Chapter Text
Stiles turned off the alarm before it could buzz. His days seemed to be back into a somewhat normal routine. Well, normal for the best friend of a werewolf. Normal for someone who had once been kidnapped by one of his friends’ grandparents for use as bait. Normal for someone who had once made a circle around a giant warehouse building with not-enough magical juju ash to keep werewolves and a kanima inside. So… relatively normal.
Stiles padded out of his room and went toward the laundry room. He pushed a few buttons and got the laundry in the drier fluffing up, then headed to make himself some breakfast. Maybe I’ll make dad some breakfast too. But then, his dad was already in the kitchen when he got there, rubbing his eyes.
“Dad? You’re up early,” Stiles said through a yawn.
“Yeah, man, you should put some pants on,” his father replied, already apparently dressed and fed.
“Don’t have any, I’m doing laundry.”
“Oh, thanks. Well, you remember I’m going to the conference today, right? And that I’ll be gone for the next few days?” his dad asked.
“Oh yeah, well, drive safe,” Stiles said. He had totally forgotten.
“I’m flying,” his dad said with a shake of his head.
“Well then… fly safe, no bombs this time pops,” Stiles replied.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” his father returned. “But I’m more worried about you. No parties, no girls over, no game nights while I’m gone.”
“I know, dad. Please, when have I ever had anyone over when you’re out of town?” Stiles snorted.
“You mean like that time one of the deputies saw Scott’s car outside of our house while I was away on business?” his father retorted.
Caught, damn. “Well, there were… mitigating circumstances.”
“Having a Call of Duty night on a school night requires a lot more mitigation than that. No one over this time, Stiles,” his dad said, pulling his bag over to the front door and stepping out.
“Okay, okay, no game night,” Stiles conceded.
“No on over. Period.” The door slammed, as if to say ‘period’ again.
The buzzer called out from the laundry room, and Stiles hadn’t yet taken anything out of the fridge- he’d just been standing in front of it, door open, while talking to his dad. He closed the fridge and decided a pepperoni pizza hot-pocket sounded nice for breakfast.
Stiles hauled the laundry basket, heavy under its burden of his and his fathers’ clothes, to the sofa to fold a week’s worth of underwear and jeans. It was somewhat cathartic- something constant, that he’d been doing since his mother had died-folding laundry. He laughed as he remembered the first few times folding his dad’s underwear and being grossed out at touching them. Now, it was just… reality. Plus he could fold all the laundry in about half the time, and he’d rather fold his dad’s drawers than risk his father seeing the stains on the front of his underwear after he’d uh… well, he’d just rather be folding the laundry.
After he had folded everything in the load, he went back upstairs and put his dad’s stuff on the foot of the always half-undone king-sized bed. He spent as little time as possible in his parent’s dad’s room. He showered after putting his own laundry away. When he got out of the shower, he still had enough time to get to school before the bell.
He closed his dad’s bedroom door as he went down the hall.
Stiles arrived at school and immediately found Scott.
“Agh, Stiles, what’s that smell?” Scott said, burying his sensitive nose in his own arm to hide from the smell.
Stiles ducked his head under his armpit and looked back to Scott with hurt and confusion on his face. “What are you talking about?”
“You smell… weird,” Scott explained.
“No he doesn’t,” Allison said, popping beside Scott as the three headed to the first class of the day.
“Scott, if you’re trying to make me more self-conscious, it’s working.”
“Stiles, you smell fine,” Allison reassured. “Armani?”
“No, uh… Old Spice,” Stiles replied, cheeks warming at the half-compliment.
“I don’t like it,” Scott said, obviously offended at the smell coming off of Stiles.
“I’ve been wearing it since freshman year, you never said anything about it before.”
“No, it’s… it’s different,” Scott insisted. The trio entered the school and parted ways as they headed toward their classes, Stiles now self-conscious of his smell, even though he knew it was probably something only a werewolf like Scott would pick up on. Allison had at least said he smelt fine.
“Danny,” Stiles asked after the most likely to be honest with him. “Danny!”
“What, Stiles?” Danny asked, stopping in the middle of the hall with a not-quite-roll of his eyes.
“Hey, do I uh…. Do I smell alright?”
“I… ugh…” Danny conceded and leaned towards Stiles, wafting. “You smell like cheap deodorant. But for you, that’s alright,” Danny explained.
Stiles grinned. “Thanks.”
The rest of the day went by normally. School seemed practically unimportant next to things like werewolves, Alphas, Betas, hunters, and everything else that was going on around him. Not to mention the weirdness of Peter, now not only a werewolf, but a zombie werewolf, looking at him like… meat. Why does Peter keep coming to my mind at the weirdest times? Stiles still felt a guilty pang remembering how Peter had popped into his very wet wet dream the other night. He didn’t have the excuse that Peter was his Alpha and could project things into his mind. Oh dang… his Alpha sounded really nice. Stiles bit his lip to get the images out of his head and to give the blood someplace else to well up besides down below. He made a b-line to his Jeep, wanting nothing more than to go home.
“Stiles,” Derek’s familiar voice practically dripped impatience and incredulity. “Oh wow, Scott wasn’t kidding…. You reek.”
“Y’know what, Derek, go stick your nose so far up your ass that you can’t smell anything else,” Stiles said, frustrated. “You and Scott are the only ones who’ve said anything all day.”
Derek sniffed Stiles from afar, and suddenly Stiles thought he saw realization hit his face. Stiles didn’t like that.
“What? What’s that look?” Stiles asked, panicking, remembering that Scott had mentioned that he could smell sickness.
“Nothing. Go take a shower, Stiles,” Derek said, changing the subject.
“Nonono, you don’t get to do that. Do I smell like… like death?” Stiles asked, still nervous.
“You’re fine Stiles. You just smell… Damn, you just smell, period,” Derek said. He turned to leave Stiles, slackjawed and confused, to the rest of his day. His jaw stayed slack as Lydia walked by. Lydia has a cute butt. Like Peter.
Wait, Peter? Peter has a nice butt? How do I know Peter Hale has a nice butt? Waitwaitwait, Peter doesn’t have a nice butt…well, he does, but…no. Can’t. Peter tried to get Scott to kill me. Peter’s a freaking zombie werewolf! Stiles wrestled with himself, maybe mumbling just a little bit, to his Jeep.
Stiles drove home and couldn’t help mumbling to himself and arguing with Scott and Derek, who were still in his head telling him he smelled bad. He pulled into his driveway, maybe a little too fast. His shirt was off as soon as he closed the front door behind him.
He sniffed at the shirt, trying to smell anything the wolves might have found assaultive to their sensitive wolf noses. He couldn’t smell anything. Stupid werewolf noses. He unbuttoned his pants on the way to the bathroom at the end of the hall. He turned the light and the fan on, threw his underwear down to his ankles, and stepped to the shower.
The shower was too hot at first, it scalded his shoulder, and Stiles couldn’t help but get distracted by the way the blood slowly rose to the surface under his skin, reddened it until it was pink and sensitive. He slathered his bodywash onto his scrubby thing… poof? ...puff? ...loof? ...loo-fuh… That was it… Loofah. He scrubbed somewhat angrily, trying to get whatever it was off of him. He felt like a crazy person, standing there, madly scrubbing a smell that apparently only werewolves could smell off his body. But here he was, scrubbing. He lightened up as his hands migrated to his groin. He picked up his sack and scrubbed underneath it. Of course, that kind of felt good, better at least than scrubbing the coarse loofah on his dick. He felt and saw the blood slowly fill into his penis and willed it down. Thinking more about the smell that supposedly clung to him all day helped to bring everything back to soft. He scrubbed adamantly at his legs…should clean my legs more often in the shower. He fumbled about as he brought his feet up to scrub their soles. He managed not to fall over as the scrubbing inadvertently tickled his feet.
Stiles turned off the water and went over to the mirror, which had fogged over heavily with how hot the shower had been. Had his boxers been that close to the door? He’d left the door ajar, seeing no use in closing or locking it, since the front door was locked and his dad wasn’t home to accidentally see anything anyway. He wiped the mirror clear with his hand and noticed immediately just how hard he’d been scrubbing in the shower- nearly the entire surface was pink, light scratch marks occasionally highlighting in fleshy white where he’d scrubbed harder.
He turned and peered over his back- a few of the moles there looked particularly angry, but Stiles was used to that. Wait, what if it’s cancer? Scott said he could smell when the dogs were sick at the vet. Ohmigod what if I have cancer? No, Scott had said before he could recognize those smells. He would’ve told Stiles if he’d smelled cancer.
He would’ve.
Stiles groped at the towel rack behind him, but then realized, as his hand hit the condensation-wrapped steel of the bar, that his towels were still wet in the washing machine- he’d forgotten to move them through this morning. Stiles sighed at himself, put his crumpled laundry into the hamper. He couldn’t help but check down the hall both ways, even though he knew he was alone in the house. The coast clear, he still moved to the laundry room quicker then he normally would have. He couldn’t help it- something about that vulnerability of nakedness, even though there wasn’t anyone else there to see him and make it a real vulnerability, made him uncomfortable when he knew of such things as werewolves and hunters and kanimas and whatever else he didn’t know about. He picked only a few towels out of the washing machine- he’d learned that they’d dry faster if he only had a few in the drier at a time then stuffing a lot of towels into it at once. Then he remembered he had left a towel in his room. Deciding to use that one and dry all the towels, he shoved the rest into the dried and turned it on high for a long time.
The hardwood floors resounded somewhat quietly as he padded into his room. He spotted the towel immediately and sauntered over to the towel. It was still damp, but it would do. Wait, what if it has the stink on it? Stiles paused. He threw the towel back onto the ground and pouted a little. He smelled like something no one could smell. Fucking great.
“Stiles, you look... you smell very nice,” a familiar, but spine-chillingly dark voice announced from behind Stiles.
Ice erupted from his spine and he felt his skin tighten as goose bumps ran over his entire body. His thoughts turned to jelly and his knees felt like they’d betray him and crumble. Actually, one of them tried and tripped him as he turned, making him throw his hands up to regain his balance.
So there he was, standing in front of Peter fucking Hale, naked, in the universal sign of surrender. He snapped one hand over his junk and the other across his chest. Great, manly Stiles, covering up like a girl.
And Peter just… looked him over? God, why was that erotic? Stiles reclaimed the towel from the floor as he stuttered for words to get Peter to dieleavenotbesofuckingcreepy. “What…”
“Relax, Stiles, I just wanted to talk,” Pater smirked. Then Stiles saw something in Peter’s hands. My boxers? Sure enough, a pair of Stiles’ boxers was splayed across Peter’s lap, gently under Peter’s heavy hand.
“Whuh…. Uh… why do you ha-” Stiles stumbled physically and mentally as his brain slowly began to solidify even under the constancy of Peter’s unabashed, appraising eyes. Yep, definitely meat. He’s definitely looking at me like meat.
“Oh, come on, Stiles, I’ve said I like you. You don’t have to be that worried,” Peter stilled smiled a toothy grin. Wolfish grin.
“What the h-” Stiles’ voice cracked, coaxing a larger, more maniacal grin from the wolf, “-hell are you doing in my house?” Stiles managed to finish strong. He looked around the room. Had he kept anything from the last few months? Mountain Ash? Wolfsbane? Something?
“First I had to clear out the mountain ash. It’s not here any longer, Stiles,” Peter explained, seeing the boys’ searching, desperate eyes. “But then, then I had some… more important work to do.”
“Aaaaand what was that?” Stiles regained a bit more of his composure as he cautiously wrapped the towel around his waist. Never take your eye off the ball predator. Sarcasm, Stiles.
“Well, I had to make my mark. Stake my claim,” Peter stood, still thumbing the boxers in his hand, and as their light fabric moved, and was that… did Peter have the fly of his jeans open? Stiles couldn’t get a good look- Peter held the garment in front of his groin. Stiles realized it looked like he was looking at Peter’s groin, and snapped his attention back to the older man’s face.
Stiles tightened his jaw. He was playing with fire. This crazy werewolf had resurrected from the grave. Almost got Scott to kill people. Turned Scott. Wanted to turn Stiles. “Mark what?” Stiles asked.
“Oh, come on, I know you’ve noticed. Well, maybe you haven’t, but I know Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Derek said something to you.” Peter sauntered over, across the room to Stiles. He dangled a finger down to Stiles’ bed, ran it across the boy’s tousled comforter. It would’ve been creepy in and of itself, but Peter had apparently brought out his claws- not a good sign- and a rip followed in the wake of the man’s finger.
Suddenly things started clicking into place. “You were…. You were marking me?!” Stiles yelled. “And come on, that’s a nice cover!”
Peter simply dropped the boxers he’d been holding. On the floor, Stiles could see they had tiny little tears where Peter’s wolfed-out claws had rubbed together and torn the fabric. Yep, fly definitely down. Peter stopped a pace or two in front of Stiles. His eyes flashed across the boy’s body, Stiles’ feeling of vulnerability now fully realized.
Stiles stepped back, unsure of anything he could do. He’d never been caught fully unarmed before. Okay, there was the time dad walked in on me, but not like this. I wasn’t worried about dad ripping my throat out with his teeth. “Wha-Why- Why the hell have you been marking me?” Stiles asked, disbelief and sarcasm thick in his voice. It felt like his only defense in his current state. He quickened his eyes to the window- that’s how Peter had come in. Fucking werewolves and windows.
“You know, I’ve always admired your ability to apply sarcasm to deadly situations, Stiles,” Peter said, closing the gap between them again. Stiles in turn retreated.
“It’s a gift,” keep him occupied.
“It’s a gift that won’t get you any closer to the window,” Peter whispered. In an instant, Peter had completely closed the gap. Stiles was busy trying to wrap his mind around the current situation.
I’m trapped. In my own damn house. With a fucking zombie werewolf who was unstable before he was resurrected from the dead. He’s already snuck into my house a few times, gotten rid of my defenses for times such as these, caught me with my pants not even down but halfway across my damned room, and he’s been marking me with his scent. Oh god, that’s why Scott said I stank- I smell like zombie werewolf. But wouldn’t they recognize Peter’s scent? Not if Peter had been rubbing his friggin’ groin on everything. Neither Scott nor Derek would know that smell. Hopefully. Stiles stumbled back but made it about half a step when his heel and then the back of his head crunched against the wall
“There we go, I can see it all lining up in that frazzled brain of yours,” Peter whispered now, his breath hot, even from a foot or two away. Of course, Stiles new it was a weak foot, and that the man could easily close the distance before he could react. And it didn’t help that Stiles had to look at the man who had inspired just a few of his wet dreams lately. While he was in a bath towel, standing across from a murderer. Great time to think about wet dreams, Stiles. He scorned himself. And then glanced at Peter’s open fly. Tight, black Underarmor met his gaze and Stiles bit his lip to distract himself.
Then, as fast as an ankle-length towel wrapped around his waist precariously allowed, he bolted towards the window. He’d rather be seen naked outside than be under the coy gaze of Peter any longer. He grasped the window frame and felt cold and freedom and hope.
And then he realized he felt it wash over his entire body- Peter had grabbed after him, but got the towel instead. Naked outside it was.
Or it would have been, had Peter’s unnaturally warm hand not also snaked itself around Stile’s ankle and yanked him back in the room after he’d made it halfway out the window.
Air exploded from Stiles’ lungs as his ribcage hit the window’s frame upon his forced reentry into his room. Gasping, sprawled, naked on his floor, Stiles’ head spun in the intensity of the moment.
“Stiles’, I really don’t want to hurt you,” Peter said, almost sounding genuinely sorry for ripping me through a fucking window, standing over him. “But I think you know I can.”
Stiles rolled to one side, felt sick, then ceded to lying on his back while the world stopped spinning and the air stopped lighting his lungs on fire. Of course, right now the world was his room, but then it was Peter Hale. Peter gracefully? stepped over Stiles, who still had to suck in air to breathe. “Go to hell,” Stiles gasped.
“Been there… wasn’t my thing…” Peter replied, a look of remembrance slighting across his mouth and bringing up a corner of his lip. “Oh, come on now, Stiles, I saw you look.”
Stiles watched in mixed horror, agony, and excitement as Peter’s still-clawed hands rubbed boldly at his own crotch. God that’s hot. No. Nonononononono. Stiles, you’ve got a murdering sunuvabitch straddling your one-hundred-fifty pound body you cannot be thinking about anything but his crotch escaping. He tore his eyes away from Peter.
Suddenly, Peter’s breath was hot on him again- but so close this time. “Caught you again,” Peter’s words seemed to slither into Stiles’ ear. He shuddered as they made his brain melt again. Goosebumps erupted across his skin again, paling tiny spot on his still-pink skin. Then the oddest sensation washed over Stiles… from his ear. A slick, moist flicker ignited Stiles’ head as Peter licked gently- such an uncharacteristic thing to describe anything Peter Hale- on the edge of his ear. He hated himself for feeling his betraying cock starting to rise.
Stiles kicked his leg straight up, straight into Peter’s crotch.
Or he would have, had the man not sensed it and sat on Stiles’ chest in an instant. And in that same instant, Stiles’ lungs reignited into wildfire as his breath escaped him again. The next instant, Stiles’ arms were pinned against his floor, pinned by Peter’s clawed left hand.
“Cute, Stiles,” Peter said dryly. He shifted his weight slightly, back on to Stiles’ stomach, allowing the boy to breathe again… or try to breathe again. “Here’s the thing,” Peter continued, “I usually get what I want. Not all the time, but usually. See, I didn’t want to die, but I did. But I stilled rebelled and, as you know, here I am. Death-defying isn’t an easy identifier to come by. And right now, actually, always, Stiles, I want you,” Peter leant down and scraped his teeth against Stile’s jawline when he stressed the word ‘always’. And in response, a gasp, not entirely for air, but maybe, just a little bit for Peter, escaped the boy. And damnit he was really hard now. “And, see, Stiles, I know you want me too,” Peter said, glancing back at his hard, exposed, betraying teen-aged manhood.
Stiles was able to slow his breathing. He could, in fact, call it breathing now, instead of gasping, gaping, struggling or all the other words that came to mind. “You’re insane.”
“Well, Stiles, let’s not nit-pick… After all, you’re the one that’s been pining over a girl who’s ignored you your whole life,” Peter said. The sheer amount of heat coming from where Peter was touching him was like touching a radiator. “And isn’t doing the same thing expecting different results the colloquial definition of ‘insanity’?” Okay, he has you there, Stiles.
“What the hell do you want with me?” Stiles asked, thrashing under Peter. It was a bad idea. Peter shifted his weight forward onto his ribs again.
“I want you to give in Stiles. I want you to accept what you’ve been thinking about-what I’ve been hearing you dream about. That you,” Peter ground the exposed part of his underwear against Stile’s chest, “want exactly the same thing I want.”
Peter’s movements pushed more air from the boys lungs, and as Peter’s bulge rubbed against Stile’s chest, he could smell the man. Not just Peter, but Peter’s friggin’ ballsweat. Why is that a turn-on? I smell nasty guys in the locker room six days a week and all I can think about is e-coli, but when I get a whiff of Peter-zombie-Hale’s crotch I can’t help myself? Stiles rolled his eyes at himself, but was at a loss. He did kind of like it. Nonono your first time can’t be with a zombie. Won’t be with a zombie. Won’t be with a werewolf. Won’t be with a zombie werewolf no matter how hot he is. “I don’t want that,” Stiles protested weakly.
“Stiles, you’re breaking down. I can see it,” Peter said. It wasn’t a sweet revelation. Peter stated the fact like Stiles wasn’t trying to hide it in a mine in hell. Then, with little effort, Peter picked Stiles up by his bound wrists and his hip, and as gently as the sort of thing could go, slammed Stiles back down, about a foot from where they had been on the floor, onto Stiles’ bed. Stiles gasped as more air rushed from his lungs. And whatever reserve was left in his lungs escaped when he felt a warm, rough palm slip up his surely-bruised ribcage as Peter rubbed a calloused thumb around his nipple.
Then suddenly, Stiles’ body melted and stiffened at the same time. His legs stiffened off the side of the bed as Peter’s moist breath whispered down his happy trail until Peter flicked his tongue lightly against the bottom of his swollen head. Condensation followed, and godthatfeelssogood. A moan escaped him that vibrated the whole bed. Peter stood, smirking down at the defeated young man.
“Good boy,” it wasn’t belittling, it was encouraging, and Stiles liked it. The boy stared through half-lidded eyes at Peter, now standing between his barely relaxing legs, and watched. The leather coat (what was it with werewolves and leather coats?) Peter was wearing came off as if it were the easiest thing in the world- and Peter made it look as such. A simple shrug and it was gone. Damn that was sexy. Another moment and Peter’s shirt was gone. Stiles peered on as the older man took off the shirt- one of his favorite things had always been when a guy’s shirt would ride up just a little bit whenever he took off a shirt or hoodie. Stiles realized Peter was inadvertently giving him so much of what he’d ever wanted. Peter’s eyes met Stiles as his shirt hit the floor, then abruptly Peter was upon him.
Peter’s eagerness was tempered by Stiles’ attempts to move too quickly. Peter thrust his hips onto the boys exposed sack, grating the roughness of his jeans and their open fly against the soft, vulnerable area. Stiles grunted at the pain, but soon his pain was shushed by the short, small kisses Peter was pressing into his hungry lips. God I want to explode. I want to…everything. Stiles’ already hard-to-focus mind was going in so many directions at once. He’d seen things in some porn he wanted to try. I should try that. Oh god why does it feel so good when I feel another dude’s beard against my lip? Stiles gained some courage and began exploring the contours of Peter’s musculature with his hands. Peter’s body was hardened- wiry strength and compact muscles. Years of being a werewolf, Stiles thought. He wrenched his neck up to try and kiss Peter hard and deep, like he’d seen his peers do countless times at school, but Peter just grinned and leant his forehead, pulling his lips away from Stiles’. “Stop it, I want-” Stiles struggled.
“I know what you want Stiles,” Peter whispered, whispering another ether over his ear. Peter pinned Stiles down, by the throat this time. He put small instances of pressure on Stiles, who panicked at first, but then rolled with the punches. One hand busy, Peter pushed his pants down in an instant, revealing his thick, still half-flaccid member to Stiles, whose eyes widened at the impressive sight. Peter grinned at the dumbfounded expression of sheer adoration on the boy’s face. It made him feel more alive knowing how badly Stiles wanted it.
“You’re huge,” Stiles said. He was being honest, but honestly, Peter knew, he was average, if thick. Stiles reached out to grab at it, but Peter caught his wrist and flung it lightly to the side. Stiles grasped out again, but was denied.
“Patience,” Peter said from the foot of the bed. Stiles propped himself up on his elbows, marveling at Peter’s naked body. But not just that- Stiles wanted Peter, not just his body. Stiles winced as his ribs- now already slightly bruising, took on pressure from his sitting up. Peter stepped out of the jeans and underwear at his ankles and then wedged his knee right between Stile’s thighs, forced his knee all the way to Stile’s groin, and hefted the boy further up on to the bed. He watched as slight pain but more excitement flitted across Stiles’ face. “But first…” Peter trailed off, nodding down slightly to his half-erect penis. Stiles fell for the bait, and practically lunged, but the man again grabbed his throat, pinned him to the bed. Why is it hot when it feels like he could strangle me? Peter slowly, methodically started rubbing the head of his cock against Stiles body. He slipped it around his thighs at first, but then, when Stiles tried to grab at it, Peter had grabbed at his wrists and pinned them above the boy’s head. There, prone, Stiles felt as Peter straddled his torso and slowly bounced and rubbed his hardening cock across Stiles’ stomach and chest. God I just want it everywhere. I want to see it again, but, choker here won’t let me touch the damn thing. Oh, Peter’s cock is touching me.
Through a half-closed windpipe, Stiles groaned for more of Peter. Half the time he knew he was uttered nonsense, but Peter was just… Peter. Finally, Peter looked up into Stiles’ eyes with satisfaction, seeing the pleading, wanting look on the boy’s face. “Peter, please,” Stiles begged. Peter hardened, and let go of the boy, who still remained tame under his gaze. Peter moved up on the bed, and brought his cock close to Stiles’ mouth. The young man looked down his nose at it, then, and god Peter loved it, looking into Peter’s eyes, Stiles slowly opened those soft lips and cautiously sucked in Peter’s head. The man couldn’t help but groan and shudder as the warmth and moistness of Stile’s mouth enraptured him. His head lolled back of its own accord, even as Stile’s struggled to keep his teeth from contacting his considerable girth. Peter opened his eyes again and watched as Stiles willed his mouth to open wider and go further down onto him. Peter made a slight sound, giving the boy pause, then leant down and cradled the back of the boy’s head. Stiles looked up knowingly, waited, as Peter slowly pushed himself further into his mouth. Stiles felt as if he couldn’t breathe, and then remembered his nose, though his eyes watered as Peter pushed the thick head of his cock to the back of his throat. Saliva welled in Stiles’ mouth, and Peter meticulously extricated his cock from the boy’s mouth before slapping it lightly on the boy’s open lips. Stiles found the head again and slurped it further into his mouth, then surprised Peter when he suddenly gulped his entire length into his mouth. Peter shuddered as Stiles gag reflexed inadvertently massage the head of his cock deep inside the young man’s throat. Stile’s hands had slowly been more adventurous, and they now pressed against Peter’s firm buttocks as Stiles tried to get rid of his gag reflex in one go. Peter could tell the boy was struggling trying to please him, but pulled away so Stiles could breathe.
“Don’t hurt yourself, Stiles,” Peter couldn’t help but gasp. This was the first time he’d been touched like this in a very long time. He brought himself down to lay his weight on Stiles. He liked the feel of Stiles’ gangly, wiry body underneath his- it was a study in contrasts. Stiles grunted a little under the pain of his bruised ribs, but he didn’t complain. Peter wondered if he’d turn the boy into a masochist, though Stiles himself seemed alright with being submissive… for now, at least.
“I… I… I don’t know what to say,” Stiles stammered. “Am I… am I doing okay?” Oh fuck what are you thinking Stiles, he’s a grown fucking man, he’s probably had plenty better.
“Stiles, don’t worry about performance,” Peter said. “And don’t go insecure on me and tell yourself that’s a way of saying I don’t expect more. You’re… you’re doing very well, I mean.” It was hard for Peter to reaffirm the boy. Reaffirmation had never been his strongpoint. But his words seemed to encourage Stiles. He saw the boy open his mouth to speak, and took the opportunity to surprise him again. He pressed his mouth hard against the boy’s. Their teeth clipped for a moment, but in another they were enveloping each other. Stiles was a great kisser-Peter hadn’t been expecting that. But they lay there for quite some time, simply kissing each other, occasionally Peter would bite at Stile’s lower lip while they let their hands explore each other. Peter found the boy’s firm, lean ass a good place to rest his hands, and kneaded the muscles there as Stiles’ own hands kept wandering back to Peter’s chest.
It continued for a time- Stile’s wasn’t sure how long, but Damn, every second was worth the wait. Then Peter pulled away and Stiles felt emboldened now. “Peter, do you uh… will you… fuck me?” Stiles was unsure of what word to use. But he didn’t necessarily want to use ‘make love to’- Stiles had slowly given into the pain, just a little, and admitted to himself-he wanted it a little rough. It wasn’t that it didn’t hurt, but it gave an incredible contrast and seemed to brighten the highlights of the evening all the more.
Peter looked back at him with a look in his eyes of understanding. Like he knew Stiles wanted it rougher than he could handle. Like the hormonal boy his was. But, something inside Peter wanted that too. He didn’t just want to make Stiles’ first time memorable- it was always memorable- he wanted to sear it into the youth’s memory. “Stiles, it’ll hurt,” Peter warned.
“I figure… but… God Peter, I-” Stiles began, but was interrupted as his entire body was shucked further up on the bed. Peter had moved down simultaneously, and now sat on his heels, kneeling between Stiles’ suddenly spread legs. He slowly lifted Stiles by the boy’s hips, pressuring the boy’s ribs again, but Stiles’ barely noticed the pain as he looked into Peter’s eyes while Peter brought two fingers to his own mouth and wet them. Stiles closed his eyes as he felt Peter’s fingers pressure his hole. It felt like he’d imagined it would- but Peter was gentle.
“Relax,” Peter said, a patient grin on his face. Then surprisingly, Stiles actually relaxed. His pucker loosened just enough, and Peter took the chance- slipping a finger in up to his second joint. Stile’s moaned and the soft muscles contracted tight around Peter’s thick finger. It rapt both of their attention, and Peter began wiggling his finger, slid it all the way in.
Stiles moaned as Peter, slightly more impatient now, pushed a second finger in as deep as the first immediately. Stile’s contracted again, groaned and stomped his foot against the bed at the pain, but soon Peter was loosening him well. Peter gawked at the boy’s writing form- it was a rare occurrence to find himself mesmerized beyond sarcasm, but Stile’s had done it. He glanced at the boy, and Stiles was staring at his, ascent in his eyes and face. Peter hesitated- now that was a new one- but slowly lowered Stile’s pelvis into place, lining the head of his now absolutely throbbing cock to the boy’s slightly loosened hole. Peter paused, then let spit trickled down onto his cock. He rubbed it around, hoping it would ease some of Stiles’ pain.
“Think you’re ready?” Peter asked.
“I… want to be,” Stiles said, and it drove Peter over the edge. He pressed firmly at Stiles’ hole- gripping the boy’s narrow hips. Stile’s tightened like Peter knew he would, but then relaxed slightly, and Peter thrust slightly in. He managed to get just the head in before Stile’s panicked at the rush of pain. “Oh god,” Stiles gasped. Peter’s cock felt larger than when he’d used two fingers to stretch him.
“Is it too much?” Peter asked, concern evident in his voice. That drove Stiles over the edge. The whole experience had been unexpected, but most of all, Peter’s concern and seemingly genuine care let the boy relax into him.
Stiles didn’t verbally respond, but the tightness around Peter suddenly lessened, and he pressed further into Stiles. The boy would occasionally need to move, but Peter found a comfortable position for them both- he knelt between Stiles’ spread legs, with Stile’s lower back resting on the older man’s thick thighs. It let Stiles relax and still gave Peter some good leverage.
It took a while for Peter to inch his way in. He’d had to stop himself from slamming home at the slightest relaxation, but it was worth it. Stiles still writhed in the mixture of pain and pleasure, and when Peter was all the way in he warned the boy, “I’m going to pick things up a little.”
Stiles just groaned, and Peter picked up his slumped body and slid out of the boy, then let him slide all the way down his cock. Stiles yelped, but awed, open-mouthed at the pleasure as well a second past the pain. It drove Peter crazy, and soon, they found a rhythm. Peter tired of holding the boy, who seemed content to let Peter have his way, and laid the boy down- he loved how flexible he was- and thrust harder and harder as Stiles grew used to his fucking.
Stiles could see that Peter hadn’t noticed that he’d somewhat wolfed-out. His claws were back, and dug into Stiles’ slight hips as Peter thrust into him with more and more force. It hurt like hell, but it felt so good at the same time. Yep, Stiles, you’ve gone full on masochist. Peter leant down and nipped at the boy’s nipples, occasionally drug a clawed hand over his chest, leaving white-hot lines that sporadically left little blots of blood where Peter had unintentionally broken the skin. Stiles didn’t care. He felt like fire was in his belly, but it was a fire that comforted and burned at the same time.
Peter was close. God he was close. He’d forgotten to tell Stiles. “Stiles, I should warn you,” he panted between thrusts, “I have a knot.”
“A what?” Stiles asked.
“It’s a wolf thing- it’s… it’s big,” Peter said.
“I don- I don’t care,” Stiles said, exasperated. He just didn’t want Peter to stop.
“O-okay,” Peter replied. He doubted the boy knew truly what he’d said, but, he liked surprising the boy. He felt his knot growing- if Stiles thought his cock was thick, he’d be amazed at his knot. It surged- adding another inch or so to Peter’s length, but it was much thicker than his cock. Peter looked down at his knot, then back at Stiles’ expression of ecstasy and said to hell with it in a rush of want and lust. He thrust his knot into the boy, and a few thrusts later, when Stiles was still wide-eyed at the unexpected size, Peter’s knot expanded inside the boy, tying the two together.
“Oh fuck!” Stiles exclaimed. Peter had said something about a knot- but he didn’t know it was in his cock. Stiles felt full on the inside suddenly, and felt immense pressure on his hole. Peter hunched over and his body seemed to convulse, then Stiles felt it- Peter was cumming. No, not just cumming, he was cumming a lot. Stiles felt the warmth and full sensation move further, deeper into himself. It pressed tight against his skin, and Peter leaned weakly, still reflexively thrusting as his sweaty, beautiful body collapsed onto Stiles’.
The sudden shift pulled hard on Peter’s knot, and Stiles felt like he’d be pulled inside out with a yelp. It brought Peter back to, and he apologized. “Sorry. Oh god, Stiles, you are…” Peter stopped talking and kissed Stiles forcefully as he pinned the boy’s hands at the side of his head. Then he looked down at the boy’s body. “Oh god, I am sorry,” Peter repeated, seeing what he’d unconsciously done.
“It’s okay… it’s really okay,” Stile’s replied. He nuzzled into Peter’s strong chest and felt another surge of cum fill him. “Damn, how much do you cum?”
“A lot… I am technically another species, you know,” Peter tutted. “It’s kind of a thing- my knot.”
“Yeah, when does that stop?” Stiles asked flirtatiously.
“Uh… about half an hour.”
Stiles did a double take that shook the bed. “What?!” As he said it Peter’s cock shot more and more cum into him. “Oh god, you’re still cumming, it feels like I just ate Thanksgiving meal backwards.”
Peter laughed. Actually laughed. How long had it been since he had actually laughed out of joy instead of laughing at someone else? He’d forgotten how good it felt. “It takes a while to calm down. But I think-” Peter paused, and then suddenly flipped Stiles’ leg over so they could spoon.
Stiles felt like a tightly wound yoyo, twisted around Peter’s knot. Like if Peter didn’t hold him in place he might spin around the man’s cock. Stiles laughed. He was surprised that he could laugh- they never did that online. The sample videos always ended after a few minutes anyway. Peter wrapped his heavy arms around Stiles, and Stiles felt slight in his radiator embrace. He felt another convulsion of Peter’s cock deep inside him as Peter’s whole body shuddered against his back and guffawed. “You can’t still be cumming. That’s ridiculous,” Stile said, shaking his head in exasperation.
“Well, it’ll keep happening until I’m out. Kinda…how it works,” Peter explained, apology in his voice as he shifted into a more comfortable position.
“Wow, that’s a cool werewolf trick,” Stiles grinned.
Peter grinned in return-Stiles could feel Peter’s cheek warm against his back as Peter nuzzled into the nape of Stiles’ neck. His scruff sent little sandpaper sounds into the room. He pulled the boy closer, and their bodies were touching about as much as they could. Stiles finally shut up, and Peter enjoyed the sound of Stile’s slowing heartbeat. Then it dipped low. Peter panicked, then came to a realization- Stiles had fallen asleep.
“All the vigor in the world until your first time,” Peter chuckled to himself, and the motion carried into his cock, which then sent another load deeper into Stiles. He controlled himself. Laid there while Stiles slept, noisily.
A half hour later, Peter rustled Stiles awake. “Huh?” the boy asked, eyelids heavy.
“I’m going to pull out now, Stiles,” Peter warned. His knot had subsided, and he was confident he could pull out without hurting Stiles.
“Oh, okay,” Stiles said. “Do I need to do anything?”
“Just don’t clench up on me,” Peter said. He slowly pulled his abating hardon from Stiles. Cum quickly followed suit, and suddenly Peter felt the urge to shove himself back into Stiles. “Okay, you can clench now,” Peter said.
Stiles did so. “I still feel so… full.” Stiles said. “You came a lot.”
“There’s more where that came from,” Peter teased- he could tell the boy was spent. “Of course, we’re not done here.”
“Huh?” Stiles did another double take.
“Well, I’d feel unfair if I didn’t let you cum,” Peter said, grinning. “Just lay back, Stiles.”
Stile protested at first, claiming no need of reciprocation, but Peter had wanted to taste the boy since his first lick. He quickly engulfed Stiles cock, which became hard immediately. Peter worked swirls around the head with his tongue, licked the boy’s shaft, and lightly squeezed his balls as Stiles got closer to cumming.
“I’m gunna-” Stiles tried to warn. Peter had already been expecting it- hearing someone’s heartbeat was good for that. Stiles did surprise his with the force of his orgasm though. Of course, it had taken the boy all of about two minutes to cum. Lots of chutzpah, but no endurance. As Stiles came, he bucked wildly under Peter, and shot hard and long into the man’s mouth. After letting Stiles come down a bit, Peter relented and stood. He braced Stiles’ head and kissed the boy, and in doing so, pushed Stile’s cum into his own mouth.
Stiles swallowed, surprised, and realized only at the strange, sticky sensation in his throat what Peter had done. He kind of liked it. “I’d better go,” Peter said, unsure of himself.
“My dad’s not home for another few days. You could,” Stiles began.
“I’d uh,” Peter cut the boy off. “You’d let me stay?” Peter asked, a quirked head. Yeah, he’s definitely part dog, Stiles reminded himself.
“Uh… I’m a good cook,” Stile replied.
“Got any fresh rabbit?” Peter asked. But then he couldn’t help but noticed, as Stiles laid there, that his cum was leaking out of Stiles. Stiles took a minute and looked down at the small puddle of cum under him, and Peter took the chance to leave.
Stiles looked up to address Peter again about dinner, but the wolf was gone-the window had been open the whole time.
Fucking werewolves.