A/N: Wrote the second part of this while I was in speech class. Inspiration comes at the most inconvenient times- while you're supposed to be doing something else, like learning, or sleeping. I'm glad the way this turned out though. I appreciate all of your support so far, lovelies, but also, don't be afraid to tell me what you think! Motivation goes a long way. And I promise, I don't bite, and I take all of your comments into consideration while writing.
Disclaimer: I do not own the MTV series Teen Wolf, or any of its characters.
Isaac and Boyd were already sitting at the counter when Stiles wandered into the living area. There were four stools, and the two betas had selected the the first and second ones. Stiles eagerly climbed into the third, not wanting to sit on the outside where he could be vulnerable to Peter's wayward touches.
It was horribly awkward. Stiles tried to ignore Peter's eyes, the way they roamed over his body as he sat down. He also tried to ignore Derek's eyes, burning a hole into his back, intently watching the way Stiles interacted with Peter.
"Where are Lydia and Allison?" Stiles asked, attempting to break the silence that encompassed the group.
"With Ms. Blake," Peter answered. "Derek thought it would be more appropriate for them than staying here with older gentlemen and a bunch of teenage boys."
Stiles swallowed thickly and nodded at the counter, unable to meet the beta's eyes. He didn't realize that was an act of submissiveness, and Peter was pleased with it all the same.
"What do we do now?" Isaac inquired. "Are we really just going to hole up? Hide away like cowards?"
"They're all alphas. Do you really want a repeat of our last fight, where I nearly ended up dead?" Derek snapped. "No, we're going to train. We'll be ready for an attack, but we aren't going to take the offensive unless absolutely necessary."
"What would necessitate us attacking them?" Peter asked, cracking an egg into his skillet.
"If they take a hostage," Derek replied.
Peter merely shrugged. "Only the weakest get taken. If they are such a liability, they are hardly worth fighting for to get back."
There was that word again. Liability. Was he referring to Stiles, as he had been last night?
Derek seemed to sense the way Stiles stiffened and then curled in on himself. "What if it were Stiles?"
Peter had been stirring pancake batter, but now he stopped and regarded Stiles, who had been looking to Peter for a response. Their eyes met, Stiles' trying not to be pleading but failing, Peters' thoughtful.
"Well of course we would save him," Peter announced, going back to his pancakes. "He may not be the strongest of the group, but given the intelligence of your young, hormone-consumed betas, he's certainly the smartest."
Stiles couldn't help the flush that creeped up onto his face. He glanced at Isaac and Boyd, to see their reaction to the whole exchange. Neither of them seemed to have noticed the fond tone in which Peter spoke of Stiles, nor were they upset at being insulted for their intelligence. They were hungrily eying the food Peter was preparing, and were practically drooling onto the countertop.
Scott finally emerged from the bathroom and flopped down in onto the stool next to Stiles. Stiles was blushing down at the counter, feeling like he was going to melt out of his skin.
"Dude, what's up?" Scott asked, yawning. "You look weird."
Stiles wanted to slap his friend. "It's nothing," Stiles mumbled. "Just... Don't feel well, is all."
That wasn't entirely a lie. His stomach did hurt, although it was more because of the butterflies punching the shit out of his stomach than actual illness.
"You should go lie down," Scott offered. "You did just have an adjustment in your meds, right?" he whispered. "Your dad mentioned it, sorry."
Stiles nodded, glad that Scott's inability to be subtle or quiet gave him an out. "Yeah, you're right. Maybe it'll go away if I lie down for a bit."
"You can go to my room," Peter said, as Stiles stood.
Stiles nearly fell, would have if Scott hadn't stood up lightening-quick to help him.
"Wh-what?" Stiles squeaked, looking at Peter, who was smiling to himself. Prick.
"That way you have your privacy," Peter offered. "And it's certainly more comfortable than the couch."
That's a lie, that couch is like a giant god damn pillow, Stiles thought.
"Which way is it?" Scott asked, putting Stiles' arm around his shoulders.
"No, man, come on," Stiles protested.
"Look, I don't like the guy either, but you really need a quiet place to relax."
The concern evident on Scott's face, and the appealing idea of getting away from Peter and Derek's staring for a while led Stiles to nod wordlessly. Peter smirked, and pointed to a door off the hallway.
It was embarrassing, having Scott help him to Peter's room, but he had gotten himself in this mess and now he had to deal with it. He caught Derek grinning into his mug in the corner, and would have kicked the dumb Alpha in the face, if it wouldn't have resulted in him getting his foot bitten off.
Scott took him into the bedroom- which was nice, by the way, but that was no surprise considering how Peter dressed. He deposited Stiles on the bed, which was probably the most comfortable thing he had ever laid on. The comforter was white and had the consistency of marshmallows.
"Is this a Tempur-Pedic?" Stiles murmured.
"I don't know," Scott said, sounding amused. "Sleep tight, though."
Scott shut the door softly behind himself. Stiles was feeling a bit tired. Maybe that actually was the meds. But it was hard to sleep when he was too busy trying to figure out if the side he was lying on was Peter's side. Did he even have a side, since he slept alone? Should Stiles get under the covers, or would that be too weird?
Stiles shook the idea out of his head. Why would he do that? Why did he feel so at ease here? He could hear his own heartbeat, felt his blood as it thrummed from his heart out to his entire body, down to the tips of his fingers. The mark from Peter throbbed dully, but not painfully- almost... pleasurably. His senses were hyper-sensitive; he could smell Peter, faint traces of his cologne on the pillow.
He lost of the battle of resisting the urge to get under the covers and envelope himself in that scent. He curled in on himself; his arm brushed against his own stark erection, which he hadn't even realized he had.
Without realizing what he was doing- he felt like he was in a dream, like none of this was real- he eased the waistband of his sweatpants down to below his thighs, grabbed his dick in his hand, and imagined it was Peter's hand around him. Already slick with pre-cum, Stiles jacked himself off. It took barely any touching at all before he was coming in his hand, all over his thighs, and onto the blankets covering him.
Stiles threw back the covers, looked down at the semen glistening on his hand and on his skin. He came to himself, understood that he had really just masturbated in Peter's bed, and that he had visualized it was Peter himself doing it. What the hell was wrong with him?
The door across the room opened suddenly. Stiles tried to quickly yank his pants up, but given his still shaky, ever-fumbling hands, he knew he was caught.
Peter was standing in the doorway. For a brief moment, shock showed in his blue, blue eyes, but then a lascivious smirk crept across his face. He fully entered the room, shut the door with a soft click behind him, and then locked it.
"Jerking yourself off in someone else's bed?" Peter said teasingly. "Where are your manners? I would have liked to be party to this."
A blush worked its way across Stiles face, then down his entire body. He felt like he was burning up under Peter's appreciative gaze.
"What's happening to me?" Stiles demanded, gripping the sheets as waves of arousal washed over his body. "I feel so strange."
"You're in the wolf's den now, sweetheart," Peter replied. He strolled over to the edge of the bed, put his hands at either side of Stiles' feet. "The bite is reacting to me, to my bed, to my scent. It's releasing the venom it had stored under the surface of your skin, the same venom I unwittingly injected into you last night. Until I claim you, it will continue to do so whenever it feels me close, or whenever it's been too long since I've been close. It's a way of ensuring that the wolf gets what it wants, of keeping you in tune with its desires."
"Derek said the mark won't fade, the wolf won't let it," Stiles said.
Peter climbed up onto the bed, positioning himself at the edge of it on his knees. Stiles scrambled further up the mattress, sitting up fully, pulling his knees up against himself.
"No, the wolf will always find you before the venom runs out," Peter said, his voice dropping low, gruff. "So it's better that we settle this now."
