Stiles woke to his phone ringing at four in the afternoon, because apparently, he’d never even heard of a healthy sleep schedule before, and also; hated himself.
He blindly found it in the pocket of his jeans thrown haphazardly to the floor, and blinked at it for a few seconds before picking it up.
“‘Sup, Lyds?” he asked, just because he knew she hated the nickname, and she did wake him up.
“I’m killing Jackson,” she announced with unusual honesty. To be fair, any kind of honesty was unusual from her, considering her and Stiles only reconnected recently - and it wasn’t like they were too close in high school either.
“Congratulations?” Stiles said, his throat parched. He’d been on an audition yesterday. It didn’t go well, so he did the only sensible thing and went out partying all night, hoping to hook up. Now here he was, with only a headache to show for it.
“You’ve modeled before, right?” she asked, voice much sharper than what Stiles could tolerate at the moment, but he only flinched a little .
“I… sort of?” He mostly did small things. A few ads here-and-there, some understudy stuff in less-than-stellar plays. He had no idea why he was even trying anymore. “I was in a Pringles commercial?” It was his biggest accomplishment to date.
Belatedly, it occurred to him that this might be about an actual job, because Lydia was an editor with Argent Publishing. They were the creators of a wide range of magazines - most of them aimed at the supernatural.
“What’s going on?” he asked, suddenly much more awake and desperately trying to get the crumbs out of his eyes.
“Jackson was supposed to take over a shoot from Boyd for Fanged Foodies , so Boyd could take over for Isaac in a shoot with Erica so Isaac could fill in for someone over at Neckz ‘N’ Throats . And now he claims he can’t be in a ten feet radius of caviar because of some vacation he went to with his parents to the Bahamas in eighth grade that didn’t end well... is what’s going on,” she said, somehow all with one breath.
There were only a few words that registered from all of that. Namely, a shoot for Neckz ‘N’ Throats . The same werewolf skinmag he used to keep under his bed when he was a teenager. But there was no way in hell Lydia meant for him to…
“You’re bi, right?” she demanded, and he could almost see her throwing her hair over her shoulder in annoyance. “Or gay or something.”
“Bi, thanks. Your attention to detail is stellar,” Stiles said wryly, but she only huffed.
“I remember what matters. So yes or no?”
“Yes or no what? You haven’t actually asked me anything!” Stiles said with a touch of exasperation.
“Ugh, yes or no for a photo shoot for Neckz ‘N’ Throats ? Chop-chop, Stiles, get your head in the game.”
Holy shit. This wasn’t like how he imagined his day going. He was half convinced that he was still somehow dreaming.
“ Yes .”
Lydia rattled off some instructions - quick and merciless, like a machine gun - while Stiles tried to get his bearings. The shoot was in forty minutes. He had to wake himself up, shower, get dressed and get there on time.
He did everything on autopilot, feeling a bit numb from the shock.
His whole foray into the entertainment industry started when he was a little kid and his mom took him to a photo shoot for the local mattress store. All he had to do was get dressed in pajamas and jump up-and-down on some awesomely bouncy mattresses. It had been an amazing day, and he could still remember his mom laughing just off camera at his antics.
He forgot about the whole thing for a while, especially after she died, but when he was finished with high school, he had no idea what to do with himself. The problem wasn’t that he didn’t have anything he was passionate about, it was quite the opposite. He wanted to study criminal law, he wanted to study history, he wanted to study programming and eastern European languages and Astrology and…
So yeah. He took a gap year to figure himself out and joined the local community theater. And he found out that he really enjoyed being the focus of all that attention - in hindsight, that was maybe something he should have discussed with a therapist, instead of taking it as a sign that he had to get into entertainment.
It wasn’t like Stiles wanted to be an adult model. But Neckz ‘N Throats was a bit of a legend in the business, and it could certainly look amazing on his resume. Not to mention; hot werewolves . Hot werewolves everywhere.
Anyway. Shower. Clothes. Studio. By some miracle, he had an actual job to get to.
Stiles had… well, not exactly second thoughts, per se, more like, a mini panic attack in the uber on the way. The driver was kind enough to ignore him sweating in the backseat.
He’d never done an erotic shoot before. Yeah, Neckz ‘N’ Throats was considered more classy than seedy nowadays, but they still had special, quarterly editions that could only be sold in those ugly, black plastic covers. He had no idea what kind of a shoot this was. It might be something where he would wear a tasteful, half-unbuttoned shirt under a three-piece suit, or he might end up in a leather jockstrap and a gag. He should have asked Lydia a bit more questions before saying yes, probably. But now it was too late, and she would castrate him with a spoon if he bailed now.
Stiles swallowed, drumming his fingers on the panel of the door.
Then again, he was filling in for Isaac, who - as far as he knew - was a lighting technician and not a model, so that had to mean it wouldn’t be anything too bad, right?
Just as he looked out the window, he could see the building of Argent Publishing appear on the corner. Well. He would find out soon enough.
Stiles was hurriedly led to the basement of the building where a lot of the shooting spaces were set up, away from disturbances. It was a bit like descending into a dungeon, and Stiles couldn’t tell if he was shaking with nerves or anticipation. It probably didn’t matter.
Then he turned a corner to find himself staring on a set; a bright, white backdrop with a luxurious looking steel blue leather couch in the middle.
“And this is your stop!” his guide said cheerfully before turning on her heels and leaving him there like an idiot.
Stiles couldn’t stop staring. Everything looked sharp and professional, and that would have been impressive enough, except the photographer was already taking some test shots of his apparent co-star.
Peter Industry-Legend-and-Certified-Sex-Symbol Hale.
Stiles felt like swooning. He was pretty sure that swooning was the only valid reaction to seeing Peter Hale in the flesh.
A small, panicked part of his brain was busy reminding him of those old Neckz ‘N’ Throats issues under his childhood bed. About how sticky the pages were in that particular one where Peter had a two-page spread dressed in nothing but a strategically placed bow.
“ Ohmygod ,” Stiles said in a pitch that could only be heard by dogs.
And werewolves, apparently, because Peter Hale swiveled towards him, his lovely, wicked mouth stretching into a grin that Stiles wanted to lick.
“Ah, you must be Stiles,” he said, and dear god. He didn’t expect the voice. The voice was doing things to him.
“ Extremely . I’m… I am. A Stiles. I’m very pleased. Shit . Pleased to meet you, I mean,” he stuttered out, temporarily forgetting how to work the language, but Peter didn’t seem phased, if anything, his smile widened, turning into something predatory. His blabbering was enough to finally get the photographer’s attention too, and Stiles was immediately very sorry for his existence, because he was pretty sure he’d never seen colder eyes on anyone.
“Finally,” she said with disdain, giving him a once over before huffing. “I guess we will make do. Makeup!” she shouted, and a flurry of people immediately descended on him. “Do… something with the boy.”
“Come on, love,” one of them said, pulling him into a small room tucked in the corner full of beauty equipment. “You don’t want to keep Mrs. Argent waiting. She will end you.”
Stiles nodded dumbly, but even the immediate and instinctive fear she instilled in him wasn’t enough to stop his brain from chanting ‘Peter Hale! Peter Hale!’ at him with panic laced cheer.
Peter liked working with Victoria. Oh, they would have loved it if they were given the chance to feed the other to sharks, but they were both professionals, and knew the value of working with someone who didn’t fuck around on the job.
Victoria had excellent eyes for lighting and pose and could immediately see what would work on a set, and Peter was a natural model, the camera loved him almost as much as he loved it.
And those things were especially important when they worked on their special issues. This quarter, the subtitle was ‘Making Marks.’ Peter loved the concept; pairing the pros with complete amateurs. Contrary to popular belief, he didn’t mind sharing the spotlight, as long as people made him look good, and Victoria was very good at making people look absolutely captivating.
Even with all of that, he thought the whole day would be a waste of time, what with Lahey not showing, but the second his eyes fell on the replacement? Peter knew it would be fun .
Not like it wouldn’t have been great with Isaac, but there was something about that kid that just irked him, and he knew it would have shown up on camera too.
“We’re done!” Heather said, leading the boy back from makeup, and Peter could barely hold back a growl.
Stiles was apparently given Peter’s shirt to wear. While he was tall, he didn’t have the width to fill it out completely, and it was obvious that it wasn’t his. The props department even made sure to button it up wrong, and leave the top few out, like he’d just been surprised in flagrante and had to throw on his lover’s clothes.
“Um…” Stiles said, shifting from one foot the other, and trying to pull the hem of the shirt lower discreetly. As far as Peter could see there was only a pair of tight, black boxer-briefs under it, hugging his cute little butt perfectly.
“That will do,” Victoria said sternly, but Peter knew her enough to recognize that she was satisfied. “Let’s see how the two of you look together.”
Immediately, the boy turned a lovely shade of red, and the burgundy shirt he was wearing just made the color pop. He would look absolutely gorgeous on the glossy pages.
Peter gave him a friendly smile, trying to keep himself in check, even as he stepped closer and his nose was assaulted by the boy’s smell mixed with his own.
Stiles blinked at him, almost shy with his big, Bambi eyes.
“I… I haven’t done a job like this before,” he said lowly. Peter really couldn’t stop himself from putting an arm around his shoulder.
“Don’t worry about it, darling, that’s the point,” he said with a wink, pulling him over to the couch.
The warm color of the shirt looked lovely contrasted against the steel blue, but Peter couldn’t wait to see how it would match with the pearly white of Stiles’ skin.
The boy licked his lips, obviously nervous, and Peter didn’t have the inhibition needed not to follow it with his eyes.
“Just follow my lead,” he said confidently, pulling him to the couch. He sat down, but pushed Stiles to the ground, arranging him to kneel between his legs, facing the camera.
The sudden spike of arousal in the boy’s scent didn’t exactly help his own situation.
“Nice,” Victoria said curtly, her face disappearing behind the camera. She walked around them, with only the clicking of her equipment audible.
Peter moved them along from pose to pose. First, he made Stiles lean back, wedged between the V of his thighs, then he put his hands on the boy’s shoulders before leaning forward, burying his face in his hair. That one made Stiles shiver in the best way, and whatever expression he was making obviously had Victoria happy, judging from the rapid sound of her camera’s shutter.
“Good,” she said finally. “His colors work well with you,” she claimed, walking back to her laptop to view the pictures on the bigger screen.
Peter grinned, massaging the tension out of Stiles’ shoulders. It was amazing how well he fit, kneeling by Peter’s feet. It made his wolf curl up in satisfaction. It was rare for him to click so well with a beginner.
“Well done,” Peter whispered, leaning down close, grinning at the renewed flush of the boy’s cheeks.
“I literally haven’t done anything,” Stiles murmured, but he could feel him relax.
“Well, keep doing nothing then,” Peter laughed. He had no idea what he was doing, he could see Heather’s eyes widen from the sidelines. Peter Hale being encouraging was not something she was used to seeing.
It wasn’t something Peter was used to doing.
“Alright,” Victoria said, marching back, eyebrow raised. “If you two are finished, let’s get this thing going. I don’t have all day.”
She did, in fact, have all day as far as Peter knew, but it wasn’t like he was going to argue, when ‘getting things going’ involved him and Stiles in intimate positions.
“What do you want to see?” Peter asked. He usually wasn’t one for taking directions, but he was a professional, and he was quite aware that he was a bit compromised at the moment, with the heady scent of Stiles filling his nose.
“Get him on the couch, under you,” she said, and Peter didn’t miss the sharp intake of air from the boy.
He nodded his head, barely stopping the ‘my pleasure’ on his tongue. God, what was wrong with him today?
“Come on, darling,” he said, pulling Stiles up.
“Shit… Okay. Shit .”
Peter listened to his heartbeat as he stretched the boy out on the soft leather. It was fast. He would have mistaken it for fear if not for the scent of him. Stiles - like he had some insider knowledge of what would rile Peter up the best - put his hands up, over his head, making his shirt ride up a bit. He already had a semi, and if Peter looked hard enough, he could see his boxer dark with a drop of wetness.
This boy was going to be the end of him.
Somehow, Peter was acutely aware of the camera pointed at them. Of Victoria shifting on her feet, getting down on a knee to get a better angle. The crew around them. Everything.
Stiles was looking at him with wide eyes, the blotchy blush on his face absolutely alluring. Peter moved slowly, feeling like he would scare the boy away with a sudden move, and then he would never see him again. He couldn’t even imagine that.
He carefully arranged Stiles’ legs around his hips, kneeling between them on the couch, all the while keeping eye contact, listening to the clicks of the camera. He did everything slowly and deliberately, leaving Victoria enough time to get her shots.
With one hand, he pushed up Stiles’ shirt a bit, just enough to get his palm on that lovely, mole-dotted skin. He could feel the boy’s belly move as he breathed. He was warm and smooth under his fingers, and all Peter could think about was marking him up.
Stiles swallowed, knowing enough not to look into the camera unless asked.
“This is…” he said, but before he could continue, Peter rubbed his thumb against the jut of his hip bone, and that shut him up, making him bite his lips, bear his neck a little.
For a second, Peter was worried his claws would pop from the sheer beauty of him.
“Nice,” Victoria said, and the honesty in her voice was audible even for human ears. “Keep going.”
Peter nodded, if only for himself, and slid his hand down to palm Stiles’ crotch, feeling his cock jerk under the press of his palm, like a greeting.
“Oh god ,” Stiles moaned, eyes closed. “I’m… shit, I’m sorry.”
Peter snorted, rubbing his erection a bit, making it harden fully, arch his back like some mythical, wanton creature.
“Darling, I would be offended if you were soft right now,” he said with a grin, and was glad to see Stiles roll his eyes and relax a little. “And it’s not like you’re the only one,” he added, leaning forward to let his own cock rub against the boy’s.
Stile sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes going glassy. “Holy fuck.”
“Too close, get back,” Victoria said, and Peter obeyed, though he wanted to do anything but.
He calmed himself by hooking his fingers into Stiles’ boxers, pulling them down just enough to show off his pretty, pale hip. But he didn’t take it off. It was too early for that.
“Good. Change positions,” she dictated, so Peter did.
He sat back on his heels, taking one of Stiles’ legs, and popping it on his shoulder, running his hand down his thigh while holding his foot with the other. It was only natural to turn his head and nuzzle him, staring right into the camera just long enough to let Victoria capture it.
Stiles whined, barely audible, making Peter smile. Oh, the noises this boy was making were too good to be true. He licked at his skin, pressing a kiss just above his ankle, the skin thin enough that he could smell his blood under it.
The urge to bite was almost too hard to control and he felt his gums itching with it.
“Peter, camera,” Victoria said, and he turned his head obediently, his mouth parted a bit as he stared into the lens. She hummed in satisfaction.
Peter licked his lips, his mind in overdrive trying to puzzle out all the possible ways he could fit their bodies together, each one headier than the other.
It was like Stiles could read the unusual indecision in his face - or maybe he was just as starved for contact as he was - because he reached out, grabbing the waist of Peter’s jeans, pulling him down, straining to meet him in the middle.
Peter was all too happy to obey the unsaid invitation, kissing him hard when their mouths met. Stiles tasted like fruity bubble gum. He would have found it disgusting with anyone else, but now it just made him wish more to sink his teeth into something… juicy .
Stiles moaned into his mouth, his tongue eager. Peter pulled back, just a fraction, just so that the camera could get a flash of it, grabbing the boy by the neck.
“Peter, claws ,” Victoria said, sounding as near to scandalized as she could get, and he pulled back quickly, just before he could scratch the poor boy up.
He didn’t even notice. He didn’t feel out of control. He’d been close to it a few times in his life, when he was a hormonal teenager, and it always felt like he was about to be torn apart from the inside out. This was something different. This was like he couldn’t tell where he ended and his wolf began.
Stiles’ wide, honey eyes were stuck on his hands, on the claws he somehow couldn’t quite make disappear. Peter expected his scent to go sour with fear, but that was not what happened. Not what happened at all.
The boy’s heartbeat picked up another notch - even though it shouldn’t have been possible - but if anything, it was only the sweet smell of his excitement that grew thicker.
Peter took the risk and reached out, slowly pushing Stiles on his back again and then lightly - so very, very lightly - ran his clawed fingers down his neck, on the skin left bare in the opening of his shirt.
He could practically feel Victoria’s scorn - she did not like anyone wolfed out during her shoots - but a second later he heard her starting to take pictures again. Apparently the visual was just too good to pass up.
“Fuck,” Stiles breathed with feeling. His lips were red, and Peter wished he could kiss him again.
Instead, he did the next best thing; using his claw to nick off a button from the shirt, just to see a bit more of all that tantalizing skin revealed.
“We will get there, darling,” he promised, a little belatedly. It felt like his brain was covered in a thick fog.
His claws left faint lines on Stiles’ chest. Peter was careful not to break the skin - he didn’t think he’d ever been this careful before in his life. He wanted to leave more. And not just scratches. He wanted to leave bruises and love bites and handprints and stubble burn all over this boy. Mark him up in a way that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than the claim that it was.
Peter nicked off another button, and then another.
He only looked at Stiles’ face when there was just one left, his claw hooked against it, ready to send it after the others. It was his own shirt, free for him to ruin… and this was a shoot for a porn mag, for god’s sake… But still, Peter felt like he was tethering on the edge of something more, and if there was one thing he knew, it was that he needed Stiles with him.
“I’m going to mark you up,” Peter said, looking into the boy’s eyes, trying to convey this something that he couldn’t really understand himself.
Stiles panted, staring back at him. His cheeks were flushed, the pink of it running down his neck all the way to his chest. Peter wanted to follow it with his mouth, taste it.
“You mean… for Neckz ‘N’ Throats ?”
For me. Just me. Me-me-mine-mine… Peter thought with a ferocity that was finally enough to pierce the haze in his mind.
He carefully untangled his claw from the last button - those few threads felt like the last thing keeping his sanity in place - and sat back on his heels.
“We need a moment,” he told Victoria without looking at her.
There was a stunned pause, and then she was hissing like a cat. “ What ? What do you mean you-”
Then, Peter turned to her, he didn’t even have to think about flashing his eyes, he wouldn’t have been able to keep himself from doing it if he tried. Peter was never known to back down from a fight.
“I said, we need a moment,” he growled out, making Stiles suck in a sharp breath, though there was still no sign of fear in his scent.
Victoria - for what it was worth - tried to stare him down. The woman had nerves of steel, that was for sure. But thankfully she had enough common sense to back down right before Peter felt ready to launch at her.
“You get twenty minutes,” she bit out, her cold eyes dancing between Peter and Stiles, like she wanted to make sure that he wouldn’t be hurting the boy. As laughable as even the suggestion was, Peter understood the concern, and forced himself to at least look like he was completely in control.
“Thank you,” he said with a smile. She wasn’t fooled, but it was enough.
“Twenty minutes, and after this shoot is done, we will have a chat ,” she added before turning on her heels. She actually snapped her fingers like a bad TV villain and the crew rushed to follow her like the brainless little minions they were.
Peter watched them go, his wolf insistent that he make sure that they were really leaving.
“Not… not like this isn’t hot like burning, and everything,” Stiles said, getting his attention back. “But what the actual fuck?”
He looked mesmerizing, he even smelled mesmerizing. Peter felt like he was being pulled by a magnet, unable to fight it.
“I’m sorry, darling,” he said, trying to keep the growl out of his voice. “It’s not your fault. There just appear to be… some complications,” Peter admitted. Now that everyone else was gone and his wolf wasn’t so riled up, he could feel himself settle a bit. Enough to put his finger on what was happening.
Stiles arched an eyebrow at him in question, but he didn’t move, laying soft and yielding and open in front of Peter.
“I want to mark you,” Peter told him, hoping that Stiles would understand the gravity of his words. “Not just mark you up for show. I want to put my marks all over you.”
The boy’s eyes widened, and he swallowed, the long line of his throat working. Peter couldn’t keep his eyes from tracking it.
“I… ugh. What exactly does that mean? You want to… wolf-marry me? I mean, you’re Peter-fucking-Hale, and if this was a wet dream, I would have zero problems with how it’s going so far… Fuck . Shit, forget that. I mean, we only just met!”
Peter grinned, truly charmed.
“Aw, thank you, darling,” he drawled, using the back of his fingers to stroke down the middle of Stiles’ exposed chest, making him shiver. “But no. It’s not like getting married in any capacity. Just because some rando on the street runs up to you and slips a ring on your finger, it wouldn’t make you married,” he explained. “Marking can be an element of courtship, but it’s pretty much just the ‘I’m in lust with you’ part of it.”
Stiles licked his lips, eyes looking almost feverish as he stared back at Peter, digesting his words.
“So. You. Are you in lust with me? Wait. No . Priorities, damn it!” he said, scrunching up his nose like it took a lot of effort to make his brain work. “But it’s still a commitment, right?”
Peter knew it would be easier to lie. It wouldn’t matter in the long run, and it would get him what he desperately wanted. Really, he couldn’t be faulted if he forgot to spell out the details… but just the thought of deceiving the boy made his insides recoil. And that was not something that happened often.
“A little,” he admitted. “I would certainly take offense if you fooled around with someone while my marks were still visible on you.”
Stiles took a deep breath and let it out slowly, closing his eyes for a second, like he needed to shut Peter out to clear his head. Peter could understand the sentiment, he was having a hard time thinking coherently with the boy all laid out in front of him, barely covered with his own shirt.
“Alright,” Stiles said finally, stretching his arms a bit. Peter idly wondered if the boy knew what he was doing to him. Probably not. And that was undoubtedly part of the charm. “What do you want to do exactly?”
It was Peter’s turn to lick at his lips, already imagining how Stiles’ skin would taste, how it would feel when he bit down on it, when he sucked on it, pulling up bruises along the way.
“Well… We have twenty minutes. It’s not much. But enough to satisfy my urges so we can continue the shoot. And then… we can do whatever you want, darling.”
“You don’t want to fuck me?” Stiles asked, blinking just one eye open, and Peter could see him barely holding himself back from a pout. It made him grin.
“Oh, I do , believe me. But when I fuck you, it won’t be for the magazine, or the cameras. It will be just for you and me, darling,” he promised confidently. Stiles’ scent was like a living thing surrounding him, and with every minute in his company, he knew he could get lost in it. He wanted to get lost in it; completely, without stage lights and fucking Victoria Argent giving the directions.
Stiles swallowed, and then nodded curtly, probably more to himself than to Peter.
“Okay, alright, I’m on board,” he blurted out, and it was like he was finally released, like he’d been trying so hard to contain himself until now. But now he was reaching for Peter with an urgency he was more than happy to match.
Peter growled as their lips met, pulling the boy up, tugging on him until Stiles was sitting on his lap, the weight of him finally making him feel settled into himself.
The boy’s mouth was eager and wet, and his voice was hoarse as he moaned against Peter’s.
He ran his hands down Stiles’ back, down all the way to that lovely ass, hot in his palms through the thin fabric of his underwear. The boy pushed into his hands, his breath hitching when Peter squeezed him.
“Fuck… I’m gonna come…” he warned with a hiss. Peter would have lied if he said his ego wasn’t stoked.
“Really, darling? Are you going to come just from my hands on you? I’ve barely even started.”
Stiles rolled his hips forward, pushing their cocks together. The friction was good enough to make him see stars.
“Well, then get on with it, if you don’t want this to be over embarrassingly soon…”
Peter chuckled, nipping at the boy’s lips one last time before he tipped his head to the side to get at his neck.
Stiles arched his back at the first touch of Peter’s mouth over his pulse point and whined so beautifully when his teeth sank into his skin.
He tasted just as wonderful as Peter imagined. Somehow maybe even better, and for a second he wasn’t sure he would be able to stop before drawing blood… It felt all too natural to suck at Stiles’ neck, to pull up a dark, perfect bruise on it.
The boy gave a tiny little moan when it became too much, and despite his worries, Peter was immediately able to let it go, kissing the mark gently to chase away the sting, and moving to a new patch of that pretty, pretty skin.
Stiles took it like he was born to be squirming in Peter’s arms, like he was made exactly to satisfy him. He clung to Peter’s shoulders, tension humming through his body, but he made no move to get away from him, if anything, he was leaning into every kiss, into every bite, into the sting of the bruises coloring his skin.
It was driving Peter mad, and before long, he was growling, low and satisfied and unable to stop, the sound reverberating through both of their bodies like an echo of his want.
“Oh god,” Stiles moaned, voice breathy and high when Peter nosed the shirt off one of his shoulders to get to more skin. All the love bites littering Stiles’ skin already just made him want to make more of them.
Peter hummed, nipping at the sharp line of the boy’s collarbone.
“You really like this,” he murmured into Stiles’ skin, shifting his hold on that sweet little ass so he could run his finger over the boy’s crack, just to make him shudder. Even through the fabric of his underwear, Peter felt his hole clench in anticipation.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Stiles snorted, sounding a bit hysteric. Just enough to let Peter know how close he was to completely losing himself.
Peter grinned against his skin before nibbling at it again, his hands busy massaging Stiles’ lovely bottom. He was careful to keep his claws in check. He wanted to leave enough marks on the boy to make sure no one could mistake him to be up for grabs, but he sure as hell wanted to make every single one of them deliberate.
Stiles pressed against him, like he couldn’t get close enough, even though Peter knew his marks must be radiating red hot hurt by now, throbbing in time with the boy’s racing pulse.
His fingers clenched on Stiles’ ass, digging in hard and making him squirm with a whimper. That sound made something in Peter break. He had to see. He needed to.
With a growl, he flipped Stiles over, laying him out on his belly across his lap.
“Ah, what the fuck?” the boy asked with a thready laugh, but he wasn’t trying to get back up, in fact, he seemed all too happy when Peter pulled the black boxers down to tangle around his thighs.
“Hush,” Peter told him, unable to formulate what he was thinking with Stiles’ sweet, pale bottom right in front of him. It was just as lovely and round as he imagined, and when he finally palmed it without the fabric in the way and felt the muscles move… Peter could tell exactly how heavenly it will be to bury himself between those cheeks, to fuck the boy until he was begging to come.
But in his mind’s eye, Stiles’ ass would be already red by then, covered in the imprints of his palms, sore and hot to the touch to make sure the boy felt every single thrust, that he would be forced to clench down on Peter’s cock whenever skin slapped against skin…
Peter didn’t think about it, he just let his body be carried by his instincts; it was all too easy to lift his hand, to pull in a huge lungful of Stiles’ scent and then slap his ass hard enough to fill the basement with the sound of it.
For a second, he thought he went too far, the smell of hurt spiking in the boy’s scent, and his attention immediately snapped to Stiles - taut with shock, his back arched and mouth slack on a silent scream - to gauge his reaction, to see if… He wasn’t sure he would survive ruining whatever this was.
Stiles gulped in air, slowly relaxing, trembling under Peter’s hand.
“Hh… fuck ,” he said, eyes wide.
Peter licked his lips carefully. Stiles wasn’t looking at him, but he still felt like he had to avoid making sudden moves. His palm was itching as it lay on the boy’s ass, the skin under it hot. The scent of hurt melted away, and in its place came want - deep and spicy and thick, like hot, black chocolate, intent on overpowering his senses.
Peter could feel his eyes burn bright with power. He never smelled anything like this before, but he still knew - somehow - what it meant.
“Want another, darling?” he asked finally, voice rough enough to be barely understandable. He slowly stroked over the place where Stiles still had to hurt, pushing against the skin. He knew there was an ache there, he knew he was lighting it all up again, but he also knew now that Stiles didn’t mind.
If his nose could be believed, Stiles was in the middle of discovering a few things about himself.
He could hear the boy’s breath hitch. Could almost feel him struggle with what he thought was right, and what he wanted, and he could only hope that Stiles would be the kind of person who wouldn’t deny himself this.
It was only a second, but it felt like an eternity to get a reply.
“Yes,” Stiles said, almost too quiet to hear, his voice tight and small, but it was enough for Peter.
He smiled, lifting his hand again, waiting a heartbeat just to rack up the anticipation before striking again.
This time, the boy had to expect it, but it didn’t take away from the impact, and now Peter was more aware of what he was doing too. Stiles was beautiful and fascinating and everything he never knew he needed. His scent was a symphony in his nose, the little shocked gasps following the slap, the noise of his breathing a picture painted in a million colors, and the red blossom on his skin under Peter’s hands was like a burst of flavor across his tongue.
“More?” he asked after, because he had to. And Stiles had to say it too. He needed to take every step deliberately and willingly.
There was a bit of a pause, not exactly hesitation, more like a gathering of strength. He wasn't sure Stiles understood how wonderful he was being, how much power he had over Peter right now. Peter never enjoyed giving the reins over to someone, but now he knew he would follow along with whatever the boy decided. And he loved it.
Stiles shook, he shook and he breathed and then he told him yes again.
Peter took it as the gift it was, considering carefully where he wanted to hit. Stiles’ lovely bottom was already reddened, breathtakingly beautiful, and the knowledge that he put it there, that the boy would feel his touch for days, was a high he couldn’t refuse.
Peter didn’t go easy. He picked a spot on the lower curve of Stiles’ ass, where he knew it would hurt and burn and ache the worst. The best.
The boy’s whole body went taut when his hand landed, and he watched in fascination as a drop of sweat slid down his temple, his toes curling in something between pleasure and pain.
Peter waited him out, waited until Stiles was relaxing back into his body, going pliant under his hands. Peter couldn’t stop looking at him.
The boy buried his head in his arms on the couch, breath heavy and wet.
Peter wasn’t even disappointed when all he got was a tense head-shake. The boy already took more than he thought a human could, he’d already done something amazing and formidable. It was the most natural thing in the world to pull him up, to gather him in his arms, letting him hide his face in Peter’s neck.
“You did so well, darling,” he said into Stiles’ sweaty hair, his hands rubbing the boy’s back, holding back from palming that pretty pink ass with sheer willpower.
Stiles burrowed closer, and for a second Peter thought that he was maybe having a breakdown, but the next second, the boy started rocking against him, with short, jerky, desperate little movements, making him grin.
He wasn’t close enough to come. Something about seeing Stiles like that, about having him at his mercy so completely turned his focus off himself. Oh, he was still hard, but Peter wasn’t a cub anymore, he needed a bit more than some dry humping to get off.
Instead, he leaned back, pulling Stiles with himself, letting him rut against his body while whispering encouragements into his ear.
“That’s it… come on, darling, show me…” he said. Slowly, he slid his palms down the boy’s back until he could - gently, so very gently - cup his ass to urge him on, and honestly, to feel the heat of his skin again. It was addictive.
Stiles hissed, but if anything, he pushed back against Peter’s hands, his movements going more and more erratic until he came. Peter basked in the scent of his release even when Victoria and the crew returned.
Stiles didn’t know where he got the strength to turn down Peter when he asked to take him out right after the shoot. There was just something about having your come cooling in your underwear while a dozen people watch you that makes you question your life choices.
And to be completely honest, this fucking day gave him A Lot to question.
Thankfully everyone ignored the state he was in. He thought he even saw Mrs. Argent gave him an appreciative glance. Then again. He imagined ‘completely fucked out’ was exactly the look Neckz ‘n’ Throats was going for.
Their last pose was the mirror of their warm-up, with Stiles kneeling between Peter’s legs, relaxing back against the man. Except now he was intimately familiar with the touch of the hand on his shoulder, the weight of the arm across his chest…
And he… he wanted to let Peter whisk him off when they were done. A feverish, eager part of him was itching to see what more the man had in store for him. But. But at the same time, this was all too fast. Too soon. Too… much. So fucking much. His throat closed up just thinking about laying across Peter’s lap, about how much he liked being spanked . Stiles was not the type to play games. If he liked someone, if there was a spark, he was all for getting that sweet, sweet sex on. But this felt more than that.
He was worried that the man wouldn’t take well to the rejection. He couldn’t imagine Peter Hale having to deal with it often, but to his surprise, he just smiled, and put his number in Stiles’ phone.
“Call me when you’re ready, darling,” he said his voice dripping with confidence that Stiles would have found irritating on anyone else. Because apparently it wasn’t a question of ‘if,’ but ‘when.’
Still. He could live with that.
Stiles held out for a whole day before texting Peter. That was some sort of record. He wasn’t sure if it was a negative or positive record. But it was certainly a record.
He wanted to think about stuff more. He really did. But when he woke up the next morning and looked at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help it. He was covered in marks and bruises and the memory of those fingers, of those lips all over him, made him shiver in a way that couldn’t be denied.
So he didn’t.
Peter replied immediately, proposing to pick him up for dinner. He was making duck with honey, apparently. Like he knew Stiles would be unable to hold back and planned for it. Stiles was almost annoyed. But mostly he was just itchy to meet him again.
Stiles wasn’t exactly nervous when his doorbell rang but… Yeah, no. He was definitely nervous. He tried to dress himself up nicely, but no matter how he pulled his clothes, there was no way to cover up all of the hickeys Peter gave him. He knew Peter would see them, peaking out from under the collar of his shirt, and there was something very intimate about it that he couldn’t explain.
At least his ass didn’t feel sore every time he sat down now. He could still feel it a bit, but he wasn’t sent down on a horny memory-whirlpool whenever his underwear brushed against it. He told himself that was good. And that he wasn’t missing it. He really did.
“Hey,” he said, mouth a bit dry as he opened the door. Peter looked like he just stepped down from the cover of a magazine - which was perfectly on brand - though he had more of a GQ vibe at the moment.
“Hello, darling,” Peter said with that same, shark-ish smile that somehow still hid genuine affection in the corner of his lips. “You look lovely.”
Stiles dragged a nervous hand through his hair.
“Not as good as you,” he said, because he knew how to flirt, thank you.
Peter grinned, holding his arm out, like Stiles was a princess he wished to accompany to the ball. It should have been a dorky, dumbass move, but everything the man did turned out to be smooth and suave just from him doing it. Fucking bastard.
“Why, thank you! Shall we?”
After Peter finished retelling - in scathing, hilariously acrid detail - the fun little conversation he had with Victoria Argent about workplace etiquette, they fell into a comfortable silence. Stiles had been on quite a few first dates, and he never knew what to talk about. It didn’t feel right to ask questions that were too personal right off the bat, but talking about traffic or the weather was somehow even worse. But it was nice to listen to Peter talk about the crew, and about his boss. It told him more than some idle chit-chat would have. Peter was clearly an asshole, but Stiles was one too, and he felt like they might be… compatible assholes.
The flat was quiet, other than the radio playing low in the corner, and he just knew Peter could hear his heartbeat picking up as their food was slowly vanishing.
There was something unsettling about Peter Hale biting into a piece of duck while staring at Stiles’ neck. It unsettled things. In Stiles’ pants.
Stiles had to clear his throat before speaking.
“This was delicious,” he said finally. It really was. Apparently, Peter was also an excellent cook. Because why the fuck wouldn’t he be.
The man looked him in the eyes, licking a drop of honey from his finger slowly enough to make Stiles shift in his seat. God. It was getting hot in here.
“Thanks, it’s from my favorite restaurant,” he said with a sharp grin, making Stiles choke on his wine. It took him a second to get his breath back while Peter laughed on silently.
“You ordered it?” he asked with fake outrage. He would have lied if he said he didn’t find comfort in the fact that Peter couldn’t cook like a Michelin Star chef. He wasn’t perfect. “Isn’t that against the whole ‘protect and provide’ part of werewolf courting?” Stiles asked before he could think, and then he clamped his mouth shut.
It was entirely possible that Peter didn’t want to court him at all. Not in a serious manner at least, and if that was the case, then he just made a gigantic fool of himself. He didn’t even dare looking directly at Peter, just stealing a glance to see his raised eyebrow.
The man hummed under his breath. Close enough to a growl to make the hair stand up on Stiles’ arms and getting his pants just a little bit tighter.
“Not in my book. Having the money to dine you properly still means I can provide for you, wouldn’t you say, darling?”
Stiles felt himself flushing. It wasn’t straight out confirmation that Peter was courting him, but it was close enough to make the bruises on his skin light up with the memory of his teeth on him. He tried to play it chill, even though he knew he couldn’t fool Peter that easily.
“Sure. A bit out of order, though? It should be Protect, Provide, Mark, and Mate, right?”
Peter narrowed his eyes, but there was humor in them.
“I see someone did his homework…”
Stiles had to look away, because yeah. Okay. He might have spent a few hours on the internet, trying to figure out how exactly werewolf mating rituals went. So sue him.
“Since your so knowledgeable, do you know what part of the marking we missed yesterday?”
Stiles stared back at him blankly. He’d read so many articles about it - half of them total bullshit - that he had a hard time catching on.
Then he did, and he sucked in a breath, his fingers tightening on the neck of his wine glass.
Peter grinned, obviously enjoying his embarrassment. Such a fucking, gorgeous asshole.
But two could play that game.
Stiles looked him in the eyes, taking a sip from his drink before answering. “The knotting, I think? That’s what you mean, right? Marking me up on the inside… making me smell like you in a way no other werewolf can miss.”
Stiles could have sworn that Peter just accidentally bent the fork in his hand a little. But he had a wonderful poker face.
“ Yes . And what are your thoughts on that?”
Stiles had a lot of those. Thoughts. On knotting. None of them voiceable in polite company.
He put his glass down and wiped his face with his napkin before undoing the top button of his shirt. There was a big hickey there, just at the base of his throat. One that he vividly remembered Peter biting into his skin. The man’s attention immediately zeroed in on it, probably remembering too.
“I think I’m ready for dessert,” Stiles said.
Stiles thought that maybe it would be less intense now. He already knew what Peter tasted like, he already knew what his lips felt like, sucking bruises into his skin. And Peter knew him too. Knew that he was here just for him. There was no rush, no need to act like he was starving.
Oh, how very, very wrong he was.
Peter didn’t seem to have a setting other than intense. As soon as they were in his - nice, big, luxurious - bedroom, he was on Stiles, like he was actually the dessert he’d been coveting.
“Fuck,” Stiles moaned when the man latched onto his neck, licking over the marks there, pressing against them and making them throb with a mixture of pain and pleasure.
“As you wish,” Peter murmured, practically tearing the clothes off Stiles, throwing them to the side. They looked blasphemous scattered on the floor in his high-class room that looked like a page from a magazine.
But Stiles didn’t have the capacity to worry about that, because Peter seemed intent on robbing him off all higher brain functions.
He didn’t know how long it took to get them naked, it was hard to say between the kissing and the touching and the… everything, but it didn’t take long at all for Stiles to find himself on the soft covers with Peter above him, his wide chest filling his line of vision.
Not like he was complaining about that.
Peter kissed him, deep and hot and wet, his teeth merciless on Stiles’ lips until he was whimpering, everything feeling too raw and bruised and good.
“Get on your belly for me?” Peter said. He could have ordered it, really. Stiles was certainly horny enough to do whatever the man wanted, but it felt good that he was given a choice.
Stiles swallowed, and turned around, hissing as his hard cock brushed against the cool sheets.
Peter growled low enough that he felt it reverberating in his own chest.
“Such a beautiful sight,” he said, ducking down to kiss and bite his way following the line of Stiles’ spine down to his ass.
He wasn’t sure what he expected to happen next. Or what he hoped. The memory of Peter’s hands on him, hitting him, was still fresh in his mind, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it again so soon, there was still too much he had to unpack there…
But it looked like Peter felt it too, in the slight tensing of his muscles, or maybe in his scent even, because instead he parted Stiles’ asscheeks, and licked over his hole.
Stiles thought that someone replaced his blood with lava, because in 0.1 seconds, his whole body was flushed, and he was thrumming with want he never experienced before.
“Oh my god,” he whimpered into the pillow when Peter did it again, insistent and hungry, like he wanted to devour him.
The man hummed, rubbing his stubble against Stiles’ skin.
“I’m going to eat you out, darling, and then I’m going to knot you, fill you right up.”
Stiles shivered, his hole clenching from the words alone, making Peter huff out a satisfied laugh.
“Oh, yes, you will love it. Going to stretch you real nice.”
Stiles could do nothing but hold onto the soft pillows as Peter made good on his words, lapping at him slow and steady and maddening until the first finger he slipped into his hole felt like a relief.
Stiles rocked into it, burning up inside with the need for more, even as Peter teased him about it.
“Aw, look at how eager you are, darling, fucking back just from that… You are going to enjoy my cock. And you will go crazy for my knot, I know it. You can’t even begin to imagine what it will feel like... “
Maybe Peter was right, but Stiles was certainly trying. He loved big toys, he loved the stretch, the feeling of being full. Okay, so maybe he was a bit of size-queen… It certainly didn’t look like Peter would mind it.
And he already knew… he knew intimately what Peter’s cock looked like, the girth of it, the veins running up the shaft… He’d stared so much at it on the pages of Neckz ‘n’ Throats. He wanted it inside him. Like, yesterday.
“More,” he demanded when Peter refused to add another finger, just playing and teasing and nipping at his rim like it was the best thing in the world. Stiles would have basked in the attention any other time, but not now. Now he needed…
“Yes, darling,” Peter said smoothly, sliding another finger in and starting to push as deep as they would go. It wasn’t nearly deep enough, but with how turned on he was, Stiles could feel every bump and callous on his digits in high-definition.
He moaned, biting into the pillow under his cheek, his body tensing with the need to move, to thrust back into the pressure, no matter how desperate it would make him look.
“Shh, darling, it’s alright, I’m going to take care of you, I promise,” Peter said, smoothing his other hand down the small of his back, pushing down until Stiles was just in the right position for him to rub his fingers against his prostate.
“Oh god… Stop, stop!”
He wasn’t sure what would happen, but Peter halted, immediately. He didn’t pull away, but he stopped moving completely, waiting to see if he was okay, and that… that was a bit more touching than it had any right to be.
“I’m gonna come… If you do that, I’m gonna come so fucking fast,” Stiles admitted, panting and with his eyes squeezed shut with embarrassment.
He could hear Peter letting out a long breath, like he’d been holding it for a while, and could feel the man relax behind him.
“Alright… Alright, darling,” he said, starting to finger him again, slower this time, deep, but not going for that particular spot.
Stiles wasn’t sure he didn’t just fuck up things, so he peered over his shoulder, watching Peter for a second. He looked focused, like Stiles was the only thing in the world worth his attention. Maybe a bit too tense.
“I want to come on your cock,” Stiles told him, watching him closely. Peter didn’t wolf out, his face remained completely human, but his eyes flashed so bright for a second that they made Stiles’ insides light up with need again.
“And you will.”
Peter’s cock was just as good as he hoped it would be. It was amazing, he never imagined that reality could actually live up to his fantasy, but here he was, with sweat gliding down his spine, and his whole body lit up with pleasure as Peter pushed into him.
When he bottomed out, Stiles thought he never felt this… whole in his life. It would have been a scary thought, but he was beyond that now, basking in the hot, tight pressure of finally being filled.
“You feel so good, darling,” Peter said, there was a rawness in his voice that wasn’t there before, that raised the hairs on Stiles’ arms, like static electricity. “I’m going to fuck you, and then I’m going to knot that pretty, tight little ass.”
Stiles whimpered into the pillow, rubbing his cheek against it just to make sure that he was still awake and not having a very vivid wet dream. He swayed back, balanced on his knees, pushing himself just a little more firmly onto Peter’s cock, and felt a drop precome fall from the head of his cock.
Peter growled, pulling his hips back a fraction and then jabbing them forward hard enough to jostle him. Stiles could feel his thrust all the way up his spine.
The man worked up to a rhythm slowly, like this was all just a preparation… And yeah. Yeah, it sort of was. But that didn’t make it any less mind-blowing, not when the drag of Peter’s cock against his rim made stars burst bright behind his closed eyelids.
Peter picked up speed gradually, his hands grasping Stiles’ hips tight, pressing new bruises into his skin in the shape of his fingertips. He could already imagine how he would look tomorrow; he might have been marked up yesterday, but after this? He felt like he will never be able to forget about this… claim Peter was making. A perilous thought. A dangerous one, even. But Stiles’ pleasure addled brain couldn’t even grasp the concept of Peter’s claim not being… forever.
Holy shit. Peter was fucking him stupid.
“Hush, darling,” the man said. “We’re almost there, I promise.”
Stiles didn’t notice that he was making noises, lost too deep in the sensations of his own body - but now he heard them too. Moans and groans and little hitches of breath. He couldn’t stop them either, it was like the punch of Peter’s cock was knocking them out of him.
With - what seemed like great effort - Peter unclenched one of his hands from his hip, rubbing his palm soothingly up Stiles’s spine, palming the back of his neck. His hand felt cool against his feverish skin.
“Can you feel it, darling?” he asked, and Stiles didn’t know what he was talking about at first, but then… then he did. A slight burn every time Peter pushed into him, every time his gorgeous cock bottomed out that stretched his rim wider than before.
Stiles panted against the pillow, mouth open and face slack, letting himself experience it without remorse.
It was like a fire building in him, the stretch burning just a little brighter every time until the flames of it were licking up his spine. Peter had to strain to push it in, had to hold Stiles tight and force the growing bulge of his knot into his hole, over and over.
It was like nothing he’d ever felt before. It was better than the first time he was fucked, and he didn’t even know why. There was something about a knot pressing into him that made him feel completely owned in the best way.
He whimpered a little when it was starting to get too much. Peter felt huge inside him, like he would tear him apart, or reshape him in a way that could never be undone, but right when he was on the verge of genuine pain, the man stopped, his cock buried deep in Stiles.
He leaned over Stiles, his chest sticking to his back with the sweat covering them both, and kissed the side of neck, making Stiles shiver.
“That’s it darling. All you have to do now is take it,” he said, voice low and resonating with the promise of a satisfied growl.
Stiles swallowed, unable to speak, and tried, relaxing his body. He could feel the knot, pushing against his rim from the inside. It was still fattening up a bit, but with it locked safely in Stiles, it wasn’t unbearable. Overwhelming? Yes. But he could take it. He wanted to.
Peter kept kissing and nipping at his neck, a soft counterpoint to the fire lighting him up from inside, and Stiles couldn’t help shuddering when he licked up over his pulse. It made him clench around the knot and that had the both of them groaning.
“I’m going to come soon, darling…” Peter said, whispering the words right into his ear. “Are you going to be a good boy? Are you going to come with me? On my knot?”
Stiles felt his body shake. His orgasm seemed to be just a breath away, and somehow completely impossible at the same time.
“Please,” he said, when he finally could. He didn’t even know what he was asking for, just that he needed Peter to help him get there.
The man growled, pressing a hot kiss behind his ear and reached down until his fingers closed around Stiles’ hard cock. Even the first touch was enough to send his hole spasming, milking the knot. It hurt a bit, but he wasn’t sure it wasn’t pleasure. Everything was washed together into something desperately close to ‘too much.’
Peter didn’t care about that, he just started moving his hand over Stiles, jerking him hot and tight and just right.
Stiles wasn’t sure what he felt first; his own orgasm flooding over him, or the jerk of Peter’s cock, and the splash of his come against his insides. He wasn’t sure it mattered.
The man bit his shoulder, hard enough to hurt, but somehow still in control enough not to break the skin, and the small pinpricks of pain where his teeth pressed into his skin just made Stiles’ pleasure climb higher and higher and higher until there was nowhere left to go.
“Well, well, well,” Peter drawled as he sauntered into the living room with a big, brown envelope in his hand. “Look what I got here…”
Stiles looked up at the script he was trying to learn, his heart missing a beat as he realized what it was.
Neckz ‘N’ Throats. Their issue of Neckz ‘N’ Throats.
“Gimme!” he said, making grabby hands at it without making a move to get up from the couch. Peter rolled his eyes at him, but obediently handed it over.
Stiles tore off the brown paper, and then… stared. Victoria did say that they might get front page, but somehow he never thought that they actually would. Yet here they were; Stiles staring at the camera with his pupils blown wide and his skin flushed and bruised and bitten raw with Peter being him, possessive and satisfied and every inch the predator he was.
“Wow,” Stiles said, because yeah. Wow.
Of course, Peter had to make a face and ruin his joy.
“What?” Stiles asked, looking up at the man, and seeing a bit of… uncertainty there? That wasn’t like Peter at all, and he would have been worried about it if the whole thing didn’t just click in his head.
“Are you… Are you regretting this? Are you jealous?” Stiles asked incredulously. As implausible as it seemed, he already knew he was right by how outraged Peter looked.
“No! Darling, don’t be stupid,” Peter huffed, but he wasn’t fooling Stiles.
“Oh yeah, I’m right. You so regret my pictures being out there for every rando to jerk off to,” Stiles cackled. It was hilarious. Especially coming from Peter Hale.
The man growled, leaning down quickly to silence him with a kiss.
“Shut up, darling,” he said fondly.