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On a Wild Black Night

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"You're underage," Peter objects, his voice the picture of innocence as he presses the dildo deeper inside, until the tips of his claws pinch at Stiles' soft skin. "I can't just fuck you." He lets go of its base completely after that, taking the opportunity to run his hands over Stiles' trembling legs.

Stiles wants to retort, wants to beg, but his breath only comes in short gasps, just enough to stay conscious through the miasma of sensation. For all that he's a horny teenager, he's never had anything more than his fingers inside himself, and this, this is so much more. He can feel every inch of it, rubbing against his passage's walls as Peter slides the cock in and out.

"I wonder what my nephew would think of this," Peter says, his tone almost conversational. It's only belied by a small waver as Stiles' ass clenches at the reference to Derek, slowing his thrust for a moment. Peter pushes harder, and rewards himself with a small, wretched little moan from Stiles' lips.

That, Stiles can't leave without response, no matter how much of his oxygen has gone to swelling his cock. "Tell them anything and I'll register you as a sex offender." Because maybe Derek's content to put Laura's death out of his head most of the time, it's not something that can be truly forgiven. Their group has only just found a semblance of stability; Stiles isn't going to let Peter ruin it.

Instead, he's letting Peter run his tongue across his cock. He's letting himself ruin it, and he can't bring himself to care.

"Such a cruel boy," Peter murmurs when his mouth is free and his lips are red and wet. "Don't you want me here?"

"You're not that much better than the dildo," Stiles replies. His heart is wild, ruining whatever talent Peter had for sniffing out his lies. But he wants—he wants something more, something that isn't chilled like the dildo, though it's quickly warming to the heat of Stiles' body. God, he wants Peter, he wants to see Peter out of control, ruined, more animal than man.

He barely has the chance to think it before Peter wraps his lips fully around Stiles' cock, eliciting a high, needy sound that Stiles will be embarrassed about later. For now, he only swallows roughly, his breath hitching when Peter matches it, and lets himself loose. Peter continues to fuck him as he comes, shallowly, gently.

Peter presses one kiss against Stiles' lips, their first, leaving an imprint of come on his skin.

When finally gathers the energy to open his eyes, Peter's gone. This is the place for regret to seep in, he knows, but he's hardly going to let it. Stiles doesn't bother thinking, I'm never doing this again. It's going to happen again. He's going to make sure it happens again, and even if he doesn't, Peter will.

A part of him wants to fall asleep, to linger in a post-sex haze. But the rest of him wants what he was denied, what he knows Peter would give him if he wasn't so focused on teasing Stiles out of his mind. Not bothering to even clean up beforehand, he pulls on his strewn clothes and leaves to hunt down a wolf. The dildo, he leaves behind, because there's something much better out there.