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Hold Me Down

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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?"

Silence.

"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.

Chapter Text

Stiles had taken to the internet to find a solution to their problem, despite how slim the chances of him actually finding anything online were. He’d been searching online for hours, in countless old books for days, when he finally decided he needed a break no matter how desperate he was for all of this to be over. He wanted his body, and his life, back. But he was sick of scanning through forums about witchcraft and articles on magical practices, curses, legends, myths, anything that even vaguely referenced two people switching bodies. He was also fed up with Peter sending him dick pics, and figured if the creep was going to pleasure himself while he was in Stiles’ body, Stiles might as well do the same in Peter’s body. Peter had to have some decent porn saved on his computer, right?

He started looking through the files saved on Peter’s computer first, hoping to find a folder conveniently labeled “porn” or something, but he had no such luck. That was okay, a lot of people didn’t download their porn these days, just streamed it directly from the internet. Maybe Peter even paid for a subscription to a porn site that he could take advantage of. Stiles opened up a list of the bookmarked pages on the computer, scanning through them for something that stood out as being obviously pornographic. There wasn’t anything, but among the few pages Peter had bookmarked, one caught his eye. It read “Fetlife/user-profile/83499.”

Stiles knew what Fetlife was. He knew what the bookmark meant. “Peter Hale is a closeted kinkster.” He said it out loud to himself, a devious grin forming on his face. There was no way he was passing up this opportunity; this was way better than some porn site. This was his chance at revenge. He clicked on the link to Peter’s Fetlife profile. The first thing he noticed was the icon at the top of the profile, which was just a picture of the bottom half of Peter’s face and his chest. It was an admittedly attractive photo even without revealing most of his face, but Stiles had to snicker at the thought of Peter taking a selfie. He stopped laughing when he remembered the selfies Peter had been taking while in Stiles’ body. He skimmed through the information on Peter’s profile- male, age 35, single, submissive, looking for a Daddy Dom, gay, monogamous…

What.

Stiles backtracked, sure he’d misread something, but nope. Peter was classified as a submissive on his profile. Peter said he was looking for a Daddy Dom on his profile. Ignoring the way his cock twitched at the thought of Peter bent over and calling someone ‘Daddy’ (it was a natural response to days of pent up sexual frustration, okay), Stiles cackled to himself and took a half-hearted look through the rest of the page, but he figured he’d already hit the jackpot as far as blackmail material went. He was sure Peter- all-knowing, power hungry, narcissistic Peter- wouldn’t want the rest of the pack knowing all about his sex life, that he was a submissive in bed and had a daddy kink.

He took a screenshot of Peter’s profile and sent it to his phone, just in case he ended up using his discovery against the wolf and needed evidence. Stiles was nothing if not a thorough blackmailer.

 

Peter showed up at the apartment that very night. He was wearing Stiles’ normal outfit consisting of a flannel, t-shirt and jeans, but with that ridiculous leather jacket of his that was not made to fit someone as bony and narrow as Stiles. He also smelled strongly of weed. Stiles didn’t even look away from the article he was reading online, just called out, “You’re stoned the one time you show up to help me, great.”

He got a laugh in response, and did Stiles’ laugh always sound that annoying, or was it just annoying because it was Peter who was laughing? Either way, it was a total douchebag kind of laugh.

“I’m actually just here to get blackout drunk. I have a fantastic array of drinks in my wine fridge, have you tried any of them yet?”

That made Stiles turn and look at Peter, and he was sure he sounded entirely done when he said, “Werewolves can’t get drunk.”

“We can still enjoy the taste of a fine wine or a well aged bottle of scotch.” He sneered, then smirked and added, “And besides, I’m not a werewolf at the moment. I can get drunk.”

“No way!” He snapped, pointing a threatening glare at Peter. “You’re not a werewolf at the moment because you’re in my body at the moment. My weak, fragile, still developing teenage body. You’re not messing with it by giving me alcohol poisoning or something.”

Peter remained nonchalant, rolling his eyes at Stiles and sighing. “Alcohol poisoning isn’t even that bad. They take you to the hospital and pump your stomach and you’re good as new. I think I can manage to limit my alcohol consumption to the point where I won’t die, though.” With that he sauntered into the kitchen, opening his small wine fridge and taking out a bottle of scotch. Stiles wasn’t an expert on liquor by any means, he didn’t even recognize the brand, but he was sure it was expensive like everything else in Peter’s apartment. The guy had fancy heated toilet seats for god’s sake.

Stiles approached the kitchen counter, where Peter had taken out a glass and was pouring himself a shot that looked more like two or three shots combined. No way. This isn’t happening. Sure, Stiles drank sometimes. But he had a low alcohol tolerance, was used to drinking cheap beer and nothing stronger. Peter had probably never had to limit the amount of alcohol he drank since it didn’t affect him; there was a real possibility he’d give Stiles’ body alcohol poisoning, or at the very least get ridiculously drunk, throw up all over the place, and be a general pain in the ass. Before Peter could down the contents of the shot glass in his hand, Stiles grabbed it from him, thankful for once for the extra speed and strength that came with being in a werewolf’s body. Peter didn’t even have time to struggle or try to hold on to his drink.

Instead he narrowed his eyes in annoyance and demanded, “Give that back right now.”

“No.” Stiles insisted, clutching the glass and shooting at challenging glare at Peter.

With obviously feigned nonchalance, Peter shrugged and turned back towards the wine fridge. “Fine, I’ll just get something else to drink.”

“Peter. Stop.”

Stiles was surprised by how stern he sounded, and apparently Peter was too, because he paused and looked over his shoulder at Stiles, a grin slowly spreading across his face as he taunted, “Or what? What are you going to do if I don’t stop, Stiles?”

“Spank you. Then again, you’d probably like that so it wouldn’t be much of a punishment, huh?” The words were out of his mouth before Stiles even realized what he was going to say, and he almost cringed and started babbling awkwardly to change the subject but forced himself to stay calm instead, smirking at a dumbstruck Peter. This wasn’t how he’d planned to blackmail the werewolf, but it could work, he figured.

Or not.

Peter’s eyes narrowed as he stared Stiles down, keeping his expression carefully guarded and coolly replying with, “I’m guessing that means you’ve discovered some of my kinks, then. How many times did you have to jerk off after you found out?”

He scoffed indignantly, actually grateful for once that he wasn’t in his own body, because Peter’s face didn’t blush as easily as his own did, otherwise he’d have turned an embarrassing shade of red just then. “Yeah, playing the innocent little boy and calling some guy ‘Daddy’ doesn’t really do it for me. Although I wouldn’t mind seeing you all powerless and crying for your daddy. That could be kind of funny considering what a control freak you are.” And kind of hot. Amazingly hot.

Peter laughed and turned so he was fully facing Stiles again, taking a few steps closer to him. The cocky act would have been more convincing if his face wasn’t flushed- again, for once something good had come out of their body swap. He also smelled different, a scent Stiles couldn’t quite place. Embarrassment, maybe? He hoped so.

“Being submissive isn’t always the same thing as being powerless.” He sneered. “Willingly giving up control to your partner in bed requires initial power of your own. Not that I would expect a virginal, fumbling teenage boy to understand what I mean.”

At this point Peter was dangerously close to invading Stiles’ personal space, but he wasn’t about to be the first to back off. Instead he moved even closer, their chests almost touching now, and Stiles imagined it would look to an outsider like they were having some ridiculous macho standoff, or playing gay chicken, or both. Which they totally weren’t. Not at all.

“Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about sex, or the freaky power play stuff you’re so into.”

Peter laughed dismissively. “Alright, sweetheart. Whatever you say.” There was a certain huskiness to his tone, but he still sounded so mocking, so scornful that Stiles found himself blurting out his next words without thinking.

“I’ll prove it to you.”

In the silence that followed, all Stiles could think was oh my god he’ll never let me live this down. He regretted his words immediately, at least until Peter responded with a simple, “Do it,” and a challenging grin.

Stiles didn’t let himself pause long enough to consider what they were doing, just placed a firm hand on the back of Peter’s neck and dragged him into a harsh, biting kiss. It was way too easy to control their kiss, fuck his tongue into Peter’s mouth and just take, what with the way the man melted into it, just opened up and seemed to submit right away. His body was soon plastered against Stiles’, their hips pressed flush against each other so Stiles could feel the all too familiar bulge of his hard dick against his own- familiar because it was technically Stiles’ dick. This was so weird. He wasn’t going to let himself dwell on the body swap thing for now, though. Not when Peter was panting into his mouth and letting out an honest to god whine as he slumped against Stiles, hips jerking forward in a dirty, desperate grind.

He shifted so one of his thighs was pressed between Peter’s legs, giving him something more substantial to grind against. The loss of friction against his own cock was worth it for the way Peter rutted against his leg, face flushed and eyes dark as Stiles tightened his grip on the man’s neck, forced his head back so Stiles could press bruising kisses along his throat. Peter’s hips stuttered, moving in a jerky, frantic rhythm when Stiles laughed low in his ear, keeping his tone as unaffected and casual as possible when he said, “I should have realized what a slut you are sooner. Spreading your legs for the first guy who comes along and notices how bad you need a Daddy to use you. Like a bitch in heat.”

Peter groaned, surprisingly high and reedy. “Da- Stiles. You’d better be planning on fucking me.” He’d caught himself before he called the teenager ‘Daddy’, but Stiles heard it, knew what Peter had almost said. It made him realize how much he actually wanted this, wanted to hear Peter Hale of all people call him ‘Daddy.’

“What was that?” He teased, backing up so they were no longer pressed so close together, making Peter look at him as he whined at no longer being able to rub against Stiles’ thigh. “Who do you want to fuck you?”

The flash of defiance was clear in Peter’s eyes when he responded, even though Stiles could still smell his arousal and a hint of embarrassment. “You, you insufferable dick. I want you to fuck me, god knows why.”

Stiles grinned and shook his head, moving his hand to rest low on Peter’s ass and squeezing firmly just to see the wolf shudder, then arch instinctively into the touch. “C’mon, you know what you want to call me. Who am I, baby?”

The ‘baby’ seemed to do it for Peter, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips before he breathed the word, “Daddy.”

Groaning, Stiles lunged forward to kiss Peter, panting his next words against the man’s mouth. “Yeah. Good boy.” He praised. “Such a good boy for Daddy.”

Before they devolved to kissing and groping each other on the kitchen floor, Stiles backed off again and led Peter to the bedroom. He was stopped twice on the way there, once when Peter leaned in to kiss him again, and then when the older man palmed Stiles’ cock through his pants out of the blue, resulting in Stiles pushing him against the nearest wall and slotting their bodies together while he initiated another heated makeout session and murmured filth to Peter. They made their way to Peter’s bed eventually though. Stiles pushed him none too gently onto his back on the bed, but Peter didn’t even scowl at him for the action, just stared up wide-eyed at Stiles as he tugged his own shirt off before climbing on top of Peter and stripping him quickly and methodically.

Kneeling between Peter’s legs, Stiles spread the wolf’s knees wide to expose Peter’s hole to his gaze, found it glistening with lube and winking prettily upon being exposed to the cold air. “Fuck, you’re such a whore.” He moaned, ducking his head to kiss a path down Peter’s inner thigh, until he was right in front of that wet little hole, his nose nudging at Peter’s balls as Stiles pressed kisses everywhere but his rim, laved his tongue over all that soft skin. “Did you stretch yourself on your fingers earlier today? Fuck your little pussy until it was all wet and open for Daddy?” He looked up to see Peter’s reaction to his words, teasing his tongue against the man’s balls now. Peter made a high pitched, needy noise, staring right back down at Stiles even as his hard cock twitched against his stomach and he nodded frantically in response to Stiles’ question.

With a soft laugh at how eager Peter was, like he was the virginal teenager here, Stiles licked a broad stripe over his hole, tasting the faint traces of lube and clean, untouched skin underneath. He was instantly addicted- to the wrecked groan that escaped Peter’s lips, the feeling of a needy hole fluttering under the attention of his tongue, to the hand fisted in his hair, not pulling or forcing him closer but just there like Peter needed something to hold onto, and wasn’t that strangely endearing. He worked at the muscle until it relaxed for him, pressed sloppy kisses to Peter’s hole and dragged his tongue around the rim, and it wasn’t long before he was able to fuck his tongue inside, pressing just past those clenching outer muscles. Peter was writhing and moaning like a whore, and being so up close and personal with his ass just made Stiles desperate to feel his cock in there, so he soon began nudging the tip of his index finger inside, sinking in fairly easily to his first knuckle. He only paused in his ministrations when it became clear he’d need lube to get any further, looking up from between Peter’s legs at him and tapping his hip gently to get his attention.

“Lube.” He ordered, and he didn’t even receive a complaint or snarky comment for being so bluntly demanding. Peter just twisted his body at an awkward angle to get at his bedside table, opening the top drawer and handing Stiles the bottle of lube he retrieved from it.

“You really are a good boy, aren’t you?” Stiles cooed as he took the small container, relishing in the way the man’s face turned even redder at the comment if that was possible, his dick leaking precome steadily now. “Daddy’s obedient little fucktoy.”

He quickly returned his attention to prepping Peter for his cock, coating his fingers with lube and sliding the first digit in with ease. Crooking his finger, Stiles searched for the spot that would make Peter lose it, that he knew from experience would make the man’s cock leak. He knew he’d found it when Peter’s hips jerked involuntarily, a startled sound of almost-pained pleasure slipping out of him while Stiles rubbed insistently over his prostate. The noises Peter was making, choked off gasps and low groans, only became more frequent, more desperate sounding when Stiles pushed a second finger into his hole and began fucking the two digits in and out of him, slow but relentless.

Soon he had three fingers sliding in and out with ease, his eyes glued to Peter’s rim clinging so sweetly to his knuckles as he twisted his fingers at an angle he knew would put pressure on the man’s prostate. It was Peter’s cry of, “Daddy please, fuck me,” that had Stiles finally slipping his fingers out of his hole and inching closer on his knees until the head of his cock was pressed against Peter’s relaxed entrance.

Up until then Peter’s noises, pretty and endless as they were, had been mostly wordless sounds of pleasure, and hearing him beg unprompted like that not only did something for Stiles’ ego, it also made his cock throb. “This what you want?” He teased, rubbing his cock over Peter’s hole without actually pressing inside. “You want something bigger than my fingers filling up your cunt, Peter?”

Peter’s breath hitched, his voice coming out shaky and not at all put together and smug like it usually was. “Yes, want you to stuff me full of your cock, Daddy please I- I need it.” He pleaded, so sweet and submissive as he bit his lip and gazed up at Stiles.

Stiles was sure there was a shit-eating grin on his face right then as he stroked a thumb over Peter’s lower lip, forcing him to stop biting at it and murmuring, “Yeah. You’re such a cockslut, huh? Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’s gonna take care of you.” He couldn’t help the cockiness and condescension in his tone, not when it was obvious that it both turned Peter on and humiliated him. Who would have thought Peter Hale could slip so easily into the role of a needy little Daddy’s boy?

His smirk only faded when he gripped his own cock, spreading lube over the thick length and then holding the base as he slowly pressed inside Peter’s hole. When the head of his cock popped inside, Stiles muffled a curse and stared slack-jawed at the way Peter opened up for him, his hole so hot and tight and mouthing greedily at his dick as he pushed another inch into all that slick, welcoming warmth. He did have the decency to check on Peter before he went any further, settling his gaze on the man’s face and stroking a gentle hand up his side, watching the way Peter arched into the touch but otherwise laid pliant under Stiles.

“You okay, baby?” His hand found its way to Peter’s chest, where he stroked his thumb over one of the other man’s nipples, groaning when the touch made Peter squirm and tighten around his dick.

Peter nodded, his demand that Stiles “keep going” made less effective by how breathless he sounded, his voice shaky and a series of whimpers escaping him when he pushed his hips down to take more of Stiles’ cock. Both of them moaned when he seated himself on those last few inches, Stiles’ hips stuttering but mostly remaining still while he adjusted to the feeling of having his cock in Peter’s ass and tried not to come immediately.

Eventually he hooked his arms under Peter’s knees and lifted his legs just enough that he was spread wide for Stiles’ gaze as he pulled back, then thrust his hips forward again in a slow, dirty grind. “Look at you.” He cooed, voice low and raspy with arousal as he started to fuck Peter with deep, calculated thrusts, his cock never fully leaving the warm hole it was buried in. “Look so pretty split open on my dick, Peter- little hole all wet and pink and hungry for me. Got such a perfect, tight pussy for Daddy to fuck.” The words slipped out of him without Stiles having to think about it, all of his attention focused on the man writhing and whining beneath him, the intense grip of the cunt he was driving his cock into. Peter, on the other hand, seemed to have lost the ability to speak, his eyes glazed over and his mouth open and spit-slick as he panted like he couldn’t get enough air, broken little moans and mewling noises pouring out of him.

Stiles almost wanted to stay like that forever, perpetually thrusting his cock into the clinging heat of Peter’s hole, gradually speeding up until he was jackhammering into the older man, forcing Peter to clutch at the sheets and cry out, “Daddy! Daddy, oh fuck, Daddy-” loud and unabashed, with no choice but to just take it. Especially since Peter seemed to love being a pliant little fuckdoll, unable to gain any traction of his own under the force of Stiles’ thrusts. His lips parted against Stiles’ when he leaned down for a kiss, allowing the teenager to fuck his tongue into his mouth in a mimicry of the way his cock fucked into Peter’s hole, every part of him just opening up so eagerly for his Daddy. Yeah, Stiles would have loved to stay that way forever. Soon he felt his balls draw up, though, the telltale heat pooling in his stomach and the throb of his cock alerting him to his impending orgasm. He let go of one of Peter’s legs so he could slide a hand between their bodies, fisted the man’s cock and stroked him roughly until Peter was coming with a wail all over his own stomach and Stiles’ hand. He got impossibly tighter as Stiles milked him through his orgasm, and Stiles’ hips jerked then stilled against Peter’s ass, his cock pulsing while he filled Peter up with his come.

When it was over Stiles collapsed on top of Peter, earning a weary, irritated grumble from the man, who still seemed out of it as he struggled to catch his breath. Stiles grinned down at him, stroked the side of Peter’s face and praised him, “You were so good, Peter- such a good boy for me.”

“Shut up.” Peter muttered, apparently regaining some of his usual snarkiness but still nuzzling against Stiles’ hand, turning into it in an attempt to hide his face when Stiles complimented him. Stiles just laughed, stroking the pad of his thumb over Peter’s cheekbone and leaning down to pepper kisses along the exposed side of the man’s neck while his soft cock slipped out of Peter.

“I’m still gonna have to spank you for trying to drink earlier, though...and for getting detention at school.” He spoke directly into Peter’s ear, smirking at the way Peter shuddered at the combination of his words and Stiles’ hot breath against his skin. The older man groaned in annoyance but didn’t protest, didn’t even say anything else, and Stiles figured he still needed time to recover from the sex itself and probably from being in such a submissive headspace. In fact-

“Do you need anything?” He added, thoughts of D/s dynamics and aftercare and everything else he’d read about online racing through his head. “Water, maybe? Something to eat? Want me to clean you up? I’m gonna get you some water.” He was on his feet and leaving the room before Peter had a chance to respond, but he still heard Peter’s exasperated but amused sigh, the muttered, “Teenagers…”

“Technically you’re the teenager right now.” Stiles called back over his shoulder, and he probably should have been more unnerved by that, by the realization that he’d just fucked his own body with Peter Hale in it while being in Peter Hale’s body. Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to be that put off by it. Besides, he had a fucked out, submissive guy calling him 'Daddy' to take care of. He couldn’t get hung up on little things- like the fact that he was trapped inside that guy’s 35 year old werewolf body- right now.

Chapter Text

Of course, as soon as something good came out of trading bodies with Peter, Deaton called to tell Stiles he’d found a cure. Stiles was happy about it, of course; he didn’t really want to spend the rest of his life in Peter’s body, or even a day longer than necessary. It was just that...he’d actually started to enjoy spending time with Peter?

After their first time together, the two of them had spent the whole weekend at Peter’s apartment, mostly fucking but also talking, making half-assed attempts at continuing Stiles’ research for a counter-spell, and generally being gross and domestic together. After an awkward discussion about their shared kinks and what was and wasn’t okay, Stiles had actually ended up spanking Peter like he’d threatened to, and had been surprised by how much he actually enjoyed it. They didn’t bother putting clothes on for most of the time they were in the apartment, which had led to a horrified Scott and an exasperated, disgruntled Derek walking in on them once, yelling at them for being “gross and shameless”, and then promptly walking back out. Then it had been Monday morning, and Peter had left, still insistent on attending school in Stiles’ place for whatever reason (at this point Stiles was pretty sure Peter just genuinely enjoyed being a teenager, ridiculous as the idea seemed.)

Which left Stiles where he was now. Sitting alone in Peter’s apartment, waiting for a reply to the text he’d sent to both Peter and Scott about the cure Deaton had found. He figured Peter would ditch school as soon as he found out, meet Stiles at the animal clinic so they could let Deaton work his magic on them, and then they’d finally be in their own bodies again. And then what?

Part of Stiles couldn’t help but wonder what would come of them, of their relationship once this was over. What if Peter moved on as soon as he had his own body back and never wanted to see Stiles again? What if he didn’t want to be with Stiles when he was actually Stiles, scrawny teenage body and all? He’d discovered early on in their fooling around that Peter liked being manhandled, held down and made to feel helpless, physically powerless. Stiles couldn’t do any of that once he was back in his own body, when Peter was back in his significantly stronger, broader werewolf body. It could totally ruin the appeal for Peter, submitting to a younger guy who he could crush like a bug if he wanted to. It wouldn’t ruin the appeal for Stiles, though. He wanted Peter no matter what- if anything, the idea of dominating the man when they were back in their own bodies, of controlling him even when he was older and capable of physically overpowering Stiles, only turned him on more. Seeing Peter, with his broad, muscular frame and terrifying werewolf strength would be ridiculously hot. He only hoped he’d get the chance to.

 

An hour after Deaton had called him, Stiles walked inside the animal clinic and found both Peter and Scott already there, standing in the lobby with Deaton. Scott looked distinctly uncomfortable, but Stiles couldn’t tell if it was because Peter had been hassling him or just because the last time he’d seen Stiles, he’d seen way too much of Stiles (and way too much of Peter. Way too much of both of them, really. They’d been too comfortable cuddling on Peter’s couch to bother getting dressed, okay? Scott and Derek should have given them advanced warning before just showing up.)

He greeted Deaton and Scott with an awkward wave, Peter with a hand on his shoulder that the wolf subtly leaned into, the touch-starved little bastard. Another thing Stiles would miss if Peter lost interest in him after this. He didn’t have time to dwell on what might come of their relationship before Deaton was announcing in that coolly professional tone of his, “Now that we’re all here, if you would follow me, we can get to work on the counter-spell. It’s a surprisingly simple Druidic ritual recommended to me by an old friend of mine.”

“Simple, huh? Does that mean it won’t involve any virgin sacrifices or soaking us in some sort of bodily fluids, nothing nasty like that?” Stiles’ question made Peter snicker, and even Scott cracked a smile as they entered the back room of Deaton’s clinic.

Deaton smiled and shook his head, taking out several glass bottles and lining them up on the metal table in front of him. “No, nothing like that. I’ll just be painting runes on your bodies with a paste made from an acrisol, yellowroot oil, and elderberry leaves. Then I’ll recite an incantation, and if all goes well you’ll be back in your own bodies in no time.”

It almost sounded too easy. If Peter’s skeptical expression was any indication, Stiles wasn’t the only one who thought so, but neither of them said anything, both taking off their shirts when Deaton instructed it and watching silently while the vet mixed the substances he’d set out on the table. Stiles was the first to have the red, claylike substance rubbed onto his chest and stomach in various swirls and patterns, the cold paste touching his skin making him flinch at first. Then it was Peter’s turn, and all too soon Deaton was murmuring an ominous sounding chant and Scott was smiling reassuringly at Stiles and then-

 

Stiles woke up on the floor with Scott hovering nervously over him. “You’re awake!” The alpha grinned, then frowned and looked concerned all over again. “Are you...you?”

Before Stiles could answer, someone beside him complained, “Really, Doctor, you couldn’t have sat us down before you knocked us out? I, for one, am tired of falling to the ground in a dead faint every time someone starts chanting at me in a foreign language.”

Deaton’s response only registered as background noise; Stiles was too busy turning and gaping at the man sitting on the floor next to him. At Peter- Peter in his own body, which had to mean Stiles was back in his body too. Just to be safe he glanced down at himself and was met with the sight of his own naked torso, still marked with runes but also pale and fairly unmuscular and very much his.

“Oh, thank god.” He breathed, his quiet exclamation earning him another delighted grin from Scott now that everyone had apparently realized the spell had worked. Peter was already standing up now, and he offered a hand to help Stiles to his feet as he asked Deaton, “Can we clean your wretched fingerpaints off of our bodies now?”

 

Stiles got home from school the next day around 6, after serving detention courtesy of Peter. Now that he was back in his own body, he was stuck sitting in detention in Finstock’s classroom every day after school until Friday. It wasn’t like it was the worst trouble he’d ever been in. Even all the talk among his classmates about how he’d briefly abandoned his group of friends to become a rebellious, skateboarding stoner didn’t seem so bad as long as he got to be himself again. Really, the worst thing to come of his body swap with Peter was that he couldn’t stop thinking about the snarky older man now, and Stiles had actually started to miss him. Which was ridiculous- they’d seen each other just one day ago, had parted ways outside the animal clinic and hadn’t been in touch since. It wasn’t so much about how long they’d been apart, though, as it was the way they hadn’t discussed what had gone on between them or if it would continue- if it had meant anything.

He was just thinking of calling Peter, because if the werewolf wanted to end whatever sort of relationship they’d begun then Stiles deserved to know about it, dammit, but his phone vibrated before he could dial Peter’s number.

6:11 pm. Peter: Did you have a nice time in detention? The text was accompanied by a close-up picture of Peter’s hard cock, of all things, resting against his broadly muscled abs and dripping precome onto the trail of hair below his navel.

 

Stiles had assumed that Peter’s submission to him would be even sweeter, so much hotter while the wolf was in his own body, stronger and older than Stiles but still under his control. He’d been right.

He had Peter laid out over his lap, the werewolf naked where Stiles was still completely clothed, breathless and overstimulated while Stiles was at least outwardly calm and collected. One of his hands was resting on the small of Peter’s back, more to ground him and remind him to keep still than to physically restrain him- not that Stiles could hold him still if he wanted to. And yet, Peter remained unmoving while Stiles’ other hand delivered a rough, steady spanking to his pert ass. The muscles in his legs and back were taut as if he was struggling not to move, whether away from the harsh series of slaps being delivered to his ass or into them Stiles couldn’t tell.

“Almost done, baby.” He cooed, running a hand up Peter’s back then tangling his fingers in the hair on the back of the man’s head, tugging gently until Peter looked over his shoulder at Stiles. “Are you doing okay?”

Grinning at the frantic nod Peter answered with, at the lust-blown look in his eyes, Stiles parted Peter’s ass cheeks, baring that tight, pretty hole to him. Peter groaned and squirmed, his hard cock rubbing over Stiles’ thighs and probably smearing precome all over his pants. He didn’t mind, not when Peter’s reaction made it clear that he knew what was coming next, was probably losing his mind waiting for it while Stiles tugged at the man’s rim with his fingers, circled and teased around it. As soon as Peter had relaxed and once more lay limp across Stiles’ lap, he slapped two fingers sharply against Peter’s hole. It didn’t make the same satisfying noise that spanking Peter anywhere else did, but it was still his favorite, to rain rough little smacks down on the needy little hole, to watch it tremble and clench under each hit, and god, the noises Peter made when his hole was being spanked. He mewled, more like a helpless little kitten than a big bad werewolf, moaned and whimpered and cried so prettily.

Ten smacks later and Peter was a mess, occasionally daring to rut against Stiles’ thigh like he couldn’t help himself anymore, and he kept begging incoherently, mostly just a stream of, “Daddy, Daddy, please Daddy-” pouring from his lips. His hole was flushed a bright pink, looking puffy and well-used even though Stiles hadn’t even fucked him yet. Stiles dragged his fingertips over the abused skin just to hear Peter’s breath hitch, taking in the appearance of the werewolf’s freshly spanked ass while it lasted, because Peter’s werewolf healing would have the redness, any traces of soreness, fading in no time.

What wouldn’t fade was the headspace the spanking had put Peter in. Stiles had learned the first time he’d spanked the older man that it was the fastest way to will him into submission, sending him to that place where his eyes got dark and wet and full of need and he was rushing to please Stiles in no time. After a moment of letting Peter catch his breath, Stiles put his hands on Peter’s shoulders and guided him up, helped him rearrange himself so he was sitting on Stiles’ lap, his eyes still shining with unshed tears, and his cock bobbing hard and flushed between them.

“You were so good, baby.” Stiles murmured praise into Peter’s ear, nipping gently at his earlobe. “Took your spanking so well. You like it when I spank your little hole, don’t you?” He rubbed soothing hands up and down Peter’s sides, grinding his hard, denim-clad cock against the curve of the man’s ass.

Peter didn’t answer, just whined high and breathy as he clung to Stiles. Determined to get an answer out of him, Stiles reached a hand between the wolf’s legs and tapped his fingers against Peter’s hole, dragged his blunt nails lightly over the delicate skin and made Peter shudder. “Answer me.” He ordered, tone gentle but brooking no argument, “Do you like it when Daddy spanks your hole? When I make your pussy hurt?”

Another whimper, and Peter responded with, “Yes. Daddy, I need-” He gasped then, his sentence cut short as Stiles rudely pressed the tip of a dry finger into his tight cunt, just enough to be uncomfortable. Stiles had to laugh when Peter tried to rock his hips down onto the finger, begging with his body to be fucked even when he hadn’t been prepped yet and it couldn’t be entirely pleasant, having something so carelessly opening him up without any lube to ease the way. He quickly put a stop to Peter’s mindless attempts to fuck himself by sliding his finger out, which earned him a disappointed groan.

“Shh, it’s okay. I know. You need more, huh? Need a big, hot cock filling you up?” He trailed kisses along Peter’s neck and jaw while he breathed the words against his skin, let his teeth scrape harshly over the place where he could feel the man’s pulse beating rapidly just to make Peter jerk in his arms and let out another low groan.

Usually it was Stiles who ran his mouth the whole time they did this, but as Stiles grabbed blindly at the bottle of lube placed beside them on the couch, the words poured out of Peter thoughtless and pleading. “Need it, please- need it so bad, Daddy. Feel so empty without your cock in me, need you to split me open on it, fucking use me, mark me inside and cream up my pussy with your come.” He probably would have kept going, but Stiles took his mouth in a searing kiss then, spreading an excessive amount of lube over his fingers and guiding his hand back between Peter’s thighs without watching his own actions, probably making a mess all over Peter’s furniture and not particularly caring. He rubbed the lube on his forefinger over the wolf’s hole and then pressed inside, moaning into Peter’s open mouth at how easily he fucked one, then two slick digits into that unbearably tight heat.

“Got such a greedy cunt, baby.” He rasped, thrusting two of his fingers smoothly in and out of Peter’s hole, movements stuttering briefly when Peter whined against his lips and palmed Stiles’ cock through his pants, pawing at the buttons and zipper until he had them undone. Stiles let him pull his hard cock out through the slit in his boxers, felt himself leaking copious amounts of precome when one of Peter’s hands wrapped around his length and stroked up and down.

He didn’t let himself get too caught up in the sensation, quickly regaining the deep, slow rhythm he’d set in fucking Peter with his fingers and catching the man’s bottom lip between his teeth before pulling back to mutter, “Feel that, how your pussy’s just sucking me right in? So hungry for cock, aren’t you. Like a nasty,” he pulled his fingers back until Peter’s rim was stretched around just the tips of them, fucking them back in hard for emphasis as he continued, “little. Slut.” Stiles pushed a third finger into the wolf, grunting as the action caused Peter to squeeze the head of his cock while he cried out and rocked his hips back frantically into each thrust of Stiles’ hand, riding his Daddy’s fingers.

Stiles would have continued, but he knew Peter liked a little pain with his pleasure and he didn’t want to be too thorough in prepping him, wasn’t even sure if he could keep going without coming prematurely all over Peter’s hand. So he slipped his fingers out of the man’s hole, replacing Peter’s hand on his dick with his own to rub lube over himself and guide it between his ass cheeks, nudging the thick head against Peter’s wet, fluttering rim.

Peter fisted both hands in Stiles’ shirt and ducked his head to pant open-mouthed against his Daddy’s neck, grinding his hips down as Stiles led him with one hand on the wolf’s hip, the other around the base of his own cock. Stiles was hyper-aware of everything, from the rasp of Peter’s stubble against his neck and the wet lips mouthing at his skin to the death grip Peter had on his shirt as he sat the man down slowly on his lap, his cock sinking into Peter’s wet cunt until he had the werewolf seated fully on him, hole clenching and relaxing around Stiles’ dick and already milking him so perfectly.

“Daddy.” Peter breathed, shaky and awed like it was the first time he’d felt Stiles’ cock filling him up, and technically it was, since they’d only ever done this before while trapped in each other’s bodies.

“Yeah. Good boy, Peter. Such a good little cockslut for Daddy.” Stiles was just as overwhelmed if not more, but he managed to moved his hand to the side of Peter’s waist he wasn’t already gripping firmly, grinding up into Peter just to feel how deep his cock was buried in the man before lifting him a few inches and guiding him into a slow up and down motion. “C’mon,” he urged gently, rubbing his hands over Peter’s sides, “ride me, baby. Ride Daddy’s dick.”

The words seemed to spur Peter on, because soon he was moving on his own, resting his knees on either side of Stiles’ thighs on the couch and rocking himself onto the teenager’s cock, fucking himself harshly until both of them were out of breath and moaning. Stiles sat back and enjoyed the sight of Peter squirming so prettily on his cock, thrusting up every once in awhile just to feel himself fuck that much deeper into the older man and to watch the way it made Peter tremble and tense all over, a constant litany of, “Daddy, daddy, daddy-” pouring from his lips.

It didn’t take much or very long to make Peter fall apart- eventually Stiles slid a hand down to where his cock disappeared inside Peter’s hole, probing with his fingers at the man’s stretched out rim and holding the wolf still with his other hand so he could fuck up into him in deep, quick thrusts, ordering, “Come for me. Go ahead, come on my cock like a good boy, I know you can do it- you’re Daddy’s good boy, my perfect little whore, right?” And that was it, Peter was coming with a broken wail, his cock twitching where it was trapped between their stomachs and his hole clinging so impossibly tight around Stiles that he stilled, felt his own cock jerk and release deep inside Peter. Head falling back to rest on the back of the couch, he groaned and rode out his orgasm with Peter writhing and moaning on his lap.

 

“So,” Stiles began a few minutes later, once they’d both recovered from their orgasms and Peter was curled up limp in his arms, Peter’s head resting on Stiles’ chest while he carded his fingers through the older man’s hair. He’d learned from their first time together that all Peter usually needed as far as aftercare went was to be held, comforted and praised, so that was all they were doing for the time being. “I think that was the last spanking you’d earned for getting me detention at school.”

Peter looked up and quirked an eyebrow at him. “I’ll just have to do something to earn another punishment, then.” He said, sounding cocky and taunting, but Stiles thought he could detect a question in his voice, a hint of uncertainty and that desire to please he got when Stiles wasn’t just Stiles but ‘Daddy.’

“Piss me off and I just won’t “punish” you again for a month.” Stiles countered, but when Peter’s face actually fell he quickly grinned and added, “If you’re a good boy for the next week we can try out the paddle I found in your closet, though.”