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Tales From the Café
Peter had made a home in a small city in Colorado nearly eight years prior, and he had never wanted to leave. He hadn’t stepped foot in Beacon Hell in ten years; that was better not only for his physical health but also his mental health. Sure, he was alone, but for the first time since he had woken from his coma, he was content. He wouldn’t say happy, as he didn’t think he could be happy ever again, but he could live with content.
He made the short trek to his favorite café. It was a walk that he made at least once a week, and really it was his favorite day of the week. No one needed to know that he enjoyed a white chocolate mocha ice coffee and a blueberry scone while doing a crossword puzzle. He stopped just outside the shop, buying a newspaper, not that he would read it, but it did have his favorite crossword. The bell rang as he pushed the door open. The clerk looked up with a smile. Peter’s stomach dropped as the clerk’s eyes met his.
Stiles Stilinski was there in the middle of nowhere Colorado. He stood there as a stark reminder of what Peter had lost and the crimes he had committed, the people he had killed. The paper fell from his hands, fluttering to the floor, and he had to fight the urge to look around to ensure that they were alone.
He could turn on his heel and book it out the door, never looking back, but he was trapped there by the unrelenting scent of agony and loneliness. If you add in a bit of shame, Peter had first-hand experience with that particular cocktail of emotions. Ever since he had woken from his coma, he had a hard time getting back on his own two feet. He had built a life, he had structure, and the appearance of the little human threw it out of order.
He looked up at Stiles, noticing the tears in his eyes. The young man cleared his throat. “What can I get for you?”
It was hardly above a whisper, but Peter could hear the sadness in his voice. “White chocolate mocha ice coffee with three extra shots of espresso and eight pumps of sugar.”
A small smile graced Stiles’ lips, but he didn’t say anything. Peter had to wonder why he was there. Was he alone? What did that mean for the pack and his family?
Peter sat down, waiting on his coffee. He flipped his paper open to start working on his crossword puzzle. He was so focused on his puzzle that he did not even bother looking up when his cup was sat on the table next to him. After about thirty minutes, his coffee was empty, and he was ready to head out. He looked down at the napkin on the table, and he let out a deep chuckle.
It was not horrible to see you, zombiewolf.
-Lil red
Of course, Stiles could never show excitement for seeing Peter, and he couldn’t blame him. The worst times of their lives seemed to not only be aligned but also intertwined.
When he finished his crossword, he looked back at Stiles, who was staring at him. His face was drawn tight, and Peter could feel the longing. He had to wonder with Stiles could be longing for. What is that he was missing?
That train of thought led him back to the questions he had earlier. Why was he here? Where was the pack? Was his dad still Sheriff in Beacon Hell? He didn’t know if he wanted the answers to his questions. With solutions came the crashing halt to his ignorance.
Without knowing the answers to his questions, the image he had drawn up could stick firmly in his mind.
In his mind, Derek had settled down with a woman who was startlingly similar to his mother. The pack would have grown, as they seemed to keep picking up the odd supes everywhere they went.
One of his favorite parts of the image was ruined, though. He had always thought Derek would have a couple of kids, training them to be the next generation of the Hale pack. He had always thought Derek would have taken Stiles as his second, so he would have had a large part in the kids’ lives. He had pictured the young ones running into the new classroom of the new packhouse calling out for Uncle Stiles. He had thought Stiles would teach the kiddos about pack-laws and other supes.
That part of his image was shattered, and he wondered what that meant for the rest of the picture. What about the rest of the pack? Stiles had always seemed to be the glue, the heart, of the pack. He gave Stiles a slight nod, then headed out the door.
Peter had a plan. He would stay away from the café and pretend that he did not see Stiles. He had put way too much work in building his life around the idea that the pack was better off without him. He could not afford to have that idea crumble down around him.
He had been kept up late at night with scenarios flowing through his mind. The problem was that he didn’t know; he was in the dark. He had left eight years ago, and he had no contact with what was left of his family. He was a selfish man, but he would be devastated if something had happened to Derek or Cora. He had lived the past few years of his life with the knowledge that if he wanted to, he could go back and see them. He had always had the choice, even if they didn’t want to see him.
It had been six days, and he had promised himself to never go back to the café, but he needed to know. The only problem was he couldn’t just ask. He would have to convince Stiles to give him the information for free. He would have to manipulate Stiles to provide the answers he so desperately needed. The only real problem he saw was that Stiles had always been such a clever little shit. He saw through the bullshit, and Peter was out of practice.
Peter was nervous, and it was a new feeling. In his logical mind, he knew there was no reason to be nervous, to be antsy, but he was. He had even stood in front of his closet for nearly ten minutes debating what to wear. Every passing minute he was getting even more frustrated. Stiles Stilinski would not care what he was wearing, and hell, since when does Peter Hale dress to impress.
Peter had to roll his eyes at his train of thought because it was a lie. He had always dressed to impress. He always needed to make a statement, and your appearance was the first thing people noticed. Granted, that had fallen to the way-side in the two years after his coma. He still liked his luxury, but he didn’t need to impress anyone. He pulled on his favorite blue cashmere sweater before making his way out. He did love the way it brought out his eyes.
He pulled the door open to the café and sighed. He didn’t know if it was in frustration or relief, but Stiles was not there. The source of his confusion and frustration was not there, but at the same time, the only person who could answer his questions was not there. He walked up to the counter, being greeted by a young teen.
“How can I help you?” She was a ball of sunshine, and Peter hated it. He wanted to growl and snarl at her, but he had to live here.
“White chocolate mocha ice coffee with three extra shots of espresso and eight pumps of sugar.”
She hummed, grabbing a cup and a marker. “And the name for the order?”
“Peter.”
She dropped the cup looking back up at him. In the years he had been coming to the café, he had never received such a reaction. His hackles rose at the thought of the teenage girl in front of him, knowing who he was. His eyebrow arched in question as a blush crept up her neck.
She stuck her hand into her apron but paused. “Do you know Stiles?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, staring her down. His eyes shown just a tad brighter as his wolf scratched at the surface. He gave her a tight nod, and she pulled out a folded-up napkin from her pocket.
“Stiles left this, saying if a man named Peter came around looking for him to give him this.” She fumbled with the little note. She pushed up her oversized glasses, staring at him with a strange amount of openness. She thrust her hand out, giving him the note. “So, this is for you.”
He tucked the folded-up napkin into his pocket. He didn’t want to seem desperate. No one was watching, and he knew that, but it was something he had always focused on. He didn’t want to show unnecessary emotion when he didn’t need to. No one but him needed to know how struck he was that Stiles had left him a note. They didn’t need to know about the excitement trilling in the back of his mind to find out what the message said.
He got halfway through his coffee before he had to pull the note out. He needed to know what Stiles had to say to him. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the damn napkin was burning a hole in his pocket. He pulled it out, not looking around to make sure no one was watching. He unfolded the napkin, smoothing it out with the back of his hand.
Creeperwolf,
I was wondering when you’d crawl out of your underground network of caves.
-Mage with the Rage
Peter could not fight the laugh that bellowed out from his chest. It was nothing. It was an inconsequential note that Stiles had left in the off chance that Peter stopped by. He was such a little shit.
He folded the little napkin up, shoving it in his pocket. He finished up his coffee before making it back to the counter. He stopped the young girl that had helped him earlier.
“Hello, sweetheart, do you by chance have a pen?”
She gave him a shy smile, pulling a pen from her apron handing it over. “Did you want a piece of paper too?”
He gave her a blinding smile. “A clean napkin will do.” He looked at her name tag. “Sam.”
He had thought about what to say to him. He was curious and entertained, but one thing really stuck out. Stiles had called himself a mage. That was new.
Mage with the Rage? Really Darling?
-Your Friendly Neighborhood Lucian
He’d be back, and hopefully, next time, Stiles would be there.
This time Peter didn’t wait as long to go back to the café. Stiles had written him a little note last time. He had proven that he expected to see Peter again. That did not necessarily mean that he wanted to see Peter again, but he had never really cared what other people wanted.
Peter walked into the café with a slight smirk on his face. Stiles was there, behind the counter. When Stiles saw him, he rolled his eyes, leaning forward on his elbows.
“Underworld? Really dude?”
Peter huffed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Don’t call me dude.”
“Sure, Zombiewolf, what can I get for you?”
“White chocolate mocha ice coffee with three extra shots of espresso and eight pumps of sugar.”
Stiles grabbed the cup and marker. “You know that is a shit ton of sugar.”
“Coming from you. Really, I’m insulted.” Peter had a sense of home as they fell back into their normal conversations.
“Coffee is life, man.” He turned, starting Peter’s coffee. “All I need is a few shots of espresso and a dash of heavy cream and a pinch of salt. I like my coffee to taste like coffee.” He shrugged, setting the cup down in front of Peter. “Sure, you can have it any way you like. There’s no shame in putting all the stuff you want in the coffee, but for me, I don’t need it. If I want something sweet, I’ll get a scone or whatever.”
Peter shook his head; he surprisingly missed Stiles’ rants. He picked up his cup, spotting the name. “Petey? Really, Stiles?”
Peter deadpanned at Stiles’ finger guns, but he made his way to his usual table. He was deep into his newspaper when Stiles flopped down in the chair across from him.
“What ’cha doing?”
Peter did not even bother with looking up. “What does it look like, darling?”
Peter could smell his blush; he had to fight the urge to look up and see his flushed cheeks. Stiles huffed, and Peter could sense his eyes rolling. “So, how long have you been here?”
The table shifted, and Stiles’ chair scraped the tile as he leaned forward. Stiles was so close, Peter could count his freckles and moles. “Longer than you.” Peter finally looked up.
“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles flopped back, crossing his hands over his chest.
They sat in silence for a few minutes before Peter finished his coffee, standing up. “Does your father know you’re out here?”
Tears welled in Stiles’ eyes, and Peter could smell the pain and desperate loneliness. The Sheriff was dead. “Fuck you.” Stiles stood marching away.
Peter hadn’t even thought of the possibility that the good Sheriff was gone. For the first time in a while, an apology bubbled up in his throat. He couldn’t stop the words that fumbled out of his mouth, stopping Stiles in his tracks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Stiles was watching him in contemplation. Peter wanted to know what was going on in the young man’s mind, but he didn’t want to push the issue. He had already screwed up with mentioning his dad.
“No problem, it was a long time ago.”
Peter wanted to comfort him, but he didn’t know how to, not anymore. When he was younger, and the pups were upset and needed comfort, he would give them a cuddle. Love from the pack always seemed to make things better.
“The pack should be with you in a time of need.”
Tears flooded Stiles’ eyes, but he did not lose the smile from his face. It dimmed in a way Peter didn’t want to think about, but it didn’t fall away entirely. “You know Lucian is the good guy,” Stiles said.
“Only from his point of view.”
Peter left without saying anything else, but he enjoyed Stiles’ laugh floating out the door behind him.
He had not gotten the answers he wanted, but it was nice to be around pack again. Stiles had always been the one he was closest to. He had hoped to rebuild a relationship with Derek or Cora, but it is hard to come back from killing Laura. It was one of his biggest regrets, right behind biting Scott McCall. Stiles would have made a beautiful wolf.
Peter was sitting on his couch thinking about his conversation with Stiles earlier in the day. He toyed with the phone in his hand. He hadn’t turned it on in almost ten years, and he didn’t know if his contacts had the same phone numbers anymore.
Peter didn’t know if he wanted to turn the phone on, much less if he wanted to dial out. He and Stiles would talk around the problem forever, and he knew that. Stiles had a sharp tongue, and Peter knew there was no manipulating Stiles out of information without him noticing.
The phone booted up with an annoying trill. He closed his eyes, taking steady breaths. Time alone had changed him fundamentally, and he was happy with it. When he had woken from his coma, there was nothing for him except revenge. He had killed his niece in a rage-induced haze, and sometimes he wondered if it would have been best to stay dead.
He pulled up the contacts debating on what to do next. There were only three numbers saved, and each had its pros and cons. One was Stiles, and there was no point in calling that number. He was there in the little town. The other two, though, he didn’t know if he was desperate enough to actually call.
Derek or Cora. His last two surviving family members, and he didn’t know if either would take his call. He had burned nearly every bridge, and he didn’t know if an olive branch would work. He didn’t know if he had anything they would want or need. He didn’t have a bargaining chip to sway things his way.
He called Cora first. She wasn’t with Laura; she was less burdened by her death. He had ruined any chance of a familial bond, but she didn’t hate him as much as Derek did.
“The number you have reached has been changed or is no longer in service.”
He flopped back on his couch in frustration. He didn’t want to have to call Derek. There was so much bad blood there that he probably would not even answer. He took a deep breath, leaning forward, pressing his elbows to his knees. He called Derek.
When the line picked up, there was laughing in the background, and Peter smiled.
“Uncle?” His voice was hesitant.
Peter could hear him rushing to get away from the noise, and Peter couldn’t seem to find his voice. He knew he needed to say something, and he had a plan, but it had fallen away.
“Uncle Peter?”
“Nephew, how are you?”
Derek sighed, and a slight smile crept onto Peter’s face. Derek had always been broody and grumpy. Peter had wondered where he got it from as a child, but it had only gotten worse after the fire.
“What do you need, Peter?”
He couldn’t be angry about the hostility; they had tried to kill each other. Derek had actually killed him, with the help of others, of course, but he had done it.
“I just want to know how things are going with you.”
There was silence for a few moments, and Peter wondered if Derek was counting to ten to calm himself. He had always been a hothead.
“I don’t have time for your riddles. We haven’t spoken in over a decade. Just tell me what you want so I can get back to my life.”
Derek had a point, and he didn’t know why he needed to call, why he needed to know how the pack was. Seeing Stiles had brought it all back, and he thought he might be spiraling.
“I ran into a pack-member, and I just wanted to call and see how things are going. How is the pack?”
“A pack-member?” Derek hesitated. “All of my pack is here with me now.”
Peter’s heart sank. He had hoped that Stiles was just traveling, but it seemed Derek did not consider him pack anymore. Stiles had always been the best of them all.
Peter hummed. “Yes, well, how’s the wife and kids.”
Derek laughed, and Peter had thought he would never hear that again. “Peter, I am about to hang up. If you are really worried about the pack, you should come by.”
“The best member of your pack is here, so don’t bother setting me a spot at the table.”
Peter hung up, letting the phone fall to the couch. It was ringing, but he couldn’t stomach talking to Derek anymore, at least at the moment. The phone then started repeatedly beeping with texts. He didn’t want to turn off the phone because he had taken the first step. He had reached out, but he was at his limit for the day.
Peter woke up the next morning and enjoyed his coffee and blueberry croissant on his balcony. He didn’t want to go to the café, he had hurt Stiles yesterday, and he didn’t actually enjoy hurting people. Well, not people that he liked. If he could, he would string Kate Argent up by her toes and set her hair on fire. Was it brutal, yes, but she deserved it, at least from his perspective?
He nearly jumped out of his skin when that damned phone rang. He chose to ignore it; he was not mentally prepared to deal with it at that moment. Then the phone started ringing again. He grabbed the phone, letting it ring until it went to voicemail.
He only had two minutes to check his messages before Derek called again. 42 new text messages.
Answer the phone
Where are you
Is Stiles still with you
Don’t make me track you
If you are not going to answer the phone text me back
I know where you are
I’ll be there in 8 hours
If you answer the damn phone, I won’t have to bring the entire pack
I’m two hours out
He answered the incoming call with anger and frustration bubbling in his gut.
“Nephew, what can I do for you?”
Peter could hear him growl over the line. “I’ll be at your place in twenty minutes.”
“Are you alone?” He could barely stomach Derek, but he couldn’t handle Scott McCall.
“Is Stiles with you?” Peter noticed that he didn’t answer the question, and he couldn’t really blame him for being paranoid.
“No. I told you we ran into each other. He’s not locked away in my guest room.” He could hear Derek’s blinker in the background. “Why do you care? He is not pack.”
“You know nothing of my pack.”
“You’re right. That is why I called you, Derek, is it not? I was asking after the pack you have built.”
Peter could hear the breaks, both over the phone and outside his condo.
“Unlock the door.”
The line went dead, and Peter unlocked the door, pulling it open. Derek pushed his way in, looking around, not so subtly sniffing the air.
“Sure, come on in. Make yourself at home.”
Derek snarled, looking at him with bright red eyes. Peter hadn’t realized he was an alpha again. It didn’t matter to him in the grand scheme of things, but it made Peter wonder.
“He’s not here.”
Peter leaned against his counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “As I have already said.”
Derek looked around, clearly uncomfortable in Peter’s condo. “Why did you call uncle? Why even bring up Stiles if he is not here?”
Peter pushed forward, his bare feet thumping on the dark wood floor of the sitting room. “Call me sentimental, but I was checking in on the last of my pack, my family. Or am I not supposed to do that?”
Derek’s eyebrows did that thing they do, letting Peter know he was confused and angry. “It’s been ten years.”
“No. I didn’t know that.”
Derek growled, but he seemed to ease a little bit. His shoulders were no longer tight, and he seemed to breathe easier. “Really, why did you call?”
Peter walked by Derek, plopping down on his couch. “Just wanted to know about the pack.”
Derek eased himself down on the edge of the chair in the sitting-room, across from Peter. “It’s always growing. We have so many pups running around that sometimes I can’t keep up.”
Peter couldn’t fight the smile blossoming on his face. He had been right; the pack was thriving. “Any of them yours? Cora’s?”
Derek leaned back, frown deepening on his face. “Cora went back to the pack in Argentina.” Derek reached for his phone, unlocking it. “This is my Mia.”
She was beautiful, and if Peter had to guess, she was closer to twelve instead of ten. “Her mother?”
“She passed about eight years ago.” Derek gave the image on his phone a small smile before shoving his phone back into his pocket. “That’s it? That’s all you wanted to know?”
No matter how much he wanted to, Peter couldn’t be upfront and honest with him. He loved his nephew in his own way, but he did burn him alive for the second time and rip his throat out. “Yes, nephew, mine, that is all I wanted. We could have done this over the phone, but you felt the need to make the drive out here.”
Peter could hear someone walking up to his condo; he looked over to Derek, who tensed. “It’s Mia.” He quickly opened the door, letting his daughter in the condo.
Peter stood, greeting her with a smile. “Hi, I’m your dad’s uncle, Peter.”
She looked him up and down. “I know.” She hugged Derek. “It’s too cold to sit in the car.”
“Mia.” Derek scolded. “You don’t get cold. You just wanted to be nosey.”
She gave them both a bright smile. Peter would love that child, and he knew it. He motioned for her to follow him to the sitting room, turning on the TV before handing her the remote. Once she was comfortable, Derek grabbed his arm, pulling him out onto the balcony.
Peter had thought they were done talking, but apparently, Derek had more to say. “You saw Stiles?”
“Why do you care? You said he’s not pack.”
Peter did not want to argue about it, but Derek seemed to be pushing the issue. Derek’s eyes flashed in frustration. “Because the last time I heard Stiles was living in New York with his husband.”
“Husband?” Peter didn’t know why but the thought of Stiles’ husband made his chest hurt.
“So, I guess the husband wasn’t with him?”
Peter shook his head, thinking about the scents he had smelled on Stiles. He didn’t try to scent him too hard, but he didn’t get a whiff of another person. If he lived with someone else, like a husband, their smells would be intertwined. “No.”
“What did he say?”
Peter didn’t want to answer. He didn’t know what happened, but if Stiles wasn’t with the pack, there was a reason. Stiles didn’t need Derek’s overbearing presence on his doorstep. “Nothing. You know Stiles, he ranted about coffee.”
Derek’s eyebrows furrowed. “He didn’t say anything about the pack? Or his dad?”
“When I asked about his father, he said he had passed years ago, but nothing more.”
Derek leaned against the banister, looking over the woods behind the condo. “I haven’t seen him in eight years.” Derek let his head drop to his hands. “He didn’t want us to come to his dad’s funeral.” Derek took a shuddering breath before standing and looking at Peter. “He was in town for a week and wouldn’t see any of us.”
“Well, the pack never truly appreciated him, so it really is not that much of a surprise.”
“Scott said that Stiles didn’t want us hanging around anymore, that he wanted his own life. Stiles and Scott had some falling out. I don’t know.” Derek looked inside, making sure Mia was not listening. “Then Mia’s mom died, and I found out about Mia. I went to New York, but I couldn’t find him.”
Peter would figure out what was going on with his favorite human. Or was it Mage? What happened to the husband? How did he end up in Colorado? He would get the answers he needed, but it would take time. “When are you leaving?”
When Derek’s face fell, Peter felt a stab in his heart. Believe it or not, he didn’t like hurting his nephew any more than he needed to. For the first time in years, he stumbled over his words. “It’s not that I want you gone, well no, it is, but not because I don’t want you here. I’d love to get to know Mia, and well,….”
Derek smiled. “And well, Stiles is here in town, and you don’t want me to run him off before you get answers.”
“You understood that better than I thought you would.”
Derek shrugged. “ Mia is more like you and Stiles than me. I have had to learn to see between the lines with her.” Derek gave him a small smile. “There’s another thing I want to talk to you about.”
“We haven’t spoken in ten years; what else could there be?”
Derek scratched the back of his neck. “Well, if you’ll have me as your alpha, I’d like to move my faction of pack up here.”
“You want to move here? Be in a pack with me?”
“Scott and I tried to co-alpha or whatever Stiles called it, but it’s not working. And I can’t stand Beacon Hills; I don’t want to raise my daughter there. I won’t raise my daughter there. Either way, we are leaving. I’ve talked to my betas, and they are okay with the move. Now that I know where you are and that you’re doing good, I want you involved.” Derek shrugged. “You don’t have to be involved in pack matters, but you and Cora are the last of Mia and I’s family. We need family.”
Peter was fighting the urge to lash out. Since the fire, his instinct was to react in aggression when confused or overwhelmed, but he had been trying to change. “I need time to talk to Stiles before they move up here. He can’t see you.”
Derek nodded, heading back inside. Peter stood there on the balcony, wondering if he should go ahead and go see Stiles. He wondered if he should tell Stiles what he knew, but at the same time, it would be better if Stiles told him when he was comfortable.
For the first time since the fire, Peter woke to the sounds of a full house. He could hear the dishware clinking as Derek made breakfast for Mia, who seemed to be chattering away about coffee, nonetheless. He was struck by the warm feeling in his belly. They were sitting at the bar as Peter sauntered in, rubbing his hand through his hair.
“We have coffee, uncle Peter.”
He gave her a small smile. “Thank you, Mia, but I’m meeting a friend for lunch.”
Peter left Derek in his condo. A small spark of anxiety did make itself known as he left, but he pushed the feeling down. If he wanted to be part of the pack, part of the family, he would need to get used to having others in his domain. He had more important things to worry about anyway. He needed to see how Stiles felt about the pack, about Derek, without sending him running.
That was the real problem, not that Peter would admit it; he didn’t want Stiles to run. Sure he had spent the last ten years without his favorite human, but he didn’t want him to go now that he was there. Peter didn’t know what that meant, and he didn’t want to think about it too hard. In the back of his mind, he knew what it was, but he wasn’t ready to admit it. First, he needed to make sure Stiles didn’t go anywhere.
His eyes were fierce when he walked into the café, and he could tell Stiles knew something had happened. Peter looked around the café, making sure they were alone; he needed to speak candidly, and he didn’t think he could do that with prying eyes. He was going to open up to someone for the first time since his lovely wife died in the fire, or at least that was the plan. He wasn’t entirely sure that he could open himself to that type of vulnerability anymore.
Stiles started making Peter’s drink and motioned for him to sit. With a wave of Stiles’ hand, the door locked and the blinds shut. They were alone. After a few minutes, Stiles set Peter’s drink down in front of him before claiming his seat. He stared at Peter as he took a sip of his coffee, waiting on him to start speaking.
“That was a nice party trick, darling.” Peter leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs.
Stiles hummed, rolling his eyes. “Your stalling, big bad.”
Peter fiddled with the label on his coffee, not looking at Stiles. He was stalling, the words were there, but he didn’t think they would actually come out of his mouth. “Big bad? What does that make you? Little red?”
Stiles looked down at his red sweatshirt, letting out a short chuckle. “Oh Granny, what big teeth you have.”
“All the better to eat you with!”
Stiles cleared his throat, tapping rhythmically on the table. “Spit it out, Peter.”
It felt like therapy; it felt like he was on display with no way to escape. He could, sure, he could lie to Stiles. He could pretend that Derek wasn’t there. He could pretend that he doesn’t know that Stiles is married, or at least he was. He didn’t want to, though; well, want wasn’t the right word. He needed this time to be different. “I called Derek.”
The flash of anger across Stiles’ face made Peter want to jerk away. The room temperature had dropped, and Peter wondered if this was Stiles’ magic. “Damn it, Peter, I’ve only been here a month.”
“Believe it or not, but you do not have to leave.” That was the reaction he had expected and dreaded. Stiles didn’t need to go anywhere. “He’s not here for you.” That was only a little bit of a lie.
Stiles shoved to his feet, pacing. “It was only a tiny fleck of trust, and you had to ruin it.” Stiles scoffed, shaking his head in disappointment.
“There is no plot here. Not everything is about you. You are not the center of the universe.” Peter’s eyes flashed in frustration.
Stiles tossed his hands up in the air, looking at Peter with thinly veiled betrayal. “Why else would you call him? This is so fucking stupid. I’m so fucking stupid. I let myself get excited when you came in. I thought, yay, someone I know. Someone who understands, but it’s all shit. It’s always shit.”
“I needed to know.” His fangs were itching to drop to show that he was the big bad in the room. “I needed to know what the last of my family was doing.” Peter stood, shoving the table out of his way instead of walking around. “I left them in your care. You were supposed to be second to the alpha. You were supposed to take care of my pack.” Peter was standing in Stiles’ personal bubble. “They are doing fine, by the way.”
Stiles’ shoulders tightened, and his breathing picked up. Peter could smell his tears; he didn’t know whether to step closer or back away. He could feel the magic swirling around Stiles, and Peter decided to leave it up to him. If Stiles wanted comfort, he would have to step closer. After a few minutes, Stiles leaned closer, brushing their shoulders together. Peter moved slowly, raising his hand. Making sure to maintain eye contact with Stiles, he let his hand drop to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. His wolf was howling under his skin to do more. To give the packmate a good cuddle, but Stiles hadn’t agreed to be pack yet.
“How is Sourwolf?”
Peter huffed but did not back away or let go of Stiles’ shoulder. “I missed one phone call, and he packed up and drove through the night. He and his daughter are mucking up my condo as we speak.”
Stiles jerked. “Holy shit, did you say daughter? There is a little Hale?” Stiles pressed closer, turning the calming hand into a half hug. “What’s her name? Who’s her mom? I bet it’s Braeden. Derek pretended he was okay with her leaving him behind, but I knew better. Braeden and Derek sitting in a tree.”
“I don’t know who Mia’s mother is, but she passed eight years ago.” Peter cleared his throat. “She looks adequately like a Hale.”
“You can say cute.” Stiles gave him a shit-eating grin. “Or adorable.”
“She is no such thing. She is an awkward pre-teen with an attitude.” Peter backed away, looking around the closed café.
“Oh, you already like her then?” Stiles pushed the table back into its spot, aligning the chairs.
“She is remarkably like you. The child never shuts her mouth, and honestly, I wonder if she is even a wolf as clumsy as she is.” Peter tugged at the sleeves of his coat, keeping his hands busy.
Stiles plopped back down in his chair. “Good thing I was always your favorite.”
Peter held his finger up, thinking about it for a split second. “I never said that.” He eased himself back into the chair, crossing his legs. “The café has been closed for a while; what would the owner say, honey?”
Stiles looked down at his watch. “I’m due a long lunch.”
“Says you, but what would the boss say?” Peter rolled his eyes.
Stiles looked at him with bright eyes, a fire of mischief and chaos burning for Peter to see. “Have you always been this dense? I thought you were supposed to be an evil genius.”
“Evil is such a dirty word. I prefer wicked.”
“Oh, okay, Elphaba .” Stiles kicked his feet up on the table. “I own the place.”
“Ah,” Peter looked around. “Are you sure? It seems too bland to be yours. There is not even a book nook. Are you sure you’re in the right place?”
Stiles cleared his throat, looking away from the other man. “My husband left it to me when he died.”
He was lying. Peter could hear it in his heartbeat, and Stiles knew that Peter knew. Peter hummed. “You should come by and see Derek and the sprite.”
Stiles huffed, waving his hand to open his shop back up. His boots hit the ground with a heavy thud. “There were many times in the past eight years I would have liked Derek to be around. There was a time when I wanted pack, family, but I gave up on that a long time ago.” The door opened, a customer walked in, and effectively ending their conversation.
Peter got up, leaving Stiles to his work. He had a hand on the doorknob when Stiles called out. “I’d like to meet the kid, though. If they stopped by, I wouldn’t hate it.”
Derek was curled over the table when Peter walked into the condo, and Mia was sitting on the plush rug in front of the TV. His home smelled like pack, like family. Peter didn’t know it the happiness would outweigh the anxiety of having most of his family under one roof. The pain of losing his family in the fire still burned like it happened yesterday, and no matter what he did to sate his revenge, he was man enough to admit that it didn’t work.
Derek looked up, brows pulled up to his hairline. He could smell Stiles on him, but he didn’t say anything about it. “I talked to the rest of the pack today.”
Peter nodded but didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to; Darek was the alpha.
“I called a realtor, and she has some places for us to look at today.”
Peter stopped looking at him, unsure of what he wanted. The thought of the entire pack under one roof brought flames to the edge of his vision. He could feel blisters welting upon his skin, then he heard young Mia asking after him. “Uncle Peter, are you okay?”
Her head was tilted in confusion, but her voice brought him back to the present. “Of course, short stuff.”
He could feel Derek’s eyes on him. “You don’t have to move. You can have your own place.”
“Uncle Peter doesn’t want to live with us?” Her eyes were bright with mischief. It made him wonder if manipulation was in the blood.
“I’ll be there, little bit.” He gave her a wink and a smile. Peter looked back at Derek with a warm smile. “Stiles said you could come by his shop, as long as the pup comes with.”
“Mia, why don’t you go get a bath before lunch.” Derek looked at her with pleading eyes.
Peter could tell that she wanted to argue, but like him, she could sense her father’s need for her to leave. Derek wanted to talk about Stiles, the pack, without Mia in the room.
Derek leaned back in his chair, taking off his reading glasses. “I talked to Scott as well.”
Peter did not fight the urge to roll his eyes, he was frustrated, and Derek knew it. “What did the true alpha have to say?”
Derek sighed, looking away. “Did Stiles say anything about his husband?”
Peter was confused by the line of questioning. “He died and left the café he owns to him.” Peter shrugged as if it didn’t really matter.
Derek looked at him, eyes hazy red. “Scott lied to us.” Peter jerked at his words; what could he have lied about. Derek’s claws dug into the wood of the table. “Stiles came to him for help, and Scott did what Scott does. He did what he thought was best and put Stiles in danger. They argued, and he told Stiles not to come back.”
Rage and confusion roiled in his gut. Scott had always pretended that he was better than everyone else. His so-called morals were supposed to be impeccable. “What did Stiles need help with?”
Derek looked at him with sad eyes. He shrugged, “I have a few guesses, but Scott didn’t say.”
“The husband?” It was a question, but it didn’t need to be. They were thinking along the same lines. Peter and Derek knew that it all started when the husband came into the picture.
Derek looked away. He didn’t need to answer, and Peter didn’t expect him to. Derek took a calming breath before shifting his gaze back to Peter. “The pack will be back by Christmas. We’re going to do a celebration.”
Peter had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Christmas was only a few weeks away, and they didn’t have a home yet.
For the next two days, Derek, Peter, and Mia visited many homes, arguing about what was important. Derek wanted more rooms than the real estate agent thought necessary. Mia wanted huge windows and a garden, which Peter agreed to, but it needed to be a home.
Peter was the hardest to please. The home had to be brick, not that brick homes can’t catch on fire, but it was less likely. He wanted the house to function off the power grid; Peter did not want to rely on the state for electricity. The only thing they all seemed to agree on was it needed to be near the forest.
Marcy, the agent, was frustrated with them, but she had found the perfect home for them on the edge of the mountains. It was beautiful, barely peeking out of the trees. They would be secluded, but it would be best for security, but what Peter loved the most was it was not just one house. The eight buildings were all connected but stood on their own. Overall, with 16 rooms with connected bathrooms, the entire pack would have space.
They had worked hard to install state-of-the-art security systems and furnish their home in the past week. At the end of the week, Derek was ready to visit Stiles. Peter had told him how agitated he had gotten at the thought of seeing him again; he decided it was best they all went together.
Peter stepped into the café, a laugh bubbled up from his throat. Stiles had added a book nook. There were a few people in the little shop, but Peter could smell Stiles’ reaction to seeing the three of them together. They stepped up to the counter, and Stiles greeted them with a small smile.
“Lucian and crew! What can I get for you?” Peter could feel Mia and Derek’s confusion. Mia was most likely itching to ask who Lucian was.
Peter leaned against the counter. “I’m the bad guy, remember.”
Stiles huffed. “Shush you.” Stiles’ hand flopped towards Peter, then his eyes moved to Mia. “What about you, little Hale? What can I get you?”
She gave him a bright smile. “Caffe Americano, please.”
Stiles looked to Derek, face shifting to a sad smile. “Hey, sourwolf.”
“Stiles,” Derek said it as a sigh. Peter wondered what he was feeling, he wondered if the alpha had missed Stiles.
Stiles shifted from side to side. “You don’t like coffee, Derek, so why are you in my humble little shop?”
Derek’s lips twitched, fighting a smile. “I heard the owner might not hate seeing me after eight years. You know where he is?”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “He might see you if you ask nicely.”
Derek rolled his eyes, and Peter cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to him. “Well, darling, when is lunch?”
“Sam!” The wolves flinched when he screamed, but the cute little teen rushed out of the back.
“Yes, Mr.Stiles?”
“We’re going to head upstairs; you’re in charge.”
Stiles led them behind the counter and upstairs. Peter could smell that it was Stiles’ domain before they made it to the door. The door opened to a messy little condo, but it was perfectly Stiles. The beautifully intricate throws were hung over the windows, and there were more throw pillows than anyone could possibly need, and no two were the same. It was warm, cozy, and there were books everywhere.
“Sit, sit.” Stiles motioned towards the couch as he flopped down on the bean bag chair across from them.
Peter eased himself down onto the couch. He felt like a moonstruck pup, as he had to fight the urge, the instinct, to roll around on the cushions of the couch. He wanted to roll in Stiles’ scent, coating himself in it. He could smell Stiles’ confusion, but he could not roll the stress from his shoulders. He was uncomfortable, and Stiles knew it.
“Stiles.” Derek melted. He had clearly missed Stiles; it was apparent to anyone paying attention.
Stiles gave him a warm smile as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Sourwolf.” Derek’s eyes flashed, but the slight upturn of his lips did not go anywhere. Stiles looked to Mia. “Well, hello, little wolf.” Mia let out a snarl, and Derek froze, wondering how Stiles would react. Stiles lifted his eyebrow. “Tell me about it, little one.”
Her little nose scrunched up. “You smell weird.”
“Mia!” Derek chastised, but Stiles laughed.
“Oh really?” Stiles crossed his legs. “Tell me, then, what do I smell like?”
She sniffed loudly, trying to come up with words that matched what she smelled. “Well, lavender soap, lightning, and dirt. I think, but you smell like family, but you don’t smell like pack.” She shook her head, trying to clear the scents from her nose. “It’s like being abandoned by family.”
Stiles looked at her with sad eyes. “Ah, well, I haven’t been family to your dad in a long time.”
Peter saw Derek stiffen, but Mia was not deterred. She huffed, rolling her eyes. “Mr. Stiles, my dad, and my uncle Peter said you were clever, but you don’t seem so smart to me.”
Stiles bit his bottom lip, trying to stop a smile from spreading across his face. “I am a bit out of use, so why don’t you tell me, little wolf, what makes me stupid?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Aunt Malia said that dad dropped everything to come to save you, even though uncle Peter didn’t even say your name. Then aunt Malia said she didn’t know why dad was so worried since you’re uncle Peter’s favorite and she’s his kid.” She shrugged, looking down at her scuffed boots. “But aunt Malia says crazy things sometimes. She said that uncle Peter even burned for you, but he looks fine to me so, I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
Peter could hear the train, he knew it wasn’t there, but he still looked to Stiles to make sure he was okay. He could feel Derek’s eyes on him, but he was caught in Stiles’ gaze. Not for the first time, Peter wished he could read his mind. Instead, he smirked. “You did say lunch. Do you have anything to eat in this,” He looked around, nose turned up in superiority. “home.”
Stiles let his head fall back with a hearty chuckle. When he stood, holding his hand out for Peter, his eyes were bright. “Let’s go see what we can scrounge up, creeperwolf.”
The kitchen was pristine, beautiful even. Peter drug his finger along the quartz countertops, wondering how much use the kitchen gets, as Stiles lives alone. Stiles pulled open the fridge, and Peter stepped closer, nearly touching his back. He leaned in, looking over Stiles’ shoulder, but was distracted. He took a deep breath, pulling in Stiles’ scent.
Stiles tilted his head, elongating his neck. “Did you just sniff me?”
Peter stiffened but did not pull back. “No. What do you think I am? An errant pup?” Yes, apparently, he was. “Sandwiches will do.”
Stiles looked back, mirth in his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”
Stiles knew he was lying, but it was worse than that. Peter knew that Stiles knew that he was lying, and Stiles knew that Peter knew that Stiles knew that Peter was lying, and he didn’t call him on it. Stiles was not mentioning it, and that did not bode well for Peter. Stiles was holding the information to use it later. Peter rubbed his knuckle along his eyebrow. He just knew he was going to be blackmailed later. Fuck.
Peter and Stiles made the sandwiches in silence. Peter could smell the smugness rolling off of Stiles, and it made him want to groan. He could almost see it, the smirk and mischief alight in his eyes as Stiles held it over Peter’s head, but Peter couldn’t find it in himself to be mad about it.
Derek jerked when they made it back into the sitting area. Peter had somehow forgotten how good Derek’s senses were. He had always been fascinatingly good at picking up and analyzing chemosignals. Peter eased himself down on the window seat, grabbing a throw pillow. It was beautiful, soft, and baby blue. Peter loved it, but he rolled his eyes, tossing it to the side. Not one of the other dozens of pillows in the room matched.
“Can we move along, now?” Peter looked down at his watch. “I have places to be.”
Stiles laughed, and Derek raised an eyebrow. He was lying, and they all knew it. Peter had wondered when he had lost his edge when he had lost the upper hand. Stiles grabbed a sandwich, taking a bite. “Sure, thing, creeperwolf.”
Derek cleared his throat; Peter could tell that he was building up the courage to speak. He twisted his fingers around each other, stress rolling off him in waves. “I’m moving up here.” He looked at Mia. “We are.”
Stiles tilted his head, running his hand through his wild hair. “Good for you.”
Peter huffed, suppressing his laughter, but Derek just rolled his eyes. “This is your home; I am requesting permission to move my pack here.”
Stiles leaned forward from his beanbag seat. “Permission? Why would you need permission from me?” He shrugged, flopping back. “Shit, if you need permission, you should be asking Peter. He was here first.”
Oh, was that defense from Stiles? Peter let a smug smile stretch across his face. Stiles had always been his favorite.
“Peter is in my pack.”
It was like a grenade rolled across the floor, and they were waiting on it to explode. Peter felt his shoulders tense at the implication, and he could smell the confusion well up in Stiles.
Stiles hummed, breaking the ice. “When did that happen? Because the last time I heard, you wanted to lock him up in Eichen.”
Peter huffed as Derek rolled his shoulders, preparing to defend himself. “I wasn’t there for that. I didn’t do that.”
“No, you just killed him.” Stiles spat.
“So, did you darling, but I think we’re getting off-topic.” It was one of the strangest things Peter had ever experienced. Stiles was defending him. He was facing off an alpha werewolf to defend his honor or some shit like that; really, it just made a warmth Peter couldn’t identify well up in his gut. “The entire point of this escapade is to let you know the third best part of the Hale pack will be moving here, and we would like you involved.”
“Third?” Stiles asked with a tilt of his head.
Peter tugged on the sleeve of his coat. “Yes, third, sweetheart. Follow along now, Mia will be moving here with her father. My nephew.”
Stiles leaned forward, staring Peter down. “But third? Who is first?”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Me, obviously.”
Stiles gave him a bright smile. “And second?”
Peter froze. He knew the answer, but he couldn’t verbalize it. Not here in Stiles’ home, especially since he had not agreed to be pack as of yet. He cleared his throat. “That is pack business.”
“Sure, sure.” Peter loved the amusement lighting up his eyes. Stiles looked back to Dere. “Even so, why do I care if you move here? I have only lived here for a month, and honestly, I can’t see this being a pack hot spot.” He shrugged, looking at his nails, debating before looking back up at Derek. “As long as McCall is not here, I don’t really care.”
Peter hummed. “So, no true alpha? What is the deal with that? Were you not connected at the hip for many years?” Peter was pushing where he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. He was spiraling, and nothing that he did or said seemed to help, and he was pushing it off on other people. Was it the right thing to do? No, but it was the only thing he knew how to do.
Stiles nibbled on his bottom lip, and Peter could smell the agony rolling off of him. He didn’t need to look at Derek to know he smelled it too, and from the way Mia was clearing her throat, she was too. Stiles shrugged, looking away from the group. “Last time I saw him wasn’t… I don’t want to ever have to look at him ever again.” Stiles looked up, sharp eyes boring into Peter. “He could choke on a mistletoe-coated dragon dildo and die for all I care.”
Peter gave him a smirk. “Personal experience, love?”
Stiles’ tongue darted out, running along his bottom lip. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Peter’s hand itched to reach out and run through Stiles’ wild hair. “I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”
Stiles hummed, eyes darting to a closed door, most likely his bedroom, before settling on Peter once more. He gave Peter a naughty wink. “Maybe next time.”
Peter let out a hearty chuckle at Derek’s growl. Mia sniffed the air. “Why does uncle Peter smell like that?”
Peter couldn’t remember the last time he blushed, but his cheeks were hot, and he could feel the flush working its way up his neck. Derek flashed his eyes at Peter before looking at Mia with warm eye. “That is an adult smell, and it’s impolite to mention it.”
Stiles smiled at Mia as she flopped back on the couch. “So, DerBear, what do you need from me?”
For a moment, Derek sat there staring at Stiles, who squirmed, uncomfortable from the attention. “You’re pack.”
Peter had never seen Stiles speechless, but there he was, staring with no witty remark. They sat in silence until Peter decided to clear his throat. He couldn’t sit there and watch Derek and Stiles stare at each other any longer. “Mia, dear, why don’t you head downstairs and get those coffees we wanted?”
“Go with her,” Derek demanded, and Peter couldn’t stop the growl.
He didn’t mean to growl at the alpha, but it didn’t sit well with his wolf to leave Stiles with Derek. Eclipse whined as an afterthought, making Derek raise an eyebrow. They both knew why he was acting the way he was, but neither was going to say anything.
Stiles cleared his throat. “Sam will make sure she is fine. Mia, tell Sam to give you a few pastries to try.”
They listened to Mia stumble down the steps, leaving them to speak candidly. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Peter huffed. “I’ve sat through enough therapy to know silence gets us nowhere.”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m not sure what you want me to say. You show up on my doorstep, talking about pack like I was ever really pack. I don’t know what to do or what to say. It all kind of feels like a cruel joke.” Stiles shrugged.
Peter nodded. “That was good communication, Stiles. Why don’t you try Derek?” It was far too amusing to be the therapist for Peter to quit. As long as the analysis wasn’t directed at him, he was happy, and if he needed to pretend to be the shrink for that to happen, he would.
“What do you mean you were never pack? Have you lost your mind?”
Before Stiles could get too frustrated, Peter cut in. “Now, Derek, that seems to be an accusation. Why don’t we try an I feel statement, instead?”
Derek cut his eyes to him for a moment, showing hazy red, before looking back at Stiles. “I feel… I feel like you have always been pack, and you were the one who left, so I FEEL like you are talking out of your ass like you always do.”
“Now, Derek, that is just not very constructive. I am sure Stiles had his reasons for leaving.” Peter wished he had popcorn to thoroughly enjoy the show.
“No, no, it’s very constructive.” Stiles’ eyes narrowed into slits, magic beginning to build. “When was I ever pack? When you were shoving me into walls? When you slammed my face into my steering wheel? When you yelled at me, belittled me? Or was it when you went no contact after everything we had been through?” Stiles leaned forward as the temperature of the room skyrocketed with his emotions. “Because, the way I see it, pack would have been there when I called for help. Pack would have been there when I woke up in the hospital, broken and bloody. Pack would have been there when my dad died. Pack would have helped me get away from….” Stiles trailed off, looking away. Tears were in his eyes when he looked back up. “Pack would have been there when my magic came in as a last resort of self-defense, but Derek, you weren’t there.”
Peter’s amusement crashed and burned. He and Derek were looking at Stiles with varying emotions, but he could smell the shame rolling off of Derek. Derek shifted in his seat. “What are you talking about, Stiles? I called you, texted you, I even came to New York to try and find you.”
Stiles huffed out a wet laugh, but Peter could not find the humor in the situation. “What is so funny, darling?”
Stiles folded his hands, bringing them to his chin to rest his head on them. “I never thought about why no one had called or texted. I was just scared, I guess, but I never put two and two together.”
Derek leaned back in his seat. “He blocked our numbers.”
Stiles closed his eyes, gathering himself for a moment. “Yeah,” It was a whisper, but when he opened his eyes and tears trailed down his cheeks, Peter knew he didn’t need any more information.
Peter could put two and two together to get four. He was reminded, though, that Stiles had lied when talking about the death of his husband. He needed to be sure he was gone. “And he’s dead?”
Stiles hummed, lips twisting in an over-the-top scowl. “Well, it’s a long story. He’s not dead, but he is. In the eyes of the law, he is, but they never found a body. Well, that’s not true either; they found some of his body.”
Peter’s claws tore holes into the fabric of his pants as he tried to pull them back. “Stiles, I need you to be very clear here.” He needs Stiles to tell him with one hundred percent certainty that that scum of the earth man was dead because if not, Peter was going to have to deal with it. His wolf could not and will not leave him alive.
Stiles shrugged. “I am ninety-two percent certain he is dead.”
“Ninety-two?” Derek asked with a small amount of amusement.
Stiles’ arms flailed, nearly taking out an unlit candle on his coffee table. “Yes, ninety-two percent. The top half of him is encased in magical roots that sprung to from the ground. They pulled him under and left the bottom half of him out and about. A bear did pull his legs off, which the cops found, but I can never be certain.”
“Where?” Peter knew he died, but he would get the body to make Stiles feel secure and safe.
Stiles shoved the last half of his sandwich in his mouth, not even chewing before answering. “Deep in the Fontenelle Forest.” He swallowed, getting another sandwich. “It doesn’t matter; no one can get to it. The roots pulled him back into the earth.”
Derek looked to Peter; once their eyes met, they both knew they would be looking for the body. He cleared his throat, looking back at Stiles. “No matter what happened, you will always have a spot in my pack.”
“Thanks, sourwolf.” Stiles gave him a slight smile.
“We have already bought a packhouse, and I’d like you to come out and see it. I know you might not be ready to be part of the pack full time, but I want you involved.”
Stiles toyed with the sandwich in his hand. “You want me to see it? Why? What do I need to see?”
Derek looked at him sternly as he planned his next words. Both Derek and Peter knew that Stiles was a bit of a flight risk. Peter would smell Derek’s anxiety as it built, and it did nothing to help his own anxiety. Derek sighed, deciding to just go for it. “You’re pack. No matter what you decide, you are a part of our pack to me and everyone else; every member of my pack will have their own room and space. So, what I need from you is to come by, choose a room, and tell me what you need in it.” Derek rubbed unsure circles on his chest, knowing that sometimes he had to speak; he had to make his feelings known. “Even if you decide to never step foot in our packhouse ever again, I NEED you to have a spot. I NEED a room to scream Stiles.”
Stiles gave him a bright smile. “I can do that.”
The ride to the packhouse was silent, and Peter regretted not riding with Stiles. Sure, he had decided to stick with Derek to try and get his hormones under control, but his nephew was a man of too few words. Their conversation at the café had dropped numerous bombs, but it seemed like Derek had no care in the world to talk to Peter about them. Peter knew that things like that were why Stiles had called him sourwolf.
Pulling up to the house filled Peter with an emotion he didn’t have a name for. Sure, he probably knew what it was, but he had decided to file it right next to the emotion that Stiles drags out from him. He didn’t have the time or wherewithal to analyze it. He was doing better than he had been, especially right after waking up from the coma, but he wasn’t perfect, and he had made his peace with that. He was emotionally stunted, and no matter how much work he put into changing, he could only change so much.
They climbed out of the old camero as roscoe tore up the drive. Stiles jumped out with a big smile on his face.
“It’s fucking beautiful, guys!” Stiles’ arms were out wide as he did a twirl. He turned to look at the little group with a smirk on his face. “This is perfect.”
Derek gave him a slight smile. “You haven’t even seen it.”
Stiles rushed him, interlocking their arms. “Show me!”
Peter and Mia followed behind the duo as Derek showed the home to Stiles. The excitement was building with every step, and Peter loved how happy Stiles was. It made his wolf howl with pride; they were providing for someone very important to them. There was a word for it, but Peter wasn’t ready to admit it yet, even if Eclipse was. Stiles turned to look at him with a stunning smile, and Peter couldn’t help but smile back.
Finally, they came to a building on the side of the property. Stiles dropped Derek’s arms running around the building. On the backside, there was a large clearing. It was covered in snow, but they could see the potential. “This is it,” Stiles mumbled. He turned, giving them the biggest smile Peter had ever seen on his face. “This is the one I want. It’s perfect.” Stiles flung his arm out; a gust of wind pushed the snow back, clearing the area.
“These buildings have two living spaces, so you’ll have to share.” Peter could smell Derek’s amusement as he spoke.
“Yeah, yeah, I don’t care.” Stiles put his hands on his hips, looking over the clearing. “This is the perfect spot. It’s close enough to the main house to get there quickly if needed. It’s close enough to the front to help with security. And this clearing, fuck, this spot Derek.” He pointed to a little spot on the left. “I can put a garden here.” He swung his arm around, grass sprouting in its wake. “And pups! I can make a playground for any pups. I don’t know if there are pups, so it’s just an idea, but Derek, come one. Pups!” Stiles dug his fingers into the ground, letting his magic fly. A fence of intertwining roots shot up, closing off the clearing. Once the fence was in place, the body of a swing set erupted from the earth. Stiles looked at Derek, sweat beading up on his forehead. “Pups, Derek.” Stiles took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Are there pups?”
Derek motioned for them to go inside, brushing shoulders with him as they headed inside. “Yeah, let’s go inside, and I’ll tell you about them.”
They stepped into the building, and Stiles stopped, looking around. On the obviously handcrafted wooden coffee table was a stack of books. Witchcraft: Sixth Sense, Advanced Binding Runes, and Their Uses. Stiles looked at Peter with a smirk. “I’d have to share with you?”
“That a deal-breaker, Darling?”
Stiles looked at the wall of windows, showing the clearing. He ran his hand through his hair before looking back. “With this view, my roommate could be a troll, and I’d deal with it.” He shrugged. “I can handle the run-of-the-mill zombie.”
Peter huffed, sitting on the couch across from Derek and Mia. “Can we show Mr. Stiles the puppies now?” Mia was barely holding in her excitement.
Peter froze when Stiles flopped next to him, leaning into his side. He hadn’t thought about the seating arrangement. He crossed his knees, shoulders stiff. Stiles pressed his knee into Peters, and it made him melt. Peter leaned back, draping his arm over the couch, not so subtly scent-marking Stiles’ neck. Stiles looked at him, mischief alight in his eyes, giving him a slight smirk, before looking back at Derek.
“Let me see the kiddos.” Stiles made grabby hands.
Derek smacked his hands away but showed him a little baby with tight curls and bright eyes. “This is Martin. Vernon and Erica’s youngest.” The following picture showing three children, the youngest being Martin. “This was last Christmas. You can see Martin, then Lola is four and Leonard is six.”
“They’re beautiful.” His voice shook with unshed tears.
Then Derek showed him a little girl with beautiful blond curls and big green eyes. “This is Nicole. She’s Issac’s.” Derek cleared his throat. “Her mom left after she found out about werewolves.”
Stiles leaned back, pressing against Peter. “How is he?”
Derek hummed. “He’s doing okay. He’s doing his best.”
Stiles nodded, humming as he thought about everything. Peter trailed his fingers along the back of his neck, calming him. Stiles closed his eyes, soaking in the touch. Mia whined, needing to go to the restroom, so Derek left them alone.
“Are you scent-marking me?” Stiles mumbled through loose lips.
Peter adjusted his hold on Stiles’ neck, fingers trailing along his ear and jaw. “Never.”
Stiles hummed. “You sure? I feel scent-marked?”
Peter leaned closer, his nose less than an inch from Stiles’ ear. “You’d know if you were being scent-marked.”
He was being scent-marked. He knew it, and Peter knew it. He would not even be surprised if Derek knew it. When Peter was younger, and the pack was vibrant, scent-marking and cuddles were his favorite time of the day, but after the fire, he didn’t think he would ever enjoy marking someone as pack, as a loved one ever again. Stiles brought out feelings he had not felt in years, and Peter was not going to question it.
Stiles left without much fuss, but he had promised to come back. What had surprised Peter was the cold metal that now rests in his hand. Stiles had handed it to him, pulling him into a short hug. “If you ever feel the need to see the rest of my apartment, you should stop by.” Stiles had pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before driving away, leaving Peter staring after him with shock written on his face.
He waited two days before he showed up at Stiles’ apartment. He hesitated at the back door Stiles had shown them just days prior, but he decided he had a key; he didn’t need to knock. Holding on to the false confidence in his gut, Peter unlocked the door, heading upstairs.
The apartment was more of a mess, and Peter could smell the pastries Stiles seemed to be baking, but the music stood out the most. In the kitchen, Stiles was belting out the lyrics of a son Peter didn’t know, dancing in the kitchen. Peter leaned against the counter, watching him bounce and flail about to the beat, with a smile on his face.
At that moment, a traitorous emotion welled up, and Peter could not shove it away. He was happy and carefree, making Peter warm watching him dance. Did he have any natural rhythm? No. Could he hold a note? Also, no, but it didn’t matter. He was beautiful.
Stiles finally turned around. Eyes went wide with shock as his hands flung out. Peter was knocked to the ground, and his breath escaped his lungs, making him gasp. Beautiful and fierce.
“Shit, Peter, you scared the fuck out of me.”
Peter eased up into a sitting position. “I sure hope not, Darling. Celibate at twenty-seven would be a curse.”
Stiles huffed, hand on his hip when the timer went off. “Have a seat, you creeper. I made scones.”
Peter flopped down on the barstool with exaggerated difficulty. Stiles was bent over, pulling the scones from the oven, and Peter had to look away. He didn’t know what it was about him, but Stiles made him feel like an uncultured pup. He had caught himself staring at his behind like his milk teeth had just been replaced, and Peter didn’t know what to do about it. If he thought too hard about it, he would have his answers, and he knew that, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t put the words to it because then it might cease to exist.
Stiles plopped a plate in front of him with a hot scone on it. “Want a coffee with that?”
Peter shook his head. “You need better security, Sweetheart.”
Stiles rolled his eyes, leaning against the other side of the counter. “Should I get a dog?” He asked with an eyebrow raised and a smirk plastered on his face.
Peter’s answering growl made him laugh. Stiles shoved the plate closer to him, and Peter grabbed the scone, holding it up to his nose. He didn’t need to smell it to know it was good, and really his mouth was already watering. He took a small nibble and smiled when Stiles rolled his eyes. “Christmas is coming up.” Peter knew he should have eased into it, but it was too late now.
“Yeah,” Stiles mumbled. After everything that had happened, Peter would bet money Stiles hadn’t had a happy Christmas in years, and really neither had he. Maybe it was time for a change.
Peter set the scone down; it would still be good later. “Will you be moving in before or after Christmas?”
Stiles scoffed. “Who said I was moving? I like my apartment, my life.”
“Why are you lying, Stiles? Are you just lying to me or yourself as well?”
Stiles looked at him with earnest eyes. It was as if he didn’t know the answer himself. After a few moments, he shoved the plate back to Peter. “Eat your damned scone, then you can help me pack.”
He would be there for the entire day. The music was too loud, and Stiles was still a hyperactive little brat, but it was one of the best days he had in a long time. It reminded him why he had called Derek. It reminded him that Peter Hale needed a pack no matter how much he denied it.
Peter sat on his couch, debating what to do next. Yes, he had spent the day helping Stiles pack, and it was an eye-opener. If he was being honest with himself, he could admit that there was no one else in the world he would have helped. It made him wonder just what exactly he wouldn’t do for Stiles Stilinski, and that was a terrifying thought.
What was worse was that he had the Amazon app open on his phone, scrolling through throw pillows. He had to wonder what was next. Would he bend over backward to make the other man happy? Would he break his spine and smile about it as long as his little Mage had a smile on the face? He was scared to admit it, but the answer was yes, and he didn’t know when that happened.
All that was left was to move the man in, but they had decided to wait until Liam got there with his truck. Peter would never admit it aloud, but he was excited to have Stiles move in, which meant he was bugging Liam nearly nonstop. He was texting and calling, asking when he would be there. Which, in reality, didn’t matter because he would need to rest and unpack himself. Peter wondered how hard it would be to get the truck for himself after Liam was unpacked.
With Prime Delivery, the outrageous amount of pillows and throws he purchased would be there the day after next, but he still wondered what else he needed to get so that Stiles was comfortable. He debated getting a television, but he hadn’t seen one in Stiles’ home, granted he had not entered the bedroom. He tossed that idea to the side, thinking he would just get the information from Stiles.
Liam was there, and Peter could practically taste how much he hated Peter. It just showed how ostracized from the pack he was, and for the millionth time, he wondered if it was all worth it. They seemed just fine without him, so why should he ruin a perfectly good dynamic. Then he thought of his Mage. Stiles would always have a spot in the pack, and Peter was where ever Stiles was.
It had been easier to get the truck than Peter had expected. They had unpacked, and Liam was standing in the door frame of his room. Peter would assume he wondered how his life had ended up like it did with leaving a deadbeat alpha to join another better alpha, but he didn’t care enough to ask. Instead, he stood in the hallway debating what to say when Liam sighed.
He pulled the keys out of his pocket, tossing them to Peter. “Fucking hell, man, you have been bothering me for days. Just fucking take it.”
Peter smirked. “Will do, pup.”
The young man snarled at him, but Peter didn’t care. He was going to get his wayward Mage. He wasn’t in the apartment when Peter walked in, so he assumed he was downstairs in the café. For a split second, he thought about feeling like an intruder, but it passed quickly. Everything Stiles owned was in less than a dozen boxes, stacked along the wall. Peter knew that most of the boxes, and it was startling that he had so few possessions, as Peter had more after coming out of the coma. He had to wonder if most of the apartment was his late husband’s belongings. He wondered if Stiles would be glad to leave them behind.
“I saw the truck outside. Are you excited?” The tone was mocking and full of amusement, but Peter would smell his wonder and amazement.
Peter rolled his eyes. “Not even in your wildest dreams.” He cleared his throat as Stiles wrapped his arms around his torso, pulling him into a hug. Peter lightly nuzzled his face into Stiles’ hair. “There is a blizzard coming. It would be in our best interest to have you squared away before it gets treacherous.”
Stiles looked up with wide eyes but not letting his arms fall. “Did you just nuzzle me?”
Peter stepped back, rolling his eyes, effectively ending the damned hug. “Just a figment of your imagination, my sweet. Maybe you should try therapy.”
Stiles laughed. “Sure.” He looked around his bare apartment. “Let’s get this home before the blizzard.” He put quotations around blizzard, and Peter didn’t know if he wanted to kill or kiss him.
“Shush, child.” He was leaning more towards kissing, and that was startling in itself.
Stiles’ eyebrow arched. “You a pedo? Do we need to get you some help?”
Peter snarled, eyes flashing.
“Shush.” Stiles smiled; it was patronizing. “Let’s get me home.”
Home. It was an excellent concept. He didn’t know how he felt about it, as he still wasn’t sure about living at the packhouse. Then on top of that, Stiles would be there. A human. Even if the rest of them survived and attacked, he would most likely not. Peter was beyond nervous about the move, not that he would tell anyone that.
Stiles gave him a stupid smirk when he walked into their living quarters. Peter could admit, to himself at least, that he went overboard on the throw pillows and blankets. It was only worse because Stiles knew. His clever little Mage knew what was happening even if Peter didn’t want to admit it. Even though he couldn’t admit it.
After unloading the truck, they made their trek up to the main house. Liam burst out the door like an over-eager puppy, running down the walk. Stiles caught him mid-leap, swinging him around. If Peter ever doubted Stiles’ place in the pack, it was cleared up then and there.
“Stiles!” The pup buried his face in Stiles’ neck. “You smell like Peter.” He mumbled.
Stiles laughed, patting him on the head. “Hey there, pup.”
Liam nuzzled his face and neck, tears in his eyes. Peter rolled his eyes, pushing past them. “Let’s not let the human freeze.”
Liam grabbed Stiles’ hand, dragging him towards the house. “Let me show you my room!”
Peter plopped down on the couch, listening to them bound up the stairs. Derek laughed as he stepped out of the kitchen.
“He has been waiting for Stiles to get here all day,” Derek said with a smile.
Peter crossed his legs. “How old is that pup? He doesn’t seem a day over six.”
Derek flipped the towel in his hands over his shoulder. “Would you believe me if I said twenty-four?”
Peter rolled his eyes. “A mere child.”
Derek scoffed. “He won’t hold Stiles’ attention forever. No need to be jealous.”
Peter snarled, eyes flashing in anger. They sat there for a few moments while Derek looked at him, far too amused for his liking. Peter rolled his eyes, deciding to bite the bullet. He would go find his Stiles.
Stiles was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Liam bounce around the room. He was pointing to the posters on the wall with animated gestures. The young pup loved his little mate, making his wolf, Eclipse, preen. Peter jerked at the thought. Mate? Fucking mate? Stiles looked up with concern written on his face as Peter fought to catch his breath. Mate. Stiles stood, reaching to grab his arm, but Peter flinched. Stiles tilted his head to the side in thought, letting his hand drop.
Peter turned, leaving as fast as possible without embarrassing himself any further. He could hear Stiles calling for him as he broke out into a jog on the sidewalk. Granted, he was going to their shared home, but he couldn’t stop yet. He knew Stiles would be hot on his heels, and he didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse. He didn’t bother shutting the door, as he could hear Stiles behind him. He flopped down on their couch, covering his eyes with his arm.
“Dramatic,” Stiles mumbled, and Peter didn’t have it in him to even growl. Probably because he was right. “Want me to make you some coffee?”
Peter growled.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Stiles pulled out the French press, getting everything set up. Peter could hear every movement and breath. It was driving him crazy. He hopped off the couch, crowding Stiles in the kitchen. It was quick and not what was expected when he got up. He had not expected or planned to herd Stiles against the counter then lick him from the collar of his shirt up into his hair. Peter groaned, jumping back. At least it was the back of his neck, not his face.
Stiles turned slowly. The smile on his face was ridiculously wide. “Did you just lick me?”
Fucking hell, he did. “Nope.”
Stiles reached up, touching his damp hair. “Are you sure?” Yeah, he’s sure. Sure he just licked him like some crazed hormonal pup.
“It was a breeze.” Since when were breezes wet????
“A breeze?” Stiles laughed. “You know Issac licked me once. I told him he was my favorite puppy, and he got so excited that he licked me.”
“Why would I care what that errant pup did?” Because he was fucking jealous and apparently an errant pup himself!!
Stiles shook his head before looking around. “We need to decorate for Christmas.”
Peter huffed. “I don’t celebrate Christmas.”
Stiles’ eyes sharpened, burning through him. “You do now.”
“Stiles.” He did not whine. “We only have three days.”
Stiles handed him a mug of coffee. “Drink up. We have so much to do. We need to go shopping, and the rest of the pack will be here tomorrow, so we need to get cleaning. And presents Peter, presents. I have so many to wrap.”
Peter had to wonder if Stiles had bought him a present. Peter had bought customary pack presents for most of the pack, then something more substantial for Derek and Mia. He had something for Stiles, but he didn’t know if he wanted to give it to him. It left him vulnerable in a way he didn’t like.
Even though Stiles had demanded Peter’s help with decorating, he didn’t need it. Really, need was the wrong word. He didn’t want Peter’s help. He tried to stay out of the way and watch him work. It was a beautiful thing to watch, though. The tree had sprouted out of the wood flooring, making Peter’s eyebrow twitch, but Stiles had ensured the damage would be fixed when he took the tree down. Peter would let him live for now. Every inch of their living area was covered in garland and twinkle lights. If Peter was a different kind of man, he would call it beautiful.
He hadn’t expected the decorating to take all day, but before they knew it, he could hear Stiles’ tummy growl. He was a tad surprised that Derek or Liam had not bothered them, but he was also glad. His little mage had flitted across their home all day, and Peter really didn’t want to be disturbed while he watched. So at the end of the evening, Peter decided he would be the first to use their new kitchen.
It wasn’t anything special, well it was, but Stiles didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know that Peter made his mother's Chicken and Rice soup for dinner. He didn’t need to know that Peter’s heart ached at every step because, believe it or not, he missed his mother. When Stiles had taken his first bite, his eyes fluttered closed, and he hummed around the spoon; it had all been worth it. Peter decided to get the family recipe book from his safety deposit box and share it with Stiles. They would make his family's recipes and add more as they went along. It made him wonder if Stiles had any that he wanted to share from his mother and maybe his father.
The night was calm, and Peter could hear Stiles’ heartbeat. He didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse. He didn’t know if it would keep him up all night, knowing that Stiles was in his room on the other side of the building and not with him, or if it would lull him to sleep knowing he wasn’t far away. He honestly didn’t know which was worse, but when Stiles finally drifted off to sleep, Peter was not far behind.
He had a firm grip on Stiles’ arm as they moved from store to store, and Peter paid no attention to what his little mate was buying. He was ready to get back to their little home and curl up on the couch with his newest book, but he would not even be afforded that joy. While they were out, the rest of the pack had arrived. They would have to do the meet and greet thing before anything else, and Peter didn’t know if he was emotionally prepared for it.
He was saved from the onslaught of people by Stiles. They had done the meet and greet thing, especially with all the kids, but Stiles could only handle so much as well. That was another reason they were perfect for each other. They liked their silence, their alone time. The pack wasn’t cold to him per se, but he could tell the difference between how they greeted him and how they greeted Stiles. He wasn’t jealous, but he could see how it frustrated the other man. He had snipped at them a little, so they could retreat to their home to prepare for bed.
“Since no one bothered to make sure there was food here, Peter is going to fill me up before putting me to bed.” Stiles had said it with a wink and a smirk, and the pack seemed to catch the double meaning. Derek laughed at their shocked faces before hugging Stiles and a reluctant Peter goodnight.
Two nights. They had made it two nights without anything happening. Granted, it was a nightmare. He could not hold that against Stiles, but it had happened. He had woken to screaming, nearly throwing him back into his own flashback. He could feel the blisters well up on his skin, but he ignored it. He was out of bed and across the tiny home in three seconds flat.
He slung the door open without the courtesy of a knock. His heart was pounding in his chest, and dread swirled in his gut, but he couldn’t let fear overtake him. Stiles was screaming, twisted in the sheets. Peter rushed to his side, calling his name.
“Stiles.”
Stiles whimpered, crying out. “Let me out! Please let me out.” He was waking but still trapped in the throes of the nightmare.
Peter reached out, grabbing his arm. “Come on, sweet, wake up for me.”
Stiles whimpered, grabbing his arm, pulling him down onto the bed with more strength than Peter thought he had.
“Stiles, love, you need to let go.”
Stiles did not let go; Stiles pulled him closer. Peter relaxed after a few seconds, letting his little mate nuzzle into his chest. His long fingers were curled around the material of his shirt in a death grip, but he seemed to be calming down. “Good, Peter.” He mumbled, drifting into a deeper sleep. Peter shook his head, knowing he would be trapped until morning.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He had just wanted to comfort Stiles, maybe slip out before the sun came up, but he had no such luck. He woke to Stiles sitting criss-cross on top of the blanket, staring at him. He was mellow and lose from spending the night wrapped in his mate's scent, so he didn’t even jerk away at the stern stare. It was Christman Eve, and he couldn’t use his emotional energy just yet, since they would spend most of the day with the pack.
“Did you sleep in my bed?”
Peter rolled his eyes. He had obviously slept in the damned bed. “Nope.” Peter rolled out of bed, stretching before leaving the room. Stiles’ laughter followed him to the bathroom.
His sweater was warm and soft, making sure he was not much more than a soft lump when he plopped down on the couch, sock-covered toes burrowing into the cushion. Stiles sat next to him, letting him wiggle his toes under his thighs to get warmth. They drank their coffee that Stiles made in silence. He knew that he was being strangely soft, not that Stiles had said anything, but a lot had changed in nearly ten years.
The main house was bursting with noise and pack members. Many gave him a wide berth, but Stiles stayed by his side. Peter was unsure if it was because he was also uncomfortable or trying to help him out. Everyone was beyond excited to see Stiles, and he was clearly part of the pack, but Peter was not. Sure, they had accepted him, but that didn’t mean they liked him. Issac had brushed shoulders with him, reminding him of the small bond they shared.
Lunch was delicious, and with Stiles cooking, that was not much of a surprise. What was a surprise was that the kids seemed to love him. They liked to use him a jungle gym, and he couldn’t find it in himself to bitch about it. Sure, he did not have a smile on his face, but he knew that they could probably all smell his amusement and contentment. He just liked to be involved. The little brats chased him around the house in some convoluted game of TAG where Peter did not get any faster than a brisk walk, but it was all worth it to see Stiles looking at him with warm eyes.
The snow was starting to pick up, so Stiles actually said they should head out. Believe it or not, Peter had not lied about the blizzard. The pack bid them goodbye and good night with much more warmth than they had the night before. It made Peter wonder if Derek had said something to the pack about their chilly dispositions the evening before, but it didn’t matter at that moment. He was taking Stiles home.
They stepped into their home, not bothering to turn on the overhead lights, letting the twinkle lights shine. Peter could admit it was beautiful, and the smell of Bigos in the crackpot made his mouth water. The light illuminated Stiles’ face as he handed Peter a mug of hot chocolate.
“Go easy on that,” Stiles warned.
Peter looked at him with a raised eyebrow before bringing the mug to his lips. It was warm on his tongue and in his throat, making him hum. “Why is that love?”
Stiles gave him a blinding smile. “Wolfsbane Bailey’s.” He said with a wink.
Peter probably didn’t need to lower his inhibitions, but he took a big gulp, making Stiles laugh. He hadn’t been buzzed in years, but he loved it. He plopped down in his chair, devouring the Bigos. It was one of the best things he had ever tasted, and he told Stiles as much.
“This is heaven, my love.” He probably shouldn’t have had the second mug of hot chocolate.
Stiles leaned across their small table, grabbing his hand. His skin was warm against his. “Heaven?” His smile was blinding, sending Peter into a tailspin.
Peter pulled their linked fingers to his mouth, kissing each of Stiles’ knuckles. “Yes, my love, my little mate.” He wasn’t supposed to say that aloud.
“Mate?” Stiles was looking at him with wide eyes.
Peter hummed. “Yes, darling, and you have been driving me wild.” Peter pressed Stiles’ hand to his face nuzzling it. “With your enticing hips and bright eyes.
Stiles hummed. “Wild enough to lick me, I guess.”
Peter started sniffing up Stiles’ wrist, shoving his sleeve up. “You do taste delectable.” His eyes were beta blue, shining in the night.
Stiles stood, circling the table to stand in front of him. “You haven’t even truly tasted me yet.”
Peter nipped at his delicate wrist. “Are you going to give me a taste?”
Stiles ran a confident hand through his hair, shifting Peter’s head up so they could make eye contact. “Maybe if you're a good boy.”
Peter nuzzled his belly, humming. “Not good. I’m wicked.”
Stiles grabbed the hem of his shirt, holding it down, as Peter tried to get to the skin there. “But you’ll be good for me?”
“Yes, do anything for my little mage.”
Stiles pulled him to his feet. “Good, let’s get you into bed.”
Peter stumbled closer. “My, aren’t you presumptuous?” Peter pulled Stiles towards his bedroom. “Not wrong, though.”
Peter pressed him against the bedroom door, covering Stiles’ body with his. “Peter.” Stiles attempted to get his attention. “Peter, creeperwolf, let’s get to bed now.”
Peter hums. “Yes, let’s get you in my sheets.” Stiles opened the door, sending both of them to the floor. Peter rolled his hips, erection rubbing against Stiles. “Want you to ride me, love.”
Stiles rolled off him, standing with a blush burning his face. “Let’s get comfortable in bed, you big lug.”
Peter stumbled to his feet, falling face-first into the cozy blankets. “I guess you can fuck me if that’s what you want.” Peter dreamed of his laugh.
It was the smell of coffee that woke him. He nuzzled his pillow but jerked up when Stiles’ laugh echoed through the room. His little mate was sitting up in his bed with a book in his hands and coffee on the nightstand.
“Did you sleep in my bed?”
Stiles dropped the book, his laugh shaking the mattress. “I did.” Stiles gently rubbed his hair, obviously messing it up. “How do you feel?”
Peter shifted into a seated position. “What are you talking about?”
Stiles took a deep breath, trying to gather himself. “Do you remember last night?” Peter was trying to ignore the strange mixture of dread, hurt, and hope rolling off Stiles in waves.
He thought hard, trying to bring last night to the forefront. It was hazy, so the memory wasn’t gone, just out of reach. He thought about the delicious cocoa, then dinner, then…. Fuck. He remembered. He had thrown himself at Stiles. He had told him that they were mates. Peter had ruined everything.
Stiles plopped a small box in his lap, stopping his train of thought. “Merry Christmas, mate-mine.”
Peter looked at him with uncertainty written all over his face, but when he saw Stiles’ earnest smile, Peter knew it would be okay. He ripped the checkered paper off, throwing it to the side. He slowly pulled the lid off of the box, schooling his face, just in case he hated it. He should have known he didn’t need to do that. It was perfect, just like his perfect mate.
There in the tissue paper was the Hale Family crest carved into the shoulder of a wolf, all carved from what he could only guess was an expensive cut of wood.
“It’s African black wood. It’s a door hang, but you can put it anywhere if you want. On the back, I carved some runes for protection and stuff.” Peter could hear his heart beating way too fast as anxiety poured off of him. Stiles twisted his hands in the blanket, trying to calm himself. “If you don’t like it, I also got some books for you, so you don’t have to take it. I just thought you might like something to tie you to your family, to your pack.”
“Stiles, shut up.” He ran a shaking hand over the expertly polished wood.
“I’m sorry.” Stiles gasped out.
Peter gently placed his gift on the floor before leaning into Stiles’ space. “It is the most amazing gift I have ever received.” He kissed Stiles.
After Peter pulled away, Stiles was flushed and hot. “Did you just kiss me?”
Peter laughed, shifting so that he entirely covered Stiles’ body. He pressed a wet kiss to his throat. “Nope.”
Stiles laughed, running his hand through Peter’s hair. “What if I want a kiss? A real one?”
Peter shifted his hands under Stiles’ sweater. His skin was soft and warm under his fingertips. He looked up at Stiles as he gave his belly a tiny lick. “Then you’ll have to ask.”
“Oh, mate of mine, can I have a kiss?” He said it with a laugh, and Peter nipped at his belly, shoving the sweater up and off of Stiles.
“Beg.” He said with a growl, pulling at his nipples.
Stiles arched into the touch, whining at the tug. “Please, Peter.”
Peter grabbed his chin, turning his head to the side so he could kiss up the side of his neck, nibbling along the way. He ground his hard cock into Stiles’, making him shudder at the contact. Peter nipped at his earlobe. “Is that the best you can do?”
It happened so fast, Peter couldn’t even react. One moment he is rolling his hips down into his mate; the next thing he knew, he was flat on his back with Stiles staring down at him. Stiles gripped his hair, pulling his head back stretching his throat. The kiss was hot and dirty. It was more tongue and teeth than lips, just like Peter liked it.
Stiles sat up, grinding his ass into Peter. “Do I have to do all the work, baby?”
Peter dug his fingers into his hips, holding him still, rolling his hips. “Is this what you want, sweetheart? You want my cock?”
Stiles moaned, head dropping back. Hickeys and lovebites were already bright on his neck, and Peter wanted to leave them everywhere. He wanted everyone to know that Stiles was his. Stiles was his mate. With quick hands and sure movements, Peter flipped Stiles, putting him face down on the bed. He pulled the sleep pants and boxers down, revealing the delectable ass. He bent down, biting into the supple flesh.
“You didn’t answer, baby. Do you want my cock?”
Stiles arched up, begging of his touch. “Yeah, give it to me big bad.”
Peter gripped his hips, pulling him up on his knees. He gave the right cheek a smack, watching it jiggle. He pulled apart his cheeks, running a dry finger over his hole. Stiles arched arms out wide, pulling on the sheets. His boy, his mage, had tasted delectable, so he wondered if his pretty little hole tasted as good and his lips. Peter gave him a firm broad lick from his tight sack to the small of his back.
He hummed, rubbing his face on Stiles’ cheek. “You taste amazing, love. I’m going to eat you up.”
He growled into his skin as he worked his tongue over his hole, letting the muscles loosen before he started working his tongue into him. He was pulling the cheeks apart and pushing his tongue as far as it would go, Stretching his mate. After a few pointed thrusts of his tongue, Stiles started rocking back. He didn’t know how long they had but, Peter wanted to fuck him with his tongue until his boy cried. He slipped his thumb along with his tongue, loving the way it made Stiles gasp. He pulled along the edges of his hole, pulling him taunt.
“Peter, please.” Stiles cried out.
Peter pulled back, working a second thumb into his hole, stretching him wide. “What do you need, darling?”
The muscles in his legs quivered as he rocked back. “Peter.” He huffed.
He worked another finger in, pulling his hole impossibly wide. “Your slutty hole is beautiful, baby boy, but you have to use your words. What do you need?”
Peter licked at the taunt rim of his stretched hole. “Please fuck me.”
Peter started working his fingers in and out, fucking him. Stiles arched, fucking himself on Peter’s fingers. His fingers were scrambling for purchase. Peter tapped his prostate, making Stiles scream.
“Cock. I need your cock.” His own cock was hot and heavy between his legs as he bucked back to get more. “I haven’t even seen it. I bet it’s uncut and beautiful.”
Peter let his fingers slip free, rubbing his clothed cock along his stretched hole. “You want this, sweet boy?”
“Please.” He rocked against Peter.
Peter pulled back, reaching for the lube in his nightstand. “Flip over, lover.”
Peter kicked off his boxers, giving himself a few solid pumps. Stiles planted his feet in the bed, spreading his knees wide. “Look at that; I just knew it was beautiful.”
Peter laughed, popping the cap to his lube. He quickly coated Stiles’ hole and himself before covering Stiles with his body. He rolled his hips, cock siding together. “Is this what you want, love?”
Stiles hooked one foot on his hip. “Yes.”
Peter grabbed one hand, pinning it to the mattress; using the other, he guided his cock to Stiles’ warm hole. He started to slowly push forward, not meeting much resistance. Once he was fully seated, he brought his hand up, rubbing his thumb along Stiles’ jawline. He starts slowly rocking, swallowing Stiles’ moans with wet kisses.
Stiles arched, trying to get Peter deeper. Keeping their fingers intertwined, Peter shifted, lifting up and grabbing Stiles’ leg, tossing it on his shoulder. With more room, he could really let go, rocking the bed into the wall with punishing thrusts. He leaned forward, nearly folding Stiles in half, giving him long and hard thrusts.
“That was you need, baby? Your mate’s cock filling you up?”
Stiles cried out, his body rocking with every thrust. His cock hot and hard, bouncing on his belly, sticky from precum.
“Are you going to cum on my cock, like a good boy? Are you going to let me fill you up?”
Stiles nodded, unable to say anything more than a grunt or moan. His hair was curling and damp with sweat from his overheated skin.
Peter started tugging at his pretty cock, making Stiles earnestly scream and writhe. “That’s it, dirty boy, cover yourself in cum.” His little mate dropped his head back, spine arching, with a silent scream on his lips, as Peter fucked him through an orgasm, following not far behind.
Peter laid there with Stiles’ head on his chest. Peter ran his hand through his damp hair, breathing in his scent. “That was the first time we had intercourse, correct?”
Stiles laughed. “Yeah, You passed out halfway off the bed.” Stiles looked up at him. “You should have seen me trying to get you undressed. At one point, you latched on to me and wouldn’t let go.”
Peter pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “We have a pack Christmas get-together today.”
Stiles rolled his eyes, nuzzling into Peter’s chest. “We should have brought the presents to the main house yesterday. We got a good two feet of snow last night.”
Peter caressed his back. “Let big bad deal with it.”
Stiles ran his hand over Peter’s chest, a smile stretching across his face. “Bathe me, big bad.”
They shower quickly, too quickly for Peter to really start round two, but he makes do. With Stiles pressed against him, he wrapped a sure hand around their cocks, bringing them to completion quickly. He let the cum soak into his skin before gently washing it away. He wanted the pack to know; he wanted there to be no doubt about what they had done all morning.
They drink coffee, not really enjoying it because they don’t have time. Stiles had already stacked up and bagged all of the wrapped gifts for him to carry to the main house, but there was still one more thing for them to do. Stiles had given him a beautifully thought-out gift, and Peter had yet to give him his. He could wait until the entire pack was sat around tearing into the gifts, but it felt too personal. He didn’t want them there to witness what his gift entailed.
Stiles was bouncing on his toes near the door. He was ready to get to their pack to their family, but Peter couldn’t budge from his seat on the couch. After a few minutes, Stiles eased down the couch, with confusion written on his face.
“Do you not want to go?” It was a valid question, but he was ready for his first pack Christmas in over a decade, but he didn’t want that to overshadow them coming together.
He grabbed a holiday bag, handing it to Stiles. “I don’t want to embarrass you in front of the pack when you squeal like a child opening your favorite Christmas gift.”
Stiles looked at him with a stunned look on his face, as if he hadn’t expected Peter to get him anything. Stiles gently pulled open the bag, looking inside. Peter was proud of the smile that broke out across his face. The first thing he pulled out was a hand-crafted white manticore leather, but what made it special was the cover. A black wolf with beta blue eyes lay on its side, curled around an arctic fox with whiskey brown eyes painted across the leather with the Hale pack symbol burned into the corner of the material.
“I thought you might need a Grimoire.”
“Peter.” Tears had filled his eyes as he clutched his gift to his chest.
Peter huffed, though. “There is more in there, sweet boy, get it.”
Stiles reached in, pulling out a smaller item wrapped in tissue paper. He unwrapped it and gasped; a sob caught in his throat. “They said I couldn’t have it.” The corners of his father’s badge dug into the soft flesh of his hand.
“Well, darling, you are not me. No matter how hard you try, I will always be superior.”
The smile that Stiles gave him melted his cold exterior; he gave Stiles a small smile in return. “You had someone steal it, didn’t you?”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Cora was always my favorite niece.”
Stiles launched himself at Peter, nearly choking him with a hug. It was the first Christmas that either of them had celebrated in a long time, but if Peter had to say, under threat of torture or whatever, it was his favorite. That was until the following Christmas. Stiles should have seen it coming, but Peter was glad he hadn’t. Amazingly no one ruined the surprise.
Peter led him out to the newly built gazebo with magical lights twinkling in the moonlight. The entire pack was flitting around the backyard, but Stiles didn’t know they were there to be a witness and to take pictures. Pansies were wrapped around the railing, standing out as a bright contrast to the fluffy snow. Stiles leaned against the railing, looking out over the clearing behind the house.
“When summer starts, we should put some hammocks up.” Stiles was looking away from Peter, so he hadn’t noticed him fall to one knee.
“Sure, darling, but I was thinking about seating. Maybe some comfy benches so everyone can see what is going on up here.”
Stiles huffed, thinking about it. “Why would they need to see up here? That makes no sense. I think we need hammocks so we can sit out here and read, maybe take a nap.” Of course, he didn’t turn around, so it went right over his head.
Peter bit his lip; his eyes were bright. Stiles could never make things easy. “Why don’t you turn around and see what I’m talking about, love?”
Stiles turned, ready to argue, but froze at the sight. Down on one knee, Peter was there with a box in his hand. “Peter?” He stepped closer; Peter reached out, grabbing his hand.
“You, my love, my mate, are the moon to my wolf. Without one, you can not have the other. Without you, I could not be who I am today. Without you, I would not have a pack, a family. You are the light at the end of my tunnel. Through the darkness and decidedly crazed behavior, you are the light my life orbits around. Stiles Mischief Stilinski, please do me the honor of becoming my husband. Will you marry me?”
“Duh.” Everyone laughed as Peter slid the ring on his finger. Stiles pulled him to his feet, kissing him, letting everything else fall away. It had only been a year, but it felt like they had lived many lifetimes, and they would live many more. Peter would never have to celebrate Christmas alone again.
Here is to many Christmas’s to come.