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Stiles was pretty sure the Hales hadn’t expected to acquire him when they took Scott under their wing. However, the young werewolf was basically his brother-from-another-mother and it wasn’t like the bite was realistically going to stop them from being attached at the hip. Scott and Stiles were a buy-one get-one-free deal
Talia had never said it in so many words but she felt guilty for allowing a human child to be bitten and turned in her territory. Her first step to make amends was to deal with the rogue wolf who had bitten him. Stiles was still pretty sure that had involved her brother and a nice, deep hole somewhere out in the preserve that he would never find even if he looked for the rest of his life. The second was to all but adopt Scott so her pack could him make the transition from awkward, asthmatic virgin to ripped, athletic werewolf. Which sounded like such a hardship.
Talia had been surprised when she came to introduce herself to Scott and to explain what had happened to him and he’d cut her off and told her he knew he was a werewolf. And then went on to explain that his friend had figured it out before he did. Stiles liked to think she was impressed but it was probably fair to assume she was taken aback. And maybe a little annoyed that a human was now in on their little secret.
She’d always been gracious, always made sure Stiles felt included even though he was the only one of them who wasn’t a werewolf. Laura and Derek showed Scott the ropes while Stiles cheered (and Cora jeered) from the sidelines. He wasn’t in the pack the way the wolves were but he was pack adjacent and he never felt like he’d lost Scott to the Hales. He was also pretty sure he had totally grown on Talia, like a fungus, and that she totally loved him now.
It probably didn’t hurt that Scott, Derek, and he had become friends as well. Or that Derek seemed to have an allergy to shirts. Stiles had come out the other side of his great gay awakening and was happy to be on hand to ogle the man’s perfect pecs. He’d had a horrible crush on Derek for a long time before eventually accepting that he was straight and that they made better friends anyway. Didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy that view, though.
They’d spent more time at Scott and Stiles’ houses than they did the pack house when they were together. Both of them had frequently absent parents and Derek wasn’t stupid, a house free from parental oversight was always going to be a temptation when his own home was hardly private. Scott also spent a lot of quality time with the pack sans Stiles, who had to contend with a parent who didn’t know about werewolves, unlike Scott. So maybe it wasn’t all that surprising that it took nearly a year for Stiles to meet Peter Hale.
He’d woken up early after he and Scott had slept over. He’d tiptoed out of Derek’s room, narrowly avoiding tripping over his sleeping best friend sprawled out on the plush carpet. His stomach growling, Stiles continued downstairs to raid the kitchen for breakfast. He’d just taken his first bite of cocoa puffs when a tall, well-muscled man entered the kitchen and froze.
Stiles froze too, spoon stopping inches from his lips. He was half asleep but he was still a teenage boy. He could practically feel his body setting off alarms and mobilizing his hormones. The only thought he could seem to string together was ‘this guy is daddy af.’
“You must be the Sheriff’s boy,” said his walking wet dream. “I’m Peter,” he extended his hand to shake.
Stiles was still distracted by the tight, dark jeans and v-neck shirt that showed off too much (not enough) skin and a smattering of chest hair. And by the handsome face sprinkled with a 5 o’clock shadow and now lit by a slowly growing smirk. A cocoa puff may have fallen out of his mouth. Allegedly.
Suavely, he extended his hand to shake the proffered one and realized belatedly that he’d just placed his cereal spoon into Peter’s hand. He panicked, threw the spoon over his shoulder, and grabbed for his hand energetically. “Oh um hey, hi. It’s nice to…meet you?” It wasn’t supposed to be a question but it came out that way. Stiles realized he was enjoying having his hand engulfed in his much larger, stronger hand and cringed on the inside. He snatched his hand back too fast, frustrated that he was always so infernally awkward. “And yeah, uh my dad is the Sheriff.” He paused for a beat too long, “I’m Stiles.”
Peter, he remembered as his brain slowly rebooted, was Talia’s brother and Left Hand. He’d once asked if that was the same thing as The Hand of the King on Game of Thrones, and had been informed that it involved much less advising and much more burying the bodies. The Left Hand protected the pack but not in the same way as the Alpha, they did the secret work, the dirty work that the Alpha of the pack couldn’t sully their hands with. All wolves were dangerous but Peter Hale was more dangerous than most.
And he didn’t really want to be meeting handsome, dangerous men who aggressively gave off sexy daddy vibes in his boxers at his friend’s kitchen table. Stiles contemplated what life would be like if he wasn’t such a complete fuckup. He thought about his messy hair, totally ab-free chest, and general skinny pale humanness being on full display for a man he felt like he should have dressed up to meet and wanted to die. Or have Peter throw him into one of his (probably many) secret corpse holes that he definitely had pre-dug somewhere out in the woods. He seemed like a planner.
As Stiles was wondering if Deaton knew a spell that would allow the ground to open up and swallow him hole, his skittering gaze caught on Peter’s own.
Well. Hello. That was a look Stiles recognized. Was Derek’s vaguely menacing Uncle actually checking him out? Holy shit, yes he was. He was actually tempted to look down at himself like he’d suddenly gotten hot in the last five seconds. Stiles wasn’t really sure how to describe it but he’d met gay men before and he felt like when he looked at them, there was this unspoken current of acknowledgement running between them. It was The Look ™ and it conveyed the clear understanding that they both played for the same team. And he was feeling that big time from the older man.
And then Peter just turned to the counter and started to go about making a pot of coffee and the moment was broken. Stiles felt like he’d just been given whiplash. He wasn’t sure if he was crazy but he was pretty sure he just got some serious “fuck me” eyes from Peter Hale. It took a few seconds for him to snap back to reality and he crammed down the rest of his cereal in record time just so he could escape from the kitchen and the unbearable awkward tension. What the actual fuck?
Over the next few months, he saw Peter now and then. And on more than one occasion Stiles caught him looking at him intently, like he was enjoying the view. Every time, the hairs on the back of his neck went up and he turned beet red and made excuses so he could flee and freak out in private.
Peter was hot like fucking fire and very much his type. Maybe he hadn’t realized he’d had a type before now but Peter was definitely it. Handsome, well-dressed, and even more well-built, what wasn’t to like? But he only ever checked Stiles out slyly, casting a covert side eye his way or letting his gaze linger just a few seconds too long as the corner of his mouth tipped up ever so slightly. He never made a move and they never discussed it. He treated Stiles exactly like he treated Scott, with polite indifference. But Peter didn’t stare at Scott’s ass the way he stared at his own. It was kind of driving him mad, waiting for something, anything, to happen.
After a few more months of unbearable sexual tension that was starting to effect his ability to act like a normal human around him, Stiles broke. He couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t keep visiting the Hales to have Peter’s handsome, smirking face and sinfully hot body rubbed in his face anymore. He was actually starting to wonder if he was going to break his dick off with the amount of time he’d spent masturbating. If he wasn’t going to make a move, Stiles would.
He found the other man on the front porch while most of the family was out of the house and those who were left were distracted playing what looked like a truly painful game of capture the flag in the woods behind the house. Peter was ensconced in a large Adirondack chair as he enjoyed a glass of red wine and a book. Alone. Stiles pounced.
“Do you want to fuck me?” he blurted out before standing frozen in abject horror at what had just spilled out his mouth. He’d practiced. He’d practiced in the mirror. Hell, he’d even practiced on Scott who was mortified to be included in his best friend’s attempts to fuck “Derek’s scary Uncle”. Stiles had multiple pages of word documents written up with every possible iteration of how this conversation could possibly go and in none of them did he start out with that line.
Peter just chuckled, putting aside his book and looking him square in the face with a sort of mildly amused expression one might use on a puppy who had just learned a new trick. “Well, hello to you too, Stiles,” he said mildly. “Why the sudden curiosity?”
“You’ve been watching me like you’d like to eat me since the day we met,” he replied a little defensively. “I know you’re gay too and I’m pretty sure you find me attractive since I catch you looking at my ass so often.” He threw his plan, and caution, to the wind and continued, “So do you want to fuck me?”
“How old are you, Stiles?” was the only reply. Peter was still staring at him enigmatically. It was unnerving. And also kind of hot. Being scrutinized by the wolf was a personal turn-on of his.
“Seventeen,” he said, sticking his chin out stubbornly.
“As tempting as your offer is—” Peter started.
“I didn’t say I was offering anything,” Stiles bit back hotly. “I just asked a question.”
“Boy, please,” he said, rolling his eyes and standing up from his chair. And suddenly there was a large, well-muscled werewolf pressing him back against the porch railing. “You wouldn’t have asked unless you were hoping I’d bend you over my bed and fuck your tight little virgin hole until it was nice. And. Sloppy.” Peter continued, placing emphasis by pressing closer to him with each word.
“I’m not a virgin,” Stiles, the complete and total virgin replied. Even he could hear the catch in his words and stutter in his heartbeat. A convincing retort it was not.
Peter chuckled, “you’re precious. And a terrible liar.” He reached up a large hand to cup Stiles’ pale, mole speckled cheek. “Truly, you’re quite the temptation, boy.” He leaned in closer, nose coming to rest just under his ear as he took a deep breath and inhaled his scent. “But I don’t fuck children. Or virgins. And I’m not nice. I could easily send a sweet, young thing like you to the hospital. Find someone else to break you in gently and maybe we’ll talk in a couple of years.”
Stiles’ brain had already short circuited from the too-close contact. It wasn’t a no but it also wasn’t the yes he’d been hoping for. What a disappointing time to realize Peter Hale had standards and that he wasn’t up to them. He wanted to be angry but like, those were valid points. Well maybe not the virgin thing because he was pretty sure he could take a dick if all of his giant dildos were any indication, but the age thing was kind of fair. Age is just a number yadda yadda but he couldn’t really be mad that a grown ass man didn’t want to fuck a teenage boy. Like, if he hadn’t been the teenage boy in question he’d totally be on Peter’s side. Well, shit.
“Ugh, fine,” was Stiles’ bratty reply. He cleanly sidestepped and extricated himself from his grasp. “But don’t think this is the last time we’re going to have this conversation.” Stiles stomped off to join the others in the backyard and get safely away from Peter Hale. As a parting shot he said, “one day you are going to bend me over your bed and ruin my ass.”
Peter just sighed, sinking back into his chair as he watched said tight little ass sashay past him. “I don’t doubt it,” he muttered, pulling his book back out and trying to ignore tempting little human boys who were in well-over their heads.
As Stiles counted down the months until his eighteenth birthday, he convinced Scott and Derek to spend more time with the pack. At first, he told himself it had nothing to do with Peter but eventually he had to concede he wanted to get to know the older man better. Maybe he should have been content with drooling after his body but the fact that he was so physically attracted to Peter made him want to dig deeper. And also maybe try and seduce him.
Unfortunately, he was entirely unsuccessful. Oh, he got to know Peter well enough. The older man was a sarcastic asshole but of course that was totally his type. At first Stiles just followed him around to draw him into random conversations about books, movies, or the latest TV show. Eventually Peter started to seek him out, at first to make jokes at his expense and then eventually they bonded over their mutual love of poking fun at Scott and Derek. They frequently argued about most everything to the point that Talia sometimes kicked the two of them out of the house to banter in the front yard and give everyone else a break. But damned if Stiles wasn’t crushing hard on Peter by the time he got up the gumption to try and seduce him.
His first plan of blinding the werewolf with his physical charms and making him unable to resist his advances was to convince Scott, Derek, and Derek’s sisters to join him in a game of water balloon dodge ball. While he got soaked and the white t-shirt and admittedly skimpy dark athletic shorts he was wearing did end up plastered to his body, showing off the pink tinge of his nipples and the shape of his ass, Peter was apparently immune to Stiles’ own personal wet t-shirt contest. Instead of becoming overcome with lust and throwing him over his shoulder to carry him off to his bedroom or sex dungeon or wherever, Stiles wasn’t picky, Peter just threatened him with bodily harm if he got his cashmere sweater wet.
Plan two was just casual nudity. He took every opportunity he could to take off his shirt in front of Peter. Oops, spilled some BBQ sauce on my shirt, oh we’ll I’ve got to take it off. Oh boy this summer sure is hot, better lounge around the house in some obscene running shorts I found at the thrift store. Hey everyone, lets all go swimming at the lake so you can enjoy seeing my incredibly small swim suit! Did Peter stare at him, a lot? Absolutely. Did he lick his lips, while his eyes were transfixed by the little trail of hair leading from Stiles’ groin to his navel? Yep, on more than one occasion. Did he catch Peter staring at his ass basically constantly. Absolutely. Did it get him laid? Big. Fat. Nope.
His third plan went a bit better, but not by much. He’d learned that while Talia, her husband, and their kids all lived in the main pack house, Peter lived in one of the smaller houses a few hundred feet away. He’d picked the lock to Peter’s house when the other man was gone for the afternoon and waited temptingly posed on his bed. Stiles had even talked Lydia into borrowing a tank top and a pair of her daisy dukes (which they both were upset to learn actually fit him) so he could show off his assets to full effect.
He'd forgotten the part about how sensitive werewolves were to scent. When Peter came home that evening, he took one whiff of his hallway and shouted up the stairs, “you’ll have to do better than that if you want to surprise a werewolf, Stiles!” A choked sound followed this pronouncement and only confirmed what he already knew, that infernal boy was lurking somewhere in his house.
Peter sighed when he followed Stiles’ voice up the stairs and found the teen lying face down on his bed, firm little ass on display against the fabric damnably tight shorts. He had to give the boy credit, he made a delicious tableau posed across the dark blue sheets. His sleeveless loose cropped top rode up to show the line of his pale back and those teeny, tiny shorts. Well. They were teeny tiny.
Stiles shot him an impish smile over his shoulder before rolling over to lounge back against the pile of pillows Talia had bought for him when they built the place. “You know, your bed is way comfier than Derek’s. Does that mean his mom likes you better?”
“No, it means Derek has a fetish for lower back pain,” Peter deadpanned. “Of course she likes me better, I’m everyone’s favorite.”
Stiles snorted before cocking his head to the side and giving him a come-hither look, “You’re certainly my favorite.”
His eyes widened when Peter actually stalked towards him and climbed onto the bed. Then he let out a squeak of surprise as the werewolf straddled his thighs. This was going better than Stiles had hoped.
“You are quite the temptation, especially wearing such small clothing in my bed,” Peter mused, hand reaching up to grip his chin and tile Stiles’ face up so he was looking him square in the face. He leaned in swiftly, capturing Stiles’ mouth in a bruising kiss. What a little brat, breaking into his house to lay a thirst trap for him. Peter didn’t stand with spoiling brats.
When he pulled back, Stiles’ sultry half lidded gaze was almost enough to make him rethink his position on virgins. Almost. There was no doubt in his mind that Stiles’ would probably cry about how his dick was too big and he was being mean and then never stop calling him. He didn’t need a clingy crybaby haunting his steps, even one as attractive as Stiles. The orgasm wouldn’t be worth the headache. Or the jailtime.
Peter rolled away and deftly rolled him off the bed and onto the floor with one socked foot. “Nice try, Stiles. You’re about one month and ten dicks too early.”
“Rude,” came the groaned reply from somewhere approximating the foot of the bed. “Age is just a number.”
“Do you think that argument would win your father over? Would it stop him from showing up at my house with a loaded gun and a warrant for my arrest?”
Stiles wisely chose silence and, with as much dignity as he could muster, he pushed himself off the floor, stuck his tongue out at him, and then slinked out the door. It had been worth a try. He touched his lips, remembering the feel of Peter’s mouth on his and smiled, it hadn’t been a total loss.
The first time Stiles set foot in this club days after his eighteenth birthday, he was terrified. Stupid, surprisingly moral, Peter Hale had told him to grow up and lose his virginity before he’d consider fucking him so he’d decided in a fit of pique that he’d call his bluff. Half full of irritation and half full of horny teenage hormones, he’d stormed off to Jungle, Beacon Hills’ only gay club. And then started to panic the second he stepped into the door.
His ill-fitting jeans and unnecessary multiple layers of shirts made him stand out in a place where the clothes were tight or they were absent. He immediately felt out of place and since he was too young to drink and too nervous to loiter around the bar to see if someone would buy him one, he stuffed himself awkwardly against the wall and just took in the scene around him. He’d clearly misjudged how hard it was going to be to find someone to take him home.
He’d been standing mesmerized by the dancers and frankly all of the fantastic ass on display when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Stiles turned to see an amazon woman standing next to him. She had to be over six feet tall without heels and with the platforms she was sporting, she towered over him.
“Babycakes, you look terrified,” she mused in a deep, melodic voice. “First time in a gay bar?”
He winced up at her, “is it that obvious? Like, I’m enjoying the view but I obviously don’t fit in here.” Stiles gestured to his outfit, “because fashion is clearly not my strong suit. Which is a problem you obviously don’t have,” he continued, eyeing her deep cut cocktail dress in a particularly eye-blinding shade of red.
“I hate to say it baby but you are a fashion disaster,” she clucked her tongue judgmentally. “Still questioning your sexuality, honey?” she asked, slowly steering him away from the wall and towards a table full of similarly done up drag queens. “Come sit with us, we won’t bite. Much,” she grinned down at him.
“Oh no I am for sure 500% gay. Got the card in the mail and everything. They’ve been asking for my opinion about the agenda and I’m fully behind ruining the sanctity of marriage by liking butt stuff,” Stiles retorted smoothly. “I’m actually here because I need to lose my virginity like yesterday.” He sighed, “but if it was that easy I’d have already done it.”
She pulled him to a dimly lit table against the opposite wall and pressed him down onto the bench between herself and another queen. After her friends cooed over what a cute little baby gay he was, she introduced herself, “I’m Fibonasti Sequins. My friend Missy Tress over there,” she gestured to a voluptuous, flame-haired woman across the table from them, “is the biggest cock slut this side of San Francisco. And Anna Conda,” the woman seated next to him waved her fingers, showing off two-inch-long nails, “knows just about every man in this place. In the biblical sense if you catch my meaning, darling” Fibonasti winked. “So what I’m saying is if you need to get laid, baby we can get you laid.” She leaned in, “but why the hurry to pop your cherry?”
In the end, they got the story out of him. That he wasn’t there because he wanted to find a man to go home with, though some of the men in the club were awfully tempting, but that he was there because he couldn’t get the Grade A daddy dick he deserved until he took Peter at his word and transformed from an awkward teenage caterpillar into a slutty, loose-assed butterfly through the metamorphosis of anal penetration.
“Peter Hale is a bigger man-whore than the three of us combined,” Missy said with a laugh. “I don’t think he’s going to be hard to catch.”
“I’m actually surprised he didn’t take you up on your offer,” interjected Anna.
“Right?” Stiles replied, getting fired up again. “He’s literally just doing this to be an asshole. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t actually have morals. Or feelings? And definitely not moral feelings.”
“How’s he gonna know if you’re a virgin or not?” Fibonasti chimed in. The three of them just stared at her in silence.
“Huh,” Stiles said, “I guess if I like…don’t cry about his dick and tell him to go slow he wouldn’t.” And if he never actually tried to lie outright he wouldn’t be caught by his stupid werewolf truth telling senses.
“You don’t have an ass hymen,” she continued. “Just tell him you sowed your oats and get that dick, honey, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“You still need a gay baby glow up,” Missy said. “No offence but you’re not seducing anyone in that outfit.”
“You know my friend Lydia calls me a fashion victim, like I’ve been mugged by terrible style.” He pouted, “But she won’t let me borrow her minishorts again.”
Fibonasti, Missy, and Anna shared a glance over his head. There was clearly some sort of unspoken drag queen pact being made he wasn’t privy to.
“You need a slutty makeover,” Anna said.
“And we’re gonna give it to you,” continued Missy.
Stiles felt like he’d been blessed by the gay gods. These fine upstanding women were all clearly swimming in dick. He felt confident putting his life in their hands, or at least his chance at ever seeing Peter’s cock. He ended up staying out way too late with the three of them and maybe letting them buy him drinks had been a bad idea. He had vague memories of Fibonasti doing body shots off him as he was draped drunkenly across the bar in just his underwear. It was probably better he didn’t remember.
Peter visited a club at least once a week, more often than not making the short drive into the city but sometimes Jungle was just easier. He liked to watch the dancers, liked to see them free and unbridled under the bright strobing lights. He was handsome, fit, and well dressed. And, well, you’d have to be an idiot to look at his clothes or his car and not realize he was loaded. In a word, he was a catch. He enjoyed observing the dancers until one caught his eye and then taking that man home to fuck. He didn’t always find a partner, sometimes there were just no interesting prospects. But if he did, well, few people turned down Peter Hale.
Tonight, there was no one who had caught his eye yet, so he was content to slowly sip his drink and observe the young men writhe and grind together. Peter couldn’t remember the last time he brought one of them home though he was certainly not lacking for offers. Four men had approached him that evening alone but none were his type, so he continued to sip and watch and wait.
Frankly, he had been a bit preoccupied thinking about a certain endearingly obnoxious human teen. He’d expected Stiles to continue to try and seduce him but once he turned eighteen, he just stopped. Peter tried to convince himself he was happy that the boy seemed to have taken his words to heart and gone out to sow his wild oats. But honestly, he was kind of left feeling bereft at the lack of attention. He’d grown use to Stiles dogging his steps and his absence was glaring.
And okay, maybe he could have put aside his qualms about clingy virgin, ignored the awkward visit from the sheriff that would no doubt ensue, and give the kid one hell of a first time. But just once in his life he tried to make a good decision, the right decision and he wasn’t happy with the outcome. He’d thought he made the right choice for himself as well, he hadn’t wanted Stiles to get overly attached to him (or maybe worse, drive him away by being too intense). But now he just felt dissatisfied and uninterested in the other options he had for sexual conquests. Frankly, he was disappointed in himself but that didn’t mean it stopped him from considering that he might have been happier had he chosen a different path, regardless of that path ended with him being shot by the sheriff.
The interior of the club was dim around the edges of the dance floor, probably to leave couples at least a little bit of privacy. Peter was ensconced safely at the bar, nursing a neat whisky. It wasn’t that he felt as if he was too old for dancing, though at thirty-three he was older than most of the boys on the dance floor by nearly a decade. Honestly, when he had been in his twenties, he hadn’t been much for dancing either. Frankly, Peter didn’t enjoy dancing, at least not the kind he saw at the club. That sort of dancing was just a pale imitation of sex and he saw no reason to mime having sex with someone he could actually be having sex with.
That and the fact that many of the men on the floor used dancing as a way to attract men. Peter had never needed to put on a show to attract partners. With his face, his body, and his money, they had always come to him. He was classically handsome with piercing blue eyes and a chiseled jawline. Maybe he wasn’t the tallest but he was well-built and thick with muscle. He hadn’t ever received complaints about his height, or any other part of his anatomy.
His personality though, that was another story. He definitely received complaints about that. He was a bit narcissistic and power hungry and a little too preoccupied with his image. He liked sex and liked to have lots of it but having the control and power in his relationships was maybe even more important than the physical aspect of getting off. Though to call his one-night stands relationships was a mockery. Why wouldn’t a man who liked to be in charge but who was eternally doomed to serve his sister instead of leading their pack want to exercise every opportunity to take the lead? He was cold to his lovers, making sure they knew that he called the shots and that there was nothing on the table other than simple physical gratification. He had driven most of his previous partners away after one encounter. He craved the novelty of a new person in his bed and hadn’t yet found someone to settle down with.
Peter was about to call it a night. He looked dispassionately out over the sea of dancers. There wasn’t one decent prospect in the whole lot of them. None of them were as interesting as Stiles. As he turned to the bartender to pay off his tab he paused as he caught sight of a new boy entering the club. Swiftly, he tucked the few bills he’d been holding out back into his wallet and waved the bartender away with a quick “nevermind.”
Peter’s eyes trailed up from the dark boots studded with silver metal to what looked to be a mockery of a kilt. Or a miniskirt. He was honestly not sure which but it was fucking sexy. The garment was pleated black leather and across the hips the fabric is missing, only a set of small leather belts seemed hold the front and back of the garment together. He could see a flash of pink under the belts as the waistband of his underwear peeks through. It’s lacy and doesn’t look like it was designed for men. He swallowed, gaze fixed on that little bit of color as the newcomer made his way onto the dance floor. A tight white baby-doll tee that didn’t even cover his midriff completed the look. Peter read the pink, glittering text placed above a picture of a bowl of sugar cubes and snorted, ‘sugar baby.’ Really?
Though it was not a masculine outfit it certainly didn’t do anything to hide the lovely maleness of the boy’s smooth chest and pale pink nipples. His flat stomach and navel ring winking in the light only add to the temptation. His gaze rose higher and he saw he was average height but slender and fair with messy dark hair and a smattering of dark moles that danced along every inch of exposed skin. He was beautiful and wild as he spun and twirled with the music. From his cat-with-the-cream expression as he moved from partner to partner, he was also clearly an unrepentant cocktease. Pretty and cruel, wasn’t that just a delightful combination?
He was also familiar and it took Peter a few seconds to place him. His eyebrow shot up in surprise as he realized it was Stiles. His dark eyes were rimmed with kohl and the outfit was certainly a deviation from the endless piles of oversized shirts Peter was used to him wearing so he couldn’t be faulted for not recognizing him immediately. He narrowed a predatory gaze on Stiles. How long had it been since he’d turned the kid down? A few months at least. He’d thought he remembered that the boy had turned eighteen but if he was in here, he had to be legal. The bouncer here loved a power trip and nothing pleased him more than cutting up a fake ID as the owner bitched and moaned about not being let in.
Of course, the moment Stiles stepped onto the dance floor and began to gyrate to the beat, the predators came out of the woodwork. Peter wasn’t the only one who was interested in this tender bit of fresh meat. But he was the only one who maintained his distance instead of stalking closer for a taste. Stiles’ smile curved up on the ends dangerously, clearly pleased with the attention he was receiving. Peter smiled as well; he liked a confident partner and he preferred his boys to be unrepentantly slutty. What a change from the nervous boy he’d enjoyed toying with all those months ago. He supposed Stiles had taken his advice to find someone to break him in. And now Peter was going to reap the reward.
Stiles continued to play fast and loose on the dance floor. He glided from partner to partner, pausing to let them snake their hands around his waist and pull his hips to theirs. He rolled his hips slowly and smoothly with the skill of a boy who was more used to riding cock than dancing. Every time someone tried to cage him with their body, to get him to themselves for just a few more moments, he’d effortlessly spin out of their grasp and on to his next conquest. He was like a whirlwind, constantly in motion and sinuously twining about each new partner that came his way.
Peter’s eyes narrowed as Stiles spun away from a particularly handsy man and he caught a better glimpse of the boy’s pink lace panties from under his swirling skirt. His gaze was fixed on the boy, had been fixed there since Stiles’ entered the club, but it wasn’t until he slid away laughing from two men trying to bracket him in that his eyes caught Peter’s. It was almost comical the way that he froze, eyes widened and pouty pink lips opened in a gasp of surprise. Peter just grinned his predatory smile that showed far too many teeth and spread his legs a little wider. His hand slowly reached down, almost accidentally, to adjust his half-hard length within the tight confines of his dark jeans. He raised one eyebrow at Stiles, the message clear, ‘come here if you want this dick.’
If the way Stiles stepped off the dance floor, brushing off the hands that tried to pull him back, was any indication, he was definitely cock hungry. Peter’s smile widened as he watched him approach, eyes wide with interest and chin proud. He was no longer shy and awkward but confident and sure as he approached the bar. Well, been a good boy then and done the homework Peter had set him. The new confidence he was exuding was definitely unexpected and definitely a turn on.
Honestly, Peter couldn’t abide an indecisive, regretful lay; nothing was more of a turnoff than a partner who couldn’t decide what they wanted. He liked a boy who knew what he wanted and set out to get it. And Stiles was in want of a thorough fucking and he knew it. When he got close, he opened his sweet, pink lips to say something but Peter was two steps ahead of him. He slid off his barstool and reached out to place his large hands along the bare sides Stiles’ delicate ribcage, chuckling as the kid gasped at the sudden touch. Peter had no problem turning and lifting him onto his recently abandoned seat in one fluid movement. Werewolf strength did have its uses.
He stepped in close to Stiles, sliding himself between those slim thighs to press himself against him, clothed cock to clothed cock. He gasped and Peter took the opportunity to roughly pull his chin up and press a demanding open-mouthed kiss against those pouty pink lips. He nipped lightly against his bottom lip and when those sweet lips parted, he licked into the boy’s sweet, hot mouth. His tongue skated across Stiles’ teeth and his gums until it was pressed against his own in a parody of what he wished he was doing with his cock.
When Peter pulled back, it was with a wicked grin at the lust-drunk look on Stiles’ face. He leaned in again, mouth pressed to the curve of one ear and said, “when you’re ready to stop playing with the other little boys on the dance floor, come find me, baby.”
Peter made to step back but he was caught by two fingers sliding into his front belt loops, pulling him closer. Stiles rocked his hips up, grinding up against the front of his jeans and replied “I’m ready now,” in a voice that was almost a whine.
“Is that so?” Peter asked with a smirk. He slid a hand up the boy’s thigh and pushed his skirt up to reveal pale pink lace panties the very color of his enticing nipples. He could see a wet patch on the front of the panties and a very obvious bulge.
“Oh baby, you’ve made a mess of yourself already.” Stiles shuddered and then mewled in protest when he let the hem of the skirt fall. Peter quickly slid his hands under the back of his skirt and grasped his ass, one hand on each perfect cheek. He kneaded the soft flesh there, grinning into the boy’s dark hair as the younger man moaned and pressed back into the touch. Slowly, he slid his middle finger into the dip between those parted cheeks and pressed the tip against the his quivering entrance, laughing as Stiles actually squealed aloud. “Your pussy feels ready for me, baby. Look how it’s trying to suck me in through your panties.”
Then Stiles’ arms came up to wrapping around his neck, “Stop fucking with me and take me home to fuck me,” he demanded with a pretty pout.
Peter ginned his feral smile, reminding the kid that he was a predator and released his hold on his ass. He carefully pulled him off of the bar stool and started to guide Stiles towards the door.
“Everyone’s staring,” Stiles whispered to him conspiratorially. He was right, they were. Peter was used to it though, he always won, always took home the sexy little boys who had the other men drooling after them. Did that stroke his ego a little bit? Absolutely.
“They’re just mad you’re going home with me, baby,” he replied, not even attempting to whisper. “You got their dicks all hard dancing with each of them like a good little slut, making them think they had a chance. They’d all give their left nut to be the one taking you home.”
Stiles snorted but he clearly enjoyed the praise. “You know I only came here to find you, right?”
Peter slid his hand down to give his ass a rough squeeze. “Of course you did, baby. You’ve been drooling after me for months.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t say ‘drooling’,” was Stiles’ retort. “Maybe just kind of panting?”
“Either way,” Peter replied, I’m going have you begging and crying on my dick before I’m done with you.”
Stiles gave him an absolute beatific smile and linked his arm into Peter’s as they stepped into the parking lot. He bent down to rake his teeth across the tender skin of the boy’s neck as he steered him towards his car. He man raised his eyebrow at Peter when he realized they were headed towards a sleek black Shelby 1000 that was definitely new and definitely not the BMW Peter had had in his driveway last week.
“Damn, are the Hales’ the only ones keeping Mustang in business?” Stiles mused. He wisely chose not to comment on Peter’s fickle car purchases and deep pockets. The older man knew he was loaded, he didn’t need anyone else telling him so.
Instead of pressing Stiles into the passenger seat, he guided him around to the driver’s side. Peter slid the seat back a little bit and climbed in, pulling Stiles down to rest between his legs. They were the same height but Stiles was slender enough he could tuck him against chest without ruining his visibility if he tipped him slightly to the side. Shutting the door, he pressed Stiles forward until he was leaning over the steering wheel, his cute little ass tipped up and begging for some cock. He pushed the kilt—skirt—thing up, eyeing those sinfully sexy pink lace panties once more as they peeked out from between the pale globes of a truly perfect ass. Peter hooked his thumbs into the fabric and pulled it down, exposing the dark cleft of his ass to his gaze. He pressed up, grinding his cock against his ass through his own tight jeans.
Surprised, Stiles squealed out a shocked “Daddy!” And then froze as his brain registered what he’d just called Peter. Then came the panic “oh god, please never tell my dad about this.”
Peter reached down to grip him through his panties, jacking him slowly. “No promises.” He grinned and then added, “Daddy will work just fine, baby boy.”
Stiles moaned, throwing him a sultry look back over his shoulder. “Are you going to fuck me in your car?”
“And let stain the upholstery? Hell no! What I want to do to you is going take a bit more space.”
“But I want it now,” Stiles replied with a whine.
“I know you’re cock hungry, baby. That’s not news to me,” Peter said with a smile. He pulled Stiles back against his chest as he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. He slid a free hand down to cup his pretty wet cock through his damp panties, “don’t worry baby, I said I’d take care of you.”
Stiles mewled, humping forward in a futile attempt to garner more friction. Peter didn’t speed up. He slowly circled the dripping tip with his thumb and pressed his own swollen length up between the boy’s cheeks. He leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “you can come if you’re very careful. If you get any on my seats I’m going make you suck it out of the fabric and pay for the detailing.”
“You’re the actual devil,” Stiles panted.
“You love it,” he shot back. And damned if he wasn’t right.
Peter continued to tease him throughout the drive. He kept it light and playful, removing his hand entirely when it seemed like Stiles was going to cum. Stiles whined, body bowed and hips thrusting and circling feebly each time he stopped but Peter was implacable, just continuing his torment. Each time they were stopped at a red light, he stroked his hands across the boy’s torso, grazing across his pink pebbled nipples with each stroke. He was not a nice man, so when Stiles’ skin was sensitized and his attention was focused solely on his nipples, Peter pinched the nubs cruelly between a thumb and forefinger, pulling and twisting relentlessly. From the way his cock twitched inside of his panties and how the wet patch staining the pink lace grew each time Peter rubbed the pad of his thumbs over those poor, abused nubs he knew he liked it.
When he pulled into the driveway of his little house and parked his car, Stiles was quivering in his arms. Peter had decided to let him come, not out of any sense of pity but because he felt like it would be amusing to force him to soil his clothing out here within sight and scent of the pack’s house. To make sure he was going to be shaky and cum-stained as he was led upstairs to Peter’s bed. He pulled Stiles’ skirt down to cover his straining cock and grasped him through the fabric, jerking him with quick determined strokes as he sucked bruises into life along the smooth column of his neck. It only took seconds before he was shaking apart, spasming as he came. Peter smiled against his neck as he came undone.
The boy was mostly boneless as he bundled him out of the car and lead him, complacent and wobbly, through his front door and up the stairs to his room. Stiles was trying halfheartedly to grope him but isn’t succeeding. Peter slapped his hand away and dumped him unceremoniously on the bed, quickly following him as he pulled off his tight black t-shirt. He slid easily between those parted thighs as he wrapped his fingers in the messy hair at the nape of his neck and pulled his head back for a kiss. He fucked his tongue into that hot mouth with a rough determination to taste every bit of him and used his grip on Stiles’ hair to force his head to the side so he could nose against the side of neck where bruises are already starting to bloom.
Peter made his way down, biting and sucking on the reddened skin. He was not surprised when he felt that sweet, pink cock plumping again against his stomach. He pushed up Stiles’ pathetic excuse for a shirt, exposing his swollen, abused nipples to Peter’s gaze. Earlier under the bright, flickering light of the club they had been flat and palest peach pink. Now, after he had spent most of the ride tormenting them, they were red, bruised, and puffy from his attentions.
He scraped his teeth across one nipple, cock throbbing as Stiles arched up into his touch. “Love your tits like this,” he growled and moved to lick a long stripe along that slim, pale chest and across his other nipple, flicking against the pebbled nub. “All swollen and hard for me, just like your cock.”
“Daddy,” Stiles keened, “want…” He looked pointedly down at him, as if what he wanted is self-explanatory.
It was self-explanatory but Peter wanted to hear him say it. “Use your words, baby boy. What do you want?” When Stiles opened his mouth to answer, he bit down cruelly on the nipple he’d been flicking with his tongue. Stiles bucked up, actually rising up off the bed a few inches as he yelled in surprise.
“I said use your words, boy. That wasn’t a word.”
Stiles tried again, “Want—” but it quickly devolved into a moan as Peter wormed one large, warm hand into his wet panties and squeezed his straining cock with a practiced hand. “Oh god, fuck.”
“You’ve got a nasty mouth, baby.” Peter said with a smirk, swiping his thumb over the drooling head of the boy’s cock. “But I still don’t know what you want.”
“Nng,” was the only thing Stiles managed to say. Then, swiftly in a rush as if he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to get it all out, “Daddy, wan’ your cock.”
Peter guided one of the boy’s smaller hands down and pressed it firmly against the impressive outline of his dick pressing against the tight cloth of his jeans. “You’ve got my cock right here, pretty boy.”
“Knew—uh – knew it would be big,” he exclaimed. His wide, surprised gaze belied his statement. That was a big dick. Definitely larger than any of his toys at home. He had a brief moment of fear, suddenly unsure that he could take that cock without being a whiny baby about it.
Peter sensed his hesitation and paused his pleasurable torture to ask, “you ever had a cock this big, baby boy?”
“Uh, yeah definitely not,” Stiles replied. “I’m pretty sure we can make it fit though?”
“Oh, of that I have no doubt,” Peter replied, before gently pinching at his sensitive taint. Jumping as a mix of pain and pleasure shot through his already over-sensitized nerves, he bit out a surprised “motherfucker!”
“What a foul mouth! I think I need to wash it out.” Peter replied, sliding sideways as he propped himself up against the headboard. He met Stiles’ gaze steadily before unzipping his jeans and popped the button open, “some Daddies like to use soap but I think you need something stronger.”
“Ohmygod, yep, yes,” Stiles made grabby hands in the direction of his groin. He was absolutely going to capitalize on his chance to suck some dick.
Peter looked at him amusedly, “there’s no point in using your mouth for talking if you can’t even string together a sentence, I’m gonna fuck it full of my cock.” He grabbed a handful of the boy’s hair and guided him down until his face was even with his groin.
Stiles wasted no time in diving in, pressing in through the zipper and rubbing his nose against the length of his swollen dick. He inhaled sharply, “Daddy your cock smells so good,” he whimpered, the cloying smell of musk filling his nose. He pressed desperate open-mouthed kisses to the straining length.
“It tastes even better, baby,” Peter replied teeth clenched as he pressed the boy’s face against his fabric covered cock and ground up against his hot, moist lips.
Stiles sighed happily and licked over the hot length, soaking the dark fabric with his spit and laving it with his tongue. He caught the swollen head between his plump lips and sucked, the rich, masculine taste of cock filling his mouth. Peter used his free hand to push his jeans and boxer-briefs down just enough so his cock and balls sprung free. He chuckled as Stiles’s eyes widen as he took in the impressive sight of it. He knew he had a good-looking cock, it was thick and uncut with a little wet bead of precum forming at the tip just begging for a slutty boy to suck it down.
He let out the breath he didn’t even know he was holding when Stiles sucked the head of his cock into his hot mouth. His little pink tongue flicked over the head and dipped into the crease of his foreskin to swirl around the soft ridge his foreskin made. He seemed utterly fascinated with the extra skin, which Peter thought was understandable considering that he was cut. Still, he couldn’t help but comment on it. “Never sucked an uncut dick before, baby?” When Stiles shook his head even as he licked into his slit, he laughed. “How about a dick this big? Stiles shook his head again. “And here I thought you were a real cock slut.”
Stiles lifted his head, letting Peter’s heavy cock slide out from between his parted lips with a pop. He opened his mouth as if to speak but the older man just clicked his tongue lightly and pressed him down onto his cock again. “Don’t try and talk, baby. Your lips are just begging for me to fuck them.” Stiles only groaned in response, hips twisting as he thrust his pert little ass up, grinding himself against the bed.
Stiles clearly wanted to go slowly, to take his time to explore every inch of the werewolf’s impressive cock with his lips and tongue. Peter, however, wanted none of that. His dick had been hard and swollen since he’d caught a glimpse of his pretty little boy in the club. He wanted to use the Stiles’ mouth hard and fast and once he’d blown his load, he wanted to fuck him long and hard until there were tears sliding down those pale, mole-speckled cheeks.
Peter could have warned him but that would have taken the fun out of it. He merely said, “if you bite me, I’ll make you regret it,” and then slid both hands around to the back of the kid’s head and forced his mouth down on his cock, hard and fast.
Stiles gagged, his eyes watering with surprise but he didn’t bite down or try to fight back. He swallowed a few times around the flared head of Peter’s cock as the man forced his chin up until the tip almost popped from his mouth and then back down again. It was less that he was fucking up into the his mouth and more that he was fucking that sweet mouth down on him. He growled, watching Stiles’s hips grind little stuttering patterns into the bed.
“You look so pretty hanging off the end of my dick, baby,” he breathed, loving the feel of that tongue fluttering against his hardened flesh as Stiles choked and swallowed. “You like gagging on my cock, don’t you?”
Stiles made a little sound of acquiescence, spit dripping from the corners of his mouth and sliding down his cock. Peter loved that well-fucked look on his face and felt his balls clench at the sight of his swollen lips and the tear tracks sliding down his face. “I’m gonna give you a present, baby boy. You like presents?” He didn’t even wait for a response and just continued, “little boys need milk to grow up big and strong, Daddy’s gonna give you some of his special fuck-milk. Be a good boy and drink it all down, don’t spill one drop.”
Stiles clearly took this to heart because he latched his arms around his hips and slid his mouth down until his nose is buried in the hair at his groin. Peter tried to pull him off so he could fuck him back down onto his cock but Stiles isn’t going anywhere. He felt his throat quiver and twitch around him as he fought his gag reflex and then he was shooting down his sweet boy’s throat as he swallowed furiously around him. Even after he was done coming, Stiles continued to suckle gently on his dick, tongue laving up and down the length of his still-hard cock.
Peter pulled him off with a pop and drew him up for a bruising kiss. He felt Stiles’ swollen dick press his stomach and reached back, grasping two handfuls of that perfect ass and used his knees to roll Stiles over onto his front. Stiles did not go gracefully, he ended up sprawled on his stomach and shakily tried to pull himself up onto his hands and knees. He failed, flopping down onto the bed with a little exclamation of surprise.
Peter laughed and used his own legs to slide the boy’s knees apart so they bracketed his own. Then he leaned down and slid the his cum soaked panties down over his perfect, round ass. His cock and balls were caught in the fabric and as Peter pulled the lacy garment down around his thighs, they’re pulled down as well until they were peeking out from between his legs. It couldn’t be a comfortable position but Peter refused to let him up to adjust, grasping his hips and pressing him down into the bed to ensure that he was not going anywhere.
Peter moved down until he was resting comfortably on his elbows and flicked his tongue across the head of the Stiles’s cock.
Stiles let out a gasp of pleasure, hips straining as he tried to press back against his tongue. “Daddy please,” he whimpered, “I need it.”
“What do you need baby?” Peter asked, leaning up to nip playfully at one creamy cheek. “You need my mouth?”
“Yes!”
He sucked the tip of the Stiles’ cock into his mouth and then released it. “You need it here?”
“Oh god – yes please Daddy. M—more!”
“How about here?” he asked as he spread his cheeks and pressed the tip of his tongue against that tight, pink hole.
Stiles nearly bucked off the bed, clearly not expecting to feel a mouth there. But he didn’t complain. Chuckling against his ass, Peter licked him again, tongue flicking around his rim. When Stiles relaxed, he slid his tongue inside and thrust it in and out. Peter spat in his hand and coated two of his fingers before sliding them both into the boy’s ass. He began to stretch him open, tongue continuing to slide in along with his fingers.
“Your pussy tastes good, baby. I’m going fuck you open with my tongue and then I’m going wreck your sweet hole with my nice, big cock.”
“Fuck me please,” Stiles beggged. “Daddy, you said you’d take care of me.”
Peter laughed but complied, who was he to deny the kid his desire? “I will take care of you, sweet boy. You want my cock spearing your ass wide open? You want to feel your cunt split on my dick?”
Stiles moaned “yes,” as he nodded frantically, all thoughts of hesitation left far behind.
Peter leaned forward and put his hand in front of his face. “Spit,” he ordered and Stiles complied. He spat in his hand too and used their mingled saliva to coat his dick. He wasn’t going to use lube but he knew if he didn’t use something he’d end up damaging him. A little bit of pain is one thing but he didn’t want to ruin him. He pulled up on Stiles’ hips so he’s in bitch position, face pressed to the bed and ass in the air. Peter lined his dick head up with his loosened hole and rubbed against it, not pushing in yet.
“Tell Daddy what you want,” he ordered.
“Want your cock in me Daddy, want you to fuck me rough.” He tried to slide his ass back to catch Peter’s cock but he’s too fast for him. Stiles whined and continued, “don’t wanna sit down for a week.”
“Baby, I’m going to fuck you raw,” he said as he pressed in until the head of his cock was almost breeching that tight hole. “So you can feel every inch of this cock I give you and enjoy dripping my cum out of your ass all tomorrow.”
“Yes Daddy please!” the kid moaned, swiveling his hips and trying to fuck his ass up onto Peter’s cock.
“You’ve never had a wolf before, I’m going to blow your mind.”
He leaned forward, grasping a handful of Stiles’ hair in one hand and his slender hip in the other. And then he was forcing his dick through the resisting muscle with one swift thrust. Stiles cried out, sounding almost as if it were punched out of him. Peter supposed it was, in a way. He was not small and he was not gentle. Stiles was tight as hell, ass spasming around him and clenching against him as he drew his cock out and thrust in again.
“You feel so good baby, your cunt is so tight around my dick.” He growled into his ear, body covering the entirety of the smaller boy as he continued to fuck him into the mattress. “I knew you were a cock hungry slut the second I saw you in that club, getting all those men hard and wanting you and leaving them hanging. I knew what you needed, knew you needed a big Daddy cock like mine to put you in your place.”
“Yeaaaah—” Stiles replied, voice thready and breathless with pleasure. “My place…under you.” There are tears tracking down his face and he had the sluttiest most completely gone expression on his face. Peter didn’t think he’d seen anything as sexy as that in his life.
He leaned forward, pressing his lips against the boy’s ear. “Damn right it’s under me, baby boy. A little boy-pussy like yours needs to be fucked regularly.” He pulled out slowly, “look how your cunt is sucking me in,” and then thrust back in with bruising force.
His hips thrust relentlessly and if the kid hadn’t already been face down in the sheets he surely would have ended up that way regardless. Peter pumped into him long and deep, bottoming out in his ass with every thrust, his balls slapping against Stiles’s taint. He shuddered beneath him, profanities dripping from his swollen lips as he clutched at the sheets and tried to stay on his knees. Peter was not letting him go anywhere though, he had both his hands wrapped firmly around the kid’s shoulders to give himself more leverage as he fucked into the boy’s willing hole. Then Stiles was tipping his ass up even further, his back arched to the point of pain and now Peter thrust down into him, his cock scraping against the walls of his ass with every snap of his hips. He was clearly nailing the boy’s prostate with each thrust because Stiles cried out and it was sound that’s half pain and half pleasure.
Within seconds he was coming, body practically shaking apart under him as he sprayed his cum across the sheets. Peter got both arms wrapped around his chest and held him as he convulsed. Then he was leaning back, bringing the kid up with him until he was kneeling and Stiles was sitting in his lap, legs spread wide and spent cock hanging limp and sated between his pale thighs. In this position Peter could get in as deep as possible, could fuck up into the boy’s willing body until he had his fill.
But Stiles wasn’t the sort of lazy boy he was used to fucking, the type who just laid there quiet and subdued after they had come. He was more of the forward thinking, productive sort who considered that it would be in his best interest to please his Daddy as much as possible. Stiles began to clench his muscles around the thick cock invading him. Peter groaned, sliding his lips over the boy’s shoulder and nipping him firmly but playfully.
“Fuck,” he growled out between clenched teeth, “such a perfect, sweet baby. Milking Daddy’s cock with your tight cunt like a good boy.”
“Want your hot cum in me, Daddy. Wanna feel it filling my pussy up good,” he begged, grinding his ass down against Peter’s cock as he continued to methodically clench and release his inner muscles.
And then Peter was coming. He wrapped his arms around Stiles’ chest, squeezing the smaller man tight in his arms, his hips thrust in and out in a frantic tattoo as he bathed the boy’s ass with his seed. He thrust up one last time, hard, and stayed nestled deep in that tight hole as he pumped out rope after rope of cum. All the while Stiles’ keened, rocking against him and rolling his hips in an effort to extend his orgasm as long as possible, to ensure he caught every drop of milky cum.
Peter pushed him forward, pulling his spent cock from his body and turned to land gracelessly on the bed. He pulled Stiles into his arms from where he was sprawled face down on the mattress without his strong arms to hold him upright. He did it without thinking, though it was unusual for him to want to hold his conquests after sex. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, usually this was the part where the guys he picked up became offended at his complete disinterest with them now that he’d had an orgasm and they were calling a cab before cuddling ever became an option.
Stiles was clearly not like those other men because he was dozing peacefully in Peter’s arms without a second thought. But, then again, Peter hadn’t made to leave yet as was his usual wont. He pushed a messy lock of hair off his forehead and sighed, feeling a headache coming on. He was going to keep this boy, wasn’t he. Goddamnit, for all of his endless bitching about not wanting Stiles to get attached, here he went catching feelings.
As Stiles lay there, totally blissed out. His rude brain decided that maybe that was a good time to remind him that he was kind of lying to the man who had just blown his mind. Even if it was by omission. He figured he should probably come clean before this went on too long. Stiles rolled over with a groan, dark eyes peeking up from behind messy bangs as twisted in to press himself against Peter’s torso. “Can I tell you a secret, Daddy?” he asked, almost shyly.
Considering their most recent activity, he had no idea why the kid would turn shy now but said, “Sure, baby,” anyway.
“You were right about me being a dirty slut,” he continued, cheeks pinkening ever so slightly.
“Sweet boy, that isn’t up for debate at this point,” Peter replied easily. “Not after the way you just took my cock.”
“I didn’t mean like that, Daddy. But I guess that’s true too. I meant that I like to go out dancing and make them want me and then leave them at the end of the night.”
“I noticed that too, baby. I’m very perceptive.” He laughed when Stiles pouted at him like he’s clearly misunderstanding the point.
“Daddy, I always leave them at the end of the night. Always. I’ve never gone home with anyone before.”
Peter is starting to get an inkling of what Stiles meant and he’s honestly surprised. From the way Stiles acted, he thought he was just as much a predator in that club as he was, that he was just looking for his next fuck. “You were a virgin,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. “Goddamnit Stiles, I told you I don’t fuck virgins.”
“Well, guess you do now?” was his totally unrepentant reply. “Don’t be mad,” Stiles continued flippantly, “how else was I supposed to get you into bed?”
“Apparently through trickery and guile,” Peter shot back. “I’m not mad, maybe I’m even a little impressed. I just wasn’t very gentle with you.”
“You wouldn’t have been gentle if I told you,” Stiles accused, smile curving up the end of his lips. “And you literally wouldn’t have cared if you destroyed my asshole.”
“I did destroy your asshole.”
“Touché,” Stiles conceded. “So Peter, we’re going to do this like all the time, right?” he asked and it was almost as if he was begging. He looked up at him beseechingly, all big eyes and pouty lips that were damn hard to resist.
“Ugh,” Peter let out an entirely exasperated sigh. He was so, so fucked. And honestly kind of obsessed with this kid, if all of his embarrassing pining was anything to go by. Maybe he wouldn’t use that word but a lack of interest in fucking anyone else was pining as far as he was concerned. This, in the history of Peter’s life, had never once come up before. His bedposts were so notched that they were practically nonexistent but he’d never wanted to keep seeing anyone. Though that was mostly because he was a lot to handle and his partners bored him. Stiles wasn’t boring in the least and he also seemed like he could keep up. His single-minded desperation to fuck Peter was frankly flattering.
“Yes, fine,” Peter finished in an extremely put-upon tone of voice. “I supposed we can keep fucking, if you insist.”
“Ha!” Stiles exclaimed, “I knew it, I am a good lay.”
“I’d say you were perfeclty adequate,” Peter replied drolly. “But I suppose I’m willing to keep you.”
“Adequate?! Motherfucker, I’ll show you—” he dived at the werewolf and toppled him onto his back. He ground his ass against Peter’s slowly filling erection. “I’m going to ride your dick until it breaks.”
“That’s not the least bit tempting, Stiles.”
“Don’t care,” he slapped Peter’s hands away as they tried to slow the motion of his hips. “It’s my turn to be on top.”
“Oh, if you insist,” he said, humor clear in his voice.
“We’re going to fuck like rabbits and you’re going to take me out to eat and we’ll go see movies together and it’ll be awesome,” Stiles continued.
Uh, well that sounded a lot like a relationship to Peter. He was just getting used to the idea of fucking the same person regularly, he wasn’t going to date the boy as well. What a ludicrous idea. “The hell we are,” Peter shot back in a strained voice, “but you are welcome to sit on my cock if you’d like.”
“Oh, you’re going to date the hell out of me,” Stiles said, panting as he sank down inch by precious inch onto that now impressive erection. “You aren’t even ready for how hard you’re going to date me.”
And goddamnit if the kid didn’t end up being right after all. The little asshole.
Fin.