Stupid-wolf
That smell is something that Stiles is intimately familiar with. Wet dog. He cracks open one eye and sees a hairy, furry mass stretched out across his freshly washed comforter. Great. And since the window is slightly open he can clearly hear the sound the rain smattering against the roof. Even better.
"Hey furball" he grouses, poking at the closest part of the wolf that he can reach and getting a tail thwacked across his face in retaliation. "I just made this bed you know" he grumbles. "The sheets were clean and fresh, not covered in hair and smelling of you." Peter looks thoroughly unimpressed by this and rubs his face back and forth over the fabric a couple of times, seemingly to make a point. Exactly what point he's trying to make is beyond Stiles' comprehension at the moment since he hasn't slept properly since forever so he settles for an annoyed sigh and then burrows back down under the covers, ignoring the smug wolf as he not so much drifts but plummets into sleep.
When he wakes up Peter is gone, the only trace of him ever being there is the fur all over his bed. He sighs and trundles down the stairs, bedlinen in a haphazard mess in his arms, as he makes his way to the bathroom and blindly shoves them inside the washing machine. When he reaches for the box of detergent however, his hand finds nothing but an empty shelf and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize that not only the detergent is missing but also the fabric softener. And that all the clean towels that he put up last night have been dumped in a heap on the floor. Barely resisting the urge to kick the washing machine, innocent in all this, he swears loudly and stomps off to get his phone and call Peter and yell at him. And who the hell steals detergent of all things? Stupid-wolf.
Before he finds his phone and can go full rampage on the wolf he finds something else instead. A whole bag full of detergent and fabric softener, standing on his kitchen table. It's the same brand that Peter uses, so expensive that it makes Stiles' head hurt just by thinking of the cost per wash. It's organic and softly fragranced and only made with natural ingredients and all that jazz. Everything a sensitive werewolf nose could want. Oh.
"Stupid-wolf" he grumbles. "If the scent was bothering you why didn't you just open your mouth and tell me? Why steal my detergent and get your wet dog-smell all over my bed? I had to re-wash everything you know."
"Wet dog-smell?" Peter looks so affronted that Stiles almost finds it hard to be mad at him anymore. Almost. But then his face softens into something so rare that Stiles almost doesn't realize what it is. Vulnerability. "I thought maybe you'd think it was weird" he blurts out quickly, far from his normal, confident self. And that's it. Stiles can't be mad anymore. He leans in for a kiss, just a soft peck on Peter's lips before burrowing close.
"I love you just the way you are, stupid-wolf."
