Chapter 1: A veritable buffet of vices
So, apparently some dudes have a kink for the boy-next-door type. That's his niche. That's his specialty. Because Stiles isn't some exotic foreign beauty. He's not a male model nor is he a jock and he's definitely not an androgynous or effeminate guy (which there's nothing wrong with, of course). When he meets his clients, he's wearing his normal everyday get up: sneakers, jeans, a t-shirt and a plaid button-up over it. He looks like the quintessential college student (or high school student if the someone was a perv). He dresses and pretty much gets to act like himself and it's definitely not what Stiles would have thought someone would like.
But people do. Both male and female.
It's a pretty good gig, you know, for being an escort. The agency he works with is all confidential and seems as legit as an establishment can be. The clients are vetted. The escorts are also vetted. Tested. Interviewed. Stiles literally has a profile page that details every little fact about him. All his measurements, what he does and doesn't do. It's thorough as fuck. It's professional. Respectable as it can be.
He doesn't walk the streets and get picked up by strangers. They take care of the financials. He has a choice in who he sees and how often he wants to work. He only works Friday evening, Saturday and Sunday and it pays more than enough for him to keep attending college. Escorting isn't like his dream college job but it beats flipping burgers and he's not about to put his dad out. His dad has done enough for him. Stiles is an adult, he's going to take care of himself. He's going to make it.
And sometimes it's not even fucking or kinky stuff that he does. Sometimes Stiles just gets taken out for dinner or pampered by someone older who wants someone younger with them. He sure as shit won't complain about being spoiled. Everyone gets lonely. Of course, sometimes it's weird when he's supposed to be filling the role of someone else, but he makes it work.
Stiles has been doing this for exactly three months now. He almost has enough regulars that he won't have to take new clients and he could then take it easy. If he's lucky, maybe he can scoop this new guy up and keep things stable. This is Stiles Stilinski's hope as he hops out of the cab at his client's workplace... which is a big honking skyscraper that looks both pretentious and modern.
It's not unheard of coming to a client's place of work. He's learned that people are simply workaholics (but there are some who get like power boners doing anything in their office too). Stiles pulls up the details on his phone. It has the security code he needs as well as the directions. Given the time (10 pm), Stiles has only seen one janitor who pays him no mind. In five minutes he's in the appropriate elevator ascending to the top floor (because of course Peter Hale would be on the top fucking floor).
Stiles has all his necessary supplies in his messenger bag. One hand grasps onto the band as his other arm swings beside him. The place is posh as fuck and Stiles can't help but feel a little weird with his scuffed sneakers and his stud muffin t-shirt, but whatever. Apparently he's who this client wants, so Stiles is going to go with it. Money is money and every once in a while the sex is above tolerable.
It had been his secretary who had dropped the name to him in casual conversation. And by 'casual', Peter means that she'd snapped at him for being a little overzealous at the guy who gets the coffee. She'd gone on a rant that he'd honestly tuned out for the most part, but when she'd snapped the words 'sexual frustration' and 'get laid' and had slapped a card down on his desk before storming out, he'd been intrigued. Put out, annoyed, and mildly amused, but still intrigued. He'd slipped the card into his desk and closed the drawer, then gone back to work, sipping at sub-par coffee that he hadn't really needed, but it has been the principle of the matter.
Nepotism does have its faults though, because as it so happens, Peter's relatives are just as stubborn as he is. When he winds up snarling at Derek (literally) a week later, he comes back into his office to the sight of his niece with her arms folded tightly across her chest and her eyes glinting a very disapproving gold. Again, he's delicately reminded about the card she'd left, and he fishes it out for her to prove he'd not thrown it away.
"Call. Or I will," she says flatly.
Peter does. But not before he spends the next three hours of company time casually perusing the available candidates online, clicking from one page to the next.
He doesn't ask Laura where she'd found this specific service provider. Peter has learned not to ask in the time since the fire. She can be formidable when she wants to be, and while she's not the Alpha of their little pack, she does carry her own level of respect with her. So Peter gives her the benefit of the doubt, and when he can't find any reason not to, he picks up the card, reads the name, sighs in a supremely put-upon way, and calls.
It's a simple process to go through the company's vetting policy. It's not the first time that Peter has done this. He doesn't necessarily need to pay for sex, but going out to a bar and finding someone he'll never see again is unfulfilling and he doesn't have the time. Taking someone from work is an HR nightmare, and he hasn't built the ashes of their lives from the ground up only to burn it to cinders again on a passing fancy. So this is a fair alternative.
Sometimes he pays for sex from properly-vetted companies. Sometimes he pays for sex but spends the time chatting. It's simple.
He hears Stiles - the boy whose profile had intrigued him the most - a few minutes before he actually walks in through the doors. (And seriously, Stiles? Peter's heard odd names before, but never Stiles.) Peter looks up and listens, tracking the unfamiliar footsteps as they approach his office and then come to a stop. He checks his watch and then stands up, pleased that Stiles is at least on time. If the scent coming from behind the door is any indication, he's clean, and he's well-prepared. Peter can respect that.
Instead of making Stiles open the door, Peter strides over and does it for him. He does like throwing people off of their game, and there's something entirely too satisfying about catching someone off guard. This is no different, and as Peter quickly looks over wide brown eyes, pale skin, and a face so non-threatening that it's almost charming, he lets himself smirk.
"You must be Stiles. Peter Hale. Please, do come in."
At least there isn't any lame elevator music that Stiles has to suffer through. That music always sucks. It's like the most passive-aggressive shit ever, purposefully tailored to attempt to be pleasant and mild-mannered, but not like, enjoyable. Stiles almost whistles a contradictory tune, but he doesn't let himself. The panels of the elevator are mirrors which is kinda weird, but rich people often like to look at themselves.
Stiles doesn't shy away from his reflection. His hair still is styled on point and his clothes fit him well, not too baggy, but the appropriate size to accentuate that he's in decent shape. Boyish figure, on the hinge of manliness. Or something. Stiles doesn't feel like a boy, but he's only eighteen and moving to the city has been a pretty big adjustment.
He's doing fine. He is fine. Sure, this is a part of his life that he probably isn't going to tell anyone ever, not even Scott or Lydia, but he's doing what's necessary. Stiles is going to make it. He's going to succeed. He needs to get his degree and get a job and be able to support his dad. He's already started squirreling away money.
The elevator reaches the top floor and dings, the doors sliding open and Stiles' brown eyes narrow as he takes in the somewhat dimly lit corridor that awaits him. He knows Peter Hale's office is at the end. Stiles glances around as he walks casually to the awaiting office. There's art. Fancy moldings. Washrooms. Before he reaches the office doors and knocks to announce himself, the heavy dark inlaid door is opening and there's Peter standing there.
A slate grey suit, with a somewhat sheen-looking fabric, white dress shirt, cobalt blue tie, cufflinks. Groomed, styled hair, fit. Peter's profile picture doesn't do him justice. That's Stiles' first observation.
"Hey," Stiles greets and flashes him a cursory smile as he steps into the office. Stiles isn't worried about sucking up and batting his eyelashes. He's already been paid for. "You want me to call you Peter or Mr. Hale or something else?" Stiles asks, an eyebrow lifting as he glances around the open space that isn't quite what he'd been expecting. It's not as stifling as most offices he's been in. There's actually a flair of personality seen in the art and sculptures which Stiles can appreciate.
Stiles' numerous profile pictures are accurate, but the first thing that Peter thinks as he gets a good look at him is that reality fits him better than photographs. Stiles is a dynamic character immediately, his eyes bright and expressive, his eyebrows adding personality to everything he says. There's an easy, carefree grin that touches his lips when he speaks, and Peter finds himself watching Stiles maybe a little too closely.
He makes a mental note to possibly thank Laura for the idea. Even if this is nothing more than letting off steam, a pleasant face is nothing to scoff at, and those lips do look like they'd provide hours of entertainment.
"Peter is fine," is the easy answer.
Oh, a part of him could definitely get behind 'Mr. Hale', but seeing as his assistant is his niece, he has no latent fantasies to play out there. His sense of humor might have grown darker since the fire, and he might not be the most stable man in the world, but he's not quite that far gone. Though as he looks Stiles over and notes the deceptively broad shoulders and the nice curve of his ass in his jeans, he almost reconsiders. A little fantasy never hurt anyone.
But no. Peter sweeps one hand toward the interior of his office, decorated in a modern style that echoes the aesthetic of the building. The floors are smart and dark with accent rugs, and while the walls are white, there's color in the form of artwork and statues. It looks comfortable. Not quite comfortable enough to be someone's home, but there had clearly been thought that had gone into the decorating. Peter gestures Stiles to one of the chairs in the room - large, plush, and comfy, but with solid frames for lumbar support - and then walks over to its twin. He undoes the top button on his suit jacket to let the fabric part, then sits back.
One leg crosses easily over the other and Peter relaxes, the picture of casual. It's immediately easy to tell how people come to trust him. "To clarify, I have you for the rest of the evening? You'll not be driving back after?"
Peter Hale is hot. Not all of Stiles' clients are, but that hardly matters. People can be attractive in other ways. Personality, outlook, humor. Stiles tries to look for the good in people. His clients seem like decent people, at least. Stiles doesn't want to get involved with anyone shady. He goes for the divorcees, the widowed, the single and socially awkward entrepreneur. Peter's looks, status, and demeanor has Stiles curious. Peter seems confident. Peter isn't married or engaged (Stiles doesn't fuck with that, he's not about to be some little trampy homewrecker). Peter Hale could definitely get laid whenever.
So, it's either a time thing or a power thing, or perhaps both. Stiles will figure it out. He likes figuring out his clients, trying to see how they tick, what gets them going and what they're after. Most people think it would always be fucking or getting off, but that isn't always the case. Sometimes companionship and intimacy far outshine an orgasm. Stiles has learned a lot in these few short months and he's had to adapt his outlook. He'd definitely had a few blunders, but thankfully he hasn't screwed anything up.
What does Peter want or need? Stiles will learn. He likes the problem-solving component to this job. Sometimes his clients don't even know and they discover it together.
When Peter answers him, Stiles gives a nod and a "mm" sound to indicate he's heard. He's gestured to a rather comfortable looking chair and Stiles goes. He slips off his messenger bag and lets it rest against the side of the chair before sitting. Stiles watches Peter sit. He watches the motions Peter goes through, all proper, but Stiles doesn't think Peter is actually an uptight guy.
Stiles doesn't cross his legs. He keeps his body language open, his hands coming to rest on his lap. "You paid for me until the morning, so unless there's some emergency or the contract is breached, you're stuck with me until 7 am," Stiles answers with an eyebrow waggle and a smile. "Did you have anything in mind? You're aware of what I don't do, anything that I should be made aware of? No rush of course. We can talk. Drink. Flirt. Get to know each other, get naked. Whatever, really."
Stiles is charming. Peter will give him that much. He's seen his share of escorts in the past and most of them have a particular niche to fill. Seductress, innocent, master or mistress, and a few other types he'd never glanced at beyond a morbid interest. Stiles is charming and easygoing, a boy-next-door type, which Peter silently finds amusing as he hadn't had neighbors growing up. But there's something about Stiles' realism and his attire that does interest him. There's something else too, though Peter can't put his finger on it just yet. He'd paid for a whole evening after all, not just a few hours. Something about the write up he'd seen...
No matter. There will be time to pry deeper. For now, Peter nods at Stiles' answer and he allows himself to smile at the little wiggle of Stiles' eyebrows. Charming, outgoing, humorous... he can see why Stiles had been expensive. At least... he can if the next few hours aren't a disaster (and Peter still hasn't really made up his mind about that yet). So when Stiles asks him about his plans, Peter simply lifts an eyebrow and considers.
"A veritable buffet of vices," he says, and while he's not smirking, there's amusement in his eyes.
Peter stands then and walks over to a bookshelf in the corner of the room. It's old and heavy and intricate, with half of it holding books and files and the other half a set of smaller cupboards. He opens those and pulls out two glasses, then glances back at Stiles.
"I was going to offer you a drink, assuming you aren't driving, but you are eighteen... I won't tell if you won't." A smirk touches Peter's lips as he turns away. "Wine, whiskey, rum, sherry - take your pick. After that, much as I'm tempted to get right to it, I'm not against learning a bit about you, since I do have your company for the evening."
A veritable buffet of vices is vague as fuck, but it is technically an answer still and a pretentious one at that. Stiles isn't too worried, though. Peter doesn't give off the way-too-out-there vibes in terms of kinks anyway. He's not going to be asking Stiles to shit in his mouth or anything gross like that. The reason this works at all is that both the clients and escorts respect the agreements and rules of conduct set out by Beacon Entertainment. There's a whole zero tolerance policy.
So Stiles isn't concerned about the unknown. While he's not a veteran by any means, he's not a newbie either. He's always been a little too brave (which has gotten him into a few scrapes).
Stiles watches Peter rise and walk to a rather old and impressive looking bookshelf... That apparently houses alcohol and glasses. How snob-ish but fitting. But alcohol is good.
The comment about his age has Stiles snorting softly. If they were in Canada it would have been totally fine. Silly US laws... "Rum and coke? If you have coke, that is. If not, I can be a man and drink it straight if I gotta," Stiles says easily. He has spotted a mini fridge in the office but it could have like protein shakes or salads... "I like spiced rum the most, too." He adds on with a smile.
While Peter fixes him a drink, Stiles considers what he wants to share with Peter. It doesn't take him long to decide on a subject. "I want to be involved in law enforcement. I'm studying Criminal Psychology. My dad's a sheriff of a small town. Suppose that influenced me. I like solving puzzles. Have always been interested in connecting the dots."
Peter isn't necessarily surprised at Stiles' answer, but there is a small part of him that's impressed that the answer hadn't been beer or any of the ten-dollar wines (of which he has none, thanks). The coke might have once been a complication, but Laura has very selective tastes. While she can toss back a shot of anything under the sun and not flinch, there have been a few days where she barges into Peter's office, kicks her shoes off on his coffee table, and demands, 'something that tastes as good as you should be paying me'. Peter honestly looks forward to those days; Laura is spirited and always busy, but when she settles down for the day, she can usually convince Derek to do the same. Being around pack still means something.
He walks to the mini-fridge in the corner and opens it up, pulling out a coke before walking back to the cabinet. He makes the drink with only half of his usual flourish, aware that his goal isn't to irritate his niece into flashing her eyes at him to get him to hurry up. When he turns back to Stiles with a rather ornate, heavy glass, it's to the sight of his smile. Peter tilts his head, thoughtful. He looks attractive when he smiles.
"Criminal Psychology is no simple task," Peter says as he walks Stiles' drink over to him. He hands it over with a subtle-but-intentional brush of fingers, then turns to retrieve the bottle of spiced rum. He pours a little for himself, though it won't get him drunk or even tipsy. The taste is almost as pleasant, though.
"You'll be in school for some time if you're only eighteen now. You'll have a long road ahead of you, but if you're a problem solver and like trying to figure out the way people think, you'll hardly notice it. Though if you enjoy figuring people out, taking this job is ingenious. Do you often pseudo-profile your clients?"
There's a chance that simply mentioning his dad and law enforcement coupled with psychology could rub Peter the wrong way. Many people from the city can be edgy about cops and authority (especially given that what they're doing is technically illegal). Stiles gets it, but he'd grown up around the life and he's seen that more of 'em were good and hardworking than not. Assholes are in every job. Assholes are everywhere.
Peter makes his drink first and delivers it. When the fancy schmancy cup is handed over, Peter's fingers graze his and Stiles knows that it hadn't been accidental. Suave cat, this Peter Hale. It is nice that he's being treated like a guest and as Peter returns to make his own drink, Stiles doesn't hesitate to check out the attractive line of Peter's neck and back. Once again, Stiles is reminded that Peter isn't a troll nor is he lacking in confidence or charm.
Peter proves it again when he speaks. Stiles makes a thoughtful sound before taking a sip of his drink. Peter had given him spiced rum. Niiiiice. When Peter goes on to ask about him pseudo-profiling his clients, Stiles sits up straighter. His head tilts to the side in appraisal.
"Not that they'd know it," Stiles shares, brightening up. "But I use my powers for good. Or I at least try. Sometimes clients aren't aware of what they need or want. It's in my unwritten job description to try and uncover that."
There's a hidden smile in Peter's eyes as he puts the stopper back on the bottle and then walks over to the other chair opposite Stiles. Peter glances around the room surreptitiously; he'd intentionally taken down the nameplate on his desk, and the degrees and credentials he often has on his wall. He's not pretentious enough to boldly display the name of his office building, nor even mark the door. If clients come to him, it's for a reason, and often times they don't want to be seen. It just so happens that this time, Peter is the one benefiting from his subtlety. Hiring an escort wouldn't exactly look good in the paper or tabloids after all.
But when he sees Stiles brighten and catches the flash of excitement behind his eyes, Peter tilts his head thoughtfully. Stiles sits up and Peter wonders if he even knows he's doing it. Likely not. Amused, Peter watches and listens, sipping at his drink as Stiles rushes ahead to talk. While Peter is fairly certain he'd known what he'd wanted upon hiring Stiles for the evening, he can't help but be curious over what Stiles will wind up seeing. With a subtle boast like that, Peter can't help his interest. He's always been drawn to people who know what they excel at and can back it up.
Crossing one leg over the other as he sits back in his seat, he nods slowly, a faint smirk on his lips and a smile in his eyes as he looks Stiles over. Only eighteen and still so driven. Very interesting.
"And do you find yourself able to discern what your clients want? If you've only got a few hours, or, say... an evening," Peter says, with a quick spark of something almost mischievous in his smile, "I can't imagine that would be a simple task."
Stiles has never had anyone really take in an interest about his study. He's used to approving looks because post secondary is the end all, be all for some people. Of course his clients are glad he's not a putz who plans on skating by with his good looks and even better personality. While some of the escorts he's met do in fact make a living off of this, Stiles know that this isn't an occupation that has much longevity. Stiles doesn't want his ass being old and used up. This can't go on forever. The money is good and it's not all older creepy people, but Stiles wants a profession he can be proud over and talk about.
Which is maybe why this is nice because Peter is asking him about his schooling and this current endeavor of his. Some people like to forget what he is and what he does. It's like him being an escort is an unsightly blemish. Sometimes it's about jealousy, too. Jealousy is a thing because he's technically being 'shared.' Usually an ugly thing and people don't want to ever admit it, he gets it.
He sees the challenge in Peter's face, the smirk, the gears turning. There's both an interest and a challenge in the question. Stiles takes a slow sip of his drink, considering. He's careful to not come across cocky, but instead confident. His posture reflects an easygoing air, but not too casual.
"Not always but usually," Stiles eventually answers. "It's easy to assume sex. An orgasm. The pinnacle of pleasure, but sometimes sex is just a tool and there's underlying shit I have to sift through. For example, I look around this office and you've taken down your credentials. The nameplate." Stiles glances around at the corresponding bare spots on the wall and desk. "But I know your name - you were okay with giving me that. It's not a pseudonym. So I'm going to assume that me knowing what you do - probably a lawyer or something - isn't crucial to you. You don't need me to be in awe of your position. Your name, though? Your name is important to you."
It's a challenge. Peter's fairly certain that if Laura knew the little game, she'd at least try to cuff him upside the head for being sly, but Peter can't help but push the boundaries when it comes to claims like the one Stiles had made. Peter's biology makes him an ideal lawyer, as it's quite simple to catch the lie when prosecuting someone in court. Once he's aware of the lie, it's a relatively simple matter to press and shove until the person eventually breaks. He's a leader of his industry for that reason, and his family follow suit. Derek is well-known for doing pro-bono, and while Laura calls herself his assistant, she's got her own degree to brag about.
So having this young man claim to be able to read people so well... Peter can't help but push a little. It hadn't registered as a lie, but he's curious. Maybe in a sense, this is why he'd been drawn to Stiles' picture on the site. He's certainly attractive, but his profile had screamed intelligence. Maybe this is what Peter had wanted.
He listens as Stiles speaks, and he casually sips at his drink. Stiles takes the time to draw himself together, and Peter feels a small spark of both respect and interest that Stiles isn't one to just rush ahead and take a blind guess. Instead he looks around and when he speaks, his voice is clear and casual but still confident.
Peter's honestly not expecting much. His expression doesn't so much as flicker when Stiles mentions the word lawyer, though Peter is honestly surprised. He might not make it obvious but he's impressed. But what truly surprises him is that Stiles is absolutely right regarding the rest of his assessment. Peter's drink stills halfway to his lips and when he looks at Stiles again, it's with an assessing expression, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
He's quiet for a long, drawn-out second. Then he seems to make a decision and lowers his glass. Peter isn't smiling, but there is something in his eyes as he looks Stiles over once, slowly.
"Impressive. I believe you'll be quite successful in your academic pursuits, Stiles. You're right on all counts. I have no interest in impressing you with my title; sometimes a certain level of anonymity is refreshing. But my name..." He tilts his head. "That's different. I'll not bore you with details, but suffice to say, you hit the nail on the head."
This isn't usually how his nights go. While each appointment with a client isn't the same, this almost-banter? This challenge that Peter has issued him? It's out of the norm. Usually if something sexual isn't jumped into, it's Stiles listening and being non-partial. It's him being there for someone who is likely lonely and stressed and usually both. Stiles knows better than anyone else that money doesn't buy happiness. Money comes with its own problems and while Stiles isn't about to rank suffering, he's seen less well-off people who seem more content than half of his clients.
As Stiles talks, he does observe Peter, looking for any sign or confirmation, but Peter doesn't let much show. Still, Stiles believes that he's right because as he finishes, Peter looks him over and Stiles sees what he thinks is a look of thoughtfulness or appraisal. Peter is in no rush to reply and Stiles wonders if it's for the theatrics. Peter Hale seems like someone who would be exactly like that -- especially if he's a lawyer as lawyers are rather showy twats at times.
When Peter finally speaks, Stiles listens and he finds that he doesn't have to feign any interest. He's actually interested in Peter -- at least more so than he usually is in a client in the first ten minutes. And Stiles likes being right, okay? And there's something sexy about a well spoken guy telling him that he's correct. There can be a lot of false bravado in clients but Peter doesn't seem to be like that. Stiles merely grins before taking a rather large swallow of the rum and coke.
"You're obviously attractive and confident enough to get laid, aren't ya?" Stiles begins with the raise of his eyebrow. "So, you either don't make time - a workaholic - or you like the idea of paying for someone. Maybe both?"
Peter has to admit, even inwardly, that he's impressed. He makes a mental note to get Laura something. An assortment of flowers would only piss her off, and a fruit basket is something she'd just pelt him with, but he's tempted on both accounts both to show his appreciation and to see the look of flat annoyance on her face. She'd done a good job, though, as while Peter hadn't been sure how this night might go, he's finding himself pleasantly surprised. Stiles isn't just a pretty face, and Peter finds himself more interested now than he had been even five minutes ago.
Stiles clearly likes the praise. Peter doesn't make it obvious that he knows, but there's a lightness in Stiles' eyes, a pleasure that only comes from meeting and exceeding expectations. Peter's lips pull into the faintest hint of a smile and he takes a sip from his drink, taking in the veiled excitement in Stiles' eyes and wondering how he might react to other sorts of challenges. Perhaps he'll get to find out. But for now, listening to Stiles rush into another assessment, coupled with a truly charming grin, Peter is content to learn how Stiles thinks before pushing further. He's already got an idea of what he might want, however...
"I've rarely had issue in finding companionship," Peter allows, and somehow he sounds modest despite the clear boast. "But right again. I admit, I rarely pay, though not out of a false sense of moral superiority. I am a self-admitted workaholic, and when I'm not working, I spend most of my time with my niece and nephew. I find time for myself when I can, but this is... an indulgence."
Peter takes another sip of his drink, the look in his eyes smooth appraisal.
"You are an indulgence. So I suppose in that regard, I do like the idea of paying for someone... I'm impressed, Stiles. Very astute."
It's almost like a game trying to figure out what clients want and whether or not they're even aware of what they want. And maybe Stiles likes that game a little too much at times. At least the game is enjoyable because sometimes the sex or physical stuff isn't so enjoyable. While Stiles is never forced into doing anything he's not comfortable with, he still has preferences, okay. There are clients that he's less enthused to be with. There are clients that he has to visualize as someone else. And there are a few clients that he honestly does enjoy, too.
Peter Hale... would probably fall into the latter category. At least, Stiles is enjoying himself now. There's always the chance that Peter could turn out to be some weirdo and want something off the wall that Stiles would do (as long as it's on his approved list), but he could be less stoked about. Now that he's thinking about it, Stiles is curious about what kinds of things Peter could be into. While Peter looks refined, Stiles has the sneaking suspicion that maybe Peter is a little wild underneath his composed exterior.
Anything Peter willingly tells him is important. Stiles listens as Peter defines himself and makes it a point to mention that he doesn't possess any sort of moral superiority. What's interesting is that Peter mentions family and that fills in part of the picture. Work may come first but Peter's niece and nephew are important to him and if Stiles were to hazard a guess, he wouldn't be surprised if those family members weren't kept close and perhaps even apart of the business somehow. It would be simple enough to look up Peter Hale online after.
It's when Stiles is called an indulgence that his head quirks to the side. It's obvious he hadn't been expecting the label. Stiles finishes his drink and then licks his lips slowly.
"Perhaps you just had low expectations, Mr. Hale," Stiles says with a cheeky grin, adding on the Mister to see how Peter deals with it. Stiles places his empty glass on the side table before standing up. He's purposeful in turning to Peter as he shrugs off his button-up plaid shirt and folds it over the back of his chair. The logo t-shirt is one size too small so it clearly accentuates his frame.
"But thank you. I hope to continue to impress." Stiles doesn't sit down. Instead, he wanders around the open space, coming to a bookshelf filled with expected law books and some interesting trinkets.
It's obvious that he's putting himself on display for Peter.
Peter has no hesitation in imparting a few facts to Stiles. While sleeping with someone completely nameless has its appeal, that isn't what he wants tonight. A part of him wants to ask questions in return, but Stiles' ability to read him without the aid of deeper senses is truly impressive and Peter is enjoying the show. Yet regardless of how interested he is, he isn't so detached from his own sexuality that he can't recognize flirtation when he hears it.
Despite how infrequently Peter indulges, he's quite connected to his sexuality, and tonight is no exception. The words Mr. Hale are grinned out, but there's a slight undercurrent to them that catches Peter's attention. He can tell he's being assessed, that Stiles is poking to try and find an in, but in this case, Peter is quite happy to allow him to do so.
He watches with open interest as Stiles licks his lips and stands. Peter sips quietly at his drink, though there's a glitter of interest in his eyes as Stiles shrugs off his button-up and Peter is treated to how tightly Stiles' shirt hugs his body. There's an unexpected strength there, Stiles' arms strong with just enough masculinity there to remind Peter that he isn't simply picking a boy up off the street. He watches with approval as he admires the tightness of Stiles' chest and the unexpected width of his shoulders, and it is nice to notice that Stiles' body is just as thrilling as his mind is.
Peter lets him step away, watches him turn (likely to blatantly show off his ass, which Peter is quite appreciative of) and go stand by one of his bookshelves. There's silence as Peter finishes his drink, letting the moment stretch on naturally even if he's controlling it. It's as clear a sign as any, and when Peter finally sets his glass down and then gets to his feet, there's intent in his eyes.
He takes a moment to slide his suit jacket off, laying it neatly over the back of his chair. Then Peter quietly crosses the distance to where Stiles is 'admiring' the law books and he reaches out, setting both of his hands low on perfectly narrow hips. He touches to let Stiles feel the strength in his hands, then draws him back a step, leaning in to press a neat kiss to the nape of his neck.
"I'm sure you'll continue to impress. Though you have set the bar quite high." Another kiss, this time just under Stiles' ear. "But then, you like impressing people, don't you? Especially if they hold some position of power. Professors, I'm sure. The police. Myself."
It's a bit like a dance. Ask questions, reply. Share a few morsels of information, nothing too personal. Smile. Let the silence settle over them (because you can't appear to be too eager). Talk some more. Stand up and show off the goods but not too blatantly. Peter wouldn't care for blatant, at least not right now. Stiles is convinced that Peter very likely has a dirty side, but this - this right here - is seduction and teasing. And Stiles isn't going to lie, he likes this.
Until now, he's only had hints of such a thing, but Peter is the real deal. He can feel Peter's eyes on him as he walks away. He knows Peter is sizing him up, likely checking him out, and Stiles doesn't mind. He's used to it and it honestly builds up the anticipation. Stiles hasn't forgotten 'a veritable buffet of vices' had been Peter's answer.
Stiles hears Peter stand up. He hears the sound of clothes ruffling and Stiles doesn't look back. He assumes Peter is likely taking off his suit jacket which is Peter evening out the playing field between them. They've each stripped down one layer of clothing now. Peter is eerily quiet as he makes his way over and Stiles feels hands come to his hips and there's a real strength to these hands and it's proven a second later when Peter urges him a step back. Stiles' pulse has picked up at this contact and it only jumps more when a deceptively simple kiss is placed on the back of his neck.
Peter's tone is light and Stiles' lips twitch at the compliment of him apparently having set the bar quite high. He has the feeling that Peter is reaching, that Peter likes to be charming. It's something to keep in mind. Peter's mouth moves under his ear, another brush of a kiss that has Stiles shuddering despite himself. Normally he prides himself in being in control. It's not that reacting genuine is bad, but this is just proximity and barely kissing. It's hardly worth getting worked up over.
It's Peter's words that bring Stiles back. It's an observation from Peter now.
Stiles' hands lift to grasp onto Peter's wrists and first squeezes. Then he presses the hands against his hips, encouraging Peter to be rough.
"The right kind of people, yeah," Stiles murmurs warmly. "Connections and favors... They can be more beneficial than money itself." Stiles leans his head back. "Do you think you're the right kind of person?"
It's the way Stiles' pulse picks up that truly satisfies Peter. Stiles isn't wrong; he likes being charming. He likes causing reactions, likes being the catalyst to the way someone else acts. Be it through serious irritation in the courtroom or a simple courtship in a bar when he's feeling social, Peter likes knowing that his actions have consequences outside of his personal circle. And Stiles is so wonderfully responsive just at the simplest touch; it bodes well.
He could talk still, could guide Stiles in further conversation, could coax him back to the chairs and start their conversation up again but he doesn't. Instead Peter speaks, and he feels Stiles' reaction before hands come down on his wrists. Peter is quiet until Stiles urges him to press harder, and really, who is Peter to argue? His smile is hidden against Stiles' neck and he squeezes tighter, enjoying the solidness of Stiles' body, but the give to narrow hips under his hands. And perhaps he's just being cocky, but when Stiles tips his head back in a way that seems receptive, Peter suspects it isn't just the acting of a particularly-talented escort.
Stiles certainly knows what to say. Peter has to hand it to him. Very few would dare to be so bold, and yet Peter feels a welcome heat slide under his skin as Stiles talks about him being the right kind of person.
"I could be. For the right incentive," Peter murmurs back, guiding Stiles back again until he's pressed flush to Peter's chest.
Peter hums a soft note in the back of his throat, and he takes the clear offering of Stiles' bared throat to press another kiss there, making a point to let the scratch of his facial hair drag just over the prominent line of his pulse.
"But then, I doubt I'll need proper incentive with you. Incentive implies coercion, but I find you interesting enough without the added benefits you might bring to the table." The curve of Peter's smile can likely be felt against Stiles' skin. "You're enjoying this. Are you not used to seduction?"
Maybe it's something about Peter's voice, his soft tone that gets to Stiles, that has tempted him. It's not the money. It's not the expensive suit and lavish office. Stiles is pretty sure that he's been with wealthier clients (but it's hard to tell). A lawyer is a reputable career, but Stiles doesn't think it's that either. There's something about Peter Hale that's... captivating and Stiles wants to discover it, he wants the mystery to be solved. There's charm and there's confidence and yeah it's sexy, but Stiles can't shake the feeling that there is something underneath it all. He can't ask, though. It's rude to blatantly ask and he wouldn't know how to phrase it either.
Stiles has no idea what's going to happen this evening. Peter had wanted to converse and get to know him and Stiles had complied for a little until what? Until Peter had complimented him and called him impressive, called him an indulgence and Stiles had taken it upon himself to start the undressing game and showcase his body. Peter could have steered them back into G-rated conversation, though.
Peter holds all the cards (which usually would be infuriating under normal circumstances but Stiles consents to this and he gets paid for it). But Peter had followed him, slipped off his suit jacket and initiated touch. They're all positive signs that he hasn't taken a misstep here, but it's a little worrisome that Stiles had sought to redirect them anyway. His client had voiced an interest in talking and yet--
And yet Stiles likes this particular dance. Peter pulls him back and Stiles goes willingly. The suit jacket is off, too and Stiles almost smiles to himself before observing how good Peter feels against him. Peter is firm and solid and a kiss is given to his throat, stubble scratching against sensitive skin that has Stiles swallowing back a gasp or whatever sound that wanted to come out. Once again, Peter is forward and Stiles likes it. It's refreshing to not have to deal with beating around the bush.
"A little coercion never hurt anyone," Stiles jokes softly. His hands slide down to cover Peter's own. The question regarding seduction is easier to deal with than the fact that he's enjoying this. Stiles digs his fingernails into the back of Peter's hand, curious how Peter will respond. "Seduction directed toward me isn't usually on the docket," Stiles states simply. "You plan on changing that?"
This is not something Peter had expected, yet he finds himself quite taken by this unexpected treat. Stiles is more than a pretty face and an intelligent mind. He's witty and there's a hint of cunning, of mischief in him that Peter can only just make out through whatever professional persona Stiles undoubtedly wears with clients. Peter isn't bothered by it; Stiles is warm and solid against him, and as Peter's lips skim over the line of Stiles' throat, he has to inwardly hand it to his niece for this suggestion. Laura had been right; this is what he's needed.
Peter observes small things as Stiles lets him kiss his throat. He monitors the small jump in his pulse, and the swallow that had clearly been done to fight back a sound. He hums his satisfaction when blunt nails bite into the backs of his hands, and Peter makes a point to squeeze Stiles' hips tighter. It's a sharp juxtaposition to how gentle the kisses to his throat are, and Peter deftly slides Stiles' shirt up just enough for his fingertips to brush over the small strip of skin at the hem of his shirt.
"Coercion does have its place," Peter agrees, his voice holding a hint of amusement. "But in times like these, seduction seems far preferable. It's a shame that you've not had the experience that often. You're young, you're attractive, and you're intelligent. You should expect seduction."
As if to make that point stick, one of Peter's hands slides under Stiles' tight shirt, feeling warm skin (that does feel cooler under his hand by comparison) and the solid line of muscle. Peter traces the dips and valleys with one thumb, sliding it casually back and forth as he leans in and delicately takes the lobe of Stiles' ear between his teeth to nibble at.
"I don't know about you, but I don't find sex worthwhile unless my partner is properly satisfied."
It hasn't even been half an hour and Peter is proving himself to be like no other client Stiles has dealt with. Stiles doesn't know if it's necessarily a good thing. What's familiar and expected is safe, but boring. Safe is good, though. His dad likes safe. Most sane people like safe. Safe is definitely a good as an escort. Stiles doesn't necessarily know how to quantify how Peter feels dangerous, though. Stiles doesn't have a great reason for associating Peter with danger other than his intuition but his intuition has always been good...
Peter may potentially be dangerous, but being pressed back into a hard body feels undeniably good. Stiles pushes the hint of a threat from his mind. Peter is here and he's here and Stiles is committed to this for the night. His nails digging into Peter's hands are received well. Peter doesn't try and stop him which Stiles makes note of. Peter's mouth is gentle along his throat, lips grazing and peppering his throat with gentle kisses as hands grip tightly against his hips. Stiles is a little surprised to find himself growing hard so quick from so little. The touch of fingers against his skin underneath his shirt? Also a little thing. Not even directly sexual, but his dick apparently likes it. His free hand fidgets by his side now, fingers twitching.
Stiles breathes deeply, willing himself to calm down if possible. Peter's words are said so practically that Stiles can't help but give a soft snort. He's an escort. Him being seduced isn't the name of the game and given that what his job is, Stiles doesn't exactly attempt to get laid or date in his free time.
A hot hand slides under his shirt and the touch that follows has Stiles' abdomen quivering. The touch is light and directionless. Maybe even whimsical. Teeth at the lobe of his ear is something Stiles is more familiar with and it's funny how relief flits through him.
That relief doesn't last as Peter speaks again. Confusion filters into Stiles as he tries to focus on the volumes of legal books. Peter doesn't strike him as someone who derives self-worth from pleasing their partner, but pride? Yeah, Stiles thinks it's likely an issue of pride, but he's not going to say as much.
"Oh, Mr. Hale, you going to properly satisfy me then?"
There's something quite satisfying in feeling Stiles shift and squirm almost restlessly against him. Peter is sure that while Stiles likely doesn't deal with clients who willingly degrade him or treat him roughly (it is a professional service, after all) he probably doesn't often enjoy the benefit of attention. Peter can't say that he doesn't understand the appeal of taking pleasure from a willing body, and he can't say he doesn't understand the appeal of being a little selfish.
Yet when Stiles' experiences have undoubtedly followed that general formula, Peter finds himself far more tempted by the thought of being an outlier. Getting off and enjoying a partner for physical pleasure is one thing, but having said partner remember him? That's what he wants.
It's clear that Stiles isn't used to having this drawn out. Each touch draws a reaction that Peter takes his own pleasure from. His eyes glitter with satisfaction as the scent of arousal begins to spike, and he must say that Stiles' scent is quite thrilling. Peter doesn't make his scenting obvious, but there's an addicting edge to the musk of arousal, like hints of oak in an aged brew. Stiles clearly doesn't know how to react, and Peter catalogs his genuine responses. Gentle touch makes him quiver, teasing makes him restless, and he seems to enjoy attention paid to his neck.
There's clear coaxing when Stiles once more calls him Mr. Hale, and Peter is not so modest that he can't admit that he likes the sound of it on Stiles' tongue. He hums in answer, and as his hand strokes broadly over the flat planes of Stiles' stomach, his other hand finally moves down, his thumb tracing the 'v' of his hip where Stiles' jeans block him from going any lower. Peter strokes his thumb there rhythmically, slowly, the touch full of promise.
"I believe I will," he says, and there's a smirk in his voice as he slowly presses down on Stiles' abdomen and takes a slow few steps back. It's akin to dancing as Peter leads him back, then guides Stiles away from the bookshelf and instead over to the heavy oak of his desk. He has to give Stiles something to hold onto, after all. He can hear him fidgeting.
"Though something tells me that you doubt I'll be able to. Have you ever had someone satisfy you before, Stiles? Leave you wrung out and boneless?"
Stiles is being a little sarcastic, a little sassy and it could very well backfire. He's still learning Peter, learning the lay of the land and while Stiles hasn't lost his footing yet, that doesn't mean he won't. He doesn't know Peter's threshold concerning shows of attitude. Sure, it's listed on his profile, but that doesn't necessarily mean he can say and do whatever he wants. Stiles still needs to keep the client in mind. He can't lose focus, no matter how different this particular experience may be.
Thankfully his comment and use of Peter's last name isn't met negatively. Peter hums a response, his hands coming to touch his stomach and hip but not going lower. And it's not like every client is overly quick and handsy, but it's like Peter has fine-tuned seductive touching. Stiles' eyelids flutter as he tries very hard to control his breathing and not come across as needy because this isn't supposed to be about him.
Peter flat out confirms that he plans on properly satisfying him and if that isn't the hottest thing Stiles has heard he doesn't know what would be. It goes right to his dick, making him ache but Stiles doesn't have time to think about it as Peter is stepping away and Stiles has to lift his head off of Peter's chest as he's lead to Peter's desk. Stiles' eyes glance at the desk. Given that there are items on it, Stiles doesn't think Peter wants him to lie down on it.
'Have you ever had someone satisfy you before, Stiles? Leave you wrung out and boneless?'
Stiles doesn't plan on commenting whether or not he doubts that Peter will be able to because what Peter says after seems more pressing. He hazards a guess that Peter is going to want to fuck him so Stiles steps to the edge of the desk, clears an area for him and then goes down on his forearms, his ass blatantly on display for Peter. Stiles looks over his shoulder, eyes mischievous.
"Do you worst, daddy," Stiles murmurs. Another test. And Stiles wiggles his ass, beckoning Peter over.
It's fascinating to watch Stiles' mind work as Peter leads him back to the desk. Peter can already tell that he is not like Stiles' usual clients. Stiles doesn't seem uncertain, but he also doesn't seem like he's aware of what to do next. His confidence in guessing Peter's desires has been replaced with something somewhat confident but also a little unbalanced. It doesn't detract from Peter's enjoyment at all; as much as he enjoys Stiles' confidence, he is thoroughly enjoying the small glimpses past the shield Stiles likely has up for most of his clients. Peter intends to strip that down more than he intends to strip Stiles down. Genuine is always better than fake.
But he has to applaud Stiles for trying. Peter watches, curious, as Stiles seems to consider what to do. In a way, it's a bit of a test from him as well, and so when he watches Stiles politely clear a spot on the desk and then lower himself down onto his forearms, Peter's tongue touches his lips as he wets them. It's interesting, and the view is quite satisfying. Yet it's when Stiles looks back over his shoulder that Peter sees the glimpse of attitude, of a challenge, and the small smirk that touches his lips says quite a lot.
Admittedly, despite the power dynamic between them, Peter isn't expecting Stiles to call him what he does. 'Daddy' is not something Peter has ever encouraged from his lovers, but he's not adverse to it. Anything that lets his chosen partner fall apart because of him is preferable, and hearing Stiles' voice coy around the word is tempting. But Peter can hear the slight inflection, can hear the test in Stiles' voice, and despite the darker look of lust in his eyes, he draws his hands back to slowly slide them down Stiles' back. It's almost a massage as he touches, but despite his coy seduction, Peter does slide his hands down to Stiles' ass, squeezing slowly and appreciatively. Then, without preamble, he gives the right cheek a quick swat with his hand.
"Is that something you enjoy, Stiles?" Peter asks, his voice low and smooth. His other hand slides up to press down between Stiles' shoulder-blades, showcasing some of his strength. "Or is it something you're trying to decide if I like? Be genuine with me, as much as you feel comfortable with, at least. I have no issue calling you my baby boy. Nor my good boy, if that's something you enjoy."
He leans over Stiles, his lips pressing to Stiles' nape with a low hum of satisfaction. He's at least aware that Stiles enjoys domination and submission from his profile.
"What do you prefer? Am I Mr. Hale? Sir? Daddy? I'm versatile."
Some people like daddy, mommy, sir or ma'am. Other clients like the familiarity of using first names or the distance or power dynamic of last names. Stiles usually figures out pretty quick what clients like. And while he'd asked or at least given the option of first or last name to Peter, Peter had told him that "Peter" was fine. The word fine isn't exactly fine with Stiles though. He wants to know what Peter likes.
Because right now it feels like Peter is learning him and it's not supposed to be that way. 'Daddy' has a small smirk pulling onto Peter's face but Stiles thinks it's more out of amusement than an overbearing like toward the title. Peter is in no hurry to answer and for a moment Stiles looks hesitant - his eyebrows draw in, his mouth a little tight - because Peter chooses to touch him, strong hands running down his back and Stiles doesn't know if he should look forward.
It's a bit awkward to be staring back at Peter so Stiles does turn his head. When those hands come to his ass, Stiles makes an appreciative sound. That sound turns into something sharper at the sudden spank to his ass but it's not bad. It causes Stiles to jump a little and his trapped cock presses against Peter's desk which Stiles likes. He likes the idea of making this nice office a filthy mess.
Peter's question isn't what Stiles is expecting at all. While not all clients are selfish assholes, they're usually not too interested in calling him out on something he says or does as disingenuous. Stiles is glad his face is hidden because he likely looks like an idiot as he's trying to process Peter's weirdness. Once again, Stiles is impressed that Peter is so comfortable just discussing fucking baby boy or good boy and Sir and Daddy. Shit. Peter holds him down and Stiles instinctively pushes against the touch, enjoying the strength there.
"So you're whoever I want you to be?" Stiles asks, intrigued. "Talk about a role reversal, hmm."
Stiles taps his fingers against the surface of the desk. He has no plans on revealing too much here and it's still strange to be consulted.
"I'm more partial to the Mr. Hale or your first name. When the mood is right, the others can be fun." Potentially. He's mostly tolerated such scenes but with the right partner? With the right partner Stiles can see a lot of things being fun. Wait. Peter isn't his partner. Peter is a client.
There's a delightful blip in Stiles' pulse when Peter just up and lists off the titles he's content to use. Oh, he has certain ones he enjoys, but he hadn't been lying when he'd implied his vices. What he prefers to be called changes based on what it is he's doing, and right now, there's no set definitions to what Peter is doing with Stiles. It's slowly growing into what it will be, but right now is like a dance. Both of them are pushing and testing one another to see what sticks and what doesn't. Peter knows, for instance, that Stiles likes being held down, and he likes being off-balance even if he wants to prefer stability. He doesn't know what Stiles has managed to glean from him.
Stiles' voice is intrigued when he replies, like he can't really believe that Peter is being honest, or that he wants this. Peter supposes it makes sense; he is likely an outlier in his desire to pay for another feeling good, but he has no interest in containing that desire. Peter can wander off to any high-class bar and find someone to take home with him, but he can't guarantee quality, connection, banter, or skill. Like this he can guarantee everything, and the knowledge that Stiles will undoubtedly remember him sits pleasantly inside.
"Indeed," Peter says, amused.
His hand gives Stiles' ass another slow, appreciative squeeze, then slides up to dip his fingers under the hem of his shirt in back. Peter slides his hand under Stiles' shirt, tracing lithe muscles and each ridge of his spine like he's counting each off. His stubble rasps over Stiles' shirt, making a clear sound as Peter turns his head to press his cheek to Stiles' shoulder. This close, Peter's pressed closer, and there's no denying the hardness in his own slacks as he rolls his hips slowly against Stiles' ass.
"Then call me Mr. Hale. Or Peter, if you will. Though by all means, if the mood strikes, feel free to call me whatever you wish, Stiles." Peter says Stiles' name like it's a secret, lower and coy.
Then he slides his hand around to Stiles' front, lifting his stomach from the desk, and Peter's fingers skim over the thin line of hair just under Stiles' navel. He follows it down to the thickness of Stiles' belt, and Peter presses his palm to it, playing with the tongue with his fingertips.
"Is there something you prefer to be called?"
This has got to be a game of some kind. Seduce the escort. Stiles has half a mind to tell Peter that it had better not turn into some Pretty Woman thing. This night better just be a night. He better not get bling and luxurious dresses - er, clothes - and then accompany Peter on some fancy schmancy event and they watch old movies and there's bubble baths-- although truthfully, a bubble bath sounds amazing. His apartment only has a shower--
Before his mind can wander off more, Peter replies and grabs for the booty -- but it's still slow, like Peter wants to savor it. Hands slip under his shirt and Stiles has the realization that he's actually really into this. He shouldn't be. He knows better. But as Peter's hands travel over his skin leisurely and he drapes over him, there's no disguising the breathy moan he gives from feeling Peter's dick against his ass. And Peter goes a step further, circling his hips and Stiles' fingers curl into fists as he tries to come to terms with being ridiculously turned on by a stupid weird client.
But the thing is, Peter isn't stupid. Peter is intelligent and interesting and Peter is also hot. Exactly the kind of guy Stiles would love to go for in, you know, a few years when he was older and more established. Peter is built but not overly so. Broad shoulders, great chest. He's got nicely styled hair (which Stiles can appreciate) and well groomed facial hair too.
Peter's hands don't stay still, the touch keeps changing, a hand snaking around the front to touch below his bellybutton. It's hard to think of anything remotely smart to reply with because Peter is giving him the illusion of control in one area - in letting Stiles choose what he wants to call Peter - but Peter is so obviously the one leading this. That exploring hand slides lower to his belt and Sites squirms, wanting it to go lower but it never freakin' does of course and there's frustration but it's mostly at himself.
"Stiles is good," he blurts out, and his voice - much to Stiles' horror - is a little reedy.
There's nothing like having someone so responsive under his hands. Maybe Peter will get Laura more than just a fruit basket, and not just to save his own head from having an orange thrown at it under high velocity. Stiles is delightfully expressive when it's real, and Peter can tell when Stiles lets himself go. His breathing changes from affected to hitched, and the sounds he makes are richer instead of heavy. The moan Peter manages to coax out of Stiles' lips as he rolls his hips against Stiles' shapely ass is genuine and precisely what Peter wants. He doesn't want a show, or someone to moan on command. He wants the breathy curses, wants each shiver and twitch, wants the way that Stiles seems a little dazed and angry at himself for it. Nothing else is as much of an ego boost as this.
The squirm once Peter's hand skates over Stiles' belt says more than Stiles ever could. Peter's eyes glint - though not red - and he smiles to himself, ducking his head to press his lips to Stiles' nape once more, as if in praise. And when Stiles answers him, his voice thin with arousal, Peter's answering hum is rich and pleased.
"Well then, Stiles," again Peter says the name like a purr, "as much as I intend to truly indulge this evening, and as deliciously form fitting as your clothes are, I hope you'll not think me impatient if I move this along."
Peter suspects he knows what that phrase likely means to Stiles on a regular evening. That his client intends to strip him and fuck him and get on with what they'd paid for. Peter's intent is... different.
He slowly slides the tongue of Stiles' belt through the loop like the act is lascivious on its own, and Peter makes a show out of unbuckling the belt. His fingers linger there, pinching the metal button on Stiles' jeans until the denim slides over it, and when he works Stiles' zipper down, the sound is almost obscenely loud in the room. Peter noses at Stiles' jaw as his other hand leaves Stiles' back - Peter's weight is enough to keep Stiles where he is - and relocates to his abdomen, sliding slowly down to Stiles' jeans in order to ease them down just enough to make Stiles more comfortable.
Peter chuckles warmly close to Stiles' ear, and like this, he feels self-satisfaction all but dripping inside. "I must admit, I wasn't expecting you to be so hard already. How delightfully salacious."
He's never been like this - at least - not of his own accord. Sometimes if Stiles is roleplaying, a client will like if he's awkward and Stiles puts on his acting-cap and acts the shit out of that no problem. But the fucking answer he gives is all ugh. It's not confident nor is it sexy and Stiles is all-too aware that he's sounding really damn affected by everything... and the thing is, everything is hardly that much. Peter has kissed his neck and held his hips. Peter has felt underneath his shirt and felt his ass over his jeans. Nothing overly sexy has even been talked about either. It hasn't been filthy, filthy dirty talk that would make a nun blush. It's been like, the insinuation of Peter planning on pleasing him and Peter wanting him to be genuine? What the fuck.
It's off putting is what it is and it's not what Stiles had expected. A hot guy? Cool. A hot smart guy? Even better. But a hot, smart guy who's odd and not playing according to the usual rules? It's freakin' weird and Stiles has yet to wrap his head around everything. Why? Why is a Peter doing this? Is this all an issue of pride or something else? Stiles isn't used to this and he finds himself totally unprepared for this level of wanting and being seduced.
Wait, is he being seduced? Is this what seduction looks like? Stiles hasn't ever thought about it. Before the escorting business, he'd had hookups and it's not like he preferred casual sex, but it just worked out that way. He'd always thought seduction was for romance novels or movies or for married couples or for married men trying to cheat on their wives and seduce their secretary or something -- but not for him.
And Peter says his name oddly. Sexually? He can't fixate on trying to find the appropriate descriptor because it finally sounds like Peter is going to get to business and business is what Stiles is comfortable with so he sees nothing wrong where this is heading. Time to ditch the clothes!
Except Peter is absurdly slow in even undoing his belt. Stiles blinks his eyes open, eyebrows drawing in. Like, Stiles knows there can be an art in undressing slow - he's done it before - but usually someone is watching and there is more blatant sexual touching? When Peter finally drags down the zipper, Stiles almost snorts at the sound because apparently when you unzip super slow it just emphasizes the sound. To top it off Peter barely pulls his jeans down.
Then Peter laughs and points out how hard he's is and the 'shut up' is on the tip of Stiles' tongue. He knows Peter's intent isn't to be cruel about it at least, but still. Delightfully salacious? Who even talks like that? Stiles stuffs down his indignation. He's a professional.
"You're pretty aroused as well, Mr. Hale," Stiles comments. "Is it actually me or does pride factor into your boner too?"
The flare of indignation sends a nearly-spiced scent through the air between them and Peter's eyes alight with coy interest. It's been a long time since he's found anyone who feels comfortable enough to feel indignant around him instead of bowing and scraping. And as much as Peter enjoys power dynamics, and making a strong impression, he's equally as interested in earning the positive regard. Stiles might not say anything outright, and Peter might be able to almost hear him visibly calming himself back down, but that Stiles had protested even inwardly is interesting.
Peter's smile is a curve at the corner of his lips as they press again to the nape of Stiles' neck. Seduction is a careful game, and Peter is intentionally remaining slow. He has his reasons, and they are not all to simply enjoy Stiles' body as it's revealed to him. But Peter is still quite taken with what he sees as he eases Stiles' jeans down over the swell of his ass, allowing them to go down as far as the backs of his thighs. Peter satisfies himself with a sliver of skin (and oh, yes, those beauty marks do go down below Stiles' face and neck) and his attention is split when Stiles replies, his voice careful. It's another mask, and really, as much as Peter understands it, it won't do.
"There is pride involved," Peter admits shamelessly. "I told you. I enjoy thoroughly satisfying my partners. I enjoy the knowledge that I have made an impact, in whatever way that might be. But that said... you're deceptively stunning."
Peter's hands slide up, nudging Stiles' shirt halfway up his abdomen, and Peter draws back to look down, then allows his fingers to trace the small dots on Stiles' skin from one to the next, like there's an unseen pattern hidden on his skin. His voice is lower, almost conversational, but it holds promise, like there's a secret hidden within it as well.
"You wear clothing that makes you seem approachable and friendly, and yet you put work into your body. You like to cover your arms, as they're quite defined, and it hides how strong you are. Perhaps to appeal to a particular audience, or perhaps because you like people underestimating you. You like the surprise on their faces when they realize how attractive you truly are."
Peter rolls his hips again, letting Stiles feel the hardness against his boxers. Only then does Peter let his hand slide down, and in one careful glide, his hand disappears under the waistband of Stiles' boxers. Peter fits his palm to the velvet heat, brushing the tips of his fingers just under the sensitive head. When he leans down again, it's to kiss his smirk into the skin just below Stiles' nape.
"Now... be a good boy for me and take off your shirt."
What would have happened if he'd told Peter to shut up? Would Peter have laughed and been amused by his gall or would it have offended the lawyer? Somehow Stiles thinks the first option sounds more like Peter (and he also thinks that that's dangerous too because if Peter is like him -- nope not going to think about that...)
Stiles is fairly certain such an outburst would have amused Peter. He's also fairly certain that in general he amuses Peter and that should be fine. It should be a good thing to amuse a client because that means they're interested. It shouldn't matter why a client is interested -- any interest is good interest pretty much and yet it kind of irritates Stiles for some reason. Yeah, he's here to provide a service - company or pleasure, usually both - and that sort of makes him a thing, or at least Stiles feels like a thing and normally he's fine with it, but does he want to be an amusing toy for Peter?
Stiles is pretty sure he can feel Peter grinning like the devil against his neck. Peter doesn't reply immediately. Peter is a fan of timing apparently. Stiles' jeans are slipped down over his ass, exposing youthful red plaid boxers. And Peter is the perfect definition of shameless as he responds, once again mentioning satisfying - oops, thoroughly - satisfying partners and there's that word again. Partner. Stiles isn't a partner though. Stiles is a paid for escort, a few steps up from a street whore. Apparently Stiles is also deceptively stunning and it takes a great deal of effort to not laugh. He's used to flattery, just not Peter's variety.
Stiles doesn't reply. Instead he basks in the attention as Peter's hands glide over his skin and under his shirt. He feels fingertips trace along his skin and he somehow immediately knows Peter's connecting birthmarks and moles. It's Peter who speaks up again and Stiles is beginning to think Peter might be more chatty than he is. Peter sees fit to give him an assessment of sorts about his clothing and Stiles knows he doesn't need to tell Peter that he's right.
A grind of hips has Stiles sighing but it seems like Peter is finally getting somewhere as his hand slips inside the front of Stiles' boxers. The light touch has Stiles groaning softly in appreciation. Stiles resists pushing into Peter's hand as another kiss is placed against his neck which has Stiles shivering.
But there can be no disguising how Stiles jerks in response to Peter referring to him as a good boy. Stiles exhales loudly as he pushes off the desk. With Peter's hand in his boxers, Stiles works off his now rather wrinkled t-shirt, but this time he balls it up to toss it on his former chair. His heart is beating fast as he looks over his shoulder at Peter while he's still standing.
"You keep mentioning partners, but I'm an escort and you're my client... You either not very discerning, or does the idea of thoroughly satisfying someone who's needs aren't usually taken into consideration that much of an ego boost?"
Well, well, isn't that interesting? Peter's gaze sharpens at Stiles' little jerk. It's subtle, something other people might not have noticed, but that coupled with the exhale before Stiles pushes himself up to take off his shirt has quite a few questions in Peter's mind being answered. He feels the throb of Stiles' cock - and Stiles certainly doesn't have anything to be ashamed of, even if Peter doubts he typically uses it for its intended purpose - and the knowledge that Stiles had just blatantly revealed his hand sends something hotly satisfied through Peter's chest.
Stiles Stilinski is turning out to be quite a feast for his senses, and not just the ones typical to humans. Peter's already picked up on a few things, which might come in handy if he decides that this is an avenue he wishes to travel down again in the future. The more he learns, the more he's tempted. Admittedly it's a bad idea. One-and-done is likely the name of the game in this particular business, especially considering Peter's reputation and the grey-legality of this situation. Yet he can't help but be intrigued.
He hadn't missed Stiles' flare of temper, even if he'd kept it hidden. Peter kind of wants to see that control snap, to have Stiles' tongue form the words his manners won't let him say, but Peter's not about to push too far like this. That isn't something to force on Stiles just yet. Peter doesn't do this often, as he has a particular... intensity about him that not everyone can handle comfortably. Perhaps Stiles might change that...
Peter's gaze sweeps appreciatively over Stiles' bare torso once his shirt is unceremoniously tossed away. There's a lick of hunger in his eyes as he looks Stiles over slowly, following the trace of each mole and birthmark that Peter thinks he might like to map out with his tongue and teeth later. He doesn't miss Stiles looking back at him, but there's no shame in Peter's eyes as he keeps staring. He likely would have continued to stare for some time, too, had Stiles' words not registered.
Peter looks up at Stiles, and while his gaze is still calm, there's a small furrow that pinches on his brow at Stiles' words. Escort, and client. For the first time, a hint of something close to disapproval passes behind Peter's eyes. He slides his hand from Stiles' boxers, but instead of withdrawing, Peter takes the moment to urge his jeans down his hips, helping Stiles take them down until Stiles is just standing there in his red plaid boxers and nothing else, while Peter is still fully-clothed. Peter nudges the jeans aside, then reaches up with one hand, cupping Stiles' jaw as he encourages him to turn more to face him. Peter half-leans over his shoulder to put their faces very close. This close, he can feel Stiles' breath on his lips.
"I consider anyone who shares my bed - or my time in this manner - to be my partner. Don't get the wrong idea. I am in no way under the illusion that I'm not paying for your time, nor will I forget what this is. But I personally derive no pleasure from using another person to get off without taking their needs into consideration. If I wanted something faceless for sexual release there are plenty of toys to cater to that need. I'm not sure what you're used to, nor will I insult you by asking. But when you're here, with me, I intend to treat you with basic decency at least. I would prefer to spend the evening with the intelligent, observant young man I spoke with when you first arrived, not a nameless hole expecting to be used."
Stiles isn't about to admit that he'd actually really liked Peter calling to him a good boy. It's nothing new. It's nothing special. Stiles has been called everything under the sun and sometimes it's even him that's being called Sir. But for whatever reason, Peter saying it had been hot. For the first time ever, Stiles had wanted more.
And wanting more, wanting something - anything - from a client is a no-go. That's actually dangerous as is almost snapping out a retort. Stiles can't lose his cool. He needs to do better. He has to. His livelihood depends on not messing this job up.
So Stiles looks back and tries to clarify things with Peter. Stiles attempts to emphasize the boundaries, to draw a freakin' arrow pointing at them even. Stiles is an escort who provides a service and Peter is his paying client. That's it. It's a business transaction.
Blue eyes are boldly staring at him. Peter's eyes take in every inch of exposed skin and it's difficult to just stand still in his underthings and socks but Stiles isn't self-conscious. He knows he looks good. He's by no means a male model, but he looks pretty damn good for the boy-next-door type. But after Stiles delivers his comment, Peter doesn't especially look pleased by it, but it's too late. His jeans are pulled down and Stiles steps out of them and peels off his socks while he's at it. Stiles is used to undressing first so he's not bothered that Peter remains clothed.
What's interesting is Peter grasping his jaw and turning his face and then Peter's face is quite close. They're sharing the same air. Stiles' lips part as if expecting a kiss but it never comes. Peter speaks (of course). And Stiles is speechless as Peter details what he wants and how he thinks of this current situation. And it's so bizarre to have a client - Peter - claiming to want to take his needs into consideration, and not looking to just use him.
"I want you," Stiles whispers, like this is a secret he's confessing. "Badly. And I'm not just saying it to fluff your ego because it sure as hell doesn't need it, but I've never been this hard so quick from so little. You're kind of knocking me off balance and even though it pisses me off, I also like it." During this admission, Stiles' hand has reached out and grabbed onto Peter's arm.
It's important for them to be on the same page, even if brutal honesty likely isn't the go-to for many people in situations like this. Peter could beat around the bush, and he often does, particularly in court. The easiest way to throw a rival off-balance is to goad them like this, to encourage them to lose their cool, but this is not court and Stiles is not a rival. He's a boy who's old enough to know what he likes, but still so young that he doesn't yet have the confidence required to point it out effectively. With age will come experience, and with experience will come more confidence and set ground rules. Peter isn't about to take advantage of that, though he knows he could quite easily.
So despite how blunt his words are, he makes a point of keeping his voice level. Stiles looks surprised as Peter speaks, but he doesn't look like he's about to curl in on himself and sulk. Instead he stares and Peter waits for him to get his bearings back.
When Stiles finally does answer, his voice is a whisper, like speaking too loudly might somehow be shameful. Peter feels the twist of desire that is quickly becoming comfortable, but he's even more impressed that Stiles doesn't grovel or apologize. There's even some fire in his words that hadn't been there before when he talks about Peter's ego, and about being pissed off. Peter's smile is more a smirk then, but it's not boastful. He simply looks pleased.
"You're not used to being taken care of. As you said before, it's your job to anticipate what a client needs before they do and play the role. I don't want an act, and that's new ground for you. So, Stiles..." Peter trails off, and when he leans in, it's to brush their lips together, nothing more than whisper-soft. But perhaps to compensate for the teasing, Peter allows his free hand to slide back down and press over the hardness in Stiles' boxers. He cups his palm over Stiles' cock and begins to rub, not light and gentle, but firm and slow. "Speak your mind. Be yourself. Be selfish. And above all, be honest."
Peter kisses him then, legitimately. He catches plush lips with his own and enjoys the sensation and softness. And when he coaxes Stiles' lips parted with his tongue, he doesn't immediately lick into his mouth, choosing instead to lick and taste Stiles' lips with greater intent. It's only when he breaks the kiss that Peter strokes his thumb along Stiles' jaw.
"Can you do that? Can you be a good boy for me?"
Fuck, Stiles can't believe he just said all of that to Peter Hale. Peter's still a client. Peter may not think of him as just an escort, but that doesn't change the fact that Peter has put up good money for his time. Peter selected him from a website of available escorts and chose him specifically. That fact can't be changed. This is still business...
And tonight, business is good. Really damn good, at that. Stiles is going to indulge. If Peter is interested in him and interested in pleasing him, who is Stiles to say no or argue? There is no rule or guideline that he can't enjoy himself and it's not unheard of for Stiles to get off when he's with clients. It usually takes him longer and he's usually the one to get himself off, but that's not important. Stiles never goes with the expectation of getting off and enjoying himself.
But he has one now.
Peter looks pleased by what he's admitted and this reinforces the claim that Peter wants him to be genuine. It's Peter who bridges the distance, their lips touching but nothing else comes. It's a tease of a kiss but it has want slamming into Stiles, anticipation causing his pulse to climb higher. Peter's other hand presses against his dick but this time Peter actually moves his hand, a decent amount of pressure being applied which has heat and pleasure growing. Peter tells him to be himself, to be selfish and to be honest and the words sound exciting -- the prospect is exciting. Stiles' hips shift forward into Peter's touch when Peter kisses him.
It's finally a real kiss, too. It's luxuriating. That's the damn word. It's not coy nor is it frenzied or messy. Peter is a great kisser, thorough and steady and Stiles willingly goes along with the pace, opening his mouth for that tantalizing tongue -- but Peter never licks inside. Instead he tastes Stiles' lips and Stiles feels lightheaded with wanting more.
The kiss ends when Peter pulls away and Stiles' pushes his jaw into the touch. 'Can you do that? Can you be a good boy for me?'
Stiles answers without hesitation. "I want to be a good boy for you and I want you to get me off hard." There's clear arousal and challenge in Stiles' eyes.
Peter doesn't say so, but he's impressed with how easily Stiles seems to accept and learn from the quick reprimand. Peter hadn't given the lecture to be cruel or to shove Stiles' face in his mistake. He'd given it to educate, and despite Stiles' self-proclaimed irritation, he bounces back quickly.
Peter inwardly basks at the feeling of Stiles' hips rocking forward, grinding against Peter's coaxing palm. But it isn't until Stiles returns Peter's real kiss that Peter knows Stiles will go through with this. There's a dazed hunger in the touch of their lips, and Peter can scent the spike of desire and hear the quicker pulse. It's thrilling to pull such a reaction from someone.
And when Peter asks his question, his voice low and coaxing, Stiles doesn't hesitate once before answering. His tone is thick with desire, but despite the quickness of his pulse, it doesn't skip. He's not lying, and Peter feels a quick rush at the boldness of Stiles' answer. He's smiling before he's decided whether he wants to.
"I'll take great pleasure in doing just that for you," Peter says, his voice half-threat, half-promise. "Lean over the desk for me. I think I have something in mind."
There's a coy lilt in Peter's voice as he slowly drops his hand back down to Stiles' hips. He squeezes once as he leans in, nuzzling his cheek against Stiles' spine, and reluctantly frees his other arm from Stiles' grasp. Only then does Peter finally turn his attention to Stiles' boxers and their awkwardly charming plaid pattern. He briefly considers how Stiles might look wearing something else, but... that is a thought for later. For now, Peter takes far more pleasure than even he had expected as he pulls Stiles' boxers down, admiring the pert swell of his ass and the rush of arousal he can suddenly smell.
Peter touches because he can, because it's a challenge now, and he quite enjoys a challenge. Stiles' ass is soft, but there's muscle there. It's perfect for spanking - another thought for later - but Peter doesn't linger. Instead he takes one of Stiles' cheeks in each of his hands and squeezes slowly, massaging to truly get a good feel.
Then, without warning, Peter suddenly drops down onto one knee on the rug on the floor. He spreads Stiles wide, wide enough to see the tightly-furled pink skin that makes his own cock ache. And with no indication aside from that, Peter leans in and licks suddenly and wetly over Stiles' hole with a low breath that can't be taken as anything but 'pleased'.
As soon as the words leave his mouth, Stiles feels both thrilled and apprehensive. Mostly it's thrilled, though. It's sort of emboldening to be able to be so fucking blunt with someone. It's emboldening to be demanding and selfish and know that Peter wants him to be. Stiles has never had a partner (okay, fine, he'll use the word) that had been so intent on him before. It's weird, but weird in a good way, weird in a way that Stiles is planning on fully experiencing.
And even though Peter Hale is a lawyer, definitely has a penchant for charming and is probably a cunning asshole, Stiles believes that Peter will take 'great pleasure' in doing this for him. The challenge is issued and Peter isn't back down. It's not terrifying. This is new territory. It should probably be terrifying, but Stiles finds the recklessness addicting in a way.
So he leans over Peter's desk, back on the spot that he'd cleared out previously. It's arousing to be in such a vulnerable position. Stiles doesn't understand all the nuances of domination and submission, but it's all fascinating to him. Under normal circumstances, Stiles isn't that rip roaring to go be submissive. He can play at being submissive, he can go through the motions and put himself in the position of someone who would enjoy it... but right now he's actually enjoying it. Stiles is pretty sure this is going to just be a one-off. Like Peter. It's a night of debauchery where normal shit apparently isn't going to happen.
Peter slides down his boxers as Stiles rests his cheek against his forearm on the desk. Peter's hands are quite warm as he familiarizes himself with Stiles' now-exposed backside. Stiles makes an approving sound, liking the attention from Peter. He knows he has a good ass. He's thinking Peter may spank him or grab some lube and begin the preparation necessary for fucking--
Everything happens rather quickly with no words. His ass is spread open, Peter lowers himself behind Stiles' ass and then Peter's face is coming closer and a tongue unapologetically licks right over his exposed hole.
Stiles yelps, jerking from the touch as sensitivity and pleasure jolt through him. Stiles has only had this done to him once and he'd liked it then and he definitely likes it now, so Stiles groans and pushes back encouragingly.
When he gets his mouth to work, he gasps out, "Fuck, yeah-- yes, please, lick me. Get me nice and wet." Peter isn't the only one who can be chatty.
Normally Peter would insist on a shower before this, and thorough cleaning, as despite being a werewolf, certain things are still unpleasant. Yet Stiles is a professional and Peter had been able to smell the preparation on his skin the moment he'd stepped into the office. It's one plus side of hiring someone; there's no skimping on hygiene, and Stiles has likely done things like this enough to know the proper way to prepare himself. So when Peter's tongue first passes over his hole, he's more than pleased to find exactly what he'd hoped for.
Stiles' skin is clean, no harsh chemicals from soap left behind for Peter to taste. It's just straight skin and the musk of arousal, and when Stiles suddenly yelps and jerks, Peter tightens his hold to keep him from lurching forward against the desk and hurting himself. Satisfaction glitters in his eyes and Peter hums his praise, a casual, almost whimsical sound as Stiles pushes back against his face precisely as Peter had wanted him to. There's a delicious flare of greed in the action and Peter makes a point to press a sucking kiss over pale pink skin as if in reward for doing as he'd asked.
He's not expecting Stiles' commentary, but somehow it suits him perfectly. Peter's eyes glint legitimately this time, a hint of red bleeding out into his iris before he manages to force it back under wraps. There's little he likes more than having someone desperate for what he can give them, and Stiles is no exception. But it's clear from Stiles' words that he thinks this is some sort of preparation for more, and Peter lives to be contrary. He wonders just how long it will take for Stiles to realize what he intends, but Peter is more than pleased to let him think what he does for now.
"That's what I want to hear," Peter replies, his voice as close to a purr as it's possible to get. "Let yourself enjoy this, and let me enjoy you."
Peter is more than capable of easing into this, of going slow and letting the pleasure build, but he's more intrigued by Stiles' greed than he is by the prospect of teasing. So while he presses a few open-mouthed kisses to Stiles' hole, feeling the muscles twitch against his lips, it isn't long before he spreads Stiles open a little more and delves in with his tongue, tracing around the wrinkled skin before licking broadly and shamelessly over it. There's a barely-restrained hunger in Peter's touch as he laves his tongue over Stiles' hole, his hands massaging slowly at Stiles' ass as Peter wastes no time in eating him out properly.
Wow, Peter Hale is going to seriously eat him out? Even with his ass spread and Peter's saliva on his skin, the realization still hasn't sunk in for Stiles. It's times like this that Stiles is glad he's always maintained proper hygiene. Even if there shouldn't be any ass play happening and he's booked just for a social outing, Stiles preps himself because you never know and he's not about to deal with accidental accidents of the fecal variety. Nope. No. Never.
Stiles wouldn't talk like this with just anyone. He wouldn't dare dip into pseudo feminization. Peter seems to prefer elevated talk, but Stiles has the feeling that Peter is also a huge perv and won't actually mind it. Stiles has been instructed to be genuine and selfish, so that's what Stiles is going to do.
He assumes this is going to be leading up to getting fucked. It's a great precursor to getting fucked, at any rate. Gets the body worked up, the asshole all sensitized and familiarized with attention. Stiles is so on board for Peter fucking him, but he's going to thoroughly enjoy Peter thoroughly satisfying him until then. Peter's tone and words have Stiles giving a close-mouthed groan that turns into panting and near-squirming as Peter blatantly kisses at him. Stiles doesn't have a lot of experience being on the receiving end of this so the sensations are new and demanding.
When Peter's tongue works at him again, Stiles lets himself moan unabashedly. It's really sensitive and intense, more so than most guys would think. Stiles has no qualms in being vocal. He rocks back greedily and basks in the shivery pleasure. His dick is rock hard and not quite pressing into Peter's desk but Stiles almost wants it to be. He wants to come all over Peter's desk, actually. Pleasurable seconds surely turn into minutes and Stiles keeps expecting it to stop. He expects a finger to come out to play instead, to begin stretching him, but it never happens.
Stiles feels sweaty and almost-antsy. Of course it feels good, but he's waiting for progression. "Sir doesn't want to fuck me?" Stiles finally asks, near breathless. "Because I-I want that. Want you to fuck my nice hole." Stiles fingers uncurl from fists and rest on the cool surface of the desk.
These are the sounds Peter wants to hear. Stiles' voice is delightfully masculine, but there's a thinness to it that reminds Peter that he's likely not that experienced despite his title. Youth has never mattered in Peter's partnerships before. He doesn't care if his partner is eighteen or in their fifties provided they meet his expectations and allow him to do the same. Yet there is something pleasing about knowing that this is likely something that Stiles isn't as experienced with, and Peter has never done anything halfway. So he doesn't hold back, hardly gives Stiles time to catch his breath, and he indulges like he hasn't been able to in months.
Stiles is beautifully reactive, his hole twitching, his muscles tightening one moment and relaxing the next. Peter sees his calves shake with the effort to hold himself up, and as Peter's stubble drags over Stiles' skin, he feels each perfect shiver and cry, feels Stiles wriggle back on his tongue. Each sound is like music to his ears, and as Peter licks over his hole steadily and begins to tease with pointed little flicks of his tongue, he can scent Stiles' arousal growing exponentially. Yet unlike what Stiles is likely expecting, he doesn't stop.
So when Stiles finally speaks up, his voice breathless and jittery, Peter takes his time in drawing back, though not without a wet, sucking kiss to Stiles' now-swollen little hole. Peter slides one thumb over, pressing against it until the deep pink blanches with pressure, and he enjoys the sight of the color returning after he moves his thumb away.
"I'm sure you do, and I might just do that if you're good. I definitely want to, but I did promise to satisfy you properly, didn't I?" Peter asks, his voice low and smooth. The sir lingers on the back of his mind, sending heat prickling down his back as he rubs at Stiles' ass with both of his hands. "I intend to indulge. I assume you're capable of getting off more than once, and we have a long night ahead of us."
Peter leans in, pressing another wet kiss to Stiles' hole. His chin is slightly wet with saliva but he doesn't care as he takes his right hand away from Stiles' ass and instead reaches between his legs. Peter finds his heavy cock and presses his fingertips just under the head, rubbing slowly back and forth for some sensation.
"You have my permission to come whenever you can. If this gets to be too much, use the stoplights for me. But aside from that, let me make my good boy feel good." It's the only warning that Peter gives before he leans back in, and as if to switch things up, he focuses on Stiles' hole with his tongue, pressing shallowly against it and then beginning to press in deeper, fucking Stiles shamelessly with his tongue.
Bottoming isn't horrible. It's a necessity of the job and Stiles assumes it's something that's compromised on in actual relationships. Stiles is versatile. He knows what he generally prefers, but a lot of sexual arousal is psychological. If he's relaxed and prepared, Stiles can go along with taking a dick up his ass and maybe he's thinking about other things with most of his clients, but Stiles has always had a great imagination and none of his clients seem to notice.
He doesn't plan on thinking about anything or anyone else with Peter though. It'd be difficult to even manage such a feat. Right now Peter is pretty much rocking his body while rimming him and it's fantastic. A+
Peter gives him another fucking kiss to his asshole and Stiles is half-laughing, half-gasping because it's slightly ticklish or something or maybe it's just the sound and thought that does it. It's hard to think clearly when a rich hot guy has been eating you out, okay.
Stiles gives an excited sound when he feels Peter's finger (maybe his thumb) press against him. The sensation is different and rough, commanding his attention and Stiles is thinking about Peter's fingers slowly stretching him open--
But then that touch disappears and Peter's voice is what fine silk feels like, smooth and luxurious and Stiles wants to be wrapped up in it. He wants Peter to keep talking which shouldn't be a problem because Peter has consistently proven himself to be a chatty motherfucker. And Peter's words? There's real promise in them and Stiles has no doubt that he's going to be strung out and fuck-happy by the morning. The thought is hot. Multiple orgasms? Who wouldn't be stoked?
When Peter's fingers find the head of his cock and tease, a soft "fuck yeah" escapes Stiles' mouth. His stomach tightens and his hips jut forward of their own accord to seek more, but it's all too clear what Peter plans on doing when he continues and fucking permission to come is given (which is way hotter than it should be). Peter intends to have him come while his ass is getting eaten out and Peter is aware that it might be too much and thus the standard 'stoplight' safewords are given. Stiles is so unbelievably down for this. It's pretty much scary-exciting--
Stiles' reflection is cut off because he processes that Peter just said 'my good boy' and apparently Stiles is really into that, arousal mixing with embarrassment because it's never affected him this much before. Peter's tongue is back, pushing and coaxing its way inside. Stiles keens into the touch, grinding back like a hungry slut. It's completely intense and not enough at the same time. How could it be enoughs when, in the back of his mind, Stiles is imagining Peter really fucking him.
Stiles tries to not let his frustration get the best of him, though. He's panting and groaning as Peter works him up. He has no plans on safewording. He wants to come and he wants Peter to make him. "Fucking fuck," Stiles hisses out after what could be minutes or hours later. His knees feel weak, his muscles sore from straining and still Peter hasn't let up. Stiles trembles as he feels a droplet of sweat slide down his forehead. He's shuffling from foot to foot, antsy to get off but unsure when he'll finally be able to. It can often be difficult to come without direct dick stimulation.
"Please, god, please." The begging pours out of his mouth as Stiles tries to push his aching cock against the desk. "Please Da--" But Stiles doesn't let the word slip out. His mouth snaps shut instead.
There's nothing like this. Like having a willing, wiggling body grinding back against his face. Male, female, somewhere in between, Peter doesn't care provided they're falling apart because of him. His hand is strong on Stiles' ass, keeping him spread even if it is more difficult without his other hand, but Stiles more than makes up for it. As while Peter had spread him before to delve in deeper, Stiles begins to push back against Peter's tongue, grinding and bucking and forcing Peter's tongue in deeper, trying to match his rhythm until Peter up and changes it because he can.
Stiles is beautifully desperate, and Peter wonders if anyone has truly pampered the boy before. Each gasp is like music to his ears and he doesn't spare Stiles every sensation he can manage, damning the ache in his jaw (which heals) and the few times Stiles bumps back against his nose (again, healing in less than a second).
Peter fucks him wetly with his tongue, his fingers skirting over the sensitive skin just under the head of Stiles' arousal. Peter can feel each jerk and twitch, can feel how hot Stiles' cock is, and when he breaks away to drag his teeth over the firmness of one of Stiles' asscheeks, he catches a glimpse of how heavy and red Stiles' cock is. Satisfaction all but pours from Peter's skin as he leans back in with a low, rougher groan, licking broadly as if to clear the earlier sensitivity from Stiles' mind before delving back into it with the same intensity.
It isn't too long before Stiles' knees begin to shake and he starts to shift from foot to foot, and Peter subtly braces his own legs closer to make sure he doesn't fall. Groans and moans become breathless begging, and Peter's senses are full of Stiles' desperation. He tastes salt on Stiles' skin and feels the way Stiles begins to try to press his cock against the desk. Peter considers it, musing over what Laura might say, but his thoughts are interrupted completely when Stiles chokes out another plea-- and then stops himself.
But the damage is done.
Peter's eyes bleed red, as while Stiles has used his name, his title, and 'Sir' a few times this evening, nothing has sounded quite so impassioned as that. The word he's apparently embarrassed to use unironically, and Peter can't have that, now can he? He makes his decision with ease, and when he draws away again, it's with a wet suck to Stiles' swollen hole.
"I already gave you my permission," Peter coaxes, his voice even smoother. He nudges Stiles forward a step, just close enough for his cock to brush against the edge of Peter's desk. "I know you can do it. You want it so badly. Let go, baby boy. Let Daddy take care of you."
And without further comment, Peter leans back in, fucking his tongue back into Stiles' hole with quicker, sharper movements, teeth occasionally scraping at his rim, and lips sucking when Stiles seems like he's right on the edge of being able to handle it.
It's just one syllable that escapes out of his mouth. One fucking syllable but Stiles knows that he's damned himself. Peter may have his face buried in Stiles' ass but Stiles fucking knows - he just knows - that Peter heard it. Because of course Stiles wouldn't be lucky and have his slip-up go ignored. He's never been lucky like that.
Daddy. He'd almost said the name Daddy. No, what the problem is is that Stiles had almost called Peter Daddy. Two syllables. Just two freakin' syllables. He'd been 50% there, but 50% is enough because it's obvious what Stiles had almost said. He honestly thinks it's more damning because he stopped himself and Peter (or anyone) would be able to put two and two together. If Stiles had just said the damn word it likely wouldn't have been a big deal. Peter had mentioned that he was fine with it even. Peter had practically listed off the options with no major preference toward any one of them. And it's not that Stiles is against the whole daddy/baby boy or good boy thing anyway. He's done it before. It's nothing amazing. At least it hadn't been before.
But this is Stiles legitimately into it and doing it of his own volition. Peter hadn't claimed that Daddy was a preference even. Peter has used good boy a few times but not enough where it can be considered that Peter is attempting to hint at anything. And yet it had slipped out of Stiles' mouth. Stiles doesn't know why thinking of Peter as Daddy is causing him the most delicious amount of stress and heat, but it is. It fucking is.
Then Peter is easing away but sucking at his hole and causing Stiles' to shudder. Stiles can't do anything about the slip-up but Peter's voice washes over him and when he's nudged forward, Stiles gasps as his cock grazes against the edge of the desk. And Peter is all coaxing and encouraging and fuck, why does Stiles like being called baby boy and like Peter referring to himself as Daddy? The questions go unanswered because Peter's tongue dives back in, and sensitivity shoots through him.
Stiles can't be logical right now. Any apprehensive thought or concern is demolished as he's forced to let go of his reservations because Peter wants him to, because Peter knows he can do it.
"Fuck, Peter," Stiles groans and rolls his hips, his cock dragging against the desk, precome rubbing against it. He's close. He thinks. Stiles hopes. God, he hopes. His dick is aching, his balls tight and he feels wound up and desperate. "God, I need it - need to get off." Stiles scratches at the desk and he fucks himself back on Peter's tongue. "Daddy, please," Stiles then whines and maybe that's what does it because Stiles is pushed over the edge and coming so hard that he feels winded.
Peter wouldn't do this with just anyone, but someone so clearly willing is another matter entirely. He's catered to a number of kinks in his bed before, and he has very few things he considers off-limits. Domination is his leaning, and so he has run into 'Daddy kink' before, at least often enough for him to know what about it he likes and what he dislikes. It's not about the age, or the innocence. It's about the power dynamic and the trust. Peter would call someone his age 'baby boy' or 'baby girl' if they required it of him, just as he'd do the same to someone Stiles' age. It's providing and protecting on one hand, and satisfying on the other. Given Peter's penchant for all three things, this suits him just fine.
And it clearly suits Stiles as well, as Stiles takes to the change in dynamic immediately. Peter lets him rut against the polished, smooth surface of his desk, undoubtedly leaving trails of precome behind that Laura will smell in the morning. More importantly, Peter will be able to smell it, and that thought burns pleasantly in the back of his mind as he challenges every moment of sensitivity in Stiles' body with his tongue and with the strength in his hands. Stiles' hips begin to roll, pushing against the smoothness of the desk and then bucking back against Peter's tongue, and Peter meets him inch for inch. He sucks and he licks, he drags his stubble over the sensitive skin near Stiles' hole, and he spreads him wide enough to leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.
He can smell when Stiles is close, and Peter doesn't let up. Instead he listens as Stiles begins to babble, as his voice begins to get higher with desire and need, and Peter can feel his own dick leaking as he basks in the desperation before him. Stiles' blunt human nails scratch at a desk arguably more costly than anything Stiles owns, and Peter muffles a low growl in his throat as he fucks Stiles with his tongue, his grip tight enough to hint at bruising.
Then Stiles' voice chokes out that phrase - Daddy, please - and my, my, he does have that particular kink buried deep. Peter feels the first deep, twitching shudder as Stiles' body finally throws him over the edge. He groans rough and pleased as Stiles' whine breaks the air, and Peter tenses his tongue as he presses it in as deep as he can, feeling each tight twitch and spasm as Stiles spills his come along the polished wood of Peter's desk. He shakes like he's about to fall apart and Peter takes him through it, his hands no longer grabbing but instead stroking slowly at Stiles' ass, the backs of his thighs, and up his back.
And it's only when Peter smells the first hint of sensitivity that he finally begins to ease up, sliding back gradually. Stiles' body shakes under his hands and Peter lets his eyes bleed back into blue as he struggles for his own control. It's been awhile since he's felt so affected, and even as he slides a handkerchief from his pocket so that he can wipe the wetness from his chin, he knows he's not even close to done with this boy.
Fuck, it's really good. It's better than good. Stiles shakes and shudders and makes a mess, his cock shooting come on a desk that probably costs more than everything he owns. It really can't be helped. He doesn't think to try and cover his dick with the palm of his hand. His release isn't much of an actual relief because Peter keeps at it, he keeps licking and it feels like it might drive him insane with sensitivity. No more Daddy's slip out as Stiles pants and basks in the high of an orgasm that is nearly bordering on over-stimulation.
Thankfully - mercifully - Peter eventually stops and Stiles gets a much needed reprieve. He blinks his eyes rapidly, trying to gather himself, a dopey but tired smile on his face. He hears Peter stand up and Stiles takes a few moments to get his breathing under control. He knows Peter is pleased. Peter at least doesn't say anything smug and it's a small concession. (It probably won't last.)
Upon suggestion, with wobbly legs, Stiles walks naked to Peter's private washroom and he cleans up. Before leaving he looks at his disheveled appearance in the mirror: his neck is slightly red from the scratch of stubble, his eyes glazed, his hair a mess, cock spent. He looks delightfully ravished and he knows Peter is not done.
Chapter 2: Pretty lips stretched full
"I want to do something for you now," Stiles murmurs as he folds the towel and then drops it to the floor beside Peter's chair. Stiles lowers himself to kneel on it. Peter will have to swivel the chair to allow Stiles any access, but Stiles is fairly certain that this will be allowed. Who doesn't like getting head?
The evening is precisely what Peter had hoped it would be. Stiles Stilinski - if that is his real name - is exactly what Peter had expected. He's responsive and open-minded, and he's not afraid to make demands once he's loosened up. He begs like the words are spun gold, and when he gets close to coming, he begins to make these bitten-off, high-pitched sounds that go right to Peter's cock.
Peter basks in the sated look in Stiles' eyes after he comes for the first time, and while it takes a little coaxing for Stiles to get his thoughts in line after, he follows Peter's instructions and heads to the bathroom to clean himself up. Peter watches him go, admiring the shine of wetness on Stiles' thighs and the staggering walk. Peter takes the time to clean up, and when Stiles comes back out, his eyes glassy, a flush on his skin, Peter's plans of bending Stiles over his desk to fuck him fly out of the window. There's something almost drunk on pleasure in his eyes, and a different desire twists in Peter's chest.
Peter winds up fingering Stiles until he's on the edge of his control. He aches at the tightness around his fingers and learns Stiles' body as best as he can in the time he has. He finds his prostate and works at it until Stiles' toes are curling and his breathing is sharp and stuttered. And when Stiles does call yellow, Peter stops and focuses on smoothing his free hand slowly over Stiles' back, murmuring praise as Stiles gathers himself back together. It doesn't take Stiles long each time Peter has to stop, and when he finally feels Stiles' body jerk in pleasure, finally feels Stiles' muscles clamp down on his fingers, Peter revels in the aching cry.
He helps Stiles clean up, and when he sees Stiles' eyelids beginning to droop, Peter wraps him in a luxurious towel and lets him lay back in the chair. Stiles is asleep before Peter has so much as finished cleaning the come off of his desk.
Peter sends a single text to Laura: 'Don't wait up.' He ignores her response of a few apparent devil-face emojis in response and, smiling, he gets to work.
The next orgasm is harder to bear because it's Peter fingering him ruthlessly over the chair he'd first sat in and Stiles really wants to fuck. As usual, Peter has his own plans. Peter's shirt sleeves are rolled up but in this position Stiles can't see much of anything. He wants to see Peter though, but he can't even get his mouth working to ask about changing positions.
Peter is unrelenting, fingering him slowly but thoroughly, edging him perfectly until Stiles is writhing and shaking, his throat sore from how vocal he's been. Twice Stiles calls "yellow" and the activity ceases. He doesn't usually have to use a safeword, but it's good to know that Peter respects his limits. Only after calming down does Peter ask if he may begin again. Stiles can't find it in him to say no.
Two fingers in, Peter is practically a sadist as he holds Stiles down and milks his prostate until it's painful. Stiles' eyes are glassy when it's finally over and he collapses in the chair as Peter fetches him a towel. Stiles closes his eyes and wonders what it would be like to have this more often. He's not aware that he nods off, a towel wrapped around him, exhausted and wrung out.
It's some time in the morning when Stiles wakes. It's still dark. Only a lamp is on and the desk must be cleaned as Peter is working. Stiles isn't surprised by the sight. He takes a few minutes to fully wake, enjoying the quiet and the comfort of the chair. This still seems like a dream. Maybe this is karma. Whatever it is, he likes it. As soon as he's cognizant Stiles knows what he's going to do. There's no way he's going to not get Peter off at least once. Stiles has standards, okay.
He stands and gathers the towel up. His ass is a little sore, but it's nothing bad. It's been well-loved and if anything, it reminds him that this is real. Stiles strides over to the desk.
"I want to do something for you now," Stiles murmurs as he folds the towel and then drops it to the floor beside Peter's chair. Stiles lowers himself to kneel on it. Peter will have to swivel the chair to allow Stiles any access, but Stiles is fairly certain that this will be allowed. Who doesn't like getting head?
It takes time for Peter's arousal to fade, though it simmers low under his skin like a pleasant burn. He'd been tempted to touch himself, particularly as he knows his stamina is not lacking, but somehow achieving pleasure without Stiles had seemed somewhat empty. Besides, on a visceral level, Peter feels satisfied. Perhaps he might not have gotten off, but having an attractive young man begging and singing his praises is better stress relief than orgasm in his books. It's akin to the feeling Peter gets when Derek or Laura need calming, or when he manages to bring back something for his pack that they'd wanted. Providing is instinctual, but his pack consists of Hales. Visible gratitude or need are hard to come by. So seeing Stiles' expression twisted in obvious bliss had settled something down to Peter's instincts.
He works through the night, dozing lightly here and there, but every time Stiles shifts, Peter wakes up and watches him. It's nice to have another person in his space, even temporarily. It's almost a shame that Stiles had been hired and that Peter hadn't simply brought him home. But those thoughts aren't helpful and Peter dismisses them.
He's making the final touches on a particularly-grueling case when Stiles' pulse finally changes and he begins to stir. Peter watches him casually, watches awareness slide over Stiles' face, watches him bask, and when Stiles finally blinks himself into awareness and sluggishly gets onto his feet, Peter pushes his laptop away and sits up straighter.
There's intent in Stiles' eyes as he walks over, and Peter swallows back what he'd been about to say. Instead he watches as Stiles folds the towel (exposing his skin to the air beautifully) and then drops down onto his knees. There's no need for clarification, and Peter feels that simmering desire bubble to life again. He considers, thoughtful. Then Peter turns his chair and spreads his legs slightly, reaching up to pointedly undo the button on his slacks with a small quirk of a smile.
"Good morning to you, too," Peter says, teasing but fond. "By all means."
As he settles onto his knees, Stiles feels more awake and alert. Purpose is giving him renewed vigor and he's always been able to operate on little sleep if there is something to focus on. It's helped him in school and it helps him in work. Right now, his focus is on Peter Hale. Despite their activities, Peter still looks hot and mostly composed. He's down to only his dress shirt and pants and they're wrinkled, but hey, Peter has been rocking his world sexually, there are bound to be wrinkles.
When the chair swivels and Peter turns to face him there is no mistaking the boyish grin on Stiles' face. A tiny miniscule part of him had thought Peter might say no. It was always a possibility, after all.
"Morning, Peter," Stiles murmurs as huskily as he can manage.
While he wants to do this, there does exist a small amount of trepidation because well... Peter has been really fucking good (like the best he's ever been with) and what if he isn't? What if he's actually just subpar and disappointing? He's never had any complaints but Peter is not like anyone he's ever been with. Stiles swallows down his nerves. He's done this before. He'll be fine. He is fine. Repeat after me...
Stiles scoots closer between Peter's legs and his hands rub up Peter's shins, over his knees and then slowly press into Peter's thighs in a little massage. Stiles comes closer yet, his hands slide to rub against Peter's clothed cock, giving an acknowledging squeeze before dragging down the zipper (not as slow as Peter, but still slower than he normally would).
The dress pants open showing expensive boxers that look to be silk. Stiles doesn't pull out Peter's cock though. He leans forward and buries his head against that opening. His hands snake under Peter's shirt, feeling up Peter's abs and chest while Stiles nuzzles affectionately, his cheek rubbing against Peter. He hasn't been able to touch Peter that much and it's something he's going to fix right now and enjoy.
Peter is tired, but after last night, he feels pleasantly energized in the way that counts. He's not had nearly enough sleep, true, but he feels better even without Stiles showcasing a few of his not-so-hidden talents. Peter enjoys the feeling that he's provided for someone under his care, even under different pretenses. And now, reading the charming grin on Stiles' face and the way his voice dips - rough with sleep and intent - Peter suspects that's about to be reciprocated.
Stiles must have learned something last night as well, for instead of just going for it, instead of unzipping Peter's slacks and using his mouth instantly, Stiles chooses instead to touch. Peter watches, feeling that small flame of desire inside spark brighter as Stiles' hands slide slowly up his shins and then smooth over his thighs. The squeeze of a slow massage has Peter humming a soft note of pleasure, and he settles himself back a little more comfortably in his chair as Stiles' hands move up to undo the zipper of his slacks. Yet instead of using his mouth to suck and try to get Peter off as fast as possible, Stiles instead uses a little seduction of his own.
It works. Heat pools low in Peter's stomach as Stiles leans in, and Peter watches without shame as Stiles turns his head, pressing his cheek to the rise in Peter's silk boxers. They likely still smell a little like arousal and musk from the night before, but Stiles either enjoys the scent or doesn't mind it. Peter waits until the first little nuzzle to sigh his satisfaction, and then one hand moves down to slide his fingers slowly through Stiles' hair. Peter doesn't tug, doesn't pull. He merely strokes, encouraging and allowing Stiles to take his time. Given how lazy the morning feels with another in his office - in his space - Peter approves.
He's not really expecting Stiles' hands to quest up higher, to slide over warm skin, but Peter supposes he understands. Stiles' hands slide up over the dips of his muscles, the broadness of his chest. Despite his clothes being a good fit, they never quite manage to accentuate his muscles, and Peter finds himself wondering if Stiles is surprised to feel them or if he'd already suspected. He's intelligent. He's clever. He could have suspected, but Peter enjoys the touch regardless, his nails scratching softly at Stiles' scalp as he strokes his hair.
"I didn't give you a chance to do this last night, did I?" Peter asks, mostly rhetorically. His voice is coy, perhaps even warm. "You're in no rush. Enjoy yourself, Stiles. You've more than earned it."
Normally Stiles would have just gone for Peter's dick, no pretense or anything, but normal has not been this appointment at all. Normal is not the name of the game here and maybe normal is overrated. The words satisfied and thoroughly float through Stiles' head. He's been properly and thoroughly satisfied by Peter twice now and Stiles hopes he can do the same for Peter.
Being close to Peter's cock brings with it a masculine musk of arousal and sweat but Stiles thinks he likes it. There's a bit of a fine line between awesome-sex-smell and funky-sex-smell, but this is definitely not the latter. Every time he's went to clean up in the bathroom Stiles has thoroughly washed his junk and ass as to not get over-sexed smelly.
One of Peter's hands comes to his messy hair and Stiles makes a pleased sound at the touch, enjoying the attention and sensation of his hair being displaced, of fingers almost combing through it. He'd known Peter was attractive, but Peter is also like, built and Stiles likes, oh yes he does. He's shameless as his fingers explore and touch. And when Peter speaks up, Stiles is once again reminded how much he really likes that almost-demure lilt to Peter's voice.
"Not that I'm complaining," Stiles comments as he blatantly rubs his mouth against the growing evidence of Peter's arousal while he scratches softly down Peter's abs. He breathes hotly before glancing up, his eyes wide and imploring. "Does Daddy want my mouth?" Stiles asks, feeling a telling heat slide through him. "Will he say 'please?'"
Perhaps it's a little too prideful, but Peter can't help the way something in his chest warms and feels suddenly stronger at the appreciative look in Stiles' eyes. He can only just see Stiles' face like this, his cheeks a little flushed from sleep, his hair beautifully mussed, his body still lax with relaxation, but he can see the pleasure in Stiles' eyes as his hands roam over Peter's torso. Peter smiles. It's a small smile, almost secretive, but he is a prideful man by times. He'd prefer someone to be impressed by him than the alternative. Call it a form of hedonism.
But hedonism or not, it still feels good to have Stiles' hands wandering over his skin. They're skilled enough that Peter appreciates the dedication, as Stiles seems to learn rather quickly just where he likes to be touched, and where he doesn't. Through it all, as Peter feels himself hardening steadily under the almost kittenish rubs of Stiles' cheek, he's even more charmed by how interested Stiles is in touching him. His hands don't stop once even as he replies, turning his head to press his mouth to the fabric of Peter's silk boxers. It feels tempting, enough that Peter does consider giving Stiles' hair an encouraging tug.
Then nails scratch softly over his skin and Peter's breath catches just enough to be noticeable. Couple that with the look in Stiles' eyes when he looks up at him, and the Daddy that again slides so sweetly from his lips, and Peter allows himself a low, pleased groan. His fingers tighten in Stiles' hair just once, more praise than any sort of reprimand. He's never had a partner quite so bold once they've taken on this particular role, but he's most certainly not complaining. He's also not stubborn enough to deny Stiles this small indulgence.
"I don't think there's much I wouldn't do to see those pretty lips stretched full," Peter says, half-praise, half-coaxing. "Please, Stiles. Be a good boy and let me feel your mouth?"
Ooooh, this could be interesting and this could be a fuck-up too. Trying to encourage Peter to say please... Well, it's rather unorthodox for a Sir or Daddy to be suggested to do such a thing by the one in a more submissive role. It goes against the expected power dynamic, but Peter doesn't seem like the overly rigid type and the dynamic hasn't been officially decided or set either.
He's also purposefully said Daddy again and it's not even in the throes of passion or during over-sensitivity. There can be no denying it to himself. Stiles likes it. He really does -- at least with Peter Hale. He has one other regular that he does it with and Stiles has never been overly eager or into it and yet here he is, a little hard from saying it and teasing Peter, hoping that Peter will say please.
Stiles doesn't need to wait long before Peter is indulging him and Stiles' heart rate speeds in excitement when Peter obliges him. Stiles lets himself moan softly, digging his nails into Peter's sides before sliding his hands down in order to pull out Peter's cock. It's a nice dick. Uncut and clearly not lacking in size especially when it would be fully hard. Soon he won't have to imagine. One hand wraps around the heated flesh before stroking tight and slow.
"Of course I'll be your good boy and let you feel my mouth," Stiles whispers as he leans over Peter's cock. His hand holds the not-fully hard erection still and Stiles gathers spit in his mouth and while maintaining eye contact with Peter, he purses his lips and lets a glob of spit fall onto the tip of Peter's dick from his mouth.
Stiles then parts his lips more fully and bends down to lick at his spit slowly, his tongue flicking against Peter's slit.
Peter has no hesitation in asking. Stiles has certainly done a great deal for him tonight; Peter can indulge him in return. If this is a one-time-thing, Peter intends to make it count, to make it memorable, and he'd given Stiles his preferences. Stiles, for all his spirit, has followed Peter's instructions to the letter. While it had taken him time to really understand that Peter had meant it when he'd said he'd wanted Stiles to be genuine, the moan that Stiles lets out after Peter says please proves that he's not forgotten it. Peter's lips quirk in a small smile, but even that hitches at the drag of Stiles' nails over his skin, drawing a slightly tighter sound from him as well.
Peter watches with barely-contained hunger as Stiles' clever fingers dip into his boxers and delicately pull his cock free. He's got control enough to not demand or push. Peter's honestly curious to see what Stiles might do like this, and the appreciative look in Stiles' eyes makes Peter's fingers card slowly back through his hair, his nails scratching gently at the back of Stiles' neck. Just the sight of Stiles so close is enough to make heat pool lower again, and when Stiles' hand wraps around him tightly and begins to stroke, Peter tips his head back with a pleased sigh.
He doesn't break eye contact with Stiles, though, which turns out to be quite important, as Stiles makes a point of leaning over his lap and Peter is left to watch as Stiles essentially spits on his cock. Peter surprises even himself by the slight twitch, by the way his cock fills out more at the sight. Yet the sensation alone is relatively new, but what truly gets him is the way Stiles leans down to lick, his tongue flicking light over the sensitive slit. Peter catches his breathing a moment later, aware that it's begun to hitch slightly, and he's surprised to notice that, as he hadn't been expecting it.
"That's it," Peter murmurs, and he distantly notes that his voice has deepened a little in lust, smoother than it had been. "You do like to show off, don't you? Though, considering how good you look like this... I suppose I can't fault you for that." And Stiles does look good, particularly if the way Peter's cock begins to harden a little faster is any indication. The look in his eyes is fond but intent, like he can't possibly drink Stiles in enough like this.
Anything spit-related can be a hit-or- miss sex-wise. Sometimes it's hot and other times it's fucking lame like a cheesy fail porno scene. Stiles would like to think he's experienced, but he's really not. He doesn't know why some things are more of a hit than others and he's honestly more familiar with how sex and kink can work in an appointment with a client than in the real world. Stiles hasn't actually dated or fucked around a lot before the escort gig. That's for later, when money and time isn't a problem.
Turns out, this time it's sexy because Stiles feels Peter's cock give a happy twitch and fill out more. Peter isn't scolding him either. All good things. So Stiles reclaims his spit, the tip of his tongue dancing over Peter's tip. And Stiles doesn't miss that delicious change in Peter's breathing, it warms him, delights him and Stiles' lips want to form into a smile.
What's better is Peter speaking to him, tone deeper with an arousal that only spurs Stiles on. He does like showing off and he does like the attention. Like this, Peter's focus is entirely on him and Stiles' pulse skips as he parts his mouth wider and takes Peter's cockhead inside. The skin is slightly salty but all heat and soft. He doesn't stop there, but he is quite slow as he feeds more of Peter's cock into his mouth. Stiles sucks lazy and light, stopping a little more than half way before pulling off with a distinct pop.
He then rubs his lips against Peter's cock, getting them wet with his own spit. Stiles' eyes are locked on Peter's beautiful pair, his cheeks slightly flush. "I'm wondering if you would rather come down my throat or on my face," Stiles asks coyly, his free hand stroking along Peter's side before scratching again because he hadn't missed how Peter responded. Both have their own appeal, but it's good to check. He kisses the top of Peter's cock, his lips pursed and plump.
Stiles does know what to do with his lips and tongue. Peter isn't surprised, but the sensation is still exactly what he hadn't known he wanted. Stiles laves attention on Peter's cock, blatant one moment and almost demure the next, and it sends small shocks of pleasure through him as Stiles looks up at him the whole time. Peter doesn't look away; eye contact can be a little hit-or-miss, but Stiles definitely knows what he's doing now. Besides, seeing those pretty lips parting around the head of his cock, and feeling the sudden rush of heat as Stiles' mouth closes around the head is thrilling. Peter groans softly under his breath but still doesn't close his eyes or bask.
Instead he spreads his legs a little wider to make more room for Stiles and he watches as Stiles sucks him in slowly. Bit by bit, Stiles' lips stretch around his cock, and Peter stays still aside from the curl of fingers through Stiles' hair. He shivers, his lips parted in a sort of awe as Stiles' mouth takes him in halfway before sucking back wetly with a loud, obscene pop. Peter breathes out between his teeth, and as Stiles starts to nuzzle his cock, Peter feels arousal beginning to gnaw at him.
He's close to fully hard as he looks down at Stiles, at his thick lashes and the flush to his cheeks. Peter wonders just how long Stiles has been doing this in particular, but that thought fades almost immediately in favor of admiring the heat in Stiles' cheeks and the bright, intent look in his eyes. Peter doesn't miss the quicker pulse, and when Stiles speaks, making his suggestion, Peter finally closes his eyes with a tighter breath, like the very thought of both is enough to arouse him further. Considering his cock is beginning to flush at its tip, the foreskin retracted, it's not that far off the mark.
"And a minx to boot," Peter says, a smile in his voice that escalates into a soft, hissed inhale of a real smile when Stiles' nails scratch over his skin. Peter arches into it this time. "Much as I'd love to see your pretty face covered in my come, I think I'd like to feel your throat instead." Peter's nails scratch gently at Stiles' scalp, and when Stiles purses his lips at the tip of Peter's cock, Peter coaxes him down a little and lifts his hips, watching as those plush lips spread as he feeds an inch of his cock into that perfect mouth.
"Do you like using your mouth? You're getting hard, aren't you?"
Peter does have a nice cock and Stiles does want to get to work on it, but he'd rather know about the come depositing situation now than have to stop later and inquire or possibly do the wrong thing. Most men like to come in a mouth or down a throat, Stiles gets it because nothing gets interrupted that way, but some men also like the visual of shooting their come around or whatever, marking things up. There's no way to know so it's best to ask.
He's called a minx which is like a slut's upper class sister or something. Stiles likes it anyway. It's very Peter-esque, at any rate. Stiles doesn't think he really has a preference on this, it's always nice to not gag on a dick and some guys' jizz tastes horrendous but if he's come on, spunk can get in his hair or possibly his eye so there are other issues to be aware of.
Peter wants to feel his throat and as Peter's nails scratch along his scalp, Stiles has the flash of desire that he wants them both to scratch at each other harder, that he wants to be so turned on that he doesn't care about welts even. None of this is voiced because Peter pushes his head down and Stiles doesn't fight it. His lips spread, his mouth opens and hot, hard flesh is waiting for him.
'Do you like using your mouth? You're getting hard, aren't you?'
As his mouth is currently occupied, Stiles is forced to improvise and he makes an affirmative moan around Peter's dick. He doesn't usually get hard while he does this (at least not unless he's touching himself) but Stiles doesn't overthink any of it. He's going to enjoy this and enjoy Peter. He bobs his head and he takes more and more of Peter's hard cock. Stiles works him steadily, sucking and slurping and making eye contact when he can. Right now, he doesn't want to care about giving a "neat" blowjob, so Stiles doesn't.
It's only after his own chin has grown wet from his spit that Stiles forces himself down on Peter's dick, his throat convulsing unhappily. Stiles holds still for a few seconds before sliding back up and giving himself a bit of a reprieve before repeating the motion. It's gotta be a while since he's actually had someone this hot because Stiles is legitimately half-hard just from sucking and gagging on Peter's dick.
Peter asks but he already knows the answer. Stiles' lips are plush around his cock, his tongue hot and quick and clever, and Peter shivers as the heat of Stiles' mouth takes him in deeper. Breathing in, he can scent the addition of arousal on the air, and the knowledge is quietly thrilling. He can't say that he doesn't understand, of course. There is definitely something arousing about being the sole cause of another person's pleasure, and given how eagerly Peter had thrust his tongue into Stiles' hole just a few hours ago, he understands the surge of arousal.
Stiles' scent is a distant whisper on the back of Peter's mind though, as when Stiles' affirmative moan comes through, the vibration makes him hiss. And then, like a switch had been flipped, Stiles starts to truly go for it and Peter is left with his jaw half-dropping, his breath caught in his throat as Stiles sucks. He's had quite a few partners go to their knees for him, but very few have done so with such blatant enthusiasm. Most try to maintain a level of dignity, or feel disgusted by the thought of saliva marring their lipstick, but Stiles seems to have no such issues.
No, Stiles sucks cock like it's the only meal he'll be given during the day, and the suction full and perfect. His lips are silken and soft as he bobs his head, and each quick flick and rub of his tongue sends sensation prickling along Peter's skin. It doesn't take long for him to harden fully, cock straining and throbbing as it fills Stiles' mouth. Peter's fingers wind in Stiles' hair, though more for something tactile than to lead. And through it all, Peter meets Stiles' eyes, watching as those pretty brown eyes greedily drink in every reaction.
Peter isn't conservative with them. True, he doesn't overreact for Stiles' sake, but every soft moan or groan is voiced. Peter lets Stiles feel each flex of his thighs as he reminds himself to stay still, and when Stiles presses himself down and his throat convulses around Peter's cock, Peter gasps and then groans out Stiles' name low and long. He watches, rapt, as Stiles struggles, but he doesn't tap out. Instead he gives himself time to catch his breath and then goes right back to it. Peter is breathless as his fingers card boldly through Stiles' hair, his cock throbbing and hips twitching just a little.
"Oh, Stiles. Daddy's good boy has such a sweet mouth." It's breathless praise, but Peter's voice is still warm. And, mindful of Stiles' positioning, he angles one of his shins down to thread down between Stiles' legs. As Stiles takes Peter's cock into his throat again, Peter presses his shin between Stiles' legs, feeling the half-hard press of his cock with a low, pleased hum.
"Do you think you could come again? Not too sensitive from last night?"
Peter is actually - surprisingly - considerate in this. Peter hasn't yanked Stiles' head down and Peter hasn't thrusted rudely into Stiles' mouth choking him. These are all things Stiles approves of and appreciates. While it's obviously a good thing to have responsive and eager partners, Stiles would rather be left to his own devices to work his magic, thanks. He's a professional, he knows what he's doing and he's good at reading body language. If the teasing gets to be too much, he'll lessen or stop. If the dude just wants to get off quick, Stiles will put the pedal to the metal.
And god, Peter's sounds are absolutely delicious. Stiles fucking loves hearing every single hitch of breath, every moan of enjoyment. It's totally worth gagging a little to hear Peter groan out his name because it's so damn sexy to hear the lawyer affected. Fingers continue petting in his hair and Stiles drinks up the attention, feeling warm and pleased and very much awake now.
And Stiles only gets harder when he hears his name and Daddy and good boy. Fuck. He feels like a bonafide pervert with Peter. Before it was play pretend - a role - but Peter, fuck, Peter still fully dressed and Peter had ruthlessly worked him so thoroughly, so perfectly before. Peter is so fucking hot and there's just something about him that riles up Stiles--
A clothed leg comes to press against his dick and the question has Stiles faltering in his oral conquest. He can't really give Peter an answer as his mouth is cock-full but that's fine. Stiles groans around Peter's dick and he purposefully rubs himself against Peter's pant leg. He's honestly more interested in the idea of coming on Peter's dress pants than solely getting off. The thought is so appealing to him and he throws himself into sucking down Peter while being shameless as he tries his best to rut against Peter's shin. Stiles doesn't know if he can get off again, but he's going to damn well try.
A steady grind isn't much stimulation, but Peter scents the sudden wave of arousal that crashes down around Stiles after his question. He doesn't know what it is that has done it, but he can hazard a guess. He's never met someone so unintentionally turned on by the whole 'Daddy' thing and it's a shame that this will only be the once. Because of it, Peter intends to make this memorable. So when Stiles groans so perfectly around his cock, Peter breathes out a low sound in answer and he places his shin at the perfect angle for Stiles to rut up against. And then Stiles gets back to it, sucking wetly, almost obscenely, and the sight alone has Peter's stomach twisting with the sharpness of his arousal.
He sweeps his gaze over Stiles' body, from the slight redness around his throat from where Peter had nuzzled against it, to the slight flush to his ass from Peter's attention last night. Stiles is a vision of pale skin flushed with arousal, and as his mouth sucks and his tongue presses and teases and then pulls out every stop, Peter doesn't bother holding back the sounds that escape him. His fingers slide back down Stiles' nape and he presses his nails to the skin, lightly scratching his way back up in a way he suspects Stiles will enjoy. And he seems to, each sound tight around Peter's cock as Stiles bobs his head and abandons the idea of looking dignified, bobbing his head one moment and then steadily working his way down to hold Peter's cock in his throat the next.
It's on one of those movements that Peter blatantly slides his hand down to gently cup Stiles' throat. He groans, murmuring filthy praise as he feels the way Stiles' throat stretches to accommodate his cock, and given the way Stiles reacts, Peter suspects that not many people have drawn attention to how good he looks like this, to how good he feels.
Peter wants this to last for as long as possible, but sadly all good things do come to an end, even like this. Stiles' mouth is quick and clever, is attentive and hot, and when Peter feels the telltale tightness within, he doesn't hesitate to warn Stiles. Panting softly, he cups the back of Stiles' head, his cock aching and drooling precome across Stiles' tongue.
"You think you can take me in one more time? I'm close," Peter breathes, and his fingers card through Stiles' hair again as he slowly, carefully guides Stiles back down. "That's it, baby boy. You've been so good. One more time, now, and swallow as much as you can. If you want to make a mess, you can come all over Daddy's slacks."
Perhaps it's a little underhanded, but Peter knows a little bit more now about what Stiles likes. And as Stiles takes him once more into his throat, Peter can't help the small twitch of his hips, or the broken groan he lets out as Stiles' throat convulses around him again, squeezing and tightening where Peter is most sensitive. He tangles his fingers in Stiles' hair and curses roughly, his voice shaking, and then pleasure crashes over him on a dizzying wave as he finally lets himself come down Stiles' throat with a tight groan of Stiles' name.
Later, this entire night might seem like a dream to Stiles. Having a hot client who wants to pleasure him for a change? Fucking crazy, but Stiles has gotten off twice and given the time, Stiles is beginning to realize that he's not going to actually get fucked either. It's a weird thought to process and Stiles should feel relieved, right? It can be a pain in the ass to take it up the ass. He's already sore from the barrage of attention from Peter's tongue and fingers. Speaking of that attention, Stiles has no idea how Peter hasn't complained either. It's awkward doing ass-stuff, Peter's jaw has gotta hurt, his wrist sore and yet Peter hasn't mentioned anything.
Peter adjusts his leg and it's immediately apparent that he's attempting to make this easier for him. Stiles still doesn't understand the fascination Peter has about pleasing his partners. Ego? Yeah, that's some of it, but it's not all of it. Stiles rubs his cock against a soft expensive pant leg. He hasn't even seen Peter naked either which somehow just seems unfair but Stiles is on a mission here. What's that mission? Get Peter off and get himself off so he can jizz on Peter's pants. Mission accepted.
Stiles goes to town on Peter's rather lovely dick. He keeps thing varied, mindful of his teeth and Stiles is stupidly pleased by Peter's sounds. He wants more of them, so he pushes himself. He feels his own jaw ache, his throat feels itchy and pissed off from gagging, but Stiles ignores it. It's not the easiest to focus on rubbing his cock against Peter's shin while trying to blow Peter's mind by blowing his dick, but Stiles is a professional and he doesn't get discouraged easy. When a hand comes to his throat and he's gagging but holding himself still, Stiles hears Peter give him praise and Stiles honestly jerks and closes his eyes. (They feel good for another reason.)
When Peter gives him a warning in asking him to deep throat one last time, Stiles gives a little nod, his eyes opening, wet with focus.
Then Peter says shit that shouldn't be hot. Peter calls him baby boy, says he's been so good, and specifically makes reference to messing up Daddy's slacks and arousal pounds into Stiles, making his dick ache, making him whine. But he complies, he focuses on forcing himself down on Peter's cock and this time Peter's hips twitch and push as well and Stiles gags a little harder, he scratches a little harder and he grinds against Peter's shin a little harder.
And shit, when Peter comes, it's beautiful and visceral, almost wild. It's the fingers gripping in his hair (Daddy's?), the come shooting down his throat (Daddy's?) and when Daddy groans out his name, Stiles shakes and comes and it's awkward and a little scary because breathing is difficult, the urge to cough and spit up Peter's spunk rears its head, but Stiles tries to hold his head still for as long as possible, moaning around Peter's cock through his own orgasm until he absolutely has to pull off, weak and messy and forcing himself to swallow as he all but collapses into Peter's lap.
Through the pounding of pleasure that tears through Peter's veins, he can still see and hear Stiles, can still breathe in the scent of his desperation and his fear as breathing gets more and more difficult. Yet above all, Peter can sense the buzzing in Stiles' mind. Even as pleasure pounds through him, one look at the dazed, wet look in Stiles' eyes and the deep flush to his skin makes it very evident to him that Stiles not only likes this, but perhaps has needed it in some fashion. Peter's slept with people with this particular kink before, but it had never been like this. It had been far more playful and teasing, more getting off on the title than the more submission and domination aspect of it. But Stiles? Peter thinks he might be the real deal, or close enough to it that he'd needed this.
Peter thinks he had too. The blinding pleasure of release is only compounded by the way Stiles' throat convulses around him. Peter feels his cock pulse, feels pleasure curl all through him as he shoots hot down Stiles' throat and feels it convulse around him in a gag and a swallow. And then, on the edges of Peter's awareness, he hears the desperate little sounds that escape Stiles, and then the scent of his pleasure spikes hard, mingling with the scent of Peter's own come. Peter feels Stiles' cock pulse against his shin, feels the hot dampness seeping through his slacks, and he hisses sharply, the knowledge - and the vibration of Stiles' moans - sending a fresh wave of pleasure through him.
He takes it for as long as he can, but when sensitivity begins to spike and he senses Stiles' body beginning to shake with the effort to breathe, Peter sags in his seat and shakily guides Stiles' mouth off of his cock. He watches, rapt, as his cock slides free of those swollen lips, saliva and come connecting to the head as Stiles reluctantly lets him go. Panting, Peter watches Stiles drag himself together. Then, as if it's too much, Stiles slumps over on Peter's lap, and the rush of warmth and pride that Peter feels as aftershocks dance along his skin is likely dangerous.
He doesn't care. Still breathing hard, Peter reaches into his desk and pulls out a handkerchief, then eases Stiles up a little higher. Still breathing hard, Peter leans in, and as he tips Stiles' chin up with one hand, he passes the handkerchief over his wet chin and lips, helping to clean up the traces of come and saliva on Stiles' skin.
"That's my good boy, Stiles," Peter praises quietly, pride in his voice. "That was perfect. I knew you could do it. Here, chin up. Look at me." The handkerchief passes over Stiles' throat, and Peter then folds it, bringing a corner to dab the wetness of sensitivity from the corners of Stiles' eyes.
When Stiles' face is clean, that's when Peter reaches down with both hands. One buries into Stiles' hair, stroking fully, and the other moves down Stiles' sweaty back, touching and stroking, almost soothing. Peter's not irresponsible, after all. Intensity in any way requires aftercare, and it's no chore to give it.
It's messy and exhausting and Stiles feels weak from this most recent endeavor. Stiles is finding that doing anything with Peter seems to be exhausting in the best possible way. Of course he's used to mental exhaustion from taxing clients (some are more needier than others), but this is something else entirely. Stiles feels like he's been living harder, each moment and experience sharper and more memorable. Just more in general.
And it's completely dirty to be getting off this hard on gagging and thoughts of Daddy and jizzing on Peter's overpriced dress pants, but whatever. It's obvious that Peter is into it too and Stiles is buzzing with absolute contentment, pleased with himself and pleased that he's gotten Peter off too. (As much as Stiles has really appreciated Peter's laser-focus, Stiles had felt weird about Peter not getting off too.)
In Peter's lap, Stiles feels boneless and he lets Peter straighten him up. Peter's hand comes to his chin and he tilts his head up. Stiles knows he likely looks like a mess, like a regular cock whore, spit-slick swollen lips, wet eyes, come mixing, but whatever. A damn handkerchief is somehow produced and Peter cleans him up.
Stiles wants to make a joke - that he's not a kid, that he doesn't need to be cleaned up - but his mouth doesn't move. A stupid part of him likes the attention. It's kinda sweet actually and it only gets nicer when Peter outright compliments him and Stiles feels dazed and warm and weird, but it's not bad. He complies when instructed to look up and the soft cloth is dabbed at the corner of his eyes. He's pretty sure he hadn't cried, it's just moisture from gagging.
For once, Stiles is speechless and far too fuck-happy. Peter pets him, one hand in his hair, another down his back and Stiles settles his head on Peter's lap, his arms working to wrap around Peter's back in a hug. It reminds him of being young, clinging to his mom or dad after a nightmare... "This's nice," Stiles slurs.
When Stiles wakes, he's back in the chair, cleaned up everywhere and wrapped in a new towel. Peter is gently shaking him and Stiles' blinks hazily.
"'m up, 'm up," he mumbles after a yawn. This isn't new. This is his time to leave, he's pretty sure, so he cracks his neck and straightens. "Booting me out or you want a quickie?" Stiles asks, his voice a little raw from all of the previous night's activities.
Peter watches in silence as Stiles basks in the attention, and while it's hard to tell based on sight and senses alone, he can almost see Stiles slipping into the subtle post-haze that so properly defines subspace. Peter's not brought many people there before. People enjoy the concept of something so 'kinky', but rarely to achieve the state of mind that Stiles seems to be floating in. Peter's not irresponsible though, so when Stiles leans in against him and his eyes slowly slide closed, arms looping loosely around Peter's waist as he sits, Peter doesn't draw him away. Instead he keeps touching, keeps coaxing. He listens as Stiles' pulse slows down, almost sluggish with a buzzing relaxation, and Peter keeps touching until Stiles eventually begins to drift off.
He doesn't move for a long time once Stiles' mind seems to shut itself off pleasantly. Intensity gives way to a clear relaxation and only then does Peter carefully go about cleaning up.
He tucks himself back into his ruined slacks, idly mindful of dry cleaning and the scents that Laura will undoubtedly draw out in time when she arrives. Peter doesn't care. He transfers Stiles to the chair, but not before lifting him carefully into the bathroom to clean him up properly, with warm water and gentle soap and touches soft enough that Stiles won't wake up.
Peter is careful as he gets Stiles ready, until his scent is less covered in sweat and come and instead basking in relaxation. Only when he's clean does Peter dry him off and then carry him back to the chair with a new towel, thicker and warmer than the last. He sits with him awhile, keeping contact present, and if he stretches his instincts out enough, he can almost take some of his pain away. Almost. Peter relaxes, enjoying the sound of another living person nearby, so close to him.
Stiles wakes a while later, Peter reluctantly and gently shaking him awake. Much as he'd love to let him sleep there for the whole day, Peter does have clients and he does need to clean up still. Yet that doesn't make Stiles' eventual assumption any easier to hear. 'Booting' Stiles out must happen often enough, and Peter grunts his mild displeasure at the thought.
But he can't deny that he does need to ask Stiles to leave. Sighing to himself, regretful, because this had actually been pleasant, Peter finally stands up and walks to his desk.
"I'd love for you to stay, but I do have a client coming in a little over an hour and I should clean up first. Rest assured, had I the time, you'd be staying for far longer. But if you need something to eat or drink before you leave, by all means."
Peter fishes something out of his desk and then walks over. He hesitates for all of a moment before holding his hand out, offering Stiles a small-but-sturdy card.
"Here. My card. Last night was truly memorable."
Stiles doesn't mean anything by his comment. He's not affronted by getting the boot. Everything comes to an end and usually he can't wait to get home anyway. Home may be a crappy one room apartment, but it's home. It's comfy and safe... This morning, however? Stiles wouldn't have minded something more to have happened. (Which is honestly a first.)
When Peter moves away, Stiles tilts his head to the side cracking his neck again and stretching. He hopes his disappointment isn't obvious when Peter answers. The boot then. Back to the real world where Peter is big bad lawyer and Stiles studies in ratty pyjamas at home. So Stiles busies himself with redressing. He's not about to dally and possibly piss off a client. Peter has been undoubtedly good to him as well so Stiles wants to ensure he's timely.
While Stiles likes free shit, he's not going to be a pest here. He's no longer surviving off of ramen and oatmeal. He can afford and he does buy fruits and vegetables like a proper adult. As he dresses, Stiles can't help but flinch. He's a little sore. Not from roughness or cruelty, however, just from a lot is insistent attention. It's pretty interesting and somehow Stiles knows that very little studying is going to be done today. He's so spilling this to Lydia.
He's hanging his knapsack over his shoulder when Peter comes on over and hands him something. Stiles takes it out of respect but as his eyes scan the details he scrunches his nose. "While I do agree, Mr. Hale," Stiles begins. "I'm not in the practice of handing out freebies, no matter how much I might be tempted."
In his hand is Peter's business card. It has a work and cell number on it. An e-mail address. Any time he's been given one of these in the past, it's always been awkward. Stiles had thought Peter better than this...
Peter's mind is unfortunately elsewhere as he hands Stiles his business card. The office will sadly need to be cleaned; Peter doubts that any clients will be able to smell what he'd done, but it should be aired out and sanitized at very least. Laura, when she comes in, is going to be insufferable as despite how much Peter cleans, she will be able to tell. Peter's already working through how to discuss this with her, with emphasis on how not to discuss it with her, when he hands Stiles his card and gives what he thinks is a rather good explanation.
But when Peter finally takes in the sound of Stiles' voice, he blinks back to the present and looks at Stiles. The small frown is subtle but Peter's no fool. He notes it, notes the little scrunch to Stiles' nose and after a moment Peter quickly replays what he'd said, looking for a reason for Stiles' upset. What had he...
Oh. Oh. Stiles thinks-- Peter only just manages to avoid scowling, for surely he must be better than that.
"You misunderstand me," he says, sounding patient and a little awkward instead of irritated. Good lord, if Laura had heard that... "I'm giving that to you in the event that you have need of it. I'm not in the habit of accepting favors; I prefer to pay for what I'm given. But considering your line of work, and your current area of study, and considering you're clearly an intelligent young man..." Peter tilts his head to the side, then shrugs slightly with one shoulder.
"I wanted you to have my card in case you need to call me for some reason. I hope that clears things up?"
This is an unfortunate side effect of actually having a good connection with a client. Sometimes these clients gets it into their heads that hey, maybe they can get something on the side for free because most people - it doesn't matter how filthy rich - still like free shit. Free is always better. And then it's like some matter of boasting if you were able to win over the escort.
It doesn't matter how great the orgasms had been, it doesn't matter how hot Peter may be, Stiles can't go messing up what works. Any sex for fun or dating is off the line for now. Maintaining a steady income and saving is his priority because Stiles would like to get to the point where he doesn't need to sell his company for money, thanks. But he also doesn't want to struggle to make ends meet. School and life is stressful enough, he doesn't want to have to worry about not having money to buy socks or groceries.
It doesn't take Peter long before he's replying and Stiles is, initially, inwardly cringing that they need to have this conversation, but wait--
A misunderstanding. Well, fucking great. Stiles tries to school his expression into something neutral -- anything other than embarrassment and dread over what he'd assumed. It doesn't matter that Peter is being understanding and even gracious, the damage is done. Stiles bites his bottom lip before he realizes what he's doing and promptly stops. None of that. He's not that awkward kid anymore.
"Ah, gotcha," Stiles says and grins. "Totally my bad."
Stiles pockets the business card. He has no plans on ever reaching out because he's self-sufficient. It's then that he notices the obvious dirty spot on Peter's pant leg from him and Stiles makes it obvious about his looking. His smile is more genuine now.
"Yeah, you should go clean up. Need to look like a respectable man and all." Stiles steps closer and kisses Peter goodbye. It's short and sweet and Stiles doesn't linger. He turns and leaves the office feeling good. He has no complaints.
As soon as he gets back to his apartment, Stiles strips and takes a long shower. The hot water helps relax him and more than a few times Stiles almost dreamily thinks back to his orgasm-stuffed night with one Peter Hale. Yeah. He definitely lucked out. If Stiles had even one escort buddy he'd ask how common an occurrence it was. Stiles assumes it's rare.
Once he's dressed in baggy grey sweatpants and a t-shirt that may have more than a few holes, he calls up Lydia and flops down on his rather comfy but beaten up looking couch.
They small talk it up for a few minutes until Lydia comes out and says, "Look, cut to the chase, I know you have something to spill." Stiles can hear the exasperated fondness. God, he misses her. He can't wait to go home for Christmas break because she's coming home too.
Stiles sighs happily. "Lydia, I had a craaaaazy hookup last night."
"Go on," she encourages and Stiles can hear her settling down on her bed. Time for girl talk, apparently.
She doesn't know that he's an escort. No one does and that's how it's going to stay. If Stiles wants to talk about a client, he gets creative, but that's fine. It'd be a breach of contract if he were to actually be honest, anyway.
"Older guy. Totally hot. A professional. Blue eyes. Light brown hair. Fit. Sexy facial hair."
"Ooooh, yes, boy! We like all of those attributes, yes we do."
Stiles laughs, a pleased smile on his face. While it's not fun to lie, he appreciates being able to pretend like he's a normal college kid who can get lucky sometimes.
"Yeah, we definitely do," Stiles agrees. "Anyway, he bought me a drink. We talked. He's smart. Actually interested in what I'm studying. Went back to his office..."
Lydia makes a 'go on' sound.
"And he rocked my body," Stiles bursts out. "I got off three times, Lyds."
"Seriously? Not bad, Stiles, not bad."
He doesn't go into too much detail, but it's still fun to gush. There's just certain things that he can't talk to Scott about and banging dudes is one of them, but Lydia has always been on board for it.
"Holy shit, did you have an orgy in here?" Is the first thing that Peter hears when Laura walks into his office that morning.
He sends her a dry look, obviously judgmental, but inwardly sighs. He'd changed his clothes, caught a shower, and cleaned his desk, but Laura's senses are sharp even for a Beta. "Does it look like I had an orgy in here?"
"No, but it smells like you did."
Peter rolls his eyes, and it doesn't take Laura long to start quizzing him on how his evening had gone. Peter keeps his answers more or less clipped, but it doesn't take him long for a note of teasing or two to slip out when Laura elbows him and winks, or informs Peter that she'd made Derek red by loudly discussing how much sex Peter had to have been having at that point. Peter half-heartedly chides her, and while the initial morning is awkward, it soon settles back down.
It's not until he's packing up to go home for the first time in two days that Laura sidles in and nudges him. "You look more relaxed, Uncle Peter. You should call your orgy again sometime."
Peter sends her a withering look, dismisses her with a flap of his hand (complete with a very unladylike snort of laughter from Laura) and leads the way down to the carport. Yet even as he climbs into his car and breathes in the familiar scent of leather and pack, he has to admit that the thought is tempting. But the last thing Peter wants is complications; work had flown by that day, but it won't every day, and he can't afford distractions when big clients come to call. Even so... he doesn't throw away the business card of the agency he'd used. Call it brief sentimentality.
Peter's business card gets stuffed in his desk drawer and Stiles purposefully doesn't look at it. He wonders if he'll get another inquiry for an appointment. Stiles doesn't wonder about it too long or too frequently because that'd be weird.
At first he's disappointed because Stiles would have enjoyed another romp in the hay with 'ole Peter, but then he reasons it's probably for the best. Peter had been a little weird, after all. Something about the guy. And the whole Daddy thing had gotten a little ridiculous.
Stiles' clients are safer and manageable and that's good. This is exactly what Stiles needs anyway. He doesn't take any new clients. He decides to not be greedy. Things are going well. He doesn't technically need another regular anyway.
So Stiles meets up with Janice next. She's an older woman with a wicked sense of humor who literally just wants him to come dressed nicely with a bow tie and they have tea at her overpriced home and she reminisces about happier, simpler times while ogling him shamelessly. It's actually kind of cute. He appreciates her candor. She wants a young attractive thing to keep her company for two hours and brighten up her day. While Stiles obviously can't understand it, he's happy to be fulfilling a need and cheering up an old bird.
"Frank" is another client. Stiles knows it's an alias, but that's fine with him. Frank is a little weirder. He's some super stressed out business tycoon who never undresses fully (and therefore Stiles doesn't either). Frank also wants Stiles to get dominant with him and fuck him. Frankly, Stiles doesn't mind. It can be fun having the roles reversed and he can tell Frank needs the damn outlet and to let go of some control. It's a little ironic, even though Stiles takes the role of the 'top', their sessions have remained the same since day one. Frank doesn't care for change so Stiles doesn't change it up. Suits him fine.
After rolling off the condom, Stiles can't help but think about fucking Peter and how that would be... Did Peter ever bottom, anyway? Bottoming can be touchy for certain men but he thinks Peter would look amazing spread out--
No. Nope. Stiles stops that thought.
* * *
School keeps Stiles busy. He's not involved in any extracurricular activities, wanting to focus on making good grades and not getting worn out with balancing school and work. Stiles Skypes with Scott and his dad a few times a week. He gives an emoji with the rolling eyes when Lydia texts and asks if he's gone after 'Mr. Hot Professional.' Stiles had let it slip that he'd actually managed to get the guy's number. Whoops...
Two weeks pass and on a Friday where he has no plans, Stiles wonders for a whole three minutes about contacting Peter. What would he say though? He can't text or call Peter and say he's bored and wanted to check in or hang out. Not allowed and just weird. Peter had implied the card was there in case he needed it, not if he had wanted something.
And maybe Peter hadn't been that impressed with him. Maybe it had been all lies because if Peter had had a good time, why wouldn't he book another appointment? Or what if Peter isn't looking for something weekly anyway? Or what if Peter would like variety and choose a girl or a different guy next time? It's those thoughts that promptly have Stiles stop with the wondering. They barely know each other and this isn't Pretty Woman. He's not some trash looking to be saved. He's fine the way he is.
As he'd expected, it doesn't take long for life to kickstart into high gear once more. A client comes in not a week later reeking of stress, and Peter is thrown headlong into a rather intense case that shows no sign of letting up. Laura is run off her feet, and he even gets Derek in to do a little legwork for him, and to talk to the police in the precinct in order to try and charm a little information out of them.
It does what he'd assumed it would; it takes his mind off of the night he'd spent with Stiles completely and Peter throws himself into the work, feeling sharper and more focused as he doggedly runs down the opposition. Yet every now and then after a long day at work, exhausted from using his senses to sense deception, he can't help but consider... but no. No. Once is safer.
It doesn't matter that Laura initially teases him, and then eventually slides into something more urging, as if attempting to coax Peter into seeing someone again, but Peter gently turns her down. He spends the evenings he can training his Betas. Maybe they're just his kin, but he doesn't go any easier on them, and when all three of them are panting and exhausted but high on using their instincts and skills, they collapse together to recuperate. It's not a bad life.
* * *
But the stress does gradually grow more and more. Peter finds himself oddly fixated every time the phone rings, and tells himself he's not even a little bit disappointed when it's not Stiles. It's a good thing, he tells himself. If Stiles isn't calling, he must not want or need to. It's safe. And yet...
The case he'd taken had been high-profile and intense, and it had taken the courts by storm, getting fast-tracked beyond what he'd believed capable. In the end, though it's a cutthroat battle, Peter is the one who steals the win. No one can really celebrate as they're far too exhausted from the last few weeks, but he still finds himself pleased. Pleased and giving serious consideration to picking up the phone himself.
There are no feelings there, perhaps, but Peter finds himself thinking almost longingly of the dazed, blissed-out expression that had been on Stiles' face when he'd reached his own variation of subspace. He finds himself lingering for a long time, contemplating the impossible and almost bringing himself to compromise on more than one occasion.
He goes home with a woman once on a whim, and she's pleasant enough, but while she winds up blissed out and shaking, she doesn't look up at him after with the same amount of relaxation. She's awed, but it's not the same.
Peter finally relents a little over three months later, and though every fiber of his being is telling him this is a bad idea, he can't quite help himself. It's harmless.
He picks up the phone.
Chapter 3: Quite the mess
Peter lifts his eyebrows and finally smirks a secret little smirk. "I promise I won't bite. Unless you want me to."
When he gets alerted that a former client - Peter - is requesting him for an entire Friday night, Stiles may stare at the laptop screen a little too long. He first double checks to make sure it is, in fact, the same Peter. The IDs match up. It is Peter. Fuck yeah!
Stiles is a little too ecstatic when he texts Lydia: Gonna go see Mr. Hot Professional tonight ;)
It's probably a mistake to be mentioning Peter again because then Lydia is going to harp on it and Peter is just a client. Two times doesn't guarantee a third appointment or a regular thing anyway... but it's one step closer. As excited as Stiles is, he's a little miffed that it took Peter this long to re-book. He knows he shouldn't be. It's completely impractical, but Stiles had just... wanted more. He's not used to that. And while there are clients he actually does like seeing, he doesn't necessarily crave seeing anyone.
That is, until Peter.
He dresses in tan chinos, a black polo t-shirt with a green plaid button-down over it. He's not going for quite so boy next door tonight. He doesn't need to. He's showered, shaved, washed, cleaned, stretched a little and ready to mingle. He gets dropped off a few blocks away from Peter's work so he can walk off some nerves.
Stiles is careful to not rush and get sweaty. Also, focusing on the walking helps calm him down. He knows he shouldn't be freaking out, but he just doesn't know what to expect. Stiles had honestly thought Peter would want to see him again -- to see him sooner. And what if Peter's behavior last time had just been a one-off? It's not that Stiles is expecting or wanting to be crazy pampered either.
To be honest, Stiles just wants to get fucked.
Stiles is approaching the expansive building when a limo door opens and Peter fucking Hale pops out. Stiles hadn't been expecting such a spectacle. He'd been focused on walking through the main entrance doors, not on the pretentious limo waiting outside. So, he startles slightly, jolting and tensing until he figures out that it's Peter's car and Peter is either going somewhere with him or coming back from somewhere.
"Fancy meeting you here," Stiles says in way of a greeting. He smiles warmly, feeling excited as he strides over.
Peter doesn't actually tell Laura this time that he'll be spending the night with Stiles again. Laura had asked to take Derek out for the next few days in celebration after that last case, because - in her words, "my little bro needs to let loose once in a while". She'd strictly informed Peter that it was a Beta's night out and Peter had made a show of rolling his eyes and then eventually relenting with an encouraging wave of his hand. He'd sent her off with his blessing and he'd managed to keep his expression hidden until after she'd left. Then, aware that this was going to be different from the last time he'd hired Stiles, Peter got to work.
He showers and grooms properly, taking great care to trim his facial hair precisely the way he likes it the best. Maybe he primps a little more than normal, tousling his hair artfully instead of letting it stay as professional as it had been when he'd last seen Stiles. He focuses on picking out the clothing he wants most, selecting almost silken dress slacks to pair with the suit jacket (remembering the dry cleaning bill from last time almost fondly). He picks a red tie this time, almost satin in origin, and it doesn't take him long from there to assemble each and every piece. Then he considers what he'll wind up doing.
Which brings him to the limo. Maybe it's a little ostentatious but this is as much a celebration for him as Laura and Derek's trip is for them. He'll go out again with them for a pack celebration later, but for now, this is what he feels will let him relax again. Considering Stiles had been on his mind so much the past few months, it makes sense.
Peter ignores the small voice that had been mildly disappointed that Stiles hadn't called. He maintains that Stiles has likely been too busy, or that he'd not had any particular need of anything.
Peter hires his driver - a woman who never asks questions and is content to follow instructions regardless of how odd they might be - and gives her the instruction to go to his place of work. Once there, Peter leans back on the bench seat of the limo and reaches out, waffling over whether wine or sherry would be best. He does have spiced rum and coke, however. He'd remembered, and he assumes that Stiles' order hasn't changed.
When Stiles shows up, looking less boy-next-door but equally as appealing, Peter watches him for a moment, admiring the length of his gait and the assuredness in his step. He reaches over and opens the door to the limo, apparently shocking Stiles out of his distraction, and the immediate smile that Stiles sends him is reassuring. Something in Peter's shoulders relaxes.
He steps aside, holding the door open with one of his small, nearly-secret smiles in response. "Indeed. A complete coincidence, I'm sure. It's good to see you again, Stiles. Would you come in? If you're spending the night, I'd rather give you the option of a real bed this time."
Stiles knows how he usually feels meeting up with clients. Some clients are more pleasant than others so he feels all right with them -- not great, but certainly not dreading it (it is called work for a reason). There are a few times where he's less than stoked about certain individuals, but nothing is outright bad. Nothing is abusive or dangerous and it's certainly better money for less work than any other job he could feasibly get.
But this right now, this is a feeling Stiles hasn't experienced. He's a bit giddy and excited-nervous and it's utterly ridiculous because it doesn't matter how hot Peter is or how good he'd been, Peter is still a paying client and Stiles needs to keep his cool... which is difficult to do because Peter looks delicious. His hair a little more styled and free, less proper and Stiles really likes it. The suit is fitted perfectly, accentuating Peter's broad shoulders and chest. Stiles knows just from looks that it's stupidly overpriced and likely feels that way too. The tie - red - catches his eye which is like an exclamation point of the whole ensemble.
Yeah. Mr. Hot Professional is right but it still hasn't escaped Stiles that it had been months since they last saw each other. Even if their appointments weren't going to be a weekly thing, Stiles assumed that Peter would book ahead of time. As Stiles has a rather small window of availability, it's not always easy to get appointments... Not that Peter knows this or would care. Stiles is mostly on a schedule with his clients. It's only the occasional Friday evening or Sunday that he has free.
When Peter greets him, the prospect of a limo ride and a real bed is appealing. Stiles doesn't know what his face does and it's honestly disconcerting. He thinks he might smile or he might look incredulous. He quickly looks down and swallows, not wanting to allow himself to be so... so something. Not like himself.
"Of course, don't mind if I do," Stiles responds finally after clearing his throat and waltzing over. He climbs into the luxurious and rather spacious back of the limo and slides over to the other seat so Peter can follow behind him. Stiles slips off his knapsack and places it by his feet. He forgoes his seatbelt in case Peter wants to do something (hey, Stiles wouldn't complain).
"Was beginning to wonder if I'd ever see you again."
Probably not the best thing to start with...
One night certainly isn't enough to base an entire opinion off of, but there's something special about Stiles. True, Peter has known him for less than a day, and it had likely been some sort of work persona. And yet when Stiles had drifted so pleasantly into an unexpected subspace, he'd been treated to the true side of him, albeit briefly. And that, more than anything, is what has been difficult to shake out of his head. Peter is used to one-night stands more than anything. He's had a few relationships in the past but never has a one-night stand, so to speak, lingered in his mind as anything but a good fuck.
Oh, Peter isn't going to think more on this, but the thought of calling Stiles again and breaking his rule had never really left him. So that he's actually gone and broken his one-and-done rule is... meaningful. When Peter sees the incredulous-slash-pleased look that alights on Stiles' expression when he realizes what's going on, he thinks again that he might like to see that more often, as awful as it would be were anyone to find out. Odd. He's reckless in his own ways, but never like this.
Peter doesn't care. That's a concern for the future. So he beckons Stiles inside with a polite smile and watches as he climbs in, admiring the way his chinos hug his hips. Peter follows after him once Stiles is settled, and he takes his time to situate himself back in his seat. After a moment, he reaches out, already moving to retrieve something for Stiles to drink... and then Stiles speaks up, and what he says draws Peter up short.
Blinking, because there's a small twist of something in Stiles' scent, Peter straightens again and sends Stiles a sidelong look. There's a brief expression of confusion, followed almost immediately by something else, almost thoughtful.
"I did give you my card," Peter offers casually, though he's aware that this comment is likely not casual. Interesting. "You could have called me if doing so was on your mind. I did give it to you for a reason."
Peter leans back in his seat, turning to look properly at Stiles, his posture casual. It's clear immediately that Stiles has the floor, so to speak.
He should be charming. He should be flirty. He should be sweet. Stiles should smile and compliment Peter's suit and the car. Stiles could even play up his excitement (which wouldn't be much of a stretch). There are a lot of better things to say than what he's gone with. He almost sounds petulant or at least a few steps removed from petulant and that's totally not how Stiles wants to ever be.
He doesn't want to sound like he's pouting or that he'd been waiting or worrying. Both are bad behaviors. A genuine interest in a client? No. Professional distance exists for a reason. There are reasons why he doesn't share his life story with clients, why he gives away bits and pieces and if necessary, moves the convo in another direction. He doesn't become friends with them. They're not friends. He doesn't accept extra handouts.
It seems more than a little bizarre to be sitting in the back of a limo with Peter Hale. There's a partition separating them from the driver so it's not like Stiles is concerned with privacy it's just like... Being in a car is so normal compared to being rimmed over Peter's desk. The car is large enough to allow them space as well. They're not touching and somehow that seems jarring. God, they'd been pretty damn close and familiar by the end of their night. Stiles had gone up and kissed Peter before turning and walking out, dazed, but more than content. He doesn't know what to expect here, especially given his opening remark and how it could be received poorly.
Thankfully, Peter doesn't seem to be overly perturbed by the comment and Stiles relaxes slightly. Peter is all calm and collected, pointing out that Stiles did have his contact information. Stiles' jaw twinges at the implication that this is his doing.
"Yeah, if I needed you," Stiles says. "Not if I wanted to see you again." Stiles tries to meet Peter's eyes but what he's said just hits him.
The rates are set. There's no reason for Stiles to want to see Peter for his money -- any client would do. If Stiles wants to see Peter, it's because he had a vested interest in Peter himself.
This is not what Peter had expected, and he finds it honestly intriguing. It appears (though he has no plans to take advantage of this) that Stiles has at least been thinking about him. It sets something alight in Peter's chest, a warmth of pride and accomplishment that threatens to draw a self-satisfied smirk up onto his lips. He had told Stiles before that he draws enjoyment from satisfying his partners. And seeing as Peter's rule about meeting people a second time with no relationship has usually been in place, he hasn't met many people again to ask them if they'd been thinking of him. Not that he would anyway.
So Stiles admitting it makes Peter want to preen, but when Stiles presses the issue and insists that Peter had given him the card if he'd needed to call versus wanting to, Stiles isn't the only one who goes still.
Immediately the cunning cast is back in Peter's eyes, thoughtful and yet visibly surprised. He's no fool; he knows Stiles' job as well as most. Arguably better than most, for he's read the legalities behind it. He knows that wanting to see a client is bad for business. Peter himself exercises the one-and-done rule, and perhaps - unless for regulars - Stiles might too. But he'd made an exception, or had at least wanted to, and that... that makes Peter want to draw Stiles in and kiss him or give him some sort of reward.
He doesn't, but he sure as Hell thinks about it.
But when Peter replies, his voice is steady, though there is admittedly a small twist of both satisfaction and apology in it.
"Stiles. I intended the card to be for any eventuality. If you found yourself on the street, or in trouble, yes, but also if you simply wanted to call." He holds up a hand to forestall any serious protests. "I still wouldn't have expected to share your company for free, but you're a bright young man with an insight I find intriguing. And, for the record, seeing as you look like you said something you didn't want to, I should even the playing field. I did want to call you again."
Peter inclines his head and shrugs with one shoulder. "I was kept unthinkably busy these last few months with a pressing case. Plus... this isn't something I often do. Seeing someone more than once tends to complicate things, and yet here I am, again, with you. If, after this, you simply want to, call me."
Peter lifts his eyebrows and finally smirks a secret little smirk. "I promise I won't bite. Unless you want me to."
The cat's out of the bag, so to speak. It's hardly the worst thing Stiles has ever said or admitted, but it's opening up a door to something. To some potential problem. Stiles is pretty sure it's going to be taken as an ego boost to Peter. Peter is exactly the kind of guy to enjoy hearing how he's apparently impressed the hooker. Rich, handsome? Peter probably has a ton of people clambering after him. In another life, Peter would be like the perfect suitor for some lovely woman from an equally wealthy household and Stiles is like the handmaiden or some stable boy. Anyway.
While Stiles isn't exactly pleased by what he's admitted, he's not blushing and stammering like an idiot over it. What's done is done and Peter's paid for him for the night so Stiles needs to get over himself. Being an idiot is bad for business.
Peter looks considering. Stiles doesn't exactly know what's being considered, but the guy looks thoughtful and Stiles doesn't turn away and when Peter replies - still calm, but now slightly smug - Stiles forces himself to not bounce around. They're bad habits he's worked very hard to overcome. He has to be still. He has to be intent and focused when clients talk to him. He can't yammer on and fidget and vibrate with energy and thoughts. He's not that loser kid anymore.
So Stiles listens and Peter explains that he was allowed to call if he had wanted to and Peter would have expected to compensate him. Then Peter goes on to even the playing field and admits that he did, in fact, want to call him again. Before Stiles can ask why Peter hadn't, Peter up and offers the information. Pressing case... Makes sense. Stiles has no reason to think Peter is making any of this up (and even if he was, Peter doesn't owe him any explanation). Peter emphasizes that the seeing someone more than once isn't a common occurrence with him and that has Stiles feeling accomplished for some reason (he swears he doesn't have low self-esteem).
A smirk appears on Peter's face and Stiles can't resist grinning back. Peter's little joke that follows has Stiles laughing quietly.
"I'm sure you can work out what I want," Stiles replies cheekily and he decides to show some initiative by sliding over to Peter and crawling onto his lap. Stiles sits down sideways across Peter's thighs, his back to the door as his legs sprawl out over the seat.
"You wanna bite me?" Stiles asks, whispering into Peter's ear. "We're not supposed to encourage biting hard enough to bleed, but I could make an exception for you."
Fuck. He's already getting hard from this.
Peter can tell immediately that he's helped Stiles feel better. There's a moment where Stiles looks at him and just seems to grin and the expression is like forgiveness and excitement at the same time. Peter's smirk only widens, easing closer to self-satisfied, and so when Stiles teases him right back, Peter simply lifts an eyebrow, almost prompting, almost like he's trying to coax Stiles into doing something.
Stiles, ever the observant one, does notice. And Peter is left watching closely as Stiles rises from his seat and then crosses the small aisle between them. With one arm bracing himself, he settles himself boldly down on Peter's lap, and Peter feels the answering twist of sensation all the way down to his core. There's something thrilling about having Stiles willingly come to him, and Peter's gaze is favorable as he feels Stiles' ass settle down over one of this thighs, practically between them, and then Stiles leans bodily against him, as if he's perfectly willing to let Peter support all of his weight. In truth, Peter knows that he could.
But as Stiles leans in and whispers into his ear, Peter has to suddenly fight down a wave of sensation that washes over him. He tenses, and it takes all his control to not let his eyes go red. Because the offer seems so perfectly tailored to him that Peter suddenly has a rough time holding back the way the growl wants to rise in his throat. He's been an Alpha for long enough to learn control, but the thought of biting someone, the thought of finding someone worthy to make more pack is always a distant temptation that he fights back. This time seems harder than most. Mostly because he's sure that Stiles might make an excellent wolf.
But that's not what he needs to be thinking about right now. Right now, he has a lap full of Stiles, and Peter can scent the sudden spike of arousal from him. He lifts an eyebrow and then reaches down, slipping an arm in behind Stiles' back to wrap around him. Then he turns his head, bringing their faces almost obscenely close as Peter's smirk settles into something almost coy.
"I wouldn't dare mar your skin like that, not without compensating you appropriately at least. But," Peter says, and the 't' is a slightly teasing, sharper sound, "If you want to feel my teeth without risk of bleeding, I'd be more than happy to oblige. Particularly if you show me where you like to be bitten the most, Stiles."
Sharing bodily fluids (other than spit) is a no-no. Condoms are a must. No blood play. These are rules and they exist for a reason. Stiles knows this. He does. As much as a deviant part of himself enjoys breaking or bending rules, Stiles does try to abide by these rules. The sex trade isn't a glamorous business. A lot of bad shit happens. Beacon Entertainment, while riddled by numerous rules and policies, does well because it's safer sexual transactions. The rules exist to protect both the client and the escort. Stiles knows this and yet the question had slipped out...
Stiles has never wanted to bleed before. He doesn't even encourage any clients leaving marks on him. At least, he hasn't until now. One or two hickies is tolerable, but he doesn't want to be gnawed on like a piece of meat. That's the thing, though... Stiles doesn't want to be a piece of meat and Peter definitely hadn't treated him like that last time.
Peter's reaction to the question is interesting as the man underneath him seems to tense as if shocked. But Peter doesn't scoff or push him off. Stiles hasn't disgusted Peter, no. Stiles thinks he's actually intrigued Peter and isn't that interesting? A strong arm comes around him and Stiles doesn't pull away when Peter turns his head. Their faces are close, their mouths closer, and it would be so easy to breach the distance and get Peter to kiss him.
Stiles wants it. Stiles wants Peter's hands all over him and he wants to be able to touch and explore Peter more. Stiles wants to wrinkle and mess up this latest sexy suit. He wants to come all over Peter and mark him and have Peter treat him to the same, but first things first.
The idea of compensation is strange but it seems like a Peter thing, anyway. And Peter may phrase it like he's doing Stiles a favor by the obliging, but Stiles knows Peter also wants this. Still, Stiles likes this little game. It's fun and it's new. Peter hadn't bit him before. He'd done a little nibbling sure, but he'd mostly kissed and touched and licked.
"I know you'd be more than happy to oblige," Stiles whispers, a hint of playfulness present in his tone. "I'll show you... but on you. Don't worry, I won't actually bite. I know you can't end up with any marks. Bad for business."
Stiles' hand reaches to bury itself in the back of Peter's hair and he grips securely as he tilts Peter's head to the side (which Peter allows). Stiles leans in, his mouth hovering close to the now exposed warm skin of Peter's neck. Stiles brushes his mouth over Peter's pulse point before licking quickly over it.
"Right here," he murmurs and Stiles presses another kiss before simply dragging his teeth along Peter's skin.
Stiles doesn't seem to take Peter's comments in a negative way. If anything he only looks more interested as Peter details what he wants. Asking Stiles to show him is perhaps a little reckless but Peter doesn't mind. He quite likes the idea of Stiles taking an active role in this, regardless of what it might be. He watches as Stiles seems to consider the subtle instruction, and then without further hesitation, Stiles answers him, his tone appealing and coy. But what he says is enough to surprise Peter.
It doesn't matter that any marks left behind would fade. That Stiles is conscientious of that is definitely a benefit. But more than that is the implication that Stiles gives him - that Stiles is going to bite him. Peter's instincts all but growl at the notion but he is intrigued. And when Stiles reaches out and his fingers bury in Peter's hair, a part of him does wish to protest but the other part of him quite enjoys the sensation. His eyes slide halfway closed, his lips parting with a soft breath, and when Stiles pulls his hair, Peter does allow him to maneuver his head the way he wants.
He doesn't let himself think about the fact that he is an Alpha baring his throat to someone who isn't even pack. Peter doesn't like it, but it's only his instincts that protest. The rest of him is quite content to let Stiles explore. If Peter refused access to his throat, he'd never have sex. So many partners seem to like to nestle there during sex, or to nuzzle. He's learned to fight back the instincts associated with it. And with that in mind, Peter can't say that he doesn't enjoy Stiles' attention. He really does, in fact. As Stiles doesn't rush in and bite him.
Instead, he teases, hovering close enough for Peter to feel the warmth of his skin before brushing his lips over his throat. He takes note of it, his fingers curling, encouraging, in Stiles' shirt as Stiles licks, kisses, and then finally lets his teeth drag in a slow, enticing scrape. Peter lets out a long breath of pleasure and he feels the interest stir lower.
"Aren't we bold?" Peter says lowly, his voice pleased and approving. "Right over the pulse. You like skirting that dangerous edge every now and then, don't you, Stiles?"
Peter smells really good. Whatever cologne he's wearing is subtle and not overwhelming and Stiles definitely likes it. He doesn't bother with cologne. Cologne seems like an older more established person thing (and frankly Stiles is clueless about it). Briefly, he has the idea of asking Peter for a suggestion but that's ridiculous as Stiles couldn't afford to splurge on that kind of thing anyway.
And Stiles knows that him taking charge hadn't likely been Peter's plan, but Stiles likes surprising clients. It's crucial to not become mundane and personally, Stiles may have enjoyed the power dynamic last time, but Stiles is far from some submissive boy toy. At least, that's not all he is. Versatility is where it's at. Keeping things fresh too. Stiles never wants to be pigeonholed and he'll prove it to Peter here and now.
Stiles doesn't miss how there's a slight hesitation in Peter complying and tilting his head, just like he doesn't miss that Peter's eyes half-close before Stiles moves in. Yeah, Mr. Hale is interested in his interest. Fingers curl in Stiles' shirt and he hears a noticeable exhale come from Peter. Stiles enjoys it -- he wants to hear Peter make more sounds. Stiles licks up to the lobe of Peter's ear as he increases the grip in Peter's hair.
"Something about you makes me a little more keen to skirt that dangerous edge," Stiles whispers into Peter's ear. "I think you might be a bad influence on me." That said, Stiles lets his teeth drag once more down Peter's neck.
Stiles is bold when the notion suits him, it appears. Peter's eyes flicker closed for a moment as the grip in his hair tightens. There's a rather large part of himself that's inwardly indignant as this isn't something he should enjoy, but he'll always enjoy initiative and Stiles certainly has it. With his eyes closed, he feels Stiles move in closer more than anything, and the sound of his voice so close sends small shivers through Peter's body. He doesn't do anything save tighten his hold in Stiles' shirt. Oh, he could tap on the window to get them going back to his place, but he's quite enjoying this, and the privacy.
Then Stiles' teeth find his neck again and Peter's protests don't flare as bright this time. He feels the slide of Stiles' teeth down his pulse and he shifts, moving his own hand up to gently skirt along Stiles' nape before he rakes his fingers through Stiles' hair encouragingly. It does feel good for all that it shouldn't, and Peter hums a low sound, not quite a moan but close as those clever teeth and lips make themselves known. He'd missed this in the time he hadn't had it, and he hadn't even truly understood that until now.
"I suppose I can assume some of that responsibility," Peter teases back, his voice lower, softer. "But perhaps it has something to do with comfort. You have experience now, based on the last time we were together. You know what risks you can take. And you know that I wouldn't hurt you. Unless pleasure edges into sensitivity, of course, but I doubt either of us count that."
Peter's fingers curl in Stiles' hair for a quick, gentle tug, more encouraging than anything. "But if I am a bad influence, I can't say I'm particularly upset."
On any good day, it's fun to flirt... Well, Stiles isn't exactly a smooth operator in his day-to-day life. He is rather used to flirting and playing coy with clients, however. But that's easier. He's already been chosen and paid for and the flirting doesn't mean anything, he's not hoping for a number, a date or to get laid. Stiles feels like he's succeeding as an escort and as a college student at least in terms of grades, but as an everyday normal eighteen-year-old he likely falls short.
Stiles doesn't care that the vehicle isn't moving. He's in no rush to get to Peter's place (although he is curious what it will look like). As his teeth scrape across Peter's neck, Peter's hand comes up to his own neck, fingers light and teasing before they lift into Stiles' hair. His mouth trails deceptively soft kisses along Peter's skin as Peter's lilting tone floats over his senses. P
Pleasure edging into sensitivity... That sounds about right for Peter and Stiles is completely hard in his pants. Unlike last time, he's not embarrassed how quick this has occurred. His body knows how good Peter can be and he's been wanting--
"I'm not upset either," Stiles admits, voice warm and amused and content. It's only been a few minutes and Stiles is having such a good time. "Gimme a second."
This has Stiles tearing off his top plaid shirt and tossing it onto the seat before he re-arranges himself so that he's facing Peter and straddling him. Without the extra layer, it should be easier for Peter to bite him. Stiles purposefully rolls his hips forward as he looks at Peter with bright eyes.
"You going to give me a pretty mark?" Stiles asks as he loops his arms around Peter's neck.
It's the gentle scent of arousal filtering up through them from Stiles that pleases Peter more than anything. Lips pulling into a lazy, satisfied smile even as Stiles' lips press soft, almost teasing kisses to Peter's skin, Peter breathes in deeply under the guise of a soft gasp and lets the scent swirl around his senses, settling deep into them. He relaxes as he sits there, letting Stiles explore in ways he hadn't been able to before.
Peter doesn't mind; as much as he does find himself hedonistic at the best of times, he hadn't really needed Stiles to pay him attention in response. Last time had been about spoiling someone else and hearing their appreciation, had been about throwing his stresses and problems by the wayside in order to treat someone else.
Peter believes that this time will be much the same, or will at least have elements of it, but this is still new. It is also very welcome. And as Stiles' lips trail over his skin, Peter's desire to bask only grows.
But before it goes too far, Stiles is drawing away in order to shed his shirt. Peter watches, his gaze warm and interested, and he admires the deceptive strength in Stiles' shoulders and arms as he sheds the outer shirt, tossing it aside. It leaves him in a tight black shirt that accentuates his muscles with lighting rather than showing them, and Peter is appreciative. He's equally as appreciative as Stiles moves to straddle him, showcasing the rise in his chinos just as blatantly. Peter wets his lips and as he shifts to draw Stiles in closer, he feels Stiles loop his arms around Peter's neck. Peter looks up at him, interest clear on his face, and Stiles' question has him smiling slowly.
"A pretty mark? Indeed. A pretty mark for a pretty boy," Peter says lowly, and then leans in.
He ducks his head, nosing at the underside of Stiles' jaw to tilt his head back, and then Peter brushes his lips over the pulse point in Stiles' throat. Yet instead of biting immediately, Peter turns his head and lets his stubble drag slowly over the exposed flesh, scraping it to sensitize before he finally allows himself to lap at the slightly-pink skin, humming his satisfaction. He's already hardening in his slacks, and he wastes no time in rolling his hips up nice and slow.
One hand drops to the small of Stiles' back and then slides down, gently squeezing his ass. Peter hasn't failed to miss the slight scent of lube in the car, and he suspects he knows what that means.
"Eager already. You remember last time, don't you?"
Stiles hadn't been able to touch and taste too much of Peter last time. They'd kissed a little, but Peter had been dressed the entire damn time. Stiles remembers the feel of defined, broad shoulders and when he'd been sucking on Peter's dick, his hand had slid under Peter's shirt and he'd felt up a flat stomach and delighted in that too. Kissing and licking and dragging his teeth along Peter's neck while sitting in Peter's lap is something else entirely. It's heady and much more personal, maybe even intimate.
Stiles has been in this kind of position before. Straddling a client, whispering sweet nothings or filthy promises. But unlike all the previous times, Stiles isn't lying. It's a red flag, surely, but it's also thrilling and Stiles feels like maybe it's a quicksand and it's inevitable -- he's going down.
Peter smiles at his question and god, it's a beautiful smile. It somehow manages to be playful and sexy and only pulls Stiles in more. He wants to be the reason Peter smiles. It's a ridiculous selfish little idea and he mentally bats it away. Peter calls him pretty boy and Stiles half-grins because sure he likes the compliment, but he knows there are far prettier escorts available. Peter nudges his head back with his nose and Stiles goes willingly, baring his throat and wetting his bottom lip in anticipation of the bite.
It doesn't come. Instead, stubble is scratched along his neck and Stiles shudders at the unexpected roughness. The drag of stubble is more subtle than the pressure of teeth, but it has anticipation rising and Stiles can applaud the teasing. Why would anything be simple with Peter? A tongue licking over the delicate skin of his neck has Stiles breathing quicker and when Peter's hardening cock pushes into his own, Stiles hisses.
Peter's hand is firm and large and Stiles enjoys the strength in the touch as it slides down his back and then comes to squeeze his ass. The word eager seems a bit dorky sounding, but if the shoe fits... Stiles huffs out a soft laugh. The shoe does fit.
"Caught me red-handed," Stiles admits as coyly as possible. This is fun and sexy and Stiles doesn't care if it's the truth. If anything, Peter's ego will be pleased. "I've got off thinking about you even. You can bet that's a first for me."
There's something very thrilling about Stiles' responsiveness. Perhaps that's why Peter had made a point to see him again despite the arguments against it. But now, feeling Stiles' ass pressing both against his thighs and his hand, feeling the hardness of his cock pressed against his own, and feeling each delicious shudder work through Stiles' body, Peter can't say that he regrets it. Maybe this is complicating things but is that so bad between consenting adults? Surely not. Yes, there is more than one extenuating circumstance and he's sure many would find fault in this, but for now, Peter is content to enjoy having an attractive, responsive young man squirming in anticipation on his lap. It's the finer things in life, really.
Stiles' soft laugh draws Peter's attention to the way his muscles flex when he does so. Smiling a secret little smile against Stiles' throat, Peter nuzzles his face slowly against Stiles' throat again, adding to the sensation as a slow build. He's all set to part his lips, to truly give Stiles what he'd asked for, when Stiles admits that he'd gotten off whilst thinking about Peter.
Peter's instinct is to scoff and dismiss it as a well-intentioned lie, but then he pays attention and finds that Stiles isn't lying. That gives him pause and he blinks, almost drawing back. Then, reconsidering and actually letting himself think about that, Peter lets out a soft, appreciative groan. It sounds like he's smiling, as he is. The idea is very appealing.
"I'd accuse you of flattery, but you sound like you're being honest," Peter says into the warm skin of Stiles' neck. And, perhaps in reward, Peter finally lets his teeth gently scrape over Stiles' throat, a slow, careful slide that becomes a press of his lips and a gentle suck. Peter's careful not to make the mark that big, but he does gently increase pressure, varying between little nips and sucks as he readies Stiles' skin for what he'd asked for.
"How fortunate that I've done the same to thoughts of you. You're quite a remarkable young man, Stiles," Peter says between kisses, and then he grips Stiles' ass a little harder, pulling him in close, and his teeth gently press down in a slow bite.
He doesn't use his fangs, and he doesn't let his eyes glow red, though he wants to. Instead, Peter just bites, drawing Stiles in closer and holding him in place.
Stiles hasn't done much in the back seat of a car. Well, technically he hasn't done anything in the front seat either. Not that a lot has been done currently, but there's always the chance that more could happen. And for some reason, when it involves Peter, not much has to happen for Stiles to apparently be on board and keyed up. Sure, he's always had an active sex drive, but he's taken care of it himself for the most part. He's never exactly been like this...
Caught on up a damn client, fantasizing about them, thinking about them, hoping they'd book another appointment. Now, of course, he likes Janice's appointments because tea, delicious biscuits, cookies and chit chat for two hours is freakin' a dream come true practically because of easy money, but...
Peter is another matter entirely. Peter is temptation personified. Stiles wants to believe it's just from subpar and somewhat fake sex for too long. Or that he's pent up. That Peter is coming across as smoking hot - a 10 - because Stiles is used to like 5's, 6's and 7's. But Stiles has never really been in the habit of lying to himself. He may not understand why Peter appeals so much, but he does. Maybe it's the charm, the charisma, the whole I'm satisfied if my partner is properly satisfied-schtick. Stiles doesn't know how to exactly break it down, but here he is, admitting how kinda sorta hooked he is. Whoops.
Peter doesn't even respond right away and Stiles has the strange inkling that Peter doesn't initially believe him, like Peter is waiting for him to take it back or say 'psych.' But it is the truth and Peter eventually clues in and gives an appropriate response -- a pleased groan. And like Peter says, it's not flattery. It's honest and it's damning but whatever. Stiles does have some good reasons for it, thank you very much. The top one is that Peter is an attentive good lay. That's enough of an excuse.
Teeth finally scrape over his neck and Stiles' eyes close as his body arches into Peter, receptive and responsive without any thought. Stiles gives an almost-whimper when Peter begins sucking. The slight discomfort is a tease and Stiles has anticipation skittering across his skin in the best way possible.
He is about to say something when Peter casually lets it slip that it's a mutual thing (score!), but then hands are grabbing at his ass harder and pulling him closer and finally, Peter bites. Stiles shakes as he tries to grind into Peter's dick to the best of his ability.
"Fuck yeah," Stiles hisses out as his hands fumble to bury into Peter's hair for purchase. He doesn't yank Peter away. Stiles just holds and basks in the sting of the bite, in the slow, steady throb that radiates heat from the point.
Stiles has the feeling that he ought to try and be more prolific with his words, but he just wants to enjoy himself and Peter had wanted him genuine, so Stiles doesn't bother with trying to impress. His fingers scratch lightly at Peter's scalp.
"Let you... I'd let you bite and suck everywhere," Stiles finally gets out.
Stiles' responsiveness is one of his strong selling points. Peter sucks and nips and almost immediately Stiles begins to shiver. This close he can feel it can scent the way his arousal increases and Peter basks in someone wanting him so strongly. It's pride, perhaps, but it is also settling, also reassuring and satisfying to know that he'd impressed Stiles so much last time that Stiles had touched himself to the thought of Peter while he'd been alone.
But the fantasy clearly matches the reality because then Stiles is rolling his hips, grinding down against Peter's slacks, and Peter feels the answering sparks of arousal coalesce within him. He grips Stiles' ass harder, squeezing, massaging, thoroughly enjoying it and him, and he sighs his contentment as fingers bury in his hair.
Stiles doesn't pull, doesn't squirm away. Instead, he's genuinely vocal and he reacts well to each change in pressure, to each suck and nip. Shuddering, Stiles grabs at him and Peter encourages it with every moment, sampling Stiles' skin and leaving a deep-but-small mark. Undoubtedly Stiles' other clients won't be pleased but Peter enjoys the thought of a claim, no matter how ridiculous. He scrapes his teeth over Stiles' throat.
Yet when Stiles admits what he does, breathless, stating that he'd let Peter bite and suck him everywhere, Peter draws back just enough to let out a warm, pleased chuckle against the mark. He wets his lips, letting his tongue brush Stiles' throat as he does so.
"Everywhere is quite a broad spectrum, Stiles."
Peter's hand squeezes his ass, and as he does, he rolls his own hips up, a slow, languid motion intended to both tease and give the most pleasure. "You would like that, wouldn't you? You like being spoiled, and you know I enjoy spoiling you. Perhaps you'll let me do that to you tonight, to explore you properly, not just bent over a desk."
He presses a kiss just under Stiles' jaw, then another under his chin.
"But then, that would be asking you to wait a while to relieve a little of that tension. Should I ask that of you, or do you think you'd like the edge taken off first?"
Maybe this is his version of young adult rebellion. Stiles is completely aware that he has a good thing going with Beacon Entertainment. He knows what works and the logic of the rules. He shouldn't be wanting to even potentially mess this up. Stiles hadn't been lying -- Peter is a bad influence on him because he shouldn't be influenced to begin with. And it's entirely strange to be slipping out of the "role" he's supposed to be playing and being more... More himself?
But Stiles isn't exactly worrying about it right now. His concerns are on the back burner, if anything. Stiles wants to enjoy it all tonight -- he wants to enjoy Peter. He enjoys the feel of strong hands gripping his ass. He enjoys the answering hardness Peter possesses. And he enjoys Peter's talented mouth. He knows it's not going to be some obscenely large mark that Peter has left but that's okay. Stiles is still - okay, fine - eager to see it.
And Stiles means what he says -- that he would let Peter bite and suck him everywhere. He wants that. The pleased chuckle that Peter gives him makes Stiles' own mouth quirk into a grin. Everywhere may be a broad spectrum, but Stiles is game for a little exploration. His mouth opens to give a panted out moan as Peter grinds so perfectly against him. And what Peter goes onto to say is actually a bit of a conflict for Stiles.
Does he like being spoiled? Logically, wouldn't everyone? Well, maybe not. Self-conscious neurotic types wouldn't like the attention. But he does know that Peter actually enjoys it for some reason.
Kisses placed on his neck and throat distract Stiles from his thoughts and then the real question comes out. Does he want to wait? Stiles tilts his head back to look at Peter. Peter doesn't look very affected, lips a little wet, slightly askew hair, but nothing overly out of place.
"If we take the edge off," Stiles begins lightly. "I'll be messy. You might get messy." Before Peter can answer, Stiles leans in and brushes his mouth over Peter's in a chaste kiss as his fingers continue touching in Peter's hair. "How do you feel about that?"
There's no hidden agenda in what Peter asks Stiles. It's legitimate, a curious little question as to whether or not Stiles wants to get off now or later. Peter has no problems in spoiling him, in coaxing Stiles through what will undoubtedly be the first orgasm of many that night. Yet when Stiles draws back enough to look at him, Peter catches a brief glimpse of something in his eyes, something that is a little difficult to properly quantify. He watches, curious, as Stiles looks at him and when Stiles answers, his voice light and almost airy, Peter settles back against his seat and considers the warning.
If it can be even called a warning, that is. Frankly, Peter doesn't see an issue. But before he can say as much, Stiles suddenly leans in and Peter stills as soft lips brush over his own. The kiss is chaste, almost sweet, and Peter feels something like tension draining out of his shoulders as he rests there with Stiles straddling his lap, fingers sliding through his hair. Perhaps Stiles is doing it for seduction, or perhaps due to some desire to make a mess of him in response. Peter honestly doesn't care; he merely enjoys the sensation.
"As I recall, we made quite the mess together last time. You made a mess on my slacks and I would have been more than happy to have you do it again," Peter says softly, a lilting tease in his voice as he slides one of his hands up to move his fingers under the back of Stiles' shirt. Peter touches warm skin, all but basking in it as he leans back to meet Stiles' eyes, the first hint of a smirk tugging at his lips even if it's already clear in his eyes.
"Frankly, I think everyone could use a little mess now and then. So if you'd like to, I'm not about to object. Touching you isn't a chore."
Stiles knows that if he gets off now that that won't be it for him. It's not a one-and-done gig with Peter. At least not concerning him getting off. Peter had only come once but Stiles doesn't know what kind of limit or stamina Peter has. Also, Stiles has the feeling that Peter wouldn't have even pushed him for anything. It had been Stiles getting onto his knees...
Peter is odd. It's like his dick gets stroked just by getting Stiles off. (Pretty good deal, huh?)
And Stiles does remember making a mess with Peter during their first night. Peter had practically feasted while rimming him and Stiles had come on Peter's actual desk... Peter had then ruthlessly fingered him, fingers unrelenting and somehow not cramping. And Stiles had somehow been able to get off just by rutting against Peter (and practically choking on Peter's cock at the same time). He'd jizzed over Peter's pant leg... And Stiles doesn't remember what really had happened after that, but that's not important.
Stiles is pretty sure he knows what the answer is going to be, but asking is just nice manners. He doesn't know if this limo is rented or if it belongs to Peter, after all. Stiles can't just go around jizzing on everything! Peter's hand slips under his shirt and Stiles' lips smile wider, meeting Peter's smirk. At the mention that touching him is no chore, Stiles quirks his head to the side.
"No, it's not, is it?" he begins, almost as if he's trying to puzzle something out. "You didn't seem to be worn out at all from your vigorous spoiling of me last time." Stiles wets his lips, his eyes narrowing in playful consideration. "I'm pretty sure even the best pornstars would have a few aches either in their jaw or wrist after how long and thorough you had been... I guess I'm just a lucky boy, hmm?"
Stiles leans in and nips at Peter's bottom lip before pulling back.
To be fair, Peter isn't preparing for Stiles' response. He can smell the arousal in the air, can sense the need growing, and admittedly he does let his focus wander, does let himself drift to thoughts of Stiles gasping, of him whining and jerking his hips. Peter remembers the sounds he'd made, remembers the scent and the satisfaction. Most of all he remembers the look in Stiles' eyes, the dazed, warm, pleased look once he'd been fully satisfied, and there's a part of Peter that can't wait to see if he can bring that out again.
So initially he does miss the thoughtful look on Stiles' face. It takes him a moment to notice it, and when he does, Peter doesn't have the time to figure out what it might mean before Stiles is talking.
The first thought that Peter has is something close to alarm, but the second is a sudden visceral interest that floods his mind. His expression doesn't hitch or falter; he doesn't look overly guilty or awkward. Instead, he just watches as Stiles studies him, apparently looking for an answer he can't find. Peter inwardly does kick himself for being so obvious, but he lets go so rarely nowadays. He'd slipped, but it had been understandable. And now, with Stiles looking at him with intelligence glittering in his eyes, Peter can't say that he's displeased at the sight. Stiles is a cunning young man; once again, Peter thinks about how much potential he has... but no. No, he's not going there.
Instead, Peter focuses on the way Stiles' voice becomes teasing, and on the way he leans in. The little nip to his lower lip has Peter humming his contentment, a low, smooth sound, and he makes a point to draw Stiles in closer, rolling his hips up in a careful, languid pass just once. It's enough to tease, and enough to prove that Peter hasn't lost any of his interest.
"I tend to be quite good at compartmentalizing," Peter says smoothly, the look in his eyes appreciative as he looks Stiles over once, slowly. "The ache after was worth it; a reminder of a task well done. The memories certainly kept me company in the nights that followed. The sounds you made, how enthusiastic you were, how well you obeyed..."
Peter's hand squeezes Stiles' ass as the other hand slides up a little higher under the back of Stiles' shirt. "I am equally as lucky to have such a good boy sharing his time with me."
Stiles wouldn't say he's suspicious so much as intrigued. He really doesn't have any justifiable cause to suspect something of Peter. Peter is unusual, an outlier in terms of clients, but he doesn't rub Stiles the wrong way. He gives off an air of possessing some secret that he could so easily tell, but he opts not to. Stiles has always liked to uncover the truth, but this is all speculation. And while it had seemed odd that Peter had been able to be so damn intense for so long, it's hardly the strangest shit out there.
But it's curious enough to rock the boat and see how Peter responds. Stiles doesn't look away, nor does Peter, and Peter doesn't look flustered. If anything, Stiles thinks Peter looks a little interested for some reason. And Peter grinds up once, a lovely reminder that they're both still aroused.
Compartmentalizing is what Peter claims and Peter also does claim that he had actually ached. Stiles can't really call bullshit because maybe Peter is supremely good at hiding any discomfort. Peter goes on to claim that he's also lucky for having a good boy sharing his time...
Stiles feels a tremor skitter its way through him. He apparently really likes good boy still. Apparently, he's the perv now.
"Let's get going," Stiles murmurs. As fun as this is, he does want to see Peter's place (and fooling around in a moving vehicle sounds more fun). Perhaps seeing Peter's place can fill in some blanks. He wants to see it, where Peter cooks (if he does), where he sleeps, what he likes to look at...
"If I get off before we make it to your place, fine... If not, I expect you to fix that when we get in." Stiles runs his fingers through Peter's hair slowly before leaning in but not connecting their mouths. "You look so hot in that suit, I can't help but want to ruin it," Stiles adds on in a heated whisper.
Peter doesn't miss the little shiver that slides through Stiles' body. On the outside there's no sign. All there is is a little skip of his pulse, a little tremor in Stiles' breathing that sounds almost like a hitch to Peter as he sits there, hard in his slacks and basking in the attention of Stiles' presence. It only confirms what he'd thought, though. Good boy still gets to Stiles. That it had been a convenient little distraction is only a secondary benefit.
But when Stiles makes his decision, Peter's lips curl into that small, self-satisfied smile that he'd used so often the last time they'd been together. Stiles sounds hot, sounds distracted, and the desire to slowly break this young man apart and see him shake open is tempting. Peter looks Stiles over once, slowly, his eyes bright with mischief and amusement as Stiles's fingers stroke through his hair. And when Stiles leans in close enough to almost kiss him, Peter stills, quietly basking in the sensation of breath against his lips, such a perfect little tease.
Without breaking eye contact, Peter goes still, almost as if in contemplation. Then he slides his hand off of Stiles' ass and reaches out, rapping on the black window with the back of one knuckle three times. He doesn't say a word, doesn't give instruction. Yet despite that, the limo rumbles to life under them and then starts moving, pulling out into traffic with movements so smooth that it's immediately apparent why Peter had hired this particular chauffeur.
When he turns back to Stiles, it's to brush their lips together, a slow, languid touch. Peter slides his hand up to curl through Stiles' hair, gripping just enough for him to feel. Then he pulls Stiles in closer for a real kiss. It's just as slow but Peter doesn't hold back as much this time as he tastes the plushness of Stiles' lips, biting slowly and gently before coaxing Stiles' lips open with quick flicks of his tongue. As he kisses Stiles, he doesn't hesitate to slide his other hand down Stiles' back with a gentle scrape of nails, aiming to tease.
"The suit was expensive," Peter warns without heat, when he pauses to let Stiles catch his breath. "But I suppose it would be a noble sacrifice for the benefit of seeing you fall apart again. You're achingly attractive when you do. I'll be wanting to see that as many times tonight as I can."
Condoms definitely make for an easy cleanup which Stiles can definitely get behind (no pun intended). And usually, Stiles prefers condoms for that reason alone. He doesn't necessarily want to be handling anyone's bodily products -- not even his own. Ejaculation is a necessary evil. He's used to the perils of increased laundry loads. He's even accidentally got his own jizz in his eye (don't ask). Even so, Stiles sure as hell isn't going to give up his masturbatory pursuits.
Despite the annoyance of come, there is the flip side of it adding the whole 'our sex is messy and now we're all dirty~' slant to things. It's not always hot and it's kinda weird in porn to see the girls super lying their asses off on just how yummy and lovely it is to have a facial full of come, but there is still an appeal with the right partner. (Funny how so many things hinge on that.)
Making a mess had appealed to Stiles before. He'd gotten hard over the idea of being able to come on Peter's pants. And Stiles had gone a step further (or a few) when he'd rutted against Peter's shin and eventually got off and stained Peter's fancy schmancy dress pants. Good times.
Apparently good enough times that Stiles is bringing up wanting to ruin Peter's current suit. With Peter, Stiles believes he could probably hump himself into oblivion and come in his own boxers and pants like this, but where's the fun in that? He'd rather them both be a shared mess. If Stiles needs to be sticky, Peter ought to be as well. Only fair.
Peter is still after he delivers his answer but Stiles isn't worried -- Peter had stated that everyone could use a little mess and everyone includes Peter Hale. The next action confirms this as Peter's hand relocates itself from his ass to knock on the dividing partition, apparently to signal the driver as the limo then starts to move. Peter kisses him slow, but thoroughly and Stiles basks, enjoying the right amount of teeth and tongue.
Peter doesn't slobber over him nor does bite too much. It's a great blend of teasing and luxuriating and Stiles gives it right back to Peter. He lets his teeth nip and his tongue flicks against Peter's lips and when nails lightly scratch down his back, Stiles arches into Peter. He feels greedy, he wants to be naked and for Peter to touch him everywhere. The mark on his neck also throbs a little and Stiles can't wait to check it out later.
When Peter speaks, Stiles is ready to helpfully point out that he's also expensive, but Peter goes on and pretty much implies that he wants Stiles to get off a lot. Fuck.
"You're a little bit of a sadist, aren't ya?" Stiles asks, his hands leaving Peter's hair to begin working on stripping his t-shirt off (he's getting a little overheated). Getting off once is easy, but more? More is bordering on sensitivity and difficulty. "Can't say I blame you... You'd look so fucking hot if you let me edge you, but I bet you'd hate that kind of thing. Giving up control?"
Stiles can't help it. Thinking about Peter falling apart is almost as appealing as himself getting off.
There exists a desire to breathe Stiles in, to lean in and bury his face against Stiles' throat and soak in his scent, but there are certain cultural norms that humans don't necessarily engage in, and sadly that is one of them. To do so for a human requires a degree of intimacy that he doesn't have with Stiles, so Peter contents himself with the hint of arousal, with the spark of the scent all along his palate like a luxury he shouldn't allow himself.
Stiles is different. Peter knows the dangers in thinking like that, but he's also not in the habit of lying to himself. Stiles' responses are not easily predictable. He doesn't react the way most would, and Peter likes that. So when the kiss breaks and Stiles' first instinct is to suddenly reach up and begin stripping his shirt off, Peter allows him to do so, greedily drinking in his fill without making it painfully obvious. He still revels in every inch of skin revealed to him, his own pulse increasing as he slides his hand up the exposed skin, appreciative.
His lips tug into a guiltless smile when Stiles accuses him of being a sadist, but that smile takes on a slightly curious edge when Stiles adds in that he wants to edge Peter. Stiles isn't necessarily wrong that Peter tends to fend off instances wherein he loses control; he doesn't have a good history with not being in control of his mind, or his body, and the thought isn't pleasant. Yet whether or not he'll someday allow Stiles more (and he doubts it) isn't the case. It's the fact that Stiles has thought about it, and that he has that latent desire inside. Peter fights a little flare of interest within.
"Does that make you a little bit of a sadist too?" Peter asks, a teasing sort of amusement in his voice.
It's not an answer, but it does move the conversation along. He reaches up, helping Stiles slide his shirt off the last of the way, and though he does have more to say on the matter, before he can voice it, he's distracted by a quick glint of metal. Two of them and Peter will likely later be a little irritated with himself for the way he stares so blatantly, faint surprise registering in his eyes.
He recovers quickly, but he suspects the damage has already been done. He doesn't doubt that Stiles had planned that. So when Peter slides his hand to Stiles' chest and one of his thumbs gently flicks a metal barbell through one of his nipples, Peter's eyebrow raises.
"Now this is new. I'm fairly certain I'd have noticed these before. But then... they can't be new; they look healed."
Yeah, Stiles can't really see Peter submitting to him in any fashion. At least... at least not right now. Sometimes things like that take time and like, trust? He assumes that anyway. He doesn't have much experience with dating or relationships, but Stiles thinks that sexual dynamics and activities could change over time like they could adapt or progress? So, yeah, it's kind of stupid for him to bring up something that they'll probably never do. Edging involves orgasm control, usually denial too and most clients aren't into that kind of thing. Stiles assumes most people wouldn't be into that kind of thing as impatience is practically an American virtue.
But he remembers Peter wanting him genuine. Peter doesn't want him to play at the escort role, so Stiles is going to try and be honest. It's hardly the most scandalous thing he's said or that he could say to Peter. Stiles is pretty sure that him admitting that he wants to fuck Peter ranks higher.
And Stiles doesn't need to answer about him being a little bit of a sadist. Stiles thinks a little bit of sadism never really harms anyone -- at least not if they're consenting and into it. Stiles has always enjoyed a bit of deviancy. Scott was usually more hesitant, but Stiles could badger him into it. There's a thrill about skirting danger and coming from a smaller town, you'd need to get creative to keep yourself entertained.
Peter helps him with his shirt and as it's tossed off, Stiles notices Peter staring at him. Ah, riiiiiight. Stiles had taken out his nipple piercings the first time they met. Not every client appreciates them and they can be a safety issue too. But he'd left them on specifically to see Peter's reaction this time. Stiles' eyes sparkle with mischief, cheeks dimpling from a pleased smile as Peter tries to pull himself together but then decides to simply go and touch one, not beating around the bush at all.
"I wasn't wearing them before," Stiles affirms. "Do you like them? You can play with them."
Oh, Stiles had most definitely planned that if the little mischievous smile that darts onto his lips is any indication. Luckily for him, Peter has no reservations about giving credit where it's due. Stiles has surprised him and Peter can acknowledge that as he looks down at the appealing glint of metal through each of Stiles' nipples. Peter could feign irritation or indifference but why bother? He wets his lips with a little flick of his tongue, interest clear in his eyes, and when he looks back up at Stiles, Peter has recovered enough that there's a small answering smirk on his face too.
"Impressive. You facilitated that just to see my reaction," Peter says, but it's not an accusation. He genuinely sounds impressed. "I hope it was to your liking. I know these are to mine."
It's as much of an answer as Peter is willing to give right now. He's not used to being surprised, even if he is impressed at Stiles' daring. So he turns his attention down to the barbells through Stiles' nipples and he reaches down with one hand to cup Stiles' ass, drawing his hips in flush against Peter's abdomen so that Peter can look his fill. And he does. He lightly slides one of the barbells back and forth, then does the same to the next, subtly scenting the air to ensure they're healed. He's not about to tear anything by accident because Stiles had merely assumed them healed. But to Peter's mutual delight and desire, they are fully healed.
So he does as Stiles had suggested; he plays with them. He gently flicks one of the metal balls on one nipple, then the other. Then he gently pinches the skin in the middle, giving small, curious tugs. He hadn't given proper attention to Stiles' nipples the last time they'd been together, but Peter knows that's changing now.
He leans in to press a kiss to the center of Stiles' chest, then presses his chin there, dragging his stubble slowly over Stiles' skin.
"Did you get them pierced to enhance sensitivity, or did you merely like the way they looked?" Peter asks, curious. "Or was it both? They do look good on you."
When he'd turned eighteen, Stiles had decided to get his nipples pierced. He supposes that it was kinda of a big leap to take considering he had no tattoos and nothing pierced like his ears. He'd just jumped in and offered up his nipples as sacrifices. Stiles has never considered himself really that alternative or rebellious -- at least not with his appearance. Maybe they're kind of a douchebag piercing, but Stiles likes how they look. He doesn't know if he will keep them forever (he can't imagine rocking them when he's fifty) but they're fun for now.
Stiles had made the decision to put the jewelry in for tonight. He'd had no plans to surprise Peter during their first appointment. Stiles usually errs on the side of caution and forgoes them with most clients but... How could he resist though? Peter is all about thorough attention. This should be fun.
Peter seems pleased by this little show and by the piercing itself. Stiles figures that while many people don't enjoy surprises, the fact that Stiles had been interested enough to do it counts as something. It's a little pat for Peter's ego. Stiles doesn't say anything in return as Peter goes to play. Stiles gives a little groan, liking how easy it is for Peter to just manhandle him in closer. As hot as messing around in a car is, Stiles is curious what Peter is going to do with him when they have more space.
He watches Peter push one barbell one way and then the other. And then a playful flick comes and Stiles jerks a little, liking the jolt of sensitivity that darts through him. The pinch has him hissing and then licking his lips. Nipples can be hit-or-miss with both genders. Some people like them being touched, others don't. Stiles happens to like it. It's sort of an antsy nervy feel, but yeah, he likes it
"At the time, just liked the look," Stiles answers, letting his head fall back and pretty much being as shameless as he can be in arching forward. "Now the added sensitivity is just a perk. You wanna suck 'em? Bite 'em?"
It doesn't take Peter long to know that he's going to enjoy exploring this particular avenue. Stiles undoubtedly remembers that Peter tends to be very good with his mouth, though admittedly Peter hadn't used it again the first night they'd spent together. As he looks down at the gleaming barbell in front of him and then glances over to its equally-attractive twin, he suspects that he's going to spend a little more time on it this time. Peter can already feel the telltale little ache in his jaw that precedes his desire to bite. He rarely gives into it, but seeing Stiles' nipples so dressed up is tempting.
And then there's the way that Stiles reacts to them. He doesn't exaggerate. Instead, when Peter begins to flick and pinch and touch, Stiles jerks and hisses in a way that has Peter's gaze locking on him. He swallows, immediately interested, and when Stiles lets his head fall back and arches his chest forwards, Peter hums his appreciation and nods just enough so that Stiles can feel it against his skin.
"Oh, definitely," Peter says, shameless in his appreciation. "If you intended this to capture my attention, rest assured that it has. You might regret that later this evening."
On anyone else, it might have been a threat. Hell, Peter isn't sure that there isn't a slightly-feral part of himself that doesn't intend it to be one. He doesn't give himself time to think about it and instead, he leans in, bending down to brush his lips slowly over Stiles' right nipple and the slight chill of the metal in his skin. With a low, pleased sound, Peter gives himself into the act of teasing. He trails his lips over the pebbled skin, a slow back-and-forth before he looks up at Stiles again intentionally, his chin scratching against Stiles' nipple. A small smirk tugs at his lips.
"I believe you remember the stoplights from last time, and that I'll use them if need be. Perhaps it seems early, but I'm not sure what your tolerance is for this, so keep me informed."
It's the only warning that Peter gives before he curls his hand around Stiles' back to keep him there and then leans down again to gently bite the skin around Stiles' nipple. Peter twitches his jaw, biting harder, but he soothes the sting with a series of quick flicks of his tongue - playing around the sensitive nub on Stiles' chest and the smooth metal to either side of it - and a suck that winds up with the barbell nestled between Peter's teeth. And, because he's got the time, when Peter draws away, it's to give the other nipple the exact same treatment.
The ride is so smooth that Stiles is barely aware that they're being driven. It's on the back of his mind, but it's not important. They'll get there when they get there. In the meantime, Stiles is going to thoroughly enjoy being shirtless and straddling Peter Hale. They're of course limited as to what they can do in a vehicle, but playing with his nipple piercings is definitely available. He still remembers showing them to Scott and how Scott's eyes had widened almost comically at them. Ah, poor innocent Scott... Lydia had given him an appraising look and then a nod of approval.
Peter's approval is rather obvious and Peter doesn't waste any time which Stiles can totally appreciate. He likes a man that can get down to business -- even if that business is likely going to be Peter teasing him slowly because that seems to be Peter's thing (not that Stiles is at all complaining). Stiles can't help but chuckle softly at the somewhat threat-promise of him regretting it. He suspects that his nipples are going to be rather sore, but hey, you're only young once!
Whenever he has received attention on them, it usually doesn't linger. Some clients it seems don't know what to do with them. Peter seems to have no trepidation about it, however. Lips graze over his nipple and the barbell and feeling Peter's breath only causes the nub to harden. The scratch of stubble has Stiles squirming as he hasn't had that particular sensation over his nipple before.
Peter mentions the topic of safewords - the stoplights - and Stiles wants to scoff because he hasn't ever thought of needing to safeword out of nipple play but then he figures it's likely a good idea. He truly doesn't know what his tolerance is either.
"Gotcha," Stiles murmurs. "I'll keep that in mind."
With no further fanfare, Peter bites and Stiles - despite having encouraged it - hadn't expected Peter to open with a bite. So his body does a flail-writhe motion and he's not sure if he's sexy at all, but it hardly matters because Peter bites a little harder and Stiles groans and feels his dick throb. A tongue comes to lick over reddened skin and Stiles sighs. He can feel the barbell ending up between Peter's teeth as Peter sucks and Stiles has the desire to feel Peter tug on the jewelry, but he's not going to be demanding (at least not yet). It's all good so far, he can feel the sensitivity increasing, the slight ache as Peter switches to the other nipple.
"Mm, yeah, that's good," Stiles comments, his hands coming to grasp Peter's shoulders to steady himself. "You can pull, be a bit rougher, I want you to," Stiles then adds on.
This is not something that Peter has indulged in before, but he can't say that he isn't enjoying it. He is. He's never slept with anyone with their nipples pierced before, but as the metal clicks against his teeth and he feels Stiles twitch and writhe on his lap, Peter's almost sorry that he hasn't. Then he's not sorry at all, as it means that this is his first experience with it, and Stiles is beautifully reactive. Peter delights in every bite, every suck, and he watches with half-lidded eyes as Stiles basks in the attention paid to him.
Peter doubts he's ever had someone so enthusiastic on his lap before. Stiles is reactive and vocal, squirming and moaning, and Peter delights in it. His hands keep Stiles relatively still as Stiles encourages him, and Peter learns what is safest for this particular little divergence. He quickly learns that Stiles likes it when Peter bites him, but he likes it even more when Peter tugs. The sucking seems to be something that relaxes him from the initial flare, and Peter doesn't miss what that means. Stiles likes a little sharper sensation, a little pain. Peter's pulse quickens a little at the thought.
But it's at Stiles' urging that Peter really focuses. He feels Stiles' hands come to his shoulders and Peter rolls them up encouragingly with a low hum. Hearing that Stiles wants it rougher is far more attractive than it should be, and Peter pulls away with a slow lick of his lips that then pull into a smile. "Duly noted. I suppose I can take requests."
Both of Peter's hands slide down then, moving to cup Stiles' ass. Peter purposefully rolls his hips up while guiding Stiles' down in a slow grind, and as he does so, he switches back to the first nipple and tilts his head. Peter closes his teeth on either side of the barbell and then slowly pulls, tugging at the metal until he can feel the slight strain of Stiles' skin. He lets it go with a 'clink' and rubs his cheek over the pebbled skin before he takes it back into his mouth, biting down again, soft at first, and then hard enough that Peter can feel it throb between his teeth.
He could be pinching and playing with the other nipple, but he doesn't. His focus is entirely on using his mouth, his teeth, his lips, and his chin. Peter sucks and bites, then nuzzles and teases, working steadily from one nipple to the next until the skin is swollen and red with the sheer amount of attention Peter has given.
Right now, Stiles isn't thinking of Peter as a client and he's a paid escort. He's not thinking about how he needs to please Peter. He's not considering how he should behave now or going forward. He's not worried about the logistics of the night. He's not planning anything. His mind isn't wandering off to go over the reading he has to do this weekend.
No, right now Stiles is just enjoying the feel of Peter underneath him. He's enjoying the feeling of hardness that occasionally presses up against his own. He's enjoying Peter's hand gripping his ass and the steadying hand on his low back. He's enjoying Peter's breath against his skin. And he's definitely enjoying Peter's teeth and tongue and lips.
And Stiles knows for a fact that it's Peter's attention that makes this better. His body hasn't forgotten how intense and focused Peter had been while licking and fucking him with his tongue. Stiles has never had someone's mouth working him for so long before. It's kind of impressive. Stiles has no doubts that Peter is going to be impressive in this as well. Stiles feels delightfully worked up and aroused, his cock rock hard, but the foreplay is what he's living for right now (it's not often directed at him). Peter doesn't get perturbed by his so-called 'request' which has Stiles laughing softly. Both of Peter's hands come to his ass and Peter grinds up while Stiles is pushed down and it's fucking hot. It's just friction and pressure, but fuck, they're in the back of a car and Peter--
Peter's mouth is back on his nipple and teeth enclose over the barbell and Stiles gasps as Peter tugs and excitement streaks through him at the slight flare of pain and discomfort. It's the good kind of pain. It's the kind of pain that reminds Stiles he's alive and young and reckless. And then it's gone, stubble scratching over sensitive skin and Stiles opens his eyes and glances up at the roof of the car. He shudders as Peter bites and it's an exquisite spike of pain that has Stiles closing his eyes again.
Stiles is reduced to a panting, squirming mess as Peter bites and licks and teases. It hurts, his nipples getting puffy but Stiles doesn't use 'yellow' or 'red.' His own nails are beginning to dig into the fabric of Peter's suit as Stiles tries to hold still as Peter works him up.
Stiles is lost in pleasure and sensitivity. He's begun to hump against Peter, every little jerky movement adding to the discomfort when Peter tugs or bites on his nipples. It's when Peter's teeth drag just right that Stiles whines out a "Daddy."
Peter suspects that he could easily lose himself in this. A part of him wonders if he hasn't already. This is precisely what he's needed after the last three months of endless work. He loves his job, loves cutting right down to the truth, loves the way the defendants often look at him with hatred while the families he's helped look at him like he can do no wrong. Yet it is stressful and exhausting, and after obsessive nights of very little sleep while still giving his pack the time they need, Peter's had very little time for himself. Perhaps most people would want something self-indulgent after that, but Peter quite likes the subtle praise he's being given just like this.
There's nothing like the feeling of making someone else dependent upon him for their pleasure. Peter feels the way Stiles twists and twitches, scents his arousal growing as the car drives on, and when Stiles' fingers grip harder at his suit, Peter only encourages him with a low hum. He doesn't relent once, and it doesn't take too long for Stiles' assertiveness to melt into something nearing desperation.
Peter squeezes Stiles' ass a little harder, grinds up against him in return with a low groan, and he's got his teeth around one of Stiles' puffy nipples in order to tug again when Stiles begins to hump down against him. Peter isn't expecting the truly enchanting whine that Stiles lets out, but the word attached to it makes his eyes want to burn red. He resists, but only just. Instead Peter looks up at Stiles sharply, his gaze hot, and something satisfied slides across his expression one moment before it vanishes the next.
"I'm here," Peter says lowly, his voice muffled against Stiles' skin as he takes the barbell between his teeth for a long, slow tug before he lets it go. "That's it, Stiles. Just like that. Let me know what you like. "
Peter gives Stiles' ass a slow squeeze, encouraging, and then slides one of his hands up to the small of his back, touching a little more as he moves once again to the other nipple like he has all the time in the world. Maybe he can't sink his fangs into Stiles' skin. Maybe he can't use his fangs. But he can certainly make Stiles' nipples so sensitive that he'll be squirming for days every time he puts on a shirt. Peter's smirk is soft against Stiles' chest as he takes the other abused nipple into his mouth for a long suck that ends with a bite and a tug that is just as slow.
"Be a good boy for Daddy," he murmurs, not bothering to let the barbell out from between his teeth as he speaks.
Oh, he's aware what he's just said and brought up. Stiles had honestly believed - or hoped - that last time's indulgence and enjoyment of the whole Daddy thing had been a fluke. Yeah, there are worse or weirder kinks to get off on. And yes, Stiles knows he's not supposed to judge kinks or rank them, it's just that he remembers his first reaction to it. He'd thought it was totally bizarre and had no idea how anyone could like it. The whole age play thing had weirded him out too. No diapers for Stiles. Stiles no likey.
But this isn't an age play thing. Stiles doesn't do that. And Peter doesn't seem like the type anyway (but then he knows that assuming anything is generally a big fat no-no). Stiles does love his dad and he by no means is intending to think of Peter like his dad in any sense of the word. That's not what it's about. This isn't some incest roleplay schtick. Daddy is like... Trusting that Peter will take care of him and provide and it's fucked up because yeah, on one hand, Peter is helping him out because Peter is paying for him. That's as far as it's supposed to go. Stiles doesn't take handouts from clients. It's a slippery slope. While a client can claim that it's no strings attached, if money or gifts are taken, it can create opportunities for clients to exert pressure later on. But Peter had given him his card if Stiles had needed it...
Stiles' eyes are still closed and as Peter just fucking answers to the name, Stiles sighs and decides to stop thinking. Thinking is overrated. Peter tugs on the barbell slowly, pulling it and Stiles groans at the flare of discomfort and pleasure. There seems to be some weird ass correlation between the level of slight pain and the level of desperation. Peter doesn't seem to be in any rush as he moves to his other nipple. Stiles can't keep count of the number of times that Peter has alternated. Both nipples feel sore and abused and it has him breaking out in a sweat, goosebumps popping up over his arms as he lets Peter have his way.
'Be a good boy for Daddy.'
And it's so damn exciting to hear it. Stiles wants to be a good boy for Peter -- for Daddy. "I am, I am," Stiles gasps out.
He doesn't know how he's actually close, but Stiles sure isn't going to complain. It feels good. He's sensitive and twitchy and hot and Peter keeps touching, keeps biting and licking and his nipples hurt but it's good. There's a second that Stiles realizes if he comes like this, he's not going to be getting Peter messy. Shit. With a moment of brief clarity, Stiles' hands relocate themselves quickly and he unbuttons his chinos and takes out his dick. Just as he does, he's coming with a high pitched moan and coming all over Peter's jacket.
Peter isn't surprised that the word has once again fallen from Stiles' lips. He has no preference one way or another. With certain partners, he's simply Peter. With others, he's 'Sir'. 'Daddy' is less frequent, but provided that the name fits the role that gets his partner to beg or cling or revel in what he's doing to them, Peter doesn't care. It's the desperation he craves, the desire to make someone feel so good that he is all they can focus on. He's not one to judge most kinks, and besides, if he's reading the flare in Stiles' scent properly, Stiles is likely judging himself a little for what had likely been a slip.
But Peter isn't judging him. Far from it. Peter is rapt, coaxing thrilling noises from Stiles' lips, feeling each sinful rock of his hips and squeeze of Stiles' hands. Peter intends to take him apart tonight, properly, and this is just the first step of many. He knows without needing to think about it that he'll be teasing Stiles' swollen nipples periodically as the night goes on. But that's for later. Stiles is with him here now and Peter isn't going to squander that, but nor is he going to rush.
So he doesn't. He teases, he encourages, he bites and tugs and sucks, and when Peter tells Stiles to be a good boy, Stiles almost chokes on his gasp as he replies. Peter hums, breathing in Stiles' scent, and he's not shocked to note how close he smells. Arousal flares in Peter's stomach as he pushes, coaxing more and more, and Stiles takes every single second of it with impressive resolve. By the end of it, Peter's hands are squeezing Stiles' ass tight, keeping him steady so he can't squirm away. And so when Stiles suddenly wrenches his hands away and fumbles his chinos open, Peter has a wonderful view of Stiles' cock as it flushes prettily and twitches and jerks, spilling wetly against Peter's suit jacket.
Peter immediately takes one of his hands from Stiles' ass and reaches between them, wrapping his hand around Stiles' dick. Peter strokes quickly, adding in that much more, but then he gives Stiles' twitching dick a little tug, urging him closer, and he blatantly rubs the head of it against the darkening fabric of his suit jacket. Peter doesn't stop watching Stiles' face once as he bites harder, holds it, and then finally lets his nipple go with a low sound of praise in the back of his throat.
"You made quite the mess," Peter teases, his voice low as he leans up and his lips find the fluttering pulse in Stiles' throat, right over the mark from before. "Just like I wanted you to. You did good, Stiles. Here, lean against me. Hold onto me if you need to."
Stiles' orgasm hits him, pleasure and bliss and relief cascading through him as he comes over Peter and onto Peter's clothing. His nipples are quite raw, throbbing even, but it's a perfect counterpoint to the staggering pleasure from the orgasm. Peter actually takes his cock after Stiles' own hand falls away. Peter strokes a few times and Stiles jerks from the attention as it quickly tumbles into oversensitive territory. Peter then pulls his cock closer and blatantly rubs it against the suit jacket (which shouldn't be so hot but it is). Stiles gasps when Peter finally releases his nipple.
Peter's tease has Stiles' snorting softly as he looks down at his come splattered on Peter's expensive suit -- he has made quite the mess. It's silly, but Stiles thinks he really likes coming on Peter's things and he doesn't know if he wants to even think about it. It's not like dry cleaning doesn't exist... And it's not that Peter is so filthy rich and Stiles thinks he's a cheap slut (although the former is true). But Stiles remembers how composed and stylish Peter fucking Hale had looked like opening his office door and greeting him and now look at him--
Peter's mouth is against his pulse, against the suck mark that Peter had gifted him with only minutes ago. Peter goes on and the praise is like a warm blanket laid over Stiles -- nice and welcome. It shouldn't matter that he’d done what Peter had wanted him to, that he did well -- but it does. Stiles likes it and he wants to do it again; he wants Peter's satisfaction. This should be another warning, a flare set off into the night sky, but Stiles doesn't feel overly concerned. Not right now.
Stiles leans forward, his arms looping around Peter again while he rests his forehead against Peter's shoulder. Come gets smeared against him -- he's also a mess and it's perfect. The limo drives on while Stiles comes down. He has no cares in the world. Stiles doesn't care to ask where they are or where they're going. He doesn't care to try and clean up and tuck his dick away. He doesn't care that Peter is still hard (he should).
"Orgasms with you should be criminal," Stiles mumbles, sounding amused but fond. "Things this good are usually sinful." He nuzzles into Peter's neck and inhales the lingering scent of cologne or aftershave.
A part of Peter doesn't really want to let go of Stiles' cock, particularly when he jerks a little at the sensitivity, but they haven't discussed Stiles' tolerance before and it's one thing to overstimulate before orgasm but quite another to do it after. Peter puts it in the back of his mind and when Stiles shudders and sags down against him, he lets Stiles' arms loosely wrap around him as he settles in against Peter's chest. The scent of come and arousal are thick on the air and Peter closes his eyes as if to savor it. He might not have gotten off yet but already he can feel the tension from the last three months beginning to seep out of his shoulders.
He winds an arm around Stiles' waist and pulls him in close, and they're both going to be a mess when they get out of the limo, but Peter pays his driver enough to know that she won't ask questions.
Aware that Stiles' chest is undoubtedly sensitive, Peter makes a point to sit still when Stiles presses up against him. He reaches up with his free hand and - as Stiles' body twitches and shudders with aftershocks - Peter strokes his hand slowly but firmly down Stiles' back, a warm, repetitive touch. Somehow he doubts that people do this for Stiles, and Peter is nothing if not memorable. So he takes the time to calm Stiles back down, to ground him despite the ache in his nipples and the sensitivity along his skin. Peter turns his head, breathing in Stiles' scent, and he's only slightly surprised to realize that Stiles is doing the same thing.
It makes Peter smile, though it's more with his eyes than his lips. And when Stiles finally talks, Peter allows himself a low chuckle, his hand stroking slowly but firmly over Stiles' back.
"Given my profession, I probably shouldn't enjoy that comparison so much, but I do. Watching you fall apart is equally sinful, and I look forward to doing it again." There's a hint of promise in Peter's voice as he ducks his head enough to press a kiss to Stiles' shoulder.
"We'll be arriving shortly. You can put your button-down back on if you'd like. I have a feeling that most of our evening will be with as little clothing as possible." Another kiss, this time closer to Stiles' neck.
"Are you hungry? Given what I intend to do to you tonight, you might need a little something to keep your energy up."
It strikes Stiles then that he got off first. Again. He can feel that Peter is hard underneath him and yet Stiles knows that Peter isn't going to be pushy and shove his head down. Stiles would be okay with it, though. He could blow Peter or jerk him off. It wouldn't be a repulsive act. His nipples may be aching and he may be coming down from the high of his orgasm, but Stiles can still function. He's not fucked-out. He still knows... still knows that this is a client and he's gotta make sure Peter gets off and that Peter has a great time--
But he knows Peter has had a great time. Stiles feels the praise in every action Peter takes, in how Peter's hand comes to stroke down his sweaty back. How he nuzzles into him and Stiles has the idea that Peter is smelling him too. The thought sends a frisson of heat through him but Stiles doesn't know why. His dumb comment at least has Peter giving a soft chuckle and how the hell can Peter just deliver lines as he does? Watching him fall apart is equally sinful? Maybe it's Peter's secret power. Being pretentious and hot and mixing the two together flawlessly somehow.
The kiss given to his shoulder is gentle and Stiles just breathes slowly, trying to sort himself back out, trying to get everything back in order and his head back in the game... This could be a game. Peter's egotistical. Peter likes to impress. Impress the escort? Blow his mind? It could be a game Peter is interested and involved in. And sure, Stiles can go along with it. He supposes that he could even be idle chatter and gossip. Peter could brag how many times he'd gotten his boytoy escort off. There's no way of knowing and he's not going to ask. So when the question is asked about hunger, Stiles sees no problem with encouraging this.
"I could have a snack, feeling slightly peckish."
With that said, Stiles pulls away and smiles as he reaches for his button-up shirt and shrugs it on with Peter's help. There's remnants of come smeared on his belly but that's fine. He can clean up at Peter's place. Stiles then tucks his wet softening cock back into his boxers and does up his chinos. See? Good as new. A little wrecked, but still presentable.
Chapter 4: What it implies
"Not interested in a wife and kids, Peter?" Stiles suddenly asks. "Or too busy for that right now?"
Is it fair to thrust this level of care on someone Peter doesn't truly know? No. It's not projection in the strictest of senses; Derek and Laura let him cater to them now and then, but they're grown and self-sufficient, and Hales, so the desire to be seen as weak or needing him is still muted. Peter knows, but every now and then it is nice to stretch his instincts out.
Peter's a picky man, and Stiles just so happens to fit his tastes perfectly. Not whiny or obnoxious, but definitely intelligent and spirited, with a good sense of humor and a need - however muted - to be cared for. Stiles himself might not know (and Peter isn't going to bring it up) but he's quite enjoyed the hours he's spent with Stiles, and as he watches the boy piece himself back together, Peter doubts it'll be just this time.
So he nods when Stiles gives his suggestion, and Peter takes the time to carefully put himself back in some semblance of order. He's still aroused, still aching, but it's a low simmer on the back of his mind, like an extra tease that he intends to satisfy when it suits him. He does manage to get himself looking presentable, and when the limo finally comes to a halt, Peter takes out his phone and sends a quick message to his driver. He won't talk to her and risk her seeing the come stained on his suit, but he's not about to not thank her. And, with that done, Peter stands and exits the vehicle, then holds the door open for Stiles as he climbs out after him.
Peter's house can hardly be called that. It's large, with a fair bit of open space, the lawn perfectly maintained and the landscaping just enough to create the feel of a forest in certain corners of the property. As Peter leads the way up the paved walkway, the limo heads back out through a security gate that locks solidly behind it on the way out. Peter looks around, senses alert for but a moment, but Derek and Laura's heartbeats aren't present, so he's content in the knowledge that he's got the property to himself.
There are actually two houses inside the property, though the smaller one is just as well-built. Both houses have large front porches and high, artful eaves. But Peter only leads Stiles toward the large house, walking up onto the porch in order to punch in a quick security code. Then he once again steps aside and holds the door open for him with a small smile. He's taking unabashed pleasure in the look on Stiles' face as he wildly looks around. Peter can be a little immodest by times. No matter.
"If you'd like to freshen up, I can draw you a bath upstairs while I get you something to eat," he suggests, shrugging his suit jacket off and glancing down at the come stains on the front. If anything, he looks pleased.
He's going to Peter's house. Or apartment. Or condo. Wherever Peter happens to dwell. There is no guarantee that this is the only place Peter has either. People like his clients seem to like collecting cars and properties like Pokemon cards. There is a client he sees monthly that rents out a specific apartment for his entanglements to occur in. Stiles is hoping that this isn't the case with Peter, however. It would be nice to see Peter's actual home, to take in the decor and preferences. There's a lot to learn from someone's home. Do they like windows and natural light or do they prefer privacy? Do they like art? Do they have comfy furniture? Is it lived in or sterile?
What would Stiles' little shit hole of an apartment say? Controlled chaos, probably. It's not filthy - certainly not as bad as other eighteen year old's - but it's a little messy and hectic. There's sticky notes stuck randomly on cabinets, doors, and mirrors detailing appointments, due dates, and other miscellaneous reminders. He pretty much cleans anything with sanitizing wipes so there's a few containers of those laying around. He uses toilet paper for kleenex and has a twin bed but sleeps on top of it in a sleeping bag. His sofa is used and lumpy but ridiculously comfortable. Stiles doesn't have a TV, but he has a rickety desk where he hunkers down to do his homework on his laptop. He's got one potted plant that sits beside the sliding door that leads to the not-quite deck.
Peter straightens out his suit as best he can and soon enough the car is stopping and Stiles is climbing off of Peter's lap so Peter can actually get out of the limo. Stiles grabs his discarded shirt and shoves it in his knapsack before getting out of the limo (and it's Peter who holds the door open for him, not the driver).
What greets Stiles is rather... nice. The property has a lot of open space and landscaping, a lot of trees which gives it somewhat of a secluded feel. Stiles' gawking is cut short as Peter begins walking and Stiles follows. He doesn't bother on commenting about the nature-y feel. This is just one more tidbit of info that Stiles has gleaned: Peter likes space and nature. There's another house even, but it doesn't seem like some pool house -- perhaps for family? Visitors? Questions burn in Stiles' mind, but he decides to be polite and simply follow (although it's rather obvious that he's taking in everything).
Peter lets him inside and Stiles immediately slips off his shoes so he can get that polite move over and done with. The place is impressive, but it's not... cold. There's some older furnishings, older trinkets that imply new and modern isn't the only thing Peter is interested in. From what little Stiles can see, it's a mix of modern and personality pieces which Stiles can definitely appreciate.
He's offered a bath and while Stiles wants to clean up, he's a little perturbed by the idea of a bath. Too much like Pretty Woman... but he hasn't had a bath in months. Fuck it. (And Peter is totally a perv. Stiles hadn't missed Peter's pleased expression at the dirty suit jacket).
"Yeah, a bath would be great," Stiles replies with a smile. He takes off his plaid shirt and hangs it on an ornate hook while Peter inclines his head in the direction and leads the way.
The bathroom Peter takes him to is actually an en suite in what looks to be Peter's room but Stiles can't really look around all that much because he's keeping up with Peter. As Peter prepares the bath, Stiles wastes no time in stripping out of his clothing and he pushes them into a small ball on the floor. His come is dried on his belly, but it'll be fixed soon enough so he resists picking at it. Stiles comes to stand beside Peter and glances down... It's a gigantic jacuzzi tub and Peter could also fit in with him.
And there's bubbles.
"You've got one hell of a please-your-partner kink," Stiles comments after a whistle. "Pulling out all the stops, huh?"
Stiles agrees to a bath and, pleased, Peter leads the way upstairs. The staircase is ornate and apparently hand-carved, though Peter hadn't bought the house specifically for that reason. It had provided enough seclusion and privacy and open space for him and what had remained of his pack to start rebuilding. It had given Derek a place to sit on the lawn and put his face in his hands where no one else could see him, and Laura a place to beat an old oak tree so hard with a baseball bat that the bat had cracked in half and the shards had cut her. While this place is not home in the sense that the Hale House had once been, Peter hadn't spared any expense for his pack.
He still doesn't. And now, while this is still grand, it is slowly becoming more and more 'home'.
Given how much time is spent in his office, Peter feels no shame in how extravagant his bedroom and the en suite are. If they're the only places he can collapse after a long day, he's going to do it with luxury, and he does. The bedroom is large and open with as much natural lighting as it's possible to have while still being cautious. Peter doesn't tarry as he walks through the bedroom to the bathroom instead. Inside, the bathroom is both comfortable and ornate, the colors rich and a mixture of reds and golds for accent pieces, but white for the rest. There's a stand-up shower and, as Stiles quickly becomes fixated on, a Jacuzzi tub that gets a fair bit of use. Peter doesn't have to tell Stiles where he'll be.
Stiles whistles and Peter smirks to himself as he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, throws his tie over one shoulder, and then walks to the edge of the tub to sit down. He takes his time to turn the tub on, to fill it properly, and on a whim, he adds a few oils to the mix, something lightly-scented and earthen. Something he feels will mix well with Stiles' own scent. He also decides that some bubble bath could be appreciated by Stiles.
"Admittedly I'd use this myself after a long day," Peter says simply. "It's not uncommon to need to stay at the office overnight, but when I return, a little indulgence isn't amiss. So yes, I suppose so. If it pleases you, consider it a kink." Peter glances back at Stiles and sends him a quick wink, coupled with a slow smirk. "Feel free to relax. We have all evening. I'll bring your food up to you when I'm done."
With that, Peter stands and steps over to Stiles. He leans in, stealing a quick kiss - fleeting and almost familiar - and then he turns and makes his way out of the room to go downstairs into the kitchen. It won't take him long.
It's funny how Peter hadn't minded the come on his suit jacket but he rolls his sleeves up and puts his tie over his shoulder before he deals with running a bath. The thought occurs to Stiles that no one has drawn a bath for him in years, not since his mom... Once again, Stiles feels weirded out by the connection. And while he jokes about Peter having a please-his-partner kink, what does it say about Stiles that he kind of really likes it? Peter mixes some oils too and the aroma wafting up from the bath smells lovely and completely not what he's used to.
Sure, Peter downplays it, he talks it up like a freakin' bubble bath after a long day is sooooo normal and indulgence isn't amiss. Amiss? Once again, the strange vernacular (but Stiles thinks it's kind of cute in a quirky way). The fact that Peter thinks he deserves relaxing and indulgence even in this? (It flits around in Stiles' chest like a hummingbird.)
The idea of relaxing and not rushing is actually appealing to Stiles and he'd rather focus on the evening, on playing this game with Peter. Stiles will let himself be pampered, he'll enjoy laying in the lap of luxury. Peter stands up and oh-so-casually kisses him like it's no big deal, like it's nothing out of the ordinary to leave a stranger in this pristine bathroom while Peter goes to prepare a snack. Stiles simply smiles when Peter pulls away and leaves.
"Let's go, luxuriating engage," he mumbles to himself and gingerly steps into the large tub as carefully as he can manage because he can totally see himself slipping and he doesn't want that. The water is bordering on too hot, but it's actually good. Stiles lowers himself into the heat with a groan. It's fucking awesome. He squirms around before flattening out against the back and closing his eyes. He lets his arms float and sighs.
Stiles drifts into a relaxed state, not even bothering to wash himself. He can get to that later. Right now he's going to enjoy being immersed in a bath, the bubbles and oils enhancing the entire experience. When Peter returns, Stiles doesn't even notice.
Stiles' voice follows him as Peter makes his way down the stairs. Once again Peter finds himself smiling that small smile to himself; it might not be Derek or Laura, but it still feels good to have someone enjoying themselves because of him. So with Stiles' low groan lingering in Peter's ears, he makes his way downstairs into the kitchen and washes his hands, though there's no risk of werewolves actually getting sick. It's habit, and it's hygienic.
Peter goes to the fridge and looks around until he finds what he wants, then takes the fruit from the fridge. Giving Stiles a heavy meal right now will only make him tired, but a light snack with a natural boost to his energy is another matter entirely. Laura teases him often about what Peter prefers to eat, but there's nothing wrong with eating healthy. Just because he can subsist on cake and burgers without gaining weight or losing muscle doesn't mean he wants to. He has standards. And standards, right now, are strawberries that Peter washes and slices into halves, whole red grapes, and soft cheese (that Derek often wrinkles his nose at, because his nephew has no discernimg palate).
It's not complicated, and Peter eyes the fruit in the crystal bowl critically, but eventually deems that it looks good enough. He's all set to pick it up when his tie slides off of his shoulder and nearly falls into the bowl, and - yes, right - he's home now. Peter rolls his eyes at himself and his fingers immediately lift to the buttons on his shirt.
When he walks back into the bathroom five minutes later, he's changed into something significantly more comfortable. His slacks have been exchanged for comfier silk pants intended to lounge in, and his dress shirt has been exchanged for a blue v-neck that Peter personally feels brings out his eyes. He doesn't let himself think of Laura's groans whenever she sees him pulling a v-neck on, nor her staged whispers to a confused-looking Derek over 'man-cleavage'. Peter knows he looks good.
And Stiles, when he walks into the room, is the very picture of luxuriation. Peter stops in the doorway and looks at him, his head tilted and gaze half-rapt, half-hungry. He wets his lips and walks over, breathing in the scent of Stiles' relaxation as well as the oils in the air, and then Peter simply sets the dish on the side of the Jacuzzi (away from potentially-flailing hands). Only then does he clear his throat, and then reach out, threading his fingers through Stiles' hair with a small smirk.
"You look like you've become one with the Jacuzzi. You're practically melted." He sounds inordinately pleased with himself. "Do you feel as good as you look?"
Man, baths are fucking awesome. Good smelling baths are also rather lovely. It's like a personal pool where you can be naked and can lay there like a corpse and smell heavenly. He'd moved to the city over the summer so it's been nearly half a year without enjoying a bath. Not that Stiles is normally a bath-guy as he generally prefers showers but when you can't have something, you obviously want it and now he gets it. Fuck yeah.
Stiles lets his troubles float from his mind. He forgets about the concerns with the whole Daddy-thing. He forgets how he'd actually wanted Peter to book an appointment. He forgets about the fun he'd had discussing Mr. Hot Professional with Lydia. He forgets about the excitement he'd felt getting ready for this particular appointment. He forgets how fucking good his orgasms are with Peter. He forgets how this has all gotta be some game because no one can actually be like this...
It's a throat clear that alerts him to the fact that he'd drifted off. And then familiar fingers are combing through his hair and Stiles' eyes blink open and he finds a smirking Peter looking down at him. The next thing Stiles is aware of is that Peter has changed into casual-but-sexy wear that is showing more skin than the suits ever have.
Peter is rocking the v-neck unapologetically and Stiles likey, yes he does. The next observation is that Peter sounds horribly pleased by himself. Stiles is close to retorting that suggesting a bath wasn't like, genius, but then he sees a nice bowl balancing nearby. He sits up slowly, careful to not splash Peter to get a better look. In the ornate dish is strawberries, grapes and cubed up cheese all arranged just so.
Stiles looks back at Peter, a considering look on his face. "I feel great, I don't have a mirror, so can't vouch for how good I look. I'll just have to take your word for it," Stiles replies cheekily, smiling. "Finger food. You going to feed me, Peter?"
Stiles looks good where he is, his limbs relaxed, his expression lax with contentment. It settles something in Peter's instincts to see it, and as he looks down over the length of Stiles' body and sees him fully, blissfully naked, Peter's smirk only widens. It's been a long few months since he'd last seen Stiles like this, and he quite likes it. His fingers push through Stiles' hair slowly, giving it a small tug that does nothing but muss it up a little more, and when Stiles looks up at him thoughtfully, Peter tilts his head and waits for direction. It isn't long in coming. He glances over at the bowl he'd taken in with him.
"I can assure you that you certainly look good. But yes, I suppose I am. I was going to give you the option of feeding yourself, but... I believe I enjoy the idea of feeding you myself a little more."
Peter slides his fingers from Stiles' hair and reaches over to the controls on the tub. He ups the jets just a little, enough to be more of a massage than not, and once the water is gently bubbling enough to relax Stiles even more, Peter reaches over for the bowl he'd set down. After a moment, he selects one of the strawberry halves and - with an arched eyebrow - he offers the berry to Stiles, letting it rest against his lower lip gently.
"You look like you're luxuriating," Peter comments, his voice a little lower and smoother. He still sounds pleased. "Has it been awhile since you let yourself relax like this?"
Stiles is trying to remember if Richard Gere's character fed Julia Roberts anything in Pretty Woman. He's pretty sure there was strawberries and champagne but it's been a while since he's seen the film. His mom had enjoyed watching such chick flicks when she got too sick to work and Stiles remembers curling up next to her on the couch. He hadn't been that enthralled with the content of the movies, but he'd absorbed enough.
Stiles doesn't know if he actually believes Peter would have given him the option. He's in Peter's goddamn Jacuzzi tub for Christ's sake. Peter wouldn't have forced him of course (that thought is actually amusing to Stiles -- force fed washed and cut strawberries, oh my!). Peter turns on the jets and Stiles has to say that he is rather impressed with the tub. He wants one. When he can afford it and has a house of his own, he's totally splurging on it. The water gently swirls around him and Peter reaches over and plucks out a piece of strawberry.
Stiles doesn't open his mouth immediately. He wants to see if Peter will worry. The piece of fruit is gently held against his bottom lip and Peter just goes on to comment about him luxuriating. Stiles finally parts his mouth and he lets Peter push the strawberry in. The flavor bursts over his tongue, sweet and refreshing and Stiles groans softly despite himself as he chews and then swallows.
"Oh, come on, this isn't normal everyday relaxing. Too much to do, usually. I relax in my sleep," Stiles remarks as he licks his lips. "Did ya miss me, Peter? I can tell that you're really enjoying this." Stiles runs his wet hands up his arms. It's no secret that Stiles is definitely enjoying this. "I can't imagine you do this for all your partners, real or bought..."
Peter doesn't outwardly let anything show on his face, but for a brief second, he does wonder if Stiles is going to allow himself to be fed. He can scent the note of teasing on the air, and Stiles' pulse doesn't skip or twist with revulsion, but Peter's still not used to being made to wait. So when Stiles' expression finally softens and his lips part obediently, Peter's left feeling a little ridiculous with himself over the quick skip of relief in his pulse. He makes a point to slide the berry over the dip of Stiles' lower lip as a small form of revenge, but Peter likely looks too pleased for it to be revenge.
He watches as Stiles chews, and the groan he lets out has Peter's eyes narrowing in a smile that doesn't need to touch his lips to be bright. He feels something pleasant settle in his instincts and when he reaches for the bowl again, his posture is a little easier, less controlled. He glances back to watch Stiles swallow and the quick thought of putting his teeth on Stiles' throat to feel it does sink in, but Peter fights that one back.
But when Stiles asks if Peter had missed him, Peter pauses, cocks his head to the side, and makes his mind up quickly. Peter picks up a grape and sets his free hand on the rim of the tub behind Stiles' head, just barely close enough to brush his fingers against Stiles' nape. Peter brings the grape to Stiles' lips with a slightly-indulgent smile on his own. And perhaps he's a little more interested in the sight of Stiles' teeth closing on the skin of the grape than he should be.
"I might make the occasional exception for you," he finally says, because missing an escort seems like a slippery slope, but he also isn't going to pretend that he does this for everyone. Peter shrugs unselfconsciously. "That's not to say that I don't attempt to put my partners at ease, but I admittedly take extra pleasure in doing it for you. You are... unashamedly you. No false modesty or attempts to - for lack of a better phrase - kiss my ass."
Stiles is used to a little occasional spoiling from a few clients. He's used to being plied with free drinks and food if he's accompanying a client to an event. He's used to really soft beds and a nice glass of wine. But this right here feels extravagant in comparison. This is extra. Peter is extra. You heard it here folks, Peter Hale is extra and here Stiles enjoying it all!
It's a game. Peter gets off on having control, on being in control and on surprising him. Peter delights in doting on him, on thoroughly satisfying him and being impressive. Stiles isn't sure exactly what the pay off is, maybe Peter is simply wired a different way, but why not benefit from it? If Peter wants to go against the grain, Stiles is going to as well.
His question doesn't seem to catch Peter off guard. A small head tilt. That's all Peter responds with before he's reaching for a grape and relocating his other hand on the back of the rim of the tub. Of course, Peter doesn't vocally reply immediately. Where would the fun be in that? The grape is lifted to his mouth and this time Stiles doesn't play. He bares his teeth and grips the grape before sucking it into his mouth. He's not entirely certain he's doing the eating fruit sexily thing, but he doesn't care. Peter wants him genuine. Stiles can play this game better as himself anyway.
Stiles listens with obvious interest and as he swallows the grape (also delicious, no real surprise), he just grins as Peter confirms his suspicion -- that Peter doesn't do this for everyone.
"Unashamedly me," Stiles echoes back, seeming to think over the words. He's never been anything amazing or extraordinary, but Peter treats him as such. "Not that I've seen it, but I'm sure you have a great ass," Stiles then jokes. "How about you show me now and then join me?" An eyebrow lifts in a playful challenge. There is a power dynamic here with Peter dressed, dry, sitting outside the tub and feeding him... Stiles doesn't mind it, but Peter naked in the bath with him sounds pretty good too.
The answer feels just conservative enough to avoid sliding too far down that particularly-slippery slope, while also being pressing enough to give Stiles the truth he deserves. Peter has offered others things much like this before, but not only has it been mediocre at best, most of them are far more interested in sharing his bed than anything else. Peter's not particularly upset by it, but much as he'd like to claim otherwise, Stiles has set the bar much higher than Peter had been expecting him to. He's never broken his 'one night' rule before, not while using a service.
And yet... Stiles.
Stiles is so different from anyone Peter's met in the past. He's not ashamed to indulge, nor is he ashamed to be himself. Peter isn't about to claim to know the boy, but what he does know is promising. So when Stiles easily retorts, suggesting that Peter has a great ass (true) and then offers him a challenge to join him in the bath, Peter doesn't recoil or deny the challenge. Instead, he looks thoughtful all of a sudden, his head tilting and his eyes narrowing in consideration. He quickly glances down at himself, then to the bowl of fruit. Then he smiles.
"All right. I suppose I can do that, but I do have a condition first. Or perhaps... more of a game." He reaches down and selects another strawberry, and there's a note of something just shy of cunning in his smile. His eyes reflect it unashamedly. "I'd like to know a little more about you, and I'd like to keep feeding you. I'll take an article of clothing off for every question you answer. Assuming you keep letting me feed you as well. If that's the case..."
Peter trails off and presses the strawberry slice to Stiles' lips with a small smirk. "I took off my suit jacket and shoes downstairs. Everything, really, but put another shirt on as well as my pants. Eat this and we'll call it even. Of course... if you don't want to answer a question, just say 'pass'. Does that sound good?"
He's not at all surprised when Stiles readily agrees, and Peter's smirk only widens into something considerably pleased. "I remember what you're studying from the last time we met. What do you do in your free time, when you're not charming people like me and being suitably studious?"
Stiles remembers wondering if he crossed the line a few different times with Peter during their first appointment. Stiles remembers being concerned with how he should behave or what he should say. He has considerably fewer reservations now. Peter likes him as himself. Genuine. The word shines in his mind like a beacon. Peter had known that Stiles undoubtedly possesses facades or in some cases versions of himself that he presents to clients. Being multifaceted is essential to his job. While Stiles has a niche, there's still different shades of the boy next door that he plays around with. But Peter wants him to only be himself. Like this, Stiles doesn't need to be some fantasy.
So he's really not worried if Peter says no to his suggestion. Sometimes hearing a no can be good, it leaves room to play around. Peter appears to think over his challenge and after a look down at himself and then to the fruit, Peter smiles and Stiles can't help but meet Peter's smile with his own. Peter agrees but applies a condition -- a game. This has Stiles' eyes lighting up and there's no mistaking the enjoyment that Peter also feels at this prospect. Stiles listens intently to the rules.
Peter is going to take off an article of clothing after Stiles answers a question and if he continues to eat. It's simple enough and it gets Peter still taking care of him. Clever. Another piece of strawberry is passed to him and Stiles complies and opens his mouth. He's not worried about anything invasive from Peter (and he has the option to pass anyway). Frankly, Stiles is curious if Peter will ask him anything overly personal. Stiles gives a nod to indicate he's on board and then Peter's grin is only growing bigger.
His free time is what Peter is asking about. Okay. He can work with this. "I enjoy playing chess. I actually stop by at a nearby senior's association when I can and play with them," Stiles offers. "But, if I'm not looking to stimulate my brain too much or be a do-gooder, I also play video games. I played lacrosse in high school. I Skype with my friends and family."
If only his pack could see him now. Or rather... no, Peter has absolutely no interest in Laura or Derek seeing him like this, but he doubts either of them would believe him if he mentioned to them that he'd decided to play games with the man he'd invited over to his home, particularly before sex. Yet when he sees Stiles' expression brighten considerably and the smile on Peter's lips reflected on Stiles', he can't help but feel that he'd made a good decision.
Perhaps getting personal isn't intelligent, but Peter is still under no illusion as to what this is. At the heart of things, Stiles is still a person, though, and Peter can't help but be curious.
There are questions he won't ask. He won't ask about Stiles' other clients (frankly he doesn't want to know) and he won't ask anything ridiculously personal regarding ways to find Stiles or identify him. That's just common sense. But asking about Stiles' hobbies is a safe way to usher in this new game and Stiles doesn't disappoint. He eats the berry and then answers, not only giving Peter more information than he'd asked for, but once again proving that he's got something special in him. Peter's smile softens for a moment before he reminds himself not to let it.
"A young man who plays chess with seniors," Peter says, and he can't help but sound fond. "Attractive and a veritable saint. Good to know. Though you've just taken a few questions away from me," Peter adds, as Stiles had told him indirectly about a bit of his school life and the fact that his family and friends are still in contact with him, which had also been on his list of questions.
Peter leans back on the edge of the tub and, with a small smirk still playing around his lips, he reaches up and takes the back of his shirt, pulling it up slowly over his head. Though it looks almost careless, there's clearly a certain art in taking his shirt off just slow enough to allow Stiles proper time to ogle. Peter's not shy about it, and when he slides his shirt off and sets it aside, he looks over at Stiles, looking confident, and reaches for a piece of cheese. He doesn't need to flex as he leans over to press the cube against Stiles' lips; the angle of Peter's body does it for him.
"When and where did you lose your virginity? I'd ask how, but that seems like voluntary information."
Stiles is well aware that he's given more information. He could have answered in point form. He could have listed things off with no additional detail, but that's not really him. At least, not when he's in a good mood. Stiles is a chatty motherfucker, so why not? He hasn't given away any top secret Stiles information anyway. Peter doesn't know where he lives. Peter doesn't have his cell number. More importantly, Stiles still doesn't have any creeper vibes from Peter.
And while Peter may tease him about being a veritable saint, there doesn't seem to be any cruelty. It's still playful and light and Stiles doesn't mind it one bit. Honestly, he enjoys that Peter feels comfortable enough to joke with him. Peter acknowledges that he's given a few tidbits of extra information and therefore denying some questions to Peter.
"Oops," Stiles murmurs cheekily but any further banter is cut short because then Peter leans back and he begins the process of slipping his shirt off.
Peter isn't overly sexual with it, but he's casual and not rushed and Stiles can appreciate the little show. Stiles has never seen this much of Peter before so his warm brown eyes do widen at the sight of revealed flesh. Stiles stares and blatantly at that. Peter is fucking hot. Broad shoulders, nice pecs, abs, a smattering of chest hair that isn't too crazy. And it's all-too-obvious that Peter knows he's got it going on and Stiles enjoys the flex of muscles as Peter reaches for a piece of cheese.
The morsel is offered to him, pressed lightly against his lips, and then a more risque question is thrown his way. His virginity.
"Ooo, naughty," Stiles comments and his tongue purposefully flicks out to lick at Peter's finger and then he takes the piece of cheese. Stiles doesn't rush. He lets his eyes narrow in enjoyment before swallowing and licking at his teeth to make sure they're clean.
"Used to have this die-hard crush on a girl for years," Stiles begins. "I was kind of a geek in high school, but she actually stood up for me and we were friends. I told her I was a virgin and I wanted to lose it with someone I loved - and at the time I thought I did love her - and she took it upon herself to make it educational and almost sweet? I was sixteen and it was in her bedroom."
Stiles smiles at the memory. Having sex with Lydia had made it clear that it wasn't love-love. It had been an infatuation, but it had helped clear up his feelings and it had been a safe and comfortable experience.
"Now, for losing the other virginity... That's a more interesting story. I've known I was bi for as long as I can remember but dudes fancying other dudes is more rare, yeah? So as soon as I was eighteen, I took it upon myself to create a detailed Craigslist ad with a bunch of requirements to appeal to a sexually clean and experienced guy who was looking to hook up with a virgin twink. I had the potential candidates send in answers to my questions, pictures, a clean bill of health. It was kind of fun actually and the experience was decent. I made him pay for a nice hotel and I got introduced to the homosexual agenda."
Peter doesn't need enhanced senses to tell that Stiles likes what he sees when Peter takes his shirt off. He does actually put effort into his body. Perhaps not as much as Derek does (the boy is a mite obsessed) but his status as an Alpha plus his routines and dietary habits do mean he cuts a striking figure and Peter knows it. One look at Stiles - at his wide eyes and appreciative little glances - make it more than obvious that Stiles is quite appreciative of Peter's habits as well. He even makes a point to keep staring when Peter so blatantly leans over to feed him the cube of cheese. Admittedly Peter knows that's just him being immodest but Stiles - apparently an opportunist - drinks in his fill, and it reminds Peter of why he likes this boy.
Peter's small smirk at Stiles calling him naughty is nothing but pleased, but Peter finds himself quickly distracted, at first by Stiles' blatant little lick at his finger (which brings back pleasant memories) and then by the information that Stiles supplies. Peter, for all his teasing, does look interested. Instead of others who might have asked the question to give them more to jerk off to, he looks genuinely curious. He smiles at the knowledge that Stiles' first time had been with someone he'd felt safe with, but his eyebrows lift slowly as Stiles goes on to detail what he'd done when he'd been eighteen.
It's said in such a blatantly blithe way that Peter doesn't doubt for one moment that Stiles doesn't know how that behavior had come across. Peter feels a sharp spark of interest burning low in his stomach and he wets his lips slowly.
"So you narrowed down your options responsibly, took control of the situation, and profited from a rather difficult-to-come-by kink," Peter says, and he sounds impressed. He can respect opportunism. "Why Stiles. I suspected you were cunning, but nothing like that. You are full of surprises..."
Peter looks at him with a brief spark of open hunger, his gaze raking over Stiles like a physical touch. He reaches one hand out into the water and his fingertips brush against one puffy nipple, giving it a slow, easy pinch before his nail catches on the edge of one of the balls on the barbell.
"Considering I don't have enough clothing to take off to satisfy my number of questions, I'll propose this: the times I don't take something off, you have full permission to touch me at your leisure while you answer the next question. Now..." Peter reaches back and selects another grape, squeezing it (and letting one claw gently pierce the skin so that the juices dribble out) and then pressing it to Stiles' lips again. "I know you're taking classes. Are you staying in a dorm with your friends, your parents? You don't need to tell me where. Vague information is fine."
Not everyone knows of his de-virgining experiences. Actually, very few do. Obviously Lydia knows of both because she'd been involved in one of them and was non-judgmental. He'd never told Scott or his dad about his Craiglist experience. That's... that's not something you go and blab about. Stiles had been curious and interested and simply took the matter into his own hands. He'd wanted to educate himself and there's really only so much the Internet and porn can teach someone.
And as he delves into his answer, Peter doesn't look like some mooch who's looking for wankbank material. Losing your virginity is a pretty popular topic amongst, well, everyone. And while Peter could possibly scoff at this somewhat-lame high school musical experience with Lydia, the older man doesn't. When Stiles goes on to detail about the other experience, Peter's interest is more blatantly piqued. When Peter reframes the events, Stiles senses that he's actually impressed Peter. Stiles just grins, feeling gratified at that. While Lydia had been supportive (and helped him craft his survey), she hadn't exactly been impressed by his endevor.
Stiles enjoys Peter's eyes roaming over him and when a hand reaches into the water, Stiles is actually startled by the fingers making contact with a rather sore nipple and he hisses (but he doesn't pull away). Peter then amends the rules and while Stiles wants to protest on principal, he supposes that being able to touch Peter is a good compromise. A dripping grape is then picked out and presented to him and this time Stiles opens his mouth wide so Peter can place it on his tongue. Stiles chews while the next question is asked (and Peter hadn't taken off an item so Stiles knows he's allowed to touch if he chooses to answer).
"No dorm and only one parent to speak of," Stiles answers. "I'm an out of state student. I rent an apartment. Can't imagine being squashed in like a sardine -- although it'd probably be cheaper to live on campus."
Not that his place is big or lavish, but it's his own at least and that counts for something. Stiles lifts his hand out of the water and he lets it mostly drip off before he reaches out to let his hand slide up Peter's thigh and down. "Careful now, Peter, this is almost like a date with you getting to know me and all." Stiles squeezes and shoots Peter a wink.
Peter's gaze drops to the reddened nipple he'd touched, and something hot calmly twists through him. He knows Stiles has to be sore by now and yet he hadn't pulled away or used one of his safewords. Peter stores that away in his mind, intrigued by the idea. He's not sure what Stiles could tolerate, and he's not even sure this is going to be a repeat performance (but he suspects it will be now. He's already broken his rule) but it opens a wealth of possibilities that he quite enjoys. He files that away, and though he does note that Stiles looks about ready to protest at his compromise, it doesn't take long for him to agree. Peter's smirk widens, and he makes a point to shift enough so that if Stiles does wish to touch him, he can.
He expects Stiles to touch his bare chest. Peter suspects that anyone else would in his situation. So when Stiles lifts a dripping hand and then moves it to Peter's pants instead, soaking through the near-silk of them as Stiles' bath-warm hand strokes up his thigh, Peter can't help but huff a little laugh, impressed by Stiles' opportunism even if he will need to wash these later now. He doubts he'll have any clothing left if ever he lets Stiles loose on him. The thought isn't unpleasant.
But the information is something that feels poignant. Peter can't say in what capacity, or in what way, but knowing that Stiles has his own apartment and that it's on the more expensive side does catch his attention. He won't make any irresponsible offers, of course, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't think of it. Still, he catches the correction of one parent, and instead of apologizing for his assumption, Peter merely nods, accepting the information as it's given to him.
That final little tease does get him to chuckle though, and as Peter looks down at Stiles, he gently slides Stiles' hand from his thigh and stands up. As he undoes the tie at his waist, Peter watches Stiles' face, pushing the pants down his hips before gravity takes over and they slide down his legs in an almost-elegant twist. It leaves Peter in black silk boxers that are properly form-fitting, and it makes the slight swell of his arousal much more obvious, even if he's not quite as hard as he had been in the car.
"Whoever said I couldn't mix business with pleasure? I don't often see professionals more than once, and yet you've made me break that rule. I'd like to learn more about you. Particularly as you seem quite cunning and self-sufficient. Both exceedingly attractive qualities to me. Renting an apartment can't be easy, but having your own space is smart."
Peter thinks for a moment as he plucks another piece of strawberry, holding it out close enough that Stiles will need to lean in to reach it.
"This one is shameless indulgence on my part, but I did just take my pants off. I hope you'll forgive such a blatant question. But you mentioned earlier that you'd quite...enjoyed thinking of the last time we met." Peter arches an eyebrow, almost coy. "Was it once, or was it a repeat performance?"
This is fun. It's playful, it's a game, it's teasing, seduction and still it's practical because apparently it's important that Peter gets him to eat and learns about him. This really hadn't been what Stiles thought would happen once they arrived. He'd expected to get cleaned up, sure, but then like, Peter push him on some lavish bed and plunder the booty. Stiles would have no problem with that. He'd got off in the car, but that's not going to stop him from enjoying more attention and coming again. After all, last time had been three orgasms. The bar has been set and multiple orgasms are on the agenda and Stiles is ready.
But apparently not yet. Right now Stiles wants Peter in the bath with him but Peter isn't completely undressed. They're getting there though. Stiles has no reason to believe Peter isn't going to eventually join him. Peter could have easily told him no when he'd asked but Peter hadn't. Stiles could have touched Peter's chest or stomach, but maybe he'd wanted to remind Peter that the lounge pants are going to come off. So, getting them a little wet shouldn't be a problem (and it's already known that Stiles likes to be surprising when possible).
His comment about a real date is... likely uncalled for but it's already being given and Stiles isn't going to attempt to save face. Peter could easily shut him down if he wanted. Peter may like to pamper him, but Peter isn't going to suck up to him. Peter doesn't have to. Peter is still the client and as long as it isn't blatant abuse, Peter can pretty much say whatever. Peter laughs softly and simply slides his hand off. Stiles doesn't like that but Peter is standing and pushing the pants down which Stiles really likes because it's more of Peter revealed to him. Peter still has boxers on- black sexy things that are tight and accentuate the slight rise of Peter's dick and Stiles appreciatively ogles.
Peter answers, unflustered as usual (which seems to be Peter's norm, apparently). And isn't that something? Peter breaking a rule for him... Something boastful puffs out its chest within Stiles. He really doesn't know how cunning and self-sufficient he is. In some ways he thinks being an escort is the easy way out. He only works a few days a week and gets paid quite a bit. He's also lying to everyone about his financial situation and his work. While he hasn't had some mental breakdown by doing this, Stiles wonders sometimes if it's not on the horizon. This is the longest time he's been away from his family and friends and security. The city is big and busy and he's an insignificant thing. He also has no real friends at school because he's too focused.
A strawberry is picked out and held out for him and it distracts Stiles. Stiles is more than happy to lean forward and enclose his lips around the succulent piece of fruit before sucking it into his mouth. He chews lightly as Peter claims shameless indulgence and asks about what Stiles had mentioned in the car.
"Repeat performance," Stiles answers easily. It's been months since their first appointment and Stiles knows it's not a good thing to have whacked off numerous times thinking of Peter, but hey, he'd had a good time. "Doesn't feel like work with you, you know?" Stiles offers in way of an explanation. By the end, it had actually felt like he'd scored a sexy hookup.
It's a simple matter to distract Stiles with the strawberry, but as Peter considers the look that had been on his face, he wonders what Stiles had been worrying about. He'd briefly drifted into his own mind, his own thoughts, and his scent had shifted just enough for Peter to notice. It had turned a little sour, a little sad, or nervous, and Peter finds himself somewhat curious as to what that had been about. Stiles had seemed almost proud one moment and then nervous the next, and while Peter can make the assumption that the pride had been in response to what Peter had said, he's not sure about the rest of it. Just because he has senses doesn't mean he has answers, after all.
But Stiles does lean in and eat the strawberry, and just like that, it looks like his concerns are gone. Peter watches, feeling the heat of Stiles' lips brush against his finger and thumb, and this close to Stiles, Peter can feel the occasional blip of water against his skin, the heat from that. And he's certainly not complaining at how easy it is for Stiles to answer. He shamelessly admits to jerking off multiple times to thoughts of Peter, and while it's ridiculous to even think it, Peter can't help but wish that Stiles had either let him watch, or taped himself. But there are certain lines that shouldn't be crossed, regardless of how... tempting. Peter tries (and fails) to put it out of his mind.
"I take that as the highest compliment possible, and I hope that opinion doesn't change," Peter says, and even he's a little surprised by how honest he is with that. And truthfully, he shouldn't. He should just leave it where it is, but he can't help the small smirk that settles on his lips as he thinks about Stiles jerking off to thoughts of him again. Some of the satisfaction is likely evident in his eyes.
"I'm also pleased to have made such an impact on your sex life. It's a shame I wasn't aware. A show like that? Undoubtedly worth a great deal."
Peter sends Stiles a wink, assuming that the flirtation had been vague enough, but he doesn't dwell on it just in case. Just having said it is risky enough. Peter reaches down to locate the hand he'd pushed from his thigh mere moments before. With a small squeeze, he directs Stiles' damp hand back up onto his now-bare thigh, a silent encouragement to touch. He selects another block of cheese.
"Anyway, now that I've been lecherous enough... I'd like to ask you about your favorite food, or color, or where you see yourself in the future, but I'm not wearing enough clothes for that. So instead... tell me something about yourself. Something you feel is special."
Stiles is aware what he's admitted -- that spending time with Peter isn't like work. Stiles knows that it is work, of course. He's not an idiot. Peter pays for his time. Peter had to go through the same vetting process as every other client. Peter has already admitted that he sees other escorts, too. Stiles has simply lucked out. That's all this is. Peter is strange and boastful. He enjoys Stiles' shameless staring and appreciation. Peter delights in working him up. It's good.
Jerking it and thinking about Peter doesn't hurt anyone. While it may be unorthodox to fantasize about a client (at least he assumes it is, Stiles sure as hell doesn't think about any other clients), it's not a big deal. Their time had been great and Stiles unfortunately doesn't have a plethora of sexy past experiences to drool over. Peter is all satisfied and smirk-y over it, but Stiles doesn't mind. Peter had admitted that it had been mutual, after all.
Stiles barely resists rolling his eyes at the mention of his 'sex life' which is pretty much non-existent since becoming an escort. He gets paid for his company, for sex and sexual activity, it sort of sours the experience of going out and attempting to find someone that strikes his fancy. His weekends are for relaxing in between clients and Stiles isn't about to miss school for a fuck if he were to stay out late.
Peter mentions the idea of a show and it being worth a great deal. Huh. A wink is sent his way and if Stiles is reading the situation properly, he's pretty sure Peter would have or would pay him for such a thing. Stiles had looked into being a cam boy but the idea that anyone could be watching him and the amount of time he'd have to sit in front of his laptop and pretend to flirt with strangers who may or may not tip him? No thanks.
Peter picks up his hand and deposits it on his bare thigh and Stiles taps his fingers against skin. Peter has a nice thigh, muscled and firm but not gargantuan. Too much of a thing is usually bad. This next question is going to not have an item taken off, but as there is only one remaining item, Stiles doesn't mind. A morsel of cheese is selected but before Stiles opens his mouth, Peter gets to his question.
Something special about himself. Something he feels is special.
Stiles frowns, completely taken back. He'd been expecting something pervy, to be honest. Or something factual. Stiles doesn't open his mouth for the cheese. He gives Peter a quizzical look and pointedly removes his hand. This doesn't feel fun anymore.
"What is this? A self-esteem building exercise?" Stiles shoots back. He doesn't answer the question. He has no answer.
When Peter asks the question, it doesn't feel poignant or particularly important. To him, it's merely a question, a possibility. He hadn't been lying; he only has his boxers left, and if this is to be one of his last questions, he's going to make this and the one after it good ones. Yet when he thinks about asking Stiles what his favorite color or food are, it feels underwhelming for what should be close to a climax of their little game. And while he does think of a few sexual questions he could ask, somehow they feel somewhat cheap following his last. So this one - leaving the onus on Stiles - feels like the best of all worlds.
At least... it does until Stiles' scent and pulse change. He blinks and looks at Stiles, still open, still easy, but Peter watches as Stiles' earlier smile melts into a frown that he would prefer to not be on Stiles' face. Peter doesn't frown back, but he is suddenly wary and curious. His eyes narrow thoughtfully, and if he'd had any doubt about Stiles' enjoyment, there's none left in his mind when Stiles' hand slides off of his thigh and seems to almost hide back in the water.
Peter doesn't retract his statement, doesn't apologize or scramble to correct himself. Instead he simply looks down at Stiles, a small furrow on his brow, like he doesn't understand why Stiles has taken his hand away. He does; Peter's no fool, but Stiles isn't the one who can hear Peter's pulse.
"Not that I intended," Peter says, and he is feigning ignorance in a sense, but only because there's something more under the surface that he finds himself somewhat curious over. Peter pointedly puts the block of cheese back down in the dish. He doesn't stand up, nor does he make to touch Stiles. Instead he merely watches him, inwardly calculating.
"Given the fact that I've got a single layer left, I wanted to make the questions - or challenges, I suppose, in this case - count. Somehow asking you something as mundane as your shoe size after asking how often you'd touched yourself to thoughts of me seemed a little underwhelming." Peter's smile is almost wry. "I suppose if the idea of telling me what you find is special about yourself upsets you, I could think of another question. Does it upset you?" Peter pauses just for a moment. Then his expression softens. "Color?"
Stiles knows better. Yeah, he does. He should have just answered the stupid question because now he's creating a division between them, he's causing a problem. Stiles is being petulant. Pulling his hand away? Not eating the fancy cheese offered to him? Stopping the game? At least Stiles' retort isn't the worst he could have given. That's a small concession, but it doesn't make Stiles feel much better about it.
He may be more upset by the fact that he'd become upset over the question to begin with. Stiles doesn't consider himself sensitive. He's always been so good with clients, with reading them and knowing how to behave and charm them. This isn't charming. Peter doesn't seem to be offended at least. Stiles sees the older man frown as if he's puzzling out what's just happened. Stiles feels like he should apologize but he doesn't because he's not about to start kissing Peter's ass now.
Peter seems as cool as a cucumber as he puts back the piece of cheese and goes onto explain his reasoning. And... as much as Stiles doesn't want to admit it, it does kind of make sense. A favorite-type question for Peter slipping off his boxers? It would be kinda lame. Peter then asks if it had upset him (obvious enough) -- but then something happens that Stiles isn't expecting. Peter decides to check in with him by referencing the stoplights. Stiles grits his teeth for a moment. He doesn't want Peter thinking he's sensitive and bothered.
Stiles makes up his mind.
"Color? Green. I'm fine." There's one done. He'll work backwards. "Does it upset me? The question startled me. I'm used to having quick answers and I didn't this time." Stiles then lifts his hand out of the bath, shakes it off and reaches into the bowl to pick out a piece of cheese. He then offers it to Peter so Peter can feed it to him. "Something that I find special about myself? Probably that I have a good relationship with my dad. He's my hero and I guess around my age that's somewhat uncommon."
It's an interesting mix of manipulation and care that Peter finds himself in, though he's not particularly surprised. His pack often grumble about his behavior, and Laura's gotten into the habit of pointing at him when he starts to work his magic (in her words, 'mind-games-ing me into taking care of myself!') and grumbling. Peter does nothing different here, and while he can see the conflict in Stiles' eyes, and while a part of him is curious, he doesn't push too far as manipulation and curiosity aside, active consent is still far preferable to the alternative.
Stiles' bitten-out green is... less-than reassuring, and Peter's reasonably sure that it should have been yellow, but there's a stubborn cast to Stiles' expression that rivals Derek's when he gets into a mood. So Peter inwardly takes a step back and waits, watching and listening as Stiles hastens to explain what had happened. Peter nods, like he doesn't know what Stiles is saying already (and like he doesn't know that it's only a half-truth) and when Stiles takes the cheese and hands it to him, almost as if a bid to pretend that nothing had happened, Peter tilts his head, considers Stiles in silence, and then he nods.
He says nothing until Stiles' lips open to accept the cheese that Peter offers to him, though Peter's thumb does linger on Stiles' lower lip for a moment longer. Then Peter leans over, and as Stiles' teeth bite down on the cheese, Peter ducks his head and steals a fleeting kiss, just sudden enough to make his point. When he draws back, there's something half-warm, half-serious in his eyes.
"Having a good relationship with your father is special, I agree. But Stiles, if I say something or ask you to do something you don't like, or don't feel comfortable answering or doing, I expect you to tell me. If you need time to decide if it's something you want to do, that's no failing on your part. You don't need to give me information. And you won't offend me by saying so. I promise," he adds, with a wry little smile, "my ego is not so easily shattered. Now... is your answer still 'green', or do you need a moment?"
Stiles isn't so easily shaken up. It's true. He may have fallen off the horse, but he's getting back on it. Yep. Peter may be somewhat of an enigma, but Stiles isn't going to let that get to him. Peter wants to be all nice and lovely and caring and doting, and it's weird, it's more than he's ever had, but Stiles enjoys it and he's going to let his client do what he wants. Stiles is still in control. He's consenting to this. If Peter wants to impress him and rock his world, Stiles is going to let him. He's getting paid, after all.
His answer is accepted and after a moment of consideration, Peter does take the piece of cheese and feed it to him. A little more touch is paid to him as a thumb presses to his lip. Stiles chews and then Peter leans down and presses a kiss to his mouth. Stiles doesn't react. He's not really a fan of kissing while eating and he hadn't been expecting it. It doesn't last long, thankfully.
And when Stiles swallows, he looks up at Peter who looks fond and serious and it's an odd mix. And while Stiles would prefer to just have the game continue on - to have another question asked of him and eventually get Peter naked - Peter decides to be all caring and responsible or some shit in reassuring Stiles he has options and he doesn't need to give information or feel pressured and uh, hello? Stiles already knows that. He's fine. Perfectly fine.
"I don't need a moment," Stiles answers lightly. "Green, green, green. Do your worst."
Stiles isn't fine. Peter doesn't need to be a werewolf to hear the lie, and he doesn't need to be a lawyer to find an argument for it. But when he looks at Stiles and sees the lightness in his eyes, the clear effort being made to forget that little blip, Peter considers Stiles thoughtfully, a small frown on his lips. Were Stiles a partner of his that Peter hadn't paid for, were this a matter of a relationship, he'd press and insist on a conversation, as Stiles' reaction very clearly hints at the very lack of self-esteem he'd accused Peter of trying to fix.
But they aren't in a relationship. Peter doesn't see Stiles outside of the times he's paid for, and so it's not really up to him to dictate what Stiles does, regardless of how much he wants to. So while it's clear that he doesn't believe the repetition of green, Peter merely looks at Stiles and then nods, accepting the likely-lie at face value, because Stiles at least isn't close to red.
"Just keep what I said in mind," Peter says without emotion. Then, shifting on the rim of the tub. Peter considers Stiles as he looks down at him. "One more question, then." Because he's known about this one for awhile, and he has to admit that he is curious. "I went over your list of kinks quite thoroughly before I chose you. I'd like to say I remember most of them at this point. Yet one thing did stick out to me. 'Daddy kink' wasn't listed on your profile. Is it a recent interest?"
Eyes on the prize, Stilinski. Stiles wants Peter to strip. Yes, yes he does. He wants this night to go on. He wants Peter in the tub with him wet and available for touchy-touchy. So, there's going to be one more question because they're playing a stripping game of sorts. Stiles can get behind it. He likes games. He likes doing things the non-traditional way too. It's a win-win for everyone.
Peter looks contemplative for a moment after his answer and Stiles has half a mind to widen his eyes and just dare Peter to call him out because Stiles feels fine... Well, mostly fine and mostly fine is fine with him. It's enough. There's no reason for Peter to be so concerned over him (although one part of Stiles finds it sweet or something). Finally, Peter nods and Stiles feels a little bit of tension leech out of him. The water is still happily swirling in the tub and he does feel relaxed. Nothing is wrong. He hasn't fucked up.
Stiles gazes up at Peter as he listens. And the question that Peter chooses is... About the fucking Daddy kink. Stiles doesn't know what his face does. He thinks it might be some mix of incredulous and disbelief as his head tilts to the side and his eyebrows lift. Then there's a spike of arousal and embarrassment because he's never just outright talked about this with Peter. It's just been on the fly, in the heat of the moment and when close to getting off, most things seem great. Stiles relaxes his face. The answer is obvious enough.
"It's a recent interest involving a specific client," Stiles murmurs cheekily. It's not anything serious so he doesn't have to be bothered by it. He knows Peter likes it anyway. If anything, he can claim that Peter had just fit the bill.
Peter doesn't believe that this particular question will be enough to set Stiles back into a negative mindset. Yet he can't say that he isn't curious. Stiles had instigated in the car, and while he definitely seems to be interested in it while he's close to orgasm, he's not mentioned it outside of that time frame. Peter can't help his curiosity; Stiles is many things, and an enigma happens to be one of them. He is... intrigued, to say the least. And when Stiles hears the question and reacts with a mixture of apparent incredulity and arousal, Peter breathes in through his nose, sampling the welcome scent with a small lick of heat within. Embarrassed as Stiles seems, arousal is good.
To Stiles' credit, it doesn't take him long to think of a response. Peter is honestly impressed. His smile grows into something rather teasing but also rather self-satisfied, and he chuckles softly in understanding and acceptance, nodding his agreement. Stiles looks far too pleased with himself for the answer, and Peter can't say that he isn't enjoying the knowledge as well.
"Broadening our horizons is always good for self-growth," he says, but he can almost hear Derek calling 'bullshit' on that. It just makes Peter's smile widen. And as he looks Stiles over once, slowly, he finally relents with a decisive nod and pushes himself free of the edge of the tub. "But if that's the case, I believe it's Daddy's turn to hold up his end of the bargain."
Peter stands, and - turning so Stiles can get a real view - Peter moves his hands to the waistband of his boxers and then begins to ease them down, allowing ample time for Stiles to drink in the fill he clearly wants. There's no shame in Peter's eyes, nor is there overt boasting. He's still hard enough to make it known, and he takes his time in stepping out of the boxers, leaving them on the floor. Then Peter takes a small step closer, but doesn't move to climb in the tub or sit on the edge.
He lifts an eyebrow at Stiles, inquisitive. "Do you still want company?"
From here on out, Stiles isn't going to let Peter's questions get to him. They're just questions. It's information sharing. Peter is a curious motherfucker and wants to know about him. Stiles supposes that it's hardly the worst quirk about Peter. In a way, it's flattering, is it not? That's what Stiles is going to go with anyway. The Daddy kink is hardly that scandalous either. It's definitely not the strangest kink out there and Stiles is barely into it. Just using the name, really. It's like surface level, if anything. Just the tip.
Peter's smile is beautiful and Stiles feels a flicker of satisfaction in his chest. Stiles likes the soft chuckle and nod. And it's fun and teasing again which Stiles lives for. This is good. Definitely good. Peter's response is totally stupid but... it's also kinda true. Broadening horizons, self-growth. Yeah, yeah, sure. But it only gets better when Peter goes on and calls himself Daddy again and then stands up.
Stiles is all eyes when Peter turns around for him, apparently going to give him a little show. Score! Peter is relaxed, clearly in no hurry to strip (which Stiles has zero complaints over). Peter does have a lovely ass, round and firm and Stiles wants to touch but Peter is moving away to step out of his boxers and Stiles does possess some self-restraint. Stiles is half-hard and he's eager to have Peter in the bath with him.
'Do you still want company?'
"Yes, please," Stiles purrs and then licks his lips.
Peter strips down and Stiles does not disappoint, his eyes wide with interest. Peter doesn't need the strokes to his ego; he knows he looks good, but seeing Stiles' attention still has a smile playing around his lips. It's a wonderful side-note to what could have been an awkward conversation but Peter is relieved that the moment has passed. Stiles doesn't seem to be held up on issues of self-esteem anymore, especially now that Peter is just as nude as he is. It's almost an odd feeling to be naked with another person after so many half-clothed fucks in the past few years. Peter likes it.
Stiles apparently does too, as Peter can both see his interest and scent it on the air. He catches Stiles wetting his lips and hearing him 'ask' so sweetly has Peter smirking. It does beg the question of how to situate himself, but Peter has an idea over that as well. Oh, he has a certain desire to get Stiles ready for later that evening, but a little indulgence never hurt anyone.
He sets one hand on the edge of the bath and then, not looking away from Stiles, Peter steps over and then slides one foot into the Jacuzzi. It's more than big enough to sit two people comfortably and leave plenty of room to spare, so it's likely no surprise when Peter settles into the space across from Stiles, next to where the crystal dish had been set. But before Stiles can do much of anything, Peter shifts and reaches out, both hands settling on Stiles' waist.
He makes a point to appear like it's at least a half an effort as he lifts Stiles ever so slightly out of the water. Pulling him in closer, Peter turns Stiles around so that Stiles' back is to his chest, and then he settles back against the edge of the tub, settling Stiles' ass on his thighs. It's a sudden shift from teasing to something much more intimate, and Peter winds an arm around Stiles as he presses a kiss to the back of his shoulder. Then, without drawing away, Peter selects a half of a strawberry and draws it in close, pressing it to Stiles' lips.
"I assume you'll forgive me the indulgence, but I didn't get the chance to feel you like this the last time. May I indulge myself?"
Rub-a-dub-dub Stiles and Peter are gonna be in the tub. Stiles has no idea how this will play out. He's never actually bathed with anyone before. He's used to more or less communal showers from his lacrosse days and he'd taken a few showers with some of his Craigslist hookups but they had mostly been awkward. With only one shower head, someone is always left out of the direct spray. Movies were bullshit. They made partnered showers look way better, but Stiles knows the truth.
But this is a fuckin' fancy jacuzzi tub and it's big enough for them, perhaps even a third person, too. They'll both be warm so Stiles thinks this will actually be nice. Now, they're somewhat limited as to what can happen in the bath. Stiles knows he can't go rawr-maul on Peter. The pricy snack bowl is still on the ledge and Stiles has the idea that Peter will want to feed him more. (Truthfully, Stiles doesn't mind, he's a fan of free food.)
Peter gracefully climbs into the tub and sits across from him. Stiles is wondering if he should re-arrange his legs at all when Peter's hands come and hold onto his waist. Peter than lifts him and maneuvers him closer. He's turned around (and Stiles really does like Peter manhandling him). Stiles doesn't sit just between Peter's legs, no, he's sat on Peter's lap and Peter's cock is nestled in close to him and Stiles wiggles a little to show that he's aware of it. Peter wraps an arm around him and then kisses him on the shoulder. Stiles considers looking back over his shoulder and snarking something out... but he decides to enjoy the moment.
And when another section of strawberry is lifted to his lips, Stiles parts them obediently and takes in the juicy piece. Strawberries are damn delicious.
"Indulge away," Stiles answers and he lets himself sag against Peter, he lets his eyes close and he takes in all the points of contact between them. The water swirls lightly and Peter is warm and firm underneath him (all parts, not just his dick). They're both naked and Stiles has never just been close to someone naked and not doing it -- or doing something blatantly sexual. It's a little weird, but not bad. "Not interested in a wife and kids, Peter?" Stiles suddenly asks. "Or too busy for that right now?"
Pulling Stiles in close like this is a bit of a test, perhaps, and he passes with flying colors. Peter's eyes half-close when Stiles wiggles back against him, as it's been a little while since he'd felt someone so perfectly eager to simply touch him. The heat of the water couples with the drag of Stiles' skin and for a moment Peter does consider merely moving Stiles and reaching for the lube that's already in the bathroom (never let it be said that he isn't prepared). But he doesn't, as the feeling of another willing body against his own, wiggling and warm and smelling more and more of Peter's home is preferable to orgasm, though that's still in the back of his mind.
Stiles eats the strawberry and Peter enjoys the press of lips against his fingers as he slides it into Stiles' mouth. With a low hum of satisfaction, he turns his head and his chin drags slowly over Stiles' shoulder. Yet despite the pleasure he feels when Stiles leans back against him so perfectly, Peter doesn't push beyond this. He peppers Stiles' skin with small kisses and he's all set to slide his hand down lower when Stiles' voice cuts in and Peter blinks, going still.
He's caught briefly off guard at the idea of Stiles asking about him, and he gives real thought as to whether or not to answer, but really, it's hardly a secret. Besides, Stiles taking an interest makes something pleased twist in his stomach.
"Sudden, but not unwelcome," Peter comments under his breath. He takes another slice of strawberry, aware that Stiles seems to like them best. His free hand strokes slowly over Stiles' abdomen, lazily touching him. "I'm far busier than I should be, I suppose. Given how many nights I stay at the office, my schedule is erratic. I can think of very few people who would be willing to put up with that. Besides," Peter adds with a soft breath of a laugh, "in a sense, I already have kids and I have no desire to have more. I raised my niece and nephew since they were young. Been down that road already."
It's true that asking questions shows interest and usually that's a good thing. Peter hasn't barred him from asking either... It's just that coming out and asking about the whole wife and kids thing could be touchy for some. Stiles knows that he doesn't always like being asked when he's going to acquire a girlfriend or a boyfriend. He's pretty sure Peter isn't full-on gay either. Of course, there's nothing wrong with being a legit homosexual, it's just that Stiles doesn't want to cut any gender out. He likes them both. Both are good.
Peter really does mean to indulge. He kisses his shoulders with light kisses that threaten to have goosebumps rising up from the teasing touch and the drag of stubble. Peter gives a little comment that Stiles can't quite hear but Stiles doesn't think it's necessarily bad because Peter's hand rubs against his stomach and Stiles feels arousal curl through him.
Peter answers him and it's not clipped or short or vague even. So Peter is very busy with a bad schedule (and a stupid voice in Stiles' mind says that that's a warning sign). As Peter goes on, it's clear from his tone that Peter is quite close to his family. It's kind of sweet, really. Stiles hums happily, his eyes remaining closed. When another piece of strawberry if lifted to his mouth, Stiles rubs his lips slowly against it before opening and letting Peter place the fruit in his mouth.
"I don't date," Stiles offers up easily once he's swallowed. "Love, relationships, that's going to be for later. Hopefully."
It's perhaps not what Peter had been expecting, but that doesn't mean that he wants to keep quiet. Stiles' question does show interest in return and Peter can respect that. A one-way street is hardly beneficial if he's already asked Stiles to open up to him. This feels like fair play if nothing else. If Stiles wants to know, Peter can't really say that he's against talking about it. It's not sharing information on clients and he hardly thinks Stiles is a corporate spy, though that would be amusing.
Instead Peter simply answers the questions and Stiles listens, indulging Peter by eating the strawberry with a slightly-lewd flare. Peter thinks back to Stiles on his knees the last time he'd hired him, and a spark of desire to one day feel Stiles' mouth again does rise up. He's comfortable to let it linger in his mind.
But when Stiles offers up his own information in return, Peter lifts an eyebrow in surprise. He only stills for a moment before he's back to pressing kisses over Stiles' shoulder. He works his way to Stiles' neck, his stubble dragging over the mark he'd sucked into it in the car. Peter hums his acknowledgment, and as he does so, he lets his hand dip down ever so slightly. It bypasses Stiles' cock to instead slide languidly along one of his thighs, all the way down to his knee and back.
"You're young; you have plenty of time," Peter says simply, as it's the truth. "You're a charming young man. I don't see you having trouble finding someone to relate to once you decide it's time. I don't really get any benefit out of telling you that I find you fascinating, and that I enjoy the insights you give when you give them. So take that to mean that I'm genuine in that compliment. You're a remarkable young man, Stiles."
A remarkable young man with dangerously low self-esteem, but Peter isn't going to mention that. Instead he keeps touching, keeps kissing, and when he reaches for the bowl, it's for another piece of cheese. The morsels are dwindling, but Peter hardly minds. Stiles feels good against him, and getting to languidly touch is practically sinful.
"If you're curious about anything, you're welcome to ask me. I'd offer up another game, but that might make me take my hands off of you, and I'm not quite ready to do that." Peter punctuates this with a kiss just under Stiles' jaw and a hint of teeth.
It should probably be stranger to be asking personal questions to a client and sharing personal tidbits about himself, but it somehow isn't. It's nice to be able to talk openly -- at least with Peter. It's not always like this, of course. There are clients that Stiles doesn't care to converse with. Peter is just... Peter. It's somehow fun to get to know him. Stiles finds himself at ease with the lawyer. More or less. It's not been perfect - and nothing ever is - but it's been pretty damn good.
Stiles doesn't know what kind of reaction Peter gives to what he's said. He can't see Peter's expression. He could feel Peter tense if he were to do so, but that's about it. But Peter doesn't tense (not that Stiles expected him to). Peter's response is to kiss his shoulder and Stiles' lips pull into a pleased smile. That smile falters because Peter continues to kiss and his stubble rubs over the suck-mark and Stiles groans at the sensitivity. Peter's hand roams lower and Stiles readies himself, thinking that Peter is going to touch his dick--
But Peter doesn't. Peter's hand actually goes lower and touches his thigh and his knee and shit. Stiles exhales slowly, choosing to enjoy the teasing and the tension as he listens. Stiles knows he's young and has time. And Stiles doesn't think he'll have a difficult time finding someone either. He's not too sure about him being fascinating and Peter enjoying his insights, but it's nice to hear at any rate. A 'remarkable young man' sounds like something a guidance counselor would say, but Stiles keeps that to himself.
Peter does a bit more kissing and touching and Stiles continues to let himself be lax. He eats when Peter brings him another piece of cheese and Stiles enjoys being in Peter's lap, he enjoys that they're both fully naked and pressed close. He definitely hadn't been expecting anything like this to happen, but he's drinking it up. Stiles makes a thoughtful sound when Peter goes on to invite questions. The idea of another game is interesting but the thought is dashed when Peter's mouth presses a kiss under his jaw and teeth graze.
"You going to fuck me tonight, Peter?" Stiles huskily asks. He pushes his neck into Peter's mouth, encouraging the older man. It should be rather obvious that's what Stiles wants as well.
It's a game for Peter to monitor just how certain activities get Stiles' pulse skipping. Kissing his shoulder had netted a good response, but moving over the sensitive mark on his throat had been one even better. Peter listens to the skip of Stiles' pulse, listens to the way that his breathing deepens and feels the way he shudders, the way he wants, and Peter isn't surprised to scent the increase of arousal on the air. He half-wants to bury himself in it, to feel Stiles shake apart again. His jaw aches with the memory of eating Stiles out so thoroughly, and Peter heavily considers doing that again. But... no, questions first, if Stiles wants them.
And he apparently does, but not in the way Peter had assumed. Instead, when Stiles asks his question, it's low and rough, and Peter feels Stiles push into the scrape of his teeth. Peter's eyes threaten to glint for a moment but he shoves the desire aside, taking the time to breathe through the shock of want that spears through him. He hums a soft sound, sucking another little mark into Stiles' skin, just under his jaw, and when his teeth scrape again - and then gently bite - it's around the previous mark he'd left.
"Yes," he says simply, his voice warm against Stiles' throat. "Had I known how interesting you were, I would have booked your time sooner, or kept you for as much of the weekend as I could. As perfect as your mouth felt, I did wish I'd gotten to fuck you. I intend to satisfy that desire this time." His voice is low, and rough with satisfaction.
Peter's hand slides up a little higher, and though he does want to take his time and tease a little more, he considers the moment and then moves his hand down to the crux of Stiles' legs. There's no fanfare and no warning as Peter's hand wraps carefully around Stiles' cock, giving it a slow stroke and a gentle squeeze. His lips brush against the lobe of Stiles' ear, and when his teeth scrape again, it's a careful bite.
"I intend to get you off before that, though. Tell me, Stiles. You give oral perfectly. How well do you take it?"
Admittedly, there are other questions Stiles could ask. He is actually curious about Peter. He wants to get to know him better. He wants to know things. Like how old Peter even is. Or how long Peter has been in the city for. If his niece and nephew live on this property in the other house. Stiles wants to know what Peter likes and dislikes about his job, if he's ever morally bothered by any of it, and why Peter wanted to become a lawyer. Stiles wants to know about Peter's hobbies, about his ambitions, his nightmares. He also wants to inquire about Peter's other vices. Stiles can't help but be curious about what fun trouble they might get into.
But the question that Sitles has asked is also one that interests him. Stiles wants Peter to fuck him. Stiles thinks - no, he knows - that the sex would be fucking awesome. It's been a long while since Stiles has actually wanted anything badly, but ever since meeting Peter... Ever since Peter had touched and tasted him, ever since Peter had so thoroughly satisfied him and cared about his pleasure... Stiles couldn't help but think about Peter fucking him too.
Stiles is hard and aching as soon as the question is out and he pays specific attention to how Peter responds. Peter gives a soft, thoughtful sound before sucking on his neck. A bite follows and Stiles gasps as his hands clench into fists in the water. Peter's yes, and his words, are spoken against his skin and Stiles' heart beats faster in his chest. Peter intends to 'satisfy that desire' and Stiles is totally on board for that. He can't wait (but he has a feeling that he's going to have to).
Peter's hand roams upward and wraps around his cock and Stiles' hips jerk into the touch greedily. But as Peter's mouth goes to his ear, teeth grazing over his lobe, Stiles learns that Peter also intends to get him off before that.
'You give oral perfectly. How well do you take it?'
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Stiles often doesn't get blown. He hadn't expected that Peter would offer it but once again Peter likes to surprise him. He's momentarily flabbergasted. Stiles doesn't have moments like these either. Weird. He quickly gets his brain back working again.
"Guess we'll have to find out, won't we?" He murmurs. He's not necessarily certain how a blowjob is going to be facilitated while in the bath. Will he sit on the edge (after the bowl is moved)? Will they relocate? Tune in next time!
That reaction is what Peter had wanted to see. His gaze all but glitters red as he feels Stiles tense and scents the way his arousal spikes. Peter looks down over Stiles' shoulder, admiring the way that Stiles' cock fills out the space in his palm, and he doesn't chide Stiles for thrusting up to get more sensation. Instead Peter lets him, lets Stiles get a few grinds in before he gently eases Stiles' legs spread and shifts himself down.
The water is warm against him, bubbling pleasantly as the jets pulse, and it's the water that makes it possible as he rolls his hips up, grinding his cock lightly against the back of Stiles' thighs. Stiles either understands or just wants it that badly, as it isn't long before Peter feels Stiles' thighs on either side of his cock, squeezing as he scrapes his teeth slowly over Stiles' throat.
A part of Peter is tempted to merely fuck into the space between Stiles' thighs. He considers what to do, and while he's loathe to move Stiles away, the desire for more very quickly becomes impossible to ignore.
Peter takes his hand away and moves the bowl to the floor. Then, reaching back, he takes a fluffy towel off of the towel rack nearby and then sets it against the edge of the tub. Turning the jets down to a low, comfortable simmer, Peter shifts up and - manhandling Stiles with ease - he lifts him up, turns him around, and winds up sitting him down on the towel. Peter turns, kneeling between his legs without shame, still mostly submersed. Smirking up at him easily, he leans in and presses a kiss to Stiles' wet abdomen, chasing a drop of water down with his tongue as it slides down Stiles' skin.
"I'll move this to the bedroom eventually," Peter says simply, his hands framing Stiles' hips to keep him steady. "It would be difficult to finger you open like this. But I can't control all of my impatience..." With a small quirk of a smile, Peter leans in.
He takes his time, his lips moving slowly from Stiles' knee all the way up to the groove of his hip. Peter mostly kisses, but he does bite once on the inside of Stiles' thigh, and then again up near his hipbone. By the time he finally turns his head and his lips press against the base of Stiles' cock, Peter can practically feel Stiles vibrating out of his skin with need. It's a good feeling.
Peter eases his legs apart, pushes him down and Stiles feels Peter's hard cock slide against his skin. It's a pleasant tease and reminder of what's going to happen tonight. Later, though. Because right now apparently Peter wants to suck him off and Stiles really has no problem with that. Zero problems. He's still surprised that Peter is into this - that Peter is going to do this - because Peter isn't the type to offer it and not follow through. Stiles is going to have Peter blow him. Fuuuuck, it's going to be good. Stiles doesn't often get blowjobs. Certain clients do touch him and seem interested in his dick and his enjoyment but as soon as Stiles turns his attention onto them, usually that interest dies down. Stiles doesn't mind, though.
It's actually easier to focus on getting someone else off versus himself. To his clients, he's desirable. He's paid to lavish attention and please the client. His enjoyment is not a necessity and frankly, sometimes Stiles has to lie through his teeth. It's a part. He's playing a part. It's a version of himself (because the fewer lies one has to tell, the more authentic the performance is).
It doesn't feel like he needs to act with Peter (or it's feeling less and less like an act). Maybe Stiles is losing himself to this role, but why not? Pampered hooker. At least for another night. Peter wants to indulge and Peter wants to indulge in him, and Stiles isn't about to let Peter down. When Peter's hand moves, Stiles' eyes open. He sees Peter set the bowl aside, grab a towel--
But they're not getting out. The towel is placed on the ledge, like it's going to be a pillow for him. Peter is quick and fluid in the water, strong hands move and lift Stiles up to place him down on the towel. The towel is essentially a pillow, soft and fluffy and making a barrier against the cooler edge. But that's not important because Peter is kneeling before him and between his legs and fuck, Stiles' cock is fully hard, alert and jutting out proudly.
Stiles is practically gaping at the sight, being wet and out the water is a little ugh, but Peter is smirking and leaning forward, his mouth on his stomach and Stiles swallows as his body tenses in anticipation. Hands grip his hips and Stiles can't imagine ever wanting to pull away.
He's breathing harsher, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed as Peter casually mentions that they'll move to the room eventually. Peter doesn't start immediately on his dick. No, lips kiss and explore, they drag over wet, heated skin and a few bites are given which have Stiles hissing. His body is primed and waiting, cataloging each small movement of Peter and hoping that it's a movement that gets Peter's mouth closer to his erection. His toes wiggle in the water and when Peter's mouth presses lightly against his cock - finally - Stiles' hands fly to bury into Peter's hair.
"Please, Daddy," slips out. "Suck me."
There's a part of Peter's instincts that growl within his chest, irritated at the position he finds himself in. Despite his arousal, he's still an Alpha. There's a part of his instincts that find themselves indignant at being lower than another person, on his knees for another. It's a submissive position even if Peter doesn't find it to be so. His instincts do, however, and so there's a note of displeasure within, but it's so faded, so unimportant that Peter hardly even considers it. Not when the alternative is seeing Stiles look so wrecked.
Peter drinks in the sight, watches as arousal and need curl like pleasure under his skin, and Peter looks up, admiring the flush on Stiles' cheeks, admiring his wide, doe-like eyes as Peter teases him mercilessly.
Only when Stiles' cock is hard and jutting out from his body, the tip nearly red with need does Peter lower his lips to the base of it, and all of a sudden hands are buried in his hair, bold and strong with need, and it's all Peter can do to not chuckle with the knowledge. He hums lowly under his breath, the sound pleased. Instead of being indignant that Stiles has grabbed his hair, Peter encourages it, pushing up into the touch ever so slightly. Peter can feel the ripples from the way Stiles' toes are wiggling in pleasure and it's such a small denotation of pleasure that Peter aches to give Stiles what he needs.
But it's the sudden Please, Daddy that truly lights a metaphorical fire under Peter's desires. He snaps a sharp look up to Stiles, his pupils blown with arousal, and really, there's no denying that. He draws away just enough to press a kiss to Stiles' abdomen, his tongue catching a stray drop of water.
"I will. You've been patient. The last few hours, the last few months... I think that deserves a reward, don't you, Stiles?" Peter's smirk is somehow both lazy and sharp, and when he presses a kiss to the sensitive underside of Stiles' cock, he rubs his lips over it slowly. "Let Daddy take care of you."
Peter doesn't tease. Instead, with Stiles' fingers in his hair, Peter leans back down and parts his lips. Stiles certainly has nothing to be ashamed of, as Peter does feel a little ache of disuse in his jaw when he opens his mouth wide enough to take the head of Stiles' cock into it. Peter doesn't often do this, after all, but it takes him moments to adjust. With a hum - that likely feels significantly different to Stiles now - Peter slowly takes in more of Stiles' cock, his lips closing around velvet skin, and when he sucks back up slowly, he uses just enough suction to really feel.
Okay, okay, he likes it. Stiles likes calling Peter Daddy and he wants to be a good boy or baby boy but this is just a Peter-thing. It's just a surface level kink that Stiles is enjoying. It's nothing serious. It doesn't say anything about him. It doesn't define Stiles or mean anything. He's not looking for any sort of father figure or care. He doesn't want to be babied. He already has an awesome dad. Stiles wants to push it from his mind, to simply enjoy the fact that Peter is kneeling before him and his mouth is on his dick. It is fucking hot and Stiles feels keyed up and ready to see just how good Peter gives it.
His words have Peter shooting him a look, pulling away to give his stomach another kiss and then talking about giving him a reward. Fuck, that shouldn't be hot. It's not like he's a dog, but he wants it. He wants Peter to give him a reward. Peter goes back to his cock (thank god) and then Stiles hears, 'Let Daddy take care of you' coupled with sinful lips brushing against the underside of his cock and Stiles doesn't even care that he moans like a slut.
Peter gets on with it and Stiles is rapt. He watches with blatant hunger and interest as Peter's mouth opens and moves onto him. Wet, hotness envelops him and Stiles is left shaking and trying to battle back the urge to just thrust and fuck into Peter's mouth. He feels the vibration of Peter's hum against his dick and Stiles gives a soft huff of laughter.
"On-only you would be thoughtful while sucking cock," Stiles tries to joke but doesn't think he manages it.
His fingers curl, nails digging in slightly as Peter sucks back up. "God, please, don't tease, please don't go slow," Stiles whines. "Hardly ever get this," he adds on. It may be kind of pathetic, but Stiles just wants a fucking messy intense blowjob, okay?
Stiles' scent is thick and heady here, the musk coupled with the oil from the bath and the salt of arousal, and Peter is fairly certain that he could quite happily bury his face in against Stiles' skin and practically drink him in. This close he breathes him in, careless of how odd it might seem. Wolves operate based on scent before anything else, and Peter can sense the endorphin and desire and need practically pounding through Stiles' body even before Stiles' fingers clumsily grab at his hair. Peter feels the dig of nails against his scalp and his groan is soft but no less heartfelt. He feels the tremble in Stiles' body, feels the way his muscles fight to hold him back from thrusting, and Peter looks up blatantly as Stiles shakes, as the flush of his skin crawls down his pretty throat all the way to his swollen nipples.
It takes effort to control his wolf, especially considering he can feel the curl of desire to draw back from Stiles' cock and bite him properly. Peter doesn't let himself fall into that trap. Instead he listens as Stiles babbles his pleas and, with a smirk that touches his eyes more than anything else, Peter considers. He could give Stiles what he wants, but he does still want to prepare him. Peter wonders idly what would be worse - starting only to stop and relocate or just getting it out of the way now.
With a slow suck - exactly the teasing that Stiles hadn't asked for - Peter draws back off of his cock and wets his lips. "If you can be a good boy - If you can wait one more minute - I promise you I won't go slow. I'll let you fuck Daddy's mouth exactly how you want."
Reaching back haphazardly, Peter shuts off the water jets and then leans back to unstop the drain. It doesn't matter to him that he'd only just got in; some things are far more important. So when he stands and steps out onto the bath mat, it's with purpose. Peter hastily grabs a towel to pass over himself, hardly caring about the dampness of his skin, and then he reaches over and lifts Stiles up off of the edge of the tub.
It's... admittedly reckless to be so blatant with his strength but his focus is less cemented now. He lifts Stiles almost effortlessly and carries him out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.
He braces Stiles with one hand as he spreads his towel down over top of the bed, and when he lays him down against the large, King-sized bed, Peter wastes no time in climbing onto it after him. He makes Stiles wait only long enough to retrieve a bottle of lubricant and a condom from the side-table drawer and then Peter situates himself between Stiles' legs, murmuring near-soundless praise against Stiles' skin as Peter kisses his hip. And, without comment, without warning, Peter leans down and takes the head of Stiles' cock into his mouth again, his tongue flicking and rubbing against the sensitive underside as he sucks him down.
Peter gives Stiles what he'd asked for. He waits only until he's situated before he begins to bob his head, sucking wetly, feeling the weight and heat of Stiles' cock thickly on his tongue as Peter takes him in deep. It's only then that he reaches for the lube, wetting his fingers and bringing them to the cleft of Stiles' ass. Peter touches, and when he finds that Stiles' hole is already a little slick with something more than just water, he feigns a small sound of surprise, then lets the pleased hum he actually feels rumble out as he rubs his fingers against Stiles' hole. He pushes one in carefully, but doesn't stop until he feels Stiles' heat all around his finger all the way to the knuckle.
Stiles wants, god does he ever want. He wants Peter's mouth, he wants to both experience and enjoy being the recipient of a messy blowjob. It doesn't matter if it's over quick. While Stiles has already gotten off once tonight, the rarity of receiving head should make it rather easy to get off again. Multiple orgasms seem to be Peter's speciality anyway. Stiles should enjoy this, should enjoy every last fucking drop of his good luck. There's no guarantee this will last, that Peter's attention won't wane -- it could happen in five minutes or in two hours. This could be their last night all over again. After all, Peter had been busy with work and Peter usually doesn't have repeats with escorts.
Stiles may be worked up and desperate, but he sees what his words and tone (and Daddy) pull out of Peter. There's enjoyment or amusement in Peter's eyes. Satisfaction. There's an acknowledgment that Peter is in power here and in control of how things go. Stiles isn't scared -- he likes it. He exhales lightly, about to protest when Peter sucks slowly and pulls off.
But then the words come and they're a promise. 'I'll let you fuck Daddy's mouth exactly how you want.'
A minute. He can be a good boy and be patient and wait a minute. Stiles gives a shaky nod, not trusting his voice because the prospect of fucking Peter's mouth - Daddy's mouth - is obscenely hot. It becomes clear quickly that bath time is over. Stiles lets go of Peter's head as Peter goes to stop the jets and drain the water. A towel is grabbed next and haphazardly ran over Peter's skin and then Peter just fucking lifts him up like he's a damn toddler and Stiles wraps his legs around Peter's waist while his arms loop around Peter's neck.
The journey isn't long. It turns out that the room that the bathroom is attached to is Peter's. The towel is placed down over the bed and then Stiles is laid on it. He feels a little dazed that this is happening and Peter is quick as he grabs what looks to be lube and a condom. Stiles drops his head down on the mattress and then searches for a pillow to rest his head on. Peter gets back in between his legs and Stiles' pulse thunders on. No preamble is given, Peter just opens his mouth and gets back to it.
Stiles' eyes shut tightly, his hands clawing at the soft blankets. Peter doesn't tease, he goes to town and Stiles jerks as he feels how hot and wet and tight Peter's mouth is around him. It's fucking perfect. So fucking perfect. Stiles is lost in the feeling of Peter taking him deep that it's not until a slick finger is touching him that Stiles realizes Peter is going to finger him open too.
Stiles already has stretched himself a little before meeting up so it's not too uncomfortable when Peter works one finger inside of him. It's that coupled with Peter's skillful mouth that is another thing entirely. Stiles always fingers himself open before a client. He doesn't exactly trust another to do it from start to finish anyway. It's always made sense to take it into his own hands. He's also never been blown and fingered at the same time. It's intense and Stiles shudders and attempts to take in a few shaky breaths to adjust or calm down.
"Fuck, yeah-- yes, Peter," he moans. And it's completely ineloquent but whatever. "Another finger, I can take it. Wanna be full while I fuck your mouth."
There's something addicting about the way Stiles reacts. Peter's taken people to his bed before, and he does enjoy the way certain people respond to him. He's good in bed; he's never had any complaints and he's had enough accolades to know that they hadn't been a fluke. Yet there's something so organic and raw in the way that Stiles reacts. Nothing is faked. He doesn't affect his voice to sound louder than it is; his reactions aren't loud and dishonest. He doesn't writhe his hips to look good. Instead every response that Stiles has is real. When his hips twist, it's because he's chasing pleasure. When his hands grip, it's because he needs something to hold onto. And when he moans or cries out, it's beautifully imperfect and breathless. Peter actually finds himself quite fond of the babbling.
He likes this. And as he takes Stiles' cock in deep enough that the head brushes against the back of his throat before sucking back up wetly, Peter admits to himself that he likes this too. He likes using his mouth, and while it's been awhile since he's sucked someone off, it's not rocket science. Stiles doesn't want finesse and fanfare. He wants wet and messy and hard and Peter intends to give him just that. So he does, and when Stiles' hands grab at the blankets, when his jaw drops in sensation and his cock throbs between Peter's lips, Peter merely allows himself a pleased hum before redoubling his effort.
He sucks Stiles wetly and messily, not sparing him the sounds that he undoubtedly wants. Is it dignified? No. Oral sex rarely is. Dignity hardly matters if Peter's focus is saving face instead of giving pleasure, and so he takes. He sucks Stiles in deep with quick flicks of his tongue, and when he draws back up, he immediately presses his tongue to Stiles' slit, tasting salt and bitter and musk and wanting it all the more. That coupled with the way Stiles' body clenches down so beautifully around his finger, and it's a wonder that Peter has self-control left.
Luckily he still does, so when Stiles moans out his plea, Peter doesn't question him. Stiles feels relaxed - still tight and desperate, but not painfully so - and so Peter doesn't hesitate as he draws his finger out and then slowly presses back in with two. With a low groan, Peter draws off of Stiles' cock, presses a wet kiss to the head, and wets his lips. His fingers curl pointedly.
"Fuck up into my mouth and back on my fingers, Stiles," he says against Stiles' cock. "Don't worry, don't stop. I can handle it. You've earned a bit of a reward for waiting so patiently and being such a good boy."
He lowers his head again, but this time he just sucks the head of Stiles' cock back into his mouth before glancing up at him pointedly. There's a coaxing hunger in Peter's eyes as he presses in deep with his fingers.
Peter isn't coy. He's not a tease, he's not lacking in confidence and it feels fucking perfect. Maybe it's because Stiles doesn't often get head that it feels this good, maybe Peter is a literal sex god, Stiles doesn't know. It's refreshing in that he doesn't need to work hard for his pleasure. If he's fucking someone, it can be tiring. Like this, laid out on Peter's bed with Peter sucking him off and fingering him, Stiles is a captive to the pleasure. He takes it, he takes Peter's finger, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't want more.
Peter had promised that he could fuck Daddy's mouth and when Stiles does that, he wants to be be full with Peter's fingers. There's no shame with asking, well, telling Peter what he wants. Peter is sucking him hard and taking him deep. There's wet suck sounds, it's not neat and tidy but Stiles is living for it. The messier the better, because why not? Enthusiasm is hot and Stiles remembers how put together and sexy-professional Peter had looked only an hour or so ago, but not so much now.
When Peter pushes two fingers in, the familiar stretch intensifies and a pleasant fullness overtakes Stiles. Then those very fingers curl and brush against his prostate and Stiles almost misses what Peter says - to fuck into his mouth and onto his fingers - but he doesn't. Stiles still hears despite the groan that is so effortlessly pulled out of him. Once again, reassurances follow, that Peter can take it, that he's being such a good boy and Stiles feels hot and so fucking wired and ready to enjoy this. There's no hesitation, no reservations.
"Yeah, god-- please," Stiles sputters out as he does just that: his hips thrust up and Peter doesn't move away. Stiles fucks up into Peter's mouth, the suction perfect, his cock brushing the back of Peter's throat just right. He then pushes onto Peter's fingers, feeling them nice and deep, ready to coax and tease him. Stiles' back arches off the bed, his toes curl as he grips tightly at the blankets and takes what Peter is offering. He builds up a somewhat awkward-but-frenzied pace of fucking Peter's mouth with his cock and squirming onto Peter's fingers. Most of the wet slick fucking and sucking sounds are drowned out by Stiles' own enthusiastic sounds and labored breathing.
He may be putting a little bit of work in this now, but the payoff is amazing. Stiles feels taken with pleasure, with the freedom to be reckless and greedy and be gifted such attention. He basks in it. He lets himself go and when he comes, it's with him practically chanting Peter's name while writhing on the bed.
Stiles doesn't get this often. It's rather clear that that's the case. There's responsive, and then there's the way that Stiles' body seems to jerk to life when Peter's fingers curl ever so slightly, or the way his jaw goes slack when Peter sucks him down deep enough that Stiles' cock brushes the back of his throat. Stiles' fingers grip and clench at the sheets under him and the sounds he makes are like music to Peter's ears as he coaxes Stiles into doing what he'd said, into moving his hips, into fucking Peter's mouth and then down onto his fingers. And while it takes Stiles a few moments to really understand, to realize that Peter is serious, when he does, there's hardly any hesitation.
The first awkward thrust into Peter's mouth is all he needs to adjust his angle and suction to match what Stiles wants. He's always been an intuitive man, and adjustments are necessary in the courtroom, in life, and in sex. So while the first thrust is wet and messy, the second is more controlled, less audible, but still good if the way Stiles' hole clenches and twitches around Peter's fingers is any indication. There's a moment where Stiles seems to psych himself up to do this, and then, just like that, he goes for it, and it's perfect.
Peter's groan is drowned out by the sounds that Stiles makes as he starts to eagerly fuck Peter's mouth. Stiles begins carefully, as if testing Peter's limits, but it isn't long before he's thrusting up eagerly and then back down on Peter's fingers. Peter sucks hard, lets Stiles fuck into his mouth the way few likely allow him to do, and Peter doesn't slow him down or pull back. Instead he fucks Stiles with his fingers, focusing on precise twists of his fingers to stretch and bold curls that make Stiles shake and shudder and thrust up even harder into Peter's mouth.
He's wild with abandon and pleasure, and it's beautiful. Peter watches with sharp focus as Stiles' head tilts back, as the flush works down his chest, as his breathing becomes more and more labored as he fucks up into wet, sucking heat. Peter thinks he could watch this every day if he let himself (which is dangerous) but he dismisses the thought as Stiles' breathing begins to shudder and hitch, as his rhythm begins to falter. Aware of what that means, Peter sucks harder, starts to bob his head pointedly and flick his tongue over Stiles' slit when he can. It's messy and perfect, and it isn't long before Stiles is making high-pitched, needy sounds that Peter wishes he could record.
There's no verbal warning when Stiles begins to come, but Peter scents the flood of endorphins, scents the bitter-salt on the air, and with a sound that is likely too close to a growl, Peter grabs Stiles around the hips and sucks him down deep into his throat, swallowing around his cock and keeping him there as Stiles' voice breaks on his name. Peter's fingers keep fucking, keep curling, and it's likely beyond intense as he swallows down Stiles' come, sucking to prolong his pleasure like it's the only thing he wants.
And only when Stiles' body feels like it's singing with sensitivity does Peter slowly relax his throat and suck his way back up Stiles' cock. When he finally draws off, even he needs to take a few moments to catch his breath and swallow down the pleasantly-used ache in his throat. His eyes are practically glittering in satisfaction.
"That's my sweet boy," he praises, his voice a slightly-used rasp.
When Stiles comes, Peter only takes him impossibly deeper and his cock throbs its release down Peter's throat. Somehow Peter doesn't even gag but Stiles is too gone to really pay any attention to it or care. Peter's fingers relentlessly work him, brushing up against his prostate and causing him to squirm and Peter's name to become somewhat of a garbled mess as he moans it out.
Hands down, it's the best orgasm Stiles has ever experienced. It's an 11 out of 10. At least. Maybe a 12. It's one for the ages. It's one he's going to tell Lydia about (but perhaps save her a few details). Stiles feels wrung out, pleasure and relief and warmth zinging through him. It quickly tumbles over into an intensity that has Stiles oversensitive and overloaded, but somehow Peter seems to eventually (thankfully) get the picture and the hoovering stops, his mouth pulling off and his fingers withdrawing.
Stiles is left panting, his ass feeling empty now that Peter's fingers are out, his dick spent and a dopey-but-surprised smile on his face. His fingers relax their frantic bird-clutching at the silk-or-bamboo sheets. He stares up at the ceiling, blinking, dazed. And when Peter's praise comes, Stiles can hear the roughness to it and he really likes being the reason for it. His dick is the reason for it. Peter had let him fuck his mouth with abandon. Peter had practically played the role of a prostitute for him...
Peter had also said my sweet boy... (Stiles can remember his mom stroking his hair as the lame chick flick played on, the couple passionately embracing after overcoming wherever plot devices that had got in their way, and she had whispered, 'You're a sweet boy, Stiles. You make sure you love with all your heart and find someone who cherishes you the same.')
Something in Stiles' chest aches fiercely. For the first time ever, he really wishes this wasn't his situation. He wishes he'd met Peter somewhere normal and they could maybe date instead of just fuck when Peter fancies to book him. Stiles wishes he didn't need to sell himself and he didn't have to lie to his friends and family. Panic piles in and Stiles had thought that getting emotional after orgasms had been dramatized but here he is. And he's never lost his shit in front of a client but it's going to happen, it's happening.
"I can't," he croaks out and hastily sits up, rubbing at his face and sniffing the tears back. This is horrible. He feels so embarrassed for getting emotional which only compounds things. His chest feels tight, his throat too. "Can't do this. I'm sorry but I need to go home. They'll refund you."
This is what Peter likes to see. The lazy smile on Stiles' lips, the flush to his cheeks, the way his chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, and the dazed bliss in his eyes - all of it has Peter's attention sharpening. There's a rawness to his throat, and even he feels breathless. The taste of come is bitter on the back of his tongue, and Peter knows he doesn't look any more composed, but there's pride in his eyes and satisfaction in his posture as Stiles shudders and twitches in the aftershocks, looking blissed-out and lazily relaxed. Peter's comment is nothing but idle fondness, praise for a job well done. Stiles seems to enjoy the whole Daddy kink thing, and it's no different...
But Peter can tell within seconds that something has changed. It's the scent on the air at first, a slightly-sour one that tinges Stiles' skin as stress begins to crawl out. The fond look in Peter's eyes eases and he shifts up onto his elbows, watching carefully. As he watches, Stiles' pulse begins to pick up, and Peter reaches out, gently touching Stiles' hip in an attempt to offer some comfort, but Stiles appears immediately lost in his own mind. It's quick - is it too quick for sub-drop? Peter frowns mildly, a small furrow on his brow as Stiles' displeasure grows wilder, and when Peter scents the salt of tears, he gives in and sits back on his heels.
Stiles sits up like a sprung mousetrap, and there's emotion burning in his eyes. Peter's concern grows, but he doesn't touch until he knows that Stiles can still form complete sentences. His voice is thick, but he manages. Not a sudden panic attack, not recoiling, just... sad and scared for reasons unknown. Peter wants to ask, but he also wants to offer Stiles as much dignity as he can right now.
"I don't need a refund. If you need to go home, you need to go home. Before you do, though, humor me just for a moment, please."
Peter waits to make sure that Stiles isn't about to bolt, and then he stands up. There's no shame in his nudity as he walks back to the bathroom - quicker than before - and when he comes back out, he has another towel in hand, as well as Stiles' clothes, which he puts within reach. Peter then wraps the towel - thick and fluffy, and a little heavy - around his shoulders, and encloses it around him before settling next to Stiles. He pulls the towel up over Stiles' head, helping him dry off, but also giving him the illusion of privacy.
"I'll call you a car when you're ready. But before you go, was this because I pushed too far?"
This is a disaster, a fucking pathetic disaster at that. Stiles doesn't cry (often). He doesn't get weepy and emotional and he especially doesn't do it around strangers. Never. Peter is, essentially, a stranger. Stiles needs to remember that. No matter how good Peter may treat him, Peter isn't his friend. Peter isn't his lover or his partner either. Peter is a client. A paying client that Stiles is letting down because of what, a memory and wave of doubt and self-pity? Things had been fine before Peter. Not perfect, but fine. Stiles had been fine. He hadn't necessarily felt great about what he was doing, but being self-sufficient had overshadowed that. After all, it feels good to be self-reliant, to be responsible and doing the adult thing and managing his money and school--
And somehow Peter has dislodged things and Stiles hates it, he hates what it implies, he doesn't want to face it. It's like hushed voices talking on the other side of a door and Stiles just needs to come closer. As a kid, he'd never been able to resist; he'd tip-toe up and try to hear, he'd press his ear against the door and squint his eyes in concentration. His parents hadn't wanted to tell him about his mom's illness, but he'd found out. Back then, he'd wanted to be a sheriff just like his dad and his snooping skills were something he'd prided himself in... But this implication, he doesn't want to uncover it.
Stiles isn't ridiculous enough to not look at Peter. Peter looks concerned (and still beautiful) but he's not angry or freaking out at least. Peter is all no-nonsense and kind which... isn't much of a surprise. It is difficult to have Peter treating him nice, however. Peter had paid for the whole night. Stiles had wanted to stay the night. A part of him doesn't want to go home. A part of him wants to spill his guts to Peter like he imagines guilty people do to a priest in confession.
But that's... that's dangerous. That's not smart and Stiles knows that he's gotta be smart if he's going to make it. He's quiet as Peter quickly leaves, striding to the bathroom and retrieving his clothes and a towel. Stiles' nipples are still sore, his dick is softening, there's lube slicking his ass but Peter wraps him in a towel and Stiles sits like a little kid.
Peter actually pulls the towel over his head and Stiles looks down. Shame burns through him but like this, his hair falling into his eyes and the towel like a hood, he does have some privacy (and he's sure, he's so fucking sure that this is intentional because Stiles has a feeling that Peter is exactly the type to defuse situations like this and is probably good at it).
'I'll call you a car when you're ready. But before you go, was this because I pushed too far?'
Stiles shakes his head and inhales sharply through his nostrils, trying to pull himself together and use his fucking voice and words like an adult. "No, not at all," Stiles finally manages, his voice tight but not wretched-sounding at least. "You're great. Too great. That's the problem."
Peter's done this before with Derek. True, the circumstances are always different, and there's significantly more clothing involved, but every now and then, something in Derek twists and snaps and he either shoves back hard enough to be violent, or he breaks down in silence that even Laura feels uncomfortable intervening in. It makes sense. They show grief in different ways, and while it's been years since the fire, Derek represses things deeply and won't talk generally. So Peter finds a blanket to wrap around him, pulls it over his head, and waits for Derek to either stand and leave, or slowly lean in against his side. They rarely talk unless it's necessary, but this is nothing new for Peter.
He might not know Stiles' history or what this is, but he knows how to handle a sudden flare of emotion. Peter's main concern is that he's pushed too far, so when Stiles manages to grab himself together enough to tell him it hadn't been Peter's fault (at least in the way he'd been concerned about), he finds himself relaxing a little bit, nodding his relief even though Stiles can't see it.
The issue then is that Peter has nothing to go on. So when Stiles continues, explaining that he's great, and that's the problem, Peter stills, frowning, as he can take that statement in one of a few ways. The most obvious is that Stiles isn't used to being treated well (which makes something in Peter's instincts bristle). The next is more of a stretch, in that Stiles is upset that Peter is a client, but that seems less believable. At least given the context.
So instead Peter reaches over and gently sets one hand on Stiles' shoulder. He doesn't press, doesn't urge or encourage him to lean over. He just touches to make a connection, to at least try to get Stiles to understand that he's not upset. Peter's no rapist; he'd never insist on getting his money's worth.
"I don't want to assume, and I'm not about to push you to explain. But if you do want to talk, we can. If not, you hopefully still have my number. You can call me at any time."
This is stupid. So totally stupid. It shouldn't matter that Peter is great in bed. It shouldn't matter that Peter would be like, a nice candidate to potentially date in an alternate universe because it sure as hell couldn't be this one. Stiles is from a small town and Stiles is a nobody. He goes to college and he volunteers at a senior's center. Peter is a big shot lawyer with a reputation and a business and under normal circumstances, they'd have never met. The places that Peter would possibly go to, Stiles wouldn't go to on his own. Even if Peter doesn't want a family, Peter is still a catch for any of the elite and Stiles... Stiles is practically a kid in comparison.
He'd thought that moving to the city and getting his own place and going to school and getting a job would make him feel like an adult. Because he is eighteen. He's technically an adult. He pays his bills and rent on time. He manages to save up money too. He's been doing good, hasn't he? But right now Stiles doesn't feel like much of an adult. He's got a towel wrapped around him and he's fucking this up because he's decided to have some sort of emotional fit for no good reason.
Peter's hand comes to rest on his shoulder and Stiles doesn't want to find it comforting, but he does. He hates that he feels the urge to crawl up onto Peter's lap and let Peter hold him. He's fine. He's an adult. Being an escort was Stiles' choice. It's not like he has some evil pimp and he's being abused and exploited. He has it way easier than so many others. He doesn't even get mistreated.
At least Peter doesn't quiz him on what's wrong. Stiles doesn't want to let himself wonder what Peter may be thinking. He just gives a nod, and pulls away, drying off more thoroughly and pulling on his clothing. The shirt drags against his nipples and causes him to wince but it's fine. Peter, ever the gentleman, puts on a robe and calls him a car despite Stiles' feeble protests that he can just cab it.
All in all, it's not the most awkward thing he's dealt with in his life, but it does place at the top for his work. Stiles has never had to fucking flee from a client. It's beyond embarrassing (even if Peter is being stupidly nice and accommodating about it). Peter had made him think of his mom and then Stiles had felt bad for being an escort and wanting to potentially date Peter (and how would that even work out? It wouldn't, that's how).
Stiles may not know exactly what's wrong with him, but he knows he can't see Peter again.