Love makes people do crazy things. Stiles found this out firsthand, in the most difficult way possible.
When he first met Peter Hale, he was immediately distracted by the man’s confidence and impressive good looks. He had arrived at Peter’s venue on a call and left a while later with the mysterious owner’s card in his pocket.
They went out the very next night. Peter Hale didn’t waste time.
There was something odd about dating the dark, charming businessman. He was only available at night. Stiles couldn’t have imagined Peter’s secret. He just assumed the man was a gorgeous (albeit salacious) night club owner who slept during the day due to his type of professional activity.
Thus, all their dates took place in the evenings. Stiles was wined and dined in the finest establishments and it didn’t take long for their mutual attraction to blossom. They fell into the sack together after their fourth outing. Stiles precipitated into Peter’s enormous, welcoming bed (and arms).
The sex was smoking hot. Peter was even hotter. Stiles couldn’t get enough of his older “daddy,” riding his huge cock whenever he could. They would ravage each other for hours on end, Stiles nearly in tears from the amount of pleasure he was experiencing.
He thought nothing of how cool Peter’s skin always felt or how his steel-blue eyes haunted his dreams. Stiles’ days were spent policing, just waiting for the sunset which would allow him access to his lover.
Both were insatiable and their connection visceral.
But it wasn't just about sex.
Peter treated Stiles like a pet, showering him with affection and little gifts. He treasured him and protected him. He didn’t intend to fall for a human. (A human with creamy skin and doe eyes and the finest ass he’d ever seen. A human who was loyal to a fault and would give his own life for those he cared about). But he did.
Stiles didn’t mean to fall in love with a supernatural creature. But he did. One night, toying with a blood kink, Peter lost control and bared his fangs. He had no choice but to reveal himself to Stiles. It was less of a shock than the vampire expected. But then again, he discovered Stiles’ best friend was a werewolf so…
Love. It made Stiles pine and agonize until he convinced himself that he couldn’t live without Peter Hale. Days were torture and the nights never lasted long enough.
He decided. He wouldn’t live without Peter Hale. Stiles Stilinski begged to be turned and Peter was just blinded enough by his yearning for the boy that he acquiesced.
Nothing would change what was to come. After all, he had pleaded with Peter for it. No one questioned the insanity behind the gesture and even though it had been a century since Peter had fathered any new fledglings, to their desperate minds it seemed like the logical thing to do. They loved each other and wanted to spend the rest of time together.
The dark creature fell upon Stiles one starry night. One swoop. A tender embrace and a lover’s kiss later, fangs broke skin. Stiles moaned, a mix of delight and pain leaving him writhing in Peter’s arms.
Peter had just fed. A young runaway who had wandered into the wrong bar on the wrong night. As the warm, metallic liquid pumped through his veins, the taste of copper on his tongue bringing life to his physical senses, his bite was diminishing Stiles’ mortality. Stiles, wearing only a ripped shirt, knelt on the floor. He was limp, plagued with an insatiable thirst.
Everything was a contradiction. He felt fuller yet incomplete. His flesh was hot and cold, the mark on his neck searing.
Peter had retreated once Stiles had drunk from him, moving to the bed across the room. He floated there, with the grace of the best ballerinas. Once he was comfortable, he removed his blood-stained clothes.
His physique was perfect, as if carved out of alabaster. Powerful arms and abs and a little trail of dark hair that…
Stiles tried not to look there but the sight of Peter’s thick uncut cock, so rigid and ready, was an easy distraction. His own somehow stirred despite his body going crazy with the change.
“You’re beautiful,” Peter murmured, satisfied with himself. He admired his creation.
Stiles was indeed very attractive. From his russet eyes to the chestnut hair that couldn’t be tamed… it all framed a tight, lithe body. Youth. Perfection.
Stiles gazed in his maker’s direction, smiling faintly. He studied the lines of Peter’s face which seemed to be simultaneously chiseled yet… soft. It was after feeding that Peter looked his best, his bronze vampire eyes glowing from the rush. They would return to azure once the feeding peak faded, but until then he looked like a god.
He was divine, Stiles thought, and not without some subconscious envy.
“You more,” the brunette replied truthfully.
“Come here,” Peter demanded. “I want to look at you. Hold you. Come here my angel.”
The boy blushed, an unnatural tinge to his cheeks from the sudden rush of his maker’s blood. Relishing the new heat within himself, enchanted by the sensational feeling of being alive yet not quite dead, his whole being shook.
It was a strange line to walk, that of eternal life and human death. So many emotions were battling inside him. It was probably normal he felt out of control.
Something entered his mind, paranoid thoughts. He vaguely remembered having these panic attacks, the throat constricted upon itself, heart racing. Except his heart was slowing down. His stomach was cramping.
What if the Dark Gift didn’t take? What if he perished right here never to see Peter or his loved ones again?
Sadness paralyzed him.
Life without Peter? An ETERNITY without Peter? No. It was too painful to consider. Stiles wiped his eyes as small pink drops fell slowly upon his shirt, leaving tiny rose-colored stains against the white fabric.
“Why do you weep, child? Does the hunger pain you so?” Peter called him over to the bed with a curled finger, and Stiles finally obeyed. The mattress dipped under both their weights.
Soft fingertips traced the ruby tracks on Stiles’ cheeks as comforting words flowed from Peter’s tongue like a siren song. “Stiles,” the name spoken so lightly and softly it was like a caress. “Stiles, why do you weep? You’re perfect, my angel. You’re mine. Nothing will happen to you.”
Stiles gazed, eyes saucered and his face for a moment frighteningly ashen.
“Peter, I’m sad. I can’t imagine leaving you when you’ve given me so much.”
The words came out dry and raspy, fueled by sorrow and hunger. Peter grinned, fangs shimmering in the low lamp light. There was still a hematic stain on his chin.
“My sweet one, all is not lost. I’ll never ask you to leave. I don’t want you to leave. I love you, Stiles. We shall reign together forever. I’m only stronger with you by my side, pet.”
Stiles feigned a smile, revealing his teeth. They were ivory and strong and visibly metamorphosing, growing longer and narrower. Stiles was sprouting his fangs. He touched them with the tip of his tongue.
“But what if…” Stiles managed, but the rest of the phrase faded. He grimaced in pain.
Peter raised a cold, pale hand and touched his smooth neck.. The skin was so supple, yet somehow hard. Like cashmere on marble. Peter could feel the blood rushing in Stiles’ jugular, a steady and sweet gush, heartbeat low.
“How you remind me of someone I once knew, Stiles. Many, many years ago. Although you are not of his bloodline, you resemble him so. Don’t fear, pet. I will never let you go. Eternity shall be ours.”
Dawn was near. Stiles felt himself grow colder, and a shiver overtook him. He looked to Peter for comfort. He didn’t want to sleep alone, face the night of the change alone.
The anxious sun rose just as Peter reached for his Stiles. “Come closer. Lie with me.”
Stiles nuzzled his maker. Peter cupped his face and kissed the top of his nose. The boy sighed into him. Their lips met and their tongues softly brushed, fang clanging fang. The taste of Stiles' blood mixed with Peter's made the brunette purr.
Peter smiled, watching Stiles' pupils change. His eyes were becoming golden.
Stiles had a face of true innocence, and turning didn't alter that. His honey eyes were mirrors reflecting the child-like rapture and exuberance he possessed. If Peter looked deep enough, he could see straight into Stiles’ soul.
“Hush now and sleep, my love. It will all be over tomorrow.”
Stiles would need guidance. He was a fledgling. Come the vampire dawn he would need blood. Fresh blood. Stiles would have to feed on his first human. Peter would aid him, start him off with someone strong and vibrant, a symbol of what he could become in a few centuries.
Hot and thick, flowing slow or fast, blood tied them together. It was what tethered all their kind.
For now, however, Stiles was confused, battling his body and psyche for some vampiric equilibrium.
“I will wake up, tomorrow? Right, Peter?”
“Of course.” The maker squeezed him tight. “You will wake as my beautiful vampire mate. And eternity will be ours for the taking.”
“I love you, Peter. Thank you for this.”
A hand stroked Stiles’ hair and their long legs intertwined. “It was a selfish act but I couldn’t face the rest of time without you. I love you, Stiles.”