That summer was anything but uneventful.
The morning after Stiles' second encounter with Peter was the first of July. It was blazing hot outside, even though it was still morning. The sun streamed through the cracks in his blinds, which felt like a blast from a solar flare that pierced through his retinas. Stiles groaned, turning over in his bed.
Stiles dreaded what the afternoon would be like. He felt pity for poor Allison, who was beginning her first day volunteering at the archery camp outside of town. He hoped that she packed enough sunscreen and electrolytes to get through the day.
Getting up was like trying to climb a mountain while battling hurricanes were on either side of you damaging your progress. Stiles' head was throbbing painfully. He reached out from under the covers, and his fingers grappled with the aspirin bottle. He vaguely wondered at where he got it before he remembered Peter handing it to him last night. His stomach twisted with something other than guilt, and then he was racing for the bathroom and dry heaving into the toilet.
The world spun around him; his legs felt like jelly. "Scott," Stiles moaned out, hands clutching the rim of the toilet bowl. "Scotty, are you home?"
Of course he wasn't; he was working at the vet's today.
Stiles sighed and began to crawl over to the bathtub. Water gushed from the tap as he turned the knobs. All he wanted right now was a nice, hot soak before Scott got home. He needed to get refreshed and hide the fact that he got shitfaced at the bar last night. It might not fool Scott, but at least they could pretend that Stiles' emotions weren't all over the place for once.
The water felt fantastic as Stiles lowered himself into the tub. He turned off the taps once the tub was halfway filled and settled his body enough that the water was lapping across his chin. He closed his eyes, willing his body to unwind and relax the stiff muscles from the way he'd slept.
He knew that he was going to regret having a hot bath on a day like this, but his brain and body didn't care at this particular moment. Stiles zoned out, his mind filling with white noise and lackluster thoughts.
His body continued to sink minutely beneath the water until his back was hitting the bottom of the tub and his head was full submerged. He held his breath in for a good thirty seconds before allowing a stream of air bubbled to escape from his lips.
"Are you going to be in there all day?" Erica asked, sighing. Her hand trailed the top of the water, her fingers brushing Stiles' chest. She was sitting on the edge of her grand cream-colored tub, watching Stiles soaking in it. It was large enough for three grown men to fit in it comfortably side by side and had golden knobs and tap. This was one of the few perks that had convinced Erica in upgrading to her new apartment. The lack of a snappish roommate complaining about the noise was another.
"I'm thinking about it," Stiles hummed happily. "This feels fucking fantastic." He pulled himself into a sitting position, grinning at her. Erica rolled her eyes, pouting her bright red lips at him. A devious thought came to him, and he smirked. Stiles suddenly wrapped his arms around Erica's waist, and she screamed loudly as he dragged her into the tub. Water splashed over the sides of the tub as Erica's legs kicked out.
"Stiles!" she shrieked, but there was laughter on her lips. Stiles swallowed it whole, moaning in her mouth. Erica broke it apart, flicking Stiles' ear. "Stiles, I'm soaking wet," she whined, gesturing at her dress. It was a strapless mini, white with a hint of lace at the bottom. Stiles could see through it now, and noticed how she wasn't wearing a bra or panties.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," he said sarcastically. He kissed her throat as his hands snaked their way up her back, dragging down the zipper located there. Erica twisted her body around so that she was straddling him. Her dress fell free, and the damp material was nestled around her hips.
"Oh, you will be sorry," she whispered into his ear. She scraped her nails down Stiles' chest and smirked when he shivered. "Because tonight, you'll be my little bitch. You know what that means, right sweetie?" Stiles nodded furiously as she stroked his cock. When she kissed him again it was with a fiery tongue, quick and precise as licked the inside of his mouth. Stiles felt himself go hard.
"But I'll be kind," she continued as she reached up and dragged her nails through his wet hair. She pulled him closer, pressing his face into her breasts as she said breathily, "I'll let you choose the strap-on that I'll be using on your ass."
Stiles nearly spring-boarded right out of the bath as he broke through the watery surface, gasping for air. He ran his hands over his face, trying to force down that particular memory. Not that it had been bad; it was utterly fantastic and one of his favourites about Erica.
We weren't meant to be, Stiles desperately told himself. It was the same words that he'd been repeating in his head for the past two weeks, but the argument was getting weak and muddled. He still woke up from dreams about her, his sheets sticky with come and sweat.
Stiles pulled out the plug and stumbled out of the bath, listening to the water gurgle down the drain as he toweled himself off.
He needed to get out of the apartment.
Leaving the shelter of his home was increasingly becoming a bad fucking idea. Within seconds of stepping outside Stiles was sweltering from the heat and was squinting from the intense brightness. He shielded his eyes with his hand as he made his way over to the parking lot. It took him a moment to remember that he didn't drive home last night.
His Jeep was still at Vernon's. Well, fuck.
There was no way that Stiles would be able to walk all the way to the bar without suffering heatstroke. It had to be about twenty minutes away by vehicle at least and nobody was home to give him a lift. Sighing, Stiles pulled out his phone and quickly scrawled through his contacts. He found himself hesitating in the C's before flicking by them.
He frowned when he reached the P's and found a single name underneath it: Peter. "What the fu—?" Stiles muttered, staring at the screen. When the hell did he get his number?
Then Stiles remembered Peter taking his phone the night before. Of course he would, he thought, scoffing. His thumb hovered over the 'Call' button, weighing his decisions. On the one hand, Peter was the only guy that he knew that A) had his own ride B) was in town, and C) probably wasn't working at the moment. But on the other hand, Stiles still felt mildly embarrassed about his drunken state from the night before. He didn't want to be one of those people that spewed verbal abuse and then beg for a favour right afterward.
Peter had said that he had wanted to see Stiles again. Stiles remembered the way Peter had touched his face. He flushed at the memory.
He tapped down on 'Call' before pressing his phone to his ear. The phone rang twice before Peter picked up. "Hello?"
"Hey, it's me," Stiles said. "Uh, it's Stiles, in case you forgot. Wait, this is the right number, right? This is Peter No-Last-Name-Given, right?"
"Speaking," Peter replied coolly.
"Thank God," Stiles breathed out. "Because you drove me home last night—"
"I am aware of that," said Peter. He sounded amused rather than annoyed. That was a good sign. "I recall being behind the wheel."
"Ha ha, you're hilarious," Stiles muttered. He mentally slapped himself for that snark. It was hard to not act like an asshole, but this time he really had to rein himself in if he wanted to remain on Peter's good side. "Yeah, you drove me home but in the process I left my Jeep back at the bar's parking lot. I kind of need it if I'm going to get around town, you know?"
"Have you called a taxi?"
Shit, Stiles didn't think of that. "I'm not made out of money, you know. I only have plastic, and a taxi requires hard, cold cash in order to use their services. Same for the bus, before you ask."
Stiles heard the rustling of paper coming from Peter's end. "Walking won't kill you. You know that right?"
"Uh, right," Stiles replied, "but the sun is threatening to cause a massive solar flare with the heat it's giving off. I'm no Thomas; I won't survive it."
"Going off of that roundabout wording, I'm assuming that you're asking me for a ride over there?"
Stiles shoulders slumped in defeat. He could feel the sweat pooling in his shoes and dripping down his neck. "Yeah, kind of."
Peter laughed softly. It was a nice laugh. "I just have to make a quick call and then I'll be over."
Stiles closed his eyes once he'd clambered into Peter's car, allowing the air conditioning to wash right over him. The sudden cold dried off his sweat-slick skin and instantly revived him. Peter was watching him, his left hand at eleven o'clock on the steering wheel. Stiles could feel his eyes on him; it felt like a pair of lasers hitting the side of his face.
"Seatbelt."
Stiles blinked, now looking at Peter. "What?"
Peter sighed. "Seatbelt. Please buckle yourself in. I would prefer that you don't smash through my windshield if I have to make a sudden stop."
"Oh right," Stiles said as he hastily strapped himself in. "Safety first and shit."
Peter huffed softly as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. "You seem out of it."
"Well yeah," Stiles muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "I got shitfaced last night and I'm still feeling the effects. Not like you would know what that's like, Mr. Fancy Wine Drinker."
"Are we giving each other pet names now?" Peter asked. He gave Stiles a sly smile. "If that's the case, shall I give you one?"
"I would prefer if you didn't," Stiles replied. "You'd probably come up with something weird or symbolic or… or mean and stuff."
"You have quite the way with words," Peter said.
"Shut up, I'm not one hundred percent myself right now," Stiles grumbled. He felt heat creeping up his neck. Peter smiled at him before returning his attention back to the road.
The car rolled to a stop at the red light of an intersection. Stiles continued to stare straight on ahead. He wanted to look over; he wanted to see Peter's face and try to pinpoint his reactions. He wanted to know if Peter was just being polite or genuinely wanted to help Stiles out, in spite of what happened last night. But he felt like if he even glanced at him he'd lose at his ongoing battle of self-control.
He would never stop looking. Stiles knew that.
"We're here."
Stiles blinked rapidly. They were in the Vernon's parking lot. He had never noticed the light turning green, much less the rest of the drive.
"I believe this is your stop," Peter said. He was resting his wrists on the top of the wheel and was giving Stiles one of his half-smiles. Stiles only dared to look at him out of the corner of his eye.
"Awesome," he replied.
Silence fell between them. Stiles began drumming his knees with his fingers. Peter's eyes were fixed on him, his body motionless. "Are you going to get out?" he asked.
Stiles started, his hands reaching for the seatbelt buckle. "Oh shit, yeah!" he said hurriedly. His fingers were jittery and struggling with the button. "Shit…"
"Do you need help?" Peter asked.
Before Stiles could answer Peter was leaning into his personal space. Stiles nearly jumped, pressing his body into the door but Peter's face was edging closer to his own. Stiles tried averting his gaze by watching Peter out of the corner of his eye to avoid the other man's intensive blue ones. Unfortunately they were like magnets, and so Stiles slowly turned his head. Peter's eyes were fixed on Stiles' face, staring at him with such weird precision. Peter's gazed flickered down to Stiles' lips ever so briefly before looking back at him. Stiles felt Peter's hand on his, their mouths now a breath apart.
Click.
The pressure from the seatbelt lifted as it came undone. Stiles held in a breath as Peter pulled back, his fingers grazing Stiles' knuckles before dragging them off entirely.
"You better go get your car now," he whispered.
Stiles nodded furiously. It only took him one try to swing the door open and to clamber out. He slammed the door shut, giving Peter a look before turning around and heading to his Jeep that was parked near the entrance of Vernon's. When he looked back Peter's car was gone.
Stiles wasted time driving around town, vaguely wondering whether they needed more milk or some other mundane set of groceries. He daydreamed about the superior air conditioner in Peter's car and wondered how much he had to pay to get an advanced vehicle like that. It was certainly no run-of-the-mill station wagon that they fast-produced in the States.
Scott was there when Stiles returned to the apartment in the early afternoon. He was sitting on their couch, legs crossed and peering down into his hands. He jumped out of his seat when Stiles opened the door, but calmed down once he realized that it was just him.
"Dude, you looked like a deer caught in headlights," Stiles joked. He sobered up once he saw the look on Scott's face. "Hey, what's wrong?"
That's when he noticed Scott cradling something small to his chest. Both of his hands were holding it, blocking it from Stiles' view.
"Scott," he asked slowly, "what do you have there?"
Scott gave him a small smile. "I thought you were Allison for a second."
Stiles eyes widened as the sudden realization struck him. "Holy shit, you didn't." He couldn't help but grin at Scott's quick nod. He brought his hands away from his chest and showed him the little black box cupped there.
"I did," replied Scott, returning Stiles' grin.
Stiles surged forward, wrapping his arms around Scott. He pressed his face into Scott's neck, squeezing him just enough that it didn't cause a random asthma attack. Scott returned the embrace and Stiles felt the ring box poke his lower back.
"How much did that cost?" Stiles asked once they broke apart.
"A month's worth of paychecks, maybe more."
"When are you going to ask her?"
"This Saturday. I reserved a table months ago at that restaurant she likes," replied Scott. His face had taken on a dream-like quality, all smiles and happiness wafting off of him. Stiles could practically feel his inner sunshine radiating off of his skin.
"I'm so happy for you," Stiles said, and he meant it. Nobody deserves a happy ending more than Allison and Scott. Stiles was always surprised that Scott didn't propose to her the day he met her. "So you're not going to wait another two months for your anniversary?"
"Heh, I'm not going to be predictable," Scott said happily.
"For once in your life," Stiles added, earning him a friendly smack on the arm.
Scott pocketed the box. "So where were you?" he asked suddenly. When Stiles frowned, Scott added, "I found the towels on the floor in the bathroom, so I assume that you were in a hurry?"
"Shit, sorry," Stiles muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I completely forgot them."
"Hey, it's no big deal," Scott said quickly. "It's just towels."
"I just had to go get my Jeep," Stiles explained. "I left it at the bar last night."
Scott frowned. "Did you take a taxi home?"
"You know that I never carry cash with me."
"Then how did you get home?"
Jesus, how did they go from Scott's proposal plans to Stiles' night life? "It's no big deal," Stiles insisted. "Someone gave me a ride and dropped me off."
"Stiles…"
"Don't worry, it wasn't some sketchy stranger, I swear."
Scott was quiet for a moment, thinking. Stiles was beginning to feel nervous, which was a ridiculous feeling because why could should he feel nervous? It was just Scott being his usual worried self.
"Was it that guy?" Scott asked. "What's his name, Peter?"
Stiles sighed and rolled his eyes, but ceased once his saw Scott's puppy eyes giving him the Look. "Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah, it was. But all he did was pay for the drinks and drove me home."
"He didn't touch you?"
"I swear to God that I remember everything that happened and no, he didn't touch me," Stile said shortly. "I'm not that easy."
Scott winced. "I never said you were," he mumbled quietly.
"I'm sorry," Stiles said. He hugged Scott, holding him tight as he talked into his shoulder. "I know you get worried all the time, and you wouldn't be you if you didn't. But please let him handle this one by myself and focus on yourself this time." He drew back, and smiled weakly at his best friend. "You're going to propose to the greatest girl on earth, man! You're gonna get engaged—I highly doubt that she's gonna dump you now, it's been almost five fucking years—and I'm gonna be your best man and there'll be no open bar because that'd be ridiculous knowing me. It's going to so awesome that even Ally's scary-ass mother will enjoy herself!" Stiles then cupped Scott's face and planted a kiss on his forehead and then another one on Scott's lips.
"I'll handle my own shit," Stiles said, drawing back. He wanted to laugh at Scott's stunned look. It had been years since they had kissed each other. It had been back in their high school years when Scott wanted to practice before asking Mandy Wendel out. Those quick little pecks had soon turned into full-blown make-out sessions. Very clingy and needy on both their parts, with Mandy soon forgotten. Scott never did ask her out, making Allison his sole girlfriend.
"I'm always interrupting something juicy," sighed Allison as she walked through the door. She smiled at the boys as she toed off her sneakers, dirty from a day from helping kids with their archery. Scott quickly patted his pocket containing the ring box, hissing out a sigh of relief. He pulled away from Stiles, and walked over to give Allison a kiss.
"I'll be right back," he told her, heading to their bedroom. Allison raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking with a smile. "And how was your day, Stiles? Do anything exciting before macking on my man?"
"Aww, do you feel left out?" Stiles teased.
Allison shook her head, still smiling. "I heard you coming in last night. Did you meet up with anyone?"
"Geez, everyone around here wants to make it all about me."
"Only because we care," Allison replied. She gave Stiles a quick kiss on the lips. "There, now we're even." Before he could say anything, she handed him a cream-colored envelope. "This was tucked underneath your wiper on your Jeep," she said. She did a half-twirl as she entered the kitchen. "I didn't read it, but I think it's very cute."
"Ha ha," Stiles said sarcastically. Once Allison was out of his view he tore open the top of the envelope and fished out its contents. It was a check for one hundred dollars, followed by a note written in elegant cursive.
'Now you'll have enough to cover the tab for us next time. I believe that Saturday would be the appropriate evening to relieve yourself of those funds.'
Stiles didn't need to see the signature to know who it was from.