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Hunger

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it was gentle in the beginning, not noticeable unless you were looking for it. stiles honey eyes, spun from angelic nectar, go wide and pleading. begging in and of themselves when derek's skin slides across his. his head dropping submissively as a gentle but guiding hand finds its way on his back.
stiles didn't understand the way his baby fawn legs buckled at the sound of peter's voice. or how even chris' calm dominance over the death and horror stitched into the border lines of beacon hills, sent chills down his spine.
stiles' own blindness toward his submission didn't mean others didn't see. they were wolves, and even before stiles realized, they did. the embarrassment burns his cheeks as he thinks back on the times he knows arousal wafted off his normally lavender scent. their heightened senses picking up on the heavy sweet scent suddenly surrounding stiles' gangly body. he knows they ignore it, writing it off as teenage hormones or anxiety.
however, it's peter that wants to cradle this. he pokes at the lust within stiles' chest, hiding under frail bones and snow frosted skin. comments under his breath so only stiles hears the, "easy baby" that clouds stiles brain in a choking fog. if the others notice, peter' remark is brushed aside.
every stern command gave him a nauseating head rush. cherry blush running down his neck. in stiles' obliviousness, derek's blue beta eyed jealousy goes unnoticed. growls too low for human ears that escape derek's lips as peter tugs gently on stiles hair when no ones looking. extended fangs digging and splitting into his tongue as he hears a shaky breath fall out of stiles' lips.
peter bleeds his own ego, it manifests in finger shaped bruises on stiles' hips and too dark marks covering most of his milky skin. all from holding him back during fights. using stiles' natural submission to protect the boy.
stiles finally gives in to his desires after pack night. peter had been gently tugging on his outgrown hair, claws extended. the whole night words impure being whispered into stiles' ears.
"you like pain don't you?" he asked as those claws moved down to the soft flesh of stiles' inner thighs. poking at his skin through his jeans. red hot pleasure coursing through his veins, a broken whimper falling out of parted strawberry red lips.
"god, you're gorgeous. you know nothing, you just know you need to be controlled. am i right, mieczysław?"
at the grit in peters voice, whiskey tears fell out of stiles' eyes. he knew others must've heard, he ran rushing out of the loft. sprinkling rain washing over him like holy water.
the words peter so carefully crafted sounded like prayers, divine commands. stiles' need to submit resulted in his weak knees finally buckling and dropping to the ground in the hallway of peter's building. the aching soreness of his knees resting roughly on the carpet forcing a whine from his throat. his eyes wide and pleasing, barely making out a "please, peter" before he was shoved up against the front door to peter's apartment.
their lips against each other's were frantic. thunderstorms clashing loudly, echoing through valleys and canyons. and as soon as peter let his canines sink into stiles' lips. the younger boy was gone. desperation bleeding out of his heart, nonsense pouring from his lips as he begged and begged.
peter smirked. the young boy was a plaything, peter needed to test just how far stiles would go. the limits of the boy's masochism unknown as the werewolf digs his claws into stiles waist and forces the duo inside.
the look on stiles' face says it all. his cheeks blotchy with blush, eyes watering and red bloody lip trembling as he lets out shaky angelic breaths. "p-peter-"
"ssh," peters finger slides against stiles lips, holding it there to keep him silent. what he did next, as everything stiles does, was unexpected. his pink tongue darted out of his lips to lick the finger. big bright eyes locking with peter's ice blue irises as he began to suck the older man's finger into his mouth.
to stiles, legs numb, he felt like he was being baptized. peter's gaze on him like that of something divine and holy. stiles' every instinct blurred by the neediness he felt sinking into his bones. it's so slightly off though, not completely pure not the correct type of divinity. a separate religion from the one of stiles mind as he craves this, yes, but from someone else.
he should feel guilty as images of black hair and spiral tattoos flood his mind as peter fucks him. the way stiles almost moans "derek" when peter sinks his fangs into stiles' neck as he comes. his eyes watering as he imagines derek seeing peter's mark on stiles' skin.
it's no less satisfying, the hunger inside him was taunted but entertained with peters sadistic torture of stiles' limits. watching just how deep he can sink his claws until stiles screams. how desperate he can make the boy, how bad he'll beg and give up everything.
stiles isn't surprised when he wakes to find peter gone. he limped back to the jeep, a gentle numbness surrounding everything he did. his flesh aching as a physical reminder of his transgressions. his mind driven mad with lust.