An Adventure (Stiles Forgot his Handkerchief)
By RienFaitdeMoi
Wordcount: 7090 (this part)
Genre: Horror/Romance
WARNINGS: Dead bodies, noncon nonsexual touching, Stiles f-bombs a lot, and tons of gay sex.
Tags: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, but only for werewolves, Alpha Peter, Omega Stiles, Alpha/Omega, alternate universe - no Hale fire, light BDSM themes, Derek is kinda a jerk, orgasm denial, self-lubrication, anal sex, mating bites, biting kink, Stiles is 18, Talia is a badass, dubious consent, because Stiles wants it but Peter thinks his hormones are controlling him,
Summary: Hey Scotty old pal. Just… leaving a message. Anyways, I heard a crazy thing on the police scanner - which I was totally not listening to, btw - and there's half a body in the woods? So… we should hang.
Where Stiles is bitten instead of Scott, the Hale fire never happened, and what the fuck - Stiles' asshole is self-lubricating?
Also, Peter is a fucking smouldering twenty-five year old and he keeps calling Stiles beautiful.
(Derek is a dick)
Beep.
Hey Scotty old pal. Just… leaving a message. I'm a message leaver, like a stork but without the babies! Anyways, I heard a crazy thing on the police scanner - which I was totally not listening to, btw - and there's half a body in the woods? So… we should hang.
Before you say no, just remember that time I covered for you with Alison. And I was a scout, dude. No matter how many times you blow off my survival skills, I'm basically Bear Grylls.
Ugh…. I'm bored! Call me back.
Beep.
Stiles stares forlornly at Jessica, his beautiful iPhone, devoid of any friendly word. He heaves a dramatic sigh. The sound's on, but he still ends of tying his shoes three times with phone checkings in between.
He wants an adventure, dammit. It's been a fuck-week of boringness. Scott had his stupid one-year anniversary with Alison, and Stiles is itching for some bro-time.
Maybe he should make another friend.
Stiles shrugs on his windbreaker, supplied with a flashlight in each pocket and GPS-equipped Jessica.
The dark house next door barks to life with a turn of his key. "Hey, doggo." Alred's tail attempts to windstorm everything in its path, the newfie panting and quick to spring out the door.
His voluptuous Betty roars to life, rewarded with a pat on the dash and a couple paragraphs of encouragement. This is what happens when the Sheriff works night shift a week straight, Stiles… entertains himself, like only a single child can do.
Alfred pants dorkily in the passenger seat.
It's a fifteen minute drive to the hiking trail, more like thirty with all the backroads Stiles has to take. Nothing like having your vehicle known by every police officer in town.
The moon glows brightly, full and off-white. Stiles leashes Alfred and sets off.
This idea sounded more fun in his head. His sneakers squelch into a puddle three steps into the forest. Every sound makes him twitch: twigs breaking, animals moving, trees creaking.
He's totally gonna die. It would help if newfoundlanders weren't so… friendly. He'd feel safer with a pitbull or something.
Alred pants loudly into the night.
A twig snaps nearby, and Stiles almost jumps into the bifrost. Alred's leash tugs. Stiles points his flashlight down - the dog is lying down in the middle of the fucking forest.
Fuck this. Stiles takes out Jessica, quickly scrolling to the GPS app.
Red eyes appear out of the darkness, half a foot away from his face. Stiles' phone flies away into the unknown, the flashlight flailing in his hand as he screams.
The red eyes disappear, and Stiles is left with his ass in the mud and Alfred whimpering beside him - the stupidest attack dog to ever exist.
Stiles takes a deep breath. He's a manly man. Just exploring the woods like the manly man he is, everything is totally fine. That was… a fox. Sure, it was a cute little fox.
Alfred finally lets Stiles drag him back up to his feet. Stiles' legs are shaking enough to buzz up a smoothie, but he needs his GPS to get back.
See! He doesn't need Scott. Scotty would probably just whine and wheeze about the whole thing anyways. Stiles is ready to shit his pants; he doesn't need extra help in that department.
The heady scent of moss and dirt tries to suffocate him. Stiles stalks forward, hopefully this is where he threw his phone?
He shines the flashlight forward, ready for another sweep. Something flickers red at him.
His heart tries to strangle him, but it was just a reflection, right?
Alfred whimpers.
Stiles moves the light again, this time close enough to see what's making the reflection.
It's a corpse's eyes.
Stiles staggers back. It's not just a corpse, either. It's Scotty. He gasps in short breaths.
"Scott, buddy. This ain't a joke. Please -" Scott is cut at the waist, only his torso, arms and head laid out on the patch of grass like he's spread across an altar in League of Legends. He's waxen and blue, and it's obvious that Scott's not there anymore.
Stiles heaves out a sob. "What the fuck were you doing out in these here woods, man? I'm the stupid one, remember? Oh god, what about Alison?"
"You find half a body in the forest and you choose to cry over it? You deserve to die." A low voice says a couple of feet away.
Stiles tries to swallow back the tears, pointing his flashlight at the giant figure.
The man's eyes are bright blue, luminescent and strange with his clumsy features. He steps forward and grins, further screwing up his face - which lacks eyebrows while possessing fangs and long, pointed ears. His nails are long like an eagle's talons.
"I think another sacrifice is in order, don't you? Really show this stupid pack what to fear -"
Stiles bolts away, but Alfred's leash tugs him back. Fuck, he can't just leave him. It doesn't matter, the man's pushes Stiles up against a tree, claws biting into Stiles' collarbones. His breath is foul. Stiles releases the leash and prays that at least the fucking dog will make it out alive.
"You're a pretty one, aren't you?" A wet tongue drags up Stiles' cheek, and he gags, fighting the demon's arms.
"Get the fuck away from me."
"So he speaks," the man says into Stiles' neck.
"So do I. You're trespassing on Hale land, Sola." A low voice growls a couple of metres away.
The man seems to listen to the voice and takes his mouth away from Stiles. If he'd just fucking stayed home and played LoL like a good little teenager...
A claw curls into the thin skin underneath Stiles' collarbone. He squeaks as blood runs down his chest. The man turns him towards the other voice.
He can't fucking see a thing, his flashlight helpfully pointed into a tree trunk.
"They sent the left hand to deal with me, did they?"
"You deserve much less."
The claws tighten, and Stiles thrashes in the demon's arms. "You fucking sick rapist fuck, let me fucking go!"
"Shut up!" The demon releases one hand to drag his claws along Stiles' throat. The cut is deep and stings like a son of bitch. His breathing becomes more difficult.
"Sola." The voice is closer. "You've defiled the body of an innocent human, do not make it two."
Stars explode behind Stiles eyes. He slumps back. Maybe he'll see Scotty where he's going. Fuck, Dad is going to be so sad.
Then he finds his back crunched against leaves. Snarls echo close by. He flinches and presses a shaky hand to his neck wound. Pressure is supposed to help, right?
He wheezes, trying to army crawl towards the flashlight.
Something crunches down onto his wrist, and it snaps. Stiles screams. A wet spray hits his body. Something hits the ground.
"Not looking so good, little human." The second voice says. "What you doing out so late?" Strong arms slip underneath his body. Stiles lets out a fuck stupid squeak.
He's going to die. Everything is light - like he's surrounded by cotton balls. He presses his nose into a hard chest. Not like a cotton ball at all.
Wind spins by his face, the arms keeping him tucked into the warmth.
"Talia."
"Peter."
"The omega is taken care of."
"Mom, he's bleeding out-"
"Laura, calm yourself. Everything's going to be fine."
"You're going to -"
Something pierces Stiles' side. Hasn't he suffered enough?
It's time for sleep now. He'll wake up without stupid WoW monsters and Scotty will be just fine.
He let's darkness curl its hands around him.
o0o0o0o
Stiles' pillow smells of lavender, which leads him to gasping upwards from a bed that is certainly not his own.
"You're awake." The voice of Captain Obvious says from the corner.
Stiles shoves himself backwards into the headboard, curling into a ball. The room is three walls of glass, sunlight bright on the man's smirk.
Stiles sneaks his hand up to his collarbone and throat, brushing fingertips along healed skin. "While the whole creepy guy in a leather jacket schtick is hot, I make a horrible kidnappee, so you should like, let me go. I'm told I'm incredibly irritating."
"Hmm." The man cocks his head the side. "Talia will be in soon. She'll explain everything to you."
"Dude, my dad's gotta be worried sick, and Scotty will notice when I don't show up for school."
"You remember last night, don't you?"
Stiles sucks in a breath, staring at handsome features all too serious. "It was a dream." He curls his knees in tighter to his chest.
"Come on, little runt; you're smarter than that."
The door opens, and a tall, muscular woman walks into the room, eyes immediately honed in on Stiles.
Stiles squirms. "Did Alfred live?" His voice shakes despite his best efforts.
The woman cocks her head to the side, layered black hair falling over her shoulder. "Who's Alfred?"
"My neighbor's dog. Apparently he's not actually great protection when you decide to night-bushwack." Stiles swallows. Maybe it didn't happen.
She looks back at the man in the corner. He smirks. "Little doggie ran all the way home, runt."
"Ignore him." The woman turns back to Stiles. "My name is Talia Hale. What's your name?"
"Mieczysław." He manages a grin.
The man snorts.
Talia's features soften. She sits on the corner of the queen sized bed. "Your injuries were severe when Peter brought you in. You're the sheriff's kid, aren't you?"
"Yeah, so he'll bring the whole force looking for me. It will be super dramatic like Gotham car chases or something, so you should let me go." Stiles sucks in a breath, trying to press himself into the headboard.
Talia's warm smile doesn't relieve his fear. "As soon as you're no longer a danger to anyone."
"Which is not happening anytime, kid."
"I'm not a fucking danger to anyone. You kidnapped me after I was attacked beside my best friend's half corpse." Stiles bolts for the door.
The man blocks the doorway, shoulder nearly the width of the frame itself.
Stiles hurls himself at him, screaming. His body burns, nails piercing into his keeper's shoulder. But the man holds him still with a smirk, arms like a straightjacket around Stiles' body, captured in a second.
Talia walks behind Peter. Raises a mirror to Stiles' eye level.
The burning sweeps away as he gasps for breath. His eyes are bright yellow and shining, canines sharpened and ears elongated. Somehow, he's one of them.
"You can let him go now, Peter."
The arms release him. Stiles stares too close into a face like his, though Peter's eyes are a gleaming blue.
"What do Americans call you, honey?" Talia gently uses his arm to sit him on the bed. Her eyes are sharp and fierce, flashing a brief red.
Stiles stifles the urge to bare his throat (what the fuck?). "Stiles. You're going to let me go once I can't hurt anyone, but what about my dad?"
"He's been informed of the situation. He's visiting this evening."
"Dude, like the situation where my eyebrows randomly disappear and my nails turn into claws is totally information he just accepted within a phone call."
"Your father knows about the supernatural. He works with us."
Stiles exhales heavy. "I need to slam my fucking head against cement for a century for this to make any sense."
"Stiles," Talia gives him a small smile, "just let yourself take it in. We're not kidnapping you, but you're part of my pack now, and we need to make sure you and the people you're around are safe."
"That makes sense."
"Good. Peter will explain it further." Her fingers deftly tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. A flash of mother softens Stiles like butter. It would be so nice to lay his head on her lap and pretend she was her.
Peter smiles, closing the door behind Talia. "It's best if you remember that my sister is Alpha, runt. Hurt any of us and she will discipline you accordingly."
Stiles stares down at his hands. Claws break through, a couple inches long and sharp. "Why did Sola kill Scott?"
"Good listener." A flush spreads through Stiles' at the compliment. Peter smiles, a stark difference to his previous expression. "A Sola is a wolf without a pack. He thought showing his immense strength in killing a defenseless human child would give him an in to ours."
Stiles wrinkles his nose. Scott's body had been so… mangled. His skin was green and lifeless, body reeking with a scent that hasn't left Stiles' nose.
He bolts for the garbage can beside the bed, hot bile spilling down his throat. When he can finally stop wretching, he stands and wipes his mouth with the pajama sleeve.
Peter leans against the doorframe. His blue eyes sting sharp and unnatural. "Ask your questions, runt."
"Do I have to worry about full moons? Am I gonna like, eat people or some shit? When did you become a werewolf? How many people are in this house? Can the werewolfness only be spread through a bite? Are you gay?" Stiles takes a deep breath, widening his eyes and attempting to look as innocent as possible.
Peter chuckles, though his eyes refuse to leave Stiles. "Full moons make you wilder, but you're still in control. You should never want to eat people. I was born a werewolf. I have one nephew and two nieces living here. You become a werewolf because you were born that way, or because you were bitten, but bites only have 50% chance of taking, otherwise you die. Yes."
Stiles can't stop his full-on grin, Scotty so far away. He has to make him stay that way. "Is your job head loomer of the family? You seem to excel at it."
Peter leaps forward, pinning Stiles to the bed. His mouth is hot on his neck. Stiles fights the urge to bare his throat further. His dick hardens.
"How old are you?"
"Eighteen. You?"
Peter pulls back. His eyes burn into Stiles. "Twenty five."
Stiles stifles a groan as Peter releases him. "Let me go outside and fucking smell the roses."
"You don't have further questions?"
"They can be answered in direct sunlight, as long as we're not like Twilight vampires or something." Stiles smiles wide in what he hopes is an innocent grin.
Peter long fingers grip Stiles' wrist, gentle but locked like a warning. "Follow me."
The hallway is wide and made of gleaming maple. How big is this house? A deep red door opens.
A sleep-eyed man scratches his scruffy five-o'clock shadow. He straightens at the sight of Stiles. "Derek." He stretches out his hand.
"Stiles." Derek's hand is large and calloused, less elegant than Peter's.
"With that awkward introductions, I'm taking the runt out to play. Clean yourself up, Nephew."
Peter pulls Stiles away. Talia doesn't look old enough to have a kid his age. Act normal. Shoulders back, breathing even, smile innocent.
They make it to the back door without any further meetings.
A cymbal crashes, sending Stiles hurtling to the floor. He whimpers through the pain. His fingers dig into his ears, striving to block out the jackhammer driving through his skull.
"Focus on me, runt. Laura's doing the dishes, so get yourself back into this room. Can you find my heartbeat?" Peter's hand curls around Stiles' neck.
Stiles goes limp. Peter is so warm, his heartbeat booming languidly, his breath hot on Stiles' hand.
He pushes himself up, such an idiot. "Sorry for the whole stop drop and roll there. I can assure you I'm much worse in times of actual crisis."
"I've seen it." Peter's eyebrow is raised, and he somehow looks even more poised. His facial hair is perfectly trimmed. What would it feel like against Stiles' jaw?
"I'm good. We can keep going."
Peter's hand returns to its place, thumb rubbing where a cat's scruff would be. Stiles' body beats to the beat of Peter's heart, warm and tingly all over.
He follows Peter outside, quickly sobering to the thought of Scotty's body and the attack. "Did you bury him?"
Peter's hand drops from his neck. It feels cold. "We gave the part of the body you found over to your father. It will be ruled an animal attack."
Stiles breathes in deep and tries to control the shaking. Peter looks out into the forest, and it's the best moment he'll get.
He bursts forward with every bit of Lacrosse speed he's got. Scenery whips past him faster than ever before. His lungs feel like he could go for miles.
Arms catch him around the waist, tackling him to the ground. Peter flips him over. Holds Stiles wrists as he squirms and screams.
"Stupid fucker, let me go!"
Peter leans close, and it's obvious that for all Stiles' new strength he couldn't get out of the hold on a good day. "We are not the enemy, runt."
"I'm not a fucking runt." Instinct spits through Stiles' body, and he clamps his teeth around Peter's neck. Blood rushes into his mouth.
Peter forces him away, grabbing his wrists and pinning them above his head. He bares his fangs at Stiles. "Calm down. We'd let you go tonight if you could control yourself."
A single drop of blood spills from the bite. It heals over in a crescent, not fully disappearing.
Peter presses his tongue flat against Stiles' neck, and somehow all it does is make him shiver. "Do you know what you just did?"
"I bit you like a fucking vampire?"
"You claimed me, runt." Teeth pierce Stiles' neck. He whimpers and squirms in his bonds.
"Not to be like, a whiner or anything, but - ah - you can let go anytime now. No turning the other cheek for you, eh?"
Peter licks the wound and pulls away. His eyes shine unnatural blue. "How about this? You instigated a mating bond by biting me, and I returned the favour."
Stiles swallows. "I didn't think wolf instincts worked for gays."
Peter slowly releases Stiles' wrists, thumb brushing over the area before he stands. He hauls Stiles to his feet. Presses a wet kiss to his cheek.
"I should be freaking out right about now, shouldn't I?"
"It seems to be coming in waves with you."
Stiles gives him a slow blink. "You bit me back."
"That did happen."
"And it's time for you two to come and get some breakfast." Talia's arms are crossed, chin high. Her eyes narrow at Peter. "We need to discuss the fact that you mated an eighteen-year-old boy without his consent."
All Peter does is grin. He's so fucking rugged handsome. Stiles hasn't been so weak for a person since he was sixteen and still trailing after Lydia. And that doesn't compare to this - he's gay as fuck.
Stiles trails after the two Hales, hands shoved in his pockets. "Do you think I'll be in control enough to be at Scott's funeral?"
Talia turns to him. "We'll see what we can do."
The house is beaming with smells, and Stiles almost hits the floor again from the brunt of it. Sausage and pancakes and eggs, all beautiful and causing drool out the side of his mouth.
A beautiful twenty-something woman sets the table with Derek, her honey-blond hair pulled into a silky ponytail. Her looks rival Lydia's.
The woman's smile fades when she sees Stiles. A plate shatters against the floor. "Uncle Peter, you can't be serious."
Derek's eyebrows pinch together. He grabs the broom and throws it at the woman (who catches it gracefully). "You mated him." He growls.
"Hey, how's it going everyone. Just reminding the wolfies talking about me like I'm not here that I am, and I bit him first." It's admittedly not Stiles best moment, especially because he finds his back against a wall, and a wolfed out Derek growling in his face.
"Derek." Talia spits, a whole new register to her voice, but Peter's already thrown his nephew halfway across the large dining room.
Stiles shoulders throb. Peter's fingers dance over the mating bite, and he kisses Stiles' forehead. He slumps against the wall, all the adrenaline leaving as fast as it came.
"Do you not trust me to ascertain whether a new pack member is true or not?" Talia asks.
"He was a grade behind me in high school." Which goes to show how observant Stiles is, because Derek has a face he should remember.
Stiles tucks his nose into Peter's neck, inhaling the comforting scent.
"Everyone, sit down. Please."
Peter steers Stiles into a chair beside him, between Talia and himself (probably the safest place to be right now).
"Laura, this is Stiles Stilinski. You were there when Peter brought him in - do you think he bit him for some nefarious reason?"
The beautiful woman stares like she's trying to peek into Stiles' soul. "We never know for sure."
"Um, I know pretty well that I don't just go around vampiring everyone because I'm a bit peckish, you feel me? It was definitely a major whoopsie."
The entire family raises their eyebrows at his. Yup, definitely hereditary.
Derek's face darkens further. "Any true wolf has enough self-control to not mate the first compatible wolf they see."
Stiles' stomach drops. Peter's hand curls around his thigh.
"Remember, Nephew, that Stiles is a one-day-old wolf."
"Mating doesn't happen by accident."
"Derek." Laura rolls her eyes. "We were a grade ahead of Stilinski, do you not remember an important detail?"
"I didn't spend my high school career trailing after nerds."
"Hi, I'm Stiles. I have severe ADHD. No idea if that transfers over to a sudden species change, but like, dude, get your dick out of your ass."
Laura chuckles.
Peter's stare burns harder into Stiles. He squirms.
"We haven't heard any stories of how mental disorders changed after the bite." Talia says. "So Derek, you will treat our new member with respect."
"Can you we talk about the second elephant in the room?" Laura smiles at Peter with an edge of violence. "You bit the eighteen-year-old back."
"He's mine." Peter bares his teeth.
Stiles stifles a shiver. Who needs masculinity anyway? He'd gladly sacrifice it if Peter would fuck him against a wall. Fuck. He's getting hard.
"Can we like, take a step back for a second? 'Cause I get y'all are all fucking torn about the bites and shit, but I'm super hangry and I kinda feel like I could rip someone's throat out even though I'm pretty pacifist all the way and fuck -" Peter's fingers dance around Stiles neck, before steading him with a trace down his cheek.
The gentleness coaxes Stiles anger to gather in a boil in his belly. He shifts in his chair.
Laura laughs, and Derek's eyebrows attempt to collide as his features scream his disapproval.
Talia pinches the bridge of her nose. "Feed your mate, Peter. I don't think this topic was going anywhere anyways."
"I'm going for a run." Derek pushes his plate away and stomps out the door. "Maybe they'll have fucked it out of their system by the time I get back."
Laura wrinkles her nose at him and waves her middle finger.
"I apologize, Stiles. It seems my children have forgotten their manners today." Talia manages to look sincere yet entirely badass as she eats her bacon. Did she come from Krypton or some shit?
"I've been shoved in enough lockers to be able to stand a xenophilic werewolf." Stiles shoves a syrup soaked pancake in his mouth and moans at the taste.
Everyone is staring at him.
Peter's eyes are dark and full. "Now you can stuff them back."
Stiles laughs. "Their shoulders sooo wouldn't fit. You don't have to look so pissed off; I graduated in February. These pancakes are so good, oh my god."
"Thanks." Laura gives him a wide smile.
"Peter, please stop plotting the deaths of school children." Talia says.
He does look particularly violent. Stiles shouldn't be attracted to that. Peter's a perfect figure to slot into Stiles' jock fantasies, where someone like Jackson goes to bully him and they have sweaty hot gay sex instead.
"Dude, I'm like, so over it. I'm gonna Bill Gates shit up, and they're gonna be sorry."
Laura's laugh booms. Talia smiles.
o0o0o0o
Laura takes Stiles to the beginning of the forest, a peaceful edge of grass where they lean up against trees and Stiles tries to ask enough questions to forget.
"The Alpha's the head of the pack. That's Talia. Almost everyone else are Betas. She's got a left hand, like the first mate on a ship, that's Peter. Your smell usually gives you away, you kinda remind me of -"
"Talia wants to see you." Peter leans up against a tree, smirking at Stiles.
"Me?" Laura throws her long honey-blonde hair over her shoulder. Her eyebrows raise. "You're not just jonesing for alone time with your mate?"
"Your generation older boyfriend is at the gates and experiencing the Alpha-interrogation. I suggest you get going."
Laura jumps to her feet. "Bye Stiles. " And disappears within seconds.
"Does that like, happen often?"
Peter sits down in Laura's spot, their feet inches away. The trees they lean against tangle boughs together like lovers. "The age gaps?"
Stiles nods.
"More often than in the human world, I suppose. We've got a much better way of measuring compatibility." That word should not sound so fucking sexy.
"What was Laura going to say?"
Peter crawls forward on all fours. Stiles tucks his knees into his chest and tries not to make a sound as Peter's breath mingles into his.
"Had Laura gotten to sense control yet?"
"No."
Peter gently curls his hands into Stiles armpits and lifts him to his feet.
The forest stretches out in front of them, lush from fall rainstorms. Greenery bangs through Stiles' nostrils, fresh and tangy.
Those hands heat Stiles' shoulders, spreading a throb through his body, pooling in his groin. Breath fans his ear.
"Tell me what you hear."
"Well, I know there's a squirrel in that tree, and I've decided to name him Wayne, Bruce Wayne, because he sounds so fucking suave when he throws those nuts down, you know?" Stiles inhales, ready to continue.
"Darling, there's a large animal thirty feet to your right. Can you hear it?"
Stiles shivers. "All I can hear is your mouth breathing."
"You need to be able to pinpoint sounds even during… distraction." Peter's lip brushes Stiles ear.
Stiles clenches his fists at his sides. Avoids the urge to press back into Peter's hard body. He inhales deeply.
Scratching, snorting, big hooves and light bones. The animal makes a sound -
"It's a moose."
"Very good." Peter's hand slides over Stiles' hipbone, thumb tracing the bone through skin and cloth.
Stiles keens, finally giving in. "Please."
Peter chuckles. "Catch him for me."
Stiles bursts forward with every bit of power he's got. He almost hits a tree, more than once, used to gangly limbs and stuttered steps.
The moose snorts a couple of metres away, then Stiles lands right on a branch, snapping it with a loud crack.
The moose bolts. Stiles pushes forward, the earth like a trampoline for him to propel himself off of.
His fangs snake out, claws breaking through his fingers. He's powerful.
Until his foot hooks on a root, and he falls to the ground. Stiles curses. Pushes himself up and tries to reach forward with his hearing once again.
"You lost him."
Stiles groans. Crosses his arms and turns to Peter. "I'm fucking clumsy, okay dude? I'd be one of those wolves that the momma just shoves out into the world and they die in a couple of seconds."
"What kind of grades did you get in high school?"
"Um," Stiles shifts his weight to the other foot. Peter's suddenly very close. "4.0, but I went to a public high school, dude. That shit is easy."
"I failed twice. Had to get my GED instead. Never managed post."
"You're fucking with me."
Peter cocks his head to the side. "Strategy and hand-to-hand combat are not subjects commonly offered in high school."
"You've got a huge library."
"Which I share with the family and read through very, very slowly. Did you ever fail a subject?"
Stiles swallows and retreats a step. His back hits a tree. Peter is intense, his eyes dark, feet prowling forward. "Never."
"Then give yourself a couple years with me. You'll be hunting by my side in no time at all, little runt."
Stiles turning his head to the side. He can't keep eye contact. Fuck, he just bared his neck.
Peter presses his teeth lightly against the mark. Hot white spills across Stiles' vision. He barely manages to hold back an orgasm. Fuck.
"I don't like when you call me that."
Peter pulls back. Slides his hand around Stiles' chin so he has to meet those blue eyes again. "What do you prefer? Baby boy?"
The heat twists violently in Stiles' stomach. He shakes with it. "Please."
"What do you want?"
"Kiss me?"
"Mom wants you back at the house. The Sheriff is here." Derek seems just as unhappy about the interruption Peter, whose growl courses through his throat like a crashing waterfall.
Dad stands awkwardly beside Talia, his hat clasped in front of his stomach. The lines of his face are sharper than before.
Stiles deflates. Scott's dead. An insane werewolf tore him apart. The wave of grief tries to knock him over. Bile sneaks up his throat.
Peter's hand slips over the small of his back, and Stiles manages to push the vomit back down.
"You've had quite the adventure, haven't you, son?"
Stiles bolts forward into his father's arms. It's nice and warm here, and he smells like mint chewing gum and fries.
"I've got you."
Talia and Peter whisper in the background. Stiles ignores it for the steady sound of Dad's heartbeat.
It's a couple of minutes before Stiles can bring himself to pull away, and even then he tugs Dad into the living room and onto the couch beside him. "Do you know when the funeral is?"
"Sunday. Mrs. McCall wanted it done as soon as possible, and the school is organizing a wake on Friday afternoon."
Stiles sucks in a deep breath of dust and Dad. "I invited him to find his own fucking body."
"It was done before you set foot in that forest. None of it was your fault."
Stiles leans back into the couch, his eyes trying to close. It's the first time all day he's felt safe enough to feel tired.
"We need to discuss some things with you and your father, Stiles." Talia says.
He blinks and straightens. Talia and Peter are seated across from them. If Peter keeps looking at Stiles like that he's gonna get an erection in front of his father. Fucking hell. Isn't he supposed to be struck by how childlike and stupid Stiles is, huddled in his father's arms?
Talia leans forward, hands folded. "It was Peter's job to educate Stiles on werewolf culture today."
"What did he do?"
"Hey!"
Dad turns to him with a raised eyebrow, and Stiles has to slump guiltily back into his seat.
"He and Peter seem to be very compatible, and the desire was too strong for him to resist." Talia's gaze flicks down to Stiles neck.
Dad pulls Stiles' tee shirt collar to the side. "He mated you?" He springs to his feet, finger closing in on Peter's chest. "You and me, outside."
"You can't hurt him," Stiles manages to say, his heart squeezing in his chest. "Dad, dad!" He uses his new strength. Grabs his father's arm and tugs him away from Peter.
Dad is breathing heavy, his heartbeat racing. Stiles curls his hands around his shoulders so he won't look at Peter. "If you hurt him in any way, my wolf will attack you fucking Superman quick. It's my fault. I bit him first."
Dad's shoulders slump. "You have the self-control of a goldfish."
"And you ate a big mac before you came here. Don't you point fingers."
"You, leave the room before I change my mind." His father points to the door.
Peter turns to Talia, who nods. He exits, but not without searing Stiles once more. Stupid handsome fucker.
"Son, you're in a very vulnerable place right now, and you have so much to learn."
"We'll have Laura take over Stiles' teaching."
"He taught me shit loads. Just because we nearly made out while that happened doesn't mean he's a bad teacher."
The Dad look is going strong. "Stiles."
"I… I can feel every breath he takes."
"The bond is the strongest I've seen since -" Talia takes a deep breath. "We shouldn't make any attempt to keep them apart. I know it's hard with him being this young, but this is where the chips fell."
Dad swallows, raking a hand through his hair. He turns to Stiles. "You don't let him do anything you don't want, you hear me? Take it slow."
"You're just going to let me -"
"Werewolves have different culture from humans. Mating bonds are incredibly important and prized." Talia says gently.
Stiles just shivers. Lethargy slams into him like a freight train. He leans his head on his father's shoulder. "This is weird."
"You're gonna be fine, kid." Dad rubs his back, but his voice shakes.
Stiles is too tired to contemplate it further. He's a fucking narcoleptic grandma. Why can't he stay awake long enough to say goodbye?
Sleep presses into his brain, so he does.
o0o0o0o
The house is too quiet, only the occasional creak to slam through Stiles ears when he least expects it. Sheets twist around his body like an anaconda. He's hot and sweaty and burning.
Peter's even breathing is only a hallway away. His heartbeat is powerful. Stiles wants an ear against his chest.
Stiles extricates himself from the bed's grip, padding to the door in bare feet and boxers.
He tiptoes down the hall, careful to avoid the squeaky floorboards. Peter's door is plain except for a small paint handprint at the same height as Stiles' knee.
His knuckles rap gently against the door.
It creaks open. Peter runs a hand through scruffy hair, sticking it up like quills.
"Holy fuck, those glasses are hot."
Peter tugs Stiles into his room. Corners him against the door. "Insomniac?"
"Wanna kiss you so bad." Stiles sways forward. Peter's features are harshly shaded by a desk lamp. His room is tidy and clean, perfect for fucking.
Stiles finds his back on the bed, Peter straddling his hips, fingers coaxing along his stomach. Stiles is instantly hard. "Please please please." He tries to crunch upwards for a kiss, but Peter holds him down by the shoulders.
"You'll get a kiss when it's time. Will you be a good boy?"
Stiles shudders at the word. "Yes, yes, yes!"
"Good." Peter's lips fasten around a nipple, and Stiles arches up so quickly Peter has to tighten his grip to stay seated.
He tries to gather every bit of self-control left in his body, but his dick is throbbing and his stomach twisting. "Peter."
Lips fasten around Stiles' other nipple. His hips kick forward. Peter hovers higher, no relief for Stiles.
"Beautiful." Fingers slide over the waistband of Stiles' boxers. "Stay."
Peter stands and chucks off his light cotton tee and pajama pants, leaving bronzed skin and hip bones revealed for the licking. His plain black glasses slap into a case.
Stiles is crawling towards him before he can think.
"What was the one thing I told you to do?"
But he's overheating. Stiles squirms. Kicks off his boxers before getting back in position. His dick leaks precome on his stomach, flushed pink and aching for a hand.
Peter crawls over him. Stiles swallows. Peter's cock is large and thick. It would fill him up so good.
A closed mouth kiss against his throat sends Stiles spiraling once more. "Please." Peter sinks his teeth into the mating mark, and Stiles has to bury his hands under his back to keep from touching.
"Is this what you wanted when you snuck down the hall, baby boy? Wanted me to sink my teeth into you?"
Stiles blinks up at him. He can't help himself, bringing a hand up to trace from Peter's temple to his chin. His skin is so soft; the gristle of his beard would feel so nice against Stiles' thighs.
Peter smiles.
Their lips slam together. Teeth clank before they find a rhythm. Stiles' squirms under Peter's strong hands. Peter's tongue slides across his, and Stiles stomach clenches so hard he almost comes.
Peter returns to Stiles' neck, sinking his teeth into the unmarked side and finally sliding his lower body against Stiles'.
"Uh, porn does not prepare you for what this feels like - oh my god fuck me please."
Peter pulls back just when his dick was so close to Stiles'. "You're a virgin."
"That wants you to put it in him, please please please." Stiles lunges forward.
Peter pushes him down with a closed mouth kiss against his lips. "Your self-control is impaired by the change." He slides off the bed and grabs his pajamas.
"What are you doing? You think I'm beautiful." Stiles widens his eyes and sticks out his lower lip. It's definitely a time for the puppy dog eyes.
"You can't give consent right now."
"What the fuck? I want this so fucking bad. How is that not consent?" It's fucking stupid. Stiles jumps to his feet, trying to steal another kiss.
Peter's hands are so strong around Stiles' shoulders. "We can't." Fucking gentle eyes.
"We can." Stiles bares his neck like his instincts so violently want him to do.
Peter's scent grows headier. "Stop testing me."
"Just one last kiss, please? One last kiss and then I'll climb back in bed like a good boy."
Expression wavering, Peter drifts forward. It's simple, close-mouthed and still hot enough to make Stiles twitch. He's so close.
Peter's hands slip down Stiles' body, tracing down his spine and stopping just shy of his ass.
"Touch me please."
Peter's eyes are swallowed in black. A single finger dips between Stiles' cheeks. The arousal disappears for eyebrows slamming together. "You're wet."
"My dick has been leaking for the last ten minutes. Peter."
"No. You're an Omega." Peter takes his hands away.
Reality tries to knock at Stiles' door. He's aware of something wet dripping down his thighs. What did… is he bleeding?
Stiles wipes a finger along his thigh and then brings it up to his face. Clear, with the texture of oil. "Is this another werewolf thing you forgot to mention?"
"Yes." Peter stalks behind him.
Stiles' ass cheeks are pulled apart, and his hands slam into a dresser in front of him for balance. The heat slams back into him. "Peter."
A large thumb presses in easily. Stiles shoves his hips back to take it further. "More."
Peter exhales, his breath hitting Stiles' ass. He takes his finger away.
"What are you doing? I'm saying yes with caps lock on, dude." Stiles wraps his arms around Peter's neck. "You need to get these clothes off again."
Large hands fit perfectly around Stiles' hips. "Go back to your room. We'll discuss this in the morning."
Stiles blinks. His head clears enough for him to step away. "Sorry. Fine. Sorry." He slips his boxers back on (instantly sticky, gross) and closes to door as lightly as possible.
How stupid is he? Yeah, Peter wants to have sex with him, but it's just lust, isn't it? As soon as he spilled the beans about being a virgin Peter pulled away.
Stiles locks himself in the bathroom. Tries not to knock anything over as he climbs in the shower. It feels so trespassy to just hop in here and use the soap and shampoo, even if Talia had assured him it was only for the guest room.
He turns the knob all the way cold, but the heat underneath his skin refuses to quiet. He scrubs at the oil on his legs, on his ass cheeks, and can't stop slipping a finger inside himself.
It was difficult before, but he'd been an expert on the lube and zucchini routine. Now his body has done it for him. Fuck, this is strange.
He rests his head on his arm and adds another finger. Curls them around until, uh, Stiles lets his face screw up, thighs twitching.
His free hand curls around his dick. That's all it takes for Stiles to come harder than he has in his entire life. The sparks roll through him with aftershocks. He writhes and barely keeps himself upright.
He chases the come down the drain, making sure to thoroughly wash himself everywhere. He has to fight the temptation to slide his fingers inside himself again. Would the handle of that brush fit?
No. Go to bed.
o0o0o0o
Was going to try to post this all in one go, and then it turned into a novella. So… hopefully just a few parts? Idk sometimes plot beats me upside the head with a frying pan.
I've got a Harry/Tom fic going pretty steady right now, so no promises on next update timing.
Please comment what y'all think!