Work Text:
Peter ran through the thickest part of the Preserve, shifted and using every last bit of his speed and his enhanced senses even though he knew that the things chasing him wouldn’t make a sound and didn’t have a smell. They moved even faster than him and he knew he was fucked.
He should have known the pack hadn’t gotten rid of every last one of them. He should have looked closer, observed better, should have expected this…
His mind was racing, frantically trying to come up with ideas, something they wouldn’t expect, anything…
Something landed almost soundlessly on the ground in front of him.
Something softly landed behind him.
In his last moments all he could think about as their teeth sank into him was “He’s going to be soooo pissed…”
It was well after midnight when the pack finally found Peter in the woods. He was bleeding heavily, almost drained. Almost dead. Proud, unbreakable Peter Hale, on the verge of death. Again, but now it seemed actually possible. And lasting.
It was ironic really, that Derek didn’t want his uncle to die. Not right now. Not like that.
Not anymore.
His wounds weren’t healing though, even though they checked for wolfsbane and there was none. Deaton wasn’t answering his phone and they didn’t know what else to do. They were running out of options and Peter obviously didn’t heal like a wolf right now so any miraculous and suspicious recovery was obviously out of question.
So they brought him into the hospital.
The look on Stiles’ face as they rushed Peter though those damned double doors made Derek sick. Scott ran a hand down his face and Lydia’s lips thinned into a hard line. Malia was pale and Derek knew that strained as their weird, unlabeled relationship was, even though she still didn’t accept him as a father she needed Peter.
The doors opened again, snapping their attention at the ER nurse.
“Is anyone here a direct family?”, she asked, voice urgent.
Derek and Malia shared a look.
“I am”, he muttered hollowly.
“What’s his blood type?”, the nurse asked.
Derek felt stupid. And extremely inadequate. They were werewolves, they had never needed blood transfusions. He had no idea about Peter’s blood type. He’d never made an effort to ask because he’d never thought he’d need it.
The nurse was getting slightly impatient.
“Are you not a relative?”
“I…”
The doors burst open with a bang, everyone turning to look at the man now running down the hall, words stumbling out in a rush,
“A positive! He’s A positive, I’m O negative, I can donate!”
The words echoed, shocking everyone in the otherwise deserted waiting room. Stiles’ eyes were as big and round as saucers; his mouth hung open. Scott’s eyebrows had shot up in surprise and Malia was too stunned to do anything but gape.
Derek stared, uncomprehending.
The nurse flipped some papers.
“Are you Christopher Argent?”, she asked, waiting for him to nod before she nodded back. “You’re listed as an emergency contact.”
Stiles choked on nothing. Malia slid down on the nearest plastic chair.
Derek watched numbly as the nurse ushered Chris through the double doors that closed after them with a soft sigh.
I know you’ve suffered
But I don’t want you to hide…
The party was in full swing. The music was deafening and the crowd was dancing, rubbing into each other’s bodies and making out unabashedly in a different state of undress. There was a couple fucking on every available bed right in that very moment. In some cases – not just a couple. Everything was a mess. Drunk idiots poured cheap alcohol into other idiots while others cheered. More drunk idiots jumped in the pool, too wasted to realize the danger of that.
Peter didn’t care. He couldn’t get drunk and he wasn’t here for that, or the easy hook ups. The loud music hurt his ears but he danced with abandon, praying for oblivion that nothing here could bring. He was here to forget – his sister and his suffocating family, the way he had to suppress the call of the moon and the constant danger of living right next to the hunters, in a town far too small for both parties. He wanted to forget the way his wolf rebelled, so alike his teenage self; the way he fit nowhere – not with his own kind and not amongst the humans…
His eyes strayed and caught another pair of blue, watching him with rapt attention as he danced, sandwitched between two other guys. He would have worried about his image if he cared for that at all at this point; and there was the fact that everyone was so fucking wasted that they gave zero fucks who they writhed against or who they screwed later.
A hand slid down his body and caught a recently pierced nipple, making him moan a little.
He looked up again.
Was it just his imagination or did those pale blue eyes really linger on his naked chest?
Not very likely. Argent was too much of a stereotypical jock chasing after the cheerleaders. He couldn’t be ogling other dudes.
His loss.
The hand on his nipple was now on his crotch. His lips pulled in a sinuous smile as he caught those wandering fingers and moved them away to make room for the head he pushed down pointedly, right where he wanted it. The other guy got the hint and unzipped his fly.
He looked up again, right on time to see Argent blush madly and look away. But before he could turn around and run Peter saw it. And now he was sure.
He wasn’t mistaken. It was clear in Argent’s eyes: he was interested. But he was too much of daddy’s golden boy to act on it.
Coward.
Chris sat on the hard plastic chair, elbows resting on his knees and head resting on his clenched fists. The son of a bitch had done it again. He just loved toying with boundaries of any kind. And Chris was afraid that if Peter kept that on, one day he wouldn’t be there to save him on time.
He heard the sound of another chair scrapping on the floor and knew who that would be without looking up.
Only relatives, they had said.
“So”, Derek spoke. “When did this happen?”
Chris sighed.
It started as an arrangement. Fuck and go, if you want. No strings attached, and with their history they were both sure there could never be any strings attached. They were the perfect candidates for such a deal: they had both lost their families and were too broken for anything else, too broken to love again. But you don’t do what they did with each other to someone you love. You’re careful with a loved one, gentle. There was nothing gentle between them. And it was made clear, from day one, that all it was ever going to be was just sex.
Except…
Fate liked to play dirty and to have a good laugh.
And ‘just sex’ was hardly ever just sex.
It’s cold and loveless,
I won’t let you be denied…
Jungle wasn’t exactly Peter’s favorite place.
First of all, he didn’t dance. Not since he’d been a stupid teenager and even that had been more grinding than dancing.
He was not a stupid teenager anymore.
Second, if he wanted to get drunk he had to resort to wolfsbane and that was a dangerous territory. Sure, alcohol tasted good all by itself but it got him no buzz and fuzz, no less inhibitions.
Not that he had any to begin with.
But see, Peter was a red-blooded man and as such…
He needed to get laid.
There were more than enough men and women here who would willingly take him to bed, would even pay him to get him to bed with them if he ever stooped so low. But none of them was his… Call it a type. Most of them were younger than his own nephew and that wasn’t Peter’s thing. Sure, he liked to joke around with Stiles, mostly to see the kid’s horrified face, but teens and barely-legal guys were not his target.
The bartender moved and Peter’s eyes fell on a rather nice surprise.
Christopher Argent took his whiskey neat, like a man who wanted to drown in it. A lot of time had passed since Peter had last looked at him in such a way: not as a target or an incoming danger, but as a…
Possibility.
Argent looked up and their eyes locked.
Peter smirked and took a slow sip from his drink, playing with the ice and rolling it between his lips and tongue, blatantly hinting at his remarkable skills.
Argent gulped dryly, eyes locked on Peter’s lips.
It was the same thing he had seen all those years ago, at that stupid party: interest. Only now there was nothing holding the man back. And tonight there was something more in those pale blue eyes, something primal that told Peter exactly what he wanted to know.
Argent wanted it rough tonight.
He generally didn’t give much of fuck about his bed-partners but it was even more liberating to be with someone with whom he didn’t have to hold back anything.
Argent was just on that side of tipsy where he could still be a threat if he wanted to but didn’t put up much of a fight when Peter tore away his clothes and tossed him roughly on the bed. Going down on him wasn’t meant to get the man off or impress him (even if Argent groaned throatily and pulled on tight on Peter’s hair). It was buying Peter some time to open himself up quick and rough and slick the cock he was about to ride.
Because, see…
Peter wanted it rough tonight too.
He was face down, ass up, impaled roughly on that glorious cock and so fucking close he could taste it.
Argent was losing his rhythm, hips moving erratically as he chased his orgasm. His cock kept brushing Peter’s sweet spot and he was almost fucking there when the bastard roared and his hips snapped up, hard, once, twice and then a third time as he came explosively and just slumped on top of Peter.
“Seriously?!”, Peter groaned in frustration, still painfully hard, on the fucking verge of coming, and now also crushed under the man’s weight.
Peter growled, bucking up to dislodge the heavy body.
“Get the fuck off me”, he snapped, elbowing the hunter hard enough to make him roll over with a grunt as Peter’s hand wrapped around his own cock, jacking off quickly. There was a movement beside him as if Argent reached out to help him but Peter snapped his teeth at him, focused on his own pleasure. He came with a muffled groan, not giving a single fuck if he made a mess of the sheets.
He allowed himself a few minutes to catch his breath then promptly stood up and got dressed.
“Where are you going?”, Argent asked, voice laced with sleepy confusion.
“I don’t know what you imagined but there was never meant to be any cuddling involved, so I’m leaving. I’d say ‘good fuck’ but I even had to finish by myself so… don’t count on a rebound”, Peter snapped, greatly irritated and only slightly pacified by an only passable orgasm.
Shame.
Argent was exactly his type.
The plan was simple: they would let the trolls get rid of the vampires. Now, getting rid of the trolls was a problem. That’s where fae people came into the picture (“Yes, they are fae and they get offended if you call them fairies!”)
So an alliance was an absolute must. And they needed to consider this very carefully and diplomatically. That’s where Peter came in, since he was the ‘resident scheming bastard that was now kind of on their side, maybe?’ Stiles’ words. And, let’s face it: Derek’s diplomatic skills sucked big time since you cannot glare your supposed allies into an agreement.
Seriously.
Peter needed a drink. He would even risk wolfsbane poisoning.
The club was different, less popular and thus – less populated with barely legal idiots. Peter gulped down his drink and motioned for another one. He was just about to pull out the good stuff when someone sat next to him and said,
“I thought you couldn’t get drunk.”
“Can’t blame me for trying”, Peter shot back.
“The brats?”
“Yep.”
“Wanna talk?”
“Nope.”
Argent leaned closer.
“How about a rebound?”, he offered, eyes dancing with the challenge.
Well. The night was already shitty. So how a-fucking-bout it?!
Peter smirked. “Sure. But this time I’ll be the one fucking you.” His smile was all teeth. “Well? How about it?”
Argent’s eyes were dark and hooded when he promptly stood up. Peter was about to smirk bitterly when something clanked on the bar top.
A key-card for a motel.
Please me,
Show me how it’s done….
This wasn’t how Chris had imagined his life turning out.
This wasn’t just the outcome of too much pain, betrayal, loneliness and frustration.
This wasn’t just the outcome of feelings he’d never allowed himself to acknowledge.
This wasn’t just the outcome of his college curiosity when his first and only time with a guy had been.
This wasn’t just a memory of a heated look they had shared through a whole room of people.
This was Peter Hale, driving deep into him with a maddeningly smug smirk on his maddeningly handsome face. His hands were firm and sure, supporting and sometimes restraining, obviously better used on taking instead of giving but still somehow making a point of how fucking good the bastard was, without even trying. Arrogance shouldn’t be attractive; yet it suited him so damn well. And no matter how much Chris tried to convince himself it had just been a while and that’s why he was so affected the fact was that no one had gotten him so close so fast.
Their eyes locked on each other and never strayed. It was too intense and the tension was building up along with their pleasure. Neon blue leaked into the edges of Peter’s naturally blue eyes. His jaw clenched.
And he pulled out.
Chris bit back a whine at the loss but before could ask Peter’s harsh voice commanded,
“Turn around and get on all fours.”
It was against all his instincts; everything his father had drilled into him. But Chris was too far gone, too lost in it and he just wanted to come.
Before he knew he was doing it, he rolled over onto his stomach, ass lifting up invitingly. Peter was on top of him in seconds and into him in one swift thrust that actually managed to nail his prostate bullseye. Chris cried out, trying to squish down how much he felt like a bitch in that moment.
Fuck but Peter was good.
A rough hand grabbed his hair and pulled back, Peter nosing his neck. It was a small gratification to notice that he was panting hard too, just as affected as Chris.
“Now, pay attention”, Peter whispered dirtily as his hand crawled slowly around Chris’ hip and wrapped around his leaking prick, tugging hard in time with Peter’s well-aimed thrusts. Chris bit his lip, desperately trying to hold back any more embarrassing sounds. Peter tsk-ed.
“None of that. Let me hear you.”
He cried out, vision going black as he came harder than ever before. He felt the telltale pinpricks of claws on his hips right as Peter climaxed as well but they didn’t break skin. Peter’s grip was hard enough to bruise though and he was sure he would wear the memory of this night at least for a few days.
That was fine.
Chris wanted to remember it.
Peter groaned, head thrown back in pleasure, hips snapping up and driving his cock…
Deep into Argent’s throat.
The man was obviously full of surprises. Not that Peter had anything against that, especially since Argent offered. And he was surprisingly good at it. He didn’t choke, didn’t pull back, didn’t offer any resistance as Peter fucked his mouth with abandon, getting closer to a marvelous orgasm.
He didn’t even bother to give Argent some warning, anything more than a harder pull on his hair, before he shot his load with a roar, deep down the man’s throat, fucking it lazily through the aftershocks with pleased little hmm-s. Argent stayed put thought it only pulling out with a pop once Peter was truly finished and too sensitive. He stood up, wiping his mouth on his forearm and Peter realized he had swallowed.
“Learning some new tricks, I notice”, Peter sassed, smirking cockily even though he was still panting.
“You didn’t seem to mind”, Chris shot back, voice hoarse and rough.
“Oh, trust me I don’t. I’m a great fan of your newly acquired skills. Just surprised that you bothered.”
Chris looked at him, brows slightly furrowed in confusion.
“Is sex for you… well, is it just about your own pleasure?”
Peter was perturbed. “Uh, yes?”
“Huh”, was all Chris said, beginning to move away. Not offended, just not in the mood anymore.
“Why?”, Peter asked.
Chris just shrugged, shaking his head in a way that clearly said ‘it doesn’t matter’ and hunting down his boxers. Peter gritted his teeth. He shot up and grabbed the other man’s hand, making Chris finally look at him. Peter held those eyes.
“What is it for you?”, Peter hissed quietly.
Another shrug. “It’s just important to me that my partner gets to enjoy it too.”
Peter was so shocked that his grip loosened and Chris took that chance to pull his hand back and use it to reach out for his discarded underwear.
“Even if it’s…”
Me. It was on the tip of his tongue but he bit it back.
“…a fuck buddy?”, he finished.
Chris nodded. “Sure.”
Huh. No one had cared before. That’s why Peter had learned to take care of his own pleasure, alone or with a partner.
He schooled his face into another cocky smirk and reached out again for the other man.
“Well, c’mere then. Let’s teach you some of the more fancy stuff.”
“Come the fuck on! Harder! Fucking fuck me harder, bastard! Or is that how you want it when I fuck you, huh? Want me to keep you on the edge, huh? Fuck-, hah! Yessss….”
Chris’ hand covered that sinful mouth and he groaned animalistically.
“I like you better when you’re silent. Maybe I’ll get you a mouth ball gag.”
Peter snorted, shaking off the hand with ease.
“We could try”, he leered. Then he whispered directly in Chris’ ear “but we both know dirty talk gets you off faster than anything.”
“Maybe I want it to last.”
Chris heard the words slipping out of his own mouth and frowned. Was that just fever-talk, a fuck-high or something? Or a slip of something he hadn’t even realized?
Peter’s confused little frown was soon reduced to his eyes rolling back with ecstasy as Chris nailed his sweet spot at the same time as his thumb stroked right under his cock head, making the wolf come apart.
Dealing with weapons had always been Chris’ back-up plan. He had once thought about actually selling them but he soon realized trade was not his thing. He would rather restore classics and offer expert opinion in prizing antique weapons than having to work with shady fuckers who thought they were gods once they bought the biggest riffle.
He loved his job. It offered just the right amount of thrill and it kept him on his toes. Every case was unique and he was never bored, the way he would have been in an office. He traveled a lot, met new people, and new (or more accurately - very old) weapons, beautiful examples of true art that they rarely manufactured nowadays. Of course there were the times when the gun was new and just needed a repair that was tricky enough to need a real expert. Like him.
It paid well too. Well enough that he could afford a few luxuries.
Still. Not exactly as obscenely expensive as the car on the other side of the road…
Or the other eye candy, leaning casually on it.
Of course it had to be Peter’s. Who else in Beacon Hills could afford an Acura NSX?
Chris stopped right next to the man, pulled down the window and made a point of blatantly ogling him. Peter looked good in a white fitting dress-shirt and pale grey slacks, damn him. But, Chris was well aware that Peter looked even better without any of that. He smirked.
“Hey, doll. How much for an hour?”
Peter lifted a single manicured eyebrow.
“If you didn’t actually get it for free, trust me, you can’t afford me.”
Chris snorted, taking another look at the car as he nodded.
“Car troubles?”
Peter made a face. “Fucking Japanese cars. They rarely break at all but if they do you better buy yourself another car.”
Chris hummed. Then he pulled over, making sure he wasn’t in the way of other cars and then killed the engine and stepped out.
“Pop up the hood.”
Peter snorted. “And you’ll do what exactly? Stare the engine into working?”
Chris sighed. “I don’t suppose you even know what a tool box looks like?”
Peter’s haughty sneer was enough of an answer. Chris rolled his eyes, opened up his own trunk and pulled out his own tool box.
“I’m actually waiting for the toll-truck”, Peter said.
Chris stared. Here he was, offering help and the bastard was still not making this any easier. In fact, why did he even bother?
He was sure he made a face when he shrugged, spat out “Sure” and turned around. He was almost by his own car when,
“Argent.”
He turned back.
The Acura’s hood was popped-up, Peter pouting beside the car.
Chris walked back, bending over it, checking the oil level first, the cable management and other simple basic things.
“Your engine coolant level is low. Didn’t you see a warning on the dashboard?”
Peter shrugged. Chris rolled his eyes and went to his own car to retrieve some.
“Good news is you don’t have to replace the car”, he half-joked, refilling the coolant.
Peter was silent.
Chris looked up, right into blazing blue. Peter’s look was intense. And dark.
“You make a sexy mechanic”, he said. His voice was low and deep and Chris knew what that meant.
It was Chris’ turn to lean on the car and look at the wolf with a small calculating smirk.
“This car is too small for that”, he noted.
Peter looked at his SUV pointedly. “Yours isn’t.”
When the toll-truck arrived there was a $100 bill under one of the Acura’s wipers. And a note.
“Problem is fixed. Sorry for the trouble.”
The SUV parked nearby was shaking obscenely.
“So what do you actually do for a living?”, Chris asked while they were taking a moment to take a breath and recuperate.
“Since when do we actually do a pillow talk?”, Peter groaned from where he was still spread on his stomach.
“We don’t, you destroyed the pillows three times ago.”
“Har-har. No one likes the smarty-pants, Argent.”
“I know, that’s why I don’t wear any pants when I’m with you.”
Peter snorted, quietly admitting defeat. He turned his head to look at the other man.
“How do you know that I don’t just waste away my family’s money?”
Chris rolled his eyes. “No one does that in a suit and a tie.”
Peter’s brows lifted in surprise. “Are you stalking me, Argent?”
“I fixed your car the other day and that was literally what you were wearing.”
“That’s a single example and your words suggested you have experienced more than just that single occurrence.”
“It’s a small city, Hale, get over it.”
Peter snorted again, rubbing his face in the mattress and suppressing a yawn. Damn, those sexapedes were getting a bit too much even for his stamina.
“I’m a lawyer actually. Started practicing just recently.”
Chris’ eyes were wide with shock as he looked at him again.
“Huh”, he said, “Didn’t know you had a law degree.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me”, Peter noted.
He expected a frown, an unhappy twist of those lips, at least an eye-roll. What he didn’t expect was a slow smile.
“Yeah”, Chris admitted. “Keeps me on my toes around you.”
Peter found himself returning the smile.
Something was missing today.
Peter’s thrusts weren’t as hard and fast as they sometimes (more often than not) were, weren’t as desperate and urgent. Still, it was obvious he wanted to come, especially since he had stated early on that that was his only goal while having sex. And really what else could it be, between the two of them? Surely not the intimacy of it.
Yet it looked like needed something else today, something more and Chris tried to figure out what it was. Peter’s eyes kept lingering on his neck. And maybe that’s what it was.
“You can bite, you know, just not… bite”, Chris panted.
Peter snorted, still moving lazily inside him. “Beta, remember? Your humanity is safe.”
Chris shrugged. “I see the potential and I’d rather play safe.”
Peter’s thrusts halted. Chris looked up, straight into wide electric blue eyes.
“What?”, he frowned.
Peter shook his head and focused back on him, looking away and avoiding his eyes. Chris wouldn’t let that slide. Not this time. His hand slid on Peter’s face and forced him to look back at him.
“What?”, he asked again.
It took a moment but then, very quietly,
“No one’s ever said that to me.”
Something changed after that. And when he was on top Peter found himself using every trick he knew to make sure Chris came first.
“Uh!”
It was more than gratifying, watching Chris come apart and knowing who was to blame for that. It was more than enough to trigger his own orgasm and Peter always followed close behind. The real struggle was to keep his eyes open through it and watch Chris bite the pillow, hands clenching the sheets hard, or when his head was thrown back in pleasure and Peter took the opportunity to bite and suck on his neck, or (Peter’s favorite) when it was so good that even Chris couldn’t hold back and his hoarse groans and swears vibrated between the walls.
“Haah!”
It was moments like these when Peter wanted to bite for another reason; not just muffle a groan or tease but rather…
Stake a claim.
In moments like these he realized how close he was to slipping into something else. Something he hadn’t planned, didn’t know and didn’t want!
Chris stared hard across the small diner, food completely forgotten even though he had been starving when he had come.
Right across the restaurant Peter was chewing on his own steak, completely nonchalant. He had to be aware of Chris’ presence, there was no chance he wasn’t. Yet he made no move to acknowledge that, all but avoiding even looking Chris’ way. Damn, the bastard had a great poker face. Chris gritted his teeth.
He grabbed his plate, stood up and strolled determinedly across the diner, where he dropped unceremoniously on the vacant chair right in front of Peter.
One perfect brow lifted in a silent question, Peter’s way of asking “What the hell are you doing?”
Chris huffed.
“What, we can screw each other senseless but we can’t share a table?”
“I don’t see the point”, Peter just said.
Chris stared, trying to find an answer in those guarded eyes, on that perfect poker face. Peter didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. He remained as much of a riddle as he had always been.
Chris huffed again and picked up his plate, standing up again.
“Fuck this”, he muttered.
He was about to turn and walk away when he tripped, or more like someone else tripped him, and he collapsed back on his seat. Peter stabbed a carrot, then a piece of meat, then some lettuce, creating the perfect bite.
“Eat your food, Argent”, was all he said, munching on his food and stabbing at the perfectly cut pieces on his plate.
Chris bit back a smile – it wouldn’t be perceived well. But he couldn’t hold back the warm feeling of contentment inside of him.
Peter rode him hard, hands gripping the headboard and probably leaving some new claw-marks on it. His chest rose and fell quickly and as Chris leaned in to bite at a nipple an old memory of a crowded party and a nearly-naked younger Peter flashed in his jumbled mind.
“What happened to the piercing?”, he panted.
“Got… rid of it”, Peter bit back, “Too much… trouble… with clothes. Now focus back on task”, his eyes flashed neon blue as he grinned around fangs and clenched purposefully around Chris.
The thought, any thought, was quickly forgotten.
Chris bolted in his bed, fully awake and alerted, gun already in his hand. He was still disorientated and it took him a moment to realize what had woken him up. Namely - the loud banging on his front door.
He took the gun as he carefully made his way into foyer. For a brief moment his jumbled brain wondered if it was a good idea to step closer to the door in case the person on the other side was also armed; but then why would they knock?
There was another bang.
“For fuck’s sake, it’s me”, the voice hissed, muffled by the door.
“Peter?”, he frowned, leaving the gun on the closest flat surface without thinking and going to unlock the door.
Peter all but fell into his arms as soon as the door was open. He was pale, shaking badly and bleeding profusely.
“Shit!”, Chris cursed, pulling the man inside and taking a closer look at his wounds.
“W’f’sbane”, Peter slurred, barely keeping his eyes open. His whole chest was full of bullet-holes and Chris didn’t doubt there were more that he couldn’t see through his clothes.
“Shit, fuck! Peter! Hey, hey, stay with me! This is important, listen! What kind? Did you see anything, a powder on their guns or hands, vapes, anything?!”
Peter shook his head, barely conscious. Chris gritted his teeth.
“Okay. Okay, this is gonna hurt but I have to. Just… hold on.”
He inspected Peter’s wounds, looking for the shallowest before he dug his fingers straight into it. Peter roared, wide electric blue eyes full of pain and fangs mere millimeters from Chris’ face.
“I know, I know, but I gotta find the bullet and see what kind of wolfsbane they used! Just hold on, I’m almost…”
Peter’s claws dug into his arm painfully.
“There!”
He pulled out the bullet and it clanked on the floor. He looked around madly, for anything hard enough to smash it with. He grabbed a paperweight from the small end table by the door and brought it down hard on the bullet. It broke into pieces, revealing bright yellow powder.
Of course it had to be the most potent kind.
Cursing, he ran into his bedroom, unlocking the safe and taking out the anthora.
And a lighter.
Peter’s barely open eyes turned wide as saucers when he spotted the lighter, and even wider once Chris lighted it. His breath hitched even more. He was clearly panicked, crawling back till his back hit the wall.
“Peter… Listen, you know I have to…”
“No!”
“…burn it or…”
“NO!”, he growled animalistically through his fangs.
There was no time for coddling and pleas. Chris grabbed Peter’s torn shirt and hissed in his face,
“Now listen to me, you stupid son of a bitch. I will not let you die on my floor, in my fucking arms. So dig in your claws into me or bite me to death ‘cause the only way I’ll let you die is if we both do.”
Peter’s wide eyes were brimming with emotions. Surprise. Confusion. Fear and fury, but now also determination. And something tentative and unnamed that he quickly shook off before he grabbed Chris’ arm.
“Alright. Let’s do this.”
Peter panted, breath wheezing through his bullet-perforated lungs, hissing through his fangs. Sweat covered his brow and his hands were damp, slipping from Chris’ sleeve where he held on for dear life. The man was bent over the last wound and Peter felt like sobbing: from pain, from relief, from the sheer madness of it. A hunter fought for his life! A hunter he had sought in his most desperate moment! Not for pleasure but salvation…
Peter’s heart pounded hard. Shit. Shit!
When a wolf is hurt and needs help it goes to…
To whomever has the same kind of wolfsbane! Yes! That was all it was! Because Peter was nothing if not practical, especially when it came to survival…
The way he went boneless when Chris carded gentle fingers through his hair and promised him he was here and he’ll take care of him spoke volumes. Those pale blue eyes were the last thing he saw before he closed his own. And before he lost consciousness he knew, no matter how much he denied it.
Well, fuck.
Chris stared down at the half-full tumbler of whiskey in his hand. It wasn’t enough to stop the whirlwind of thoughts he didn’t want to acknowledge that were now wreaking havoc in his mind. It couldn’t undo what had happened and how he had reacted.
Not that he’d react any different if it happened again.
That’s what scared him.
Because it wasn’t a matter of what had just happened. It was a matter of what had been happening all along, right under their noses and none of them had realized.
He stood at the threshold of his own bedroom without remembering walking there from the kitchen. And he stared down at the unconscious wolf in his bed.
When had this happened? How had it happened? How had they allowed it? Maybe because it was so unlikely that they hadn’t expected it, weren’t ever counting on it and now it was a fact.
Well, fuck.
Like the adults that they were they did not discuss it. Both of them decided they’d keep quiet and wouldn’t address the obvious. The matter of… feelings? was considered the same way one would sneer at something nasty on their shoe and, in the end, generally ignored.
Denied.
Denied.
Peter stood on his doorstep wearing clothes that begged to be torn away and a leer that encouraged that. His eyes were already undressing Chris and his hands reached out to make that come true.
As if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t been dying the last time he’d been there. Chris stepped back. Peter frowned.
“What? Don’t tell me you don’t want it. It’s been three weeks.”
Three weeks. Right. And what was there to back away from? He had already decided he’d say nothing, he’d act like nothing happened, and nothing had happened! Peter had been wounded, Chris had helped, now they were both okay and could fuck. Simple.
Chris was a simple man. And so was Peter.
He forced on a smile and pulled off his shirt.
“I thought I gotta undress for it is all.”
Peter’s smirk widened. “Not necessarily but I do appreciate the view…”
Chris unbuttoned his jeans and stepped out of them, having gone commando today. Peter’s look turned positively predatory.
“Definitely appreciate the view”, he growled.
And then he pounced.
Tease me,
You are the one….
Peter had tasted Chris’ skin before. He had left numerous hickeys, sometimes even ones that were obvious. He had sucked and nibbled on the man’s neck and he knew what he tasted like.
So why did he feel like an addict now, unable to get enough of it, mouthing at Chris’ neck like a teenager who got all of his kicks out of it? Why was that somehow even more erotic to him than having two fingers inside the man, lazily teasing him, stretching him, preparing him for something Peter was in no hurry for.
“Come on”, Chris sighed, a slight growl in his voice that made Peter smile.
When you run with wolves…
“Beg me for it”, he smirked, rubbing his cheek into Chris’ before looking up into steel blue.
Steel blue that was half-irritated, half-commanding and demanding. Peter chuckled.
“Or that. That look works too”, he said softly before adding a third finger.
Chris sighed and bit his lip, eyes closing in pleasure and, subconsciously, trust, Peter realized with a pang. The same trust Chris showed by displaying his neck. By letting Peter inside him. By risking his own life to help him while he’d been mindless with pain and fear…
He shook his head to get rid of those thoughts.
“Nice as this really is”, Chris panted, “would we get to the main event sometime today?”
Peter snorted, genuinely amused and a little surprised by the fact that he was actually,
“…contemplating the idea of having you come a few times before I get to fuck you…”
Chris whined. It was Peter’s turn to bite his lip and keep it together.
“…but since you asked so nicely…”
Chris snorted. “Don’t pretend. I know you wanna… come the fuck on…”
Peter slid inside him in one swift gentle thrust, eyes firmly on Chris’ face as he sighed peacefully and a small smile stretched his lips before he licked them and tried to meet Peter’s thrusts. Peter wasn’t having that, not tonight. He wasn’t in the mood for hard and fast. He wanted it slow. Wanted it to last. Wanted to make Chris slowly fall apart, sob with pleasure by the end of it.
His hands roamed Chris’ naked chest, the firm planes covered with just the right amount of hair to be sexy in a pure, natural way without being too much. His cock lay heavy on his lower abdomen but Peter skipped it for now, his hands roaming lower, grabbing Chris’ leg and throwing it over his shoulder, other hand wrapping Chris’ other leg firmly around Peter’s waist. The new angle made Chris moan loudly and Peter turned his head to kiss and lap at the leg over his shoulder. Fuck, he tasted good. He tasted amazing. He tasted like, he sounded like, he had to be…
Mine!
“Mi…”
Huh?
Huh?!
Peter choked on the word but Chris was too lost in the throes of pleasure to notice the slip, head thrown back, one hand gripping the pillow and the other gripping Peter’s hip. Peter’s breath hitched, one hand grabbing Chris’ leaking prick and jerking it in time with his thrusts, the other gripping the leg around his shoulder hard, muffling his own desperate moans into it.
In the end it was him begging.
“Come… Please… please come, come now!”
“Haaah!”
Chris’ voice echoed as his body thrashed under Peter, coming harder than any of their other times. Peter followed seconds later, vision going black around the edges as he rode on the high of his own orgasm, fighting to stay up and not crush Chris with his weight. He barely had the strength to pull out and collapse next to the other man, both of them wheezing with the effort of just breathing.
It took a long few minutes before any of them spoke.
“What was that?”, Chris rasped out. His voice was wreaked, vulnerable, broken.
Fuck.
“Meaning? It was sex, Argent, I thought we’ve done it enough by now for you know”, Peter answered briskly; too quick, too rehearsed.
Chris stood up on shaky legs and began pulling on his clothes.
“That wasn’t just sex. Until you know better, don’t look out for me”, he hissed, leaving the room and the stunned wolf.
Chris stared through the window, playing with his lighter. He hadn’t smoked in… years, certainly. Was it 5? More? The last time he had used that lighter had been when Peter…
Fuck.
Fuck everything, really.
He couldn’t love a werewolf. It had been years since he’d loved anyone in that way, if it even had been that way. He wasn’t even sure he had loved his own wife in that way! And that was wrong, so wrong, how could he even compare…
His family would disown him, surely. If they were still around. But they weren’t. He had hunted down his own mad sister, a puppet to an even madder father who would have surely killed him if he could see him right now…
And Allison. Allison would probably be disgusted. He was sullying the memory of Victoria by being with a man, hypocritically having forbidden his own daughter to date a werewolf and what was he doing now?!
Not dating the werewolf, certainly. Peter had no concept of… that. Or feelings.
Or could he really blame the guy? He himself still tried to deny it, even after last time when…
When.
Fuck.
Only, not just.
And that was the problem, wasn’t it.
He pulled out a half-finished pack of cigarettes he had locked away all those years ago and pulled one out.
This was ridiculous!
Peter glared at his glass, trying to figure out a logical explanation.
Well, sex made people close, right? Like, they got familiar with each other. Fuck-buddies were a thing. There was a buddy in a fuck-buddy. And even that was unheard of! Him! Buddies with a hunter!? Ha!
Regular bed-mates?
No, that was a dangerous word!
Bed-partners?
Only slightly better.
A new glass slid in front of him, this one full. The guy who had just slid onto the stool next to him winked flirtatiously. Peter sighed, feeling like he wanted to scream and break things in his frustration.
He knew he was fucked when just the thought of fucking someone else made him sick.
Chris opened the door and glared at the man, standing there drenched to the bones.
“Well? Aren’t you gonna let me in?!”
“What are you doing here, Peter?”, Chris sighed, stepping away so the wolf could enter, getting water everywhere.
“Seeking refuge from the rain?”
“And why here exactly?”, Chris groaned.
“Well, a good buddy should provide some basic things like a roof for…”
Chris snorted bitterly. “Since when are we buddies?”
“Fuck-buddies?”, Peter tried.
Next thing he knew he was pinned to the wall, Chris’ finger stabbing him in the chest.
“Fuck buddies don’t come over to spend the night when it rains!”, he stepped back, raking a hand through his hair. “I told you to figure it out first”, he muttered.
Then he grabbed his keys and a jacket.
“Hey. It’s raining buckets! Where are you going?!”, Peter yelled after him.
“Out. Somewhere. Anywhere. You stay here and hide. From the rain”, he added bitterly before the closed the door with a bang.
This was a stupid idea. A recipe for disaster. Peter was sure of it and yet he still did it.
It was against everything he believed in. Everything he had always ran from. Every wolf instinct of self-preservation. It should feel wrong.
It didn’t.
It scared him in a way he would never admit but it was the only way to keep… whatever they had, fragile and unnamed as it was. It was that or… talk. Peter didn’t talk, not about… things like that. So. This or nothing. This or lose everything. Peter wasn’t ready to let go. And if he wanted to keep that thing they had, if he wanted to keep…
You know what, his wolf rumbled.
Shut up, Peter snapped.
It was just really that great, the sex. The new arrangement just meant he got even more of it, regularly.
Yes.
…
And denial was not just a river in Egypt.
Chris frowned, stepping into the living room. Nothing had indicated there had been another person there before he got home, nothing hinted of a break-in.
And yet...
There was a stack of papers on the table, along with a key. And a note.
“Be there at 18”, it said in Peter’s neat handwriting and brisk, slightly annoyed manner.
Chris’ frown deepened, moving the note away and taking the papers. It was a property contract. The address was highlighted in bright yellow but what caught Chris’ attention was the word ‘co-ownership’. And the space at the back where his signature was obviously expected, judging by the obnoxious pointer sticky notes that Peter had stuck there.
The message was clear: fuck-buddies don’t live together.
In his weird, proud, idiotic, wordless way Peter was saying what he couldn’t actually say.
He looked at his watch. It was 17:45. He took the key and the contract and went back to his car.
He wouldn’t be surprised if it was all a stupid joke and somewhere in the shadows Peter cackled maniacally as he watched him try the handle. But he was here already. Might as well give it a try.
The key fit perfectly.
He unlocked the door, stepping into the small foyer and looking around. There was a cozy living room on the right with huge floor-to-ceiling windows, a comfy couch and even fluffy rugs here and there. The kitchen on the left was more modern, full of stainless steel, a high countertop and one of those fancy hangers for pots and pans. The hall led to a few more rooms. Most doors were closed, except for one that was ajar. Chris pushed it open further.
The bedroom was just as invitingly bright as the living room, with a huge bed in the middle of it. But what was even more inviting was a naked Peter, writhing on the white sheets, hand firmly around his hard leaking cock. His eyes locked on the hunter at the door and he said arrogantly,
“You’re late! I had to start by myself.”
Chris smirked, unbuckling his belt and toeing off his shoes.
“Let’s fix that, shall we?”
Peter’s hands roamed Chris’ naked chest, tongue mapping the smooth planes and the happy trail, disappearing into the black boxers. Chris moaned appreciatively and when he made a move to flip them so he was on top Peter went willingly.
Like he always did lately. Ever since they had moved in together two weeks ago.
“Hands on the headboard”, Chris commanded.
Peter smirked, surprisingly doing what he was told.
Only for a pair of handcuffs to restrain him.
He frowned a little, his sardonic smile going a tad darker.
“Well, this is new.”
Chris straddled him, resting his hands on both sides of Peter’s head and staring right into his eyes.
“I know why you always bottom lately”, he said.
Peter broke eye-contact first. He knew it was a tell, a huge slip, but he just couldn’t keep looking into those pale blue eyes. He tried the handcuffs. They were well-made, not just a toy from the sex shop. He could break them, of course, but it would take more effort. Way more effort.
“I know what you almost said that time.”
Fuck. Peter trashed, now more desperately.
“I know that you bought a whole apartment just so that you wouldn’t have to say those words. You wouldn’t have to lose this… arrangement we have, and you wouldn’t have to actually talk to keep it.”
Peter stopped fighting his restrains, now listening carefully.
“The thing is, Peter…. It doesn’t work this way. You can’t keep my mouth shut with a fancy place and a fucking contract.”
The handcuffs broke.
Peter had him pinned under his weight in seconds, eye blazing blue, fangs dropped, voice low and expression nearly feral.
“What do you want me to say, Argent!? That I roll over and take it just so I can keep my own wolf quiet when all it wants to scream is how you’re mine… and claim you! That I keep it physical because I don’t do anything else?! I don’t do coffee in the morning or breakfast in bed! I don’t talk because I don’t know how! This is how I communicate! This is all I know!”
He panted, chest heaving as if he had ran a marathon. Chris’ hand slowly crept on his cheek, caressing gently as he smiled tentatively.
“I think you’re doing great. Talking.”
Peter pulled back, sitting back and trying to stand up as he hissed,
“Don’t mock me!”
A hand grabbed his and pulled him back down. Pale blue met dark furious blue.
“I’m not”, Chris promised. “This is new for me too. It’s the first time I let someone else in.”
Peter stared. Chris stared back.
Yeah. Not Victoria, not anyone else. You.
Peter slumped back, suddenly feeling drained.
“This is fucked up”, he decided.
Chris snorted.
“I, uh… don’t do breakfast in bed either”, he said, making Peter actually chuckle, “but I bought some pop-tarts yesterday.”
Peter looked away, throat suddenly constricted: it was his favorite junk food and of course the fucker knew it.
“I’ll make some coffee too”, Chris added on his way out the bedroom.
When he came back a few minutes later Peter’s coffee was black and strong enough, just the way he took it. His favorite blend, too.
He’d have to pay more attention from now on. On what Chris’ favorite things were.
Damn.
Well.
There was one thing he knew for sure Chris liked.
Chris stepped inside the apartment, all but dragging his feet in fatigue. He had driven 10 hours for his latest job and all he wanted right now was some food, a shower and their bed.
Speaking of bed, Peter was usually around when he came home, always ready to coax him into their bed. And even though he was so exhausted right now Peter’s absence was… alarming.
“Peter?”, he called, walking straight for the bedroom.
He opened the door and sighed, biting back a smile.
The bastard lay there in all his naked glory, dick already standing at full attention. There was a circle of whipped cream at the base of it, covering his balls completely.
Peter shook the can.
“Well, I’m not gonna light it up but I am gonna let you blow it… birthday boy”, he leered, making Chris snort.
Right before Peter drew another circle…
Around a newly pierced nipple.
Chris’ throat went dry. His eyes darkened and his pants got just a little bit too tight. Peter’s smirk grew.
It was hours later when Chris lay there, half-dead and still puzzled how Peter had managed to wring out three orgasms out of him after a 10-hour drive. His hand was playing absently with the piercing, making Peter groan and slap it away.
“Don’t get used to it. It looks terrible under a dress shirt.”
Chris looked up. “You really pierced your nipple just for my birthday?”
“Well that and three orgasms.”
Chris laughed.
Peter came home that night, shoulders tense and his eyes haunted. He went straight for the whiskey, pulling out his stash of mild wolfsbane. He filled himself a generous amount of the amber liquid mixing it with the poison before taking a large gulp, hissing from the sting. He leaned on the counter, arms supporting his weight as his shoulders hunched.
Chris, observing everything from the couch, left the book he was reading aside and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Wanna tell me what that’s all about?”
Peter flinched, as if having forgotten that he now lived with someone else. It happened often in the beginning but Chris had hoped they were over it by now. Maybe Peter was just twitchy today. Something had obviously thrown him out of his element.
“Tough case”, he bit out, sipping more whiskey.
“I’m all ears if you want to talk”, Chris nudged gently.
It took more than just a few moments for Peter to speak up again.
“It was an arson.”
They were quiet for a while. Then Chris stood up and went for the fridge. He pulled out two boxes of ice cream and sat at the counter, handing one of them and a spoon to Peter. He said nothing, just opened his own dessert and dug in.
He never tried to console Peter in moments like these where the past or the fire was brought up. He never apologized, knowing it would sound hollow and meaningless. He never embraced Peter in those moments, knowing it felt too much like a restriction. He just gave him space and silence. And ice cream. Cold, deeply frozen ice cream.
It was something alike to the fact that he never lit candles around Peter, even in those weird moments lately when they tried for romantic, even with their history. He never brought up the handcuffs again, not after that heart-to-heart they’d had just a few days into sharing a home. He never pushed Peter’s boundaries.
Peter would never admit how grateful he was. For all of that.
There were fresh flowers on Allison’s grave. Not on Victoria’s, just Allison’s. It was also well-kept, as if someone came often. Or paid someone else to tend to it.
Most likely the second.
As Chris bent down to leave his own bouquet he couldn’t bite back a small bitter smile. Allison would have arched a brow at Peter’s very strange behavior. But she would have secretly loved it.
Just as she had loved white tulips.
They sat at their usual diner, the one they went to when they weren’t in the mood to cook (they did eventually learn how) or order take-out. Chris was still somewhat surprised Peter allowed it – the idea of a diner, of having been seen at such a place, of having been seen with Chris. It was odd but Peter didn’t really seem to care about any of that.
What he cared about right now was his car’s new tires.
“I mean, low profiles look better and we don’t really have much of a winter here at all…”
“That car wouldn’t have survived in snow either way”, Chris interjected while the waitress served their dishes.
Without missing a beat Peter swept the tomatoes from his plate and piled them on Chris’, snatching his grilled peppers in turn. He swapped a few more things, his own favorites for Chris’, still talking and not even actually paying attention to what he was doing.
“…not like I need the extra protection of high profiles or anything, so…”
Chris hid a smile in his beer bottle.
Chris stepped into the kitchen, bag with take-out boxes swinging as he set it on the counter and pulled out some dishes.
“I brought the Chinese! Tell me you’re not half-way through the movie!”, he yelled while separating the different food. He finished up quickly, skipping into the living room where Peter slumped on the couch, watching a documentary as it turned out.
“No need to yell. Werewolf, remember?”, he snarked but he took the offered dish with a hum of appreciation. “And I wouldn’t have started the movie without you”, he added.
“That’s… surprisingly nice of you.”
“I just don’t want to listen to you whine and bitch at me”, Peter clarified.
“…Sure”, Chris rolled his eyes.
It was quiet while Chris loaded up the movie and when he next looked up he noticed Peter just staring at his dish.
“Something wrong?”, he frowned. He was sure he had picked up all of Peter’s favorites but who new with someone like Peter?
The wolf shook his head. “Nope. Nothing wrong”, he said, voice unwavering and face completely straight.
But when he thought Chris wasn’t looking the hunter could have sworn he saw Peter smiling a small private smile.
They never told each other when they dealt with monsters separately.
But if Chris came home in the middle of the night, beaten up and bloody he never went to Peter, never went to their bed. He cleaned up as best as he could considering his wounds and then curled up on the couch, not wanting to bother Peter. Of course he knew Peter would have heard the door unlock and could have woken up but he still didn’t want to stir him from bed and he still hoped Peter would at least be unable to sniff out the blood through the distance between their bedroom and living room.
He wondered why he bothered with all those precautions (and the couch) since Peter always ended up curled up on top of him in the morning.
When Peter went on his first meeting with a psychiatrist Chris supported him. He even joined him on a few of his later sessions.
When Chris finally bulged and started a therapy Peter didn’t accompany him. But when Chis came home after his sessions Peter was always attuned to what he needed – from soup or ice cream to wild, unrestrained sex – and he always delivered, without fail.
And without words.
It was a whole year later when Peter broached a new question, the same old way.
A whole year of shared breakfast (not in bed, but eventually – actually cooked!)
A whole year of coffee in the morning (black and strong for Peter, milk and no sugar for Chris and “Do not talk to me before coffee, you heathen!”)
A whole year of facing the newest big bad in town, going along with the brats’ most idiotic plans and stitching up each other in the aftermath.
A whole year of sex that had stopped being just sex a long, long time ago.
Chris lowered the newspaper he was reading in their kitchen when Peter walked behind him, pointedly leaving a stack of papers on the table before he went to the sink and started doing the dishes.
By hand.
In the morning.
Before coffee.
Chris frowned at this highly suspicious behavior by this suspiciously awake Peter. He put the newspaper away and reached for the papers. His eyes immediately widened at the words at the top.
Premarital agreement.
He flipped though the stack quickly, not really reading. Peter had already signed. He had even put the same obnoxious pointer sticky notes at where Chris’ signature was supposed to go.
He slowly put the papers back on the table and stood up. Peter’s shoulders were tense as Chris slowly wrapped his arms around them, kissing his neck.
“You never do things conventionally, do you?”
The water stopped running. Peter was taut as a string in Chris’ arms.
“You didn’t sign”, the wolf just said. “Is that a no?”
Chris’ arms tightened their hold. He smiled, lips ghosting around Peter’s ear.
“You didn’t actually ask. Also”, he whispered, directly into Peter ear, “it’s a yes.”
Chris sighed and pushed his shirt aside, revealing a thin silver chain around his neck. He pulled hard, breaking it and freeing the golden band he then put on his ring finger. His hand found Peter’s where a matching ring glared at Derek.
He’d never noticed it. Peter had presumably worn it all along and Derek hadn’t noticed that one of his last remaining family members was… married.
“Now you know”, Chris said.
Derek had obviously dozed off at some point because when he next opened his eyes in was dark outside and the room was illuminated only by the small bedside lamp. Peter had probably stirred and that had grabbed his attention, coaxing him to wake up because his eyes now fixed on the pair.
Ad soon as Peter’s eyes focused, Chris gently pulled his hand back from Peter’s. It made Peter frown and whimper quietly, his own hand seeking the contact again. It was very uncharacteristic and it obviously wasn’t just Derek who thought so because Chris frowned. As he took back Peter’s hand he whispered, as if assuming Derek was still sleeping.
“You usually don’t like me being too handsy in public.”
It took Peter a moment to respond, voice a bit broken when he finally spoke.
“It was… bad”, was all he said.
Chris’ grip tightened around his hand, lips kissing his knuckles around his wedding ring.
Derek closed his eyes, pretending to still be asleep and giving them as much privacy as he could.
He had gone for coffee and was just about to walk back into the room when he saw the spot by the bed was already occupied.
By Malia.
It was uncommon since she and Peter hadn’t ever bonded and didn’t really spend time together. But, Derek guessed, a lot had happened recently and all of it was eye-opening.
He saw Chris hovering at the other end of the hall, talking quietly with Stiles and obviously giving Peter and Malia some space. It was really thoughtful and Derek wondered how long they had been together before it was revealed. Long enough to get married for sure. He was still dumbfounded by that. Had it been a Vegas wedding? Not very likely, Peter would have hated the idea. Simply signing? Probably, it sounded very much like Chris.
Then again, did he really know them both at all?
And maybe that was another something he would like to change.
Peter ran through the Preserve, as fast as he could. He almost ran on all fours, would have if his clothes allowed it because more than anything he was running late.
He burst through the trees, took a shortcut, used some back alleys and finally reached their apartment building. Not really having the patience (or time) to wait for the elevator he took the stairs, bursting through the small foyer of their home like a hellhound was chasing him.
Which Parish wasn’t.
“I’m here, I’m back, shower and I’m ready!”, he panted.
Chris, perfectly dressed and leaning on the table, shook his head fondly.
“It’s not me Stiles would bitch at.”
“Ugh…”, Peter rolled his eyes.
“He’s been chewing Derek for a while now…”, Chris continued.
“Chewing is not what he does to Derek, believe me. Or is that what it’s called nowadays?”, Peter called from the bathroom.
“He wants to meet with everyone. It’s been a while.”
“Not my fault he decided to become some big shot FBI agent.”
“Behave”, Chris sighed.
“Or what?”, he leered, stepping out of the quickest shower ever.
Chris snorted, slapping his ass as he passed by.
“Or we’ll not use the new toys… tonight.”
“Toys? What toys?”, Peter perked up.
Chris smiled that bastard smile and walked out the door.
“Two minutes. I’ll be in the car.”
Peter’s voice carried through the whole floor, all the way to the elevator.
“What toys!?”