The sound Stiles lets out is something like a squeal, muffled behind Peter’s palm. He glares at him with wide eyes, swatting at his shoulder, but Peter doesn’t pay any mind. He’s got his head cocked, listening for something, and Stiles squirms where Peter has him pinned against the wall of the changing stall.
After a moment, the rigidity of Peter’s posture settles. He lets out a little sigh, then turns his focus on the half-dressed boy before him. Grinning, polite but predatory, Peter’s gaze strays down over him until the tips of Stiles’ ears go pink.
“Hello, Stiles.” Peter says.
Stiles’ nostrils flare, and he huffs.
“Having a good time out with Lydia?” Peter asks, head tilting the other way.
Stiles pinches him, but when nothing happens he rolls his eyes.
Peter pulls his hand back abruptly, nose wrinkling. “Really? You’ve resorted to licking?”
“Your hand was over my mouth.” Stiles hisses, slapping at him until Peter takes a step back so that Stiles can finish pulling a pair of jeans on. “What are you even doing here?”
“Those are very flattering,” Peter notes, eyes on Stiles’ ass. “Are you going to get them?”
“Now I’m not.” Stiles grouses, shrugging on a button-up. “Why are you in here, Peter?”
“Someone has been following you,” Peter says drolly, rolling his eyes as Stiles moves to take the shirt back off without even buttoning it, and he tugs him around by a belt loop and starts to do them for him.
“It’s too tight,” Stiles mutters, expression twisting.
“It’s the perfect size,” Peter scolds, stopping two buttons shy of the top, brushing out a few wrinkles and admiring the stretch of fabric over Stiles’ chest. “Did Lydia pick it out for you?”
“Yeah,” Stiles mumbles, shifting uncomfortably and looking at himself in the mirror, nose scrunched up. “It’s awful.”
“If you don’t buy it for yourself, I will.” Peter says.
“Fuck, you’re creepy.” Stiles glances at him through the mirror. “Someone’s following me?”
“Yes.” Peter nods. “They’re here. But they’re out in the store, I think. Waiting for you to come out. They’ve been following you for a while now.”
“Well, that’s…” Stiles huffs. “Fucking weird as shit. Supernatural?”
“Human,” Peter says. “As far as I can tell. Sexually interested. I’d talk to your father, if I were you. Unless you’d rather I…?”
“No.” Stiles says, tone leaving no room for argument as he drags a hand through his hair to muss it up. “You really think I look sexy?”
Peter hums, teeth sharp when he smiles. “Very. Would you like me to prove it?”
“I’d like you to leave,” Stiles replies.
Peter nods. “Of course. Don’t forget to tell your father about your stalker. I’d hate to have to eliminate the competition and get myself in trouble with the law again.”
Stiles rolls his eyes, already working the shirt open again as Peter slides out the door of the stall. As it clicks shut, Stiles falters, as if processing something. Jerking around, he pokes his head out, calling after the older man with a furrowed brow.
“What do you mean competition?” Stiles shouts at his back, and Peter does nothing but wave over his shoulder. “Peter!”