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A Goddamn Cliche

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You know, Stiles made promises on New Years Eve, resolutions. Declared things like how he was going to go to the gym more, read that one Bradbury book Lydia kept recommending, no longer do stupid shit.

 

He thought he'd break the “going to the gym” promise first.

 

“What do you mean you made out with your girlfriend's dad?”, Lydia's static filled voice filters through his laptop as she looks at him through skype.

 

“In my defense-”

 

“Oh please defend yourself on this,” Lydia cuts him off with a dry tone.

 

“Have you seen Peter Hale? Man is built like a Greek God,” maybe if Stiles kept talking he can avoid Lydia calling him out on his bs, “and he's always wearing v-necks so I was doomed from the start actually!”

 

“You're a goddamn cliche.”

 

“I'm a goddamn cliche,” Stiles agrees.

 

The comfortable silence between the two stretches for a little while, as Lydia processes what Stiles is telling her. And Stiles, well his mind is thinking back to when his morality went all down hill.

 


 

Two weeks ago

 

“My Father wants to meet you Sunday,” was the first thing Malia said after Stiles pulled out, and if that didn't signal sex time was over nothing could.

 

Rolling over Stiles tossed the condom to the trash can with practiced ease and reached for the rag to clean the two of them off. Only lightly hissing when the rough material went over his scratch marks.

 

“I've already met Henry, two days ago remember? He fucking loved me,” Stiles drops the rag and turns fully to Malia with a smile on his face and wiggles his brows, “thought I was an- and I quote- “upstanding citizen.” So?”

 

Malia just looks at him for a moment before, “My birth dad want to meet you. Peter.”

 

Stiles just rolls with the information bomb that Malia is in fact adopted and he not only has to meet one dad, but two. Nobody can say he doesn't know how to go with the flow- motion of the ocean and all that.

 

So he gives a lazy smile and says “sure”. He even says “sure”, when Malia declares they have sex again. Obviously he should've only said yes to one of those request.


It was a Saturday when Stiles learned Malia's father was Peter Hale . Also known one half of Beacon Hills’ almost. See unlike Malia, who hadn't moved to Beacon Hills until two years ago, Stiles and Peter grew up in the small town. And like most people who grow up in small towns, they have a shared history.

 

See Stiles had met Peter properly when he was eighteen to the older Hale's thirty-eight. Stiles was waiting on Cora to get ready for a party when Peter came down the stairs in one of his now famous Henley v-necks.

 

“You must be Stiles. Well you're not Cora's type,” Peter dryly said as he gave Stiles a once over.

 

Which thinking back, Stiles can understand as he was rocking a buzzed haircut and didn't know a shirt size smaller than extra large. But at the time, Stiles was a little miffed.

 

“Yeah I hear my sarcasm can be a bit too much for some”, Stiles retorted in an equally dry tone, “but who knows? It might just be because she gay.”

 

 At that Peter smiled and resumed his way towards the kitchen, “I like you Stiles.”

 

And that pretty much set the tone for their relationship. They made sarcastic barbs towards each other, talked about obscure historical facts, and Peter was even the one to give the big reveal.

 

“Well that explains why you said no dog jokes.”

 

“Yes, it's a tad insulting, as you can probably now guess to why.”

 

“Sorry about the one I did make.”

 

“It's okay.”

 

Slowly though their time together switched from witty banter to flirtatious suggestions. The stare’s got too long, touches more gentle, and Stiles seemed to walk around with a permanent blush. But he was still in high school, even though he's eighteen to Peter's thirty-eight. And in a place like Beacon Hills, all that would garner is bad attention. And Stiles should think of his father's heart, re-election, reputation.

 

But then the fire happened scattering most of the Hale's across the world- Peter included, and then the flimsy excuses no longer mattered. Because the Hale's were gone, and Stiles had made a decision.

 

By the time Peter came back, Derek and Cora in tow, Stiles was in college two towns over, and with a pretty girlfriend who was new to the area.


But anyways it was a Saturday when Stiles learned Malia's father was Peter Hale. And short to say he was freaking out.

 

“I don't know why you're worried about it dude,” was Scott's distracted moment of wisdom while he kept his focus on the latest Call Of Duty .

 

Stiles just sighs before dramatically flinging himself onto Scott's couch. Looking up at the ceiling Stiles wonders if he can somehow come up with a twenty-four hour flu just in time for tomorrow night's dinner. Danny could even fake a doctor's note for him! And maybe he can even eat his own cooking, just enough to garner the sickly look he'll need to pass off the lie.

 

“Plus it's not like Peter will even remember you,” Scott continues at Stiles silence, “It's been what? A year? Two- no four- years since you've seen him? And you have a girlfriend so I'm pretty sure you're over your one-sided romance.”

 

Oh, Stiles dimly remembers now, he never corrected Scott on the semantics of what went down between himself and Peter. Never told him about the flirting and definitely never told about how he practically threw himself at Peter in a moment of drunk weakness. Partly because, well Scott would've freaked out, and also because his best friend was already dealing with some furry troubles when Stiles Peter problem really picked up.

 

“You're right dude,” he agrees, because what's Stiles to do? Bring Scott up to date almost four years after the fact? No, that'd be way to responsible.

 


 

Now

 

“Wait,” Lydia finally speaks up, pulling Stiles out of his trip down memory lane, “how did you even get alone with Peter?? Isn't Malia like territorial during these type of things?”

 

“I wouldn't say ter-” Stiles tries to defend only for Lydia to cut him off again.

 

“She practically sat in your lap the first time she met me, because you told her how you had a Five Year Plan to woo me.”

 

He has to admit, that Malia does have a possessive streak a mile wide. And she did sit on his lap the entire  movie night when Lydia showed up. And she leaves more hickeys on him whenever she knows Danny will be in town.

 

“Okay, you're right. However, she wasn't exactly wanting to talk to me, so getting away,” Lydia raises her brow, “getting pulled away wasn't difficult.”

 


 

Yesterday night

 

They rebuilt the Hale house, was Stiles first thought upon seeing the house when he and Milia pulled up in his jeep.

 

The house looked almost like it did before, the pillars were painted the same off white as they stood in front of red and brown brick walls. Even the shutters of the windows held a weathered look as if this time they had stood the test of time. Stiles wondered if Peter left the second step on the staircase loose so it would squeak like it did before.

 

When him and Malia walk up the pouch towards the front door, Stiles reaches out to knock on the wood of the pillars out of habit. A tradition at the Hale house to bring good luck.

 

His knuckles meet harsh metal.

 

“I thought the phrase was knock on wood?” Malia inquires, “Why would you hit metal?”

 

“Wood didn't do this family all that well in the past,” was Stiles distracted response as he pushes the doorbell to the house. His mind already thinking about the millions of possible ways this could go wrong.

 

“Wait,” says Malia turning to him, “how would you know about-.” The door opens cutting off Malia and revealing Peter.

 

Peter doesn't even look at Stiles, all his attention on his daughter as he moves to give her a hug. Letting his wolf-like, and her coyote-like,  nature appear as they scent mark each other. And Stiles, well, well Stiles stares.

 

It's been four years since Stiles had seen Peter. The Hale was gone when Stiles went off to college, and anytime the young man went home he practically spent all his time at home or Scott's. So this is the first time Stiles is putting a newer face to the name he's only heard in passing for almost half a decade now.

And Peter looks good too. His hair that used to be slicked back like an old bond villain, is now set free and able to gently move with the soft breeze. Gone away is the goatee that was his trademark and now a full beard replaces it. But some things are still the same, like his arms bulging with muscle, and his hands big and strong looking. And his smile, when he does, still lights up the room.

 

Finally Peter and Malia are wrapping up the “how have you been” segment of the day, and Peter turns to him. The spark watches as the smile turns to the smirk while Peter head turns, as of slipping on a mask for the public. A mask for someone who doesn't know him as well as family would, as Stiles would, a smirk for an unsuspecting boyfriend.

 

“And you,” Peter's voice low as always just edging the line of inappropriate, “must be..”

 

When Peter finally looks at him his words trail off on shock, the words dying in his throat, and his eyes flash electric blue.

 

But Stiles smiles, “Stiles. Hey Creeperwolf.” At Peters small flinch Stiles feels his smile fall just a little before he places it back on like an unfit coat.

 


 

Now

 

“Did you really quote the first thing he said to you?” Lydia's voice ringing in disbelief, but the kind a friend gets when they deep down know the story is true.

 

“Yes,” rolling his eyes Stiles waves his hand in a circle, “Now can I continue?”

 

“Gross, but yes”

 

Stiles elects not to mention Lydia's love bringing Jackson back to humanity. 

 

 “Though skip to The Hallway Scene,” Stiles rolled his eyes fondly with a sigh.

 


 

 

Yesterday Night

 

After Malia confronted the two of them- mostly Peter however- about hiding relationships and the importance of being upfront, she went upstairs to her room. Needed time alone to think is the reasoning she gave Stiles, but it also successfully left himself alone in a room with Peter Hale.

 

“When did you get back into town?,” Stiles heard himself asking.

 

The older wolf was watching him, his blue eyes dark as an ocean as he takes a slow sip of his wine. When he’s finally pulls the glass away his lips are stained in a blood red. It makes Stiles wonder what color his eyes will shine if he flashed them right now.

 

“About two weeks after you left,” was Peter’s reply before he pulled his face into a mocking smirk, “When did you decided to date my daughter?”

 

If Stiles was a wolf he might have smelt the jealousy and shame that was starting to fill the air, but he’s not, so all he saw was a man trying to make a dig where he think it might hurt.

 

“I actually didn’t know she was your daughter until recently,” Stiles takes a deep breath, “and despite popular belief, my world does not revolve around you Peter Hale.” But it did, for a long time it really did, but Stiles got over that. And he’s an adult know who can see the flaws that is and was Peter Hale.

 

“Pity, it could’ve been fun,” the older Hale says while making his was towards the hallway that leads to the living room.

 

And well Stiles has always been a little curious, so he stands to his feet and follows the man down the hall, only to stop him about halfway through, “What could’ve?”

 

Peter looks down with a small “know it all” smile, “This.”

 

Suddenly Stiles feels lips pressed against his and a tongue making its way into his mouth. When rough hands place themselves on his cheek and waist he wonders if he should try to push Peter away. When a thigh is making its way between his legs he even considers how messed up this is and when he feels a bulge against his stomach he honestly just stops thinking.

 

But then Peter speaks lowly in his ear, “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

 

And it’s like his brain snaps back into place and he realizes this is not the Hale house from four years ago, where if anyone walked in on them now his biggest worry would be how do I tell my Dad I’m bi . It’s a rebuilt Hale house with rebuilt lives in it and part of Stiles new life is a pretty girlfriend who’s currently upstairs already mad at him for intentionally keeping a secret.  Stiles new life is a girlfriend who would hide his body if she even caught a whiff of someone else on him in a sexy way.

 

But more importantly, Peter’s new life includes having a daughter and reforming a bond with someone that he lost for almost twenty-two years. So with that in mind, Stiles leans away from Peter- who at this point was kissing at the base of his throat- and brokenly says, “I can’t, I’m sorry.”

 

And Stiles did something he’s never had to do to someone he loves. He walked away.

 


 

Now

 

“So basically,” Lydia starts off slowly, “you’re in love with your girlfriends dad?”

 

Stiles gives a small laugh, because of course the queen of perception caught that little detail in the mess of his story, “Yes, I am in love with my girlfriend’s dad.”

 

“Stiles,” Lydia says breaking him out of his thoughts, “do you want my advice or do you want me to enable?”

 

Stiles loves Lydia with all his heart. She really is the best friend he could ever ask for- sorry Scott- but he also knows her way too well.

 

“I have a choice?”

 

“Well no, but I'd read somewhere that the illusions of choices make telling people what they should do easier,” was Lydia's simple reply.

 

“I think that only works when the audience doesn't know they don't have a choice Lyds,” at Lydia's eye roll Stiles knew what he just said probably bounced off her as something that only a tiny detail.  

 

“Details. Anyways, you need to break up with Malia- preferably tonight. And maybe before she finds out you and Peter made out like two teens at prom?”

 

That could work, and although he still couldn’t be with Peter, at least he wouldn’t be stinging along Malia. Or she’d find it strange that he wants to break up with her right after meeting her father, then proceed to confront Peter which would only end badly either way it goes.

 

“Or, and hear me out,” Stiles starts talking over Lydia’s soft oh Stiles , “I could take advantage of the fact that I am over twenty-one, get drunk, and then call her tomorrow.”

 

The smile Lydia gives is soft, and definitely the kind of smile he would have gushed about in his early teens. But now he can see it clearly for what it is: soft acceptance boarding on pity, the kind that only friends can master without it being insulting.

 

“I know what I’m doing Lyds.”

 

“I never doubt that you do,” was her reply, “I never doubt that you do.”

 

They talk for a few more minutes about everything and nothing under the sun, but eventually the sun had to go down and Lydia needed to get ready for work in her part of the world (Ireland) so they both said their goodbyes and logged off skype.

 

The silence that filled Stiles room was defining and as he turned to look in the mirror he noticed a light bruise at the base of his neck. A small sad smile stretches onto his face before he gets up to make his way towards the small fridge containing cheap beer. Drinking the fizzy alcohol he looks over the list of resolutions for this year.

 

When the fizzy drink starts to turn smooth and his head turns a little fuzzy his eyes read the list over and over again and again.

 

Go to the gym. I run enough , he thinks dismissively.

 

Read Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. 1985 is close enough .    

 

Don’t do stupid shit. Fuck it .

Stiles walks - stumbles - to the phone laying ominously by his bed, his drunk mind trying to remember how the technology worked before finally unlocking it. You have to past Malia’s name before he gets to Peter’s , a voice that sounds a lot like Lydia’s whispers in his mind.

 

Well, it’s a good thing there a search engine huh Lyds?

 

P - E - T

 

Peter’s contact pops up and Stiles clicks call before he can change his mind.

 

A half asleep voice answers after the fifth ring- it is three a.m- “Hell-”

 

“I’m breaking my new years resolution by calling you, you know?” Stiles cuts off, his voice lowered to a whisper, as if anyone was in his house besides his shadow right now.

 

There was an answering silence for a few moments, moments that felt like years to the young adult who had, had one too many.  Then…

 

“Well, Stiles, there’s always next year.”