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Peter has always spoilt Stiles.
It’s who he is- and he’s addicted to the flush of colour, or the wide smile that Stiles always gives him. When he was younger, John and Claudia had warned him off a little bit, saying they didn’t want Stiles to grow up being spoilt.
‘No way!’ Stiles, five years old and tiny screeched at the top of his voice ‘A Darth Vader helmet?! Working! Lights! Ahhh!’ And he sprinted to Peter and hugged him so tightly that Peter feared the little boy might bruise.
‘Peter.’ John frowned ‘Stiles asked for that last week. We said no, it’s too much money-‘
‘It’s no problem.’ Peter waved him off, watching Stiles examine the helmet in utter fascination and delight
‘No, Peter.’ Claudia said more firmly ‘we told Stiles he couldn’t have it. That he’d have to wait for Christmas, or maybe not have it at all. We can’t always get what we want-‘
‘Stiles,’ John said firmly, and Stiles looked up with wide eyes ‘give Mr Hale the gift back.’
Stiles bottom lip wobbled, and he clutched the mask to his chest, and he turned to Peter with his watery amber eyes ‘b-but you said it was for me-‘
‘It is.’ Peter said vehemently ‘it’s yours to have, Stiles-‘
‘Peter.’ Claudia was more firm ‘Stiles, we said you couldn’t have it.’
Stiles bites his bottom lip so hard that a single drop of thick blood trailed down his chin, and he walks slowly over to Peter and presents him with the mask. He keeps a brave face until he’s out of the room, and then runs upstairs; sobbing. Peter can’t move. He’s staring into nothing, holding the mask brokenly. He feels an unjustified rush of anger that they forced Stiles to reject a courting gift.
‘Peter,’ the Sheriff looks uncomfortable ‘I’m sorry, but-‘
‘I’m going to go.’ Peter cuts him off, and stalks from the house, he feels Claudia’s fingers against his elbow, but he keeps going. He can smell Stiles’ tears, and he shifts, howling with despair into the forest.
...
That was then.
...
Stiles is older now.
He’s 17, and his mom’s gone, and the Sheriff is always working. Peter supposes it worked, in a way. Stiles isn’t at all spoilt. He’s the kindest and most giving person Peter knows. So as he slides in through the window, Stiles grins wolfishly at him, and tilts his head up for a kiss. Peter wonders how the hell he got so lucky, and pins Stiles to the bed, coaxing his mouth open and eliciting moan after glorious moan.
‘Please,’ Stiles whines, taking one of Peter’s hands and pushing it over his crotch ‘please?’
Peter growls with want ‘not till you’re 18, beautiful.’
Stiles huffs ‘what if I don’t want it when I’m 18? Then you’ll be sorry.’ He sticks his tongue out, and pushes Peter to lie on the bed, straddling him and getting comfy atop his mate, yawning and resting his head on Peter’s muscled chest. Peter’s hands cup Stiles’ ass for a moment, before coming up to rest on his back and in his hair.
‘I brought you something.’ Peter whispers and Stiles rolls his eyes
‘Shouldn’t you save your money for something more important?’
‘Nothing’s more important than you, honey,’ Peter grins and Stiles smacks him as Peter points to the black bag he brought in with him. Stiles sighs but makes his way over and Peter rolls on to his side to watch him.
‘Is this…no way. No way.’ And Stiles pulls the bronze mac-book out of the bag ‘Oh my god- oh my god it has my name on it! Peter!’ And he launches himself at his werewolf, sloppily kissing everywhere he can reach, and basking in the glory of the slim laptop.
‘Open it up,’ Peter grins, and Stiles lifts the lid and stops breathing for a second.
‘Comic-con tickets.’ He whispers, pulling out the two tickets ‘we’re going to comic-con. Oh my god- oh my god, I need to find us costumes, we have to go as a couple-‘
‘Uh,’ Peter sits up ‘they’re for you and Sco-‘
Stiles is kissing him, and he tastes of gratitude and love and damn it all to hell, Peter thinks as he wraps his arms around his boy, he’ll wearing a fucking penguin costume if it makes Stiles happy.
...
It’s not always expensive gifts though.
...
The first time he ever approaches Stiles, the entire town are looking for him. Stiles had wondered into the woods happily, and Peter watches as a wolf, protecting him but not alerting anyone yet. Stiles sees a bunny and coos happily, and before Peter knows what he’s doing, he’s snapping the bunny’s neck, and placing it down before the little boy.
The five year old holds his breath. Sat on his bottom in the branches he stares up at the giant, magnificent beast, at the sharp teeth and red eyes, the blood along his muzzle. Stiles looks down at the dead bunny and frowns. ‘Wolfie.’ Stiles says, and reaches out his hand. Peter licks it, and Stiles giggles delightedly.
...
Nowadays, Stiles just sighs at the dead animals on his porch. ‘Peter.’ He groans, stepping over the deer ‘my dad’s gonna flip. You’ve got blood all up the drive way,’ he whines, but Peter is a giant wolf, snuffling up at him and Stiles sighs, getting to his knees and hugging his wolf tightly. ‘I love it of course, you stupid mutt.’
Peter barks happily.