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Stiles holds his breath, covering his mouth—his stupid, traitorous mouth—and staring up at Chris with wide eyes. The hunter, currently balls-deep in the young man, studies him with a blank face.
“What did you just say?”
“Chris, I—”
“You're thinking of Peter? Now?”
“No, I—”
Chris curls his fingers around Stiles's left thigh, pushing it up towards the young man's chest and pressing deeper into him. Stiles groans, hands gripping Chris's biceps. “Am I not enough to distract you from thinking of someone else while I'm fucking you, Stiles?” He snaps his hips sharply, and the young man cries out.
“I'm sorry,” Stiles pants, one hand moving to the headboard to keep his head from hitting it as Chris starts up a steady, unrelenting rhythm.
“Do you let him fuck you like this?” the hunter demands through clenched teeth. “Does he fill you up? Take you over and over until you can't think straight?”
Stiles smirks. “I never—ah!—think straight.”
Chris leans forward, sucking a dark mark onto the young man's collarbone. “Does he mark you up? Put bruises on your pretty skin?”
“Chris,” Stiles whines, arching his back and letting loose a guttural noise when the hunter leans back, grabs the young man's hips with both hands, and rams hard into his prostate. “Please. Please, Chris, please.”
“Is he big, Stiles?” Chris snaps his hips forward again.
Stiles breathes hard, eyebrows furrowing as the pit of his stomach tightens. “So big,” he gasps, hands covering the older man's and holding on tight. “He makes everything hurt so good.”
Chris growls. “Would you prefer if he were fucking you right now?”
The young man quickly shakes his head, eyebrows drawn together as he writhes and moans. “No. No, Chris. I'm sorry.”
Looking down at Stiles skeptically, Chris narrows his eyes. “How sorry?”
Stiles clenches around the older man, and Chris gives a deep groan. “So, so sorry.”
The older man leans down over Stiles, caging him in as he presses their chests together and watching the young man's mouth fall open at the new angle. “How are you going to make it up to me?” he demands in a low, quiet tone, sliding out of Stiles and back in with long, firm strokes.
Stiles breathes harshly for a moment, letting out little puffs of air with every thrust as sweat droplets pool into the dip of his collarbone. “I'll let you fuck my mouth,” he promises, stroking the side of Chris's face. His fingers trail down the man's neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and his fingernails dig into the muscle there. “I'll get on my knees and open wide for you, Chris. Use my tongue just the way you like. Take you all the way down. Fuck, I'll swallow every drop you give me.” He gasps when Chris's hips stutter and moves his own to meet the man with a renewed fervor. “You like it when I look up at you. When you have me where you want me. Don't you?”
“Fuck,” Chris hisses, his thrusts becoming hurried.
“You like it afterward when you can taste yourself on my tongue,” Stiles continues, grabbing his own cock and pumping himself quickly. “When your cum runs down my chin, and you lick it away.”
Chris curses again as he comes, stilling as he fills the young man. Stiles is only seconds behind, his cum spilling between them in spurts. They lay pressed together for several moments, breathing harshly into the quiet of the room. When a disinterested noise sounds from a few feet away, both Chris and Stiles turn their heads towards it.
“Well, that was a show,” Peter says from his chair by the bed. He's trying to convey nonchalance with a relaxed, lazy posture. But his pupils are blown wide and there's some serious tenting going on in his pants. “Dibs on the next round.”
Chris huffs into Stiles's neck and lightly slaps the young man's ass. “You brat,” he chuckles breathlessly. “You said his name on purpose.”
“Mmm,” Stiles agrees with a goofy grin. “You weren't fucking me hard enough.”
Chris nips along his jaw and bites down on his earlobe before whispering, “Think of how hard he'll fuck you if you say my name instead of his while he's pounding away inside you.”
Stiles gasps and arches, clenching around Chris and moaning at the ache it elicits.
“Darling, if he's able to speak at all with me inside him, I'm not doing my job properly,” Peter promises.
Stiles shivers as sweat cools on his body. He runs his hand through the mess on his stomach, sucking two fingers down to the bottom knuckles and groaning around them. He side-eyes Peter, watching the man's fingers turn white as he clenches the life out of the chair's arms.
He slides his glistening fingers out of his mouth with a lurid swirl of his tongue, trailing them down his chin, the length of his neck, down his chest and abdomen. “You gonna fill me up, Peter?” he begs, mouth falling open as he curls his fingers around the base of his already half-hard cock. “You gonna make me scream?”
A low noise leaves Peter's throat. “As soon as Christopher decides to pull out.”
Chris smirks and presses in just a bit further before slowly, slowly, slowly pulling out. Stiles moans and lifts his hips, trying to chase the feeling of being full again. He clenches around the nothingness inside him and lets loose a pained noise.
“Stiles?” Chris asks firmly and with slight concern. “Are you all right?” He presses his palm to the side of the young man's face and keeps careful eye contact with him. “Talk to me.”
Stiles pants and opens his mouth. Something needy and desperate falls past his lips. “So empty,” he breathes, biting his lower lip and squirming against the sheets.
Chris gives him a fond smile and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Peter will fix that very soon.”
“Promise?”
“Always, baby.”
Chris leans away, cleaning himself off and putting on a pair of boxer-briefs before taking Peter's place when the other man stands. He's still fully-clothed, and he walks slowly around the bed like a predator, stopping at the foot and eyeing Stiles hungrily.
“I only fuck boys who do what they're told,” he threatens. His words pool into the depths of Stiles's stomach and wriggle until the young man's toes curl. “Do you do what you're told, Stiles?”
Stiles nods jerkily, grinding his teeth and wincing as Peter's gaze swallows him whole. “Yes,” he chokes. Begs. Pleads.
“Yes what?” Peter demands sharply.
Stiles's mouth drops open as he lifts his chin, trying his best to still keep an eye on Peter. “Yes, Alpha.”
Peter's eyes flame red, and a low rumble vibrates in his chest. “Good boy. Now—” He starts to slowly unbutton his slacks. “—show me how you fill yourself, sweetheart.”
Stiles reaches down and presses the two fingers that had been in his mouth inside of himself. He gasps at the ache left behind by Chris and closes his eyes.
“Eyes open.”
Stiles does as he's told, though his vision is cloudy with pleasure.
“Good boy.” Peter lets his pants drop to the floor. He's not wearing any underwear, and his thick cock bobs, red and leaking. “Now, three fingers.”
Stiles slides a third finger in easily, still thoroughly stretched. He presses them in as far as he can then pulls them out almost completely before thrusting them back in.
Peter watches Stiles fuck himself on his fingers a few more times before removing his shirt. “Now, a fourth.”
“Peter,” Chris warns from the chair, “he's not ready for that.”
“He can take it, Christopher.” Peter gets on the bed and crawls towards Stiles on his hands and knees. “What do you think, sweet boy?” He leans over Stiles and studies him carefully. “Do you want my knot inside you? Stretching you open just for me?”
Stiles has never taken Peter's knot before. The Alpha has always pulled out and fucked his own fist or fucked into Chris in the last moments before the knot forms. The young man has been wanting it. Badly. But Peter has refused him, not wanting to be the cause of his pain, should something go wrong.
Stiles can feel it, though. He's ready. So, so ready.
“Yes,” he says desperately, stretching the fingers inside him to prepare for another. “Yes, Alpha. Please. I need you.”
Peter surges forward and captures his lips in a deep, deep kiss. “Show me,” he commands when they part, sitting back to get a better view of the young man.
Stiles stretches his fingers a couple more times as he moves them in and out of himself. And when he slides them out a third time, he takes a breath and slowly, slowly, slowly pushes back in with a fourth finger. His head falls back, and his hips arch off the bed. Peter reaches out and cups one hip, holding him down.
“Slowly, sweetheart. You're doing so good. So good for me,” he encourages, watching the young man with bright eyes. “If it's too much, you can stop.”
Stiles pauses and breathes, his fingers halfway in. Peter strokes his cheek, and the young man opens his eyes, seeing nothing but care and concern on Peter's face. “I'm okay,” he promises, smiling past the ache.
“Does it hurt?” Peter asks.
Stiles shakes his head. “It's uncomfortable. But it doesn't hurt.”
Peter watches him a moment longer before nodding, satisfied with the answer. “Do you want to keep going?”
Stiles rolls his hips, gasping as his fingers shift deeper. “God, yes.”
Peter brushes a hand through the young man's sweaty hair and kisses him. “I'll ask you again when I feel the knot start to form, all right? You have to stay with me, beautiful boy. If you don't answer, I won't let it happen. Understood?”
“Yes, Alpha.”
It's their code in bed. 'Yes, Alpha' gives Peter the green light to do all sorts of nasty, wonderful things to Stiles's body.
“Good boy.” Peter leans back again and waits.
Stiles starts to move his fingers in small thrusts, going just a little deeper every time. He grabs Peter's wrist with his free hand, and the older man twists their hands until their fingers interlock, murmuring encouragements as Stiles's starts to thrust his fingers a little faster, a little harder. And suddenly he's bottomed-out, fingers inside himself down past the first knuckle. He stretches his fingers experimentally, biting his lip and groaning.
“Careful,” Peter coaxes, gently guiding Stiles's hand back out. “Slowly, darling.”
Stiles watches Peter lube up two of his own fingers and glide them right into him. It barely feels like anything, compared to the stretch from before. He clenches around Peter's fingers and swallows hard at the pull of muscles he never knew existed.
“Patience.”
“I need you inside me. Now,” Stiles demands. The empty feeling is eating him alive. Damned ADHD crackling through every nerve. Peter's eyes flash, and Stiles decides to drive the aching need for his Alpha home. “Please, Peter.” He lets his bottom lip quiver a bit and squeezes the hand in his. “Please?”
Peter slides a hand behind Stiles's neck and pulls him up for a kiss.
“Manipulative little shit,” he murmurs against his lips.
Stiles grins, heart pounding as Peter sits back and squirts a generous amount of lube on his hand, slicking himself up with a few pumps. He lines himself up with the young man's entrance and slides in with a quick warning of “Breathe.” Their hips collide with a wet slap, and Stiles spreads his legs and lifts his knees higher to bring the man closer, deeper.
Peter rests there for a moment, though the shaking in his thighs tells Stiles that he wants to move so badly.
“I'm going to knot you from behind,” he explains breathlessly. “I'll warn you before it happens. I'm going to ask you if you're absolutely sure. And if you say yes, I'll flip you. Understood?”
Stiles furrows his brow and runs his fingers through Peter's hair, realizing too late that it's the hand covered in lube and jizz. Oh well. That's what showers are for. “You can't knot me like this? So I can see you?”
Peter smiles and kisses him again. “As much as I would love that, it wouldn't be very comfortable for either of us.” He gives Stiles's legs an extra stretch, and the young man grimaces.
“Yeah. I see your point.”
“Good. Now, answer me, Stiles. Is everything I've said understood?”
Stiles lifts his chin. “Yes, Alpha.”
And then there is only the steady rhythm of Peter sliding in and out of him. Stiles can tell he's holding back.
He wants more.
The young man lets little sounds escape, moans and groans, and “Please, harder.” The man obliges with a few sharp snaps of his hips, but it's still not enough.
“Thought you were gonna make me scream, Alpha,” he teases.
“Working my way up to it,” Peter says, panting with every thrust. “Anticipation makes the end result that much more exhilarating.” His pace quickens, though, and Stiles feels the pit of his stomach tighten. His fingers tangle in the sheets beneath them, and he closes his eyes, tilting his head back. Peter takes the opportunity to latch onto his pulse point, sucking and nipping marks to match the ones Chris left behind.
“Fuck!” Stiles breathes, crying out with every thrust into his body. “Fucking fuck! Ah!...Chris!”
Peter stops for a moment, and there's a soft chuckle from the side of the bed.
“You little fucker,” Peter curses, eyes going red.
Stiles cracks an eye open and gives the man a cheeky grin. “Oops.”
In an instant, Peter has them sitting up, Stiles straddling his lap and flailing arms settling around the man's shoulders. Peter's hands grip his hips tightly, his bared teeth beginning to sharpen.
“Any last words?” he growls, and Stiles leans in close.
“Ruin me.”
The pace Peter sets is brutal. He's half-shifted and snarling, and Stiles can't keep up with him to save his life.
It's amazing.
“Stiles,” Peter says through clenched teeth, “I need an answer.”
“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles gasps, fingernails scratching at the man's shoulders. “Yes, Peter, yes!”
Peter pulls out and flips the young man onto his hands and knees. He pushes in and starts the brutal thrusts again. Stiles braces one hand against the headboard and drops his head down.
“I'm gonna come. I'm—fuck! Peter!”
The base of Peter's cock begins to swell, catching on Stiles's rim and pressing into the young man's prostate. The mixture of pain and pleasure pushes Stiles over the edge, and his orgasm hits him white and hot. Peter grows and grows inside him until Stiles doesn't think he'll be able to stand it anymore.
And then it stops.
Peter trembles against his back, heaving great gulps of air as a clawed hand clenches the headboard beside Stiles's own. Peter's free arm wraps around the young man tightly.
“Stiles? Are you all right?”
Stiles nods, head still bowed. “Yeah. M'fine.”
His ass is throbbing where he and Peter are still connected. He bites the inside of his cheek and only makes a small noise when Peter carefully guides them onto their sides. As soon as they're settled, he lets out a sigh of relief, humming as the older man runs his fingers through his hair over and over.
“Was I too rough, sweetheart?” Peter breathes hotly into his ear. Stiles barely has two braincells to rub together, so he just smirks and shakes his head as a heavy exhaustion settles in his limbs.
“I'll get you something to drink, baby,” Chris says, standing and leaning down to place a kiss on the young man's forehead. Stiles nods, eyes still closed, and listens to Chris leave the room.
He must doze off because a second later, Chris is waking him and holding up a bottle of water. Peter has a warm cloth and is wiping him clean. Chris holds his head up so he can drink then sets the bottle aside and lays down facing the young man, bringing the covers up around them all.
“How are you feeling, Stiles?” the hunter asks quietly, stroking the young man's cheek and neck.
Stiles blearily opens his eyes and smiles. “Pretty fucking awesome.” Both men chuckle. “How long will we be stuck together?”
“If I have my way,” Peter says tiredly, “for the rest of our lives.”
Chris huffs. “About an hour, baby.”
“Okay.” Stiles yawns. “Peter, I got lube in your hair.”
Peter snorts. “I know, love.”