It had gone good, great even, much better than Peter had been expecting. With his instincts all awry, his motivations driven by the wolf, he'd thought having a few hours with John alone might draw out another involuntary reaction. But... It hadn't. In fact... it had gone well.
As Peter swept the plates into the sink, too high on endorphins to really care about the domesticity of the action, he began humming. One of the tunes he remembered from years ago, during the time music drifted peacefully through the old house often, Derek's mother helping him dry as the young boy washed and his mother pulled dishes from the dining room and onto the counter beside him. One two three, one two three, a melody that sounded like the embodiment of trotting through the woods in wolf form, the light dancing through the cracks between fir needles. It was reminiscent. It was home. It was joy. He felt real joy again.
Peter wanted to take a moment to let it set in. He was happy. He'd been in control the entire time he'd spent with John. They'd made good conversation, eaten a dish he'd cooked and even flirted a little. Teenage bliss bubbled up in his belly as he replayed the last few hours in his head. It had been a hell of a lot like a date.
A perfectly civilized, delightful, date with John.
Peter was whistling when Derek entered the loft, a triumphant grin plastered of his face, so out of character that the sight made Derek pause in the doorway with a concerned furrow of his brow, as Derek often had. It was amusing to see Derek make that worried face for him though. Peter watched him take a cautious step forward, observing Peter with hesitant eyes, "I'm not going to bite." He chortled, finishing up the last of the dishes and putting away the plate John had eaten from with a content smile.
"You look... happy."
"I am happy, darling nephew." Peter smirked, drying his hands and turning, "My instincts didn't do a damn thing this time."
He watched Derek's eyebrow raise, a twitch over his lips, not quite a smirk, but getting there. "You didn't-?"
"Nope." He held up the last clean plate, flicking his wrist from side to side and waving it like a tambourine, "Eggs and bacon. Well..." he paused, "eggs..."
"You made him breakfast?" Derek huffed, "At- what? Five o'clock?" he continued, glancing up at the clock on the wall.
"Oh please," Peter snorted, packing the dish into the cupboard, "As if you and Stiles never made pancakes in the middle of the night. Oh yes. I noticed. Keen sense of smell doesn't even need to be a factor with you two." He smirked, making sure his words would ooze with dirty undertone, "You're loud."
"That was Stiles. He has the energy of a three year old." Derek retorted, a pleased grin on his face even as he crossed his arms, "He was hungry for pancakes."
"And you, his ever dependable Alpha, made him some, right?" Peter leered. "Provided for him?"
The short snarl Derek offered him was irritable and flat, no real heat behind it, but a small warning not to push too much. Peter didn't really care. He was happy. It played well to his wolf, having fed and pleased his would-be-mate and sent him on his way well looked after; with a fully belly and a big smile. Of course, it would have been even better if he'd gotten to keep him overnight... but they were working on that part. Peter needed to keep his cool about it. He could be a gentlemen.
...If he tried hard enough.
"It was good. He was better today."
Stiles watched John fold his coat in half over an arm, draping it over the couch after it seemed rightly crease-less. "Peter?" Stiles clarified from his seat amongst the cushions, "He didn't go all...?" John had a moment to wonder where all of his genes went when Stiles raised his hands beside his cheeks in mock claws, lips curled in a non-threatening, split second snarl, imitating a werewolf. He looked ridiculous.
"No." he huffed once, on principal, before smiling, "In fact," he continued, deciding to grab himself a beer from the fridge, pointedly not looking at his son as he adds, "I had a good time."
As Stiles' ears perk up his head rises. His face alight with an impish grin stretched out along his cheeks as he spun around in his seat, knees up on the sofa and chest leaning over its back, "Really?" He asked, resting his bony arms over the back with ease.
"Really, really."
"Soooo?" Stiles pressed, "I need details! Did you use protection?"
"Is that my parenting showing, or your mother's?"
"Yes."
The sheriff snorted, twisting the IPA in his hand and staring at the label with critique, "My apologies then. And even though it's none of your business, no. We didn't... do anything."
"Really?"
"Really, really."
Stiles stood from the couch and trotted over to the kitchen, jumping up onto the counter beside the fridge and lightly swinging his legs, "Did you want to do something?"
"I am not going to have a conversation about my sex life with my son, Stiles."
"Why not? I'm kind of the only one you can talk about it with. I mean, a therapist probably wouldn't receive the whole "werewolf fuck buddy" thing very well."
"We're not fuck buddies." John grunted, he set the beer back down and decided tonight was a night for something stronger than beer. Because Stiles wasn't one to let this kind of thing go. They were doing this. Stiles was going to make him do this. He sighed, "I'm gonna have whiskey."
"You're going to need to eat better dad, even if it's not my say so. Werewolf stamina is like ten times-"
"Stiles." he snapped, raising a hand, "I don't want to have to think about how you know that." The sheriff scoffed as he pulled a half glass down from a cupboard, "Or at least not have to talk about it."
"Fine, fine." Stiles conceded, lifting his arms in mock surrender, "But you should eat better."
"I eat just fine."
"It'll make your cum tastier..."
"Stiles! Oh my god!"
"What?" He huffed, "I'm just trying to help you out. I know for a fact it's been years since you've had any-"
"I will disown you. Right here and now, boy."
"Alright! Alright, I surrender!" He relented, pushing off the counter and giving his dad one last smirk and a quick, "I'm glad you're happy." before trotting up the stairs to his bedroom.
John smiled around his whiskey before decidedly downing it with a wince.
