Actions

Work Header

You Had Me at Canapes

Chapter Text

Stiles has no excuse for his actions, except that he was a poor graduate student and that it was just way too easy. After all, he probably wouldn’t be doing it if it hadn’t been almost forced upon him by way of how stupidly simple it had been to get in. Those weren’t really excuses, either, but truth be told he wasn’t feeling all that bad about what he was doing so he didn't bother coming up with a decent excuse.

Wedding food, especially rich people wedding food, was the best. Even better since it was free and the guest list was so long that no one would notice an extra body putting itself in line for the buffet or a hand that wasn’t supposed to be there grabbing one of the passing-by flutes of champagne. And hey, he was even semi-dressed for the occasion in his nice jacket and slacks since he’d been having an interview across the street from the hotel before happening to find himself pulled into a crowd of reception goers.

After agreeing with a chattering old woman who had the longest and reddest nails Stiles had ever seen that it had been an absolutely beautiful ceremony and yes, the flowers had been lovely, he escapes her dangerous clutches to go try some of the shrimp in fancy little glasses he saw being set out. He was so ready for that shit.

This was, of course, right up until his route got cut off by a guy whose smug smirk said he knew way too much.

“And are you here for the bride, or the groom?” He purrs, eyes dancing like he’d just been waiting to find something to amuse himself with, and thought Stiles was the perfect looking toy.

Shit. He hadn’t even gotten any cake. He loved cake.

After a moment of panic over the fact that he had most likely been found out, Stiles calms just enough to take in the guy to try and scope out any potential weaknesses he could exploit for the cake and damn. Damn. Stiles had never had a thing about older guys, but if they all looked like this guy he definitely would have. Dark, slicked back hair, blue eyes, a bit of probably carefully maintained stubble, and what seemed to be a permanent smirk.

This whole smug, refined asshole look shouldn’t be doing it for him because Stiles’ usual thing was sweet and fun and nice. You know, someone he wasn’t automatically tempted to kick in the face. But it had been a dry year while he’d been focusing on his masters disertation, so apparently this was his type for the night. Well, he could possibly do something with this that wouldn’t end with him getting kicked out of the reception, and that might possibly end up with his night being even more eventful than he had planned.

And as soon as he had walked in he had planned for cake, so he'd already thought it was going to be plenty eventful.

“Neither. I’d hate to break up such a new marriage by letting either of them think they had a chance.” He quips, watching as the dude in front of him smiles a sly, almost vicious smile, and that really shouldn’t do anything for him. It was kind of scary, and yet sexy at the same time.

It was scexy. Scaxy. Scexry?

Ew. No. None of those worked.

“They probably won’t last the year anyways,” He smirks, like taking about the impending end of the vows that had just been exchanged by people he actually probably knew was amusing, “At least this way we could get the news out quicker.”

“And some photographic evidence too,” Stiles agrees, just to see those eyes dance in a kind of pleased humor.

“All the better to hold our sweet family memories close.”

Stiles doesn’t miss the way his eyes watch as his lips curve into a smile, the way they linger with intent. He starts to play up the way he’d been dancing his fingers over the flute of his champagne, trailing his fingertips lightly down the length of it in a way he made sure would be suggestive, and the guy doesn’t miss it. Not if the way he smiles is any indication, his eyebrows quirking as he meets Stiles’ eyes head on like a dare. And Stiles makes three decisions in quick succession.

One, he is going to be all over that shrimp. Being denied their magnificence had only made him want them more.

Two, they had just set out some canapes and Stiles was totally all for that. Stiles had came, they had been seen, and they were about to be conquered.

And three was that he was going to climb this guy like a tree, just to see if the hint of muscle under that suit was more than a hint. Because really, why not? He was all for having your cake and eating it too.

Stiles stares right back and tilts his head toward the hallway that would take them down to a second set of restrooms, away from the ones that most of the guests were using. He smirks and starts walking away, pretty sure that the guy was going to be following.

Good food and maybe good sex. It was like Christmas had come early.

But then an arm wraps around his waist and pulls him through a door a few doors away from the other bathroom, and Stiles is sputtering from shock for all of a minute. Then he takes in their surroundings.

“I didn’t want to have sex in the bathroom,” The man sniffs as if the very idea was beneath him, “Do you have any idea how expensive this suit was?” The question is scornful and a little bit mean as he starts to unbutton the jacket. Stiles snorts.

“So you thought it better to fulfill the world’s biggest cliché by pulling me in here so that we could have sex in the coat closet at this wedding?” He laughs, and doesn’t stop laughing until the guy rolls his eyes and pulls him in by the tie for a kiss.

It’s a little awkward at first since Stiles is smiling and still chuckling a bit over how ridiculous the entire situation was, but then he realizes that the guy had a very good mouth and certainly knew how to use it, and that he was attempting to use it on him.

His laughter morphs into a moan as he dives his hands right into that hair, taking fistfuls and pulling just to see where it would get him. What it got him was two hands that grip the backs of his thighs and then lift him up like he weighed nothing and oh holy Jesus, blessed be, praise be unto Mohamad, and anything else because that was seriously hot. Was he a body builder or something? Like, one that didn’t seriously bulk up because he could get behind that. He could so get behind that and on top of that and in that, yes please.

“Do you like, lift weights or something?” He pants when they pull back for a quick breath, hands petting his chest through his sleek shirt, already a bit dizzy from just a little bit of making out. God, the sex was going to be incredible. If it wasn’t he was going to throw a fit because all of this so far was showing promise and he demanded it be delivered upon.

“Or something.” The guy smirks, moving back in mouth first in an action Stiles eagerly reciprocates. The man knew how to use his mouth, teasing his tongue over Stiles’ lips, tracing the seam of them before slipping inside like the sweetest invader. His teeth nipped and pulled, sharp and quick and yes.

“FYI,” Stiles panted, pulling back minutely and ignoring the exasperated and impatient look the other man was giving him, “I am like, all for biting. Keep me looking professional and you can just have at it. But don’t break the skin, or else I’ll scream and bring in all of the people that you know from out there because I am not afraid of a bit of embarrassment.” He remembers to add, thinking back to this girl from the year before where he had needed stitches on his ass. He refused to go through that again.

Those eyes go dark, flashing with something that makes a delicious shiver run down his spine, so he tightens his thighs around his waist to pull himself in closer and fucking descends, biting down the line of his throat and impatiently unbuttoning down to where the waistcoat and his own body stopped him, pushing aside the loosened fabric to go to town. There wasn’t too much extra revealed since the guy was the classy type who wore undershirts, but there was still more skin than there had been before and he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth

His skin was slightly salty from all the layers, and he smelled like some expensive cologne that Stiles wanted to just bathe in. Running his tongue up his throat until he got back to that mouth, he nipped those lips and grinned. The picture the man made was delicious, lips a little bruised, red marks right along his collar bones, eyes slitted and head tilted back to allow Stiles room to work, all while still keeping him up in the air without even a tremble of fatigued muscles.

“So, do you happen to have some lube and condoms in your pocket because you were a very sassy boy scout who probably ruled his troop with a manipulative hand, or nah?” Stiles asks while gripping the muscles on those forearms and caressing, a little bit breathless.

“Everything is up in my room,” The guy mutters, voice deep and rumbly and if he got any harder he was going to explode in an embarrassing amount of time. Stiles needed to be all up in that like five minutes ago.

“Just jerking each other it is,” He says happily, not really too terribly bothered by the fact that he couldn’t fulfill all of the filthy fantasies that had been birthed in the last ten minutes. Because penetrative sex, while super great and tons of fun, probably wasn't the best idea when you were in a coat closet at a wedding that you hadn't been invited to while being held up against a bunch of coats. Especially when one coat was pea-green and had an atrocious amounts of feathers on it, with some bedazzlement for that extra bit of much needed decoration.

Rich people were weird.

“Be careful.” The guy drawls dryly, somehow already back in perfect mental order despite the wonderful job pulling him apart Stiles had done a few minutes before, “Your way with words may be my undoing.”

Stiles smirks. God, this guy was suck a sarcastic dick. He could just eat him up with a spoon.

“I am quite skilled with my words, as well as all other uses of my mouth.” He shrugs innocently, looking at the guy through his lashes, “Just in case there’s a sudden need for, say, whistling.” He leans in, biting that plush bottom lip and pulling back, releasing it just when the man’s hands slid to cup his ass and squeeze, “I’m a great whistler.” He breathes, cock pressing painfully against his zipper as the flesh of his ass was massaged by a pair of very strong and skillful hands.

They were kissing again, all angry and hard and almost punishing, but this time Stiles was ready for more. He needed more.

“Let me down.” He demands, wiggling until he was sat back on the ground, momentarily mourning the loss of being held up because now he had a fantasy of being fucked that way but that wasn’t practical for their situation, and they had on too many clothes to make that work at the moment anyways. He needed to be practical.

“We shouldn’t take off our clothes. Going out there with them wrinkled would be so clichéd.” The guy notes, flicking his eyes over Stiles’ outfit critically. “Or, at least, I shouldn’t. My suit is designer.”

Stiles stares at him a moment, dumbfounded, a bit of his arousal leaking away. He considered, for a moment, doing something radical like just walking out, but then he remembered that sex, even if it was with colossal dickholes, was fun. Especially if the guy looked like this and kissed like this and could probably bench-press Stile’s one handed.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.” He tells the man seriously before getting to work on that belt buckle.

He shoved his pants down his legs, not ignoring the comment about wrinkles so much as vindictively stabbing it in the heart as he smirked up at the now glaring man. Then his eyes went down to the black, indecently snug boxer-briefs and the erection they were hugging. The sizable erection they were hugging.

“Yay,” Stiles sings quietly under his breath, thinking the man wouldn’t hear it clearly but nope, that snort and smug look definitely spoke of a man who had clearly hear the little cheer his cock had gotten.

“Go eat a dick.” Stiles tells him flatly, and one of the man’s eyebrows raises up in a judgmentally smug manner that Stiles wants to learn and master because it seemed like something he could definitely use. Like, he could put it as a skill on his resume and tell everyone, "Hey, you need someone with the ability to make anyone in the vicinity feel like a complete and utter moron with only a look? Well, I can do that, and it’s a skill that is sure to go great with any managerial position!”

“I will,” He promises, “But only if you do something about mine first.”

Stiles blinks, backtracks in order to reboot his brain, and holy-hell-yes.

“You clean?” He asks seriously, dropping down to his knees. The guy’s eyes darken and smolder, but he nods.

“I’m gonna need you to say it, dude. Because if it turns out you lied, I’m gonna track you down and destroy your entire livelihood while you stand by and watch.” Stiles promises, hands gripping the elastic band of his underwear – and even the band felt expensive, why did this guy need expensive underwear? The man blinked, all notions of sexy-times disappearing from his face as he tilted his head and considered the younger man kneeling before him.

“You’re not lying.” He notes, looking a little bemused, “Do you really think you could?” He asks it like a test, and Stiles narrowed his eyes and wondered why. He was about to suck the guy off, why were there tests involved? This was probably the most complicated and annoying quickie Stiles had ever been involved with.

“I know I could.” Stiles promises, and the guy fucking grins like he’d been given exactly what he’d wanted for his birthday. And why were promises of destruction – his destruction – what got this guy going?

“Then yes, I am clean.”

Stiles considers for a moment, his desperate give-me-that-dick attitude dissipated now, and he looks up at the guy who for some reason looks a little bit more turned on now that Stiles had threatened him and had actually meant it. But then his eyes flick down to the bulge in front of him and he figures he might as well get a look at the merchandise while he was shopping around for an idea of what to do next.

The underwear drops to the floor and Stiles knows what he’s buying because his mouth is practically watering to get all over that dick. It was an average length but it had girth, thick and veined and uncircumcised which was going to be a whole new adventure, looking almost as picture perfect as the man attached had been when he had first walked up to Stiles.

He decides then to ignore that the guy was a huge dickball and focus instead on sex. Sex usually made even the most asshole-ish person in the world momentarily bearable.

He begins to play with the foreskin a bit, not really knowing when his next chance to deal with one up-close and personal would be. It’s an odd, new texture to put his mouth around, and while tugging and pulling on it only gets a little huff of noise, running his tongue along the inside gets so much more. It wasn’t until hands descended on his head that Stile’s decided to actually get to work, though, he swatted said hands away first because he had worked hard on his hair this morning and it was not going to be ruined.

Stiles lingers, running his lips and tongue down the length, kissing and swirling his tongue around the revealed head. The stretch of his mouth around it as he eased down, caressing the length with his tongue as he swallowed, was delicious, and how could he have forgotten how much he liked giving blowjobs? He literally had an oral fixation, it should be almost impossible to forget.

When he first swallows he hears a growl from above, almost like it had been torn unwillingly out of his chest, and Stiles pauses a moment before thinking, “Oh, hell yes.” And going to work, doing anything he possibly could to get those sounds because the man obviously didn’t want to give them up and fuck him, he was a dick.

He didn’t bother thinking how silly it was that he was antagonizing the man with a really good blowjob.

It isn’t until Stiles reached up to start playing with the man’s balls that he really loses his shit, coming with a long hiss that really might as well have been a shout with how quiet he’d been throughout the whole process, and Stiles swallows because what else was he supposed to fucking do? He could have just spit it on his stupid pants, but he was kind of banking on a return blowjob and felt that further ruining the man’s clothes was not the way to go. So he swallows and glares up at the satisfied man the entire time because a little warning would have been nice.

“If you don’t swallow too,” He threatens hoarsely as he wobbly stands, wincing a bit at the pain in his knees from the unyielding floor, “I’m going to smother you with that fur monstrosity in the corner.”

The man smirks and slowly pulls his pants and underwear back on, taking his time adjusting his belt just right while Stiles impatiently huffed and stewed impatiently in front of him, his poor dick practically sobbing within the confines of his pants.

Then without warning he reached out quicker than Stiles could see and grabbed him, whirling him around and shoving him back into the wall, the results of which was him getting swallowed by the coats.

“What the hell?” He sputters as he shoved the oppressive garments away, hangers screeching on metal as they move aside like curtains to reveal the man smoothly dropping to his knees.

He doesn’t bother wasting time with any pleasantries and just shoves Stiles’ pants and underwear down to his knees, looking his dick over with a critical eye before smirking ¬– what did that mean? ¬– and descending like he was fucking starving.

Stiles bows over from the force of it, gripping his shoulders tightly as he cursed, shoving his fist into his mouth after the first string of explosive words because there was a wedding going on right outside the door and he couldn’t be loud. It was amazing that no one had walked in to accidentally and horrifically interrupt them yet, and he couldn't chance someone hearing and choosing to come investigate. His other hand goes to the coats, holding them off since they wanted to close back in on him.

He comes in an almost embarrassingly sort time but as he leans back against the wall, panting like he’d just run a fucking marathon, the coats closing in on him against since nothing was holding them back, he decides to consider the blowjob he’d given as foreplay. It added to the time nicely, and soothed his ego a bit.

“Jesus,” He pants, blinking into the semi-darkness caused by the coats that were maybe attempting to eat him, “Do you think they still have shrimp left?” Because now he really, really wanted shrimp.

The coats part yet again to reveal the man and he looks way too fucking amused as he looks Stiles over, like he’d just discovered a new toy he was going to love torturing for all off eternity. He smirks, and in the bit of time they had been together Stiles must have formed a bit of a Pavlovian response because the man was not that sexy when he did that.

“I believe so.” He says, his voice a little hoarse and his eyes a lot dangerous. Stiles needed to find the escape hatch or something because every instinct he had was screaming Danger! Danger!

But… Shrimp. In little fancy cups.

So he follows the man out of the closet and back into the ballroom, and tells himself that no, everyone was not staring at him because that was crazy. None of them knew what had happened, so there was no reason for them to stare. The man beside him did look way too smug though, and Stiles was afraid that it would give them away so he kicked his shin to get him to stop.

Then he saw the table, still covered with beautiful shrimp and strode quickly over, a man on a mission who almost mowed an unsuspecting woman down. But, really, she should have known better than to get in his way. He’d just burned off a lot of calories and needed to recharge.

He practically inhales his first cup and was on his second by the time the man came up to him, a champagne flute in each hand. Stiles takes the offered one suspiciously, slowing down his chewing so that he could more carefully regard the man who probably should have left him alone by now. After all, he’d gotten off, so what more was there between them? Stiles didn’t think the guy would suddenly become polite and do something stupid like thank him, so what was left?

“Would you like to know who the bride and groom are, since you decided to crash their wedding?” He asks easily, and Stiles weighs his options for a moment as he grabbed a third cup of shrimp, washing the last one down with champagne.

He loved rich people weddings.

On one hand, the guy should have left him alone by now if the usual wham-bam-thank-you-mam way of doing things was to be followed, but he obviously wasn’t doing that. So unless he’d formed a sudden attachment, which didn’t seem likely, the man was probably bored. And, looking around at the other guests who were mingling with each other and trading inane small chat from what he could over hear, Stiles could understand that. This guy didn’t seem the type to be amused to talk about the beauty of the flower arrangements, or how cute the flower girl had been.

And he was kind of stealing food, so it would probably be best to stick around the guy until he’d had his fill.

“I’m guessing one of them is the lady in the white dress.” Stiles remarks dryly instead of just answering yes. The man smirks in a way that almost looks like an actual human smile and tilts his glass toward said woman in white, who was angrily talking to an older woman who shared a lot of her features and who looked kind of scary, like a powerful empress or something.

“My niece, Laura.” He says with a put-upon sigh, “She is next in line to take over the Hale business,” There’s just a bit of a sneer there, and a story Stiles definitely does not want to hear. “She’s married Jason Lore, who is an insufferable bastard who is only after the family prestige.” Some people overhear that and glare harshly, and as if sensing the topic the bride’s head whips around to glare at her uncle like she was about to eviscerate him.

“The family, of course, refuses to listen to me and went on with this wedding anyways, so now I get to call that,” He points to a also glaring man on the other side of the room, “Family.” He sneers at them all, standing tall, and after a moment everyone else angrily looks away.
Stiles continues to eat his shrimp.

Peter then proceeds to tell interesting and amusing stories about almost everyone in the room, biting scorn attached to every word he flings out of his mouth and it was a bit much but also not because it was amusing, watching a grown man behave like a petulant and vengeful child.

Also, he kept on getting Stiles food and so long as he did that Stiles was content to stand there.

Stiles listened with half an ear as Peter told some story about a woman named Agnes, and watched as the groom went up to his bride. He figured this would be a decent enough test to see if the guy was telling the truth, or was just being a petty dick.

The couple embrace, all smiles and kisses and touches, and the bride looked head over heels. The groom, however…

“His body language is off.” Stiles comments, popping a stuffed mushroom into his mouth. Peter quiets, and it seems like part of the surrounding crowd does too.

“How so?” Peter asks lightly, knowing automatically who he was talking about. Stiles shrugs one shoulder.

“You’d think on your wedding day, after the deed was done, you’d be happy. All the nerves gone and the honeymoon to look forward to, together with the love of your life. But that guy,” He nods to the couple, who now looks oddly frozen, “He’s holding himself too stiff when they hug, and his feet are always pointed away from her, a sure sign that he wants to get away. And every time they kiss I want to give the lady some ice cream and a pat on the back because she’s really into it but he looks like he’s reciting instructions of exactly what to do in his head.” He plays idly with his the stem of his glass as he turns back to the man beside him.

“And really, it’s all in the eyes.” He notes with a tone of finality, and blowjob-in-a-closet guy looks way too damned pleased.

“What are their eyes telling you?” He asks, gleefully smirking.

“She can barely keep hers off of him, and it seems like he can’t either, but every time she does look away he does too, like he can’t wait to finally look at anything else. And he only looks back at her after she’s been staring at him for a while, like he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. That’s not something someone in love would do.” He hears a crash from behind him and is turning to see what had happened when the man grabs his chin and keeps him looking at him.

“You are fascinating,” He says lowly, his eyes flicking over past Stiles’ shoulder for a moment before coming right back on him, way too pleased.


“What’s your name?” He asks, and Stiles suddenly realizes that as soon as he gave that up, this was not going to just be a random strangers who banged at a wedding situation. This was going to make it a thing.

“Stiles,” He says without a thought, immediately cursing himself because that smirk was back and he felt like he had fallen into a trap.

“Stiles, I’m Peter,” He purrs, thumb caressing slightly where he still held Stiles’ face still, “How would you like to go up to my room and fulfill your earlier desire for biting? I sadly didn’t get to it earlier.”

Stiles stares, not really sure how they’d gotten to this point because a few minutes ago he’d been pretty sure after another story or two the guy was going to leave him alone.

But the closet experience had been fun, and upstairs was where the condoms and lube was.

“I demand cake, first.” He says because, fuck yeah, condoms and lube. They could just leave each other in the morning pleasantly sore and with a victorious story to tell to their friends.

“I’ll have it brought up to the room.” He promises, and the next thing he knows he’s chocking back laughter as they hurry into the elevator, a flute of champagne still in his hand. Peter pins him against the wall as they start to ascend and begins practically mauling his neck, ignoring the other couple in the elevator with them who stare with horrified fascination.

Stiles laughs uproariously once they get to the room, looking up to see the smug and amused man before him carefully stripping. And he knows that whatever this was, whatever it was turning into, it was going to be fun.