Chapter Text
Chris couldn’t have dreamed up an omega better suited to himself and Peter if he’d tried. Stiles really was perfect for them.
He was also a little shit.
“I’m just saying!” The omega protested over brunch the following morning. “You’re being illogical.”
“No,” Peter countered, “I’m being a reasonable and responsible alpha. Now obey me and eat your damn breakfast,”
Stiles speared a potato viciously and held Peter’s gaze as he bit it off and rudely chewed with his mouth open.
Peter glared back, growling.
Chris had half a mind to just leave them to it. Peter wouldn’t hurt the boy, not really, and Stiles certainly seemed to be angling for some sort of reaction that he hadn’t gotten yet. Maybe he should just let them talk each other into a tizzy until they exploded.
Except they still didn’t know each other all that well. Stiles was likely confused and simply acting out without thought. There was still the distinct chance that Peter might scare him off. Stiles’ Heat wasn’t scheduled to hit until the following day; without a Heat-bond, he could still leave them only too easily if he really wanted to.
Stiles jabbed his fork into another potato and dragged the metal tine across the plate with a grating sound that made even Chris’ ears twinge.
“Stiles!” Peter roared, grabbing the omega’s wrist with lightning fast reflexes.
“Enough,” Chris said calmly, standing so he could reach Peter’s shoulder for a soothing pat.
Peter’s red eyes and clawed hand remained locked on Stiles.
The omega stared back, frozen and wide-eyed. His knuckles were white where he gripped the fork.
They both ignored him.
“Enough,” Chris repeated, slower and more forcefully.
Peter let go of the boy and when he turned to Chris, his eyes were their normal grey, but his words were clipped and heated. “Christopher. When, exactly, did you want to have that talk about appropriately handling omega disobedience in this house? I think we’re overdue.”
“And I think you’re being impatient.” He shot quelling a look at Stiles, “Both of you are.”
Both of his lovers refused to deign that with a response. They also wouldn’t meet his eye. It was just his luck that he’d land himself in a triad with two equally stubborn brats. At least he had a consistent type.
“Stop being obnoxious with your food,” he grumbled at Stiles, then to Peter he said: “And stop trying to force feed him as a way to shut him up. It’ll do none of us any good,”
“Because I’m right,” Stiles muttered into his plate.
Peter sighed heavily.
Before he could respond, Chris interceded. “No, actually. But even if you were, it wouldn’t matter. WE made a decision and we’re sticking to it. Deal.”
Stiles fumed silently, glaring down at his plate. The silence didn’t last long. “But I—”
“No, Stiles,” the alphas snapped.
The omega’s shoulders lifted as he tensed, his entire body shaking with barely suppressed emotion. “Why the hell am I even here then!?” he snapped, throwing down his fork. “What’s the point, if you’re just going to stash me in the fucking Heat room—”
“For fuck’s sakes,” Peter groaned, “We are not stashing you anywhere. It’s not a prison—”
“News to me! What the hell do you call that walk-in closet masquerading as a bedroom?”
“A. Heat. Room.”
“It’s cold and ugly.” Stiles argued, hopping to his feet, “And I hate it.”
“Then decorate it!” Peter snapped back. It wasn’t the first time he’d suggested such a thing, though it was the first time Peter had put so much venom behind the words.
“I don’t want to decorate! I want go back to bed with you!”
Chris sighed, rubbing his temple. “We’ve been over this—“
“Yeah, I’ve heard your reasoning and it’s stupid—”
“Well, you didn’t wake up today in a panic, now, did you,” Peter said testily, taking his turn to stab at some innocent food.
“Maybe,” Stiles said snottily, “because I was too exhausted for an anxiety attack after not sleeping all night in that awful room—”
“There’s nothing wrong with that room!”
“It’s awful and it smells funny!”
“You’re just being difficult!”
“I’m not sleeping in there again!”
“You are!”
“I’m not!”
“So help me, Stiles, I will—”
As the two of them kept screaming back and forth, Chris picked up his coffee and escaped to the back yard. He’d let them sort themselves out after all.
Honestly, Chris didn’t entirely understand what the whole issue was. Stiles had tearfully agreed it was probably best to sleep on his own for a little while, until he was used to being held and less likely to panic in the foggy moments between sleep and wakefulness. They’d agreed to try again once his upcoming Heat was over; surely, after three or so days of mating, he would be comfortable sleeping in their arms. Stiles had gone to bed in his brand new, omega-tested-and-approved bed, and Peter and Chris had tossed and turned half the night while talking each other out of going in after him.
Unfortunately, Stiles seemed to have reconsidered at some point in the night. He came out that morning in an even fouler mood than he’d spent most of the previous day. He was also utterly convinced that one single, solitary night more alone in his bed would be the death of him and absolute proof that Chris and Peter were idiots who wouldn’t know how to care for an omega if they had a detailed manual written by God himself.
Peter, naturally, only became more determined to prove otherwise. And that he was right.
By the time Chris had finished showering and joined them in the kitchen, the chance to reason with Stiles was long gone. He was digging his heels in on the mater, every bit as hard as Peter was.
Even scenting hadn’t helped. Stiles simply went limp in Chris’ lap while Peter made breakfast, and spent the entire time telling Chris his sleep-deprived sales pitch for bringing him back to their bed that night.
Peter had been furious at Stiles’ blatant attempt to turn Chris against him on a matter they’d already decided on. Ergo: Round two of the fight had happened at the breakfast table.
Chris had about a quarter inch of caffeine left in his mug when Round Three started up.
“CHRIS!” Stiles yelled in alarm.
Sighing, Chris went to drain the last of the coffee and—
Peter roared.
The mug hit the grass, coffee spilling uselessly, and Chris sprinted to the backdoor. He barely sprung the latch, when he went flying backward, one wriggling, jittering omega smack on top of him.
“Save me!” Stiles squeaked, scrabbling over him while Chris lay stunned on the lawn.
Peter emerged from the house, alpha wolf eyes shining in his Beta shift. The effect was somewhat lost, however, on account of all the milk dripping down his front. Quite possibly the entire gallon they had just bought yesterday, from the looks of it.
“Don’t fall for it, Christopher!” Peter seethed through his fangs. “I can smell him: he’s not even afraid, the sneaky little shit.”
“Am too!” Stiles scoffed, not at all convincingly. “I’ve never seen a wolf before, asshole! You’re objectively very terrifying!”
Peter grinned sinisterly as he stalked forward, gaze trained on the omega. “Flattering won’t save you, sweetheart,”
Chris sat up and looked over his shoulder at Stiles. The boy was crouched behind him, not looking particularly afraid or alarmed.
Stiles smiled toothily at him and batted his eye lashes. “You’ll save me, right, alpha?”
It occurred to Chris then, like a preteen realizing they were being flirted with for the first time, that Stiles was playing with them. He glanced back at Peter’s irritated snarl, and reconsidered that thought; perhaps Stiles was playing with just him.
There was nothing lighthearted in the way Peter’s body coiled to spring at the boy. Stiles must have saw that too, because the moment Chris was nearly to his feet, Stiles pushed him off balance, right into Peter.
Then he ran.
“Peter, no!” Chris snagged his partner’s arm and nearly sent them both sprawling again as the wolf tried to give chase.
“Let go, Chris,” Peter hissed, shrugging him off. “He needs to be put in his place.”
“If you scare him—”
Peter shifted back to human in an instant and turned to him earnestly. “Trust me, Chris. I can smell him. He needs this.”
Chris turned his head to watch Stiles steadily shrinking as he crossed the field that lay between their side yard and the forest. The kid could sure move fast, and he wasn’t pausing to so much as glance over his shoulder.
Now, Chris had been raised by Hunters to be a Hunter. He knew what sentient prey looked like as it fled. Stiles didn’t run like prey.
He looked at Peter, really looked at him. The wolf’s soaked chest was heaving with adrenaline, and his face was set in a serious expression, but there was a light of excitement in his eye that Chris would recognize anywhere. It was similar to the look he got every full moon.
“Let me put an end to these outbursts, Chris,” Peter purred persuasively. “Let me go now, and I can catch him before he reaches the trees and you can watch.”
For a moment, Chris wasn’t entirely sure if he was reading him right, if there was genuine anger in the hard lines of Peter’s body or if it was just pure antagonized anticipation. He reconsidered again whether Stiles had been playing with them, subconsciously or not.
“He really doesn’t smell scared?”
“No. Ask me what he does smell like.”
Chris raised a speculative brow, the hand not holding Peter at bay bracing on his hip.
“Right after he cut the top off the milk and dumped in on me,” Peter grinned, slow and menacingly, “he smelled victorious and excited.”
There was something fierce and proud in Peter’s voice, and that’s what convinced Chris to let him loose.
His mate flashed red eyes at him as he shifted again, then he took off at speed. Chris hesitated for only a fraction before running after him. Even so, Hunter training or no, Chris was no wolf.
Neither was Stiles.
Chris was several yards away still when he saw Peter throw his head back and howl just before launching himself at the boy. Stiles screamed, shrill and furious, as he was taken down in a rolling tumble. The two of them disappeared into the tall, wild grass, and all Chris could see was jostling green and all he could hear Peter’s rolling growls.
He got to them just in time to hear Stiles cry out with feeling: “Ew! Gross—Fuck!”
Peter pinned the boy to the ground on his back, straddling him, and with a vicious snarl, he closed his fangs on the boy’s jugular.
Stiles stilled instantly, his eyes and mouth round.
Chris knelt beside them, and sure enough, Peter’s fangs were closed loosely on the boy’s vulnerable throat, just below his Adam’s apple. Peter gave a warning growl and a gentle shake of his head that made Stiles whine.
“Never run from an apex predator, babe,” Chris advised as he stood up and walked around them.
He didn’t have Peter’s nose, but he trusted it. If Peter felt it was safe to continue…. Ah. Yeah. He neared Stiles’ splayed feet, and sure enough there was a noticeable lump in the boy’s jeans.
Peter growled again, louder and more demanding. Chris saw his head shake and he just knew his lover was applying more pressure with his teeth.
Stiles twitched beneath him and whined. Before Chris’ captivated eyes, a wet stain began darkening the seat of his jeans.
What happened next was pure animal nature at work. And it was breathtaking.
The alpha let go of his omega’s throat and hissing spittle in his face right before flipping the boy over and yanking him to his knees. The omega gasped and shivered as his jeans were torn off with pure force.
“Damn,” Chris whispered appreciatively.
He rubbed his lips as he got a look at Stiles’ spectacularly soaked boxers, but the view was short lived. Peter attacked the soiled fabric with his mouth, but while Stiles did mewl and shudder like he was getting some action, Peter wasn’t working him over. No, he pulled back with a convincingly enraged snarl as he tore a hole in the fabric. Peter spat out a piece of scrap caught on his fang as he undid his own pants with far more care.
Then he lined up. Without prep or a moment’s warning, the alpha fucked into the omega with a domineering howl.
Stiles cried out, and Chris heard nothing but surprise in the sound.
Peter fucked him hard then, certainly far harder than they dared in the past day and a half. It was feral and rough, and more than once Stiles got dirt in his mouth from getting shoved into the earth. Peter was sweating before too long, and Stile was a trembling mess as he panted and spread his legs further to just take it.
And take it, he did.
It had been just before ten in the morning when Chris had taken his coffee to the backyard. By the time Peter finally began knotting their boy with a reverberating howl, it was nearly eleven.
Stiles groaned as Peter fucked the knot in and out with punishing snaps of his hips and Chris winced in sympathy. Stiles had tried once or twice to get a hand around his cock, but he’d needed both arms each time to brace himself against Peter’s thrusts. Now, with the added stimulation and girth of the knot, Stiles was impossibly hard and desperate with even less chance of rubbing himself to completion.
Then again, he didn’t really need it.
Peter yanked the growing knot out again and Stiles choked on the grass as his arms gave out and his untouched cock spurted. Gasping, the omega rested his head on his forearms and shuddered as Peter forced the knot back into him.
“Take it,” Peter demanded through a mouthful of fangs. He rolled his hips as he locked them together.
Stiles whined pitifully, his entire body shaking from the prolonged stimulation.
“No choice now, omega,” Chris warned, kneeling by the boy’s head. “You’re knotted up, good and tight. You’ll just have to deal with it.”
Stiles shifted his head just enough to blink one watery up at him. “F-fucker,” he hissed. “Y-you just… just let him…”
Chris reached under him to palm Stiles’ waning dick and little, utterly spent balls.
The omega whined and tried to pull away, effectively pushing back into Peter and making them both gasp as the knot was jostled.
“Somehow,” Chris surmised with a wicked grin, “I don’t think you’re any worse for wear,”
“Not at all,” Peter agreed, returning to human form so he could scratch blunt nails down Stiles’ back.
Stiles shimmied a little in a half-hearted attempt to fend off the touch.
Peter growled more viciously than the soft smile on his face suggested. He plastered himself over the omega’s back and got a good hold on his nape so he could hold his face in the dirt. “Settle down, omega. I can make this worse for you.”
Stiles whined petulantly. His lower lip quivered in indecision.
“Don’t.” Chris advised, thinking he’d finally learned to recognize the stubborn defiance on that pretty face for what it was.
As if Chris’ warning was all the justification he needed, Stiles gritted his teeth and let out a growl of his own.
Peter grunted. His eyes flashed back to red and he gave a feral grin. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Squeeze away. You’ll just keep me here longer, and you’ll get tired and sore long before I do.”
This announcement ended with a hard, slow roll of his hips that had all of Stiles’ fingers and toes clawing at the earth. The omega seethed, and while Chris couldn’t smell his emotions, he had no problem seeing the stubbornness war with blinding, too-much pleasure on the boy’s face.
“I’d relax if I were you,” Chris said, brushing the hair back from Stiles’ face affectionately. “You’ll only draw it out, and you’ll be more sensitive for the duration than he is,”
“Indeed,” Peter moaned, clearly enjoying himself as he continued unloading into the boy.
Six minutes later, and Stiles proved them right.
“Okay!” the omega whined, trying to crawl away only tugging his rim on the knot harshly for his troubles.
“Okay, what, darling?” Peter purred superiorly in his ear.
“Okay, I yield!” Stiles snapped.
His entire body was shaking now, and he kept trying to shift his legs closer together before his body caught up to the fact that doing so would only increase the pressure and the overstimulation where he most certainly did not need it.
“Hmm,” Peter shot Chris a considerate look. “That didn’t sound particularly yielding, did it, Christopher?”
“Not particularly,” Chris admitted, because it hadn’t.
Stiles sputtered, spitting grass and soil off his lips. “Fine! You win! Happy now!?”
“Now is not the time for sarcasm, darling,” Peter admonished. Then he gave a single, sharp jerk of his hips for good measure.
Stiles tensed up and screamed softly like he’d been electrocuted.
“Ready to submit now?” Peter asked sweetly as Stiles shuddered into something relatively relaxed.
The omega panted, open-mouthed and loud. His head shifted against the ground slightly.
“What’s that, sweetheart?”
Stiles drew another, deeper breath with an irritated yowl. The exhale was much nicer, with a relieved sigh that carried the tension right out of his body with it.
“Good boy,” Chris praised.
Peter hummed in agreement. “He can be better though, can’t you, sweetheart?”
Stiles’ left hand lifted in a weak wave and he sighed again. “Yeah. Sure. Totally. Ugh. Carry me to my lonely, twice-damned bed, and leave just leave me there. Seriously. I don’t think I’ll be moving again this century.”
The two alphas chuckled, sharing a relieved look at the return of Stiles’ good humor.
Chris took off his t-shirt to clean the mixture of dirt, saliva, sweat and tears from Stiles’ face. The boy hummed his thanks and closed his eyes, a cheeky little smile on his lips as he allowed the caretaking.
Not long after that, and Peter pulled free with a soft grunt and an obscene squelch of bodily fluid.
Stiles sobbed dramatically. “I’m free!”
Peter rolled his eyes and placed a light slap on his raised backside.
The boy flopped over with a more genuine groan of relief and achiness, and only then did Chris take hold of his jaw and insist on some eye contact. For the first time all day, Stiles submitted to an alpha’s direction immediately and wordlessly.
“Tell me honestly,” Chris said gravely, “Are you still going to fight us about tonight’s sleeping arraignments?”
Stiles bit his lip, and Chris was pleased to see him think about it instead of immediately responding.
“Will it change your mind if I say yes?”
“Not in the slightest,”
Stiles’ face fell, but there was no flaring temper or snide calculation in his eyes this time. Thank God. It really looked like Peter had fucked the massive chip right off his shoulder after all.
“I’m not happy about it,” the omega admitted, “but I can accept it. It’s just for tonight?”
“Just for tonight,” Chris agreed, “Unless you don’t go into Heat tomorrow, then it’d be for tomorrow night too. You understand why, right?”
Stiles nodded the slight bit that Chris’ grip on his face allowed. “I’d still rather be in your bed.”
“We’d rather that too,” Peter said as he kneeled beside them. “But, Stiles?”
“Yeah?”
Peter’s wolf eyes flashed, “I’m not doing this again. If you need a firmer hand, that’s fine, but if you start acting out like this because you can’t bring yourself to tell us you’re getting overwhelmed or that you need a little rough handling, Chris and I are going to have to find another way to get you to talk to us. I won’t promise next time will be as enjoyable.”
“Sex can’t always be the answer,” Chris agreed. “I don’t care how rough you like it or need it. You can always ask for it, but don’t antagonize us into it, okay?”
Stiles gulped. “Yes, alpha.”
“It’s alright,” Peter patted his belly comfortingly. “You’re still new, and it’s going to take time and practice to recognize what you need in a given moment. We’ll help you.”
“On that note,” Chris ran an appreciative eye down Stiles’ prone body, “Think you can make it back to the house?”
Stiles grinned sheepishly, “Actually… I was hoping you could carry me? In case you missed it, Peter just broke me. I’m broken. There’s no way I could make it. Seriously. I can tell from here, my hips won’t work right. No can do,”
Peter shook his head with a long-suffering sigh. He was smiling.
Chris leaned over to gather the omega in his arms, “Alright, brat. Have it your way.”
Stiles squealed as he was unceremoniously thrown over his alpha’s shoulder like a wriggled burlap sack. He kept flailed and smacking Chris on the ass, griping sarcastically the entire way. It was amusing, cute, even. And with Stiles’ exposed ass so close to his face, even Chris could recognize the scent of a well-satisfied omega.
Stiles remained in a much better mood the rest of the day.