Chapter 1: Hail the King
Stiles's phone chimes as he throws himself backward onto his bed. He groans and wiggles as he pulls the phone out of his jeans, already dreading yet another text from Scott whining about his date. Poor Scott. I have superpowers and a hot girlfriend. Woe is me. Stiles snorts. He loves Scott, but if their positions were reversed Stiles wouldn't be complaining about anything. Well, maybe the insane Alpha killing people and trying to get Scott to kill with him, but not the rest.
He's surprised when he thumbs through the unlock screen to find not another text message but an app notification. He lifts his shoulders off the bed enough to double-check that his door is shut before opening the app. The stupid muffin logo always makes him laugh. Who names their dating app StudMuffin? Like, seriously? Though he supposes he can't say much since he's one of their million users.
There's a message waiting for him. Normally he just deletes them without looking, partially from the shame of knowing that he's jailbait on a gay dating app but mostly because the messages are usually shit. Still, he's home alone while his best friend is out on a double date with his girlfriend, the love of Stiles's life, and said love's asshole boyfriend. He's not about to turn down the possibility of a good dick pic to get off on.
Surprisingly, there's no picture in the message—yet. Just a simple "Hello" next to a strikingly hot profile picture. He taps on the picture before he even considers replying.
whatsastiles: Dude, what are you even doing? You're seriously twice my age and then some.
whatsastiles: And that's seriously creepy. Like, do you want to get arrested? This is how you get arrested.
hailtheking: Yet you keep responding.
whatsastiles: Maybe I'm a cop. Maybe I'm tracking your location right now.
hailtheking: You do realize that's not how it works? Also, I haven't done anything illegal. Yet.
whatsastiles: I'm 16!!!
hailtheking: Yes, I am capable of reading your public profile. I had picked up on that tidbit.
whatsastiles: This is a gay dating app...
hailtheking: Really? I hadn't figured that out. No wonder all these men keep asking me for sex.
whatsastiles: Asshole. I'm not having sex with you. You're giving off serious creepy uncle touchy vibes.
hailtheking: Conveniently, I haven't asked to have sex with you.
whatsastiles: ...so what do you want?
hailtheking: To say "hello."
whatsastiles: You did that.
hailtheking: Then perhaps you'll allow me to follow up by asking, "how are you?"
hailtheking: Why am I asking?
hailtheking: Because I would like to know, if that's all right?
whatsastiles: Um... yeah, okay. I'm okay, I guess?
hailtheking: You don't seem certain.
whatsastiles: ...I just...
hailtheking: I'm listening.
whatsastiles: My best friend is on a double date, and the other couple on said date is the girl I've had a crush on since third grade and her douche boyfriend.
hailtheking: Ah. And you're jealous?
whatsastiles: No! Yes. I guess? I mean, he's out with a real girl and I'm home alone, talking with you on this stupid app.
hailtheking: Are you wishing I was a girl instead?
whatsastiles: What? No! I'm equal opportunity.
hailtheking: Wonderful. Otherwise, you would be very misplaced on this app.
whatsastiles: No, I like guys and girls.
hailtheking: But you have a specific girl in mind.
whatsastiles: Yeah, I guess. But not really, maybe? I mean, I have no chance.
hailtheking: You never know what the future may hold.
whatsastiles: Haha, no. She doesn't even know I exist. Like, literally ignores my presence. We've had classes together since third grade and I say hi to her every day, but she doesn't know my name. I'm one step up the social chain from Carl, who transferred from Minnesota last year and has constant B.O.
hailtheking: Then perhaps she isn't worth your time.
whatsastiles: What? Lydia? She's a goddess in human form.
hailtheking: And yet she doesn't find you attractive. She's clearly defective.
whatsastiles: What??? Whaaattt?? Have you looked at my profile? Are you blind? I'm unattractive.
hailtheking: Hardly, darling. You are young for my tastes but quite charming.
whatsastiles: ...I have no words...
whatsastiles: Asshole. Why would you even say that?
hailtheking: Because I obviously find you attractive. I thought that was inferred from our ongoing conversation.
whatsastiles: No. No, not obvious. No one finds me attractive. Ever.
hailtheking: And yet here we are. I can't be the first person to message you.
whatsastiles: You're the first to use full sentences and not immediately send a picture of your junk, which I get is like shaking hands for some guys, but, again, underage and... I don't know... I expect at least a hello first. Which, you've now said, so I guess it's okay now, maybe?
hailtheking: I wouldn't dare be so crude.
whatsastiles: I'm beginning to see that.
hailtheking: I'm glad. I have always been a proponent of proper manners.
whatsastiles: Apparently. So, do you want to have sex with me?
hailtheking: Are you offering?
whatsastiles: Yes? I guess?
hailtheking: You shouldn't guess about sex, especially when you're so young. Tell me, are you a virgin?
whatsastiles: Do you want me to be a virgin?
hailtheking: I want you to tell the truth.
hailtheking: Then you should not offer sex so freely. Your first time should be special.
whatsastiles: Are you seriously trying to talk me out of having sex with you? Do I need to give you the whole 'virginity is a social construct' speech?
hailtheking: Hardly. I'm merely saying that your first time should be special, to give you a proper introduction into the pleasures sex can hold. I would make it very special, darling. I would take care of you.
whatsastiles: ...I'm blushing right now. Like, seriously, what even? You didn't even mention anything specific.
hailtheking: You have nothing to be embarrassed about, darling. The imagination does more when given only tantalizing bits to work with. For now, I'll let you wonder on what I would do to you.
whatsastiles: Why are you calling me that?
hailtheking: What? "Darling"? Would you prefer a different endearment?
whatsastiles: I don't know. How about nothing? Can we just skip that part?
hailtheking: I'd rather not, especially since it seems to make you so flustered.
whatsastiles: What? Are you getting off on embarrassing me?
hailtheking: Not in sexual terms but yes, I enjoy it. I would never publicly humiliate you, but a little embarrassment can go a long way.
hailtheking: You're quite charming when you speak like that, you know.
whatsastiles: I can't tell if you're being serious or sarcastic.
hailtheking: I'm quite serious. I find you immensely charming.
hailtheking: Because your youthful bluntness is refreshing.
Stiles's phone chirps with an update from the hospital. He may or may not have set up a forwarder on incoming emails to the Sheriff's office from certain addresses. He switches over to his secondary email app. His eyes go wide as he reads the email. The bus driver's dead.
whatsastiles: Shit. I have to go.
hailtheking: Pity. It's been a pleasure chatting with you.
whatsastiles: Uh, I guess? I mean, this was nice. Thanks for listening to me and not being a dick, though you're still an asshole.
hailtheking: Have a wonderful evening. I hope to speak to you again in the future.
Even as he races over to Scott's house to share the news, he can't stop thinking about the hot guy from the dating app. He thinks, maybe, he might actually be looking forward to talking to the guy again sometime. At the very least, the guy can talk a good game and if his profile pic is anything to go by, Stiles totally wouldn't mind being sent a picture of the guy's dick.
It's three days before Stiles even thinks of opening the StudMuffin app. He's been understandably preoccupied by the possibility of having to saw Derek's arm off, the attack at the video store, and then trying to figure out what happened to Jackson and Lydia. He may have also pestered Danny about whether Stiles is attractive to gay guys because he still can't believe hailtheking is interested in him. His worrying only increases when he opens the app to find no new messages.
Did the guy forget about him already? Maybe he was just looking for a quick fuck, but that doesn't make sense. Stiles had offered sex and been turned down. So, what was this guy after? What was his angle?
Stiles shoots off a message to hailtheking.
whatsastiles: What's with the silent treatment?
He spends five minutes worrying that he scared the guy off before a message comes back.
hailtheking: I'm sorry, darling. I thought I would let you initiate future contact, in case I had been too forward in our last conversation. I can take a more aggressive stance if that is what you would prefer.
Stiles stares at his screen. He knows what every word means individually, knows what they mean in context, but it takes him a full minute to process the extent of what hailtheking had just implied. He blushes, feeling the heat all the way to his toes. His fingers hesitate over the screen. He shouldn't say it. He really shouldn't, and it feels like he's shedding his stereotypical heterosexual male persona by saying it, but he can't help but want what hailtheking is offering—a chance to not be in control, a chance to let someone else take the lead.
whatsastiles: Yes. That. I want that.
hailtheking: Then I shall be the cat to your mouse, darling. But first, if you will, tell me how your day was.
whatsastiles: Um. Okay, I guess? School. Home. The usual. My best friend's being a dick.
hailtheking: How so?
whatsastiles: I don't know. I feel like I'm being petty but it's like I can never get his attention anymore. Not since Allison. He skipped school today and didn't respond to any of my texts.
hailtheking: That does sound quite rude. I assume Allison is his girlfriend.
whatsastiles: Yeah. Unfortunately. I mean, she's nice, I guess, but I miss my friend. And...
whatsastiles: This is stupid. I shouldn't admit this.
hailtheking: I promise not to judge you.
whatsastiles: Thanks. Really. But it's totally judgment material. He's my only friend. How pathetic is that?
hailtheking: Not pathetic, darling. Some people just have trouble making friends. High school is hard and children are mean. I'm sure you'll blossom once you get to college.
whatsastiles: That's two years away.
hailtheking: Then, for now, you can have me.
whatsastiles: You only want me for my body.
hailtheking: While I admit, your body is quite pleasing and I would like to see more of it, preferably writhing on my satin sheets, I thought I made myself clear that that is not the main reason I am interested in you.
Stiles has to take a minute and will his hard-on down because it's hard to think past the comment about satin sheets. Hailtheking is totally the kind of guy that would have satin sheets with some ridiculously high thread count or whatever the standard is for satin. And the thought of cool satin under his naked back while hailtheking drills him? Yeah, that does it for him.
He closes his eyes, counts backward from ten, pictures both Finstock and his grandmother naked, then turns his attention back to the app. If his hands tremble a little as he types, no one has to know.
whatsastiles: Really? What do I have to offer that you can't get from any other guy? Acne? High school drama? Crippling self-doubt?
hailtheking: For now, why don't we leave it at perspective? I am interested in you and your view of the world.
whatsastiles: What, are you writing a novel?
whatsastiles: Fine. Keep your secrets. I don't get why you think I'm interesting but we'll go with it.
hailtheking: Thank you, darling. Your trust means a lot to me.
whatsastiles: Why do you keep making me blush?
hailtheking: A gift, I suppose? Though it would be more satisfying if I could see the way your cheeks color.
whatsastiles: Ugh. You... What even?
hailtheking: I can only imagine how responsive you would be were we face-to-face. I can think of quite a few ways to make you blush prettily for me. Tell me, are you vocal as well? Do you have to bite your lip to hide the noises when you touch yourself?
Stiles groans. He wants to touch himself. He probably will later while thinking about hailtheking. This conversation alone is going to fuel his spank-bank for weeks.
whatsastiles: ...I'm not answering that.
hailtheking: Very well. Perhaps I will one day find out for myself.
hailtheking: I look forward to it.
whatsastiles: Look, a shiny change of topic. You never talk about yourself much. I guess I should ask how your day was?
hailtheking: Productive, I suppose. I just secured a rather nice apartment in the city proper. I need to order a few things before it will be up to my standards, but it's coming along nicely.
whatsastiles: You just moved here?
hailtheking: You could say that. I used to live here years ago, and am just now reacquainting myself with the city.
whatsastiles: What do you do for a living?
hailtheking: I used to teach literature at the college level, but I am currently between jobs.
whatsastiles: So, you like to read, then?
hailtheking: Yes, darling.
whatsastiles: Who's your favorite author?
hailtheking: The professor in me wants to say Charles Dickens or something equally pretentious, but I've always had a secret fondness for genre literature. I am a fan of Raymond Feist, George R. R. Martin, and J. K. Rowling.
whatsastiles: You read Harry Potter?
hailtheking: Good literature knows no age.
Stiles's phone rings and his heart skips a beat when the number comes up as the Sherriff's Department and not his dad's cell. He forgets about his running chat with hailtheking and Tara has to talk him down from a panic attack while she assures him that while his dad was injured, it's nothing major and he'll be fine.
Still, Stiles at least remembers to tell hailtheking he needs to go before he's racing out the door on his way to the hospital.
Chapter 2: The Alpha
Fuck. Fuck Stiles's life and everything in it. He's trapped inside the high school with a psychotic werewolf that wants to kill him and already killed Derek. And, even better, the werewolf is Scott's boss. All they have to do is get outside past the werewolf and to one of the cars. He nearly has a heart attack when the janitor finds them in the locker room and then again when the Alpha attacks the janitor.
"I'm not dying at school," Stiles says as they walk away from a set of blocked doors.
Then the Alpha crashes through the window and he's running and Scott's running and the Alpha is right behind them, right about to get them as Scott bangs through the doors into the stairwell. Stiles has his hand on the door when something catches his leg.
He trips, hitting the floor hard. The flashlight goes clattering out of his hand and he opens his mouth to yell for Scott but Scott's gone and there's a burning hot paw over his mouth muffling his screams.
Oh, how he screams.
The Alpha makes a noise behind him and Stiles can feel its breath wet on the back of his neck. He is so, so close to peeing himself. He's even closer to dying. He can feel its claws pricking the side of his neck where the Alpha's massive paw nearly wraps around his whole head. Its nose presses against the back of his head and this is it. He's about to die.
Only he doesn't die. The Alpha—Deaton—inhales, breathing loud against Stiles's neck. Then the Alpha moves, shifting further over Stiles's body like a massive, deadly weight pressing him down and the Alpha growls. Stiles is frozen in place. What is he supposed to do here? What can he do? He feels like even breathing too much might make the Alpha mad.
It—he?—growls again and the paw over Stiles's mouth shifts, pulling Stiles's head to one side, exposing his neck. It growls again and this time Stiles can feel the noise all the way in his bones as the Alpha's teeth press against his skin.
It's going to rip his throat out.
It doesn't. It growls again and Stiles closes his eyes, focuses on breathing and not screaming. The Alpha's teeth are just resting against his neck. Not biting. Not tearing.
What does it want from him?
The teeth pull away and the Alpha howls, roaring loud enough to shake the floor beneath them. Stiles whimpers, or at least he thinks he does. He makes some sound that he prays isn't as desperate as he thinks it is. The Alpha settles back on him, nearly crushing Stiles with its weight. It growls again and drags its nose up Stiles's neck and around to his shoulder.
They wait, pressed together for what feels like an eternity, and then suddenly the weight is gone.
Stiles doesn't move for a long time. When he finally gathers the nerve to turn his head, the Alpha is gone. He turns slowly, still on the floor but rising in tentative increments. The Alpha is gone. The Alpha left. The Alpha didn't kill him.
He needs to find Scott. He does find Scott but Scott's with Allison and Jackson and Lydia and what the hell are they all doing here? Then the sound of sirens reaches him. Shit. Did someone call the police? Is his dad on the way?
Stiles has too many questions and not enough answers. He keeps his mouth shut when Scott reveals that the Alpha wants Scott to kill his old pack—to kill Stiles—because the Alpha had every opportunity to kill him and it didn't.
He thinks maybe the Alpha wants Stiles something other than dead.
whatsastiles: I'm drunk.
hailtheking: Congratulations. Is this a first?
hailtheking: What's the occasion?
whatsastiles: Scott and Allison broke up.
hailtheking: That does seem something worthy of celebrating.
whatsastiles: No. :P We're commiserating. Sort of. I'm drunk and Scott's not.
hailtheking: Well, he should step up his game.
whatsastiles: I think he'll get blood alcohol poisoning if he tries. Though it might heal.
hailtheking: It usually does. So, what are you doing chatting with me instead of consoling your friend?
whatsastiles: He's talking about Allison. It's boring. I'm kind of listening? Or at least I was until he started repeating himself.
hailtheking: The first heartbreak is always the hardest.
whatsastiles: Wouldn't know.
hailtheking: You learn to accept it more as you get older. When you're young, relationships feel so new and it's hard to see that the breakup isn't a personal failing on your part but rather a failing of the two of you as a unit.
whatsastiles: Sage advice. You should write a book. Or add that to the one you're already writing.
hailtheking: I'll consider it.
whatsastiles: Do you want to have sex with me?
hailtheking: Right now or in general?
hailtheking: Not while you're drunk, honey, but maybe in the future.
whatsastiles: I'm not sure if I like 'honey' any more than 'darling'.
hailtheking: When you decide on a preferred endearment, do let me know.
whatsastiles: But, like, seriously, you actually think I'm worth having sex with?
hailtheking: Of course, darling. There are many things I would like to do with your lovely body.
Stiles's brain flashes him a warning. Dangerous Waters. Do Not Cross. He glances at Scott and then back at his phone. Now is not the time to delve into porny thoughts but when has Stiles ever been one to do what's appropriate?
whatsastiles: Such as?
hailtheking: Well, fucking, obviously. I can only imagine how tight your virgin hole must be. Tell me, do you ever touch yourself there or use toys?
whatsastiles: I... what? No.
hailtheking: Hmm. You should try it. You might like it. Though, I do admit, part of me wants to be the very first to open you up and teach you all the ways your body can find pleasure. I'd spend hours stretching you, playing you on my fingers until you're begging me for my cock.
Stiles has to look away from his phone because what the hell, body? He's hard. Really hard, and that's never happened without him touching himself first. Fuck. What if Scott can smell that? At least he has an excuse for his cheeks to be red. He glances at Scott but Scott's taking another swig from the bottle before launching back into lengthy description of Allison's perfect hair. Stiles rolls slightly, enough that his lower torso is hidden somewhat but he still looks like he's paying attention to Scott.
He should stop. He really should, but his fingers have a mind of their own as he types out a reply.
whatsastiles: You'd make me beg for it?
hailtheking: I'd make you beg for many things. You would look quite pretty on your knees, asking permission to suck me into that pretty mouth of yours.
Stiles bites his lip to hold back a groan. He wants to go find haletheking, whoever he is, wherever he is, and drop to his knees in front of him. He wants to beg and be given a thick, hard cock in return. He doesn't care where haletheking sticks it—his mouth, his ass, his ear, whatever—he just wants to touch and feel it and have haletheking make good on all his wicked promises.
whatsastiles: I want that.
hailtheking: Then I may give it to you. But not yet. You're not ready.
Stiles thuds his head against the rock behind him. Of course. More waiting. Fuck, what does this guy want? They're communicating through this stupid StudMuffin app and not at all using it for what it's intended. Well, maybe. It could have been intended for getting to know each other shit but all Stiles has seen before hailtheking was people looking for a quick fuck.
Maybe that's why Stiles is so drawn to hailtheking. He's not like any guy Stiles has met, precisely because Stiles hasn't met him. There's a whole mystery about him and Stiles loves a mystery.
whatsastiles: You say that like you have a plan.
hailtheking: I have many plans. Some of them involve you.
whatsastiles: Such as?
hailtheking: In due time.
hailtheking: By necessity, not preference.
whatsastiles: You make it sound like you're some stalker. Like you're planning to kidnap me.
hailtheking: Would you like that?
whatsastiles: Maybe as play, but not for real. I'd miss my dad. And probably Scott.
hailtheking: I would not want to deprive you of your family. Family is important.
whatsastiles: Do you have any family?
hailtheking: A nephew, though he's still rough around the edges. Sadly, most of my family have passed on.
That makes him think of Derek. He knows all too well what it's like to be left with just one family member to hold on to. At least his dad is alive. Derek's uncle is in a coma, so he can't even talk to him. That has to be such a nightmare.
"Well, look at the two little bitches getting their drink on." A stranger grabs their alcohol. Stiles flails, dropping his phone as he tries and fails to get to his feet. His hard-on dies a merciful death because the last thing he needs is someone commenting on that.
Scott has no such dexterity problems. He stands and gets right in the guy's face. "Give it back," Scott growls and Stiles yelps, snatching his phone as he gets to his feet because they're about two seconds away from Scott's fangs coming out and that would be so not good. Stiles isn't one-hundred-percent sure who that would be more not good for, them or the slack-jawed goons pawing at their alcohol, but he doesn't really want to find out either way.
"Scott, maybe we should just go," Stiles offers.
Scott's eyes flash yellow for a second. "You brought me here to get drunk, Stiles. I'm not drunk yet." He takes a threatening step toward the goons. "Give me the bottle."
Claws. There are about to be claws. Stiles grabs Scott by the arm and drags him away before Scott either gets arrested or kills someone. Or worse, his mind automatically adds, gets expelled! He stifles a snicker because that will so not help him defuse Scott's temper.
When they get to Scott's house and fall into a pile on Scott's bed, Stiles belatedly realizes that he'd been in the middle of a conversation. He scrambles for his phone while Scott snores into his pillow. The app's still open, but hailtheking must have taken Stiles's extended silence to mean he fell into a drunken stupor or something, because there's just one unread message and it's only from half an hour ago.
hailtheking: Sleep well, darling. Try to remember to drink lots of water so you don't wake up with a nasty hangover.
That's actually a good idea. Stiles manages not to faceplant on the floor as he rolls out of bed and drinks a couple of handfuls of water out of the faucet. It's not a whole lot and he should probably just go downstairs and drink from an actual glass, but stairs. He hopes it's good enough. Scott doesn't even move when Stiles crawls back into bed, just mumbles something about Allison, and Stiles figures the urge to fight has drained away.
He dreams of hailtheking whispering dirty things into Stiles's ears until Stiles is begging for everything—begging to be allowed to eat, to sleep, to open his eyes. The morning comes far too soon but the headache he wakes up to is blissfully mild.
"Stiles, get out of there right now." Stiles's blood turns to ice. His grip on his phone goes slack, even as Derek shouts "It's him! He's the Alpha!"
Derek's right. It is him. Stiles turns, already knowing what he's going to see but he needs to see it anyway. The man behind him is a scarred mess, but Stiles can still see the man he used to be, the handsome man that smiled at Stiles through a computer screen, dazzling Stiles with photos that are years old.
It makes so much sense in retrospect. Hail. Hale. Why did he think some stranger on the internet was actually interested in him? Why did he think he mattered? All of this, all the late-night conversations and less-than-subtle seduction, all of it was one part of Peter Hale's plan to win over Scott.
"Was any of it real?" He hates the way he sounds, hates the ways his heart is breaking, hates the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.
Peter's eyes flash red and he takes a step forward, hand rising toward Stiles. All Stiles can think of in that moment is the feeling of Peter's Alpha form pressing him into the school floor. He doesn't move, or at least he doesn't intend to, but a hand wraps around his shoulder and suddenly he's flying backward down the hall. Derek roars as he launches himself at his uncle.
Peter runs. Derek gives chase. Stiles is left behind in the suddenly empty hallway to pick himself up and then recover his fallen phone, and isn't that how it always ends, with him being left behind.
He should have known better.
He doesn't open the app. He has messages, but he refuses to look at them. He doesn't even want to see what Peter might have sent him. Did he admit that it was all a game? Did he mock how pathetic Stiles was, so eager and needy that he didn't even see the trap for what it was? Did he try to explain?
Stiles doesn't want to know. He prefers to think the cat's dead in the box without needing to look in and see it.
He lies on his bed and pretends that his dad hadn't seen Stiles at his most wrecked when they'd both arrived home at the same time. Noah hadn't asked questions, and Stiles is so, so grateful for that. He doesn't even know what he could have said to try to explain. Something about Lydia? But Lydia had probably been at the game along with Noah. How can he explain that he's heartbroken over someone his dad has never even heard of?
He must fall asleep at one point because he wakes to glowing red eyes fixed on him from across the room. His scream is cut off by a hand over his mouth. The touch is achingly familiar even though it's a normal, human hand instead of a massive paw. The red eyes are much closer now, close enough that he can make out Peter's face. It seems a little different in the dark, more like the man in the StudMuffin photos but maybe that's just Stiles's imagination.
"Are you going to scream again?" Peter asks. His voice shouldn't sound like sex, like molten chocolate and hot cider and warm blankets.
Stiles strongly debates it, but he doesn't want to get his dad involved. Unless... is Peter here because Noah's about to get involved? Stiles shakes his head and waits until Peter's warm hand pulls away to ask "Are you going to bite my dad?"
Peter raises an eyebrow. "Do you want me to?"
"No!" Peter's hand twitches toward Stiles, but he doesn't attempt to silence Stiles again. Stiles lowers his voice and hisses "I want you to leave my dad out this."
Peter takes a step away and drops into Stiles's desk chair. Somehow, he makes the fake leather swivel chair seem like a throne. "Then I won't."
Stiles frowns. "It can't be that simple."
Peter spreads his hands in a grand gesture. "It is amazingly simple. I'm the Alpha. I choose who gets the bite. It's a gift that should be bestowed on only the most deserving."
"But you bit Scott."
Peter shrugs. "In my defense, I was not in my right mind at the time. I was still healing and not fully aware of who I was, let alone what I was doing. Had I known there was someone as delightful as you nearby, I would have waited."
Stiles's mouth hangs open. There are so many things he could say to that, but what catches his attention and refuses to let his brain move on is "...you want to bite me?"
"I think you would make an excellent beta."
Their previous conversation about begging fills Stiles's mind. Does Peter think he'll be a subservient beta? That he'd just blindly let Peter do whatever he wanted? That he'd be okay with Peter killing people? Well, more people... "I... I don't know if I want that." He shivers as he remembers the feeling of the Alpha's teeth on his throat. "You could have bitten me before but you didn't."
Peter smiles. It's the kind of smile that makes Stiles think about getting down on his knees. "I want you to want to be bitten. I want you to ask me for it. But I'm in no rush. You have time to decide."
That makes Stiles bristle. "So, I get a choice but Scott doesn't?"
Peter's teeth seem preternaturally white in the dark. At least he's not sporting fangs. "Again, insane at the time."
"Why? Why do you want me? Out of all the people in Beacon Hills, why me? Is this just another plot to get Scott to fall in line?"
"I will admit that I was primarily interested in you for your relationship with Scott." Peter stands and stalks forward until there's barely an inch of space between them. He brushes his fingers over Stiles's cheek and Stiles can't help the way he shivers. He almost leans into the touch but it's gone before he can. "But you... I find you delightful. Not just your body, but your mind as well. You asked before if it was real and I didn't have a chance to answer. It was. It is. My attraction to you is real. I want to have you, all of you, but I want you willing when you drop to your knees before me."
Stiles licks his lips. "And beg for your cock?"
Peter's eyes flare red and he grips Stiles by the jaw, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make Stiles feel it. "Among other things." His thumb brushes along Stiles's bottom lip. "You would beg so sweetly."
Stiles slowly and carefully pulls his head away. Peter's fingers brush along his jaw but don't chase after him. "I need time. To think."
"I'll give it to you, but I should caution that I will not stop pursuing my original agenda. The Argents will pay for what they've done."
"The Argents?" Stiles's eyes widen. "Allison's family? What... The people that died weren't Argents."
"No," Peter says, voice dripping with venom. "They just worked with one." Peter's eyes burn red as he leans forward. His arms bracket Stiles, pinning the blankets across Stiles's lap as Peter props his weight on the bed. "Kate used Derek to learn all of our secrets and do you know what she did?"
Stiles shakes his head even though it's really not hard to guess.
"She waited until we were all gathered and used mountain ash to trap us inside our house. Then she set it on fire."
Stiles pales. His overactive imagination supplies more than enough details of what that would be like—his house burning, smoke choking every breath, his whole family dying around him.
"Myers was paid to rule the fire as accidental so the Sheriff's Department wouldn't investigate. Those other fools were the bastards who lit the fire. I remember hearing them laugh while we burned."
Stiles swallows heavily. What can he say? If their positions were reversed, if Stiles had been burned alive and watched almost all of his family die, he would be doing the exact same thing and probably leave behind an even bigger body count. His dad would be disappointed with him, but in that scenario, his dad would be dead and there would be nothing left for Stiles. Nothing but revenge.
He looks down, away from the rage in Peter's eyes. He places his hand on top of Peter's. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sorry your family..." He has to shut his eyes tight to keep from crying. The memory of his mother's death hits him hard and he knows it's nothing compared to what Peter must feel. He knows nothing compared to Peter's loss.
Peter pulls away.
Stiles wonders if he's not enough. If having him as a beta would tamper a bit of that all-consuming need to burn the world down that's driving Peter or if this is what Peter will always be. Is Kate the beginning or the end? He watches Peter slip out his window and he's too scared to ask.
"Stiles," Allison calls, her voice overly cheery. "I've found you a date."
Stiles turns away from the cologne section with a raised eyebrow. He doesn't see anyone with Allison besides Lydia so he remains skeptical. "Who?"
Allison's smile widens, but there's a vicious edge to it and yes, Stiles can totally see the blood-thirsty killer part of her family shining through. He frowns even before she says "Lydia."
It takes a moment for the words to parse. He should feel... something. Thrilled, maybe. Happy at the very least. This is Lydia Martin, the girl he's been dreaming about for years, the girl he would have killed to have a date with just a few weeks ago and now.... All he feels is anger.
"No." He bites his tongue on the rest of the tirade that's ready to spew from his lips because he realizes it's not Allison's fault. He's not even mad at her and it's not right to take out his issues with Peter on her. She thinks she's doing him a favor and in any other circumstances, she might have been. He's holding fast to the belief that Allison knows nothing of her family's crimes, that the girl he's keeping an eye on for Scott is as sweet and innocent as Scott believes. But part of him can't look past the horrible things that her aunt did that turned Peter into the killer he is.
Lydia and Allison blink at him. "No?"
"I'm not a pity date." A few weeks ago, he would have been. He would have been anyone's date, regardless of the reason. Now... now he keeps thinking of Peter and the thought that Peter actually wants him. Not because of Scott, but for himself. He's not sure yet if he can reconcile his interest in hailtheking with the bloodthirsty Alpha, but he's getting there and he knows he's worth more than someone's pity.
"Stiles, it's not-"
He holds up a hand to stop Allison. "It is. Lydia doesn't even know my name, which means you're bribing her into it, and I don't want a part in that."
"Stiles," Lydia says, making him stop and stare. "I do know your name." She steps away from Allison and slinks toward him. He swallows heavily as she pokes him in the chest with a perfectly manicured nail. "I will go to the winter formal with you as friends," she makes sure to enunciate the last word, "and in exchange you will tell me who has you wrapped so tight in their clutches that you forgot about your ill-advised crush on me."
He stares at her for a moment before a smile splits his face. For one second, he forgets all about werewolves and revenge and revels in being a teenager quite possibly in love. "I could tell you, but you don't know him."
Her eyebrows arch and then settle. She smiles, wicked and clever and exactly the kind of way that made him fall for her long ago, long before Peter. "Him, huh? You're giving me details." Lydia turns, her hair nearly smacking him in the face.
Allison's confused frown is kind of cute, in a way. He waves as Lydia pulls Allison off in search of dresses. Stiles turns, wandering into the men's section in search of a decent jacket. He has one that's passable, but he thinks of what Peter would say if Stiles maybe took a little more care with his appearance. A slim cut black jacket catches Stiles's eye. It's the kind of thing Danny could easily pull off, but Stiles?
"Well, that was quite unexpected, darling."
Stiles nearly jumps a foot in the air. He turns, wide-eyed but doesn't move away from Peter's presence so close to him. His heart beats a staccato rhythm, fast and sharp like a rabbit caught in the wolf's jaws. "Are... are you..."
Peter shakes his head. "I promised you time, darling. I'm not here for your answer."
He turns to check on the girls, to make sure that they aren't looking and that they aren't in danger.
"I'm not here for her either. Not yet."
"What about Derek?"
"Kate has him." Peter's hand lands on Stiles's hip and Stiles's eyes almost flutter closed. He can feel the heat of Peter's touch through his t-shirt. Peter shifts closer. All they need is a little music and they could be slow dancing. "I was hoping you might know where?"
Stiles blinks. "Me? How would I know?"
Peter leans forward to whisper in Stiles's ear. "Because you're the clever one."
He licks his lips and God, Peter is so close. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to lick. Close enough to drop to his knees and suck Peter into his mouth.
Peter's thumb brushes against his side, sending shivers through Stiles's whole body. "You know, don't you, darling?"
"I... I think he knew."
Peter hums as he noses against Stiles's ear. Scenting. He's scenting Stiles. Marking Stiles as his property. That thought goes straight to Stiles's dick. "Knew what?"
Right. Derek. Don't think about sex. Well, don't think about having sex right now, in the middle of the men's department. Easier said than done. Anyway. Derek. "I think he knew he was going to be caught. I think he took Scott's phone."
Peter straightens and frowns. "Why?"
Stiles pulls his own phone out of his pocket and thumbs through the unlock screen. He swipes the top menu down and points at the settings bar along the top of the screen. "They have GPS now. For emergency services, but also for games and directions and stuff. If Derek has it and if they left it on, then you can track him with it."
Peter takes a step back. Stiles misses the warmth. "Thank you, Stiles. You are everything I had hoped."
Stiles flushes. He grabs Peter's hand. The words stick in his mouth but he forces them out anyway. "I know... I know you want to kill Kate, but my dad... He's really close to solving this. I mean, won't you get in trouble if you kill Kate? They'll be looking for her murderer."
Peter raises an eyebrow. He turns their grip, wrapping his hand around Stiles's. "Darling, there's already blood on my hands. It's too late to stop now."
Stiles frowns and shakes his head. "No, that's just it. Well, that is it, but there's... It's just..."
That right there is the exact combination of words to untie Stiles's tongue. He looks at Peter, studying the features that are so close to the computer-centric man he first fell for. "The other deaths can be explained away. Pin them on Kate. Say she was trying to cover her tracks. There's enough evidence of the arson that they won't even bat an eye about additional charges."
"She deserves to die."
Stiles nods. "She does. She definitely does, but she's a hunter, right? And not just a lone one, but part of a whole family of hunters. Scott was telling me about all the family Allison has over here and in France and spread across the globe. If you kill Kate, they're going to come after you and I..." He squeezes Peter's hand. "I don't want you to lose anyone else."
Peter's eyes flash red. It's a threat and a promise. "I won't."
"You can't guarantee that." He licks his lips. "You still have Derek. You have-" He cuts himself off before he says it because he's not sure. Does Peter even think about where Stiles will end up in all of this mess? Does it matter?
"And I have you," Peter says for him. He turns Stiles's hand and lifts Stiles's wrist up to his mouth. For a moment, Stiles expects to see fangs but instead soft lips press against his skin. "Is that a promise?"
He doesn't even have to think about it. If he's honest with himself, it was never much of a question. He nods. "Yes. No matter what you decide."
Peter stares at him for what feels like an eternity. Finally, he nods and takes a step away.
"Stiles!" He turns, attention caught by Allison's voice. The girls are coming his way with dresses slung over their arms. "Find something for yourself?"
Stiles's mouth hangs open, words failing him, and he turns quickly to Peter only to find Peter not there. He snaps his mouth shut. "Yes. Ah. Jacket." He grabs the first one off the rack.
Lydia takes it from him and inspects it with a critical eye. "This is the wrong size." For a second Stiles thinks he's caught, thinks they saw him and Peter and surely Allison knows who Peter Hale is, like he has to be on a Most Wanted poster on her fridge, but Lydia just puts the jacket back and pulls out another. She holds it against his chest. "Better. Do you have a tie? What color shirt were you going to wear?"
Lydia frowns and shakes her head. "No, that won't do at all. I'm wearing silver." She grabs him by the arm and drags him toward the shirts. "Do you have a bowtie? A bowtie would match better."
Stiles lets himself be dragged off, a little confused about how this has suddenly become his life—not the life he'd hoped for but he's okay with that.
"Okay," Lydia says as she drops into a chair. "We're here, now dish."
Stiles turns to Allison for support, but she's not there. His gaze lingers on the dancing crowd. Scott's here somewhere, but so is Jackson. "Are you sure you don't want to..." He gestures toward the dance floor.
Lydia pins him with a glare. "Sit. Talk."
Stiles falls into the chair next to her with a sigh. He looks amazing, mostly thanks to Lydia's fashion sense, and there's no one here who'll appreciate it. His thoughts drift to Peter. Has he killed Kate yet? Surely Stiles would have heard if that happened. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything." Lydia leans forward in her chair like a ravenous tigress. "Start from the top. Age, sex, location?"
Stiles snorts. "Far too old, yes please, and somewhere in Beacon Hills."
Lydia arches an eyebrow. "How old is too old? What is he, like 60?"
"What? No! He's thirty..." She levels a bitch-please look at him. "...four, okay? He's thirty-four."
Lydia crosses her arms and sits back in her chair. "Well, that's not too bad." She shrugs. "I've always had a thing for older men. Have you seen Allison's dad? He's hot."
Stiles bites back the urge to vomit. He's honestly never looked at the man and thought anything but 'killer' and now he wonders how true that really is. "Hard pass."
"Whatever. More for me."
"Pretty sure he's taken."
Lydia waves her hand. "Details. But we're off track. What's his name and where'd you meet him?"
Stiles hesitates and takes a thorough look around them to make sure Scott isn't lurking nearby. He even checks the rafters because werewolves. Lydia nudges him with a finger and he swats her away. "His name's Peter and we met online. Through that stupid dating app, StudMuffin."
Lydia snorts and doesn't even look apologetic about it. "Really?"
"Shut up. I know it's stupid. I even qualified it as stupid."
A smirk spreads across her lips. "Well, it seems to have worked. Go you. Please tell me you guys have met in person, right?"
She stares at him. He stares back.
Stiles holds up his hands in defense. "To be fair, he's been recovering from some medical... issues." He supposes that's the nice way of saying 'slowly healing from being in a coma after being burnt alive'. He's not sure Lydia is ready for those kind of details, though. He'd rather just keep that part to himself and the furry ones for now. "But we have talked to each other in person. Briefly. Twice." He doesn't really count the first time in the hospital since that had been less talking and more Stiles being thrown around.
She shoves his shoulder. "Get on that. Also, show me a picture so I can see for myself that he's not some catfishing creep."
He rolls his eyes but dutifully opens the app and navigates to Peter's profile. Lydia squeals in delight and grabs his phone from him. He watches her thumb through the pictures he's memorized over the last few weeks and feels a strange sense of pride as she comments on Peter's hot appearance. It's one thing to both agree that Peter's attractive. It's another that they both know Peter is interested in Stiles. Stiles has to marvel a little over the fact that eventually he might get to have Peter. He might get to be with Peter.
Lydia shoves his phone back at him. "What does that notification mean?"
Stiles blinks and glances down at the app. Then he blinks again. "I have a message." That definitely wasn't there when he'd opened the app.
"Well? You have to show me if it's a dick pic."
Stiles prays it isn't a dick pic. He taps the icon and is surprised to see a message waiting from hailtheking. "It's Peter." He clicks into their thread to read the whole message.
hailtheking: Meet me on the lacrosse field.
Lydia tilts the screen so she can see and then shoves his shoulder. "What are you waiting for? Go get him, tiger."
Stiles's mouth falls open. "Was that a-"
"But what about you?"
Lydia arches an eyebrow and stands. She shakes out her dress and squares her shoulders as she stares out at the crowd. "I am perfectly capable of finding an adequate partner to fawn over me for the rest of the evening. Don't make Prince Charming wait on you. Go!"
Stiles tucks his phone in his pocket and goes. If Peter's outside then he's not coming in after Allison, though Stiles had tried to tell Scott that Peter wasn't going to hurt Allison. Scott, of course, didn't listen, but Scott's also capable of looking out for Allison on his own.
The lights are on when Stiles steps out on the empty field. For a brief second, he wonders if this is a trap. Had Kate gotten ahold of Peter's phone and lured him out to... to what? They'd never talked about anything werewolf related over the app.
"Peter?" Stiles turns while he walks, searching for a sign of Peter in the stands. He wishes Peter had been a little more specific, maybe specified home or away side, picked a line marker, something. Then his back collides with something and he looks up into red eyes. An arm wraps around his waist and Stiles relaxes into the hold. "Peter."
"What's wrong? I thought you were going after Kate."
The red fades from Peter's eyes. "I thought about what you said."
Stiles blinks. He hadn't really expected Peter to take his words to heart but the fact that Peter had, or at least that Peter'd considered them, gave him hope. "And?"
"I'm done losing the ones I care about."
Warmth floods through Stiles and he turns in Peter's grip until they're facing each other. His hands rest on Peter's chest and he hesitates. He wants... but he's never....
Peter's hand cups the side of Stiles's face as he leans down, leans closer until their lips touch and they're kissing. Holy hell, they're kissing. Fireworks go off inside of Stiles's brain and he wants to compare this kiss to every cheesy romantic comedy he's ever secretly watched but he can't think of a single one right now. All he can think about is the warmth of Peter's mouth over his and the tenderness of Peter's touch.
Stiles is breathless when Peter pulls away. Peter's free hand closes around Stiles's wrist. This time, Stiles knows what Peter wants when he lifts Stiles's wrist to his mouth.
"Please," Stiles says.
Peter's eyes glow red. His teeth turn sharp, deadly, but they're gentle when they pierce his flesh. Stiles sucks in a breath because holy hell that hurts but in a strange way it doesn't. His body is overflowing with warmth and he's too keyed up on Peter to even feel much of the sting. Peter's teeth pull away, only to be replaced by his lips and tongue, wiping away the blood. Stiles shivers and closes his eyes because he will come if he keeps watching Peter's mouth.
Stiles feels drunk when he opens his eyes. Peter's eyes are red and close. Stiles could get lost in them.
"Are you all right?"
Peter presses his lips against Stiles's wrist once more. "Are you ready to end this?"
Peter's fingers slide into Stiles's pocket and pull out Stiles's phone. He presses the phone into Stiles's palm. "Call your dad." Stiles blinks. "Tell him that you're worried about your friend Derek. He's missing but you think he borrowed Scott's phone. They'll track it to the house where they'll find Kate holding Derek hostage."
"What? Isn't Derek in trouble? Shouldn't we help him?"
Peter squeezes Stiles's hand around the phone. "We are. He wasn't too bad off when I last checked."
Stiles blinks. "Wait, you were there? And you didn't kill Kate?"
"I was going to. But I stopped to consider the consequences, like you said. Kate's father is worse than she is. If I kill Kate, he'll come after me. He might anyways, but in this outcome, I have the law on my side. Do you think you can help me put the connections your father will need together?"
Stiles blushes and licks his lips. Peter's eyes flash as he watches Stiles's tongue move, which only makes Stiles blush harder. "I may have already done that. Or at least the parts you told me. I was just waiting... to see what you would do."
Peter smiles. "You really are a wonder, my darling beta."
To say Noah is surprised when Stiles shows up to the Sheriff's Station with a box of evidence and another Hale in tow is an understatement. There's a whole world of questions in his eyes as he stares at Stiles, his eyes narrowing when he looks from Stiles to Peter. Thankfully none of those questions spill out, though there is a sternly worded promise of "Later." For now, Noah's got his hands full with Derek's statement and Kate in custody. Soon there will be lawyers and investigations. Noah assures Stiles that they have enough to hold her on while they chase down the box of leads Stiles dropped in their laps.
They release Derek. He's in no trouble, this time. Derek looks at Peter like he's never seen him before and if Stiles wasn't mistaken, he could have sworn that Derek hid a smile when Peter started fussing over him.
"The spare bedroom is up there." Peter points to a spiral staircase leading up to the second floor of the loft Stiles drove them to. It's in a big building downtown and of course Peter had taken the top suite. He spares a glance at Derek as he disappears up the stairs with a grunt of acknowledgement, and then his eyes shift back to the massive bed that seems to dominate the open layout of the loft. Stiles is aware that there is other furniture—a couch, two armchairs, a desk, a kitchenette—but he can't take his eyes off the bed and its black sheets. Are those satin or silk? He has no idea.
He turns, eyes a little wide, to meet Peter's smirking gaze. Peter's hand is on the small of Stiles's back. The touch feels heavy, like a warm weight on his core.
Peter grins. "Would you like to go to bed, Stiles?"
He nods. There's no other answer he can give. He doesn't know if Peter means to sleep or to fuck but he'll take whichever he can get.
"You'll want to take off those dirty clothes." Peter's voice is deep, commanding. Oh, Stiles thinks, not to sleep.
He slides off his jacket and looks for a place to put it. Peter's hand presses against his back, pulling him in, pulling him close. Then Peter's leaning down, his eyes burning red and his lips.... His lips are warm when the meet Stiles's. Then something presses against Stiles's mouth—a tongue—and he's opening his mouth, letting Peter in, letting Peter swallow him with lips and tongue and heat.
The jacket falls from Stiles's loose fingers.
Peter's hands are on him, moving, everywhere. They make short work of the buttons on Stiles's shirt and then that joins the pile on the floor. Stiles gasps, the sound swallowed by Peter's greedy mouth, as Peter unfastens Stiles's belt. His pants are shoved down, underwear going with it and he's naked. So very naked in a big open room with a wall of windows and he's not even sure if Derek's upstairs yet or not.
Peter pulls away. Stiles whines, mouth chasing the kiss, wanting more but Peter's hand on Stiles's chest stops him. Peter takes a step back and Stiles shivers as those red eyes rake down him, taking in his naked body. His hands twitch toward his crotch, the urge to cover himself, to hide from that piercing gaze, is almost overwhelming, but Peter catches his wrists and holds Stiles's hands at his sides.
"You don't get to hide from me, darling," Peter says, his voice thick with heat. "You have nothing to be ashamed of."
Peter lets go and steps back again, leaving Stiles trembling in place. Peter stares. His eyes take in every inch of Stiles. Every freckle, every childhood scar, every mole. Stiles is exposed. It's like he's gone beyond sheer nakedness to peel back all the layers that make Stiles Stiles and he's laid them all out for Peter to see.
He expects Peter to find him wanting, like everyone else does, but instead Peter smiles and says "My pretty boy." A flush burns across Stiles's face. "You're going to be good for me, aren't you?"
"Finish undressing and then I want you to kneel for me."
A chill runs down Stiles's spine but he does as he's asked. He bends to awkwardly disentangle his pants from his shoes and he gets all of it off, everything including his socks. He steps away from the pile of clothes, risks a glance up at Peter, and then he lowers himself down to the hardwood floor.
Peter's hand cups Stiles's face. "Such a good boy." His thumb brushes over Stiles's cheek and stops on his lips. Stiles opens his mouth when Peter presses against his lips. The thumb pushes inside and it's reflex to close his lips around it and suck. "Good boy."
The thumb pulls out and Peter takes his hand away. There's a rustle of cloth and Stiles looks up just in time to see Peter's bare chest come into view. There are muscles there, rigid and defined. They shift as Peter pulls his shirt off and Stiles wonders what all those muscles could do. Then Peter's hands go to his pants and Stiles's attention is caught. He watches, transfixed, as Peter slides down his zipper. He pushes his underwear down and his rigid cock springs free.
Stiles swallows heavily.
"That's right," Peter croons. "This is for you." Peter steps forward and cards his fingers through the short strands of Stiles's hair. "All for you."
The tip of Peter's cock brushes against his lips and he opens his mouth. He has no idea what he's doing. This is brand new territory but he knows the theory. All his research doesn't prepare him for the feeling of Peter's thick cock sliding past his lips and pushing into his mouth. The hand on his head holds him steady as Peter presses forward. Stiles's eyes drift closed and he takes it, lets his mouth be used however Peter wants.
Peter doesn't push in far, not enough to make Stiles gag but enough that he feels full. His tongue brushes against the hot skin and he shivers as the taste hits him. It's strange, almost smoky and unlike anything he's ever tasted. This is the taste of Peter, of his Alpha.
"You're doing so good," Peter says and the praise goes right to Stiles's crotch. "If only you could see how beautiful you look, darling. Your lips were made to take my cock." Peter's hand strokes down the back of Stiles's head. "I could come just from this, from your perfect heat and your pretty lips. But I have other things in mind tonight."
Peter pulls away and Stiles whines as Peter's cock slides out of his mouth. He feels empty without the weight of it.
"I'll teach you to be a good little cocksucker, teach you all the ways to please me. But not now. Now, I want you up on the bed for me."
Stiles blinks. He feels weighted to the floor but he forces himself up. He stumbles a little on legs that have gone unsteady beneath him and turns toward the bed. "How...?"
"On your hands and knees."
Stiles crawls forward onto the sheets. They feel cool under his palms, almost like water the way his touch glides over them. His pale skin stands out against the black.
He can hear Peter moving around the apartment but he doesn't turn. He waits as a drawer opens and closes. Peter kicks off his shoes. There's a thud as his pants come off. Then the bed dips behind him, Peter's weight making the mattress shift.
He shivers as Peter presses against his ass. Peter's cock slides between Stiles's thighs, resting for the moment right on Stiles's balls. Then Peter leans forward to grab a pillow, his body forcing Stiles's to move with it. He has to bite his lip to hold back a moan. The pillow goes under Stiles's hips and then Peter's hands slide over him, caressing his ass and along his sides. One hand settles between Stiles's shoulders and Peter presses down until Stiles's chest is flat against the mattress. Stiles's face burns as he pictures their positions—Stiles with his ass in the air and Peter flush behind him. Peter takes Stiles by the wrists and pulls his hands up until they're level with his head.
"You'll keep your hands there until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?"
Stiles nods. He doesn't trust his voice right now. He has no idea what sort of embarrassing things might spill from his mouth. He stretches his fingers against the sheets. There's just enough give that he can grab them if he needs. He has a feeling he's going to want something to hold onto. Peter's bitemark stands out red against his skin.
Peter leans back, pulling away from Stiles's body. There's a snap and then something cool and wet is being pressed against his ass. Stiles shivers again as Peter's finger circles his hole, not pressing in yet, but teasing.
"You haven't touched yourself here, have you?" Peter asks.
Stiles shakes his head. "You... you said... you wanted..."
"Shh." Peter's free hand rubs down his back. "Yes. I want to be your first."
"You are. In everything."
Peter growls, sort of. It's a strange rumbling sound that hits Stiles right in the core, right in the part of him that's changing, making him into Peter's beta. His Alpha is pleased. "Such a good boy," Peter croons and Stiles feels pleasure rush through him.
The finger presses against him again, harder this time, pushing forward, pushing in. Stiles gasps as it breeches him. There's a little bit of pain but he's too keyed up to feel it as anything but a distant ache. He grips the sheets and forgets to breathe as Peter's finger keeps moving, sliding in and in and in, so deep. It's an entirely new sensation. He's never had anything inside of him like this and the fact that it's Peter, that Peter's inside of him and that this is just the start, that there's more to come....
Stiles buries his face in the sheets as he lets out a low whine. God, he wants... he wants everything. More touch, more heat, more of Peter. He wants Peter's cock inside of him and he aches without it. "Peter..."
"Shh. Soon. I need to prepare you first. I'm going to make you remember this. Going to make sure you never forget the first time I touched you."
"Yes." He wants that. He wants it so bad. He wants the memory of Peter inside of him burned into his skull so that when Jackson or some other high school asshole makes fun of him, he'll remember that he belongs to Peter, to this magnificent, powerful creature that chose Stiles. Out of everyone available, Peter chose him.
The finger pulls out and then there are two, wet and slick and sliding into him, stretching him open. That does hurt, at least at first and he cries out against the sheets, voice mostly muffled by the fabric beneath him. He clenches his hands into fists and groans as Peter's fingers start a slow rhythm, pushing in and out of him. He can feel the burn of them stretching his hole open, making room for something much bigger. He's seen Peter's cock, felt the girth of it on his lips. Two fingers are nothing in comparison.
"You're doing so well," Peter says. "So good for me. Look at you opening up on my fingers. Such a good boy."
Stiles moans and shifts on the bed, knees spreading a fraction wider apart.
"Oh, yes," Peter says. His free hand rubs along Stiles's spine. "So good. I'm going to fill you up, pretty boy. Fill you on my cock and you're going to come for me. You're going to come on my cock like a good boy, aren't you?"
Stiles nods. He shifts, pressing back into the push of Peter's fingers.
"Let me hear you say it." Peter's hand stretches over his head. His hair's too short to grab. He should grow it longer. Peter would probably like that. Peter's fingers dig into his scalp and pull his head back. "Say it."
Stiles licks his lips. He moans as Peter's fingers crook inside of him before pulling out, dragging along his insides until they find a spot that makes him see stars. He's pretty sure he shouts loud enough to wake Derek but he doesn't care, not when Peter's rubbing on that spot and Stiles is so close, so very close to coming.
"Please, Peter..." Stiles voice cuts off with a moan. "I'm gonna... I'm going to come."
The hand on his head is gone in a flash. Pain hits him, a different kind of pain this time as Peter's hand tightens around the base of Stiles's cock and he shouts in surprise.
"Not yet, pretty boy. Not until I tell you to. Understand?"
He nods. "Yes. Peter. Please."
The fingers inside him pull out and Peter releases his vice grip around Stiles's cock. He's so close. He could probably get off on a stiff breeze but he won't. His limbs tremble as he holds himself in place and tries to focus on unsexy things. Jackson Whittemore. Coach Finstock. Spoiled garbage.
When Peter's hands return there're more fingers pushing inside of him, four he thinks and yes, god, yes, this is what he wants, this invasion. He moans, loud and wanton, uncaring that Derek is in the other room and can probably hear them. Stiles is having sex. The whole world could be listening and all he would care about is getting one step closer to having Peter's cock in him.
"Good boy." Peter's hand spreads over Stiles's stomach, holding his hips up while Peter's fingers drive inside of him. "Tell me what you want."
"You," Stiles says. His voice is wrecked. He sounds desperate. He is desperate. God, he wants so much. "Fuck me. Please. I want you to fuck me. I want... I want you inside me."
"Soon, baby. Real soon." Stiles's knuckles are white where he's gripping the sheets. "Gonna make you nice and open for me."
"I'm ready. Please. Please, Peter. Please. I need..."
The hand on Stiles's stomach slides lower. It curls around his cock. All it would take is one pump, one blissful moment of friction, and he'd come.
He can't. Peter won't let him. Not yet.
"You're being so good for me, darling."
God. Those fingers. They're merciless in the way they pound into him. He can almost imagine they're Peter's cock. God, he wants that. "Please. Peter, please."
He can hear the smugness in Peter's voice but he doesn't care. He doesn't have any shame left. There's just want and desire and the desperate heat in his belly that's getting stoked hotter and hotter by the relentless press of Peter's fingers.
"Please fuck me. I need you. I need you inside me. I want to come. Please, Peter, make me come. Please. Peter. Please."
Peter hums in delight. "How can I resist an offer so sweet?"
The fingers are gone. Stiles gasps. He feels dizzy, like there's not enough air in the room. Then Peter's wet cock presses against his entrance and he doesn't care about air, all he cares about is Peter's cock. It presses in, splitting him open wider than the fingers could. It's hot, like a burning brand inside of him and he wants to come, he should be coming but Peter's got his hand around the base of Stiles's cock so he can't.
Tears prick at the corners of his eyes and he lowers his head back to the sheets, lets the fabric muffle the needy sounds that won't stop falling from his lips. He begs, says Peter's name over and over again like a prayer, but Peter doesn't move, just stays frozen inside of him for too long. Far too long.
When Peter finally does move, something inside of Stiles breaks. He shatters, shudders, trembles on the silken sheets. Peter's fucking him for real now, moving slow at first, slower than the waves of the ocean, pulling in and out and ripping apart the very core of Stiles's being. He gasps. There are tears in his eyes but he doesn't care. He can't see, can't think. All he can focus on is the feeling of Peter inside of him and how badly he wants to come.
He's distantly aware of Peter talking to him, crooning endearments in the low, dominating voice of his, telling Stiles how good he is. Then Peter asks if he wants to come and God, yes, yes, that's all that he wants but he can't say it, can't stop the wrecked noises that he's been reduced to long enough to make words.
Peter understands him, somehow, and that vice grip goes soft, stroking him and yes, that's everything he needs. He screams into the sheets as he comes harder than he ever has in his life. His hands are rooted in place, fingers fused to the sheets from the force of his grip but that's the only part of his body that stays still. He jerks and shudders with his release, spasming around Peters cock and pushing himself back, back to meet Peter, to feel him, to drive him deep into the very core of Stiles.
The world spins, shifts, and resettles, and when Stiles comes back to himself he's aware of the wetness on the pillow beneath him and more, leaking down his thighs from where Peter spilled inside of him.
"Peter?" His voice is a hoarse whisper.
"Right here." The bed dips and a wet cloth runs over Stiles's skin.
He closes his eyes. He could sleep like this. He's boneless, too tired to even think about moving. Peter moves him anyway, pulling Stiles's fists apart finger by finger and then rolling him to the side so the pillow can be tossed away and the rest of the come cleaned from his skin. Peter wrestles the top sheet out from beneath them and then pulls Stiles close to his chest. Stiles smiles as Peter places a soft kiss on Stiles's forehead.
"Was that memorable enough for you?"
Stiles nods against Peter's chest. His eyes are heavy and Peter's body is warm. Peter's arms hold him tight. He's never felt safer in his life, like nothing, not even death could find him here. He closes his eyes.
"Go to sleep, my pretty boy. We have a bright new day waiting for us in the morning."
He's asleep in seconds and when he dreams, he dreams of glowing red eyes watching over him, always.