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Let it Snow

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“This is such bullshit” Stiles grumbles as he looks out the window at the mounting snow.

“I mean, people are meant to get snowed in at Christmas, for God’s sake, not New Year’s” he continues, gesturing towards piles of innocuous looking white powder that wait on the other side of the glass.

“I did tell you about an hour ago that if you didn’t leave you’d end up trapped” Peter reminds him, coming up behind him and kissing his way down his neck.

Stiles arches back into the kisses, leaning his head back to give Peter better access to his throat.

They’ve been doing this….whatever it is they’re doing for a month now.

It’s not dating.

It’s just sex, because Stiles has a thing for dominant men who take him apart and fuck him till he cries, and Peter has a thing for long, lean, breathless boys who beg.

“Yeah, well, you distracted me with your dick” Stiles argues.

‘I didn’t see you putting up any objections” Peter counters, sliding a hand around Stiles’ waist and tugging him back so he can feel his erection through his sweat pants.

“Jesus Peter, again?” 

Stiles doesn’t sound like he really minds the idea.

“Well, we’re snowed in, what else are we going to do?”

Peter’s breath is hot against his neck, and his stubble grazes Stiles’ skin just right, and he’s warm, so warm, the body heat radiating off him in sharp contrast to the chill in the air.

Stiles squirms in his grasp, and if that causes his ass to brush against Peter’s groin with a little more purpose, well Stiles thinks it won’t hurt Peter to be the one on the receiving end of a little teasing, for once.

“I’m meant to be going out tonight. It’s New Years, and I’m finally old enough to go out and drink. I’m meeting Danny at the bar” he grizzles.

Peter pulls away a little.

“Danny? “he inquires, tone carefully disinterested. “Are you and he…..involved?”

“Nah. But he said he’d drive me tonight – he’s staying sober, I think he’s hoping to get lucky with the barman.”

Stiles feels Peter relax a little, and pull him close again.

“Well you’ll just have to text him and tell him you’re not going anywhere” Peter breathes, resuming his exploration of Stiles’ throat.

“I mean, it’s 10pm now. You’re here till morning at least” he continues, and one hand sneaks up under Stiles’ shirt and ghosts across his nipple, making him shudder.

“But don’t worry, I’ll be a good host. I'll keep you occupied for hours” he purrs, and his tone holds both a threat and a promise.

When Peter says he'll occupy him for hours, he's not joking. Peter can keep him on the edge until it feels like he's dying.

"What exactly are you planning?" Stiles asks, a hitch in his voice.

“Would you like me to tease you until you’re crying for more, until you’re begging me to fuck you?”

Peter slides the other hand down to cup Stiles’ crotch.

The heat of his body, the touch of his lips, and the feel of his hands, sure and strong against his flesh, combine to make Stiles go weak at the knees, and it’s almost a whine when he whispers “Please, sir.”

He hates this.

He loves this.

He can't decide.

“There’s my good boy” Peter growls out, his tone low and seductive, and then he’s guiding Stiles into the bedroom, walking him through the house with a hand possessively on his hip.




Stiles cries beautifully when Peter edges him, and Peter rewards him by fucking him long and slow and tender, easing into him as he whimpers and begs to be filled.

When Peter finally starts to fuck him properly, Stiles makes the most delicious noises, little breathy sighs and moans, and Peter relishes every tiny sound of pleasure.

He spends a long time savoring the feel of Stiles' soft flesh as it clenches around him, holding himself back, but eventually it gets too much for him and he speeds up his thrusts, slamming home again and again as Stiles whines high in the back of his throat. It's what sends him over the edge, and he drives his hips forwards once more and stills, groaning as he reaches his peak.

Stiles follows moments later, sobbing with relief as he finally climaxes.

They stay that way for a while, Peter buried deep in his boy, Stiles fucked out and lax, not sleeping, but not moving either.

The moment’s broken by the beeping of the alarm on Stiles’ phone.

He looks up at Peter and smiles lazily.

“Midnight. Happy New Year” he says, and he pulls Peter in for a kiss.

Peter’s surprised, but he goes with it, losing himself in the exploration of Stiles’ mouth, feeling those plush lips against his own, firm and velvety.

He pulls away after a moment, and quirks a brow.

“You said you don’t kiss” he states.

And it’s true - they’ve never kissed before.

Stiles has always been adamant - it’s not part of their arrangement.

Stiles huffs.

“I said I don’t kiss casual hookups.”

Peter continues to look at him expectantly, blue eyes gazing into his, waiting.

Stiles continues “But I was thinking, my New Year’s resolution could be to actually date the hot werewolf, maybe?”

He looks hopeful.

Peter drags him in for another kiss, filthy and feral and dangerous, and it’s all the answer Stiles needs.