Peter did not like to be touched, in fact hated it to the very core of himself. That did not mean that he did not need to be touched though.
He purposefully avoided the usual casual touches that all werewolves shared. Sure he scented his pack, allowed the briefest of contact to appease his wolf, but he most certainly cringed away from touch on the day-to-day basis.
However, there were times where he craved being held. It was like a sickness growing inside of him, reaching it’s spindly claws to the very tips of his limbs and making him ache.
Those times he wanted to be held; needed to be swept up in strong arms and soothed.
The pack respected his need for space though and so those cravings, that need, largely went ignored.
Only largely ignored because there was one pack member for whom things like personal space and privacy were rejected. Like the concept of allowing Peter to have his space was a foreign concept.
Of course that pack member was Stiles.
The resident spark spouted mumbo jumbo whenever Peter growled at him for blatantly ignoring the ‘fuck off’ vibes that Peter was giving out.
“You’re not happy Peter.” Stiles would say as he slowly encroached upon Peter’s space. “Can I please give you a hug?”
And that was the thing with Stiles too, he always asked. And for whatever reason, Peter found he could not say no. The werewolf would open his mouth to deny Stiles, to verbally confirm the aggression that was pouring off of him, but a simple yes fell from his mouth each time the spark asked.
It got to the point where Peter did not allow himself to be in the same room as Stiles because the spark was infecting the rest of the pack. He was making the mongrels think that they too were allowed to ask to hug Peter, which they absolutely were not!
“Your wolf is sad Uncle Peter.” Derek mumbled at him on one such occasion. “May I hug you?”
And Peter had found himself nodding. He stood stock still as his nephew wrapped his arms around the older wolf. It was awkward and uncomfortable for all involved.
Except the incident did not seem to stop Derek, no, it actually seemed to encourage the rest of the pack.
Next thing Peter knew he was getting asked for hugs all around. From Erica when it was movie night to Boyd after a fight. Isaac when they went patrolling and even Lydia when they went shopping.
The problem was, Peter could feel himself softening towards it all. The hugs seemed to grow in number and Peter’s dislike for them slowly lessened. There was a comfort to the action now which had never been present in all the years before Stiles had come along.
And Stiles seemed to know it.
The questions kept coming, the pack insistent on Peter’s consent for these hugs until the day it happened. The day Peter initiated a hug himself.
The werewolf did not even know he was going in for the hug before it happened. He just knew he was feeling an itch deep inside that had him twitching and reaching for the spark before his brain fully processed the action.
It was really only the sense of ease, of comfort, enveloping him that brought Peter back to the present and the amber eyes fondly looking at him. The itch was completely gone.
“Hey Zombiewolf.” Stiles smiled at him and Peter felt an answering warmth bloom in his stomach at the look the spark was giving him.
“Hey yourself.” He smiled back.
Peter did not realize he was leaning forward until his nose bumped Stiles’s and then he found it was him looking for consent. “Can I kiss you?”
And Stiles’s eyes creased, a joy shining through them, as he whispered ‘yes’ and closed the distance between their lips.