Waking up in Peter Hale’s bed was weird. Waking up in Peter Hale’s body was even weirder. Stiles had been disoriented and confused when he’d found himself in a plush, king sized bed in an unfamiliar bedroom instead of in his own room (and seriously, why did Peter even need a king sized bed? Why would anyone need a bed that big?) It had all come back to him when he’d glimpsed the body he was inhabiting, one that was shorter but more defined than his own, and older, and kind of hot.
The pack had confronted a witch who’d been wreaking havoc on Beacon Hills the night before. One second Stiles had been standing there in the woods with his friends while some woman shrieked words that sounded Latin, and a moment later he’d been laying on the ground while Scott and the others fought the witch. He’d sat up and looked over to his left at...himself. Or his body, more accurately. Because witches could make people switch bodies, who knew? And this witch had thought it would be a good idea to throw the pack off by making Peter and Stiles switch bodies. It wasn’t even an effective defense; Derek had killed her minutes later, slashing her throat with his claws before she could shout any more curses at them or stab anyone with the dagger she was waving around. Scott had been pissed at Derek for killing an ‘innocent’, even more so when the pack regrouped and everyone realized Stiles and Peter had swapped bodies. With the witch dead, there was no one to provide a counter-spell to switch them back.
After a lot of yelling, fighting, and a trip to the animal clinic to see if Deaton could help them, Stiles had realized that pretty much the only thing they could do for the time being was live with the situation. He’d gone with Peter to the wolf’s apartment, where they’d spent most of the night searching through the Hale family’s extensive collection of books about all things supernatural and magic. None of the books had offered a solution to their problem, Peter eventually passed out on the couch, and Stiles decided to take the werewolf’s bed since he was already occupying his body.
Being a werewolf didn’t seem all that great to Stiles so far. Maybe he just hadn’t had enough time to adjust, but everything smelled, and the hypersensitive hearing was more of a pain and a distraction than an asset. He wandered out of the bedroom and into the living room area of Peter’s apartment, trying to tune out the sounds of cars driving by outside, people moving around in other apartments, and maybe that’s why he didn’t notice the lack of a certain sound- his body’s heartbeat, to be specific- until he found the living room unoccupied.
“Peter?” He called out, then louder, “Peter!” God, it was disturbing every time he opened his mouth and a voice that wasn’t his own came out. He tried to focus his senses, listen for any noises that would tell him where Peter was, and found nothing.
Where would he even have gone? He was trapped in a human teenager’s body, it wasn’t like he could get up to anything particularly fun or troublesome.
Stiles was wrong. He was so incredibly wrong. After texting Peter and not receiving any response, he’d sent a text to Scott instead, asking the alpha if he’d heard from or seen a certain murderous zombiewolf walking around in Stiles’ body. Scott’s response came minutes later.
8:02 am. Scott: he just walked into class WTF
8:04 am. Scott: the teacher is doing attendance and he answered for u like hes just sitting here being u. but u in a leather jacket thats too big for u
8:05 am. Stiles: get him out of there!!
8:10 am. Stiles: answer me Scott
Scott didn’t answer him. At least, not until twenty minutes later when he called, interrupting Stiles while he paced anxiously and wondered what he should do.
"I got Peter out of class but, um...he won't leave school? He said something about covering for you since you can't show up yourself right now and how he doesn't have anything better to do." Stiles doesn't even get a chance to greet Scott when he answers the phone, the alpha immediately blurting out this new information.
Covering for him? Really? It's not actually a bad idea, since people might notice something's up if Stiles misses too much school, but they'll also notice something's up if he starts acting like the murderous 34 year old werewolf who's currently wearing his face. Besides, Peter wouldn't just cover for him. He has to have some ulterior motive.
"Where is he now?"
"Scott. Where's Peter?"
"...he's gone. I didn't know what to do and he just, um. Left."
Stiles received updates on Peter's location from Scott for the rest of the day, silently cursing the werewolf while he pored over countless old books about witches and magic in search of a way to get his own body back. He still couldn't understand Peter's motives for spending the day as a high school student because, seriously, who would choose to be stuck in high school? He didn't buy the boredom excuse and so far was chalking it up to Peter's inherent evilness and a desire to fuck with Stiles' life. Because so far, he'd attended a few classes throughout the day, but had also apparently sat with the stoners at lunch and hung out with them behind the school during at least three class periods. Stiles knew the kids at Beacon Hills high who had a reputation for being complete stoners, and okay, maybe he'd bought pot off of them a few times, but he didn't hang out with them. He had a reputation of his own to uphold. One that Peter was probably ruining this very second.
Scott had informed him when school let out that he'd tried to reign in Peter, only for the werewolf to make a scene pulling away from him in the school parking lot and running off with his new high school friends, saying something about going skateboarding and to call him when a counter-spell was found.
Seriously, what even was his life?
Three days later, Stiles still hadn’t found a cure for the spell. Deaton had reassured him that the spell would “most likely wear off on its own eventually,” which really wasn’t very reassuring at all, considering how uncertain the possibility was. He’d had to tell his dad about the whole thing, showing up at his house with Scott and Peter in tow to back him up. His dad had been understandably disturbed, throwing his hands up in the air and proclaiming that he wanted nothing to do with it, and to let him know when they found a counter-spell. He’d then pointed at Stiles threateningly, only to frown and point at Peter instead, seemingly forgetting who was who for a moment before warning Peter not to hurt his son’s body or get him into any trouble. That had been an especially awkward, weird conversation. But now Peter was more or less living at Stiles’ house, sleeping in his bed at night and going to school for him during the day while Stiles himself did all the work seeking a cure.
He’d gone the first two days without showering, reluctant to spend time up close and personal with Peter’s naked body. It wasn’t like he didn’t find the older man attractive- more like the exact opposite. He’d had one too many fantasies about fucking Peter Hale to feel comfortable washing the guy’s body now that it was sort of his body for the time being. It was just freaky, okay? Eventually he couldn’t stand feeling so gross and unclean, though. He ended up taking a rushed shower in Peter’s bathroom, pointedly ignoring the werewolf’s dick until the very end, when he gave in and stroked it a few times, fondling Peter’s balls and watching his cock grow half hard. Stiles forced himself out of the shower when he started to seriously consider exploring further, maybe rubbing a wet fingertip against Peter’s hole to see how easily it would open up for him. No way that was actually happening. Just, nope. He wasn’t going there.
Stiles was still half hard and feeling like a total creep- he’d basically molested Peter’s body, after all- when he finished getting dressed and checked his phone out of habit, just to see if anyone had texted him or his dad had tried to call him while he was showering. He did have an unread text, but it was from the last person he wanted to talk to.
10:04 am. Peter: I justed wanted to thank you. I’m really enjoying your teenage hormones and fast recovery time.
Attached to the message was a picture, one of Stiles’ cock, fully hard despite the come all over his stomach indicating that Peter had already jerked off at least once. Maybe more than once. That was a lot of come, after all.
It took Stiles several minutes to process the text. To realize that Peter was touching himself. Touching Stiles’ body, technically, and then sending Stiles pictures of his own dick. He wondered if he should feel violated, and why he was more turned on instead. Turned on by a picture of his own body, although it was Peter’s body for now, so he was turned on by Peter touching himself, or maybe by Peter touching him? Freaky Friday had not prepared him for this.
He received three more photos and a video from Peter over the course of the next two days. All of them were of Peter doing increasingly lewd things to his body, tasting his own come, spreading his legs and teasing all too familiar fingers around his hole, moaning loud and shameless while he fingered himself and stroked his cock. All of them also left Stiles increasingly frustrated and unwilling to admit how aroused he was, inspiring him to double his efforts to find their magical cure so this could be over.
At least he got a reprieve from the sexts when Peter attended school for him, although that had led to problems of its own. Apparently Stiles Stilinski had detention every morning for the next week after he’d skipped out on P.E. early, responding to Finstock’s demands not to leave by telling the coach to suck his own dick. “Stiles” was also into skateboarding and hanging out with the stoners now. Peter could have done a lot worse as far as ruining Stiles’ life went, he knew that. But he still wanted to strangle the werewolf for being so bizarre, running around acting like he was actually a dumbass teenager who couldn’t seem to stay out of trouble.