"Peter," Stiles breathes out, arching upward against the smooth, steady roll of the man's hips. He grabs a handful of the sexy bastard's hair and pulls him down for another kiss.
Stiles moans as Peter licks into his mouth leisurely, like he has all of the time in the world to dominate Stiles with his tongue.
God, Stiles hopes that's true.
Stiles breaks away from their kiss and dazedly looks up at Peter's blissed-out expression. "Please tell me you'll let me suck your cock," he pants, licking his swollen lips. "Please—I'll be so good. I'll make it so fucking good for you."
He can feel Peter's whole body shudder against his own, and he watches as the man's eyes dilate even further.
"Is that what you want, baby?" Peter growls lowly, grinding slowly against Stiles' erection. "You wanna suck my cock?" He bites at Stiles' throat. "Fuck, that's hot."
Peter picks himself up off of Stiles and gets to his feet. He expertly flicks his knife closed and stashes it in his suit jacket. He grins down at Stiles and walks over him, feet straddling both sides of Stiles' waist.
Stiles sucks in a sharp breath as Peter stands over him, looks him directly in the eye, and squeezes himself through his pants. He strokes himself languidly with one hand and uses the other to crook a demanding finger at Stiles. "If you want it, you'll have to come and get it."
Stiles has never felt so beholden to his own lust in his entire life. He's never felt such a sharp stab of longing—and he's certainly never felt desperate.
But he feels it now, that ache. It's in the fog in his head, the quiver in his knees, and the shake in his hands. It's in the throb of his cock and the saliva pooling in the back of his throat.
But most of all, it's in the loud crack! of his knees against the tile floor as he hastily scrambles to sit up.
He can't help the low whine that emanates from him as he looks up at Peter from his knees.
The man, as calm as you please, hums at Stiles' quick compliance. He unbuttons his jacket and carefully shrugs it off his broad shoulders. Peter takes the time to gently hang it over the top of the stall, never looking away from where Stiles is waiting desperately at his feet.
It's when Peter's mouth parts slightly in surprise that Stiles understands what he's doing.
He's testing Stiles, wanting to see what buttons he can push and how hard he can push them.
How hard Stiles wants him to push them.
Poor baby really doesn't know what game they're playing.
Stiles will just have to show him.
He watches raptly as Peter starts to unbutton and roll up his sleeves. Stiles can't help softening his gaze and licking his lips, or lowering his twitching hands to rest on the tops of his thighs.
The beast that lurks in the back of his mind goes quiet, and then all that's left is Stiles.
He wants to show Peter what being good means. Stiles wants to show him that he can wait patiently. He wants to show him that he'll wait—and if needed, beg—for Peter's permission to suck his cock, that the only thing he wants is what Daddy wants.
Stiles is getting into that subby headspace he always searches for—the one that's sometimes too hard to reach—and it's absolutely divine.
He's never sunk so quickly before.
It's never felt so visceral, so raw. He's never felt this needy before in his life and it feels like a damn high.
It feels addicting.
A few steamy looks, a quick little attempted murder, and Stiles can't imagine a moment where he's not here, kneeling at this glorious man's feet.
Stiles swallows as Peter finishes rolling up his sleeves. It's jarring, the reminder that he's known this man for all of ten minutes and already finds himself becoming addicted to the lust building between them.
For a man like him, that's dangerous.
For a man like him, that's utterly delicious.
After all, Stiles wouldn't be, well, Stiles if he didn't thrive on danger.
So when Peter lifts his chin with a finger and says, "Show me what you've got," Stiles doesn't hesitate.
He slides his hands slowly up Peter's legs, Stiles' long fingers mapping out the man's sculpted thighs. He flicks open Peter's slacks with a thumb, the sound of Peter's zipper unfurling loud in the quiet of the restroom.
Stiles curls his hands into the waistband of Peter's pants and tugs them until they're resting under the curve of his ass. He moans softly at the sight of Peter's hard length tenting the front of a pair of tight black boxer briefs.
Stiles scoots closer, eyes locked with Peter's as he leans in and suckles at the head of Peter's cock through his underwear. He drags greedy hands up and under Peter's shirt, scratching his nails lightly against Peter's abs as Stiles laves his tongue in slow circles. Peter's stomach flexes under Stiles' hands, his breath hitching slightly as Stiles releases him from his hot mouth.
Stiles trails his hands back to Peter's waist, pulling his briefs down just far enough for the man's thick cock to escape.
"Oh, fuck," Stiles moans, wrapping one hand around Peter's length. He knew from Peter's bulge that he was big, but goddamn.
He slowly works Peter's dick in his hand, smearing the precum leaking from the tip across the head with his thumb.
Stiles lets go of Peter and places his palms back on his own thighs like a good boy. Then he takes Peter's cock into his mouth and shows the man exactly what he's got.
The sound of Peter's guttural groan is ridiculously gratifying. Stiles gently works his mouth down even farther, hollowing his cheeks as he does. He looks up at Peter as he leisurely tilts his head back until the just the tip of Peter's cock is resting against Stiles' lips.
Peter moans, one hand coming to grip the base of his cock as Stiles gives the head a spitty kiss. "Fuck," Peter rasps, eyes riveted on Stiles' clever mouth.
Stiles winks up at him before taking the length back in his mouth, swallowing and swallowing until he has half of Peter's dick in his mouth. He gurgles softly, dragging his tongue lightly along the shaft.
Stiles grips his knees tightly as he starts to bob his head a bit faster, the rhythm in time to the steady throb of his own aching cock.
He allows himself to close his eyes as Peter gradually starts to thrust against his face, savoring the sweet sounds of Peter's choppy breaths and the slick slurp of Peter's cock lazily fucking his face.
Stiles opens his eyes halfway and feels his balls tighten at the sight of Peter leaning backward, his head thrown back in pleasure and the man's hands casually resting on the back of his hips. The man looks totally at ease, like slowly skull-fucking Stiles in an airport restroom is something that just comes naturally to him.
That it's something owed to him.
And, fucking hell, Stiles has to agree.
He picks up his pace, lowering his head further and further down the length of Peter's dick as he does.
"Just like that, baby—just like that," Peter gasps out when Stiles takes him down his throat for the first time. Peter's hands—lightning fast—reach out and grab Stiles by the hair when his nose presses against Peter's groin.
Stiles looks up, tears in his eyes and cock buried deep in his throat, and sees a very pleased Peter.
Peter holds him there, gaze intent and curious, like he didn't expect that Stiles would take him that far.
Or that he would like pushing Stiles that far.
And it's clear that he, indeed, does, considering Stiles is carefully breathing through his nose as his throat spasms around Peter's thick cock.
He coughs roughly, spit dribbling down his chin and pooling on the floor as he gags on Peter's huge dick.
"Fuck that's tight," Peter growls, slowly starting to thrust in and out of Stiles' throat. He cradles the back of Stiles' head in his hands and looks down at Stiles in wonder. "You're just taking me all the way down your tight little throat, aren't you? Look at that." He wipes a finger down Stiles' sloppy, wet chin and rests a heavy hand on his jaw. "Has anyone ever told you that you're beautiful with a cock in your mouth? I bet they have. God, I don't even care how many. You should be told that every fucking day, baby." Peter thrusts faster, Stiles blinking up at him through bleary eyes. "Fucking gorgeous."
Peter slows down, his hips now just barely grinding into Stiles' face. Stiles chases Peter's cock, mouth wide open and soft, when the man pulls all of the way out. Peter bends down low and sticks his thumb in Stiles' eager mouth before he can whine about his new favorite toy being taken away. "I want to fuck you on the sink. Is that all right, sweetheart?"
Oh.
Oh.
Yes, please.
Stiles nods rapidly, dutifully sucking at the digit stroking his tongue.
Peter leans down even lower, kissing Stiles hard as he lifts him from up under his armpits like a rag doll. Stiles wraps his arms and legs around Peter as he carries Stiles' pliant body over to the sink basin.
Setting him down on the edge, Peter starts ripping off Stiles' shoes. Peter doesn't stop kissing him even as he unbuttons Stiles' jeans and works them down his legs.
It's when Peter has to step back to yank them off his legs that Stiles gets to revel in the man's reaction.
It's everything.
Peter looks at Stiles like a starving man being served his favorite meal.
Like a starving man that didn't even know what food was being led into a buffet.
His eyes rove up and down Stiles' long bare legs, from his white, silky low-rise briefs all of the way down to his matching lace-trimmed ankle socks.
Peter runs a tentative hand across Stiles' bulge and down his right leg. He hitches it up until Stiles' ankle is resting on his shoulder, his lace-covered foot brushing Peter's cheek.
Stiles leans back on his elbows, chest heaving under his tight t-shirt as he asks, "Do you like them, Daddy?"
Peter lurches, a startled moan escaping him at Stiles' words. He closes his eyes tightly and fists himself, staving off an orgasm.
Stiles waits with bated breath until Peter reopens his eyes.
He isn't disappointed by what he finds looking back at him.
Peter looks absolutely wrecked.
"You said that earlier," Peter pants, deep voice wavering. "Why did you call me that?"
Stiles giggles and leans back until he's lying flat on the basin. He lifts his other leg until it's perched on Peter's other shoulder, and then he locks his ankles together behind the man's neck. "Why?" Stiles repeats, wriggling his silk-clad ass closer until it grinds against Peter's dripping cock. "Because you're my Daddy, of course."
Peter moans loudly, turning his face toward Stiles' ankle and nuzzling it, the man's cheeks a little rosy. "You're a fucking menace, baby."
Stiles beams, one hand sliding down his body seductively and the other massaging his cock. "Thank you, Daddy."
He stifles another moan in Stiles' lacy sock before snaking a determined hand down Stiles' leg, only stopping when he reaches Stiles' tight ass.
Peter yanks Stiles' soft briefs to the side, exposing him—and the black plug he'd worked into himself before he'd gotten to the airport.
Peter sucks in a sharp breath and then growls. Stiles swears that he sees Peter's eyes flash even bluer. He forgets it quickly as a harsh swat lands right over the plug buried in his ass.
"What is this?" Peter demands.
"Oh, fuck, Daddy! It's—" he gasps wetly as another smack lands on his asshole. "It's my favorite plug." Stiles can't understand why Daddy sounds so mad. It'll make it easier for Daddy to fuck him when he's nice and stretched.
"And why do you have it in you, baby? Are you the kind of naughty boy that needs to be open for just any dick that wants inside?"
Oh.
Oh.
"No, Daddy, no!" Stiles whimpers. "I use it for after missions. It helps me unwind on flights home. It keeps me focused and lets me work through the after-effects of the adrenaline." He needs Daddy to know, to believe him. He isn't a bad boy, he's so good. He's only a slut when he chooses to be. "You're not just a whim, Daddy. I don't do this with just anyone."
The violent glint in Peter's eyes dims. "It's okay, baby," Peter soothes, wiping away the tears that have gathered in Stiles' eyes. He shakes his head a little, seemingly bewildered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry—it's okay. I—I don't know what came over me." He cups Stiles' cheek gently. "I know you've done this before and I meant it when I said I don't care. You're so beautiful, and you're here with me." He kisses the arch of Stiles' foot and whispers, "And that's good enough for me. Perfect, in fact."
And then Peter slowly works the plug out of Stiles and puts it in his pocket. "You forgive me, baby?" Peter murmurs, hands running calmly up and down Stiles' legs.
Stiles nods slowly, biting his lower lip. "Of course, Daddy. Please—" he chokes out. "Please fuck me."
Peter doesn't hesitate. He trusts inside, every glorious inch slamming into Stiles at once.
Stiles' legs start to shake as Peter works himself inside until his balls are flush against Stiles' ass. "That's so good, baby," Peter coos. "Now be a good boy and hold yourself open for me."
It takes a few seconds for Stiles' fuzzy brain to process the order before his hands get with the program and reach for his ass. He grips a cheek in each hand and spreads himself, making sure to stretch his underwear to the side so that Daddy has easier access.
Peter thrusts once, twice, before purring out a satisfied, "Thank you, sweetheart." He pulls all of the way out, dazedly taking in the soft gape of Stiles' ass before slamming back inside. There's a slight pause, like Peter's trying to hold something in, before he murmurs softly, "Now hold on while Daddy fucks your sweet little asshole."
Stiles shrieks as Peter enters him roughly, his cries loud enough that the man slaps a hand over his mouth. Peter quickly turns on all the taps around them do drown out their noise, and then, with a final kiss to Stiles' tear-stained cheek, he starts to fuck him.
Stiles can't help it—he comes. He's been hard since he first spotted Peter sitting across from him, and those first sloppy thrusts are just hard enough to have his dick spurting and his ass clenching around Peter's pounding cock.
"Oh, good fucking boy," Peter growls, smacking Stiles hard on the ass as he watches cum ooze out of Stiles' untouched cock. "Coming on Daddy's cock like that." He pistons into Stiles, the slick slap of their skin painfully erotic.
"Yes, yes..." Stiles pants. His eyes roll back as Peter angles his hips towards Stiles' prostate. "For you, Daddy. Only for you. Love your cock. So good."
Peter fucks into him, changing his pace every dozen or so thrusts in a way that keeps Stiles guessing and his already-spent dick rock hard.
It's the best sex Stiles has ever had.
And with Peter grinding against his prostate, almost fully dressed and with his eyes glued on Stiles' ruddy face, Stiles falls in-fucking-love.
It's stupid and it's crazy and it makes no fucking sense, but Stiles is in love with this stranger fucking his brains out in an airport bathroom. Anyone that can fight and fuck like this man can is someone that deserves Stiles' love.
So Stiles lets him know.
He nips lovingly at the fingers covering his mouth until Peter lets him go, only to drag that deadly right hand down to grip Stiles' throat. "Oh, yes, Daddy!" he gasps. "Thank you, Daddy. Love the way you fill me up. Never had it like this, never." Stiles fists his cock, a second orgasm building in his belly. "I love your cock so much, Daddy. I want it every single day, just like this. Want you to put me in my place and have your way with me—"
Peter's hips stutter. The hand around Stiles' throat tenses and releases.
"You like that?" Stiles whispers, hand working his cock roughly. "You like the idea of me being your little fuck-toy? Because I do. I love it, Daddy. I want you to bend me over any time, anywhere. Want your cock down my throat and your cum in my ass. I need it so bad, Daddy. Need you to fill me up until—"
And then Peter does, fucking into Stiles hard as he howls out his release.
He fucks them both through it, hard and fast enough that Stiles' eyes cross, his lungs seize, his toes curl, and his whole body quakes against the sink. He screams as he comes again, body going limp as Peter uses his clenching ass to wring out every last drop of his own pleasure.
Stiles drifts for a while, coming to with Peter plastered to his chest and biting along his neck.
The man's cock is still in him and Stiles can feel hot cum beginning to ooze out of his hole. He moans, clenching tightly around Peter.
"That…" Peter croaks, "was amazing, you beautiful boy."
Stiles smiles up at him, grin blissed-out and crooked. "I can't feel my legs."
Peter snorts and continues to nibble on Stiles' neck. "I'm glad I'm not the only one." He grinds into Stiles softly and then lifts his head just enough to meet Stiles' cum-drunk gaze. "Want to share my complimentary hotel voucher?" He looks down at where they're joined and then around the room. "I'm going to be honest and say that I've got plans for this ass, and I think a change of venue might be necessary for a few of the more…intricate ideas."
Chuckling, Stiles rolls his head to look up at the ceiling. "You'd make quite the salesman in another life, Daddy. Asking a boy to share your bed after thoroughly ruining him for anyone else? That's top-tier marketing, that is."
Peter smiles wickedly at him, and Stiles swears that his teeth seem sharper at the ends. He blinks, and then it's gone.
Huh.
"I'll take that as a yes."
Stiles nods sleepily, content to just lie here with his Daddy.
It's silent for a moment before Peter clears his throat.
Stiles cracks one eye open. "Yeah?"
Peter looks at him neutrally. Stiles raises an eyebrow.
"It's just—" Peter wipes a hand down his scruff and huffs. "Well, alright—what's your name?"
Stiles blinks.
And then he bursts out laughing.