The Trouble with Threesomes and Supernatural Soul Mates
Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV)
14 Feb 2015
Peter looked at Stiles from the corner of his blue eyes and smirked. Stiles swore he saw a flash of red Peter’s eyes, but it might of have been his brain’s lack of oxygen making him hallucinate. “I’m looking for my soul mate. Christopher Argent. I believe he volunteered to be taken in for questioning.”
An iron fist clenched Stiles' heart. This man was Argent’s—Christopher’s soul mate?
Stiles stared at the Peter’s wrist, examining every detail of Peter's soul mark. Stiles couldn’t find anything different between his and the blond’s.
Stiles lifted his hand and ghosted his fingers along Peter’s forearm.
It was lightning all over again, and Stiles yanked his hand back, only to have it caught in an unbreakable grip.
Frosty blue eyes burrowed into Stiles', and he couldn’t stop himself from gulping. The smirk on Peter’s lips grew as the corner of his mouth quirked higher, and he drew Stiles’ hand close to his face.
Peter’s nostrils flared slightly as he stared at Stiles’ soul mark. He pulled Stiles forward, pressing soft lips to Stiles wrist.
“Now what would your name be?” Peter purred.
Chris rolled over and hid his amusement behind a mask of nonchalance.
Stiles was spread out across most of the bed with his face planted into Peter’s pillow, while he cuddled his pillow to his chest. Drool dribbled out of Stiles’ mouth and onto Peter’s pillow.
Peter was splayed across Stiles’ back with one arm draped around his shoulders and a leg looped around Stiles’. Peter’s normally perfectly kept hair was in utter disarray to the point that “bedhead” was a polite descriptor.
Peter glared at Chris.
“Personally, I find this adorable,” Chris said.
Peter glowered down at the oblivious boy. “I’d like to see you deal with this and laugh.”
Stiles squinted at the photo. He’d only seen pictures of Trisha, and the brunette girl ducking out of the picture looked a little like the supposedly dead girl. “Is there a better photo?”
“No, but her friends swear it's her.”
Stiles bit his thumb, taking in the information.
Peter had moved from the bed and had taken to kneeling next to Stiles. Stiles leaned into Peter’s chest, searching for support as he debated how to respond to Scott. “Freaky.”
“Dude, that’s not even the half of it.”
Stiles tensed. “Scott, why do I get the feeling you should have led with what you are about to say?”
“Probably because I should have, but my literature class taught me about story progression and the importance of pacing out info—”
“Right! Sorry! Anyway, people think she was haunting the party and looking for revenge or something.”
Stiles’ throat went dry. “Revenge?”
“Yeah,” Scott’s voice went somber. “Stiles, someone was killed at that party.”