Stiles hung around at the Hales a lot, for a lot of reasons.
First, there were always people at the Hales. Always. So when his house was a little too quiet, the sheriff gone a little too long- the Hales always had someone around to break the silence. They made him feel welcome, which was another reason for hanging around the Hales.
A third reason was that the Hales were werewolves, so they didn’t really bat an eye when Stiles occasionally talked to ghosts.
A fourth reason to hang around wasn’t necessary, but then again neither were Peter Hale’s abs. Just so, so unnecessary. Yet there they were. The fourth reason.
Peter’s wit, smile, and snark could have been the fifth, sixth, and seventh reason, but there was no need to get into details, was there?
In any case, Stiles could be found at the Hales nearly any day of the week through middle school, high school, and after, so it was no surprise that he was there to hear Peter announce that he had an appointment with a real estate agent.
“You’re house hunting?” Stiles said, leaning forward excitedly. He whipped out his phone. “What’s your price range? How many beds and baths? Hold on, I already have a few MLS bookmarks to send you.”
When he looked up, everyone in the room was staring.
“What?” he said defensively. “Everyone indulges in fantasy shopping sometimes. Mine just happens to be real estate.” When they continued to stare, Stiles said, “Look, Little Stiles watched a lot of House Hunters in his formative years, back off.”
He returned to his phone, air dropping link after link to Peter, and everyone else shrugged and returned to their own conversations.
Peter flicked through the listings, impressed with some of the finds, but had to stop after a few minutes.
“My appointment is in fifteen minutes, I really need to go,” he said.
“Awesome, where’s the first listing?” Stiles asked, pocketing his phone and standing.
Peter raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t remember asking you to co-sign the mortgage,” Peter sassed. Stiles just scoffed and opened the door for Peter.
“Who else is gonna make sure your future house isn’t haunted?” Stiles said with a cheeky grin. “Besides, we both know I’m going to be over there at least as often as I’m over here. Face it dude: su casa es mi casa.”
“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes,” Peter said as he went outside, Stiles shutting the door behind them.
“Who knows? Could be anything.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s-”
“Could be anything!” Stiles hollered, cutting him off with the slam of the car door
Peter tried not to smile as he climbed into the driver's seat.
“Oh my God, I love this wainscotting!”
Peter could hear Stiles in the kitchen, but he tried to focus his attention on the agent who was talking about the septic system. Stiles was terrible for his focus these days. Since he’d earned his associates degree, if Peter was being honest.
Specifically, since he’d earned his associates degree, thrown a party with Cora, gotten face smashingly drunk, and then climbed into Peter’s bed half naked to sleep, while Peter was still in it.
If Peter had known that getting a look at that treasure trail was going to ruin his concentration like this, he might’ve tried harder to look away.
Probably not, but maybe.
In any case, waking up next to Stiles the next morning had brought a truth: he needed to move out immediately. Because if Stiles ever climbed into bed again, fully conscious and capable of consenting, it was going to be a loud and very scarring experience for anyone within hearing distance.
“-checked two months ago when the house was put on the market, so there’s nothing to worry about there. The inspection will, of course, turn up anything else that needs fixing before the sale-”
Peter wasn’t completely sold on this particular house, but there were several others he was interested in seeing as well. And if Stiles wanted to come along to those to check for ghosts too, well, Peter thought Stiles could probably be seduced with conversation on bathroom fixtures just as easily as roses and chocolates.
“None of them have quite what I’m looking for,” Peter mused as he looked at the print outs on the kitchen table later that evening. Stiles sat across from him, eating fettuccine and eyeing the comparisons critically.
He pointed a sauce covered fork at one of the listings and said, “That one didn’t have nearly enough storage space. For like, anyone. No built in bookshelves, four kitchen cupboards, and no linen closet? Hard pass.”
“I liked the yard on that one, though. I can add more storage,” he argued.
“It won’t be the same as built in storage,” Stiles said sagely. “It’ll eat up your square footage, and storage additions never look organic to the structure.”
Peter frowned at the paper. It only had one bedroom and one office anyway, and he wanted two bedrooms and an office. He ignored Stiles’ smirk as he picked up the sheet and dumped it in the trash. He continued mulling over the papers as Stiles got up and rinsed his plate, putting it in the drying rack next to Peter’s.
When he came to look at the print outs again, Stiles stood directly behind him, looking over his shoulder. Peter could feel the heat along his back. When an arm reached out next to his face, he had to stifle the impulse to rub his cheek against it. Instead he looked at the finger at the end of the arm, pointing to another one of the houses they’d looked at today.
“That one had a spirit in the attic. An old lady grandma type. She seemed pretty chill, I think, but you never really know until you spend some time around ‘em.”
“Hm.” Peter frowned. “What was she doing during our visit? Was she watching us?”
“Nah, she was playing solitaire. I don’t know if she couldn’t sense us or if she was ignoring us, though.”
Stiles withdrew his hand and stepped back, and Peter immediately missed the proximity.
“I’d better head home, it’s getting late,” Stiles said, a note of regret in his voice.
You could stay the night. In my bed. On my dick, Peter didn’t say.
“Alright, send me anything else you find.”
“PETER I FOUND YOUR NEW HOUSE,” Stiles announced as loudly as possible the next day, barging into Peter’s room. Peter turned around just in time for Stiles to shove his phone into Peter’s face. “Look look look!”
Peter glanced dryly at Stiles and delicately took the phone, scrolling through the listing.
Two beds, one and a half baths, one office, crown molding, brick and copper kitchen- and it backed up right to the preserve.
Peter was on the phone with his real estate agent five seconds later, ignoring Stiles’ smug look.
The current owners were desperate to sell fast, and they managed to get a showing in half an hour. Stiles bounced his leg in the car on the way over.
“I’m so fucking excited, Peter it’s like this house was made for you. Did you see that it has a bay window in the living room?”
“Yes, I saw that is has a bay window in the living room,” Peter said, amused at Stiles’ enthusiasm.
That enthusiasm, however, took a flying leap with a crunchy landing when they parked and walked up to the house.
“Peter…” Stiles said quietly, in a strange tone. Peter looked over curiously to see Stiles staring intently at the For Sale sign in the front yard.
Call Remax Agent Jenny West
It was enough to give Peter pause for a moment. Just a moment, though. It wasn’t long before the lure of automatic sprinklers and the bay window drew him toward the front door, Stiles trailing behind him, newly reluctant.
As soon at the real estate agent unlocked the front door, Stiles whispered, “Oh no,” and scurried closer to Peter.
“Peter-” he was cut off by the agent going on about the new carpeting and recently updated wiring in the walls.
Peter was only half listening to her anyway, most of his concentration focused on the shelving and the direction of light in the rooms. He absolutely loved the lighting fixtures, and one look at the backyard already had him planning a full moon party for the next month.
He could see himself living here. He could nearly smell the future memory of breakfasts in the kitchen, and late nights with books in the living room. Long showers, and possibly shared baths…
He glanced back toward Stiles, who still looked extremely uncomfortable.
“Let’s check out the basement, shall we?” the real estate agent suggested brightly. “The washer and dryer are down there, and it has a laundry chute from the master bath.”
“Yes, let’s go,” Peter agreed, eager to see the set up.
“Peter,” Stiles hissed from behind as the agent led the way.
“What?” Peter hissed back.
“You can’t buy this house, it’s totally haunted. Like, super for real really really fucking haunted,” Stiles stressed.
Peter pinched his lips and continued following the agent down the basement steps.
The washer and dryer were brand new, the cement floors recently scrubbed, with plenty of shelving on the far side of the room.
Stiles took one step into the basement and stopped cold. He stared into the center of the room, face pale.
“So what do you think?” the agent asked.
Peter took one more look around, eyes pausing on Stiles, who was clearly freaking out over something Peter couldn’t see. The only reason he ever looked like that was if there was a particularly nasty spirit within sight. The violent, angry kind that exist solely to bring pain and terror to the world. Peter thought he’d never seen him look quite so spooked.
He also thought about the copper countertops in the kitchen.
“I’ll give them asking price.”
“You are the blonde white girl in the first five minutes of every horror movie! I cannot believe you!!”
“Relax, Stiles, it’s not a problem. Or at least it won’t be for long.”
“What?? What are you gonna do, huh? Hang some crystals in the windows? Smudge the corners of the house with grocery store cilantro? What are you going to do!!”
“I know a guy.”
“Oh, he knows a guy, of course you know a guy. Who the fuck do you know with spirit goggles and practice dealing- oh, fuck you.”
“What’s your hourly rate, again?”
“I hate you so much.”
Stiles had an associate’s degree, and absolutely zero desire for any other schooling. A week after getting his degree he’d registered his paranormal investigation and consulting business (Private Third Eye) as an LLC and immediately started getting clients.
So far he’d had a few normal, non-supernaturally aware cases of people wanting to know if their loved one had “passed over” (yes) or who wanted to buy “protection stones” (not a real thing, but Stiles always cleansed their house along with the polished rocks he gave them, so he didn’t feel guilty.)
He’d also had a couple of in-the-know clients who needed a mediator for spirit communication. A grandpa had been hanging around, trying to communicate that his grandson needed to sprinkle his ashes at a Van Halen concert before he could go to his eternal rest, and family of werepanthers had a poltergeist that had needed to be taken care of.
Peter was his first client with a demon.
“I’m charging you double, I hope you know,” Stiles said as he used chalk to scrawl a devil’s trap on the floor of the basement.
“No friends and family discount?”
“Friends and family only get a discount if they listen when I say ‘don’t buy the house with a goddamn monster in the basement!’” Stiles tossed the chalk to the side, glaring at Peter, and started lighting candles.
“I knew you could take care of it,” Peter said dismissively. “Why turn down the perfect home for a temporary problem?”
Warmth spread through Stiles at the Peter’s total confidence in him, banishing some of his own self-doubt, but-
“I’m charging you triple.”
Without another word, Stiles scattered some herbs on the ground and started chanting.
For several minutes, nothing happened. Peter stood off to the side, watching Stiles slide into a kind of trance. His pupils slowly started to swallow his irises, and then the whites of his eyes. His voice deepened, and the room got colder.
A low groaning seemed to emanate from the walls around them, although Peter couldn’t have said if it was a sonic event or something communicated directly to his soul. He shivered, and shrank back a little further.
Stiles’ chanting got louder and faster, the flames of the candles growing higher as the room conversely felt darker. A sudden crack rattled the windows, and a black, hulking shape filled the circle, battling against the edges.
Stiles raised his hands and changed the timbre of his chanting, palms pointed at the trapped demon. The demon roared in fury and pushed back, making Stiles stumble. Peter rushed forward to help, but Stiles recovered his balance before he could get there.
Stiles changed tactics again, this time crouching down and touching the cement floor with all ten fingertips, staring intently at the beast. It stilled and quieted, but did not disappear. For the first time, Stiles looked unsure. His chanting took on a questioning edge.
The demon remained.
Peter waited tensely, expecting something to happen for another ten minutes. Stiles’ chanting eventually slowed to a halt, and the flames of the candles lowered, but the hulking black shape was still trapped in the circle.
Stiles slowly stood, eyes returned to their normal amber.
Peter dug through his boxes to find his kettle and tea as Stiles sat on the counter, reading demon banishing message boards on his phone.
“I did it exactly like they said,” he griped, frowning at his screen. “My sigils are obviously right, otherwise it wouldn’t be trapped.”
“Maybe it’s your pronunciation?” Peter suggested.
“Not according the guide in Merriam-Webster,” Stiles countered. “It should be gone.”
A low moan echoed up from the basement, drawing tense glances from both of them.
Peter finally found the kettle and filled it before plugging it in. As he rinsed a couple of mugs, he said, “How is banishing a demon different from banishing a ghost?”
Stiles sighed and put away his phone, taking the question as an excuse for a break.
“A ghost used to be a person. They just need a little nudge, or sometimes a shove, into the next plane of existence- whatever that may end up being for them.” He opened the box of tea and started rifling through the packs of leaves. “Demons were never human. They’re intruders from another… dimension? Another reality? I don’t know, it doesn’t really matter and I don’t actually care, I just need to know how to kick them out.” His voice was frustrated and dejected.
He chose a white tea mix and flicked it onto the counter next to him. Peter picked it up, brushing his fingers over Stiles’ thigh in the process in a subtle comforting gesture.
Tapping the leaves into two infusers (one a sensible ball, the other shaped like a manatee. Mana-tea), he said, “I’m sure you’ll get it figured out. You always do.”
Stiles watched as Peter calmly poured the boiling water over the infusers in the mugs, the warm feeling he usually got when Peter praised him tainted by his own uncertainty. They watched the tea steep, comfortable in their silence together.
It wasn’t until they went to empty their infusers that Peter broke it by saying, “Shit, I don’t have a trash can.”
Stiles’ snort of laughter turned into full-on giggles, eventually dragging a laugh or two out of Peter as well.
Once their mugs were rinsed, Stiles stretched and yawned.
“Well, obviously I can’t leave you here alone with a demon in the basement, even if it is trapped. You have a blanket I can use on the couch?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I have a second bedroom-”
“We didn’t set up that bed, remember? The screws are back at the house.”
“You just trapped a demon, Stiles, I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch. You can have the bed and I’ll take the couch.”
Stiles rolled his eyes, and said “You have a california king, dude, I think we can share the bed.”
Peter thought back to the last time they shared a bed, and his reasons for moving out.
He supposed it didn’t really matter if the demon was scarred by any sounds he heard.
“After you,” he gestured toward the stairs.
Stiles borrowed a pair of pajama pants, and noticed Peter’s appreciative stare as he climbed into the huge bed.
“What?” Stiles said, edging between flattered and self-conscious.
“My clothing looks delicious on you, darling,” Peter purred out. He reached out and pulled Stiles across the vast space of the bed, curling around him and nosing into his hair.
Stiles flushed red immediately, and tried to cover it by dryly saying, “If I’d known you wanted to cuddle like this, then the couch probably would have been big enough for both of us.”
“Hm, but the couch doesn’t have enough room for other, more vigorous activities,” Peter said suggestively, somehow managing to bring Stiles in even closer.
Stiles was very distracted by the lips brushing over his ear, so it took him a moment.
“Oh my God, are you trying to seduce me?” Stiles yelped as he turned over to face Peter, incredulousness written all over his face.
“Yes,” Peter confirmed, picking up Stiles’ hand and kissing each knuckle. “But let’s be honest dear, we’ve been subtextually trying to seduce each other since you turned eighteen.”
Okay, Stiles had to grant that one, but-
“You decided the right time for the final push was right after you bought a demon infested house that I explicitly told you not to buy? You really think ignoring my advice counts as foreplay??”
Peter considered that for a moment.
“I think moving away from my pack’s house so that we’re free to be as loud as we want counts as foreplay.”
Stiles’ mouth dropped open.
“You bought this house specifically so we could have loud sex?”
Stiles considered that for a moment, and then sat up, swinging his leg over Peter to straddle him.
“That is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. You’re still a huge idiot but that can wait, you have to kiss me right now.”
Peter surged up, catching Stiles’ lips and sliding a hand behind his neck to slowly lower him back down with him, chest to chest.
It was a slow moving, exploratory kiss. Their tongues sought out the most sensitive places, teeth scraping over lips. Stiles got his hands in Peter’s hair, tugging to angle him perfectly, and Peter’s hands scrabbled underneath Stiles’ shirt, fingernails digging in just a little.
Stiles happily let out a moan and Peter growled a little in return, dragging his nails down to Stiles’ waistband before running his hands up the sides of his ribs and gripping him firmly to flip them.
Stiles looked disoriented for a moment, and then utterly thrilled.
“Oh, that’s going to be fun,” he said breathlessly.
Peter smirked down at him and pulled off his shirt, preening when Stiles’ hands immediately moved up to run over his abs.
“Do you know how often I’ve jerked off to these?” Stiles said, voice reverent. “So many times. You don’t even know.”
“Oh, I have some idea.” Peter reached his hands under Stiles’ shirt again, and Stiles helpfully lifted his arms so Peter could pull it off. He leaned down to lightly kiss the trail of dark hair down his pale stomach. Speaking into Stiles’ skin, Peter said, “Do have any idea how crazy it drove me? Smelling you? Knowing you were going to go home and touch yourself, or that you’d just come from touching yourself-” Peter nipped at the skin, drawing a gasp and jerk of his hips from Stiles. “Why do you think I stopped walking around shirtless last year? I was afraid I might actually drag you into my bed.”
Peter continued moving downward, nosing at the band of the pajama pants. Stiles enthusiastically lifted his hips with a hopeful expression. The pads of Peter’s fingers caressed Stiles’ skin as he rolled the pants down to the top of his thighs, trapping his legs.
Stiles had no complaints, if his rushed litany of “yesyesyesyes” was anything to go by. Peter pet his skin calmly, the air of his breath ghosting over Stiles’ cock. Stiles felt like he’d been waiting for this his entire life and thus might actually die if Peter didn’t touch him soon, but Peter was determined to savor this.
He bent his head to kiss his lips on Stiles’ hip, moving inward slowly. Nipping, licking, and sucking, he worked his way toward the middle. Then, just before he reached Stiles’ cock, he lifted his mouth and moved to the other hip.
Stiles let out a whine that he wasn’t proud of, but only because it didn’t get Peter to move toward his dick any faster. Stiles was buzzing with sensation, each kiss a caress, each love bite a starburst, but not the sensation he needed. God, he needed it-
With a gasp and a moan, his cock was briefly enveloped by the heat of Peter’s mouth before receding to a gentle lick. The heat returned again, going down a little further, and then back, and then even further. Stiles looked down to see Peter’s head bobbing, and the sight by itself nearly undid him.
Peter was thoroughly enjoying himself. The push of the head nearing the back of his soft palate gave him a smug thrill as he pulled back one more time before swallowing down, and giving Stiles the best blowjob he’d ever given.
Stiles cried out loudly, hands automatically going to Peter’s hair and gripping. Not pulling or pushing, but simply holding on for the ride, using all his willpower to keep himself from thrusting into Peter’s throat.
Peter rutted down into the sheets, loving the weight of Stiles’ cock in his throat and the taste of his skin on his tongue. Stiles’ hands in his hair gripped tighter every time he swallowed around his cock, and the blissed out satisfaction he got from that had him moaning around Stiles.
Stiles sucked in a gasp when he felt the vibrations from the sound, and had just enough time to tap Peter on the shoulder in warning. Peter doubled down, swallowing again with another moan, and Stiles came down his throat.
When Peter pulled off, a drip of come in the corner of his mouth, Stiles lurched up and forward, kissing it off his face, dipping his tongue into Peter’s mouth to taste himself there. Come clumsy, he pushed Peter backwards, encouraging him back on to his elbows so Stiles could pull down his pajama pants and get a grip on his cock.
He gave him a few pulls, and mumbled into his mouth, “Suck or fuck?”
Peter moaned in response, bringing both hands up to either side of Stiles’ head to comb through his hair, and then gently direct his mouth downward.
A slanted smile on his face, Stiles dove into it as soon as he realized what Peter wanted. He enthusiastically took as much of Peter into his mouth as possible. Peter let out a strangled groan and collapsed, back arching for a moment. His hand immediately sought out Stiles’ hair again, gripping tightly as Stiles wrapped a hand around the base of his cock that he couldn’t fit into his mouth.
Up and down, licking around the head, Stiles’ mouth was the only version of heaven that interested Peter. The suction and heat were perfect, and Peter was already so close to the edge-
A second long fingered hand reached behind his balls to gently push a knuckle up, and Peter growled, tugging Stiles’ hair.
Stiles moved off of Peter’s cock just in time for him to come all over his cheek and down his neck. Peter stared, stunned at the vision he made, marked like that, and pulled him up chest to chest. He licked at the come before offering Stiles a taste through his kiss.
They kissed long enough that Stiles started to squirm.
“It’s getting tacky and gross,” he complained.
Peter gave one last longing look at the visible proof of his claim on Stiles, and then went to dig a washcloth out of a moving box.
Peter sweetly cleaned up most of the mess before chucking the cloth into the bathroom and then wrapping himself around a sleepy Stiles.
“I really do like this house, even if buying it was dumb,” Stiles mumbled, burying his face into Peter’s chest. “I like yelling during sex. I like you.”
“I like you too,” Peter said with an amused kiss into the crown of Stiles’ head.
“I don’t like the demon though.” Stiles yawned. “Fuck that guy.”
“I’d rather fuck you,” Peter said with another kiss. Stiles patted him lightly with the hand that was curled up on his stomach.
“Mm. Tomorrow. After I-” one more yawn “-curb stomp the demon.”
Stiles awoke to kisses on his neck in the morning, which was just absurdly romantic, except-
“Hold that thought, I have to pee.”
Peter watched, amused, as Stiles scrambled out of bed and into the bathroom. A moment later he heard a flush, and then the sink turned on. Stiles’ heartbeat suddenly increased, and Peter sat up in bed, concerned, but before he could ask, Stiles called out, “Uh, Peter?”
Peter lunged into the bathroom, claws out, but the strangest thing he could see was Stiles, standing in front of the sink, staring into the corner of the shower. Stiles finally looked back at him.
“There’s not just a demon living here.”
Stiles looked back to the corner, seeing a short haired woman in a sharp 80’s business suit glaring at him.
“I have been trying to finish dying already for fucking years,” she said heatedly. “And now you’ve trapped that damn thing in the basement but couldn’t be bothered to finish the job? I have two yorkies waiting to see me on the other side, so if you could please get your shit together.” She tapped her sensible black heel impatiently, arms crossed and one expectant eyebrow raised.
“Oh,” Stiles said, comprehension dawning on his face. “The demon tied itself to you. You can’t leave as long as it’s here, and it can’t be banished as long as you’re here.”
“Obviously.” Her voice dripped with condescension.
Stiles supposed being trapped in a house with a demon for three decades would make anyone testy.
“There’s a ghost in here?” Peter asked, looking into the shower curiously, finally retracting his claws.
“Not for long,” Stiles answered. He rummaged through a box, muttering, “I know I saw- there it is!”
He pulled out a bottle of argan oil.
"Aren't you supposed to use blessed oil?" Peter asked with a frown.
Stiles anointed his fingers, saying, "Uh, yeah. That's why I got my priests certification online, remember? I went around and blessed every bottle of oil I could find. All the olive oil and canola oil is blessed too."
He flicked his fingers out toward the ghost and said something in Latin.
“Fucking finally,” she muttered when a shining portal appeared in the tile next to her, and stomped off into the afterlife.
Peter could see none of that, but he did hear the earth shattering roar come up from the basement. His ears popped, his chest squeezed, and then a heartbeat later it was gone. The temperature of the entire house seemed to raise a bit.
“WOO! Yeah! Banished my first demon!!” Stiles raised his arms to cheer himself, grinning at Peter.
Peter couldn’t help but smile back at his enthusiasm, reaching out to reel him in.
Arms wrapped securely around him, Peter pressed a kiss to his mouth and said, “Does that mean the demon’s been sufficiently curb stomped?”
Stiles kissed him back, wrapping his own arms behind Peter’s neck.
“Why don’t you take me back to bed and find out?”