Author's Note: Hello, people. This is my first update this year, and I couldn't be more excited about it. I'm thinking about writing more of this universe. Chris/Peter/Stiles is absolutely my Teen Wolf OT3, and I would love to write more about their interactions. Tell me what you think.
It was an unfortunate meeting.
Stiles had a never-ending pile of books he needed to read at home. He had no time to be in the preserve wasting his precious time. However, Derek had scented an emissary from another pack crossing the borders of their territory, and so, when he read the message on his cell phone, despite having just found the perfect position on his favorite reading chair, Stiles got up and drove there. He made sure to arrive grumbling under his breath just so they all could hear his displeasure at being summoned that late on a sunday night.
Truth be told, as the pack's emissary, it was kind of Stile's job to be there, intermediating the meeting. Out of everyone in his pack, his presence was the most important one there, and so his grumbling could be—possibly—, perhaps, somewhat of an over-reaction on his part, but, hey, he never claimed to be a reasonable guy. Still, he slid next to his alpha, Lydia, Scott, and Erica, and did his thing, because, above all else, Stiles was fucking good at what he did.
The problem was that David—the new emissary from a medium-sized pack who came to ask for their help with a pixie infestation they currently had on their territory—was meeting another emissary for the first time in his life, and for some weird reason seemed to think that was more than enough reason for Stiles to agree to go out with him. No, scratch that. The problem was that fucking David couldn't take no for an answer, and it was grating Stiles' nerve.
His once polite refusals had grown colder and colder the longer they went unheard. And so, when Stiles finished explaining he was in a committed relationship for the third time, and still he could still see goddamn David opening his mouth to insist one more time, no one could blame him when the tip of his fingers started to glow just the tiniest bit red. Seriously, just one small hole on the guy's leg wouldn't make that much of difference in his life, right?
Before he could, though, Scott—big-mouthed, thick-headed Scott—decided it would be a great idea to open his mouth to say: "Stiles' boyfriend is a hunter, dude. If I were you, I'd back off before he gets here."
"Scott, shut u—"
"Oh," David exclaimed, opening his stupid mouth in a perfect O and widening his brown eyes. "A tall, much older hunter? Blue eyes and with a back tattoo?"
Stiles frowned. "Yes, that's Chris. Have you seen him?"
David nodded his agreement. "Unfortunately, yes, I have. I didn't wish to be the carrier of bad news…" He trailed off, allowing the words to die on his lips.
It was supposed to be for a more dramatic effect, Stiles was sure of it, but he didn't have the time to play games with that guy anymore. "What?" He snapped.
"I saw him… well, in a compromising position with another man on my way here," David finally explained, giving Stiles a pitying look. Probably seeing the surprised way in which his eyebrows rose on his face, he added: "I'm so sorry. You deserve better than that."
"You see, that's Pe—," Lydia opened her mouth to explain, in that no-nonsense tone that meant she, too, had enough of David's bullshit.
However, Stiles was far too pissed off for that. "Is that so?" He asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Smaller man? Blue eyes, black hair, werewolf?"
"Yes!" David agreed, shaking his head up and down rapidly in his enthusiasm to confirm. He looked delighted that Stiles believed him right away. "That's him."
Stiles felt the anger growing. "And they were making out, you say?"
"Quite intensely," He said, a small blush working its way up his cheeks. "Clothes off."
Oh, Stiles was going to kill both of them with his bare hands, and he was going to enjoy every minute of it.
"Stiles," Derek called his attention, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure they have—"
"Oh, shut up. I'm gonna kill both of them, and I'll start with Peter," he announced, shaking the hand off his body.
"I'll help," Lydia offered, casually, while checking her nails for chips.
"I don't think I'll need help," Stiles said, darkly.
That was the moment both men entered their field of vision, walking side by side toward the group. Unaware of the tension surrounding them, they carried on engrossed in their conversation about hunting, not sparring them more than a passing look. Chris had his crossbow hanging on his back and a gun strapped to a holder on his leg, but other than that, he looked as relaxed as he allowed himself to be out of the house, wearing only jeans, a black shirt, and boots. Peter, though, Peter went all out. He was barefooted, wearing loose-fitting jeans that had the button unpopped and nothing else. He had a shirt draped over his left shoulder exposing his chest to the cold air.
His badly bruised chest.
There was an enormous bite still healing on his right side, covering most of his ribs and part of his abdomen, while the rest of his chest was covered in smaller purple and green colored bruises.
"That's the one!" David almost yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Peter. "That was the werewolf I saw!"
The commotion drew the men's attention, and they both snapped their necks to assess the situation. By then, they were close enough that Stiles knew they couldn't run from him. Good.
"Oh, I know. Don't worry," he assured the puppy emissary before turning to face Peter, allowing almost all the emotions he felt to settle on his face. He made sure to go for the sweetest tone of voice he could. "How nice of you to join us."
"Stiles?" Peter asked, clearly cautious. His eyes jumped back and forth between him and David, trying to puzzle the pieces together. "What's the matter?"
"Uncle, perhaps you should—"
"Shut up, Derek," Stiles cut, sending a glare his way. "Stay out of this."
His alpha raised an eyebrow in response, conveying all his disapproval, but snapped his mouth shut anyway.
"Uhll, someone is in trouble," Erica sing-songed, not one bit concerned with the tension running around.
"Out of what?" Chris inquired. All the previous relaxation was fleeting his body as he assumed a more defensiveness stance.
"Good question, dear. Now, you see, our friend David here," Stiles began, mentioning to the guy in question, "had something quite...illuminating to share with us. It seems that, as he was walking here, he saw a truly graphic scene in his way. Can you guess what it was?"
Stiles saw the minute Peter realized what he was talking about. It wasn't difficult. His eyes widened and he repressed the step back Stiles could see he was dying to take. Fuck if Stiles hadn't caught both of them in the act and could now gladly shove it in their gorgeous faces.
When Chris opened his mouth to say something, David raised his hand first and went off. "Don't even deny. I saw you cheating on Stiles with this man! How dare you?"
"Yes, Chris. How dare you?" Stiles repeated, a predatory grin on his lips. "Quite the intense make-out session, too, I heard. Strenuous activity and all that."
"Now, see, Stiles, let's be reasonable about this," Peter caved in first, speaking before Chris spoke whatever it was that Stiles saw building on his lips.
"Reasonable? I cannot possibly be understanding you correctly. Did you just imply me being pissed off is… unreasonable?"
"Someone is sleeping in the dog-house today," Erica said. "I'm so glad I didn't miss this."
Peter growled at her. "I can still hurt you, Jelly-O."
"Dude, don't snap at her just because you fucked up," Scott said, angling his body to cover some of Erica's.
"Hey, don't even, wonder-boy, I can take care of myself, and you are not going to cover my view from this fuck-fest," Erica protested, shoving Scott away. She turned to Peter. "I think you're not in a position to be threatening no one, man."
"Stiles," Chris began, ignoring the mess around them.
"I'm hearing," Stiles acknowledged, waiting to see what he had to say, even if the red sparks never stopped flowing from his fingertips.
The man rubbed the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable. He then sighed, his shoulders dropping. "I may have given in to Peter's whining."
"I don't whine," Peter denied. "I protest. Strongly."
"You whine," Chris deadpanned. "And I caved."
Stiles pursed his lips. "That's the excuse you're going with? Seriously?"
"Yeah. He's right," David agreed, stepping closer to Stiles. When Peter growled in response to his proximity, the man frowned. "I can't believe you are growling at me! You are a horrible person. Stay away from Stiles! And you," he carried on, turning to Chris, "I can't believe you are justifying cheating on your boyfriend with whining. What the hell?"
"Oh, shut the fuck up, David!" Stiles snarled, waving his arms around and putting distance between them. Ignoring the shocked, indignant face of the emissary, he carried on. "God, I just wanted to read my damn books in peace. Instead, what do I get? This bullshit. I'm gonna kill you, Peter. I swear."
Maybe, just maybe, there might have been some flashier sparks coming out of his entire hand while he spoke, but Stiles was beyond carrying at that point.
"It's been three days, Stiles. I'm fine—," Peter began, finally taking that step back even as he tried to argue his case.
"You're fine? You are fine? Are you seeing your chest right now or are you fucking blind?"
"It's just a flesh wound—"
Stiles lost it. "YOU NEED THAT FLESH TO LIVE, YOU DICKHEAD!"
"I am, indeed, still alive."
Unbelievable. "Yeah. Because I saved your ungrateful ass, that's why."
Peter shook his head. "No, no. I'm very grateful," he said, and a grin made its way to his lips. "Very grateful, in fact. Perhaps I might show you exactly how grateful?"
"Are you being for real right now?" Stiles asked, incredulous. He ignored Erica's choked laughter.
"What can I say? You're hot when you are angry," Peter said, unrepented, leering at Stiles body.
"Is that why you insist on being impossible all the time?"
"I have no idea what you mean by that. I'm marvelous all the time, is what you must mean."
Stiles closed his eyes in concentration. "I'm gonna count to three, and when I open my eyes, this will all have been a delirium. I'll wake up in my living room, and you will not have ignored my express order to rest for another two days, and Chris will not have indulged you in the middle of the fucking preserve, and I will not have to deal with his shit."
A second of silence passed.
"Well, that seems like a waste of time," Peter drawled.
"You're a waste of my time," Stiles said, giving up and opening his eyes.
"You wound me."
"No, I haven't. Not yet."
"It might not be ideal for his recuperation if you hurt him right now," Chris spoke, wincing even as the words left his mouth as he realized how they sounded.
"But a wild fuck in the woods is nice and fine? What the fuck, Chris?" Stiles said, resting his hands on his hips. "I told you he needed to rest. He almost died on thursday. Almost fucking died."
"He said he wanted to take a walk. It didn't seem like a bad idea."
Stiles gave him a look. "How long have we been dating again?"
"Four years and eight months," Chris answered back dutifully.
"And how many of Peter's ideas have ever not turned out to be a bad idea?"
"Hey! I resent that," Peter said, grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his head. "All my ideas are great."
"No, they are not," Derek interjected from where he stood, calmly watching the scene unfolding before his eyes.
"You're supposed to be on my side, little nephew."
Derek shrugged. "Guess that says something about how shitty your ideas are, then."
"I wanna murder you," Stiles declared. "Both of you. Then revive you just to have the pleasure of murdering you again."
"Not sure how much of a fan I am of the whole being dead thing. I might pass on experiencing it again."
Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Funny you should say that, considering how eager you seem to get in harm's way."
"I don't think anyone would blame me for succumbing to Christopher's charm. If I must go, that would be my preferred way," Peter said, his eyes running over Chris' body's in clear appreciation, before turning to Stiles again. "Although we did miss your warm body between us."
"Ugh, dude, gross. Don't talk about Stiles' body like that," Scott grumbled, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
"Grow up, Scott. You're not sixteen anymore—people have sex," Lydia said, rolling her eyes. "If you're going to express your distaste, at least make it about the correct thing: having to imagine Peter in any sexual situation whatsoever."
"Is that repressed desire I hear?"
"To punch you? Absolutely."
"Testy," Peter tut-tutted.
"I feel like I'm missing something," David spoke almost under his breath.
Stiles had almost forgotten the guy was still there, quietly observing the exchange with a perplexed face, as though he couldn't quite understand in what language they were communicating. If Stiles hadn't been frustrated and amused despite it, he might have felt some sort of sympathy for the guy's cluelessness, however, at the moment, all he could manage was to keep himself from rolling his eyes.
"You think?" Erica asked, a brow raised.
"How are you not more upset with the situation?" He asked Stiles. "This is beneath the honor of an emissary."
"What did you say?" Peter dared, his eyes flashing.
"For the love of—," Chris began, exasperated. His patience for Peter's and Stiles' banter was more vast than anyone could've hoped for, honestly, but sometimes one could almost see the aura of exasperation clinging to his exquisite body. "What's your name, again?"
"David Black," he said, defensive.
"Mr. Black, I apologize for the scene you witnessed earlier today and for the misunderstanding that it may be causing, but allow me to clarify. I'm Christopher Argent and this is Peter Hale, and we're in a committed relationship."
David turned to face Stiles again. "Wait. But you…"
"Yes, yes. They are with me." Stiles waved away the concern. "That's not, at all, why I'm angry."
"But then the three of you…"
"What? Never heard of polyamory?" Erica questioned, always protective of anyone in the pack.
"I have-I, of course. I just—"
"You just what, boy?" Peter asked, his expression hardened.
"You're scaring him," Derek pointed out, rather matter-of-factly.
"Yes, the three of us are together, Mr. Black," Chris spoke again, polite as ever, even as the corner of his mouth turned up ever-so-slightly. If one hadn't been looking for it, it would've been impossible to see. "You may rest assured Stiles is not being disrespected in any way or form."
"Seeing as my orders were disregarded for a shag in the wildness, I would disagree," Stiles said, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
Peter smirked. "Oh no, not a shag. I think it would be an unfair evaluation of Christopher's performance to label it as such."
"This is absurd," David opened his stupid mouth again. "You… you would lower yourself to such—"
Four furious growls interrupted the rest of his sentence, and Peter took a step forward, baring his teeth. In an instant, Chris' arm was wrapped over Stiles' chest and pushing him sideways until he was standing behind the hunter's back, his hand going for the gun on his leg instantly.
"I suggest you reconsider your words," Derek said, although it sounded as though his suggestion was more of an order than anything else, if one was to judge by the red tinting his eyes.
"I suggest you leave." Peter's words came through his grit teeth.
"That's heartwarming and all," Stiles said from his place hidden behind Chris. "I don't need protecting, though." He side-stepped the hunter to face David. "Please leave our territory. You've ignored my dismissals all night, and it's rather tiring. As I've said, I'm not available, and even if I was, you wouldn't be my choice, trust me. So, yeah, before you get yourself killed, please leave."
David bristled, moving to grab Stiles' arm. "I'm an emissary, you cannot—"
Peter batted his arm away before it reached its destination. "You are about to be a dead emissary if you try to touch my mate again."
In a final attempt, he turned to Derek. "This is your pack, are you going to allow them to—"
God, the Hale's eyebrow game was so strong. It wasn't fair. Derek's expression remained the same, with only his left brow moving, and yet, it was more than enough to transmit his displeasure with the entire situation.
"They are, indeed, my pack, and, as such, I don't see how you would believe your word would have any weight around here. As my emissary said, please leave our territory. And inform our response to your alpha. I refuse to put my pack in danger for such poorly controlled people," he said, crossing his arms.
Before the guy could respond, Peter growled: "Now!"
It shouldn't have been funny. He surged forward, half shifting to his beta form, his eyes flashing ice blue and his fangs coming from out of his mouth as he growled angrily at the idiot. No doubts he made a terrifying picture. David certainly seemed to agree, because he jumped away, screaming in terror, a hand going to his heart a second before he turned around and ran away, not looking back even once.
Stiles lasted about fifteen seconds. He tried to hold back, knowing there was nothing particularly funny about the whole deal, but then Erica snorted, and he could hardly be called a controlled person, to begin with. So he lasted fifteen seconds before he broke down and started to laugh uncontrollably, bending forward to lean on his own knee.
"What a jerk," Scott said, unpuzzled, and it only served to draw another round of laughter from Stiles.
"This was amazing," Erica agreed. "We should do this more often."
"I don't think so. Not all of us have time to waste on this…," Lydia said, waving her hand around as she tried to come up with a good enough word to convey her dissatisfaction. "Crap," she said, shrugging.
"You're all a headache waiting to happen," Sourwolf complained, a hand going to rub his forehead. "I'm going home. Everyone at the house tomorrow for the pack meeting."
Erica jumped onto Derek's back the second he finished talking. "Give me a ride, will you? I came running."
He sighed, resigned. "Let's go," Derek agreed, hands going to her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his middle. "Anyone else?"
"My car's here," Lydia informed, looking at Erica. "I'll see you guys tomorrow. Tell Boyd I'll bring his art supplies, okay?"
"Sure, thanks."
"Let's go, Scott. I'll drop you home," Lydia said, already grabbing the boy's arm before turning to the three of them remaining. "No getting into any mess until the pack meeting. And for God's sake, Peter, have Stiles look at your back. You opened a wound."
Peter grinned. "Thanks for your touching concern."
"Bye, Lyd. I'll see you tomorrow," Stiles said, hugging her. He turned to Scott. "Dude, if you don't take my Mario Kart again, I'll be forced to take extreme measures."
His best friend smiled, rubbing the back of his head. "If you don't send me a message before the meeting I'll forget. You know me."
"Ugh, whatever. I'll text you. Now go," He waved them away.
When it was just him and his partners, Stiles finally turned to face Peter with his full displeasure stamped all across his face.
"Let's talk about this escapade…," he began, a wicked smile on his face as his eyes landed on Peter stomach, where he knew the man felt the most ticklish.
"Now, Stiles, there's no need for violence," Peter said, giving two steps back, his hands going to protect his stomach. "We can talk about this."
"I'm not sure we can, my love. Perhaps you just need the right kind of incentive."
"Wait, I can-"
"Nope," Stiles declared, starting to race towards Peter just as the man ran to the forest, already laughing.
"If he falls and breaks his neck I'm not the one telling Jonh, Peter!" Chris yelled at them, although it took only a few seconds before his steps could be heard coming to their direction.