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Stiles has never been more grateful that he has no impulse control than right now. Sure, he’s been bitching non-stop about healing times and hot, manipulative assholes ever since Peter held him down on the piercer’s table so a stranger could shove metal through his nipples. But now? Now that they’re finally healed?

Worth it.

Especially now that he’s found the balls to try on the lingerie Peter bought him ages ago. It’s a pretty blue mesh, edged with delicate lace that teases the sensitive skin over his hipbones and ribs. The feel of the soft nylon—so different from the cotton of his boxer-briefs—sliding against his cock and nipple piercings has him hardening quickly.

He’s wondering if he has time to get off before Peter gets home when he hears, “You look good enough to eat.”

His face flames and he drops a hand to cover his crotch. “I, uh. I thought you weren’t done until six?”

Peter stalks closer, eyes roving over Stiles’s body. “I knew your piercings had finally healed, so I came home early to enjoy them. I didn’t know I’d find something so delicious waiting for me. Was this for me, sweetheart?”

Uh. Shit. “Not exactly?”

Something of what he’s feeling—the embarrassment most likely, although the uncertainty is also a real contender—must bleed through his voice and scent, because Peter’s eyes home in on his face. Whatever he sees there makes his expression soften. “Oh, darling. You don’t need to be ashamed. You like what you like, and I think you look good enough to eat in your pretty underthings.”

Which. That’s sweet ‘n all, but isn’t quite the root of what’s made him go soft behind his hand. “I’m not a girl,” he blurts.

Peter’s head tilts, and his eyes narrow a little. “I never thought you were, and I’d hope that you would’ve said something by now if I was wrong.”

And, okay, that wasn’t how he meant to start this conversation, but Peter’s taking it well so far, so—“Okay, but. Wearing this, it . . .”

Peter’s expression clears. “Do you want to be daddy’s girl, sweetheart?”

He blushes again, but this time, it’s not from embarrassment. “Sometimes,” he whispers.

Peter closes the gap between them, gripping his hips and tracing the lace across his belly. “Is right now one of those times?”

Stiles lowers his eyes, and withdraws his hand from between them so Daddy can watch him harden. “Yes, Daddy.”

Peter rumbles, pleased, before leaning in to kiss him sweetly. “Thank you, sweetheart. You’re being such a good girl for Daddy, telling me what you want.” He whimpers a little, and feels his heart pick up when Daddy’s gaze turns hungry. “And good girls get rewards, don’t they, princess?”

He nods. “Uh huh.”

“On the bed for me, baby.”

He scrambles to obey, laying on his back like an offering. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but being straddled isn’t it. He doesn’t mind, though. “Daddy?”

Peter smirks before pinching a nipple through the thin fabric of the bralette. It’s the first time they’ve been touched outside of the shower in months, and he moans, because it tingles and sends heat snaking down his belly to pool in his groin. He isn’t surprised when Daddy does it again, harder this time, pulling a little. It makes him buck as much as he can under Peter’s weight, his cock straining inside his panties.

“Does that feel good, princess?”

“Yes,” he mewls.

“Do you want more?”

That’s—he doesn’t know how to answer that. “I don’t—I need you, Daddy.”

Peter leans down to suckle and bite at his neck, pressing him into the bed. “Tell you what, baby. I’ll finger you, get you nice and wet while I play with your pretty tits.”

It’s not a question, not really. “Please?”

Peter sits up and swings a leg over to free him. He misses the weight, but they need the lube out of the drawer, and then he’s stripping, and Stiles will never get over the sight of naked Peter. He squeezes his thighs together so he doesn’t touch himself when blue eyes slowly trace over him.

“Alright, princess. Panties on or off?”

The question isn’t one he expects. “Um? I thought—you said you were gonna finger me?”

Peter hushes him, smoothing a hand down his side. “And I will—don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t leave you empty—but I need to know if I’m doing that with your panties on or off.”

He pauses. The idea is hot, but—“Off, Daddy.” He blushes. “I really like this set, don’t want it ruined.”

Peter licks his lips. “Alright, baby. That just means I’ll have to buy you a few pairs I can ruin.”

He whimpers at the thought—just because it isn’t what he wants for the delicate blue mesh doesn’t make the idea anything short of hot as hell—and lifts his hips when Peter’s hands start tugging his panties off. Once they’re on the floor, his legs fall open.

Peter rumbles approvingly. “Very nice, princess.”

He tilts his hips up, needy. “Please, Daddy?”

Peter chuckles at his shamelessness, but climbs on the bed, settling between his spread thighs. The weight pressing him down is almost as delicious as the drag of his cock against Peter’s stomach, and his breath hitches. He refrains from rutting up, though only just. He wants to last, and he won’t if he starts rubbing against Daddy while being fingered open.

He’s pulled into a kiss, and winds his hands into Peter’s hair. When they part for air, he tips his head back, baring his throat, knowing the invitation’s irresistible. So he’s surprised when Peter sucks a quick mark before moving on, trailing down.

He almost misses the click of the lube bottle when Daddy says, “I’ve been waiting for this,” before diving down to suck at his nipple.

He whines and jerks, unprepared for it. It’s—it’s so much. He’s so much more sensitive now, the metal through his nipple warming from the heat of Peter’s mouth and sending jolts down his spine with every tug. It’s so intense he’s actually grateful to feel a thick finger slide inside him. At least that’s a sensation he’s used to.

He’s jerking against the weight pressing him to the bed, and knows that without it, he’d be thrashing. “Daddy, Daddy please,” he chants, overwhelmed. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, but gets it anyway when Peter tucks a second finger inside him.

From there, things get a little hazy—everything is hot and close, Peter’s hands and mouth playing his body until he’s leaking all over his stomach and reduced to desperate whining. He understands now why Daddy wanted to play with his newly-healed piercings, and wonders if it’ll get less intense as he gets used to it.

Before he can figure out if that’s a best- or worst-case scenario, Daddy flicks one of the barbells and the ability to think vanishes as he keens. “Your tits are perfect, baby. So sensitive.”

He mewls, tilting his hips up. Peter gets the message. “Alright, sweet thing. Turn over for me.”

He does, but—“Daddy?”

Peter’s hands guide him until his chest is pressed to the bed, hips up and knees wide. “I’m gonna fuck you, princess,” he moans loudly as Daddy sinks inside with a single push, sending him sliding across the sheets. The cotton slides across his oversensitive nipples, and he can’t tell anymore whether it feels good. “And then, after, I’m gonna eat you out.”

He squirms at the thought, dick jerking. Peter speeds up, setting into an unforgiving rhythm. He feels like his heart’s gonna give out. “Can I—Daddy, can I touch?”

The hands on his hips tightened. “Yeah, baby girl. Stroke your clit and come for Daddy.”

He wraps a hand around his cock at the “yeah”, but nearly comes hearing the rest. “Oh god,” he whimpers.

Peter leans down, stutterfucking as he gets close. “Gonna fill up your pretty cunt, baby.”

It’s shockingly filthy, even after everything else, and Stiles comes helplessly. One of his legs goes out from under him, but Peter keeps rutting, heavy on top of him until he’s flat on his stomach, cock dragging through the mess on the sheets. From there, it only takes another dozen or so little grinds before Daddy groans, filling him.

Stiles closes his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe. He’s dimly aware of Peter lifting off him—he’d be pissy about it if he weren’t flushed and warm from head to toe—followed by the slick sound of pulling out. Come starts trickling down his sac, and he knows he should get up and shower, that it’ll—

He yelps when Peter grips his cheeks and licks hotly between them. “I don’t—what?”

He gets a chuckle, and it reverberates against where he’s wet and open. He twitches, unsure if he’s moving into or away from it. Any sensation feels like too much right now. It means he almost misses Peter saying, “Told you I was gonna eat you out.”

Daddy chuckles when he hides his very-red face in the sheets.