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dawn is breaking, night is binding

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Stiles stared at his father's face, closed off like a locked door. His throat was horace from finally admitting everything. The keys felt heavy in his hand as he turned away from the man.  


John peered at him with eyes half cracked open, “Where are you going?” Suddenly, with the dark circles under his eyes and deep furrow to his brow, his father seems eighty and not forty-four.


He swallowed weight shifting in his sneakers, “Out.”


“Okay,” The Sheriff sighed and let his head fall back on the couch cushion.


The silence stretches. He opens his mouth to say more but the only goodbye comes out as he leaves through the door.


Stiles makes sure the bolt the lock clicks behind him at the front door before climbing into the Jeep. There’s no coming back from that conversation.


Cracked pavement yawns before him as the headlights split open the maw of the night, soft beams glancing off red stop signs and subtle green street markers.


Each turn is familiar and the sense of aimlessness that’s dogged his steps since Berkley nips at his heels. There's red on his hands where he holds the wheel but he blinks and it’s gone.


Finally, he takes a right towards the preserve, it’s a nice night for a walk in the woods. A certain bat is still in the back of his trunk, which now houses the essentials including but not limited to a mythology book, a fidget spinner, a pack of gum, five pounds of mountain ash, hen's teeth and apples.  


There's that moment of crystalline thought when his head hits the steering wheel.


Just Stiles here, alone in a parked Jeep having a young life crisis. The laughter bubbles up from his throat and steals the wetness from his eyes as he wipes the tears from his cheeks.


Funny they hadn’t included crying in his college fees.


The low-key despair and life or death panic had been with him since high school so he considered that old news.


Fuck, okay. He picked up his head, pity party over.


Tree boughs heavy with green nettles pierce the sky swaying in the night breeze. Here one lonely lamppost casts its baleful glare on the rain-dampened ground.


Stiles swings his legs out of the Jeep, grabs his kit from the back of the vehicle.


The puddle in the street fractures his image and some hard-eyed boy stares back at him lips set in a grim line. This trip home was supposed to shift things.


Instead, all he can think about is the cost of textbooks, what it will take to scrape together gas money and which meal he can afford to skip next.


His skin prickles, someone, something is watching.


Stiles sighs, it’d be so easy to let the darkness swallow him to step further down the trail he can see peeking out of the wood. There’s something bitter about giving in to the classic narrative that raises his hackles and firms his jaw.


“Alright, the gig is up.” He let the bat swing warming up his wrist. Just like old times


Something changed in the air like static electricity when you rubbed on the carpet the distinctive feeling of something supernatural nearby.  


“Hello Stiles,” Peter Hale purrs slipping out of the shadows of the parking lot. The lamplight yellows his features but his lips sport that same wicked smirk, eyes haughty and blue. The werewolf strides towards him wearing danger like kings robes. His shoulders are just as broad as Stiles remembered and his jaw still unfairly chiseled.


Peter looks .. good. No surprise there, the mans always been good-looking the surge of attraction that Stiles feels jolt through his body makes him shake his head. He’s long since given up understanding what or who or why that box gets ticked.


Stiles blames the jump of his heart on adrenaline, eyes latch on to the bit of collarbone peering out of Peter’s v-neck. He lets the bat fall to his side and the wolf edges closer still.


He’s reminded of those nature documentaries the narrator's low voice discussing how predators stalk their prey.


Except he hadn’t been prepared to still feel this way, to be brought back to a time when he ran with wolves, not that Stiles has been idle in his college years far from it as Peter will learn if he pushes too far.


Supernatural creatures aren’t just exclusive to Beacon Hills, there are several new scars on the roadmap of his body to prove it.


Stiles knows the way Peter looks at him like he wants to lick blood off his flesh just to mark him up again.


He could go for being devoured right now.


“I heard you guys are having a bit Djinn’s issue since the lamp housing hasn’t been good enough for them lately.“

“Yes, they're on a bit of a strike something about wanting equal and fair pay.” Peter tossed back flashing him a wolfish grin.


“I’d like to speak to one of their representatives.”

Adrenaline spiked in Stiles blood and he leveled the bat giving it a testing swing.

“Care to join me?” He offered.


“It’d be my pleasure.” Peter agreed, features stretching as he shifted, the night crowning him with a hunter's prowess.


The Djinns as it turned out were not a talkative bunch.


Stiles had to admit he was having the time of his life trying to beat the truth out of them.


“It’s a bit like golf,” He called out to Peter as the bat connected with another beings head sending it wailing the wolfs direction.


“Wiffle ball or maybe cricket,” Peter mused, “that one is worth only 2 pts.”


“God you're old,” Stiles panted taking aim again, “I thought we agreed that wailers were worth 5pts?”


“Deduction if their orange,” The wolf wrinkled his nose shaking goop off of his claws.


“Prissy bastard,” he shook his head ducking a Dijinns wild swipe to blow fools gold infused with hens teeth in its face. “Looks like I’m up 4-3 Peter, I thought you’d be better at scoring goals,” He taunted turning on two more Dijin only to have Peter cleanly decapitate one and use its head to distract another.


“That one was mine!”  He protested


“It’s only sporting.” The wolf attempted, “Besides I played Basketball in” highschool so you can understand my confusion.”


“I can understand you’re being lying liar who lies and a smarmy cheater.”


“Now, now Stiles just because I’m using my resources is no need to be bitter.” Peter chastised skewing a Dijin.


“Calling me a resource that’s the peak of romance- it’s no wonder you have people tripping over themselves to fall in your bed.” Stiles shook his head to hide the flush creeping over his skin open mouth insert foot. “Resource,” He continued trying to play it off, “why I’m almost swooning,” Stiles proclaimed. He ached the bat lobbing a Djinn in half with a well-placed swing the Hensteeth coating paying off.


“You seem to possess an inordinate amount of interest in my bed, I can always take you on a tour later.”


“I’ll uh, keep that in mind.” It was only Peters quick reflexes that stopped Stiles from sprawling across the dirt in surprise.


“Spatial awareness,” The wold reprimanded bopping him on the nose with a clawed finger.


“There goes your chances of getting dinner out of me,” Stiles shrugged him off scowling as they wandered back to the Jeep. He paused before letting trunk click closer the metal cool under his hand and the air prickling his skin. “Thank you.” he managed and caught the slight widening of Peter’s eyes at the acknowledgment.


“Till next time then.” The wolf tossed him a jaunty wave and disappeared into the dark twilight.



Next time see’s Stiles swiping answer on the phone at 3am when prerogative by Britney Spears starts blasting in his room, “Peter, whats up?”


“The moon and with it, I find myself in a bit of a pressing situation.”


“Mhmgh.” Stiles grumbled rolling out of bed and closing the reddit tab, “Text me the location, I’ll be there.” He’d have complained more but he’d given up the pretense of pretending he slept a full six hours anymore.


“Looking forward to it,” Peter drawled and the dial tone sounded in Stiles ear.


His phone dinged and he looked down at the message and shook his head unable to keep from grinning.


“You know,” Stiles began fifteen minutes later as he slid into the booth seat across from Peter,” when you said pressing situation this isn’t quite what I had in mind.”


“Finishing the last of this pie is pressing it won’t keep till tomorrow,” the wolf cajoled.


Stiles looked at the plate his leg bouncing under the table cataloging the flavors as everything from slices of the house special to the famous grandma smith.


Peter handed him a set of silverware and he accepted it with a frown, “Is there a point to all this, ” Stiles gestured to the plate of pie slices, “of course there's a point.”


“Eat.” Peter interrupted, “Pie is the point.”


He was far too tired for this, “Fine, then what's the plan, you always have a plan.” Stiles used the spoon to scoop a bit of the chess pie and lifted it to his lips.


The wolf waited.


Weirdo. Stiles slid the spoon into his mouth, flavor burst across his tongue.

Peter stared Stiles stared back wondering if this was another macho werewolf thing but too busy munching on the pie to be overly bothered.


He couldn’t help licking his lips chasing that last bit of rich sweetness and lemon.  

Stiles could have sworn the wolf's eyes briefly burned blue.


“If you wanted this one you should have said so.” Stiles hummed snagging another bite, “Try words instead of the glowly light show.”


Peter chuckled low and hungry, “There's more than one reason werewolves eyes glow.”



Warnings blared sounding in several parts of his mind but he shoved them aside.


“Are you going to show me that too?”  He challenged letting his lips linger on one last morsel of pie till he licked the spoon clean.


Peter Hale growled.  



“Fuck,” Stiles hissed head tumbling back on the jeep seat. His vehicle wasn’t built to accommodate a werewolves enthusiasm let alone his own. He laughed anyway tugging at Peter black v-neck.  


“In a hurry are we?” Peter huffed in amusement blue eyes a beacon in the dim vehicle. Stiles grinned wider pleased with the mess he’d already made of the wolfs finely coiffed hair.


“Can’t keep up old man?” He can’t help himself he has to push.


“You’ll have to try harder than that sweet boy.” Confidence certainly isn’t one of Peter’s issues and the wolf has no trouble splaying Stiles across the seats. “The only question is how would you like to do this?”


Stiles blinked momentarily thrown, “There are options?”


“Oh sweetheart,” Peter laughed drawing him in for a breathless kiss, “They're always options.”


Clever fingers undid his belt and dipped dangerously under the hem of his pants to cup his dick.

“For instance, I could  eat you out, or fuck you?”


“I don’t get to fuck you?” He asked head spinning.


“If you like,” Peter considered, “but make no mistake I will still be fucking you even if I’m taking your cock.”


Stiles eyes wide Peter Hale had his hands down his pants and was suggesting that Stiles fuck him.


“Hmm,” Peter slicked his hand over Stiles dick giving it a friendly tug, “ I think you would you like that baby, would let me use you like that?”


A whine high and desperate left him and he flushes red from his neck to his cheek trying to keep his hips under control.


He latches his teeth into the column of Peters' throat in lieu of answer feeling the rise and fall of his breath.


There's salt under Stiles' tongue and the taste of iron on his lips. His ribs are bone but under Peter’s fingers, they turn into a molten cage for his heart. Gasps leave his mouth and red-hot want flares to life beneath his skin.


“Later,” He says, “fuck me later touch me now, please.” Stiles tacks on just to see the way Peter’s eyes darken.


It’s hard to say what happens next other then he goes from having pants to lacking them. He’s caught up in the feel of Peter’s hard body against this own. The raw strength the wolf possessed was intoxicating.


Peter hasn’t stopped telling Stiles what he wants, mouth branding dark promises across Stiles flesh leaving him reeling. His own hand grips Peter’s dick working them together precome easing the way


The wolf's touch is firm over the head of his cock. Each roll of his hips send waves of spine-tingling friction up Stiles body.  


Reckless, some would call him for shacking up with a wolf but Stiles has no illusions about the beast he’s welcomed to bed him.


Talk is cheap but words have never felt heavier right. Thoughts are slow to form, the pressure is just this side of perfect and too much. Pants and please fall from his mouth with abandon.


“That’s it, let it all go,” Peter demands eyes blazing and blue. He might not wear the wolves bite on his wrist but Stiles can’t say no to him this time.


Stiles lets himself sink into the other man's touch body bowing up from the seat as he comes.


He knows that just past the horizon dawn is breaking, there's too much to handle in the light of day. However, while Stiles can still claim its night he’ll try to bind the pieces of himself together until they fit him right.


Stiles tilts his head and lets Peter give him another claiming kiss.