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The pillow was soft under his cheek, and the breath of his dom was a gentle breeze in his neck. Slowly, Jordan Parrish opened his eyes, and felt slightly disoriented for a moment. Then it all came back to him, and he was torn between going back to sleep, and jumping up and running.
He had fallen asleep in the arms of his dom.
It had been ages since that had happened to him, and instantly he felt terrible. He had to go.
Fast!
Had to go before his dom would wake up, and kick him out.
Very carefully, he untangled himself from his Master's arm, and tried to slip out of the large bed. One last, longing look back to his peaceful sleeping master, and he pushed himself upright.
Wanted to push himself upright, only there were strong fingers closing around his wrist, holding him tight, pulling him back until he was laying down again, and an arm like a vice closed around his waist.
“Did I allow you to leave the bed, boy?”
His mind went blank for a moment, and on reflex he answered, “No, Master.”
His master moved closer to him, and he felt his hot breath on his skin. “So,” a purr, accompanied by a gentle bite, “why do I have to wake up to my sub trying to steal away from me?”
“I … I'm sorry, Master,” he gasped.
“Oh no, not yet,” Peter Hale murmured against his neck, and bit again, harder this time, “but you *will* be.”
A long finger pushed inside his still wet hole, and involuntarily he moaned. And cried out softly when the finger pulled out again, and a hard slap was delivered to his cheek. “Why did you wanna leave, boy?”
Jordan acted again on instinct. Be honest, had been one of the first things he had learned about Peter Hale. Be honest and you will either get a reward or a punishment, and you will love both. Lie, and the punishment will be something to remember with a wince instead of a smile.
“I'm not supposed to fall asleep on my master,” he answered truthfully. A softer bite was the reward he got this time.
“Whoever taught you that was wrong,” his master murmured against his skin, pushing again into him, with two fingers this time. “I like to wake up with my sub ready to cater to my needs. I want to be able to use him first thing in the morning.”
Three fingers now, zeroing in and finding his prostate, making him buck and gasp. With a quick movement, Peter rolled him onto his stomach, and slid home in one hard thrust. Jordan cried out. Though he was still a little loose from last night's fucking, Peter Hale was by no means small, so the preparation he'd gotten wasn't nearly enough. His cry made the older man above him growl softly in satisfaction, and the knowledge that his master was pleased with him, helped him to relax.
He sighed happily, and without him really noticing it, dropped down into his subspace again, gave himself over to his master.
~*~
Peter could feel the moment his sub dropped down again, and boy, did his wolf love that. Waking up with the young Deputy trying to sneak out of his bed hadn't been something he had been too particularly fond of. So a little fucking to show his sub where his place was seemed absolutely rectified for him.
He pounded into the willing body beneath him, took him to the brink again and again, until he finally, after almost half an hour, let his boy come. Sobbing, Jordan pumped his release onto the duvet while Peter came deep inside of him. In coming, he buried his teeth deeply into the flesh where neck met shoulder, tearing another shout – half joy, half pain – from his boy, marking him inside and out.
With a blissful smile, Jordan collapsed under him, dragging Peter down with him.
“Before you go home tonight,” Peter murmured into his boy's ear once they were settled comfortably, “you'll get a nice, long spanking from me. So that whenever you sit down tomorrow, you'll remember who this fine ass belongs to. Got me?”
“Yes, Master,” Jordan whispered reverently, and cuddled closer.
Now that was more like it.
Peter didn't want to think too closely about why he'd been so upset – and even slightly hurt – to find the younger man trying to steal away. This was their fourth time together, and the first time Peter had taken Parrish home with him.
He couldn't tell exactly why just that it had felt right last night. And still did this morning.
Peter cast a quick glance at his watch, and growled low in his throat. It was 6:30 in the morning on a Sunday. His boy would have to pay for waking him up so early.
He pulled the sleeping young man closer again, ignoring his inner wolf that chanted 'mate' at him, and closed his eyes.
~*~
Jordan woke up a few hours later, with his body still pressed against his dom but with his mind a lot clearer now. Calmly, he tried to analyze what the fuck had happened last night and early this morning.
He'd been to the club yesterday. After meeting Peter Hale there for the first time, he almost hadn't dared to go back in case he would find out that their scene together had only been a game for the older man. When he finally a few weeks ago had to decide between snapping like a twig under all the pressure at the station or going back to the club for a good old-fashioned whipping, he chose the latter.
So he had taken a weekend off, had dressed himself nicely, and had taken a cab to the club. The doorman knew him by now, and waved him in with a smile and a slap on his ass.
Seconds later, said doorman was pressed up against the next wall, two feet in the air with an irate werewolf holding him tight, slowly cutting off his air supply.
It had taken Jordan a lot of persuasion – and the promise of a blow job – for Peter to drop the doorman who had only done his job and appreciated Jordan's backside.
A little too much for Peter's liking apparently.
Peter – his dom had grabbed him by his wrist, and more or less dragged him into a corner where he was pushed down to his knees, and found himself only moments later with Peter's cock down his throat, and a growled, “I don't share my sub,” as a sort of explanation.
That had been their second encounter.
Peter murmured something in his sleep that Jordan did *not* find adorable! Well, maybe a little. Like a teddy bear he was pulled closer to the warm body of the werewolf who didn't even wake up properly.
Their third meeting had come as a bit of a surprise for him.
It had been an exceptional hard week for the pack. One of their members had been kidnapped, and Derek had almost gone on a killing spree. Only the even more tired face of the Sheriff had told him that the kidnapped guy had to be Stiles which would also explain Derek's volatile reaction.
He didn't like his boyfriend to be taken.
And really … what was it with that kid? He was the biggest trouble magnet in whole Beacon Hills.
Peter had come to the Sheriff's office after they had found Stiles again, had delivered him to his dad and his boyfriend. Peter had looked … terrible. There had been no other word for it, Jordan had thought.
Crashing his hands on the Deputy's desk, he'd leaned close to him, and had whispered into his ear, “Tonight, eight o'clock in the club. And don't. Be. Late!”
Then he'd straightened up again, and had left the office without looking back.
That had been their third encounter. Peter had been … weird that night. Weirder than normal if that was even possible. He had been rougher. Harder. His whipping had had a ferocity to it that had made Jordan almost safe-word himself out of it. But in the last minute, Peter had stopped, had dropped the whip, freed Jordan from the cross, and had pulled him over to the bed. The next hour they had spent cuddling, with Peter saying over and over again how sorry he was that it had gotten so out of hand.
The fourth time had led to this. Jordan was laying in his dom's arms, on a Sunday morning. They had met at the club last night but before Jordan could even suggest to go to their room, Peter had grabbed him, and growled, “We're going to my place tonight. Come on.”
The scene last night had been just as intense as all the others before. And yet something had been different. Had it been the slower fucking? The almost tender spanking he had received in the beginning? Jordan couldn't quite put his finger on it.
“I guess we have to talk later, don't we?” Peter suddenly rumbled behind him.
Jordan was surprised. He hadn't even realized that the older man had woken up. “What?” he croaked out. Because nothing was more foreboding than the sentence 'we have to talk', right?
A kiss, a small bite, then he was pushed away. “Go, make coffee, boy. I really need that before we talk.”
When Jordan got up, he noticed that his knees were trembling, and he had to pull himself together not to break down sobbing, and whimper at his master's feet to please not push him away.
But he managed.
Barely. Before he could leave the room, Peter was suddenly behind him again. Damn those werewolves and their speed.
“Hey,” he murmured, putting a finger under Jordan's chin, and turning his head around so he could look into his eyes, “it's nothing bad, I promise. Okay?”
Jordan nodded mutely. Another kiss, this one to his mouth, then Peter gently pushed him to the door. “Okay. Now stop looking like someone broke your favorite toy, and make some damned coffee.”
To say, Jordan was confused would have been the understatement of the century.
~*~
Peter groaned as soon as Parrish was out of ear shot.
There had been a reason he hadn't had a permanent sub in … well … ever. When he was younger he had tried to come to term with the fact that he loved to dominate his partner. Had dreamed about having someone who belonged to him, and *only* him. His friends had laughed at him, telling him to get a dog when he wanted someone so obedient.
His first time dominating someone had been a disaster, and only because another dom had been present at the scene and had stepped in, the worst had been prevented. Said dom had been the one taking him under his wings, teaching him everything he needed to know.
Over the next years he had become a real master, and had had a lot of scenes with different subs. And yet, the one he was looking for had never been among them. The moment he told the subs what he wanted from a relationship, they usually waved good-bye, and ran.
Fast!
He had began to wonder if his yearning for someone who was always there for him, someone who would *always* be his sub, was really so abnormal. He had even learned that there was a name for it: 24/7. If it had a name, it couldn't be *that* abnormal, right?
But as the years passed by, and he simply couldn't find what he was looking for, he finally came to the conclusion that he would stay alone, except for the occasional sessions in a club.
Until he more or less stumbled over one Deputy Jordan Parrish.
After their first scene, Peter might have been able to walk away from the Deputy and his so sweet and natural submission.
Might have.
Eventually.
After their second he had known that he had to take care not to develop feelings for dark blond hair and green eyes.
The third one had been a disaster in his eyes. He had been on the edge as long as the Sheriff's kid had been lost. Not only because it was Derek's boy, and he had seen the way his nephew suffered.
But even more because he thought about his own reaction if the Deputy were ever kidnapped.
Storming into the station and seeing his boy sitting there on his desk, something had snapped inside of Peter, and he had ordered him to the club that night.
The scene had been incredibly harsh, and in a way freeing for Peter. But suddenly the scent of his boy had changed. From lust and arousal to fear and something close to panic.
Immediately, Peter had stopped the whipping, and for a moment he had stared blankly at his boy's back. It had been a wild criss cross of welts and bruises, and at one place the skin was even broken. A little trickle of blood was running down Parrish's back. In his fear of loosing his boy, he had almost hurt him seriously which made him no better than all his other doms.
Quickly, and deeply embarrassed by himself, he had unbuckled him, and carried him over to the bed. Holding him tightly, he had patted him gently, apologized again and again. And it had been that moment that he knew that he felt more for the young man.
And it had scared the shit out of him.
He was after all not someone very likeable.
Now his boy was in his kitchen, making coffee, and he knew that he would have a hard time letting him go tonight. His gaze slid to the top drawer of his nightstand that held more than just the lube.
He sighed again, bumping his head gently against the door frame. He was *so* screwed.
~*~
His master was sitting on the sofa, quietly sipping his coffee while Jordan was kneeling on a pillow at his feet, with his cheek resting against his master's knee.
About half an hour had passed since they had left the bedroom, and while Jordan knew that it wasn't something bad they wanted to talk about, he was still a little unsettled. Strong fingers carded gently through his hair, and he closed his eyes.
“I could have ended it after our first scene,” Peter suddenly murmured, never stopping his gentle ministrations, “maybe even after the second.”
Jordan's stomach clenched almost painfully.
“But after the third, after I hurt you … there was no way I could end it then. Or now.”
Jordan looked up in surprise.
Peter removed his hand, and pushed his head gently away from his knee. Then he rested his elbows on his knees, and looked Jordan straight in the eyes. “I have to tell you this, boy. There is a reason I have never had a sub. If I find someone suitable, I know I'll get possessive. And until now I haven't found someone able or willing to handle that.”
I can, Jordan wanted to shout out, I can and I need and I want. Please, Master, please, let me show you.
But he remained quiet. Waited until he got permission to speak. His silence seemed to please his master for he smiled slightly.
“If we continue this, you have to be absolutely sure that this is really what you want. That *I* am really what you want. Otherwise we have to end this now. Because once you're mine, I will not let you go.”
Green eyes bore into blue ones, and for a moment Jordan could hardly breath. This was it, he suddenly realized. His dreams, his needs, his desires handed to him on a silver platter. But before he could say something, Peter continued.
“But you have to know that I'm … well, not quite what you're probably used to. Damaged good, you might say.”
He laughed dryly, and it was a sound that cut into Jordan's heart. Inch by inch he moved closer, until he could rest his head against his master's knee again.
“I don't see you as damaged good, Master,” he said with conviction, looking him straight in the eyes.
Peter smiled, and patted his head gently. “I want you to know what you're getting yourself into,” he murmured, “I want you to be my sub not only in scenes but everyday. Do you know what I mean?”
Jordan nodded, his heart beating a crazy rhythm in his chest.
“24/7, Master,” he answered breathless. His head was reeling. 24/7 meant someone who would always be there for him. Who would care for him. Would look after him. Someone to come home to at night, to make him forget the gruesome things he saw in his job.
And vice versa.
Someone he could love, could make happy. Someone he could service.
“I know this is big, boy,” Peter mumbled, “and I know we have to work out some basic rules if we really do this. First of all, I want you to know that you don't have to give up your job, okay? I know that this is normally the first question.”
“Please, Master,” Jordan breathed out, “please, I want that. More than anything. And yes, before you ask, I'm sure.”
A hand shot out, grabbed his hair in an almost painful grip, and pulled him into a brutal kiss. With a happy sigh, Jordan opened up under the onslaught, gave himself over to this wonderfully weird confusing man.
“There is one more thing, Jordan,” Peter said quietly, after a few moments.
Jordan. Not boy, he noticed. “What?” he asked, curious now. Because after all they had just discussed what else could there be?
“There is something I want to give you. Something I want you to wear for me. Not at work of course but when we're at home.”
Hope sparked again in Jordan's chest. Could it be?
Again, he was gently pushed aside, and Peter rose. “I'll be right back,” he murmured, and Jordan looked after him. He heard the footsteps move away, then the opening and closing of a drawer, then the footsteps came closer again. He looked down at the floor, and didn't dare to raise his head. Next thing he heard was Peter's voice.
“Close your eyes, boy.”
He did, and only seconds later he felt something smooth close around his throat. Soft leather, a heavy buckle in his neck, and tears came to his eyes.
A collar.
He remained seated like that, a collared slave at his master's feet. And he felt an incredible sense of peace come over him.
“Thank you, Master,” he murmured, and smiled.
~*~
It became a routine.
Once Jordan came home, he dropped his keys on the little side table next to the door, and reached for the collar. His clothes came off on his way to the bedroom where he folded it neatly onto a chair, and then he would go in search for his master. Once he found him, he dropped down to his knees, leaned against his legs, and with a deep sigh he relaxed.
Peter cherished those moments, loved to run his hand through the soft hair while they discussed their days.
He knew the shifts of his boy, so he knew when to be at his place to wait for him. Knew when he had to start to listen to the sounds of his car. Knew when he had to expect the opening of the door. Knew that his boy would call when something came up at the station, and he would be late.
But tonight no car came. No keys jangled quietly. No soft footfall that told him that his boy was coming home.
After a while Peter looked at his watch, and saw that it was way past the Deputy's usual time. He was just reaching for his cellphone when he heard a key in the front door’s lock but he couldn't scent his boy. Quietly, he went into the kitchen, and closed the door until it was only a fraction open, enough for him to peek through. It never hurt to be cautious. There were still a few people in Beacon Hills who would love to see him dead. And it wasn't a secret after all that he liked to spend time in the Deputy's apartment. Though he was fairly certain that no one knew about the true nature of their relationship. They only saw it as a quirk of Peter Hale. Jordan had once told him about a talk he had eavesdropped in while waiting in line at the coffee shop. Two guys had talked about Peter and him, and that they had seen him but had no idea why the Deputy would put up with the 'crazy guy'. Parrish had told him that he'd had a hard time not to hit those two bastards.
And his car was more often than not parked in front of the building.
So whoever was currently coming inside the Deputy's apartment had to know that the chances for him to be here had to be very high.
It was Stiles.
Stiles who was carefully stepping closer into the apartment.
“Hello?” he called out, looking around corners as if expected to get attacked by a wild animal.
Peter grinned wolfishly. Maybe that thought wasn't so far fetched.
“Hel-lo? Peter? Creepy Uncle Peter? You're home?”
Peter frowned. Creepy? He wasn't creepy. Okay, maybe a little bit. But first of all … what was Stiles Stilinski doing in his boy's apartment?
In his boy's bedroom to be precise. He slowly crept closer, and could hear the younger man murmur to himself, “Okay, he needs PJ's, toothbrush, clean underwear, and … WOAH!”
Peter had finally decided that he didn't *like* Stiles going through his sub's stuff, and had more or less appeared directly behind him. He *loved* being sneaky every now and then.
“What are you doing here?” he growled, loving the way Stiles grew pale for a moment. But then Stiles straightened up again, and said, “I'm just here to fetch some things for the Deputy. He … he got hurt today during an operation.”
Stiles was already looking for the Deputy's underwear so he didn't see the way Peter blanched.
“Where is he?”
Stiles turned around, looking strangely at him, then he answered slowly, “In the hospital, Scott's mom is looking after him. He's alright, just a little banged and bruised, and ...”
Peter didn't hear the rest of the sentence.
Werewolf speed had more than one advantage after all.
~*~
“When can I go home?”
Melissa smiled. Doped up to his eyeballs, the Deputy sounded like a pouting child and was absolutely adorable. She stepped closer to the bed, and fluffed up the pillow once more.
“You know you have to stay overnight, Deputy,” she said gently, “we're still not sure whether or not you have a concussion.”
Jordan Parrish closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Then he mumbled something that she couldn't quite grasp. Something about master and unhappy.
There was a soft knocking at the door, and without thinking she answered, “Come in.”
With a smile, the Sheriff stepped in.
“How's my Deputy doing?” he asked quietly, noting the closed eyes of said Deputy.
“Hates hospitals,” she answered cheerily, “must be a police-thing. Did you get his stuff?”
The Sheriff shook his head, and said, “Not yet. I sent Stiles to collect it. Should be here any minute.”
Scott who had been waiting outside, chose that moment to slip in. “Will he be alright?”
Melissa nodded at her son. “Sure, baby. He's been really lucky you found him so soon. Otherwise he might also have suffered from a severe hypothermia aside from his wounds.” She looked at the Sheriff. “Do you already know who kidnapped him? And why?”
“Melissa,” he sighed, rubbing his hand over his neck, and she laughed.
“Yeah, yeah, I know, ongoing investigation and stuff.” She turned to the bed again, and put a hand on the Deputy's forehead. “But all in all, you were incredibly lucky, young man.”
Deputy Parrish opened his eyes but he didn't look too happy. To be honest, he looked like someone stole his favorite toy. With a deep sigh, he turned away from her, and closed his eyes again. She frowned.
Yes, she was used to the fact that nobody liked to spend time here but there was something about the young man that she didn't understand. An extreme nervous energy that was only dampened by the meds they had pumped into him.
This moment the door to the room crashed open, and Peter Hale stood in the door frame, his gaze wandering from Scott to Melissa to the Sheriff, until they came to rest on the Deputy.
“Boy,” he sighed, and the young man's eyes snapped open.
“Master,” he whispered barely audible. With a few steps, Peter was standing next to the bed, and sat down. Surprised, Melissa saw that the Deputy tried to crawl into the older man's lap.
Peter grabbed him, and pulled him close. “I'm here, boy,” he mumbled, gently stroking the other man's back, “there, there, I'm here. You're safe now.”
He pulled a collar out of his pocket, and put it on the young man, who seemed to relax almost instantly. Then he simply held him, until he – after some very long – moments, looked at the Sheriff. “What happened?” he asked, ignoring the astonished looks he got from the other people in the room.
~*~
Boy?
Master?
John Stilinski got for a moment the feeling as if had been thrown into an alternative reality. Looking at his son who had meanwhile arrived and his best friend Scott, he saw that he wasn't alone with this feeling.
Stiles stared open – mouthed at the scene before him, the clothes of the Deputy forgotten in his hands.
Scott had involuntarily moved closer to his mother, touching her arm with his.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity of murmured endearments, benedictions, and whispered promises, Peter reached into his pocket, and pulled out a collar.
A black, soft – looking, silk – lined collar that he put around the Deputy's neck, closing it with a softly murmured, “My good boy,” and a soft kiss to his forehead. Then he turned to him, and asked with a stern voice, “What happened?”
For a heartbeat, the Sheriff was tempted to tell him the same he told Melissa, but his Deputy beat him to it.
“I was kidnapped, Sir,” he murmured softly, still cuddled up close to the older man.
“I know, boy,” Hale said quietly, “what I want to know is why, and by whom.”
“That's an ongoing ...” the Sheriff managed before he was once again beaten to it by Parrish.
“I wasn't careful enough, Sir. So Brian got me.”
“Brian?”
John's curiosity was peaked when he heard the venom in the werewolf's voice. Whoever that Brian was, apparently Peter Hale knew him.
Of course, he had already gotten all the relevant information from Deputy Parrish, and right now Deputy Haigh was bringing that Brian guy in for a thorough questioning. Kidnapping a Deputy was not something to take lightly, and he was sure that the guy was looking at a few years behind bars.
He had been so lost in his own thoughts that he only realized now that his Deputy was spilling the beans about this case to Peter Hale without any apparent filter between his brain and his mouth.
He took a deep breath, intend on stopping his wayward employee, when Melissa beat him to it.
“Okay, gentlemen, visiting hours are over. If you would please leave now.”
~*~
Melissa could feel the tension rise in the room, saw the Sheriff take a deep breath, and before he could say something he might regret later – or not – she intervened.
“Okay, gentlemen, visiting hours are over. If you would please leave now,” she said, gripped Scott and Stiles, and pushed them out. Then she held the door open, and glanced at the Sheriff, daring him to protest.
Which he did.
“But...” he began, but she simply shook her head.
“No, Sheriff, the patient needs his rest. You can come back tomorrow.”
“But … “ he tried again, and became silent when he caught her gaze. Then he pointed at Hale, and asked stubbornly, “What about him?”
She looked at Hale and Parrish who seemed to be lost in their own world, and smiled slightly. “He's family,” she simply stated, noted the surprised gaze from Hale, and then the hesitant smile.
“And you're not,” she continued, grabbed the Sheriff by his arm, and shoved him out of the door before she closed it behind him.
“Thanks, Ma’am,” he heard Parrish say heartfelt, and turned around.
Parrish still clung to Hale like a vine tendril, his legs over the older man's lap, his arms around his waist.
It was weird seeing the usually very unstable Peter Hale so relaxed and … content almost. He was stroking Parrish's back absentmindedly as if it was something he was used to.
“You will have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow, young man,” she smiled, and stepped closer to the bed.
Parrish looked down. “I know,” he mumbled, then he looked up again, and admitted, “not something I particularly look forward to.” He moved slightly, so he could rest his head on Hale's shoulder.
“We can do it together, boy,” the older man murmured into his ear, and Parrish shook his head.
“No, Master, I think this is something I have to do on my own.”
“You can start by explaining to me,” Melissa suggested, “see it as a test run.”
Parrish laughed, and it wasn't a happy sound. “Where do I begin?” he asked, and she sat down next to the couple on the bed.
“Start at the beginning,” she encouraged him, “how did the two of you meet?”
~*~
The Sheriff was running holes in the linoleum in front of the room, every now and then pressing his ear to the door, manfully ignoring the giggling from Scott and Stiles.
“Mom will tell you when she finds out what's going on with the two of them,” Scott mentioned.
“I know, son,” the Sheriff sighed, and finally sat down next to them. “It's just,” he waved a hand at the closed door, “why did she let him stay and kicked me out?”
Stiles laughed loudly at that. “Hurt pride, Dad?” he asked, “Really?”
“It's just purely professional,” he argued without real conviction, and Stiles laughed again.
“Sure, Dad, just tell yourself that.” Then he got up, and gave Scott a little shove. “Come on, dude, let's go. I have a pizza at home with our names on it.”
“Pizza?” John looked up, hopefully. “What kind?”
“The vegetable kind for you, Dad,” Stiles replied with a big grin, “you know that. Ours though,” he turned to Scott, “has meat lover written all over it.”
“Awesome, dude,” Scott beamed, “let's go!”
The boys tumbled out of the hospital, shoving and poking each other until they were through the door. The Sheriff looked after them, and smiled. BFF's indeed, he thought. Then he leaned back, and returned to his task of watching the door. He could wait for Melissa.
Purely professional.
~*~
“I don't have to ask you if you're happy,” Melissa stated, and the Deputy nodded eagerly. “And I also don't have to ask whether or not this is consensual. I have eyes, and I can see the way your Master is treating you. But I couldn't help but notice that the name Brian seemed familiar to both of you.”
Hale's face darkened, and involuntarily he pulled Parrish a little closer. Melissa nodded. “That's what I thought,” she said more or less to herself, “a former dom then?”
Parrish nodded, but Peter answered. “One of the really, really bad kind. He hurt my … Jordan. Not only bodily but also emotionally. And that is unacceptable.”
“And what are you going to do now?”
She laughed at Peter's studiedly innocent face. “Oh come on, Peter,” she snorted, “I know you. And after what I've seen here … there is no way you let something like this just slide.”
The grin she got in reply almost made her feel sorry for whoever this Brian was.
Almost.
But she had seen the wounds, had treated them, had listened to the story. To the cool, professional version he had given the Sheriff, and the emotional, heartfelt one he had given Peter.
So yes … almost.
She wouldn't tell the Sheriff about the look she saw in Peter's eyes this moment. As soon as that guy left the safety of the Sheriff's office he should run. Should run as fast and as far as he could to a place where no werewolf would ever find him. And Peter Hale was a damned determined werewolf whose mate had been hurt.
She patted his shoulder, and got up. After checking one last time the vitals on the Deputy, she turned to the door.
“I'm leaving you two alone now. If you want to stay, Peter, I can have a nurse bring an additional bed in.”
“That's not necessary,” he answered, swung his legs up on the bed, and pulled his boy half on top of him, “we'll manage.”
She saw the blissful expression on the younger man's face, and nodded.
The moment she opened the door though, her gaze fell on the Sheriff, and she sighed.
As expected, the Sheriff immediately got up, and walked over to her.
“Tell me!”
“No!”
“But Melissa.”
A whine this time, and she could barely hide her smile.
“No, John, ever heard of doctor – patient confidentiality?”
“But you're ...” he began, and she whirled around, one finger pointing at him. “Don't you dare finish that sentence, Sheriff Stilinski!”
He managed to look contrite, and murmured, “Did he say something useful?”
“Useful? Useful for whom? You already have the guy who did this to your Deputy. Now go, question him, put him in front of a court, and then in jail.”
With these words she simply left him standing, took the next chart, and walked away from him.
~*~
His inner wolf growled, snarled, and wanted to come out. Wanted to hunt and bring down the guy who had hurt his boy. Gently, he stroked over Jordan's back, feeling every bandage and every welt, could still smell the underlying fear beneath the hospital smell.
“I was scared,” Jordan admitted after a while, “when he bound me to that table, and ripped my clothes off … I was so scared of what he might do to me.”
Peter pulled him a little closer, trying to remain calm. It wouldn't do any good to wolf out right now. His boy needed him. Needed him close. He moved his hand up until he could touch the collar.
“What can I do to help you?” he murmured.
Jordan sighed. “Not much. AS far as I know the Sheriff has him already in custody. You being here is great though. And if you could stay the night … I guess I'm just not used to sleeping alone any more.”
Peter pressed a kiss to his head. “I'll stay as long as they let me, boy.”
“Tomorrow I can go home,” Jordan mumbled, already on the verge to sleep. Seconds later, Peter felt his sub's body go limp.
~*~
Jordan Parrish left the hospital the next day after a final examination from Doctor Geyer. He had no concussion, his wounds were healing good, and he was released into the loving care of Pater Hale.
Brian Adam Henley, accused of kidnapping and torturing Deputy Jordan Parrish, was released on bail from the Sheriff's office the same afternoon.
Two hours later he disappeared.
Nobody ever saw him again, nobody every found his body.
When the Sheriff came to question Parrish and Hale, they both had watertight alibi's.
And if Peter Hale was smirking strangely … John Stilinski had heard the Deputy's point of view, had read the report of the crime scene, and he had had been the one to write down Henley's confession. Apparently, he and the Deputy had a bit of a history. A history of violence on Henley's part. Some scars were still visible on the Deputy's back as noted by Melissa McCall
So what if Hale had a knowing look in his eyes … John closed the file, and put it to the many, many unsolved cases of Beacon Hills.
~*~
Two months later the whole town of Beacon Hills had already forgotten about the incident.
Only once had Jordan asked Peter if he knew something about the disappearance of Brian Henley. The answer he got was a simple, “He's been taken care of.”
And he let it rest.
They stayed at home for their next sessions. Kept to themselves. It was intense. Very intense. And so liberating for both of them.
Jordan whimpered softly at the spanking, moaned when he was bound to the St. Andrew's Cross, cried out at every stroke of the whip, and sobbed in relief when he was finally allowed to come with his master's cock buried deep in his ass.
Peter held him tightly that night. Only later, after a good long talk, Jordan realized how much his master held himself responsible for his kidnapping. He was convinced that Henley wouldn't have tried something had he known how absolute his, Peter's, domination over Jordan really was.
Tonight they wanted to go back at the club, celebrating a - sort of - anniversary. It was exactly six months tonight that they had their first scene together.
Just before leaving though, Peter stopped him.
“Six months,” he murmured into his ear as he opened the collar around his neck that Jordan had put on the moment he had come home that evening, “six months you're mine now, boy.”
Jordan sighed happily, and leaned back, resting his head against his master's shoulder.
“I have something special for you, boy.” A soft whisper against the skin of his neck, and the younger man shivered. “Something that will show everyone that you're taken.”
He tossed the old collar aside, and Jordan couldn't help a wistful glance. This collar meant so much.
“Don't worry, boy,” Peter murmured, “just close your eyes. You will like this.”
Obediently, Jordan closed his eyes, and was surprised when he felt something cool against his skin.
Metal, he realized, that quickly warmed on his skin. “I want you,” Peter continued, “to be able to wear your collar every day. Even at work.”
A soft *snick* and his master's hands settled on his shoulder, encouraging him to walk a few steps, then stopping him.
“Open your eyes now, boy,” Peter breathed, and Jordan did.
His eyes fell immediately on the chain around his neck. It was a beautiful titanium chain, small enough for him to wear under his uniform every day, but prominent enough to show when he wore lighter clothes. But what really caught his eye was the tag that hung in the middle. It had the size of a quarter and engraved on it was “Peter Hale's Boy”.
“Master,” Jordan swallowed, “this is beautiful. But...”
A finger was pressed gently against his lips. “Yes, boy, you deserve it. You've been so good these last months. And with this chain you'll have me present every day. Even when I'm not around.”
~*~
Peter wasn't sure if the chain – bought by him in a spur of the moment – wasn't too much too soon. But then Jordan Parrish knelt down in front of him gracefully, and bowed his head.
“Thank you, master. I will not disappoint you.”
Gently, Peter carded his hand through the dark blond hair of his sub, and smiled. “I know you won't. And now let's go. The club's awaiting us.”
He pulled his sub up, pressed a passionate kiss to his lips, and then he not so gently pushed him to the door. “Out. Now.”
They arrived at the club half an hour later, and entered the main room where several couples were already busy having fun.
The Stage, dominating the main area, was brightly lit with the focus on an St. Andrew's Cross. Peter could feel the warmth of the lights, knew that if they were ever going to be up there it would be comfortable for his boy. He cast a glance over his shoulder, satisfied that everybody ogled his boy but that nobody dared to come too close let alone touch.
A blonde woman was tied to the cross, and expertly worked over by her dom. Tears were already running down her face while her master was using the paddle to tan her backside nicely.
Peter and Jordan rarely did anything here in the open and even though his boy was bravely just one step behind him, he was sure that the younger man would loose his courage when he knew that dozens of people were staring at him.
So later, when they were alone up in their room, he would give his boy a little good old – fashioned spanking, would fuck his boy through his first orgasm, then he would tie him to the cross, would give him a good whipping, and finally he would bind him to the horse and adorn his beautiful body with an intricate wax – pattern. He had an array of pure paraffin candles waiting in their room.
And in the end – after he painted his boy's face with his come – he would let him come a second time. But now he needed a sweet, nice blow job from his boy. He reached back, grabbed his hand, and pulled him to their favorite booth.
~*~
Jordan Parrish was already halfway in his subspace. He saw the way they were heading, knew that in a very short time he would be able to nurse his masters cock again.
When Peter sat down, he sank down in front of him without consciously thinking about it.
A finger hooked through his new collar, and slowly he lifted his head up so he could look into the beautiful blue eyes of his master.
“One day I'll get you another one in leather,” he murmured more to himself. Leather was a little sturdier and sometimes he liked to grab his boy's collar, hold it tight, pull him flush against him. The chain, strong as it was, might sooner or later break. He gazed into his boy's eyes. “A leather one that is yours and yours only,” he added, this time directed at Jordan, “that no other sub before you ever wore. Would you like that?”
“Very much, master,” Jordan gasped, already slightly breathless in anticipation.
“Alright, then I will do that.”
“Thank you, master.”
“Now come on, boy, there is a part of me that feels almost neglected.”
With a smile, Jordan leaned closer, opened his master's fly, and took his cock out. “We can't have that, Sir, can we?” he asked playfully and before Peter could reply something, Jordan swallowed him down.
“That's it, boy,” Peter moaned, and Jordan could feel himself slowly dropping deeper and deeper into subspace, and the moment the hard flesh of his master's cock was deep in his throat, he was completely down.
With a happy moan, he closed his eyes, and gave himself over to his master.
~*~
“There you are,” John Stilinski murmured to himself, wrote down an address, and closed the site on his computer before he deleted his browser history.
That was important. Something he had learned the hard way. Something he had learned through a very noisy son in his house.
With a shudder, he remembered the case with the transvestite. He had decided to investigate online, without deleting his browser history afterward.
Stiles had found it the next day, and for the following weeks John had been on the receiving end of many jokes, had found spam mails about High Heels in his size in his email – account, and when he had been shopping with Stiles, the little brat had managed to sneak some Make – Up into their shopping card. “Just in case, dad.”
So when he was now searching the internet about a BDSM club called “Beat It”, he had to make sure, his son would never ever find out about it.
Yes, he knew eavesdropping wasn't nice. But if he hadn't eavesdropped on his Deputy he wouldn't know that they'd planned on going to that special club tonight.
And yes, he also knew that it probably was a very, very bad idea to follow his Deputy, to make sure he was safe with this weird Pater Hale. But be it as it may … he simply didn't trust him. Even after he had seen the way Hale had treated the young man in the hospital.
But he just couldn't forget the story he had heard. The scars he had seen. And the look on Peter's face when he had seen the state the Deputy had been in.
So he put on his best black jeans, a black button down, and drove off to the address he had found.
When he arrived at the club around ten, he only had to flash his badge to get in. Once he was in, he could almost feel his jaw drop to the floor. There was naked skin everywhere, strong, male bodies writhing against each other. There were guys and girls on their knees, sucking other men off, he could hear moans, whimpers, the sound of whips, the noises of wood and plastic on flesh.
Slowly, he made his way round the club, and was more than surprised when he got several offers, mostly from young men. But there were also some women, calling him 'Daddy', looking at him with hopeful expressions on their sweet faces.
“I can be your baby girl,” one girl offered, cuddling up close to him. John sighed, and removed her arms from around his waist. She couldn't be much older than Stiles, and he wondered what she would get from a relationship with an old warhorse like him.
He gently touched her face, and said, “Listen, sweetheart, I'm not what you're looking for. But have you seen an older man with blue eyes and dark hair? He's here with a younger man.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh, you mean the werewolf and his boy.” She turned around, scanned the room quickly, and motioned to a dimly lit place a few meters away. “There they are,” she said, and turned back to him. “but you won't have any luck with them. Peter doesn't share. And ever since he has his boy, he hasn't played with anyone else.” She sighed wistfully. “They are lucky to have each other.”
“I don't want to … it's just … they're friends,” he stuttered, embarrassed about her suggestion.
Her face fell. “Oh,” she replied, and then she smiled tentatively, “you sure you don't want to play with me?”
He smiled. “Very sure, sweetheart. “
“Pity,” she murmured, turned around and before he could say something more, she was gone. Disappeared in the crowd.
He turned to the place she had pointed out, and there he was. Peter Hale sitting next to a table, relaxed and seemingly at peace with himself and the world. But where was Parrish? He narrowed his eyes, tried to see something but then Hale looked up, directly at him, flashed his eyes for a heartbeat, and waved him over.
Slowly, carefully, he walked closer, evaded some groping hands, and was finally standing in front of Peter Hale.
And suddenly he knew where his Deputy was. He saw him kneeling on the floor before Peter Hale who had his cock out that the younger man sucked and licked enthusiastically.
John could feel himself blush furiously. This was an act so private, so intimate, and yet they did it openly, for everyone to see. Was this what his Deputy liked? To be used? To be watched?
“Sit down, Sheriff,” Peter invited him, and without thinking John dropped down heavily on the bench next to him.
“I have to say, I'm surprised to see you here,” Peter said in conversational tone, “never thought this might be a place you frequent.”
“It's not,” he grumbled, then he cast a quick glance at the Deputy, “just wanted to make sure he's okay.”
Peter's smile got feral, and he carded his hand through the young man's hair. “Oh, he is, aren't you, boy?” he asked softly, this time talking to Parrish.
Parrish slowly let go of Hale's cock, looked up at him and smiled, “Yes, master, very.”
“See?” Peter said nonchalantly, and gently guided Parrish's mouth back where it had been before. “There are a lot of boys and girls in here that would love to play with you,” he continued .
John's head jerked up at that, and he swallowed. “Yeah, I … ah … noticed.”
“Don't you want to play?” Peter asked again, and John shuddered at the silken tone.
“This is not exactly my …” he stopped, not sure how to phrase how very very far out of his comfort zone this was.
“Playground?” Peter offered helpfully, and John nodded.
“You know, you don't have to be into this lifestyle to enjoy it every now and then. Take that guy over there.”
Peter pointed to a young man who was bound to a x-shaped cross, and got whipped happily from a tall man behind him. His eyes widened when he noticed the dark red marks on his back.
“He's a regular,” Peter continued, “I played with him before, and …. whoa, careful, boy, mind the teeth.”
He pulled Parrish from his cock, and John couldn't help but to look down. The young man's face had lost some of his carelessness, and Peter gently stroked his face. “Sorry, baby,” he murmured, and John was surprised. Apparently, the Deputy hadn't been too careful, and yet Peter apologized. Peter seemed to sense his confusion, sat up while Parrish worshipped his cock again – and really, there was no other word for it – and grinned at him.
“He doesn't like me talking about the subs I have played with before. But as I said, that guy over there … he's here every few weeks. Works in a bank or something like that. A big name where he comes from with a lot of responsibilities. When he needs some stress – relief, he comes here, gets a nice whipping, some cuddling with a beautiful woman afterwards, and then he goes home, and can continue with his every day life.”
John watched the man more closely, could see the blindfold over his eyes, the curvy brunette who was standing in front of him, one of her hands on his chest, stroking him gently. He saw the ballgag in his mouth, preventing him making too much noise, but he also saw the way the other man yielded the whip. Never too strong, never breaking the skin, always intent on not causing too much pain.
“This is a whole new world to me,” John finally admitted, and again Peter laughed softly.
“I can imagine,” he replied, then he got that look again. That one that John knew would cause trouble. “Would you like a taste of it?”
John turned to him, confused. “What?”
Peter leaned closer. “I'm sure you know by now that I don't share my boy, right?”
Peter's breath was warm against his ear, and John was torn between moving away – because … hello? Peter Hale! - and moving closer – the last human contact that had *not* been his son had been ages ago, and somehow he missed it. But again … Peter Hale?
Said Peter Hale smirked at him when the expression on his face seemed to give him away. “Not me, Sheriff, but I'm flattered nonetheless. No, I was thinking more in the lines of my boy thanking you properly for your part in his rescue. What do you think, Sheriff? Something nice and relaxing with no strings attached?”
Abruptly, Parrish let go of Hale's cock, looking up at his … master – sheesh, his mind still stumbled over this word – with an almost hopeful look. “Really, master?”
Peter patted his head, as if he was a big cat. “If the Sheriff allows it, I give you permission to suck him off, boy. But it's a one-time-deal, understood? No fooling around with him at work.”
“Don't I get a say in this?” John finally croaked out, embarrassed that he could feel his cock twitch in his jeans. Yes, it had been entirely too long for him when he got aroused by the prospect of a blowjob from his subordinate.
Peter looked at him, a knowing smile on his face. “Not really. Just relax, lean back and enjoy my offer. If you really don't want it, you can get up, and leave now. Nobody will ever mention it again,” he purred, and slowly he pulled his own cock out of Parrish's mouth that was red and shining, and since when did John notice that? Peter tucked himself away, pulled the Deputy up to him, and kissed him deeply. John stared at them, transfixed from this obvious display of affection and dominance in equal parts.
Hale ended the kiss, and gently shoved the younger man in John's direction. “Now go, and thank the Sheriff properly, boy.”
~*~
Peter had been amused when he heard the surprised murmurs about the Sheriff being here. Advanced hearing was an awesome thing. So he knew right from the beginning that there was a new face at the club, namely the Sheriff, dressed all in black. A little cliche but it was nice from him to at least try to blend in.
He heard Janice approach him. She was a sweet girl whose dad had left her when she had been four. Ever since then she was looking for an older man to replace him. It wasn't necessarily about sex for her. It was mostly about comfort, love and discipline. Not that he had been interested in her but she told her story to everybody who was willing to listen. He also heard the Sheriff's decline. And then he could see the Sheriff, locked eyes with him, and waved him over. Before he was there, Peter pulled Parrish from his cock, bowed down, and told him that they were getting company.
His boy had looked up at him, his green eyes wide, and a little unfocused but when Peter mentioned the Sheriff, the eyes cleared up, and for a second he looked almost panicked. Peter stroked his cheek softly.
“Don't worry, boy, I won't let anybody hurt you, okay? Let's invite him over, and see what he wants.”
Before his boy could answer, the cock was back in his throat, silencing him effectively.
And Hale leaned back, waiting for the Sheriff to approach them.
~*~
He was here, Jordan thought, his heartbeat racing. He was here in the club. The Sheriff, his boss. The first guy he'd had a crush on after arriving in this town.
He looked up at his master, feeling helpless, like falling without a security net. “I won't let him hurt you,” he had said, and he trusted him.
He wasn't ashamed of what he was, or of what he liked. But it was one thing to fulfill his sexual desires in the solitude of his own bedroom or in the club where he was surrounded by like-minded people. It was quite another to have his boss see him on his knees, servicing his master.
But his master's hand in his hair calmed him down enough that he could slowly slip into his subspace again. From the corner of his eye he could see the Sheriff settle down next to his master. Could hear their quiet talking over the sound of the music. Could hear the “Make sure he's okay.” Felt a gentle tug so he could look into his master's eyes. “He is. Aren't you, boy?”
He released the cock, and replied truthfully, “Yes, master, very.”
And it *was* the truth. He was happy. Was the happiest he had ever been. He had a job he loved, in a town he had felt immediately at home, and he had a master who cared for him and loved him.
He closed his eyes, and tried very hard *not* to listen in on the conversation his master and the Sheriff held above him. Suddenly he heard the words “played with him” and without thinking he bit. His master hissed, looked down at him, saw the look in his eyes, and touched his cheek gently. “Sorry, baby,” Peter murmured, and gave him a little kiss.
Now he listened a little more closely, and suddenly he heard them discuss him thanking the Sheriff properly. “I was thinking more in the lines of my boy thanking you properly for your part in his rescue. What do you think, Sheriff? Something nice and relaxing with no strings attached?”
His own cock twitched in interest, and he jerked back. “Really, master?” he asked incredulously.
Peter smiled down at him, and when he patted his head, he pushed into his touch. “If the Sheriff allows it, I give you permission to suck him off, boy. But it's a one-time-deal, understood? No fooling around with him at work.”
Jordan nodded enthusiastically, but was a little disappointed when the Sheriff asked, “Don't I get a say in this?”
His master leaned a little closer to the Sheriff, and murmured, “Not really. Just relax, lean back and enjoy my offer. If you really don't want it, you can get up, and leave now. Nobody will ever mention it again.”
For a long moment, Jordan was afraid that the Sheriff might actually just get up and leave, but to his utter relief, he just sighed, and stayed. Peter tucked himself away, pulled Jordan up and kissed him deeply.
“Now go, and thank the Sheriff properly, boy.”
Quickly, before the Sheriff could change his mind, he slipped from his masters lap, crawled over to where his boss was sitting, and reached for the fly of his jeans. A big, familiar hand covered his for a moment.
“You don't have to,” the Sheriff murmured, but slowly Jordan removed the hand from his.
“But I want to,” he replied just as quietly, opened the button, pulled the zipper down, and finally held the Sheriff's half – hard cock in his hand. He stroked it slowly, enjoying the feel and the texture of it in his hand. Silken skin over hard steel, so much like his master's and yet so different. It was not as big as Peter's but slightly longer and a bit curved. A soft moan from above made him look up directly into the Sheriff's eyes.
“Does it feel good, Sheriff?” he asked carefully, and smiled when the Sheriff didn't seem to be able to do more than nod. The cock in his hand was heavy, and slowly Jordan moved closer, licked gently at the tip, and was pleased when the groan above him was louder than before.
“That's it, boy,” Peter murmured next to him, stroking one hand over his shoulder and down his back. Suddenly there was another hand, resting gently on his head, guiding him. Jordan took a deep breath, relaxed his throat and let the Sheriff sink in to the root.
~*~
Peter watched his boy service the Sheriff, saw the lustful – and sometimes envious – looks the couple got. Heard whispered words like “so beautiful”, “wish to be in his place”, and “want to have that”.
But he also heard the softly murmured, “Yeah, son, such a good boy,” from the man next to him. John Stilinski seemed to be lost in his own world, and was seemingly unaware that his half – sentences had a very interested audience. Namely him. The rest of the group around him was focused on Jordan on his knees, sucking the other man with barely concealed enthusiasm.
Werewolf hearing was totally a bonus at times like these. He concentrated more on John, who was mindlessly murmuring sweet endearments like “that's it, sweetheart” or encouragments like “just a little deeper”. But there was also filth spilling from those inviting lips. Filth that was even quieter, and only audible for him because of his advanced hearing.
Filth like “come on, son, suck Daddy's dick”. And it made Peter shiver in excitement. Oh, all those possibilities .. he sighed wistful, and carefully put one hand on John's shoulder. The other man's head came up, and wide – blown eyes met his.
“Did I promise too much?” he almost purred, and the Sheriff shook his head.
“Can I,” John swallowed heavily, “should I pull out before ….”
He couldn't finish his thought, and Peter shook his head. “No, he loves to swallow.”
These words seemed to be enough to set the Sheriff off. He thrust a little harder, whispering, “Come on, son, take daddy's load,” and with a deep groan he shot into the waiting Deputy's mouth.
Jordan swallowed it, moaning softly at the taste, licked the Sheriff clean afterwards, and carefully tucked him back in. Peter noticed the blissed – out look on the Sheriff's face, and the almost desperate one on his boy's. One glance down explained the desperation: his boy was rock hard and oh – so ready to come. But Peter knew that he wouldn't. Not without his permission. He waited until his boy turned his eyes to him, then he patted his knee softly, pulled him up the moment Jordan was within his reach, and closed his hand immediately around the hard cock of his boy. Suddenly trembling fingers on his wrist made him stop. He looked up, directly into John's eyes.
“Let me return the favor,” he said, still panting softly, still riding his orgasmic high, “please.”
And before Peter could reply something, John's hand pushed his own aside, and closed around the hard length of his boy's arousal.
The cry that eminated from Jordan was a mixture of pain, pleasure, embarrassment and lust, and he came. Came without permission.
Peter smiled dangerously, listening to his boy apologizing over and over again, and he quieted him with a deep kiss. “I'll let it slide, boy,” he mumbled into the young man's ear, “but do it again, and you won't be able to sit down properly for a while.”
And then his smile deepend when he felt the spent cock twitch against his hand.
~*~
When the warm cum of his deputy splashed over his skin, John moaned almost helplessly.It was incredible sensual, and to see the younger man's face contorted in pleasure gave him a surprisingly tender feeling.
Seconds later, Jordan's head sank against Peter's neck, panting softly while his left hand was still gripping his Master's shirt tightly. John could see, and almost feel, the contentment that seemed to radiate from the both of them. Before he could remove his hand from his deputy's cock though, strong fingers closed around his wrist, and a seductive voice murmured, “Look what you did, boy. You made a mess of the Sheriff's hand. Be a good boy, and clean it up.”
With his eyes wide open, John watched the slight tremble that went through the younger man's body, and mere moments later, he shivered when he saw Parrish sit up, felt his warm, wet tongue slide over his skin, licking up every bit of cum he could find.
He tried to speak but found that he had to clear his throat before even a single word came out. “Thank you,” he finally murmured, “thank you for everything.”
But Peter simply shook his head, and the amused sparkle in his eyes dimmed. “No,” he answered, equally as soft, “thank you, Sheriff. Thank you for finding my boy, and bringing him back to me.”
He hugged the younger man involuntarily a little closer.
John took a deep breath. “This wasn't about your boy,” he finally said, after taking a good, long look at them. Seeing how Peter held him close made him suddenly understand him a little better. This devotion that Parrish showed to the older werewolf was something precious, and not something to frown upon. He continued, “This was about someone messing with my staff. With my deputies. And no one messes with what's mine. I'm responsible for them. And I take my responsibilities very serious.”
Peter narrowed his eyes for a moment, and then he smiled broadly. “You sure you don't want to try playing here?” he asked silkily, “You'd make a damn fine dom to some lucky sub.”
John was very happy that he didn't drink something at that moment … otherwise he would have spit it right across the floor. He stared in disbelief at the couple sitting next to him, and forced himself to smile.
“Ah, no thank you,” he finally managed, absolutely ignoring the very little voice in the back of his head, proposing to hey, why not give it a try.
Adjusting his sleepy sub on his lap, Peter leaned closer, and murmured in a seductive voice, “If you play your cards right … maybe I'll even share my sub with you one day.”
John heard a happy little moan from the man in the werewolf's lap, and knew that his deputy would be totally on board with that idea.
“I'll think about it,” he whispered, not knowing exactly why he said that.
Peter moved back gracefully. “Do that,” he said nonchalantly, waving at a waiter who brought some drinks without one of them placing an order. Peter handed the Sheriff a beer, pressed his sub a glass of water in the hand, and took a glass of wine for himself.
“Drink,” he ordered gently, and Parrish obediently emptied his glass.
John turned the bottle in his hand, and finally put it back on the table without drinking.
“I should go,” he murmured while his eyes roamed once more over the room. He knew that he had to go. He had done what he had come for – and even more – and now it was time for him to go home again. One last glance, and he heaved himself upright.
“It was an … interesting evening,” he said to Peter, reaching out his hand that Peter shook seriously. He hesitated for a second before he gently tousled Jordan's hair, enjoying the almost purring sound he could feel. “See you on monday, Deputy.”
When he stepped through the club's exit into the cool night air, he took a deep breath. This night had been eye – opening for him in more than one way, and when he was in his car, he cast one last look in his rearview mirror. And suddenly he wasn't too sure if he wouldn't come back.
~*~
Peter pulled his boy a little closer. He had been serious about the sharing part though he wasn't sure why. Was it because he trusted the Sheriff not to abuse his and his boy's trust in him? Or was it because he knew that he would never take him up on his offer?
“Would you like that, boy?” he asked the man in his lap softly, not expecting an answer. He knew that Jordan was tired. They hadn't done too much tonight but the Sheriff's presence in this club, that had always been their safe haven, had been emotionally draining for the young man. “I think if I would ever share you – always given that you would even agree – it would be with John Stilinski.”
He more or less spoke to himself now, sensing that the man in his arms was already half asleep. He slowly emptied his wine, simply enjoying the atmosphere. The fact that he could be the way he was and that no one was judging him.
It was close to midnight when he finally nudged Parrish, and murmured, “Let's go home, sweetheart.”
~*~
The pillow was soft under his cheek, and the breath of his dom was a gentle breeze in his neck. Slowly, Jordan Parrish opened his eyes, and contrary to the last time he had woken up like this, he felt warm, safe and secure.
Slowly so as not to wake his master behind him, he turned around in the other man's arms, and simply gazed at him.
There were people who still called him names. Who didn't understand why he chose to be with a supposed madman. Who would never get it why he loved to get down on his knees for another man.
But he didn't care anymore. He had found his perfect match, and as long as Peter Hale wanted to keep him around he would happily stay.
He cuddled close to the warm body next to him, smiling when a strong arm closed around his waist, pulling him close, and fell back asleep.
The end