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Warmth (of His Arms)

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Sleep is still clinging to Stiles, weighing down his eyes and keeping his breathing nice and slow. He’s not awake yet, but he’s toying the line of the consciousness, his brain still hazy and his thoughts calm. Peter is like a radiator behind him, giving off enough heat that Stiles is bordering the line of too warm but he’s comfortable so that it doesn’t bother him.

His mind wakes slowly, something that has never happened to Stiles before. Normally he wakes in a shot, his brain going from unconscious-to-racing-thoughts in a second. This morning is different, and it feels like he’s floating out of sleep, slowly rising towards consciousness in a way that feels far more comfortable that he’s used to. He realizes he’s smiling, a soft twist of his lips that he seems to have woken up with.

Stiles can feel Peter against his back and he presses more firmly against him. Peter makes an appreciative noise, the hand that had been resting lightly on Stiles’ hip moving to wrap around him and settle over his belly, holding him more fully and pulling Stiles back into him. Stiles giggles when Peter noses up the back of his neck, tickling the short hairs along his nape.

“Good morning, darling,” Peter’s voice is rough with sleep, deeper than Stiles is used to and the sound brings attention to the erection Stiles has woken up with. He’s lying on his side, one arm folded under his pillow and he rolls so he’s mostly on his stomach, biting into his bottom lip to keep in a noise when his dick presses into the mattress. “Oh sweetheart, this is a lovely way to wake up.”

Stiles blushes, hiding his face deeper in the pillow, getting distracted by how soft the pillowcase is under his cheek. He’s so comfortable, and Stiles is sure that the cost of Peter’s mattress would give him a heart attack—and that’s not even accounting for how ridiculously expensive his sheets must be.

When Peter had asked him if he wanted to stay the night, Stiles had already been more than halfway to asleep, lying on top of the covers on Peter’s bed and comfortably sunken into the mattress. It definitely had not been a fair question, but Stiles hadn’t felt too upset at the way it felt like his only option was to say yes.

Peter shifts behind him, and Stiles lets out a startled gasp when Peter rolls over to him, once again pressing against Stiles’ back. His weight presses him down, increasing the pressure with which Stiles’ hips are pressed into the bed and he moans quietly. Peter is so warm, all supernatural heat, and it’s all that Stiles can feel.

“Sweetheart?” Peter asks, his voice a soft, kind timbre that Stiles wants to get lost in. “Is this alright?”

“Y-yeah,” Stiles says, stuttering over the word as it tumbles from his mouth. Peter's chest is bare and Stiles can feel the brush of body hair against his back, and lower he can feel the heavy weight of Peter’s erection pressing against the curve of his ass.

Peter hums, going back to nosing along the back of Stiles’ neck, dipping lower to drag his chin and jaw along the dip between Stiles’ shoulders. His goatee tickles Stiles’ skin but his jaw is stubbled and the short hairs scratch where Peter is nuzzling him. Peter rests his elbows on either side of Stiles’ torso, his forearms pressed against Stiles’ sides as he keeps them pressed together.

“What do you want, Stiles?” Peter asks into his skin. Fangs catch against his throat and Stiles arches his neck, giving Peter as much room as he could possibly want. The wolf makes a pleased noise, dipping his head down and nosing up the length of Stiles’ throat. When he licks up Stiles’ skin, they both moan.

“I-I—” the words get caught up in his throat, and for the first time, Stiles can’t express what he wants with words. He lets out a noise of frustration before he decides to show and not tell, and he spreads his legs out, pushing up on his knees to arch his back. It pushes his ass firmly against the hard line of Peter’s dick and the wolf moans, an animalistic noise that vibrates through Stiles’ body.

“Such a good boy,” Peter tells him, his voice sounding completely wrecked. The words make Stiles’ spine tingle and he arches his back even more, rolling his hips down into the bed and then back up against Peter’s dick.

Peter growls, a sound that should scare him but does nothing but make his cock leak, and Stiles groans loudly when Peter closes his mouth over the delicate skin of his neck. The bite is unexpected but not unwelcome and Stiles pushes his head back even more, whining when Peter worries the skin with his teeth, sealing his mouth in a circle and sucking harshly.

It feels good and the way Peter is rolling his hips feels even better. Stiles can hardly breathe, his breath catching every time Peter grinds his dick down against Stiles’ ass. Stiles feels overwhelmed with all that is going on. The entirety of his sexual experiences consists of two make out sessions and a lot of masturbation, and he has no idea what he’s supposed to do.

Peter ,” Stiles whines, not able to say anything more. He’d be embarrassed by how he sounds if he didn’t feel so good, but all Stiles can think of is how much everything is.

“It’s alright, Stiles,” Peter tells him, and he sounds so sure that Stiles finds it easy to believe him.

“You’re going to feel so good, baby,” Peter groans out, dragging his bottom lip up Stiles’ neck before he’s back to biting and sucking. Stiles has never been given a hickey, but he is damn sure that’s what Peter is doing, and the thought of being marked makes his cock twitch painfully.

“What do you want, sweetheart? You have to tell me what you want,” Peter presses the words into Stiles’ skin, sucking up another mark before Stiles can even process his question.

“I-I want you, Peter, please ,” Stiles pants out, words mumbled by the pillow his face is pressed into. The fabric is wet from where he’s been drooling, but he can’t find it within himself to care.

“Tell me what you want, darling,” Peter says again and his voice is harder than before, more serious, and Stiles does his best to focus in order to answer the question he now thinks Peter is really asking him.

“I want you to touch me,” Stiles begs, crying out when Peter’s hands slip under his chest to pinch his nipples. It causes him to jump but Peter’s bulk weighs him down and he can’t do anything but take it as Peter rolls both nubs between his fingers, making Stiles feel good in a way he didn’t know was possible.

“What else do you want from me, baby?”

“I need you to fuck me, Peter, please , I need—need you inside ,” Stiles has no idea what he’s saying, words spilling from his mouth as he presses against Peter—trying to get more or less he has no idea but needing something . His body feels like it’s on fire, his blood singing under his skin and all Peter has done is bite his neck and play with his nipples.

(Distantly, he’s a little worried he’s going to die, if Peter keeps making him feel this good. He knows it’s silly, but he’s overwhelmed enough that he believes it to be a possibility. A heart attack during sex sounds like a pretty good way to go, though, so he pushes the thought away.)

“That’s my good boy,” Peter praises, and his words settle over Stiles like a blanket; warm and safe. “Such a sweet, sweet boy.”

Stiles whines again, pushing his ass up in hopes that Peter will do something , and he cries out when Peter slides down his body, dragging his jaw and his teeth and his tongue down Stiles’ back, nipping and sucking as he goes. By the time Peter gets to his ass, Stiles is breathless with anticipation.

He has no idea what to expect, and he doesn’t know if that makes it all better or worse. Anticipation makes his stomach feel tight and he’s leaking precome steadily. His boxers are damp with it, soaked through, and Stiles is sure that he has leaked through onto Peter’s sheets. Peter presses one last sucking kiss to the dip right above Stiles’ ass before he pulls back, putting distance between them for the first time since they woke up.

Stiles’ stomach drops when Peter peels him out of his underwear, his breath ghosting over Stiles’ ass. It’s too intimate, and he wants to hide. Peter is seeing so much of him, too much of him, and he feels insecurity build up when Peter palms his ass, squeezing his cheeks and spreading them apart.

“Oh darling, you smell so sweet for me,” Peter tells him, and his words are slurred by his fangs. Stiles gets a thrill knowing that he is affecting Peter like this, knowing that he can cause Peter to lose control. It’s a heady feeling, and he preens, pushing his ass out more as he shamelessly spreads his legs. “ My god, look at you ,” Peter croaks, and he sounds just as wrecked as Stiles feels.

Suddenly Stiles shouts , his entire body jumping as Peter licks a wet strip up his ass. His tongue is warm when it passes against his hole, a rough slide of texture that makes Stiles’ entire body light up. Nothing has ever felt so good before and he sobs out when Peter pushes against his rim, licking him with long, broad strokes of his tongue.

Peter keeps working him over and all Stiles can do is feel. His cock is achingly hard, so much that it hurts, and every time Peter pushes his tongue into his ass, his cock spurts another bead of precome. Peter is still massaging the globes of his ass, pulling him open and making room for himself inside of Stiles.

They both moan, though the noise Peter makes drowns out Stiles’ pitiful mewl. Peter makes a hungry sound, diving back in with more enthusiasm and Stiles can do nothing but fist the sheets in his hands in a desperate attempt to hold on . It feels like Peter is taking him apart with his tongue, like Stiles is going to split apart, break into a million tiny pieces that will all belong to Peter.

“You taste amazing,” Peter tells him, and while Stiles isn’t sure he believes him, he’s too out of it to argue. Peter dives back in, rubbing his stubbled jaw over Stiles’ rim in a way that makes him sob. He’s too sensitive there, and the rough slide of stubble is almost too much.

But Peter doesn’t stop, and Stiles’ fingers start to ache where they’re holding onto the sheets. His thighs start to shake, a minute tremble that he can feel in the muscles of his legs, and still Peter keeps going, fucking Stiles with his tongue until he’s actually crying, tears leaking out of his eyes.

When Peter finally pulls back, gasping for air, Stiles can barely breathe. He’s overwhelmed, his thighs shaking where he’s trying to hold himself up. It feels like he can feel everything , like his entire body is alight with sensation. His ass feels so good, and his rim is tingling from the phantom brush of Peter’s tongue.

“Amazing, sweetheart, you’re amazing,” Peter says, running a hand up and down Stiles’ back in long, gentle strokes that help to ground him. “I’m going to open you up now, alright? Get you nice and ready for my cock.”

The crassness of the word makes Stiles shiver despite what has just happened. Peter shifts on the bed, his weight moving away, and Stiles makes a confused, distressed noise low in his throat as he tries to crane his neck to see where Peter is going.

“It’s okay, love, I’m just getting the lube,” Peter assures him, his voice sweet. He keeps a wide hand spread over Stiles’ back and it helps. “I can’t fuck you like this. You’re still too tight for me, baby, and I don’t want to hurt you. I told you I was going to make you feel good, didn’t I?”

Stiles nods. He doesn’t think he can speak, not at this point, so he nods until Peter settles back behind him. His thighs are warm where they press against Stiles’, and he jerks forward when the head of Peter’s cock brushes against his hole, leaving behind a smear of wetness that can only be precome. Stiles pushes back into it, excitement building up at the base of his spine.

A cap pops but Stiles doesn’t bother to turn around. He’s still face down in the bed, a cramp in his neck that is dulled by how good his entire body is feeling. Peter’s runs his hand over Stiles’ side, up to his ribs and back down, touching him gently and making Stiles feel more settled.

“Are you ready, sweetheart? Ready for me to get you all loose, get your pretty little hole all nice and open for me to fuck?” Peter asks, and even though it’s most likely rhetorical, Stiles nods his head, letting out a noise that could be a “yes” but mostly sounds like an injured animal.

When the tip of Peter’s finger presses against his hole, Stiles is nearly disappointed, but then it pushes in , a smooth glide until Stiles can feel Peter’s hand press against his ass. When he twists his wrist Stiles cries out, the sensation of Peters finger brushing inside making him feel light-headed.

Stiles drifts as Peter fingers him, floating in the sensation of his finger sliding slowly in and out. It doesn’t hurt or burn like he expected, just feels easy and pleasurable. Stiles is ready when Peter adds a second one, and other than a slight stretch it doesn't hurt. It feels good, easy, and Stiles’ body opens readily. Lube squelches but the sound doesn’t do anything to turn him off, not when Peter’s fingers are reaching deeper than before.

Unfgh !” Stiles shouts, a garbled noise that does nothing to express how fucking good whatever Peter is doing feels. It—it feels like Peter is lighting him up, flaying him alive from the inside. Fuck, it feels like he’s being electrocuted, his entire body suddenly wracked by shivers that make him shake around Peter’s fingers.

“You’re doing so good,” Peter croons, his voice a soft wave that gently pierces through the arousal Stiles is lost in. He whines and arches his back, pushing his ass against Peter’s fingers to try to get more. “Do you want more? Do you want me to fill you up, baby?”

Stiles manages a very weak “yes”, his voice scratching out of his throat. He jerks forward when Peter pours lube directly onto his hole, the cool liquid making his entire body shiver. It’s all too much, so much, the way Peter is still pressing inside him and how cold the lube is.

Peter presses his fingers forward again and Stiles feels the burn of stretch as Peter slips a third finger inside, making room for himself where no one has ever been before. Stiles’ mouth drops open, and he feels filled in a way that is overwhelming. Peter is slow, gently easing his fingers inside until he can’t get any deeper, holding them there as Stiles breathes.

When he moves , Stiles feels like he’s pulled apart by Peter’s fingers. It doesn’t hurt but it is a lot and Stiles doesn’t know what to do. He wants to push back into it as much as he wants to pull away. Peter is still running his other hand up and down Stiles’ back in long sweeps and he tries to focus on that, the heat from Peter’s palm as it runs up and down his skin.

Peter works him open in a way that makes Stiles think he’s taking his time. He fucks Stiles with his fingers almost leisurely, moving them in and out, twisting his fingers and pulling at Stiles’ rim. He feels like he’s going crazy, like he’s going to fly apart. Peter’s fingers are so thick and they’re pressing all inside him.

Stiles moans brokenly when Peter once again jabs them forward, fucking him with quick thrusts of his fingers before he slows back down. He pushes his ass higher, trying to get Peter to give him more, even if he doesn’t know what that is.

Stiles has never had to open a condom before, but he recognizes the sound of foil crinkling for what it is. He makes an upset noise, pulling forward and away from Peter’s fingers. Even though he can hardly think he knows that this is important, and he tries to pull himself out of the fog of arousal he has settled into.

“No,” he grits out, turning his head so his face isn’t pressed into the pillow

“Stiles—”

“No,” Stiles says again, his heart rate doubling as he slowly forms his words around a tongue that feels too heavy. “I want to feel you. W-want you to-to come...come inside me.”

Fuck ,” Peter cusses with so much feeling that the word echoes through Stiles’ body. Peter covers him with his body, fisting a hand into Stiles’ hair to angle his head back enough that Peter can lick into his mouth. It’s not their first kiss but it’s their dirtiest, and Stiles whines when he can’t kiss back like he wants, forced to let Peter lead the kiss with the way his neck is bent.

He does his best, sucking on Peter’s tongue and moaning when the man bites into his lip on this side of too much. As they’re kissing, Peter’s hand skims down Stiles’ back and he whines when Peter pushes his fingers back inside his ass, twisting his wrist and jabbing them in and out harshly, causing Stiles to cry out, his voice breaking each time Peter’s fingers press against his prostate. When he finally pulls his hand away, Stiles feels so empty that he sobs, but it isn’t long before Peter is there, lining up the head of his dick.

Peter slides forward in one smooth, long push that steals Stiles’ breath. It doesn’t hurt as much as Stiles thinks it should, and when Peter bottoms out Stiles lets out a shuddering exhale. Peter’s fingers were nothing compared to the girth of his cock and Stiles can’t catch his breath, helplessly panting for air as his body twists and squirms, trying to adjust to Peter’s size.

Stiles can feel the tip of claw when Peter grabs onto his hips, holding him still with a grip tight enough to bruise. Peter presses his fingers into the indent above Stiles’ ass, holding him still as he slowly begins to fuck into him, rolling his hips every time he thrusts forward. Stiles moves with him, helped along by the way Peter is moving him back into his thrusts.

He can do nothing but lie there and take it, making little punched-out sobs every time Peter hits his prostate. Stiles loses time, lost riding sensations. Everything is Peter: the way his hands are holding him up, the way his cock is stretching him open, the way his growl is vibrating through Stiles’ body, a nonstop rhythm over the noises Stiles is making.

When Peter touches his dick Stiles is off, coming so hard that he blacks out. He comes back to Peter nosing at his neck, rolling his hips gently as he runs his hands up and down Stiles’ sides. He’s shaking, his entire body wrung out with pleasure. His body is flat on the bed, Peter over him and inside him, weighing him down.

“Sweetheart?”

Ngh ,” Stiles says. He can’t say anything else, feeling too come-dumb to form words, but he manages to push his ass back just a little, a groan slipping out at the way it moves Peter’s still-hard cock. He’s drowning in Peter’s warmth, the only thing that’s keeping him from falling apart and Stiles whines when Peter starts rolling his hips.

“I’m almost done, darling. Just a little longer, that’s all. You’re doing so good, taking it so well. You look so pretty, baby, stretched around me like this,” Peter’s words are lost in Stiles’ skin, pressed into his neck and his shoulder, and soon enough he stills, hovering over Stiles as he shakes through an orgasm of his own, filling Stiles up.

The feeling of Peter coming inside him is just as good as Stiles had hoped, and when Peter finally rests his full weight over Stiles’ body his heart rate begins to slow. He’s able to take a deep breath, letting it fill his lungs. It reeks of sex, sweat and come heavy in his human nose, and he can only imagine what it must smell like for Peter.

His brain comes back slowly, and after what could be a few seconds but was probably a few minutes Stiles feels like he can actually form a coherent thought. Peter is breathing deeply on top of him, and Stiles makes a noise when he feels Peter’s cock slip out. It’s not comfortable, the way he’s suddenly gaping around nothing, and he feels Peter’s spend slide out of him.

Eventually, Peter gets too heavy and Stiles makes a little noise, wiggling under him to get him to move. Thankfully Peter doesn’t move away, and instead he just rolls onto his side. Stiles is facing him, and he smiles lazily when he sees that Peter’s face is shifted, his brow ridged and his cheeks hairy. He manages to get a hand raised between them, resting his palm on Peter’s sweaty cheek and rubbing his thumb over the hair.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Peter says and Stiles makes a negative noise, tugging on Peter’s sideburns as they begin to sink back into his skin. Peter takes a deep breath, giving Stiles a long look before he relaxes back into the bed, staying in his beta shift.

Stiles shifts closer, rolling onto his side as Peter moves to lie on his back. He pillows his head on the arm Peter lays out for him and curls into his side. He tucks his knees up against Peter’s thigh, letting one slide forward so he’s more comfortable, and he gives Peter a dreamy little smile.

“I think that was the best first time anyone has ever had,” Stiles tells him, gently patting Peter’s chest when he puffs it out, a ridiculously smug smile twisting up his lips. “Was it good for you?”

Peter gives him an incredulous look, letting his eyes dim before they brighten again. “Darling, I shifted without realizing it. Yes, it was good for me.”

“That’s good,” Stiles says, moving his head to Peter’s chest and nuzzling into his peck despite the sweat.

“Oh,” Stiles says, looking down at where Peter’s dick is laying softly against his thigh. “Huh, that’s really pretty.”

Peter blinks at him before he laughs loudly, a guffaw that Stiles knows no one else will ever get to hear, and asks, “Did you just call my penis pretty?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, raising a brow at Peter. “Can I suck it?”

“I might be a werewolf, but I’m still pushing forty. I need at least ten minutes,” Peter tells him, and Stiles makes a noise of disappointment. “Darling, you might need a bit of time yourself.”

“Oh,” Stiles breathes out, looking down at his own cock and finding it a painful looking red, completely spent where it’s lying against his stomach. “Yeah, I probably need ten minutes too.”