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You're Welcome In My Inbox

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First Conversation

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You're Lucky You're Cute

Because It Is Ass O'Clock

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You're A Danger To Yourself

But Don't Worry

I'm Here

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This Is A Bad Town

For Such A Pretty Face

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My Body Needs A Hero

Come And Save Me

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You Electrify My Life

Let's Conspire To Ignite

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Don't Come For Me Today

I'm Feeling Good

Let Me Savor It

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Chapter Text

Stiles wished he was stronger, wished he was suave and was able to make the drive back to Beacon Hills without calling Peter like a lovesick schoolboy, but he was too damned excited to be aloof. So he put his phone in its holder on his dash after he had his car packed, poked the call button once he had Peter’s contact info up, and buckled up as it rang.

“Hello?” Peter answered as the buckle clicked home.

“Heeeeey!” Stiles greeted, a little overzealous. Okay, so he was hopped up on Red Bull and jelly donuts.

“Stiles, it is fifteen past five in the morning.”

Stiles just grinned as he started up Roscoe. “Oh no, did I wake you?” He pulled out of his dorm parking spot.

“You know you didn’t,” Peter replied, and there was a hint of a smile in his voice. “But you said you would arrive in the afternoon, not the morning.”

“Oh, does the handsome Cuddlewolf need his beauty rest?” Stiles wanted to hide his smile in his hands, but more so wanted to not die in traffic.

“I don’t imagine I’ll be getting any amount of rest over the next few days.”

Stiles couldn’t help his giggle as he drove. “Well, I hope you plan to romance me a little, mister.”

Peter let out a snort, before he yawned, and it was the sweetest noise. “I could romance you so hard. We could go out to eat when you get here. I could buy you unlimited chocolate chip pancakes and all the bacon you want.”

Stiles snorted. “Will you let me steal from your plate?”

“Only if you’re good.”

Laughing, Stiles shook his head. “I’m never good.”

“I know,” Peter conceded, and he sounded pleased about it. “I suppose I can spoil you a bit. You certainly deserve it after doing so well over the semester.”

Biting his lip to try to control his smile, Stiles shook his head and drummed his fingers on his steering wheel. “Yeah, only because you edited the hell out of my papers. It’s practically all on you.”

“I may have tweaked a few things, but you did all the hard work. Those were your words, and they were good ones.” He paused for a second, and Stiles basked in the glow of his praise. “Otherwise I would have tossed them and told you to start again.”

Stiles laughed. “You absolute taskmaster.”

“You like me.”

“A bit,” Stiles admitted, smiling as Peter as he laughed. “Do you like me?”

“More than a bit. Don’t fish, sweetheart.”

But Stiles really liked it when Peter expressed affection. He would have to get him to do it as many times as possible, fill himself up with it so he would still vibrate with contentment even when he was at school. “I guess you’ll just have to convince me when I get there.”

Peter let out a friendly hmph. “I will do my best.”

The ride to Beacon Hills took just over four hours, and it would have been excruciating if Stiles hadn’t managed to keep Peter on the line the whole time. Peter never said anything about wanting to stop, and Peter was not one to do anything that he didn’t want to do. That made Stiles feel extra special.

It was just over an hour into the trip when Stiles saw a road sign that he hadn’t seen before. “What is Buc-ee’s?” he asked as he passed it, brows coming together.


“Buc-ee’s, might not be saying it right. Buck-ee’s. Book-ees. Boo-keys. Buck-eyes. I dunno. That sign said there was a Buc-ee’s popup in a couple exits. There was a beaver on it. And it was wearing a trucker hat.”

“I can hear your morbid curiosity from here.”

Stiles let out a huff of a laugh. “Nah, I’m not gonna go. I mean, it’s probably just a regular…” His eyes widened as another sign came and went. “Oh my god.”


“Beaver nuggets,” Stiles said in a hasty gasp, putting on his blinker and pulling into the right most lane.


“Beaver nuggets,” he repeated. “That sign said they sell something called beaver nuggets.”


“You don’t think they’re made out of beaver, do you?” Stiles spotted the exit upcoming.

“Stiles, don’t.”

“I don’t think that’s legal. I gotta know, man, I gotta know,” Stiles said, a little shrill.

Peter let out a heavy sigh. “You’re going to die someday, and it’s going to involve a door that says Don’t Open, Dead Inside.

Stiles let out a manic laugh. “Probably!” He pulled off the highway, delighted that Peter was taking his TV suggestions to heart.

Buc-ee’s was a convenience store, and beaver nuggets were not made of beaver. Thankfully. They were corn puffs, looked kind of like kettle corn. Stiles was damn curious about them, so he grabbed two bags.

“Apparently, they’re a Texas brand,” Stiles said, meandering around the store with his eventual goal being the cashier.

“That explain quite a bit, actually. Do they have a stand with little magnets shaped like Texas on them?” Peter asked, sounding less judgmental since Stiles hadn’t been devoured by beavers.

Stiles snorted, turning and spotting said stand. “Yeah,” he said, walking toward it and giving it a spin. “Want to cover your fridge in Texas?”

“Not particularly.”

Stiles took a second, before he laughed a little. “Do you wanna cover Derek’s fridge in Texas?”

“Not cover,” Peter admitted, entirely unashamed. “I just want to put one on it. I’m sure it’ll take him forever to notice, and when he does he won’t know what’s going on.”

“You’re terrible,” Stiles said in approval, grabbing a magnet in the shape of Texas with a cowboy hat on top.

“Denying that would be pointless at this point,” Peter breezily replied.

Stiles rolled his eyes and headed for the check out, only to stop at a display. “Peter,” he said, deadly serious, and Peter made a noise of assent. “How much would you worship me if I brought you jerky?”

Peter was silent for a long moment. “What… kind of jerky are we talking here?”

Stiles sidled closer to the stand. “We haaaaave… Sweet and spicy. Jalapeño. Pepper turkey. Teriyaki. Pepper beef. Smoked beef. Honey barbecue. There are more.”

“Jesus,” Peter said in a growl that sounded particularly carnivorous. “Just… all of it. I don’t even care. I want it all.”

“Your body is ready?” Stiles asked, pinning the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could grab pretty much everything he saw. He paused at one bag labeled hunter’s sausage, before he just decided he was living dangerously that day and grabbed it.

“Very ready,” Peter agreed. “You have enough money for all of that?”

Stiles let out a laugh, lumbering over to the checkout with his arms full. “You sent three hundred extra dollars than we agreed you would, Peter. That’s plenty for jerky money.”

“I like making it rain.”

Stiles laughed so loudly and abruptly, he dropped pretty much everything in his arms and the cashier had to come and save him.

Another hour later when he had nearly put down a whole bag of beaver nuggets and was feeling the sugar race through his veins, vibrating with it. It didn’t help that he’d murdered a 40oz of cherry Coke. (The flavor was his weakness, okay?)

“Did you name the kitten yet?” Stiles asked, left leg bouncing. He wasn’t sure if he had to pee or if his appendix was dying a dramatic death. Both were a possibility.

“Not yet.”

“Slacker,” Stiles said. “You’re not doing your job as Cat Dad.”

“I figured I would let you name her.”

After the split-second it took to process that, Stiles let out an aww noise that lasted until he ran out of air, ending on a squeak. “Are you saying you want to share custody with me?” he asked with a laugh.

“Don’t make it weird.”

“Please, this was weird from the beginning,” Stiles said, grinning ear to ear. “Okay, I’ll name the little babe. You probably won’t be able to keep her away from me when I get there.”

“I expect nothing less.”

Not much longer after that, Stiles parked at a rest stop and went full throttle toward the bathroom. “Keep talking, but I’m going on mute, ‘cause I gotta piss like a racehorse!” he gasped at Peter, who laughed loudly in his ear.

After he peed and washed his hands, he took his phone off mute and was heading out, but he stopped. “There’s a condom dispenser in here.”

“Truckers have sex lives too,” Peter replied, sounding deeply amused.

But that wasn’t what Stiles was thinking. “Should… I get some condoms before I get there?”

“I have condoms,” Peter replied simply. “Besides, you don’t know what size I am.”

Stiles blurted out a crazed laugh, almost running into the door frame on his way out of the bathroom. “Jesus, okay, good point.” He shook his head as he trekked over to Roscoe. He stopped when he had his hand on the door handle. “Do we… even need to use condoms?”

The only sound over the phone was a sharp intake of breath.

Stiles opened the car door and got in, hitting the speaker and setting the phone in the cradle. “Uh, I mean. I’m not--I don’t have anything. And you can’t get anything. So like, do we need to use condoms?”

“Well,” Peter said, his voice a bit lower. “Not necessarily, but… Don’t you want to?”

Thinking on that, Stiles drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’ve always had to. In the--y’know--whole thirteen times I’ve had sex, but… Do you want to? Wouldn’t that be a thing for you? Me smelling like you.” He felt his face burning, but he determined to barrel on anyway. “Inside and out?”

Peter was quiet, and Stiles was pretty sure he heard the dry click of him swallowing a few times. “If you keep saying things like that, I will have to hang up and call you back in a bit.”

Stiles grinned, face still on fire, and knew one thing for certain now; no condoms.

They managed to steer the conversation away from sex. Even if Stiles wanted to tease Peter relentlessly, he didn’t want the man to hang up and go pull one off. Not without him there to watch, anyway.

Instead, he teased Peter about eating all the jerky, and Peter growled at him playfully. Stiles was glad his shiver wasn’t audible, because Peter would have enjoyed that too much. He managed to keep from inhaling the second bag of beaver nuggets. He wanted everyone to try one, then he would smash it into his face hole.

Peter was saying something about Derek’s recent obsession with crocheting small, fat animals when Stiles spotted something that made him gasp. “What? What’s wrong?” Peter asked.

“You are now entering Beacon Hills, home of The Cyclones,” Stiles read as he passed the sign, grinning wide enough to hurt himself. “I’m so excited to see you.”

“I dunno, Stiles, we’ve been talking for hours. I think I’ve had my fill of you for a while,” Peter said in a sweet tone.

“Excuse you!” Stiles huffed. “Nu uh, I’m coming over, mister, and you’re gonna show me the benefits of a werewolf lover.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so,” Stiles told him firmly, nodding to himself. Yeah, this was happening, it was happening so hard, and there was nothing that could stop him from pouncing on Peter. Except… He cleared his throat, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel. “So, uh…”

“Yes, dear?”

Stiles made a grumpy face at the amusement he could hear in Peter’s voice. “Where the fuck do you even live?”

Peter burst out laughing, and despite the fact that Stiles was determined to be annoyed, he had to smile too.

Once upon a time, Peter had said he had an apartment downtown, so that was what Stiles had been expecting to find. So he scrunched up his nose in confusion as he turned into a nice, quiet suburb in the richer side of Beacon Hills. “You’re not leading me on a wild goose chase, are you?” he asked, passing by a few older ladies jogging, a dude on a bicycle, and several people watering their pristine lawns. “I swear to Christ, Peter, I will refuse to put out.”

Peter made a sound like psh. “No, you wouldn’t. And it’s not a wild goose chase. I’ll be there. Just let me know when you pull in.”

“In 300 feet, your destination will be on the left,” came his GPS’s dulcet tone.

His destination was a nice two-story with cream siding, a dark gray roof and warm brown shutters. Stiles pulled into the driveway and squinted at it. “Uh, now I know you’re fucking with me. Is that lavender in your garden?”

“That is hummingbird sage,” Peter replied haughtily. “Now hang up and come inside.”

“You hang up,” Stiles huffed back.

Peter laughed. “No, you.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “On three?”


“One, two… five.” Stiles grinned as Peter laughed. It was a sound he could do with more of. “Okay, hanging up this time.”


“Hanging up for realsies,” Stiles said, looking at the house, at the flowers, at the numbers on the front, at the inviting stoop. “See you.”

“Soon,” Peter said, and Stiles hit the end call button.

He shut off the Jeep and opened the driver side door right as the front door to the house opened. Stiles hopped out and looked over the hood of the Jeep, a smile blooming across his face.

There was Peter, looking soft and inviting. He was still every bit the pretentious douchecanoe that was his trademark, with the plunging v-neck and perfectly style hair. But his eyes were warm and his posture relaxed as he approached the Jeep.

It took a lot in Stiles not to leap on him and suck his face skin off right there.

Instead, he went to gather the stuff out of the back of the Jeep. Peter came to help, and Stiles was acutely aware that he was close enough to touch. He also smelled amazing, which just wasn’t fair, because Stiles probably smelled like B.O. and beaver nuggets.

“How was the drive?” Peter asked, securing the strap of Stiles’s duffel bag on his shoulder as Stiles got the bags from Buc-ee’s.

“Oh, you know,” Stiles said, stepping back so Peter could close the back. “Pretty boring.” He grinned when Peter gave him a bland look. He kept on grinning as Peter gestured for him to follow him to the house, leading him into the door.

Stiles got about six steps into the entryway before he stalled, squinting. “Wait a tick,” he said, dropping the bag and backing up to the door. He stared. “Peter!” he called, a supreme amount of judgment in his tone. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Peter poked his head around the corner to look, before he just gave this smug smirk. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a fucking wolf’s head door knocker!” Stiles all but screeched, gesturing wildly at the thing. It looked like it belonged in Game of Thrones.

“I never claimed to be subtle,” Peter said, disappearing back around the corner, and then he added in a sing-song way, “It’s a big hit with the kids at Halloween.”

Stiles didn’t know how to feel. Okay, that was a lie, he knew exactly what to feel. It was such a complicated, frustrating emotion that he had no idea how to express it. There was probably a word for it in German.

He gathered up the bags again and kicked the door shut, before he went around that corner after Peter. He landed in the dining room, which opened in the kitchen. His bag was on the dining table, so he put the jerky and such there too. He dug into one of the bags as Peter hovered close, and he came out with the magnet.

Peter gave a soft snort of amusement, taking it. “Oh yes, Derek will hate this.”

“You’re so mean to him, you know that, right?” Stiles asked, paying way too much attention to Peter’s hand.

“I know, but I have little else to do with my time,” Peter replied.

Stiles lifted his gaze. Had Peter’s eyes always been so blue? They weren’t even glowing and wolfy. He was wondering if it was literally possible to get lost in someone’s eyes. If so, he didn’t want to come back. “Yeah,” he said, rather belatedly.

Peter slowly set the magnet on the table, dragging his eyes down and up Stiles’s form, before he leaned in closer. “I believe I promised to romance you with food.”

Stiles gave a single shake of his head. “I don’t want food.” He lifted his hand up slowly to touch Peter’s facial hair. It wasn’t soft or anything, but it was real, and it was part of Peter. His lips were soft when Peter turned to kiss his fingers, his palm, his wrist. Stiles sucked in a gasp, remembering the last time Peter’s mouth had been in such a vulnerable place.

He wasn’t scared though. He was so far from it that he grabbed Peter’s face and jerked him into a kiss. Peter grunted against his mouth, a mash of lips that made little sense, and he guided them into a gentler touch, one that didn’t crush their noses. Stiles couldn’t exactly help it. He wanted.

Stiles grabbed at Peter’s shirt, the jersey cotton slick and cloud soft between his fingers. He pulled Peter closer, opening his mouth and moaning in a needy way. Peter pressed his tongue inside his mouth at the invitation, so of course Stiles had to bite him, just because he had the opportunity.

Peter chuckled against his lips, and the sound wasn’t exactly human. “I believe it’s time to go upstairs,” he said, and Stiles could only nod. He barely had time to think about turning around and scrambling up the stairs before he was slung up onto Peter’s shoulder, almost face-to-face with his ass.

“Well,” Stiles started, glad to make that body part’s acquaintance as he gave it a pinch. “I guess I can check caveman carry off my list of romance novel tropes.” He bounced a little as Peter walked, and he suddenly understood why it wasn’t a good idea to carry a drunk like this.

“You have a list?” Peter asked, turning a corner and then starting up the stairs.

“Only for ones that I actually to happen to me.” Stiles braced his hands on Peter’s slim hips. Not for support, just because.

“Who usually carries you in your fantasies?”

“Uhhh.” Stiles thought about it. “It depends what kind of mood I’m in. Sometimes it’s Thor. Sometimes it’s She-Hulk. Sometimes it’s Wonder Woman. Sometimes it’s Power Girl.”

“I’m sensing a theme.” They were at the top of the stairs now.

“For a short period, it was the gladiators from Spartacus.” He tried to look over when Peter paused to open a door, but he couldn’t see much until they passed through.

“All of them?”

Stiles laughed, staring enviously at the amazing entertainment system against the wall. “No. I barely know what to do with one person. Stop looking for ways to kinkshame me.” He let out an oof as he was tilted and dropped onto the bed, bouncing a bit. He looked up at Peter, finding his gaze heated and predatory.

Welp, that was another box on his list checked.

“Do you ever fantasize about me?” Peter asked, starting to loosen the laces of Stiles’s high-tops.

Stiles made a show of flicking his eyes around, like he had to think about it. Then he just gave a lazy shrug. “I guess when I’m feeling uncreative.”

Peter, who was partly kneeling on the floor, leaned in and gave Stiles’s thigh a sharp nip.

Stiles squealed and flailed, and Peter was quick enough not to get kneed in the face. “Help, he’s gonna eat me!” Stiles cried out, laughing and flinging his arms as he did so, and didn’t actually try to get away.

“Oh, I’ll eat you alright,” Peter said, before his body covered Stiles’s and his lips took the sound right from his mouth.

Peter was heavy, strong and solid, and he still smelled like what Stiles imagined an underwear model would. Stiles gasped into the kisses, wasn’t even embarrassed by the loud smooching noises, and went with Peter’s direction when he pulled his legs up around his hips.

Of course, he got hard in a heartbeat, but hey, he was still young, and Peter’s fingers dragging heavily along his sides and under his thighs got his body all ready to go. He squeezed his thighs around Peter’s hips, grasping at his shirt and trying to pull it up to reach some kind of skin somewhere.

“Peter,” he whined in a totally manly way, arching up against him and a half a second away from tearing his shirt. “Can you just--” He gasped as Peter’s lips made contact with his neck, his facial hair a sharp kind of scratch along his skin. “Fuck, ohmigawd, Peter!”

“What do you want, Stiles?” Peter asked, dragging his lips up Stiles’s cheek, hot breath making the trail damp. “Tell me.”

“Just fuck me already!” Stiles cried, even though he's been aiming for a demanding tone. So sue him. He scratched a little uselessly at the bit of Peter's lower back he'd managed to access.

Peter huffed against his bit, before he tugged at the lobe. "What, no foreplay? That's terribly inconsiderate."

"If you do not fuck me right now, I will bite you some place in considerate!" Stiles said, louder and in a less begging way. Bite Peter or come in his pants. Both were equally possible, with varying degrees of embarrassment.

"Tsk tsk," Peter purred to him, making biting the more attractive option. "So young and needy."

Stiles blew out a huffy breath and changed tactics. “What? You need time to get hard? I didn't think you were that old.” He smiled sweetly as Peter lifted his head to pin him with a glare. He was going to pay for that.

"Decidedly not," Peter said, propping himself up on his hands and rocking his hips solidly against Stiles's.

Stiles sucked in a harsh breath, eyes widening a bit. That was a dick. A dick that was not small. His lips twisted into a crazed smile. Oh yeah. "Take off your pants!" he said, hands diving for Peter's fly. He wanted to measure it and make graphs of it and all the fun stuff.

Peter laughed and grabbed his hands, pinning them to the bed by Stiles's head. Hello, third item checked right off that list. "I want to see you first," Peter told him.

Stiles very maturely stuck his tongue out at him. "You're gonna have to let me go if you want me naked."

Peter did just that, jerking Stiles's shirt and hoodie up so abruptly that Stiles got lost in them and flailed like an idiot. By the time Stiles got free and tossed the offending articles of clothing away, Peter was shirtless too, and guh that was just unfair. He swallowed a few times as Peter worked his pants open, pulling them down and off. There was a thunk as they hit the floor, and Stiles was damn glad he bought an OtterBox for his phone.

That thought left his head fast though, because Peter was looking him over like a damn buffet, prioritizing which delicious bit to sink his teeth into first. His hands moving up Stiles's thighs, fingertips dragging and raising the skin in goosebumps as he went. He pushed his hands against Stiles's hips, thumbs catching the leg holes of his red briefs--his sexiest underwear--as they went.

Stiles arched his hips up, about as subtle as his mountain ash infused baseball bat. He was beyond being ashamed now, not with Peter's broad hands on him, feeling him, memorizing him. It was maddening, but it was wonderful.

"Peter, c'mon," he sighed out, forcing himself to keep watching Peter, to see the way he wanted him.

"Patience, sweetheart," Peter told him, lips curling in a smile.

Yeah, no, Stiles was not in the mood to be patient, and Peter was just being mean. He let go of the sheet, and reached up to grab Peter's head, pulling him down so they were nose to nose. "Peter, you know me. I'm not going to sit around and wait for you to get on with it, not when I need you so bad." He smiled a little as Peter's eyes shimmered a little neon for a second. "Get on with it, wolfy."

Peter gave him a look that wasn't so much a smile as it was a baring of teeth, white and just a little sharp at the edges. He took one of Stiles's hands off his head and kissed his palm, before he moved back. In a flash they were both naked. It was honestly rather impressive. Stiles was left blinking up at Peter, who held his gaze for a moment, before he looked down, so Stiles looked too.

Peter's cock was hovering just next to his, thick and uncut and so wildly different from his own. He would have to compare their sizes some other time, because Peter was leaning away toward the bedside table. He came back with a bottle of lube and kept eye contact with Stiles as he drizzled it over his fingers.

Stiles was pretty sure he wasn't breathing as Peter rubbed his fingers together, a little shiny with the slick. But then, Stiles remembered something. "Oh, shit, wait," he said, and Peter paused with his arm up. "Uh," Stiles went on, licking his lips. "We--we never really talked about condoms."

Peter blinked at him, a thick droplet of lube breaking away from the rest and adventuring down his forearm. "Do you want to use condoms, Stiles?"

Stiles didn't have to think about it. "Nah."

Peter's lips quirked up at the edge. "Alright then." He went back to his earlier task, reaching down between Stiles's legs and sliding his wet fingers through his crack.

Stiles sucked in a breath, his hand going down to gather up his balls and pull them out of the way. "God," he praised, unable to really see, but the flexing of Peter's strong arm was nice to watch. He bit his lip as he felt those fingers find his hole, rubbing around it at a slow, teasing pace.

"'Peter' is fine."

Stiles opened his mouth to say that Peter better not get a big head--well, bigger head--but then a slick finger slipped inside of him and all he could do was suck in a shuddering breath. "Ngh, don't you dare tease me," he warned as Peter finger slid slowly back and forth.

"Tease you? Me? Why, Stiles, I wouldn't dare."

Stiles pressed his lips together and glared up at him. "You are within kicking range."

Peter just continued smiling and curled his finger up, nailing Stiles's prostate like he had a damn map.

Stiles trembled roughly just from that, so he knew this was going to be a wild ride. He grabbed his dick with the hand not holding his balls, squeezing the base and frowning as Peter smirked in response.

"This is going to be so much fun," Peter said, voice a low rumble that felt almost like hands on Stiles's skin. He shifted his fingers around a bit, slow circular motions along the furrowed edge of his hole. Stiles was about to bark something at him when he pushed in a second finger and rubbed as Stiles's prostate without even the ghost of mercy.

"Oh, fuck, oh, shit, nghah!" Stiles babbled, continuing on with nonsense as his feet slid, his toes grasped at the top sheet and his dick jumped eagerly in his hand. "Nn--Peter, oh."

"Stiles, look at me," Peter said, and Stiles opened his eyes, not sure when he clenched them shut. "That's it. You're so beautiful." He spread out his fingers, giving Stiles a respite as he stretched him, before he took hold of his dick, thumb sliding against the drooling slit. "Are you gonna come, hm?" he asked, attacking that spot in him again.

"Ah!" Stiles cried, pretty sure that, yeah, he was going to come in like thirty seconds. So he released himself and started pushing at Peter the best he could. "Stop, stop--wait!"


Peter went as still as stone, waiting for Stiles to explain his outburst. Stiles found it kind of amazing that Peter did what he wanted. How things had changed. Stiles took in a few steadying breaths, pushing at Peter's arms so his wasn't touching him anymore. He had to center himself, had to come back down. He squeezed the base of his dick again.

"I don't want to come yet," he said, rubbing his palm into his eye.

"No?" Peter murmured in reply.

Stiles shook his head, taking in a deep breath and letting it out through his nose. He looked at Peter, eyes hooded. "No, not without you in me."

It was Peter's turn to breathe in deep. "Oh, is that another trope on your checklist?"

Stiles shook his head, pulling his bottom lip through his teeth. "Nah, more like a personal goal that I just realized I had."

Peter's lips twitched up into a wicked curl. "Just for me."

"Ah, don't make me keep talking!" Stiles cried, covering his face. "Jerk, I'm so horny, I'll say something stupid."

"You say plenty of stupid things when you aren't horny," Peter said, and Stiles pulled his hands away to shout at him, but he stopped. Peter was so close, hovering barely a few inches away, and when Stiles went to ask what had him looking so determined, he lunged in for a kiss and pressed the head of his dick against Stiles's hole at the same time.

Stiles grabbed onto Peter as he slid in, letting out short, quivering gasps into his mouth. So, Stiles liked sex, loved bottoming and being filled, and this took the cake. Peter was big, probably partly why he was such a jerk, and Stiles was going to worship that cock later. He scratched his nails down Peter's back once he was fully seated, delighting in the noise Peter made.


Peter seemed to get with the program after that, moving his hips hard and deep enough to knock little puffs of breath out of Stiles, but still dragged over his prostate. Stiles didn't know how he did it. He decided it was a werewolf thing before he just let his brain cells melt.

He tipped his head to the side for Peter's sucking lips and gasped like he was drowning, but in a good way. His dick was trapped between them, getting the washboard treatment on Peter's hard stomach, and that was just the best thing ever.

But then Peter started gasping and moaning against his skin, and Stiles decided that was the best thing ever.

Of course, he was wrong, as Peter lifted up on his hand and put his other under Stiles's ass as he braced on his knees. Stiles locked his legs over Peter's ass and gave a loud cry was he started to pound against him. Yup, best thing ever.

Then Peter started talking, a slew of dirty little growls about how gorgeous Stiles was, how wonderful he felt, how he had known this would be great. Best thing ever.

Maybe this whole thing was just the best thing. Stiles's brain was not comprehending thoughts, and that was fine. He was arching and moaning, his ass practically beaten into submission. He could feel his muscles tightening, starting at his toes and inching up his calves.

"Fuck, fuck, Peter, mm, Peter!" he cried, grasping at the sheet and twisting it in his fists as he legs began to shake. "Oh, shit, I'm--nn!"

"Do it, Stiles," came Peter voice, barely human, as his eyes burned blue. "I want to feel it."

Stiles hadn't known that the whole snapping into an arch like a bow thing when you come was legit because it hadn't happened to him before, but it did now. And oh shit was it awesome. He lost control of his body, letting out a sound that was probably close to a scream.

Peter’s arms went around him, and he was pulled up into his lap. He gasped into Peter’s shoulder was he was bounced, little bursts of pleasure going through his limp body with each powerful thrust. He felt Peter’s blunt teeth set against his shoulder, and he did his best to squeeze down on him, even with his brain splashing around in serotonin as it was.

Hips stuttering, Peter moaned hard against his skin. Stiles was pretty sure he could feel him coming. That was box, probably, so he checked that right off.

Stiles wanted to be horizontal on that soft bed and make friends with the pillows, but Peter seemed content to just hold them up and pant into his neck. Stiles made a little mn? noise and got his leg working to push against the bed, leaning. Peter replied with a mm and went with it.

“Timber,” Stiles sighed out as they went down, landing in a sprawl with Peter half on top of him. Stiles felt himself calm, his racing pulse coming down to a normal, Adderall user’s rate. His limbs slowly oozed out, feeling like they were weighted with sandbags. One hand was on the back of Peter’s head, fingers teasing the soft hairs at the base of his skull.

“Wow,” he decided after a long moment of just the sound of their breathing.

“Mm,” Peter agreed, nuzzling under Stiles’s chin and letting out a contented sigh.

One side of Stiles’s mouth pulled up, and he shifted to look down at Peter. “I knew I was right to call you ‘Cuddlewolf’ in my phone,” he said, and Peter let out a breathy laugh. “Gonna stay there forever?” A nod. “You’re heavy.”

“You’ll live.” Peter only got more comfortable.

“If you don’t move, I’ll start being annoying,” Stiles warned, scratching his nail lightly down Peter’s back.

Peter gave a shiver and a hum of delight. “I knew what I was in for going into this, so I think I can handle it.”

“Dunno, I have memorized the entirety of What Does The Fox Say?” He snorted when Peter slowly tipped his head up to look at him, brows pinched together.

“I don’t know what that is, but I’m sure I would hate it,” Peter said, shifting and slowly pulling out of Stiles to roll off of him. (How he had managed to stay in, Stiles would never know.)

“You would, you definitely would. Nobody likes it.” Stiles stretched out his limbs slowly, wiggling his toes. “It is a stain on the millennial culture.” He looked at Peter, who looked at pleasantly sleepy as he felt. “I like you,” he told him with a dopey smile.

“Thank you,” Peter said, dragging himself up to grab at the thick comforter at the foot of the bed. He flopped back and pulled it over them, right up to their ears.

Stiles giggled and scooted closer, snatching a kiss from Peter, who caught the back of his head and pulled him in for another. “I say a quick nap, and then round two.”

“I’m agreeable.” Peter rubbed his thumb along the hinge of Stiles’s jaw.

“After round four, we can venture downstairs for snacks.”

Peter snorted. “After round four, you will be suffering from truly fucked out jelly legs and I will have to go get the food.”

“Pff, God, your ego is so inflated I’m surprised you haven’t floated into orbit yet,” Stiles told him, so ready to fall asleep with the simple, gentle way Peter was touching him.

“Mm, well, I… Uh oh, here comes company.”

Stiles cracked one eye open in question, before both of his eyes opened wide. There was a calico cat peeking over Peter’s hair at him, her eyes big and her nose so cute and pink. “Hey there, Madam Snufflesnort,” he cooed at her, and she slowly sank down so only the tips of her ears were showing. “Aw, she’s shy.”

“Don’t worry. The other one isn’t.”

“Huh?” Stiles had his question answered fast, because a tiny ball of fluff and claws clambered up onto his shoulder and looked down at him. She was so small, composed of mostly tail and big eyes.

“Homigawd,” he breathed out, before he squealed as she took a misstep and tumbled down under his chin. He happily cradled her there, and she wiggled about, her whiskers tickling him, before she passed out like all babies did. “We’re definitely sharing custody.”

Peter chuckled, glancing at the mother cat as she peered over his neck to make sure her spawn was okay. His kissed her head, and that was the cutest damn thing. “You still have to name her, you know.”

Stiles yawned in response, rubbing his cheek against the kitten happily.

Later, after a nap, Stiles and Peter tried for that round two. But every time they tried to put the cats out of the room, the kitten dashed back in and bounded up onto the bed. Play was more important than sex, apparently.

Peter informed him that, no, he was not naming the kitten Princess Cockblocker.