hot, damp trail that sprouted goosebumps all over Stiles's body.

Stiles wasn't going to lie and say he hadn't thought about this, dreamed about it, fantasized about it. He had imagined he would be more of an active partner, but all he could do was fist his hands in Peter's soft shirt and hang on.

He tipped his head back as Peter dragged his mouth along his neck to the other side. He wasn't even kissing, not really, just smearing his lips and the corners of his mouth along his skin. It was weird. Stiles was really digging it.

Then the door opened, and after a moment of agonizing to get used to the light, Stiles noticed it was Jannicke standing there. She blinked at them. He blinked back. "Uh," he began, acutely aware he had an erection that was trying to burrow into Peter's thigh.

"Oh," she said, looking between them, before she smiled brightly. "Never mind then! Bye, Stiles." She left, closing the room door behind her.

"Buh?" Stiles was flabbergasted. What had changed? Why was she no longer interested in having him as her emissary? And, wait, why was Peter pulling away?

"You're welcome," Peter said in a way that sounded more like 'you owe me,' smoothing down his shirt as Stiles stared at him, gobsmacked. "You know, that could have been avoided if you had just told her no."

"Wait," Stiles said, reaching out and grabbing Peter's wrist. When Peter looked at him, lifting a brow, he licked his lips, then chewed on the bottom one. "Uh. What if I want to tell you yes?" He gave Peter's wrist a little tug.

Peter smiled, turning his wrist to take Stiles's hand, and joined him again in the closet.