"Stiles." Peter said it kindly, giving him the sort of look that made Stiles notice the lines on his face. Not weary, but his concern notable, while still entirely fond of the young man. After years he knew Stiles wasn't someone whose will he could change, nor did he have any desire to.
Stiles, President Stilinski's only child. They all raised eyebrows at his unseemly behavior where Peter would smile and chuckle, completely charmed. Stiles loved having enough influence over Peter to inspire some mischief in him as well, two birds of a feather. Peter melted around Stiles, following his lead no matter the risk, even when Peter was one of the most influential characters in politics - somewhere just beneath Stiles' regularly absent father.
Peter on the whole felt like a dependable presence in Stiles' life. He'd help Stiles with his studies, they played pranks throughout the White House, sat together at dinners- often due to Stiles shuffling around name cards or promising a good word mentioned in the president's ear. A heavy hand would rest on Stiles' thigh as dreary conversation went on around them, all of it background noise where Stiles was consumed by the presence of Peter. They'd tease one another until it became unbearable and they'd find an excuse to slip away, Peter hunting Stiles down where he'd be stripped down to underwear and his shirt loose and open, spread ready for Peter to do as he pleased, greedy for the vice president's attention.
They regularly shared evenings in the kitchen, long after it had closed for the night, Peter firing up the grill to teach Stiles how to make the perfect steak sandwich. Stiles' hands on Peter's hips and his chin hooked over his shoulder, watching Peter cook with a content quietness. On nights like that they would share Peter's bed, talking and fucking until the sun rose, catching a little sleep, entwined, before Peter had meetings to attend and Stiles had school work.
There were periods when the place fell quiet - Peter gone and the heart of Stiles' home with it. It felt as if entire rooms were missing and the place was empty. Stiles grew simultaneously exhausted and restless, loathing how needy he felt, his phone constantly in hand, comforted by Peter's attentiveness even from afar. It was times like that Stiles realized that the staff were only performing their duty and that they didn't know him. It wasn't his world somehow without Peter there. The House was empty and Stiles would concentrate on his studies and was forced to think about life without Peter, his father, his plans following school outside of the life he was accustomed to.
He wanted to keep his mind active, to help people - following in the footsteps of his dad in that respect, who had helped so many after a desperate time. There were still cracks and his father had made some mistakes, but the world felt hopeful again for so many. Stiles could never inspire that, but he could help protect what his father had helped build in his own way.
Which had led to Stiles blurting out his decision right in the middle of Peter telling him some anecdote he couldn't concentrate on.
"I'm leaving," he repeated. Peter fell silent, brows lifting as he looked at Stiles, catching the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously, like he was fighting his flight urge. Peter angled himself to face Stiles, keeping quiet to give him space to think, draw breath and elaborate. Eventually Stiles squared his shoulders which had finally filled out where he wasn't a boy anymore, drew a breath and spoke again clearly and with certainty. "Quantico. I start in the fall. So-"
Stiles cast his suddenly misty eyes around the office, towards the bookcase, where in front of the shelves of leather bound books, there sat a tacky souvenir he picked up for Peter back when the campaign was still running. It was placed proudly on display, the rock's googly eyes never, ever looking in the same direction as the last time Stiles saw it, the pet rock sometimes hopping from surface to surface. It was a marker of the first time they'd been apart, Stiles missing him beyond what was appropriate, thinking of Peter…
Instead of himself. Now though, he was thinking ahead for the both of them. He had a plan.
"So when I'm done training, if you're still around... If you still want me-" Stiles' voice cracked and his throat clicked as he swallowed down his fears and raised his chin. "I know Dad would come around. It'd be a scandal if anyone were to find out now, but when I come back..."
"You want to go your own way and be your own person." Peter moved around his desk, his arms opened and Stiles closed the rest of the distance, folding himself into Peter's strong embrace. "I understand."
Snuffling and feeling impossibly tiny, Stiles held onto Peter, fingers bunching the smooth fabric of a designer suit that was worthy of royalty no doubt. As Stiles rubbed his damp cheeks against the shoulders, Peter ran his fingers feather-light over the back of his hair, hushing him.
"Darling, I never expected you to stay put, or to be some trophy husband. I want you to have your own life outside all this. It took you some time to work out the path you want to take and I fully support you, it's a perfect fit and I couldn't admire your choice more." Hearing that made Stiles hiccough against Peter. "All you need to do is to tell me when you're ready. Scandal or no, what we have is worth more than my reputation. We'd figure it out. Besides," the sound of Peter's amusement brought Stiles' head up, making him blink back the blur of tears to focus on his handsome face instead. "We'd just be proof of all your father has accomplished for people like us. Well, sort of. I don’t think his vice president and his only son is exactly what he had in mind."
Stiles was unprepared to laugh, snorting, the sound embarrassing himself and causing his cheeks flush. It made Peter laugh too, lighting up beautifully. Stiles cupped Peter's face, stroking over the faint five o'clock shadow that formed beyond the neatly shaped beard, giving his cheekbones a sharper edge. Something about the delicate, little touch had Peter growing quiet, looking at Stiles with wonder.
"I love you, Peter. I mean, I really love you." Stiles admitted, bringing his plump bottom lip between his teeth, worrying it.
"I know. I love you too." Peter said with that soft look again, leaning in to meet Stiles' lips in a slow, easy kiss that left his mouth tingling and sensitive. "And if it ever became an issue, I'd give this all up for you. I hope you know that."
Stiles pressed his lips together, wet them with a quick dart of his tongue, and nodded vigorously.
"And I'd never try to stop you from following your dreams. I want you to still have every opportunity in life, without me, or your father's reputation chaining you." Peter drew a breath, something fiery in his bright eyes. "I want you to have everything, my sweet boy."
Something about the endearment always snatched Stiles' breath from him and made his heart swell, filling the empty space, too much to contain.
Throwing his arms around Peter's thick neck, Stiles kissed him hard with quickly building desperation. When Peter broke away, he ducked low, hooking his hands under Stiles' slender thighs, Stiles bouncing up to grasp around Peter's waist with his legs. Soon he was being spilled across the vice president's desk, gasping and fisting at his bespoke suit and shirt until the fabric was no longer pristine, but bunched where Stiles' damp palms and trembling fingers had twisted at it, fighting the buttons.
"I want you, Peter." Stiles panted against his shirt where it was wrenched open as far as the tight knot of his perfectly folded tie allowed. He nipped at Peter's neck beneath the collar, branding the sentiment into his skin, muffling his groan as Peter gave a filthy grind with his hips in response. "I want this. I want you to wait for me. Say-" Sentiment choked Stiles for a moment, drawing back, his eyes dark as they searched Peter's open face. "Say you'll still be mine when I come home."
"Stiles, I'll always be yours."