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Stiles groaned, slipping sideways to land on the floor with a thud. Throwing an arm over his eyes, the teen laid there for awhile. Sprawled out flat with nothing but the sick buzz of exhaustion humming through his veins.

Eighteen hours of continuous, non-stop research and Stiles couldn't even remember what it was they were fighting anymore. Everything was conflicted and jumbled up, nothing could be completely ascertained and at this point, Stiles was willing to just raze the bloody town. Seemed a lot simpler.

“You alive, Stiles?” An amused voice came from behind him.

Ah yes, Stiles had forgotten about them; his fellow researchers. Peter Hale and Chris Argent –Lydia too, but she had bowed out about an hour ago claiming fatigue. Stiles didn't exactly blame her, though he did wish he could join her (not, like, join her join her, but you know, go to sleep and –shut up, and stop being dirty, okay?). But he also didn't want to leave Peter and Chris to doing this on their own; he had no doubt that they were more than capable (far more capable than him, at any rate) but they also got into horrific arguments like no one else. There wasn't a doubt in Stiles' mind that even if he did go upstairs to crash in one of the Argent's guest rooms, he'd only be awaken a few hours later to Peter and Chris yelling abuse at one another.

“Stiles?”

A strong hand gripped his wrist to draw his arm off of his head, blinking blearily upwards, tired brown connecting with steel blue. Chris' amused face looked down at him, a brow cocked and a small crooked smile on his mouth.

“You alright, kid?” He asked, almost fondly, as his thumb rubbed circles into Stiles' wrist.

Stiles swallowed thickly, unused to being so close to the (hot, very hot, his brain supplied unhelpfully) older male. “I was debating the merits of asking to borrow one of your swords or knives or whatever,” the teen managed to croak out.

“Oh?” Chris' brow climbed higher. “What for?”

“To impale myself on violently,” he deadpanned.

Peter snorted from his position on the armchair and Stiles had to lift his head in order to get a look at him. The werewolf had one ankle crossed over his knee, his laptop balanced delicately in his lap as he smirked over the top of it.

“You're looking to impale yourself on something?” Peter asked, a touch of wickedness to his tone.

“Not like that, you ass!” He spluttered indignantly, pushing himself upright. “I just meant–“ Stiles groaned and flopped back down. “Fuck it, forget it, whatever.”

“Maybe you should get some sleep, kid,” Chris told him. “It is pretty late after all...”

“Sleep is for the weak or the dead,” Stiles retorted. “Or those with nothing better to do. Or normal people. Or evil people. Or...” Stiles cut himself off with a sigh and slid both his hands into his hair, gripping at the tresses and tugging. “Fuck, I need my adderal.”

“Or someone to fuck you unconscious,” Peter supplied unhelpfully.

Stiles could feel his face flaming red. “Shut. Up.”

“Yes, Hale, shut up,” Chris snapped, looking back down at Stiles, he tugged the kid's arms away from his face. “Come on Stiles, up you get.”

The teen groaned but allowed Chris to pull him to his feet, trying to ignore the shiver of arousal at how easily the man could move him. He didn't know when, exactly, he developed a thing for manhandling (or men in general, really), but it really needed to fucking stop. Like, Stiles didn't particularly care that he was bi or whatever. But when you're around werewolves all the fucking time who can scent your fucking arousal... Well, it was annoying, to say the least.

Especially as Peter was currently smirking at him from over Chris' shoulder, his eyes flicking down pointedly to Stiles' crotch before his smirk widened deviously. Face flushing in mortification, Stiles mumbled something about making coffee and beat a hasty exit towards the kitchen.

Peter chuckled as the boy hurried out of the room, his face red. It was far too easy to toy with the boy really, especially when it came to the matter of sex. Oh, how Peter longed to be the one to sully him. To teach him how to make a person give up and give in with just a few light caress and barely-there touches. The boy could be beautiful -was beautiful. And the wolf wanted the boy.

Not because of Stiles' age, of course. The boy far surpassed his age in terms of his mental abilities; not even the dear Miss Martin could match his boy. She was far too willing to exchange her power and freedom for a touch of safety and, well, everyone knows what they say of people like that. Stiles however, he was willing to do whatever was necessary to ensure that he and those he cares for came out alive and on top. It was something Peter could admire.

And so, Peter wanted Stiles. Perhaps more than he should. He wanted to have everything with that boy, and the thought alone frightened Peter to a degree. It is, after all, one thing to have a pretty young thing on his arm and quite another to wish to protect said pretty young thing at the cost of his own life. Which is, oddly enough, what Peter wanted. He wanted Stiles in his bed and on his arm; his to fuck, his to own, his to protect, his to love.

He didn't think the boy would mind, to be honest. Stiles seemed as fascinated with Peter as the wolf was with Stiles. The boy pushed and teased and danced, the two of them trying to one-up the other. Clever and sly, the two of them could rule the world. If either were the type for such fanciful notions. There was just one problem.

Christopher Argent. It was hard not to notice the man's attraction to his boy. The hunter was careful about it, of course. Society was fickle about things like that; for it is one thing for a man to lust after a barely legal boy, it is another for one to lust after a barely legal boy younger than his own child.

Still, the man's attraction was obvious –at least to those whom are looking for it (like Peter). The lingering touches were the easiest sign. After a hunt, he always reached out for Stiles as a close second or -often times- before his own daughter. A hand clapped on the shoulder, a tugging pull at the nape of the boy's neck, a guiding touch to his lower back. Or, on a rather memorable occasion that still never failed to get Peter's hackles up, a full-out hug after Stiles had a painfully close run-in with the monster of the week.

Peter, however, was not an untrained pup. He didn't mind in the slightest if the hunter lusted after his boy. In fact, it was his favourite pastime to deny those he disliked of what they want. The problem arose in the form of Stiles. Frustrating, arousing, argumentative, rebellious Stiles. The werewolf wished he could say that it infuriated him, but it didn't. Quite the opposite. It frustrated him to an alarming degree, but then, he would not hold the same attraction to the boy if he wasn't so... him.

Stiles, quite simply, was attracted to Argent as well. Which was what annoyed Peter so. Stiles was wholly attracted to the man. It was obvious in the way his cheeks would flush whenever Chris gave a lingering touch to the boy's lower back or hips. Or the way his heart would start to pound whenever the man purposely loomed over to boy with a hand between his shoulder blades and kind word on his tongue.

Not to say that Peter did not understand the attraction. Christopher Argent was an incredibly handsome man, that wasn't something to debate. Muscular body lined with rugged scars, his strong jaw and painfully blue eyes. Oh yes, Peter could certainly understand the appeal. The werewolf had once entertained the idea of seducing the man, but the hunter was far too straight-laced to go for the idea. Though... the mental image of breaking down the hunter's walls was an appealing one...

Shifting only faintly in an attempt to alleviate his arousal, Peter decided he needed some form of stress relief. And as his boy was not yet ready to entertain the idea of jumping into bed with him, and Argent was far too straight-laced to even think of it (though, oddly enough, the thought of having Stiles in his bed was apparently further within Argent's realm of possibility than sleeping with a werewolf); Peter decided to do the next best thing. Pick a fight.

“If you were anymore obvious,” he began silkily, “the boy's father would toss you into a cell faster than you could draw your gun.”

Christopher's head snapped towards him, his icy eyes narrowing. “What are you on about now?” The man's voice was low and rough with annoyance.

“I'm on about your attraction for Stiles,” Peter replied, feigning nonchalance easily. “It's sickeningly obvious.”

“You're not going to goad me into a fight, Hale,” the hunter's eyes narrowed in contempt. “Especially not in my own home.”

 “A fight in your own home? Perish the thought,” Peter drawled, righteous anger simmering in his gut. It was soothed, somewhat, by the guilt now spicing the hunter's scent. “But let's not talk about ancient history, hm? I'm more curious about your choice of words. Wasn't a denial, was it? So tell me, Christopher,” Peter smiled dangerously, “have you always had a thing for young boys, or did your father instill something of the sort within you?”

And oh, that one touched a nerve. Peter's smile grew, wicked and devilish in the way Argent just stilled. Like prey, his wolf howled inside of his chest. The hunter's hands twitched towards the knife kept tucked at the small of his back, or perhaps to the gun hidden at his ankle.

“Tread very carefully, Hale,” Argent's voice was dark and dangerous. “I'd hate to get blood all over my upholstery.”

“Better than ash, wouldn't you say?” Peter drawled low.

“Is that what this is about?” Argent asked him.

“Perhaps I just got a little bored,” Peter suggested.

“Or perhaps you're jealous.”

Peter met the hunter's eyes carefully, trying to keep his body from betraying him. “Petty, Christopher,” he hummed instead, “I expected more.”

“Petty, perhaps,” Chris smirked, leaning back casually, “but no less true. What is it, Hale? Worried he won't go for a burnt out wolf like you?”

“I see no challenge in a damaged hunter with father issues who would result to playground insults,” Peter was quick to retort.

“If that were true, you never would have brought it up.”

“Brought what up, Christopher? You've yet to tell me anything.”

“Don't play coy with me, Hale.”

“Coy? The only one playing coy, Christopher, would be yourself. After all, you can't even bear to speak it aloud. What's the matter? Worried Allison might learn of your lust for a boy less than half your age–“

A crash had Stiles standing bolt upright from where he had been half-slumped over the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew. Pulling the plug, Stiles listened to the other room with a confused frown. He was more than confident in Peter and Chris' abilities to fight off whatever big bad decided to be stupid enough as to try and ambush them here. In fact, Stiles doubted there were two men he trusted more. Perhaps that sounded stupid, but as much as he loved and trusted Scott -and Derek, to a degree- he also knew that Chris and Peter were the most experienced fighters they had. Not to mention the two smartest and, arguably, strongest.

Face flushing, Stiles cursed himself in his head. Careful there Stiles, his mind was mocking, your crush is showing. Muttering a curse, Stiles crept towards the door to the kitchen quietly before slowly opening the door. Peering into the room, he fought the urge to curse aloud as he pushed his way in.

The crashing sound had been, apparently, Peter's laptop. Chris had tugged him from the armchair and now held him by the collar, the two glaring at one another heatedly. Peter's eyes were flashing a too-bright blue, and Chris' knife had been pulled from a holster and was now pressed up against Peter's neck.

“I leave for, like, five minutes,” Stiles muttered as he strode towards them. Stopping about a foot away, the teen eyed them cautiously. “Are you two quite finished?” he asked sourly, too exhausted to be pleasant.

“We're just having a minute disagreement, Stiles,” Peter said (and how the guy managed to sound unaffected with a fucking knife against his throat, Stiles had no idea).

“Minute disagreement, my ass,” he scoffed.

Peter's eyes flashed mischievously. “Well, actually–“

“Don't.” Chris demanded, scowling darkly.

“So demanding,” the wolf smirked.

“Guys, seriously, knock it off,” Stiles said, scrubbing at his forehead in frustration. “I don't want to have to deal with a pissed Lydia if you wake her up.”

Neither moved. Of bloody course. Fucking typical.

Groaning, Stiles stomped forward, intent on getting them to separate. Gripping Chris' bicep (and trying not to swoon at the muscle found there, like Jesus), Stiles tugged at him ineffectually. Rolling his eyes, Stiles braced himself against Chris' form leaned in to grip the knife. The hunter hissed in worry as the teen wrapped slender fingers around the sharpened edge, but it shocked both of them enough for Stiles to muscle his way in between them. Chucking the knife if the direction of who-the-fuck-cares.

“Are you stupid?” Chris demanded, gripping his hand and tugging it up to his face for inspection. “You could've cut yourself!”

“And you could've slit Peter's throat,” Stiles retorted, tugging his hand away. “I could live with a cut palm for a bit, but I'd be pissed if you killed Peter just because he's being an ass. Newsflash: Peter's always being an ass.”

Chris grimaced but when he looked over Stiles' head, presumably to look at Peter, something hardened in his gaze and he glared once again. Turning, Stiles scowled at Peter's smirk. Punching him just hard enough to enforce his point (and not to like, break his hand), Stiles gave him a glare of his own.

“That doesn't give you permission to be a dick, Peter,” he said.

A strong arm slid around his lower back and Stiles let out an embarrassing squeak as he was pulled against Peter's chest. “Guess you're just going to have to make me stop then,” Peter purred, his eyes flashing to Chris' for a moment before looking back down at Stiles.

“Haha, asshole,” Stiles snarked, his face flaming, “I'm not getting involved in this little pissing contest, now let me go!”

“Yes,” there was a dangerous edge to Chris' voice. “Let him go.” Each word was deliberate, emphasized, angry.

“Now, why would I do that?” Peter asked, his voice as mocking as Chris' was angry.

“You don't want to push me Hale...”

A hand gripped Stiles' waist and, with a start, Stiles realized that they weren't just fighting for him. They were fighting over him. Like, physically. At any moment, one of them was going to snap and Stiles knew that it wouldn't end well for him. He had to, somehow, either get Chris to go cool off or shut Peter up. And so, swallowing with a click, Stiles did the only thing that he could think of.

He kissed Peter.

Now, mind you, Stiles didn't say it was a good idea. In fact, as soon as he had done it, a number of things had happened. First, Chris immediately pulled his hand away from Stiles' hip as if he had been branded; second is that Peter froze, as if not expecting it at all. (Well, in all fairness, neither had Stiles).

Wrenching himself away, Stiles couldn't even find the words to say, an awkward silence hovering before he smashed through it with his usual tact.

Fuck, I'm so sorry,” he gasped, trying to ignore how his mouth tingled. “Fuck, I didn't mean to– I had just wanted to– Fuck, I'm sorry!”

“Trust me, Stiles,” the teen blinked in surprise, there was a note of... honesty and, Peter sounded kinda wrecked. “I am not sorry in the slightest.”

Frowning, Stiles went to question, only to be tugged into a hard embrace as Peter slanted his mouth over the teen's. He gasped and Peter took immediate advantage: an opportunist til the end. Snaking his tongue into Stiles' mouth, he lapped at the boy's palate. Stiles groaned low in his throat and fell forward, his hands bracing against Peter's chest. The wolf only exaggerated this by stepping back, forcing Stiles to lean his weight fully onto Peter. Stiles began to react, sliding his hands up to wrap around Peter's neck.

Stiles couldn't say he had never thought about kissing Peter, nor that he had never wanted to. But, fuck, he had never expected the wolf to want him back. Nipping at his bottom lip, Stiles couldn't help but grin as Peter chuckled at the sting. Soothing it instantly, Stiles gripped at the back of Peter's neck, bouncing onto his toes in a bid to get closer.

A hand gripped his shoulder and Stiles was suddenly tugged back. Peter's arms were like steel bands around his waist, so Stiles could only let out a soft grunt at the conflicting forces. Looking back, Stiles blinked in surprise before flushing hotly at the sight of a very pissed (and very hot) Chris Argent glaring at them.

“If I may remind you,” his voice reminded Stiles of a burn so hot that it felt cold, “Stiles has yet to be eighteen. You will control yourselves in my home.”

Peter laughed, hauling Stiles back towards him as he smirked at Chris, triumph dancing in his eyes. “Oh, Christopher,” he smirked, “no need to be jealous.”

“I -uh- highly doubt that Chris is jealous,” Stiles squeaked, his voice high. “So, Peter, if you could -you know- not.”

“It really is too bad that you don't see it, little one,” Peter said, his eyes pinned to Chris' even as he stroked Stiles' spine mindlessly. “But poor Chris here has been aching for you. It really is quite fortuitous that you had kissed me, Stiles. Else you'd might have someone who didn't quite... measure up.”

Chris growled low in his throat and Stiles could see that the look in Peter's eyes sparked higher, as though things were going exactly as he planned. A hand gripped his upper arm and whipped him around, Stiles yelped and fell forward into Chris. Without hesitation, the man gripped his neck and angled his head up before kissing him hard.

This was... this was nothing like the kiss he had shared with Peter. With Peter, the kiss had been challenging and playful but this was... teeth and tongue and passion. Chris coaxed Stiles' tongue into his mouth and sucked on it hard, making the teen's knees weak as the man gripped his hips and tugged him forward.

Lack of oxygen had Stiles feeling dizzy and punch drunk, the boy pulled away and looked up at Chris with wide eyes. Chris' eyes were dark with lust, and his mouth was a dark pink. Stiles flicked his tongue out to lick at his still-tingling mouth and he watched as Chris tracked the movement closely. His heart jumped in his chest, but before Stiles could do anything; Peter had already made a move.

The werewolf had become a line of heat along Stiles' back and he pressed forward, sandwiching the teen between he and the hunter firmly. The noise he made, low in his throat, was enough to make Peter laugh even as he ground his hips against Stiles' lower back. The teen gasped, feeling the outline of Peter's erection against him. Chris groaned at the noise and ducked his head, one hand cupping Stiles' jaw to angle his head up and kiss him again.

“Now, this is more like it,” Peter purred, grinding against Stiles lightly as his hands danced down towards the teen's hips.

Stiles broke the kiss with a moan as the werewolf wormed a hand between them to palm him through his jeans. Dropping his head to Chris' shoulder, Stiles whimpered, his hips bucking minutely. The movement, however, had him grinding forward onto Chris; the hunter immediately groaned as the teen pressed against his erection.

As Chris scrambled to get his brain back online, Peter pulled his hand from between their bodies to wrap around Chris' neck and pull the hunter into a ferocious kiss. It was less a kiss and more a battle, to be honest, a battle consisting of more teeth than lip or tongue. Stiles watched them kiss, his erection jumping within the confines of his jeans.

“Holy fuck that's hot,” he whispered.

It was just enough, however, for Peter to pull back and smirk down at the teen. “Oh Stiles,” he said, his voice low and husky, “we've just gotten started.”

Stiles squeaked in surprise as Peter unceremoniously picked him up and carried him over to the stairs. Pausing at the base of them, Peter turned and cocked a brow at the hunter.

“When you decide whether you want me to be the only person getting inside Stiles tonight-” the teen yelped “-or if you want to be somehow involved. You know where to find us.”

Giving him a lascivious smirk, Peter sauntered off (as well as one can when carrying a teenager over the shoulder) and up the stairs towards the master bedroom.

Chris froze in place, locked in a vicious battle with himself. The hunter knew himself well, and he never pretended otherwise. He knew his body and his mind better than most could say about their own as he had a very strict no-bullshit policy when it came to his own well-being –be it emotional or physical.

He had known he was bisexual -for example- from the time that he was eleven and had never really questioned it. Chris hadn't thought himself in love with Victoria until a year into their arranged marriage and Chris had never really bought into his father's bullshit (which may have been why it had been so difficult for him to spot when his baby sister had gone off the rails).

But this type of self-honesty also meant that he had known from the first instant when he began to feel attracted to a boy less than half his age.

And he was, mind you, attracted to Stiles. It wasn't because of how young he was or some sort of midlife crisis. For one, that was an insult not only to Chris but also to Stiles and two, Chris was not attracted to Stiles from the get-go. In fact, he had written the kid off as just another friend of Allison's with a crush on him (it wasn't exactly new).

That was, until, he had confronted the kid the night of the Winter Formal. He had walked into that argument/interrogation with the firm belief that he had the upper hand and that he was going to be walking out victorious. Yet a few simple sentences from Stiles had him wrong-footed and falling fast.

The kid had been smart.

Not just smart, but fucking tenacious too and vicious to the core. Chris remembered being confused as to whether or not Stiles was a werewolf that night, and then wishing that he had gotten his own hooks into the boy beforehand and trained him as a hunter. He had a feeling that after a bit of fine-tuning, Stiles would've been the perfect back-up and the best set of eyes he could hope to have watching out for his daughter.

At first, it had been admiration. It was hard not to admire a kid who not only willingly walked into a war zone for his best friend, but fought his hardest to make sure that everyone came back out with him. But then it had grown into something else. That may have been the moment when Stiles moved from being Allison's-friend-with-a-crush to just Stiles to protect-protect-keep-safe-not-Stiles. Which was what everything boiled down to, really. Chris wanted to protect him.

Perhaps that sounds simple. But Chris grew up in a world that was very much 'us versus them'. 'Us' as in hunter versus werewolves, but also 'us' as in hunters versus ignorant beings (like well-meaning cops) getting in the way. And in that world, one doesn't simply wish to just protect someone. Especially not someone like Stiles, who was head and shoulders into being part of a werewolf pack.

Yet here Chris was. Wanting to keep the boy safe from anything and everything. Yet also wanting to teach him everything. It was hard not to notice that the boy was attractive, and Chris could appreciate pleasing aesthetics as well as the next person. This was just the first time that a kid like Stiles managed to have the entire package. Was beautiful in appearance, had a brain that begged for a challenge, and managed to worm his way deep enough into Chris that the hunter was hard pressed not to want to touch him.

Looking up the stairs, a flash of jealous wriggled in his gut, hot and bitter. The idea of Peter fucking that beautiful boy open, his damned indecent mouth gasping and bruised and wet enough to be lewd... It was enough to make Chris' head spin.

He understood, alright? He got that Stiles was young. But the boy was also so old in other ways, he was innocent but so wise. Most of all, the boy knew what he wanted. And fuck if Chris hadn't observed that Stiles had a crush on both him and Peter.

At the thought of Peter, Chris cursed and ran a hand through his hair. That was a whole other problem he didn't want to deal with right now. But if it meant he could have a piece of Stiles (or have a piece of himself in Stiles, as Peter so crudely put it), putting up with Peter was the least of things.

Making his decision, Chris took the stairs two at a time, unlacing his gun holster as he did so. Walking into his bedroom (which, by the way, was rather annoying that Peter thought he could get away with fucking Stiles on his bed), Chris felt his partially softened length jump at the sight before him, a groan worked it's way from his chest.

Across the room, sprawled across the large bed, Stiles felt his brain dissolve into goo. His shirts had been stripped off at some point, but that became rather irrelevant when Peter tugged his own off and pressed him down into the bed. The wolf had then just followed with momentum until he could press his mouth to Stiles', fucking his tongue deep into the boy's mouth. Stiles couldn't help the guttural groans that rose from his chest as his legs fell open to make space for Peter.

Peter pulled back slightly, Stiles' forearms wrapped around his neck and the boy's hands playing with his hair. Surveying him, the teen felt heat flash through his body, Peter's hair was a mess and his eyes were almost fever-bright. A flicker of mischief appeared before he gripped Stiles' jaw and turned his head to the side. His mouth immediately latched onto the pale expanse of skin, nipping and sucking marks in the stretch of Stiles' neck.

Gasping, Stiles' back arched and his body rolled up into Peter's. Their lengths collided between layers of jeans and the friction had a growl rumbling up from Peter's chest. Stiles huffed out a laugh and did it again, just to be a pain. The wolf chuckled into his neck before letting just the faintest hint of fang slip into the next hickey he left as he pressed on Stiles' hips to keep him still.

The teen whimpered at the feeling, squirming under the wolf's hold. The door clicked open and a low, rumbling groan filled the room. Looking over, Stiles felt another curl of heat lick at his spine. Chris' eyes were dark with lust, an obvious bulge to his jeans as he watched them. His mouth had parted and the leather of his holster lay wrapped in his hand. Peter pulled back, triumph dancing in his eyes as he surveyed Stiles' neck before looking over.

“Get rid of the weapons and the shirt, Christopher,” he smirked, “then come and play.”

“You're such –such a psycho,” Stiles said breathlessly, unable to help the grin that crossed his face.

Peter chuckled and rose up to kiss him, lips sliding sensuously. “Somehow, I don't think you mind,” he murmured against the teen's mouth.

A thud made Stiles break the kiss as he turned his head, his member twitched in his jeans at the heated look Chris was giving them. His knife and gun now sitting on the dresser across the room. In one sinuous movement, the hunter reached over his head and grasped the neck of his shirts before drawing them up and over his head, letting drop where they will. Stiles' breath hitched at the sight; though Chris and Peter were both in excellent shape, Chris obviously had to work for his muscles and Jesus did it show.

The bed dipped as Chris knelt on the bed, and Stiles couldn't resist reaching out to run his hand down the dip between the hunter's pectorals and down through the groove in his abdomen. He took a brief moment to circle the man's navel before dipping lower and tracing the hemline of Chris' jeans. The hunter shuddered, his icy-blue eyes blowing wide as he watched Stiles intensely, making the teen shiver under that kind of focus.

A sharp bite to his nipple had Stiles suddenly gasping his focus spun out and then landed on Peter. A touch of something wild, fierce, lingered in the wolf's gaze as he laved at the place he had bit soothingly. Stiles twitched under him, running his hands through the wolf's hair.

“Your jealousy is cute, Peter,” he snarked without true heat.

Peter snorted. “Getting a bit ego-centric, are we?”

Stiles laughed breathlessly. “Quite the opposite, I assure you,” he said cheekily, “but it's rather hard to stay modest when two of the hottest men in Beacon Hills are–“

His voice stuttered out when Peter ground down against him; Chris chuckling in his ear. “Tell me something, Stiles,” the hunter's voice was low and raspy, “this your first time?”

“T-technically,” the teen panted, hips bucking.

“It's a yes or no question,” Peter retorted, bending to suck and nibble on his collarbone.

“Depends on what you'd categorize as 'first time',” Stiles countered.

Peter smirked darkly. “Alright. What Christopher means is: is this your first time having someone fuck you?” He asked, with a punctuated thrust.

His brain fizzled and Stiles choked on a moan. Gritting his teeth, the teen yanked Peter down for a filthy kiss. “You haven't actually gotten to fucking me yet, now have you?”

“He makes a good point,” Chris' voice was too husky to truly pull off amused, “hurry it up, Hale.”

Peter bared his teeth at him and Stiles rolled his eyes. Hitching a leg over Peter's hip, he bucked harshly, catching the werewolf off guard enough to roll them both over. Sitting astride his lap, Stiles smirked at him before turning to look at Chris.

“Are you going to get involved any time soon?” He asked dryly.

Chris' eyes glimmered with amusement before he curved his hand around the back of Stiles' neck and tugged him into a kiss. As teeth and tongue battled, Peter's hand trailed up Stiles' legs to run slightly too sharp nails along the sensitive skin of his hipbones. Stiles jumped, but Chris didn't let him pull away, keeping his hand firm on the nape of his neck.

Smirking to himself, Peter undid the snap of Stiles' jeans and unzipped them before sliding his hand down heated skin to wrap around his erection, pushing boxers out of the way. The teen whined into the kiss and broke away, dropping his head to Chris' shoulder, his hips twitching. Pumping slowly, Peter kept up a calm pace to keep his boy on edge.

“You know, Stiles,” Peter remarked conversationally, as if Stiles wasn't fighting for control, his eyes glazed and blown black, “I've always wondered. Is your oral fixation simply for show?”

“Wh-what?” Stiles ground out, jerking as Peter gently traced his claw around the slit of his cock.

“Well, you wanted Christopher involved, yes?” The wolf continued innocently. “And I want to make you lose focus. So,” his eyes glowed iridescently, “suck.”

Stiles groaned at the command, his guts twisting. Eyes snapping open, the teen pinned them onto Chris and pushed him back. Allowing himself to be manhandled, Chris cocked a brow as the teen eagerly undid his jeans and pushed into his boxer briefs. The hunter's eyes began to roll, but he kept them stubbornly open, particularly when Peter caught his eye, the challenge obvious.

Chris grit his teeth as slender fingers wrapped around his length and tugged him out, the cool air making him hiss faintly. Stiles looked curious (though he normally did) when he bent and gave a tentative lick at the tip of his cock. The hunter grunted, his hands curling into fists. Glancing up at him demurely, the teen began to give kittenish licks all along the length, wetting it thoroughly with saliva.

Fisting his hands in the covers, Chris groaned when Stiles latched his mouth onto the head of his member and began to suckle lightly. Fuck, the kid's mouth was like hot, wet, velvet; soft and smooth. It was obviously his first time giving a blow job but damn if the kid didn't have a natural talent for it. A bolt of pleasure slammed down Chris' spine at the realization that this was the first time Stiles had a cock in his mouth and it was his. Damn it, how many times had he caught someone staring at Stiles' mouth? Everyone had at some point, the hunter was certain. His soft mouth, plush and pink, that he couldn't seem to fucking shut. Always dragging his bottom lip into his mouth to nibble and suck. The worst days being when he did something of the like to the tip of a pen or a pencil, or that day he had a fucking lollipop.

Stiles keened harshly around Chris' length and the hunter's eyes refocused on Peter. The wolf had gripped the base of Stiles' cock tightly and began to drag his hand up, slow and careful; the teen's mouth went slack for a moment and Chris couldn't honestly blame him. The rhythm Peter was building was slow and methodical, meant to drive a man mad, and here the kid was, trying to figure out how to give his first blow job as someone made him go out of his mind with pleasure.

Running a comforting hand through Stiles' hair (and fuck, he was glad the kid had grown it out), Chris scratched his nails against the boy's scalp before gripping onto the tresses and slowly pulling the boy up. He fucked into Stiles' mouth languidly until Stiles began to move on his own.

“Come on, baby boy, just like that,” he rumbled, “nice and slow.”

Stiles sobbed out a noise of pleasure as Peter twisted his wrist just-so, but he obliged easily enough. Latching onto the cock more firmly, Stiles began to suck it down his throat. His hands twitched restlessly on Chris' hips for a moment before he began to run them up and down his thighs, kneading the muscles pleasurably.

“That's it, baby boy,” Chris groaned, throwing his head back as Stiles dropped his head further down his length.

“He's doing so well,” Peter purred, jerking the teen's length roughly in praise. “I think he deserves more, don't you?”

Chris cocked a brow and Stiles stilled for a brief millisecond before continuing. Peter trailed his other hand over Stiles' hip and began to caress the dip of his lower back, right over the hem of his jeans. The wolf smoothed his hand over the teen's arse before gripping the hem of his pants and tugging them down. Stiles had to pull off for a moment, as did Peter, when the wolf went to tug boxers and jeans down. The teen's cock smacking into his stomach lightly as he shifted his weight.

With the jeans and boxers finally discarded, Chris slid his hand back around Stiles' neck and gently led him back down his cock. Stiles smirked and quirked a brow up at the hunter cheekily.

“Want something?” He teased.

“Your mouth is sin,” Chris said with a faint chuckle.

Stiles grinned up at him, and ducked down. Chris felt his eyes roll at the return of that hot and wet suction but fought to regain his control. As pleasurable as the feeling was, Chris wished to watch what was going on more. That was why Chris saw it when Peter returned one hand to Stiles' cock as the other dipped dangerously low on the small of the his back.

The boy stilled for a moment before groaning and relaxing, exhaling roughly as he slid Chris further into his mouth. The hunter hissed and tried to stop himself from bucking up, though he couldn't quite restrain the violent twitch. Stiles pulled up, coughing. Chris wrapped his thumb around to brush against the boy's jugular, whispering apologies and endearments when, suddenly, Stiles stiffened and rolled his eyes back into his head and let out a keening whine.

Stiles couldn't help the noise that fell out of his mouth as a mix of pleasure-pain streaked up his spine. Peter had wormed two fingers up inside of his body and had begun to scissor him open, brushing just lightly over his prostate every other stroke.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck,” he chanted, his head falling forward against Chris' hip.

“That is the idea,” Peter chuckled.

“I hope you used lube,” Chris panted, glaring at Peter.

The wolf rolled his eyes. “Of course I did. I found it before you got your ass in gear and had it next to me ever since. I want Stiles in pleasure, not pain. But either way, I want him screaming,” Peter added with a lewd smirk.

“You're such a –ah!”

Stiles choked on his insult as a third finger pushed up alongside the others, stretching him open and full. Flipping them, Peter placed Stiles' back against Chris' chest as he knelt between the boy's spread legs and fingered him. Chris wrapped a strong forearm around him, resting solidly against Stiles' stomach as he sucked on the sensitive patch of skin just under his ear. The teen could feel the hunter's length, wet and hard, resting against his lower back as Chris gave sporadic thrusts against him.

“Tell me, little one,” Peter cooed, his eyes glittering, “could you cum, just from this? Just from me finger-fucking you open? Does it feel good,” he punctuated with a direct hit to his prostate, “to have something filling you up?”

Stiles bucked harshly in reply but all it did was make Peter chuckle again and smirk at him. “Stiles, I asked you a question,” he purred.

“D-do you think this is the first time -nnnh!- I've had something in me?” Stiles gasped out, his eyes snapped open to glare down at the wolf; Stiles huffed on a laugh. “I-I'm a curious boy, Peter. You really –really think I haven't tried th-this before?”

Peter's eyes darkened dangerously and Stiles smirked before moving his foot pointedly and pressing against the bulge in Peter's pants. Chris smirked, pressing a fond kiss to their boy's hair.

“Looks like he's got you by the balls, Hale,” the hunter remarked as he traced idle patterns into the boy's skin.

“It certainly seems that way,” the wolf rumbled in reply before he turned to look at Stiles. “Did you want something, little one?”

“I'd really like to lose my virginity tonight,” he snarked breathlessly. “Think you can handle that?”

Peter gave a shark's grin and withdrew his hand, leaving Stiles gasping and squirming. He watched as Peter stepped away, undoing his jeans and stripping them off, his cock jutting out from his body proudly, thick and dark. Stiles lips parted unconsciously, making Peter smirk and Chris roll his eyes at the wolf's arrogance. Crawling back onto the bed, Peter tugged Stiles to drape his legs over his hips, the teen's upper body still pressed flat on the bed, with his head resting on Chris' muscled thigh. Grabbing the lube again, Peter slicked up his cock before tipping forward. The werewolf lined up his cock with Stiles' hole, teasing him with just the head.

“Say please,” the werewolf smirked.

“You fu--” Stiles choked as Peter slid the tip of his cock into him before retreating.

“I'm sorry, what was that?” he smirked.

Stiles groaned in response. “Peter, please...”

“Doesn't he beg so pretty?” Peter chuckled, his eyes flicking up to meet Chris'.

Chris cocked a brow at him as Stiles made a noise of protest, making Peter grin and slowly sink into the teen. A strangled noise issued from Stiles' as his face screwing up in pain and a small modicum of pleasure. But he hadn't lied when he'd said he was a curious boy, the dildo hidden in the back of his closet attested to that. Breathing through the stretch, Stiles moaned long and low as Peter bottomed out.

Fuck, you're tight,” Peter grit out.

Next to Stiles, Chris' cock twitched with interest. The intense look of pleasure on both Stiles' and Peter's faces was making a white-hot coil tighten in his lower belly. Swallowing roughly, the man caught Peter's eye.

“Haul our boy up,” he ordered, “I have an idea.”

“Sh-should I be w-worried?” Stiles forced out.

“Yes,” Peter laughed breathlessly.

The wolf slid his arms under Stiles and shifted on the bed until the boy sat astride him, their chests pressed flush. Both of them groaned as the action had Peter sliding deeper into the teen. Stiles shook and wrapped his arms around the wolf's neck, mouthing at his collarbone lightly. Peter gripped his hips tightly, uncaring of the bruises he would leave as he bucked shallowly, causing Stiles to cry out.

The teen shuddered and slowly rose up on his knees before dropping down harshly, making Peter groan. Starting a shallow rhythm, Peter almost missed Chris' next move, so focused was he on the tight heat of Stiles' body. The hunter grasped the lubricant resting near Peter's hip and drizzled some out onto his fingers, his eyes dark and heavy.

Understanding what the hunter wanted moments before he did it, Peter twisted so they that he and Stiles weren't sitting diagonally on the bed. Both of them felt sparks dance up their spines as Peter wrapped one arm around the boy's shoulders and slowly tugged him down, so they were lying flat.

Stiles relaxed into Peter's hold and rolled his hips languidly, making the wolf hiss in reply. Panting into his skin, Stiles was so caught up in bliss that Chris' first touch to his stretched hole had him lurching forward. His hands fisted in the covers, and he tossed a look over his shoulder at the hunter.

“A-alright,” he panted, “that's a new one.”

Chris smirked and ran a hand down Stiles' spine. “Just relax, baby boy,” he said calmly. “Peter'll distract you.”

“Might want to hurry up,” Peter forced out as he slowly rocked his hips. “I might make him cum before you can join the party.”

“Or you might,” Stiles sassed, looking down at him with a challenging look.

The wolf sneered and readjusted his grip before bucking up hard. Stiles' head fell forward between his shoulders and his hips swivelled in reply. Chris couldn't help but chuckle at the obstinate looks on both of their faces –Stiles outright bit his lip and glared whereas Peter's jaw ticked tellingly. As the two were busy trying to one-up the other, Chris managed to slip a finger up inside of the boy.

Stiles choked and Peter rumbled low in his chest as the boy squeezed around him tightly. Still, the wolf understood necessity and managed to keep his mind enough to slowly stroke the boy through this new stretch. The teen took it well, better than to be expected, as he merely grit his teeth and rocked back onto this new intrusion.

A second and then a third followed soon after, stretching the boy wide. Stiles was gasping continuously, his hands reflexively gripping the covers as he sought for a grounding that just wasn't there. Chris used a fourth finger for good measure, and even Peter was panting at this point.

“Hurry it up, Argent,” he growled.

Needing no further encouragement, Chris slicked up his cock and nudged it against the teen's hole. He felt like he had been consistently hard for an hour, and squeezing into the tight heat alongside the werewolf was absolute bliss. Sweat slid down his temples as he dropped his forehead to the centre of Stiles' back, mouthing at the nobs of his spine.

Peter couldn't stop the vague twitches of his hips. It had been torture, being buried balls-deep inside the boy and yet being unable to move. Now, being pressed together in such close quarters with Chris Argent –Peter felt like he could feel every ridge on the other's cock with how tight the boy was. Speaking of, the wolf ran a hand through Stiles' hair, tugging him down for a kiss.

Stiles couldn't concentrate. He couldn't focus nor formulate a thought inside of his head. He thought he knew what being filled felt like but this... Gods, he felt like he was flying apart at the seams with only Peter and Chris keeping him together. The stretched burned, of course, but Stiles had a suspicion that Peter was leeching a bit of the pain. Shifting, Stiles gave a soft cry as the other two groaned in unison.

“F-fu- fuck--” he moaned, “C-Chris, P-Peter, m-move!”

“You heard him,” Peter sounded like the air had been punched from his lungs.

“Sit up,” Chris retorted, lacking the usual bite to his tone.

Peter obliged and Stiles cried out, falling against the wolf's chest as he trembled wildly. “I-- I can't--”

“It's alright, baby boy,” Chris said, his voice strained somewhat as he and the wolf sunk impossibly deeper into the boy. “Just relax, we'll take care of you.”

“Fuck yes we will,” Peter laughed breathlessly as he bucked up sharply.

Chris seemed to take it as a cue and if Stiles thought he was going mental from pleasure before, now he was absolutely wild. Aiming was a near impossibility given the logistics, yet the wolf and the hunter managed to pound his prostate pretty consistently, winding the coil in his lower abdomen impossibly tighter. The two had such a different rhythm that Stiles could barely breathe through the pleasure –having to force himself to remember how to. Peter was all fast and shallow thrusts, but Chris was slow and deep. But both pounded into him hard, hard enough that Stiles was seeing stars.

When his orgasm hit, Stiles keening-cry was a borderline scream. The coil in his stomach broke hard enough to have him shaking hard and strong, unable to think beyond the sheer pleasure. One arm scratched at the nape of Chris' neck as the other gripped at Peter's hair and tugged reflexively. The wolf's eyes flashed and the sudden clenching around them both had Peter howling his completion aloud, his head turning and his fangs embedding into the boy's wrist hard.

Chris grit his teeth hard and gave it another few more thrusts before he came as well, his orgasm slamming up his spine like a rocket as he left dark bruises on the boy's hips –covering Peter's own. Collapsing forward, Stiles and Peter both grunted before they shifted until they were lying on their sides on the bed –Stiles firmly stuck in the middle.

“Fucking marked me...” Stiles muttered darkly before his golden eyes slipped closed and he dropped off almost immediately.

“Look at that,” Peter's voice was a dark rasp as an equally dark smirk covered his face, “we wore him out.”

“You marked him as yours,” Chris noted, his voice just as husky and wrecked, as he nodded towards the sluggishly bleeding bite.

“I did,” bastard sounded smug. “He's mine.”

“And yet he smells of us both,” the hunter retorted with his own smirk as he wrapped his arm around the boy's waist and tugged him back into his body, pressing a kiss to a freckled shoulder.

Peter eyed him inscrutably and Chris watched him back. Slowly, but surely, Peter reached out and pulled the hunter into a kiss. It was gentler than what the man was expecting, but it was no less sensual. Pulling back, the wolf smirked.

“Now you both smell like mine,” he said simply.

There was a part of Chris that rebelled at that hotly, but there was another part that felt a tendril of contentment curl in his chest. He was still conflicted on the subject of Peter Hale and this would probably bother him come morning, but as it was, the man rolled his eyes and settled down into bed. Draping a heavy arm over the boy and tangling their legs, Chris rest his hand on the wolf's hip lightly. Peter, however, merely pushed further inwards, nuzzling into the top of Stiles' head as he twined their legs further and slid his own arm into the mix, lightly resting it against Chris' neck.

The last thing either heard before they fell asleep was Stiles murmuring: “more like you're both mine,” and the boy chuckling drowsily.