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Larcenous Little Fiend

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Everyone knew that Stiles loved Batman. He loved the movies, the merch, the comics, all of it.

The just didn’t know that he didn’t love Batman.

He didn’t read the comics for the hero. He was far more interested in the villains. Something in the them appealed to him, made him wonder what it would be like, to be the bad guy.

They mostly seemed to make basic mistakes, and although he knew that a lot of it was the writers giving themselves a way for the hero to save the day, still, part of his mind whispered quietly “You could do this better than them.”

He never listened to that part though, until after the Nogitsune.

After the Nogistune, playing by the rules suddenly didn’t seem so appealing.

Stiles doesn’t love Batman.

Catwoman, though? Fuck yes.


 

Stiles is very good at what he does.

He’s careful, and he’s quick, and he picks his targets well.

He chooses families from the next towns over - never on his dad's patch.

He chooses families that may have recently come into money, and perhaps been a little too obvious flashing their cash.

He chooses families where maybe dear old dad has a drinking problem, and maybe isn’t so great at remembering to set the alarm.

And he never takes much - he’s not in it for the money, he’s in it for the thrill.

Put simply, he does it because he’s bored.

It’s all about the adrenaline rush for him.

Half the time he doesn’t even know what he’s going to take until he gets inside the place, and that’s what keeps it exciting.

It could be a quirky piece of jewelry that catches his eye, perhaps a rare book that won’t be missed until they try and find it in twenty years’ time so they can follow the conditions of the Will, or maybe a little cash – never all the cash though, that sets people’s alarm bells ringing.

He’s discovered that most people have so much crap that if he just skims a little, they don’t even miss it until it’s too late to do anything about it.

They scratch their heads a week later when they finally notice, saying “Where the hell did that go? When did you see it last? Are you sure you didn’t loan it out?”  

Stiles knows they do, because he’s watched them, quietly observing from where he’s hidden outside the house, just to make sure that he’s covered his tracks.

And maybe to gloat a little.

He’s been quietly and efficiently stealing for four years now, and nobody has a clue.


 

 

Two years in, storage becomes a problem.

There are only so many boxes he can stack in the back of his wardrobe, even with a father as oblivious as his.

He hires a storage unit, and transfers everything over there over a three week period, one box at a time.

It’s all about hiding in plain sight, he’s discovered.

Sometimes he’ll steal snack food from the loft, just to sharpen his skills.

He hasn’t been rumbled yet, because nobody’s ever watching what he does.

He’s Stiles. He’s funny and amiable and clumsy, and he never does anything that’s worthy of the attention of the pack.

And that’s the way he likes it, flying under the radar.

He wears his sheer ordinariness like a shield, preventing anyone from really seeing him.

Except for the one that nobody else watches either.

 


 

After watching the boy closely as he flits about the loft, Peter’s delighted to realise that his initial suspicions were correct.

Stiles is a sneak thief.

A talented one, too.

He wanders out of the kitchen holding a bag of Doritos, waving his long fingered hands around distractingly as he talks, but he never opens the package.

Instead he settles into his chair and chats for a while longer before just….dropping them into his backpack, which is sitting conveniently open next to him.

Nobody blinks an eye.

Nicely done, thinks Peter, even as he wonders why the Sheriff’s kid is pilfering snacks.

Misdirection at its finest - color him impressed.

He stays sitting quietly in the corner as always, mostly ignored by the pack as always, and he watches as Stiles adds a pack of Oreos and a bag of Reece’s to his bag over the course of the evening, all without anybody noticing.

Three cans of soda join the loot when he volunteers to grab drinks for the pack and makes a show of nearly dropping them, neatly slipping the extras into a side pocket while Scott whines that the cans all got shaken and he can’t open his now.

Peter rolls his eyes, but says nothing.

He’s too busy studying Stiles, trying to figure out this intriguing new side to him.

As the evening winds up, Stiles shoulders his decidedly bulky backpack and heads out the door, and nobody has a clue what he’s done.

Peter decides to investigate further. 

 


 

 

Stiles knows it’s a risk, breaking into the Whittemore’s, but David Whittemore said some pretty nasty things about his dad last week, and besides, he’s bored.

He knows they’re out, but he still uses caution, still checks before he tries the side door, still makes sure he leaves no trace.

He steals every single one of David Whittemore’s high school lacrosse trophies, because he’s a petty human being.

It’s a bigger risk than he’d normally take, because the empty shelf screams “Somebody’s been here!”

He looks at the shelf, sighs, and puts most of them back. There’s petty, and then there’s stupid, and Stiles isn’t stupid.

He just keeps the one.

And a Rolex that’s tucked in a drawer.

It’s enough.

Blue eyes watch as he leaves the property, and Peter smiles to himself.

He’d wondered what Stiles was doing stealing, and now he knows.

He’s entertaining himself.

Peter thinks that maybe he’d like to provide some entertainment of a different sort. After all, Stiles has turned into an attractive young man.

Attractive, dishonest and amoral.

Totally Peter's type.

 


 

 

Noah comes home the next day grousing about big headed attorneys who think he has nothing better to do with his time than look into robberies that never damned well happened, and Stiles sympathizes, even as he plans his next hit.

It was too much fun to do it just once.

He hits the Whittmore’s place four more times in the next three months.

He takes the last DVD out of every boxed set.

He takes all the teaspoons.

He takes every toilet roll in the place.

He steals all their batteries.

He feels bad for his Dad, who’s bearing the brunt of Whittemore’s wrath, but the more angry the man becomes, the more insults he hurls at Noah, and the more Stiles wants to piss him off.

 

Peter watches the whole thing, delighted.

He’s been tailing Stiles on and off ever since he saw him stealing snack food, and he’s discovered a lot about him.

Stiles makes a point of being visibly clumsy, but in fact, his reflexes are lightning fast, and he’s incredibly light on his feet.

He pines loudly after Lydia, but his eyes follow Derek’s ass across the room, not hers.

He proclaims Scott to be his dearest friend, but Peter can see that he uses the young wolf as a smokescreen -  Scott’s so visibly good, how can his best friend be anything else?

But when Scott’s not paying attention, Stiles rolls his eyes at his self-righteous commentary.

Once, he catches Peter’s eye during a pack meeting, and his gaze lingers longer than it should.

Peter has a theory, and he tests it then, casually yawning and stretching his arms over his head until his shirt rides up and his firm abs are on display.

He flicks his eyes over and sees Stiles staring, and licking his lips.

Ah.

So his theory’s correct, then.

Stiles finds him attractive.

Stiles is a larcenous little fiend.

Those two things combined are everything Peter could possibly want.

 


 

 

The last time Stiles breaks into the Whittemores, he’s whisper quiet as always, and careful as always, and it’s all for nothing, because there’s somebody already there.

He makes his way stealthily into the office, walking over to the safe -  it’s time to wrap this up.

“Hello, Stiles” Peter purrs into his ear, and has the immense satisfaction of seeing him leap a foot in the air with a cry of “Jesus fuck!”

Stiles whirls around, clutching his chest and gasping.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he snaps.

“I could ask you the same thing. I’m here because Mr Whittemore has been having some security issues, and he hired me as a consultant.”

Stiles looks at him disbelievingly.

“Bullshit”he states bluntly. “Whittemore hates you.”

“And I hate him, but he’s a desperate man.Apparently he has a serial burglar.”

They stare at each other then, each waiting for the other to make a move.

In the end it’s Peter who takes a step forward, because he knows how he wants this to play out, and for that to happen he needs to be in control.

He presses Stiles up against the wall and slides his body hard up against him, before whispering “Did you know, Stiles, that I only offered to help Whittemore out because I knew who his burglar was? And I couldn’t resist the idea of making him pay me, and then helping you rob him blind? You are going to clean him out tonight, I take it?”

Stiles is speechless, pressed against the wall, And he can feel Peter’s muscles, and he smells amazing, and suddenly Little Stiles is taking an interest, and big Stiles doesn’t blame him, because Peter’s hot.  He barely has time to blink  before Peter’s leaning in and kissing him, hard.

Stiles responds instinctively, because Peter Hale, alright?

When Peter pulls back, he continues speaking as if he’d never stopped.

“I’ve been watching you, Stiles. You’ve been playing this game very well, and I have a proposal for you.”

Stiles gulps, and nods, managing “Go ahead.”

“You’re extremely efficient, highly intelligent, and very good at what you do. So am I. Can you imagine what a team we’d make? The things we could do together? Leave with me, and I'll make you a master thief.”

Stiles considers it. He thinks about the way Peter moves his body, dangerous and sleek, and the way he can disappear into the background without anyone noticing, and he wants to learn those things. Wants Peter to teach him.

Wants Peter to teach him other things, too.

“Tell me first, how did you know it was me? Nobody’s come close in four years” Stiles asks, and Peter can see that he’s curious.

He can hear Stiles’ heartbeat starting to settle, and that sharp tang of fear has left his scent, to be replaced by arousal.

Excellent.

He grinds his hips forwards slightly, to encourage it.

“I’ve always found you interesting Stiles, attractive even. So I’ve kept an eye on you. I watched you empty half of Derek’s pantry into your backpack without anyone noticing, and let’s just say it piqued my interest. So I’ve been following you.”

“I never even noticed you” Stiles says, impressed despite himself.

“I told you sweetheart, I’m very good. And I’ve been doing this so much longer than you. The things I could teach you, Stiles, if you’d let me. Will you let me?”

Stiles cocks his head, considering.

“Tell me Peter, what happens if I refuse? Do you march me down to my Dad’s office?"

Peter looks affronted.

“Absolutely not. Haven’t you heard of honor among thieves? You’re free to leave at any time, and your secret's safe with me.”

He leans in and kisses Stiles again, longer this time, deeper.

Stiles whimpers when he pulls away.

“But if you do choose to take me up on my offer, I can guarantee you one thing. You won’t ever be bored.”

Stiles licks his lips.

“If I leave with you, will you make me have sex with you?”

“Oh, definitely not” Peter says, with a predatory gleam in his eye.

“I’ll let you have sex with me.”

He kisses Stiles once more for good measure, before saying “My car’s parked a block away, you have twenty minutes. We’re heading north. If you’re not there, I’ll assume you’re not interested. “

And he turns and leaves the room.

 

 


 

 

Stiles cleans out the safe.

Fifteen minutes later, he climbs into Peter’s car.

Four hours later, he climbs into Peter’s bed.

He  never leaves it.