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Pretty Girl

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You’d think that there wouldn’t be much time for… indulgences, what with the constant beating back the monsters that all seem to want a piece of Beacon Hills. But in Peter’s experience, devoting 100% of your time to duty and survival is a surefire ticket to overworked minds and mistakes in judgment. Stress relief is essential.

There’s no threat on the immediate horizon, but that could change at any moment, so Peter is taking advantage. He makes sure that his apartment is locked, firmly shuts his bedroom door, and kneels to pull open the bottom drawer of his dresser.

Swaths of satin and lace greet him. Peter feels his breath coming a little faster just looking at them. He reaches out and runs the pads of his fingers over the soft, slippery fabric. As wonderful as it feels under his hands, he knows it’ll feel even better once he puts it on. He hesitates for a moment over a red number before ultimately choosing a pale cream set. Peter looks good in red, but the suggestion of innocence is appealing right now. Standing, he lays the lingerie on the bed and undresses quickly, folding his clothes neatly and stacking them on the dresser.

The panties go on first, delicate fabric sliding up his legs and settling on his hips. They cover a bit more than most of his sets, in keeping with the innocent theme, but the satin that cups his cock gives way to lace just at the crease of his hips, letting skin peek through.

The babydoll goes on next. The cups at the top cling to his pecs while the rest flutters down, settling at his hips. It’s split in the front, mostly satin but edged in lace to match the panties.

Peter smooths his hands down his flanks, closing his eyes for a moment to savor the silky feeling of the fabric shifting against his skin. He lets out a shaky breath and turns, crawling onto the bed. For a moment he imagines someone watching him, admiring the lace that cups the top of his ass but leaves the lower curve exposed, and waiting for him to turn over and show off the rest. But only for a moment--he’s never let anyone see him like this.

Laying on his back, Peter closes his eyes and starts slowly stroking himself through the panties. The satin feels incredible, and he quickly loses himself in the sensation. He’s always been a sensualist. Good food, fancy bath products, expensive sheets--he loves them, but nothing quite compares to how the satin feels against his skin as he rubs it over his nipple and then drags his fingertips slowly down his belly.

He’s completely absorbed in the sensations, so much so that he doesn’t realize he’s not alone in the apartment until the bedroom door swings open.

Peter lurches up into a sitting position and freezes, staring at Stiles, who is in turn frozen in the bedroom doorway.

“Holy shit,” Stiles says, and Peter should be snapping out some acidic comment, should be tossing Stiles out on his ass, but he’d let his guard down, he’s not prepared-- “You are so pretty.” Stiles breathes.

Peter’s breath catches.

He’s never been called pretty before. Handsome, hot, gorgeous, even beautiful, but not pretty. It shouldn’t be different, but somehow it is. Peter’s face heats and he realizes he’s blushing.

“Look at you, turning pink for me,” Stiles says, stepping into the room. He sounds delighted. “Are you shy, pretty girl?”

Peter’s blush deepens. “I’m not--” His voice breaks. Not shy? Not pretty? Not a girl? All he knows is that he’s throbbing twice as hard as he was before and there’s a wet spot quickly growing on the satin panties. “No one’s supposed to see me like this,” he manages eventually.

Stiles stops at the end of the bed. “Do you want me to go?”

Something about his expression tells Peter that if he says yes, Stiles will never mention this again. No sly looks, no innuendoes, just respect for Peter’s privacy. Peter swallows hard. “No. Stay.”

Stiles beams at him. He sheds his plaid and toes off his shoes and climbs onto the bed so that he’s kneeling between Peter’s legs. Peter stuffs an extra pillow behind himself so that he can lay back a bit but still look at Stiles. He’s not sure what to do with his hands and ends up clutching the edges of the babydoll. Fuck, maybe he is shy.

Stiles reaches up and gently pulls Peter’s hands away, instead guiding them up to his chest. “I’d like to see you play with those sweet little tits,” he says, gaze hot and intent.

“Fuck,” Peter gasps. Obediently, he pinches both nipples through the satin and whimpers at the jolt of sensation that arcs through him. He doesn’t stop, though, alternating rubbing and pinching until he’s shuddering with the intensity of it. Stiles is stroking his hands up and down the outside of Peter’s thighs, his eyes fixed on Peter, drinking him in.

Peter’s chest is aching and he can’t take anymore, he needs-- He lets go of his nipples and reaches for his cock, but Stiles catches his hand. “Not yet, baby girl.” He hesitates and Peter wonders what could be coming that’s more than they’ve already done. Stiles licks his lips. “You’re so wet for me,” he says roughly. “Don’t you want me to fill up your pussy before you rub your clit?”

A moan slips out of Peter, involuntary and heated. He is wet. Wet and aching. “Yes.” His voice is hoarse. “Yes, let me just--” He half turns, leaning over to get the lube out of the side table. When he turns back, Stiles has shed his shirt and is halfway out of his pants. Peter has to swallow a moan when Stiles kicks them and his underwear off. His cock is gorgeous, longer than Peter expected and a bit thicker than average, too. Stiles meets his gaze, warm and eager and appreciative. Peter holds out the lube and gathers his nerve. “Could you… could you finger my pussy first?”

Peter can actually see Stiles’ cock jump at his words. “Of course, baby,” he says, taking the bottle. “I want you so wet that I slide right in.” He sets the lube down by his hip and hooks his fingers into the waistband of the panties. They’re just about soaked through with pre-come, the satin clinging to Peter’s… to his clit. “I think we might have ruined these,” Stiles murmurs, scooting down the bed as he draws them down Peter’s legs.

“I have other pairs,” Peter says. Stiles tosses the panties aside and crawls back in between Peter’s legs.

Stiles looks up even as he scoops up the lube and squeezes some out of the bottle. “I’d like to see them sometime,” he ventures.

Peter’s heart is pounding. He imagines Stiles watching him crawl onto the bed... helping smooth a pair of stockings into place... stroking him through the panties. “Okay,” he says softly.

Stiles beams at him. “Do you always get wet when you dress up?” he asks, pushing a slick finger into Peter.

Peter moans, spreading his legs a bit more. “Not this wet,” he gasps, rocking into the thrusts of Stiles’ finger. His eagerness quickly earns him a second one.

“Hmmm, I guess you wouldn’t,” Stiles says. He twists his fingers and Peter whimpers. “This time your greedy pussy knows it’s going to get what it needs.”

A cry of need escapes Peter. He pushes his hips towards Stiles helplessly. “Please, more.”

“Look at you,” Stiles’ voice is hot and tight with hunger. “You’re starving for it. When was the last time that sweet pussy got fucked?”

Peter doesn’t even think about his reply, it just slips out: “Never.” Stiles stills, eyebrows raising, and Peter quickly explains. “I’ve been fucked before, but it wasn’t my… my pussy.” The word sends a rush of heat through him, embarrassment and arousal so twined together he can’t untangle them.

Stiles relaxes, but he also slides his fingers out of Peter. A wordless protest escapes him, but Stiles crawls up over him and brushes their mouths together, barely even a kiss. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, “saving yourself for me.”

Oh,” Peter gasps. It slips out sharper than he’s used to. Stiles kisses him then, harder this time, his tongue demanding entrance. Peter melts into it, lifts his hands to cradle Stiles’ face and shivers as he’s kissed deeply. It’s good, so good, but despite that Peter is aching to be filled, so he doesn’t protest when Stiles pulls away and settles back between his knees.

“We’re almost there,” Stiles promises, slicking his fingers against and sliding two of them back into Peter. Peter moans and pushes into it. “But I don’t want your first time to hurt.”

Peter shivers and clutches at the bedsheets. “It won’t. I want you too much.”

“I can tell,” Stiles says. He adds a third finger and more lube, so much that it makes a filthy squelching sound when he pushes into Peter. “I’ve never seen a girl so wet.”

“Please,” Peter begs. He’s sweating, the babydoll sticking to his skin, and his whole body feels like it’s throbbing in rhythm with the thrust and twist of Stiles’ fingers. “Please, I’m ready, it doesn’t hurt.”

“Tell me, baby,” Stile urges him. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

Peter’s face is blazing hot, but he doesn’t hesitate. “I want you to fuck my pussy. I want to come without even touching my clit.”

Stiles groans and quickly pulls his fingers free. “Here we go, baby.” He presses forward, spreading Peter’s legs even wider. The hot, blunt head of his cock nudges against Peter and there’s a single, breathless moment of resistance before Peter’s body spreads open and lets him in. Peter is so wet and so open that Stiles slides in all the way to the root in one stroke.

Peter presses his head back into the bed, moans spilling from him unrestrained. Stiles fills him perfectly, satisfying the ache like Peter has never felt before. He can’t help squeezing down, savoring the feeling. Stiles gasps out a moan, hips jerking hard, trying to bury himself even deeper inside Peter. “Such a good girl,” Stiles groans. “You took me so well, and now you need more, don’t you?”

Yes.” Peter squeezes again and Stiles takes it for the demand it is, pulling back slowly before fucking hard back into Peter. It drives a high, tight gasps of pleasure from him, and then again, and again. Stiles seems to feed on the sounds, his thrusts coming faster, harder. Peter closes his eyes and loses himself in the strokes of Stiles’ cock inside of him.

“You feel so good, baby,” Stiles says breathlessly. “So tight, so hot around my cock.” He shifts a little, pressing one of Peter’s legs up toward his chest to give him more room, and the new angle sends a bolt of pleasure arcing through Peter, tearing a cry from him. “Yeah,” Stiles groans. “You like that.” He does it again and Peter shouts and clenches down. “Makes your hungry pussy squeeze so good.”

Peter is beyond words, but his body speaks for him, clutching hard at Stiles every time his cock hits the right spot. Stiles fucks him relentlessly, sometimes twisting his hips to draw out the flashes of pleasure, sometimes leaving it and urging Peter to just feel the thickness of his cock, the heat of him.

Every thrust feeds a knot of tension that’s winding up deep in Peter’s belly. He knows he could break it himself, could take his clit in hand and finish it, but he wants to come just like this, just from Stiles’ heavy cock fucking him. He digs his heels into the bed, pushing up to meet Stiles.

“Almost there, baby,” Stiles manages. “Can I... can I come inside you, baby? I want to fill up your pussy.”

The words alone almost send Peter over the edge. It’s a struggle to manage even one word, but he wants it, so he forces out a single, broken, “Yes.”

Stiles moans desperately, his rhythm going ragged for a few strokes before thrusting one last time, burying himself deep and hard. Peter hangs on the edge for an instant, teetering, and then he feels it: Stiles’ cock throbs and hot come shoots into him. It tips Peter over the edge, his body clenching down on Stiles, milking the next few pulses out of him even as Peter spills over his own belly.

When the last shudders of completion have subsided Stiles carefully pulls out and collapses bonelessly to lie next to Peter on the bed. For a moment the only sound is their heavy breathing.

“So that happened,” Stiles says eventually. He sounds a little stunned.

Peter would tease him for it, but he feels a little stunned himself. “It certainly did.” The babydoll is sticking unpleasantly to his cooling skin, so he struggles out of it. After a brief glance at the sweat stained material he shrugs and uses it to mop up some of their come before tossing it aside and flopping back down. The lingerie does remind him, though: “I swear I locked the apartment door.”

“You did.” Peter turns his head and catches Stiles looking sheepish. “I picked the lock.”

Peter snorts. “I should scold you for not respecting my privacy,” he says languidly, “but it seems to have worked out to our advantage.”

“Is that really the lesson you want me to learn here?” Stiles asks, chuckling.

Peter rolls onto his side and looks down at him. “Quit while you’re ahead,” he advises.

Stiles grins wickedly. “Or I could push my luck,” he says, and pulls Peter down into a kiss.

Peter kisses back eagerly. It was, after all, their mutual advantage.