Despite carefully keeping to his Adderall schedule, Stiles could hardly focus in the rest of his classes, his thoughts constantly wandering back to Lydia and Peter. It was in a special kind of agony he was in. Stiles wanted to track Peter down and vent his goddamn spleen on the man for tormenting his former crush, but, at the same time, something was holding him back.
The same instinct that made him keep secrets from his father, that made him tell lies and half-truths to protect others (and himself), was cautioning him against seeking a confrontation.
Normally, Stiles didn't bother too much with all of the "what if's" before he charged into something, but this time was different. He was new to this situation, to having someone interested in him (in any capacity), and because of that, Stiles was afraid of scaring Peter off―which sounded completely ridiculous even inside of his head because, if he had any sense at all, then he would be afraid of Peter, period.
Unfortunately, a big part of Stiles's indecision about confronting Peter about Lydia stemmed from not wanting to fuck up…whatever it was that he and Peter had.
And Stiles kind of hated himself for it.
Well, for that and the fact that he really didn't know what he would say once he got in front of the older man―'hey, you're a dick for tormenting my former crush in your effort to come back from the dead, even though it gave me a shot at sexy times with an actual living, breathing person'?
Yeah, no Catch 22 there.
Needless to say, Stiles spent the rest of school flustered and restless, his emotions oscillating between righteous indignation and mindless panic. He counted himself lucky that his constant fidgeting and seat-shifting hadn't earned him a detention (especially in Harris's class).
After school, Stiles had gone home and immediately set himself to tackling the growing pile of laundry, content to set his dilemma on the backburner and procrastinate his way to a decision―which essentially amounted to dicking with shit around the house until he had no excuse keeping him from avoiding the issue any longer.
Darkness had fallen by the time Stiles finally got in his Jeep and set off in the direction of the abandoned rail station. He hadn't bothered to text or call Peter, but from what Isaac said Stiles figured that he had a 50/50 chance of finding the older man there.
Stiles parked about a half mile away from the station. The distance had two benefits: 1) to avoid suspicion in case someone happened to come looking and 2) there would be plenty of time for Stiles to turn back unnoticed if he changed his mind (it's hard to save face when you chicken out on a werewolf's doorstep).
Stiles had only been walking through the woods for a couple minutes before he stopped dead in his tracks. In front of him, a pair of eyes was glowing in his direction.
Unfortunately, they weren't blue―they were yellow.
Fuck, Stiles mentally groaned.
He had been so intent on finding Peter that it had slipped his mind that he would probably run into one of the others in the process. And after what happened at lunch, Stiles was in no mood to talk to Isaac.
"Hey, how's it goin'?" he called in a fake-chipper voice as Isaac came closer, stopping a few feet away. The werewolf was illuminated in splotches of moonlight, making it difficult for Stiles to read his face.
Isaac shrugged, his hands half-buried in his pockets. "It's goin'. The full moon's a couple of days off. The tension's starting to set in already so I thought I'd wander around the woods for a while, try to get rid of some of it. You're a little off the beaten path, though. Come out to see your boyfriend?"
For some reason, the word 'boyfriend' made the hair stand up on the back of Stiles's neck. Maybe because he himself had yet to string 'boyfriend' and 'Peter' together in the same sentence. Feeling overwhelmed, Stiles shoved the issue of exactly what Peter was to him aside. He had more immediate problems to deal with, like the temperamental werewolf staring intently at him in the middle of the freaking woods.
A shiver ran through Stiles and he tamped down the urge to turn around and book it to his Jeep.
"Uh, yeah," Stiles said, trying to puff up a protective layer of bravado to bluff his way out of his discomfort. "He doesn't have a car so I figured I'd save him a trip. Can't make him come over all the time, y'know? That's not fair. Sooooo I'll just…get going. Don't want to keep him waiting," Stiles hedged as he skirted awkwardly around Isaac.
The werewolf stood still and quietly followed Stiles's progress with his eyes, making no move to stop him. Stiles slowly released the breath he'd been holding and kept on walking.
"There were other ways, you know."
Stiles halted mid-step and whipped around to look at Isaac, dread clawing at his insides. Somehow, he knew there was more to the other teen's silence. "What?"
Isaac had turned to face him and was stalking closer, his approach highlighted by the patches of moonlight moving over him.
"To get in. You must want it bad, to go through Peter. It was smart though. I mean," Isaac chuckled, "you have to be the first piece of ass they guy's had in years. I can see why he couldn't say no. Some scrawny, defenseless jailbait coming on to him? I bet he couldn't get you out of your pants fast enough."
Isaac was close, too close, and Stiles had to fight to stay still as he felt Isaac's warm breath on his face.
Inside, Stiles cringed from the poison dripping from Isaac's words. It was like he was paralyzed by them and could do nothing but listen helplessly as each word sank into his skin, making him feel sick.
He jumped slightly when Isaac's hand brushed along his jaw.
"Using Peter might've been the easy way in, but you didn't have to go through him," Isaac whispered cloyingly. "You should have come to me. I'm closer to Derek than Peter is, more trusted. If you ask me…nicely," Isaac's thumb smoothed across Stiles's lower lip, "I could persuade Derek to help you out."
A hand smoothed down Stiles's abdomen and the touch brought him out of his confusion-filled daze.
He glared and jerked back so that a few feet separated him from Isaac. "What the hell are you talking about?" Stiles asked tersely. He had half a mind to call Derek to collect his beta because Isaac was definitely losing it.
Isaac laughed, humorlessly. "The bite. Why else would you be banging Peter?"
Stiles grit his teeth and clenched his fists as his temper flared. "I don't want the bite, okay? Not all of us are so eager to try fixing our personal problems by adding half a dozen supernatural ones. That's not why I'm with Peter."
Isaac snorted and eyed him incredulously. "Really? Does Peter know that?"
"Yeah, he does. He was the one who brought the subject up a―, a while ago," Stiles said, glossing over the finer points of that conversation.
Isaac's brows arched high in disbelief. "So you're banging the pedo-zombie because you want to?" Laughter bubbled in Isaac's voice, like the idea was hilarious.
Rage rippled through Stiles. He was done with Isaac's insults and crude innuendos. Scratch that, he was done with Isaac period right now. And Isaac's dumping on Peter over technicalities was the last straw. Blinded by his anger, Stiles darted forward and swung his fist at Isaac's face, uncaring of the other teen's greater speed and strength―both of which Isaac used to avoid Stiles's assault.
Isaac caught his fist easily, using Stiles's momentum to swing him around and pin him against a nearby tree.
Rough bark scraped Stiles's cheek as he tried to free himself. The fist he had thrown was twisted behind his back and held in Isaac's hand. Stiles flushed, humiliated. Isaac was holding him to the tree with only one freaking hand.
But he soon forgot his wounded pride as fear crept in.
It wasn't from being shoved around by someone bigger and stronger than him (sadly, he was almost used to that). No, what really unnerved him was when Isaac molded himself to Stiles's back, becoming a solid line of heat from shoulder to thigh.
"I'm curious," Isaac whispered confidentially into his ear. "If Peter knows you don't want the bite, then what's so special about a twitchy, annoying kid like you that's got his attention? Or are you just a good lay?"
Isaac's free hand―his clawed free hand― dragged up Stiles's thigh to his hip, gripping it tightly.
Stiles's heart rate skyrocketed. This level of unwanted touching had exponentially surpassed Isaac's behavior in the cafeteria. And Scott was miles away when Stiles needed him most. Oh god, he should have just driven up to the damn rail station. He should have let someone―anyone―know where he was going. He should have just stayed home doing his homework or playing World of Warcraft. He should have―
Stiles choked on his spit when Isaac's hips started to move in a slow grind against his ass. There was no mistaking what that bulge in Isaac's pants was. Isaac was hard as steel and Stiles's mind blanked as the soft panting in his ear took on a whole different meaning.
A soft growl escaped Isaac's lips and it triggered Stiles's (apparently latent) survival instinct. He flailed his free arm backwards desperately, slapping at Isaac's hip and side; he even attempted to donkey kick Isaac's shins, but the closeness and awkward angle merely turned Stiles's escape attempts into an awkward wiggle that only served to dig the tree bark harder into his chest.
Isaac tightened his hold, his hand becoming a band of iron around Stiles's wrist. The werewolf pressed even closer, effectively hindering all movement beyond pitiful hand flaps.
Stiles let his body go limp, held up only by the hard wall of supernatural strength behind him.
"…no…" he whispered. The reality of the situation crashed down around him and the shock of it wiped any other word out of his mind.
Isaac nudged the shell of Stiles's ear with his nose. "Fuck, you smell like sex. Such a fucking whore, showing up to school smelling like a bitch in heat. You still smell like a bitch in heat. I bet you're hot for it all the time. You want me to help you out?"
"N-no," Stiles whispered, his voice cracking. Tremors wracked his body and he bit his lip to keep from whimpering.
Isaac pawed at his hip, his claws catching in the material covering it. "I bet you're gagging for it. You need," Isaac ground his cock harder against the curve of Stiles's ass, "to be fucked, don't you?"
"No," Stiles gasped out, the word coming out louder as panic forced his breath out in sharp, quick pants.
Isaac's claws dug purposefully into his jeans. "Scream for me, bitch," he growled heatedly. "Tell me how much you want it."
The sound of material tearing shot through the night air and suddenly Stiles could feel a cool breeze on his skin. "NO!" Stiles cried out, using the last of his strength to thrash violently between Isaac and the tree because like fuck if he was going to lose his virginity like this, not to Isaac, not when he wanted to lose it to―
A vicious snarl rang out just before the unrelenting pressure holding Stiles to the tree disappeared.
Releasing a broken sob, Stiles slid down the tree trunk and collapsed on the ground, only distantly aware of the fight going on behind him. Dull thuds (the sound of flesh being repeatedly hit) reached his ears, but Stiles remained facing the tree, numb to the world around him as he tried to get his breathing back under control.
"Stiles."
Limbs trembling, Stiles slowly twisted around and sighed with relief at the sight of Peter, eyes blazing and fangs bared, kneeling atop Isaac's back, keeping the younger werewolf pinned flat to the ground with the threat of claws on the back of his neck and the arm that Peter had twisted up behind Isaac's back.
"Are you alright?" Peter asked softly, his eyes darting over Stiles's body in search of injuries. He looked furious, his gaze hardening as he took in the state of Stiles's clothes and the scent of terror oozing from the teen.
"Um." Quickly, Stiles skimmed his hands over his body. "Y-yeah, I'm good. My, my pants are trashed, though." They really were, too. There would be no fixing this pair, not with how Isaac tore them: four long slashes angled right across the side seam. A little darning here and there, Stiles could manage, but that didn't make him a fucking seamstress. But that was fine. It wasn't like he really wanted a keepsake from this, anyway.
Now that Isaac was restrained by Peter, Stiles felt himself calm down enough to scoot closer, getting a better look at his almost-rapist.
Isaac was covered in dirt and forest debris, and there were several places where blood seeped out through tears in his clothes (most likely damage from Peter's claws). His face sported cuts and bruises (all of which were already slowly healing) and there was a smear of blood on his upper lip that made Stiles think Peter had broken Isaac's nose at some point during the scuffle. But it was the expression on Isaac's face that confused Stiles.
He looked resigned, guilty. There was no trace of the cocky smirk he'd worn most of the day.
Stiles cleared his throat nervously. "Why, uh, why did he do that? Attack me?" he asked Peter, his eyes fixed on Isaac's prone form in case he managed to find his way out from under the older man.
"Probably several reasons," Peter replied, watching Isaac, too. "The biggest factor being the full moon coming up. Isaac's newly turned. He doesn't yet have the level of control built up to reign in his baser urges, like killing or fucking. Think of him as a giant toddler, only with the strength and knowledge to get what he wants."
"The full moon made him do this?" Stiles frowned. "I don't get it. I've been through several of Scott's full moons and he never did anything like this. Nothing past the attempted murder part, anyways. And Scott's just as horny as the next guy."
Peter looked at him askance, like the answer was obvious. "Scott isn't attracted to men. He's also so emotionally wrapped around Allison's finger that the ones he poses the most danger to are Allison and those that get in his way to her. Scott's something of a special case. While he's got a particular person to focus his attention on, the rest of us," he dug his claws into Isaac's neck, making him flinch and whimper, "are somewhat less selective about who we take our aggression out on."
Oh.
Stiles squirmed uncomfortably on the ground. He'd been looking at it backwards. Scott wasn't the control group, he was the anomaly. Apparently comparing the effects of Scott's transformation to Isaac's had been one of his suckier mistakes.
And wearing his pheromone-covered jeans all day was probably what had tipped Isaac over the edge, with Stiles virtually smelling like an animal in heat.
Okay, that wasn't fair. Stiles had been the one attacked by a horny werewolf, so why did he feel like the ass, here?
Peter leaned down to speak directly into the teen's ear.
"Just so we're clear, Isaac, if you ever touch him again," he whispered, his voice deadly calm, "if I so much as smell you on him, well…" Peter laughed menacingly under his breath, an amused smirk playing around his lips. "I don't need to tell you what would happen. Do I, Isaac?" he asked, emphasizing the question with a squeeze his hand, his claws puncturing the teen's skin.
"N-no," Isaac gasped out.
"You have two choices," Peter said. "Either you go back to Derek on your own power and explain to him what you nearly did or I'll call him myself and have him drag you back to the station like the out-of-control animal you seem to be." He viciously twisted Isaac's arm up further. "Pick."
"On, on my own," Isaac grit out, looking furious, though whether it was with Peter or with himself for losing control so badly, Stiles hadn't a clue.
Stiles's eyes were wide, shocked by Peter's hostility on his behalf. This was a side of Peter he hadn't seen in a while, not since the night of Formal, the side of him that could threaten bodily harm with a disarming smile and mean every single word of it―and it almost gave Stiles butterflies to see it aimed at Isaac (or at anyone besides himself, really).
After staring down at Isaac for a long while, assessing him, Peter retracted his claws and released the teen, standing in one fluid motion.
Leaving Isaac to his own devices, he walked over to Stiles and offered him a hand (non-clawed).
Stiles let Peter tug him to his feet and was grateful when the older man didn't immediately let go. His legs were still a little shaky and Stiles hoped fervently that his control would return soon because he really didn't know if he could stand the embarrassment if Peter had to carry him.
Isaac was nearly to the tree line when Peter called out to him again.
"Aren't you forgetting something, Isaac?" he asked, glancing pointedly at Stiles.
A constipated look crossed Isaac's features as he gazed at the teen he had nearly raped. "I'm sorry for losing control. I didn't mean to hurt you," he said morosely, his voice so quiet that Stiles almost couldn't hear the apology.
Running his hand rapidly across his scalp, Stiles exhaled in resignation. "It's fine, dude. Just don't make a habit out it 'cause I'm gonna start carrying around werewolf-grade pepper spray. Got it?"
Lips twisted in a wry grin, Isaac nodded hesitantly and took off into the woods, leaving Stiles alone with Peter. Which was fine up until Stiles remembered why he had come out here in the first place―and didn't that make things awkward.
How the hell was he supposed to let loose on Peter when the man had literally just saved his ass?
Stiles started minutely when Peter gently grasped his chin, using it to turn his head this way and that to better see the scratches on Stiles's cheek from when he'd been pinned to the tree. Peter released him to skim his hands over Stiles's chest and hips, making sure for himself that Stiles wasn't hurt anywhere else. He lingered over the tears left by Isaac's claws, his expression simultaneously sad and angry.
Stiles knew that the anger wasn't directed at him, but he still felt irrationally responsible, as though he was the one upsetting Peter (and if that wasn't victim self-blame cropping up already then Stiles was the Queen of England).
Peter tenderly cupped the back of Stiles's neck, his thumb skating across the bruises he himself had created two days ago. "Are you alright?" he asked again, his brows drawn in concern.
Leaning into the touch, Stiles nodded, taking comfort in the grounding touch. He was fine, physically at least, though thoroughly exhausted. Emotionally, he might be scarred for life, but Stiles had already chalked it up as another byproduct of dealing with those of the werewolf persuasion.
"Come on," Peter murmured, encouraging Stiles back in the direction he had come with a gentle tug before letting his hand fall away. "Let's get you home."
Numbly, Stiles fell into step beside Peter and they walked in silence to where the Jeep was parked.
Resting his hands flat on the driver's door, Stiles closed his eyes and leaned his weight against it, pushing as though it would transfer the fuzzy feeling of nothing out of his head and into something else, anything else.
He heard Peter come up and lean on the Jeep beside him, but Stiles didn't move to acknowledge him.
"What brought you out here tonight, Stiles?" Peter asked softly.
Huffing under his breath, Stiles gathered up the remnants of his pride and did what he did best when he was unsure of how to proceed: he bluffed his way through it.
"Can't a guy just visit his…man…friend…thing?" he fumbled, unable to use the word 'boyfriend' as easily as Isaac had.
"You could," Peter allowed, "but that's not all of it, is it?" He eyed Stiles shrewdly, noting the tension in his shoulders and how Stiles wouldn't quite meet his eyes. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm a big boy, Stiles, I can handle it."
They stood in silence for a long time before Stiles felt his resolve to leave this conversation for another day crumble, knowing that Peter would only catch him in a lie if he tried to dance around the issue any longer.
Still leaning against the Jeep, Stiles let his head hang between his arms.
"Lydia," he sighed out, like that one word said it all.
Clearly it didn't because Peter blinked at him in confusion, as though he had expected Stiles to say something else. "What about her?" he asked, sounding unsure of where the discussion was going.
To be honest, Stiles didn't have that much of a grasp on it either.
He took a deep breath and barreled on, a small part him already mourning the sex he'd never have. "It was Lydia, wasn't it?" Stiles stated more than asked as he finally turned to face Peter. He crossed his arms defensively in front of his chest. "She helped you come back."
Realization flickered in Peter's eyes and some of the rigidity left his stance. "Yes," he admitted, his carefully neutral expression not giving away any of his thoughts.
"So…" Stiles floundered, hoping Peter would volunteer more information, but received nothing. "Why didn't you tell me?" he finished weakly, settling on his least accusing question. He didn't have the stomach to go into a full-blown fight at the moment and, quite frankly, even this was pushing his frayed nerves.
Peter studied him for a few seconds before answering.
"Mostly because I know what she meant to you a few months ago, what she might still mean to you, and I knew that the truth would upset you. That, and…I really didn't want to sabotage this just as it's starting, not with something from the past that I have no power to change. Not that I would change using Lydia to come back because I couldn't have used anyone else. She was my only option and I had to make do with what I had. The initial dying part, though. That I'd change," he finished candidly.
Stiles mulled the older man's words around in his head, wishing he could hear Peter's heart beat to weigh the truth in them. The words felt authentic enough. And Stiles couldn't find fault in Peter's logic. Irritating as it was, Peter seemed to have done what Stiles would have done in his position―omit information to protect someone, to protect himself.
"What did you mean by 'sabotaging' this? What is this?" Stiles asked, wanting to kick himself for asking the second after the words fell from his mouth.
Fuck, he was too tired and stressed to have a serious conversation to label their relationship. Why did his verbal filter always vanish right when he needed it most?
Peter cocked his head, looking faintly puzzled. "I'm not sure yet…but I'm curious to find out," he said softly, gazing at Stiles with a question in his eyes.
And that's what it came down to, really.
Curiosity.
Deep inside, Stiles was insatiably curious. And here was Peter Hale, a great big question mark willingly offering himself to Stiles―and Stiles wasn't exactly known for his impulse control. Especially not when he was being given a choice in the matter. Lately, it seemed like 'take Stiles's choices away' was a reoccurring theme and nearly everyone had participated.
His dad, Derek, Scott, Mr. Harris, Gerard, Matt, hell even Isaac had nearly joined in―
A shudder ran down Stiles's spine as images of what might've happened had Peter not found them in time filling his head. Or if Peter hadn't found them at all…
Isaac wouldn't have given him a choice. But Peter was offering one.
Stiles wasn't delusional. He knew that at the heart of most relationships lay the hope of sex. And while he was new to this game, Peter wasn't, and had still given him a choice every step of the way. Peter hadn't forced or coerced him at all―and Stiles knew first-hand what it was like to have Peter use those tactics.
To have an enigma like Peter offering more instead of simply taking it…
Stiles had already decided.
A hand brushed across his jaw, but this time Stiles didn't flinch.
"What are you thinking about?" Peter asked, looking curious and apprehensive.
"Um," Stiles cleared his throat. "Just…what might've happened if you hadn't, y'know, pulled him off of me."
Peter's thumb grazed his lower lip, eyes flashing dangerously. "I'd have ripped him apart for hurting you, for taking something like that from you. You know that, don't you?" he asked, completely serious.
Stiles fidgeted with a corner of his jacket sleeve, shivering as a cool breeze teased at the exposed skin of his hip. Oddly, he found Peter's threat of violence comforting.
"Yeah, okay. I just…I'm glad you showed up before he did anything...because I want my first to be you." A thrill of terror (though nothing like he'd experienced earlier) sang through him from telling Peter to his face that he wanted the older man to take his virginity, from finally admitting that he was new to all of this and wanted Peter to show him everything.
From the way Peter's breathing had picked up, Stiles thought it was safe to assume that he wasn't the only one affected by the admission.
A hungry look crept into Peter's eyes and suddenly Stiles was shivering for an entirely different reason. "You remember what I said about the full moon, don't you? I might be more in control, but I'm far from unaffected by its influence. It's not a good idea to offer me something that I can't refuse."
Leaning back against the Jeep, Stiles wrapped his hand around Peter's wrist, tugging the older man into his personal space.
He could still feel the ghost of Isaac's hands on his skin and he badly wanted rid of it. He had a pretty good idea of how to go about it, but…he needed Peter to lose some of his control.
And if it killed two birds with one stone? Then all the better.
"I don't want you to refuse," Stiles whispered against Peter's lips before closing the gap between them. The kiss was gentle for a few seconds, but then Stiles opened his mouth to Peter's questing tongue and he found himself pressed hard to the door of his Jeep as Peter kissed him rough and dirty with hints of fang nipping at his lip.
Stiles wound his arms around Peter and ground his hips against the older man's hardening cock, eager to release some of the tension that had been building inside of him for hours.
The answering urgency in Peter's movements showed that he needed this as much as Stiles did.
Stiles pulled away long enough to mutter "my house is empty, we should really―"
Peter cut him off with a kiss.
"We will," he whispered raggedly against Stiles's lips as he fumbled to open the teen's pants. "We will." Then a warm hand wrapped around Stiles, jacking him almost inhumanly fast, and it was all Stiles could do to stay on his feet as he moaned and writhed against the Jeep.
It was over in less than a minute, Stiles spilling himself into Peter's hand, but he couldn't find it in him to be embarrassed by how fast he'd come, not when Peter had whipped out his own cock and was jerking it hard and fast, Stiles's come slicking the way, and then Peter was groaning through his own orgasm, his come splattering over Stiles's jacket and ruined jeans.
Breathing hard, Peter leaned forward to press his forehead to Stiles's, seeming not to care that their combined release was smearing onto his clothes. He placed a chaste kiss to Stiles's lips.
"Now, your house," Peter said, nudging his nose against Stiles's before stepping back a pace.
Feeling lighter than he had all day, Stiles smiled to himself as Peter helped him climb into the Jeep, his legs still shaky from orgasm. Christ, if only all of his life threatening encounters ended in mind-blowing sex, Stiles would be far more on board with all of the supernatural drama that found its way to Beacon Hills.
Once Peter had settled into the passenger seat, Stiles fired up the Jeep and turned her around back towards town, amazed by how he could go from dreading the loss of his sex life to virtually being guaranteed one all in the same night.