Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There wasn’t much left for him, not really, and definitely not in Beacon Hell. They had left Stiles behind. Sure, he spoke to Scott every few months, but he was busy living his life. His dad had finally remarried, and he loved Jane, but he wasn’t needed. His father was happy without him, and really, Stiles was okay with that. He had made peace with it, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t weigh heavy on his heart. Derek Hale had even found his happy ending, landing far from the territory. The pack had left it primarily undefended, but it didn’t matter. It had Stiles. The nemeton had Stiles to guard it. The world kept spinning.

Stiles had spent years on his own training, fighting to protect his land. It was thankless, and he had earned more scars than he could count, but he was content. He had the chance to learn to fight, and he wouldn’t change a thing. There was nothing out there that he needed. His pack, his family, had turned their backs on him, and he had learned that he didn’t need people. People just slowed him down and made him sloppy. After all the hard work he had put into learning and bettering himself, he wasn’t going to die for someone who would eventually leave him anyway. It might seem like he was jaded like he was cold, but Stiles didn’t care. He had earned the ice around his heart. In the past, he was loyal to a fault, burning with a spark and love for his pack, but that wasn’t him anymore. His heart, his soul, was as black as the magic swirling in his gut.

The vampires came out of nowhere, but it didn’t matter. Stiles was never unprepared, his life revolving around protecting his territory. The surprise was the sight of Peter Hale on his knees, snarling at anyone who would get close enough. Peter looked up at him, his eyes as red as the blood splattered on the snow. He had spared Peter a thought once or twice, wondering if he had finally gained the alpha spark. At that moment, it would do him no good. He was flanked by starving vampires and a maniac with a bat. He was calculating if he could get Peter out alive, but Stiles couldn’t work up enough will or heart to care. He was too far gone, cold and calculated, and Stiles couldn’t find it in himself to care. Stiles felt his magic itching at his skin, ready to burn the forest to the ground to rid himself of a Cullen problem. Flames licked at his fingertips, sparking from his blackened fingers to ignite the trees around him. Peter Hale would burn again, and Stiles didn’t feel anything.

Peter’s laugh pulled him from his thoughts, hearty chuckles echoing on the ice. Stiles looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Peter was watching him, eyes shining like the flames now licking up Stiles’ arms. At that moment, with blood splattered on his face and a grin around sharp fangs, Stiles thought he was beautiful. Stiles missed the electric blue, but everlasting embers stoked something in Stiles, and he knew he couldn’t kill Peter again. Stiles would save him and send him on his way. If Peter knew what was good for him, he would leave and never look back. Stiles couldn’t help the sigh that escaped his lips as the flames dwindled to nothing. He had to recalculate his plan. Stiles rolled his shoulders, ready for a fight.

Stiles twisted his bat up, catching a rushing vamp in the face, black blood spraying on the sharp snow. She fell to the floor screaming as her skin blistered and burned from the magic pulsing through the barbs wrapped around the worn wood of the bat. Of course, it helped that the bat was carved from rowan wood and steeped in mistletoe. The male holding Peter shoved past him, running at Stiles in an impulsive act of revenge, but with a quick turn and an outstretched leg, the vamp was face-first in the snow. He attempted to scramble to his feet, but Stiles jumped on him, his long fingers wrapping around the vampire’s throat. His magic burst forward, melting his throat before Stiles dropped him. The lady vamp pushed to her feet, trying to run, but Stiles would never let her survive. She had only made it three steps before Stiles’ blade was buried in her back. She fell to the ground screaming as her fingers arched and twisted, trying to get to the handle. Stiles walked to her, his bat dragging in the snow. Ultimately, it only took a few blows before she was gone. Stiles panted, blood coating his face as he turned to look at Peter. He was splattered with blood from Stiles’ rampage, but he didn’t seem too upset.

Peter pushed to his feet, holding his bound hands out to Stiles. “A little help, darling?”

Peter watched Stiles move closer, his bat dangling in a loose hold, swinging with each step, and blood dripping to the snow. Stiles reached out, his finger resting against the wolfsbane-soaked rope. His magic flared to life, burning the rope and singing Peter’s skin, but Peter didn’t pull away. He only smiled brighter, showing all his fangs. Stiles rolled his eyes, backing away. He had to fight the urge to warp his arms around Peter, never letting him leave. He longed for human touch, it had been years, but Peter Hale wasn’t one you relied on. In reality, he was the first one to leave, never looking back or checking in. Stiles scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Peter rubbed his wrists, the blistered skin healing quickly. “Silence doesn’t suit you, Stiles.”

Stiles reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He looked Peter in the eye as he tapped one out and placed it between his lips. The blood from his fingers soaked into the paper, but Stiles paid it no mind as he lit it with a snap and a deep drag. “What do you want me to say, Hale?”

Peter gave him a slight smirk. “A death threat wrapped in flirtation. Maybe even a quip on global warming before tripping over your feet. A bit of panic in regards to a body dump.” Peter looked around at the bodies in the snow. “But obviously, this is not your first rodeo, cowboy.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, a foreign smile tugging at his lips. “Time to be on your way, partner. This town ain’t big enough for the two of us.” Peter raised his eyebrow, wondering when the last time Stiles had spoken to someone was. Stiles cleared his throat. “It worked better in my head.” He said before turning quickly on heel, leaving Peter standing in the cold.

Peter watched him walk away. He had a burning need to follow the young man, but Peter wasn’t sure if Stiles would kill him or not. For the first time in a long time, he knew he would lose the fight if Stiles decided to take out Peter. He could do it without breaking a sweat, and thinking about it made a fire burn low in his gut. Peter could still taste Stiles’ beautiful blend of magic, chaos, smoke, and overwhelming honeysuckle. The young man had grown tall and lean, filling out his jeans just the right way, but his eyes really struck Peter. They were a warm whiskey frozen over with a thick sheet of ice pulling Peter in, begging the question of how cold it had to be to freeze whiskey.

Peter followed Stiles’ scent all the way to the old Hale house. Peter knew that Derek had it torn down before he left, only the foundation left behind. Stiles had built onto the concrete a small house, sturdy and strong, and moss covered the exposed foundation and crept up the sides of the home. Peter wondered if Stiles had done it to help with insulation or if he had let the forest take over. Either way, the smoke billowing from the chimney and the greenery covering the house was beautiful. The wards stopped him from getting any closer, but that didn’t bother Peter. He was fine watching from a distance. Stiles had always called him creeperwolf for a reason.

Peter watched him for three days before he broke. He had not laid eyes on his wayward pack member since the first day. Stiles had peeked out the window, rolling his eyes when he saw Peter, but that was it. Peter hadn’t heard a peep from the house in 68 hours. Logically he knew that Stiles probably had a sound barrier, but it didn’t stop the worry from welling up in his gut.

He had stayed away from Beacon Hills for years, knowing Stiles didn’t want to see him. Stiles had never trusted him, and Peter couldn’t blame him for that, but Stiles was his only packmate. Not that Stiles knew that. He had to get away, especially when he became an alpha. Peter had to fight the urge every moment of every day to sink his fangs into Stiles’ flesh. Stiles had already said no once, and going against his will would earn Peter no help. He had already done everything he could to show Stiles he could be trusted. Sure, no one else in the world should trust him, but Stiles Stilinski should. Peter had learned a long time ago that there was something special about Stiles, and he wouldn’t do anything to ruin it.

That was why Peter didn’t want to break the wards. He didn’t want to give Stiles a reason to kill him, not when he had traveled so far to see him. The vampires had come as a surprise, but it had worked out in the end. Peter weighed his options of what to do next. Everyone seemed to forget that he had a bit of magic himself. He had brought himself back to life, for goddess sake. He could tear down the wards, but he didn’t think it was the best option. He needed to think of something else.

Peter dug around in his pockets, hoping he had something to spark his imagination, but all he had was a few twenties. He crumpled them up in his hand, frustration making him stupid. Then it struck him. Money was paper; he could write on the bills. Peter sliced his fingertip on his sharp teeth and quickly drew a rune sequence on a bill. It would allow his voice to make it through the wards and amplify it. He tossed the crumpled paper toward the house. It quickly combusts, tiny green flames flaring to life for a moment. Peter cleared his throat, the sound echoing loudly. A feral grin spread across his face before he finally spoke, startling Stiles. “Stiles, darling.”

The reaction was instantaneous. The front door flung open, Stiles peeping out at Peter. “I told you to leave.” Stiles stepped out onto the foundation, his hands on his hips. “Do you have a death wish?”

Peter couldn’t help but smile. “Is that an offer, sweet boy?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, his magic flaring to break the wards. “Why do you always have to be such a creep?” He turned, heading back into the house, but paused at the door. “Are you coming, or would you rather freeze to death?”

Peter followed him into the house, looking around the small sitting room. Stiles’ scent was infused into every surface, letting Peter know he rarely left. Old tomes were spread across the table; Stiles probably hadn’t ever eaten there, leaving the worn wood to become a catch-all. More telling, though, was the empty liquor bottles on the counter. His boy had been in isolation, drinking away his demons.

Stiles flopped down on his lumpy couch, his heavy boots thudding on the floor. He let out a small sigh as Peter stepped closer. He pulled out his pack of smokes, tapping one out and lighting it. “It wouldn’t be Christmas without unwanted guests.” Stiles sighed. Peter pulled out his phone to check the date, and he shrugged; it was Christmas day.

Chapter Text

Stiles’ body ached. They had been running through the preserve for hours, a wild yeti hot on their heels, and the sun had yet to come up. They had no clue how it ended up in California or why they had gotten such heavy snow two Christmases in a row. They had thought it strange the year before but wrote it off as a freak of nature. In hindsight, that had been a stupid decision. They knew better than to ignore anything out of the ordinary. The giant beast had ambushed them just outside the wards of their home.

Stiles didn’t know when he started to consider his home as Peter’s as well. After the first night last Christmas, Peter had never left. Slowly clothes and personal effects had started mingling with his, and Stiles hadn’t even cared. He was just glad to have someone to talk to, someone to fight with, and boy, did they fight. It was never over anything important; it was silly things. It was about Stiles leaving coffee mugs out to mold and all-night bingeing sessions. It was about Peter being an ass and a creep, but honestly, Stiles didn’t care. He found that he liked arguing with Peter.

Peter ran along with him in his beta shift, protecting Stiles’ back. The yeti had already gotten a nasty swipe at Stiles’ calf. He was limping, and he could feel blood pooling in his shoe. The Yeti was closing in, having the advantage of the deep snow. The mighty beast was gaining on him, and Stiles’ magic did not affect the creature. They would have to get close and beat him hand to hand. It let out a mighty roar before it pounced. Stiles just knew he was going to die.

Before Stiles knew what had happened, he was face down in the snow. Sure, it looked soft and pillowy, but it was packed and hard as cement. He was struggling to breathe, but there was no wiggle room. Peter was pressed into Stiles’ back, struggling with the yeti. Peter rolled them over, allowing Stiles to fumble to his feet. He shook the ice from his face before jumping on the beast’s back. Stiles grabbed the snowman’s wiry hair, pulling his head back. Peter reacted quickly, his sharp claws cutting through the thick neck. Blood flowed into the snow like a mighty river.

Stiles stood, backing away. The adrenaline fading from his system, the pain in his leg amped up. He fell to his knees with a groan, Peter rushing to his side. “I told you to stay home, love,” Peter said with a sigh, heaving Stiles up to carry him home.

“How else would I get you to carry me?” Stiles laughed, laying his head on Peter’s chest. He was warm and solid. Stiles was hit with a realization he wasn’t ready for, a realization he would keep under lock and key.

“Anything for you, sweet.”

Stiles patted Peter’s bearded jaw. “Yeah, yeah.” Stiles was feeling lightheaded, his head fell back, and he watched as they left a trail of blood behind them. He felt Peter’s arms tighten around him as he called out for him. “I’m here, you big softie wolf.”

Peter was looking down at his face, his eyes wide with concern. “Silence doesn’t suit you, sweetie.” Peter squeezed him again. “Why don’t you tell me something?”

“You’re just trying to keep me awake.” Stiles tucked his face into the crook of Peter’s neck. “ ‘m awake.”

Stiles felt his eyes close, and he heard Peter swear and pick up the pace. He was calling Stiles’ name, rubbing his chest, but Stiles couldn’t open his eyes. He was tired and dizzy. He no longer felt pain as the water in his head was pulling him under.

Peter watched Stiles’ eyes roll into the back of his head as he went limp. Peter’s slight jog turned into a sprint, his legs burning as he pushed himself. He rubbed circles in Stiles’ chest, hoping to rouse him, but failed. Panic was bubbling in his gut, dreading the outcome of the rest of the day. He kicked the door open before placing Stiles’ limp body on the table. He was just glad that he had cleared it before they took the trek to the nemeton.

When Stiles was stitched, cleaned up, and bundled in bed, Peter started clearing their home of all blood and mud they had tracked in. Peter could hear Stiles’ heartbeat steady and strong in the next room, easing the panic from his gut. His hands were shaking as the adrenaline gave way to anger. He was furious with Stiles. The little shit could have bled out and died, and Stiles didn’t seem to care. Like always, he ran into the heart of danger with no care in the world. The yeti’s claws had cut nearly through the muscle, but Stiles didn’t back down; he didn’t let Peter lure it away; no, he had to face it head-on.

Peter could hear Stiles stirring in the other room, but he wasn’t ready to face his little mate. Not that Peter would ever tell Stiles he was Peter’s mate. He barely tolerated Peter’s presence as it was. They had argued for weeks before Stiles had agreed to build a library onto the house. When Peter arrived, there were hundreds of books all over the place. They covered every counter. He could have asked for his own bedroom, his own space, but without it, he was able to share the bed with Stiles. He had been surprised when Stiles didn’t argue, saying Peter kept him warm.

Peter escaped into the library, shutting the door behind him. Stiles was milling around in the kitchen, probably ripping his stitches. Peter huffed, irritated that Stiles had no care for himself. He didn’t seem to realize that when he put himself in danger, it hurt Peter as well. That or he didn’t care, and Peter didn’t want to believe that Stiles didn’t care how he hurt Peter. He could hear pots and pans clanging around in the kitchen, and he couldn’t stand it any longer.

Stiles was standing in the kitchen, slicing carrots he had harvested the day before. Peter could see a chicken in the kitchen sink and their favorite broth sitting on the counter, ready for use. Worse, though, was the blood dripping on the floor. Peter saw red; he was beyond furious. “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

“What?” Stiles jerked, dropping the knife in his hand.

Peter felt like Talia, his hands on his hips, staring down at Stiles. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You have 32 damned stitches in your leg that you have most certainly ripped.”

Stiles limped closer, sliding a towel between his hands. “Dinner, I’m making dinner.”

Peter tossed his hands up. “At one o’clock in the afternoon? Truly, Stiles?”

Stiles squinted, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s dinner; I’m making roast chicken soup since we spent the night fighting for our lives in four feet of snow.”

“I don’t need soup! I’m a werewolf. What I need is for you to lay down and stop risking your damn life.” His face was red, and Stiles was sure he had never seen him so angry.

“I didn’t risk my life any more than usual.” Stiles leaned against the counter, trying not to yell back.

“That’s the fucking point, Stiles!” His eyes flashed in anger, and he turned away from Stiles, not liking that he had lost his temper. He took three steadying breaths before turning to face Stiles again. “You keep running into danger, no care of the outcome.” Peter leaned against the counter across from Stiles. “It’s like you don’t care if you die.”

Stiles reached out, grabbing his hand. “Roast chicken soup.” Stiles smiled, giving his hand a slight squeeze. “Your favorite.” Peter rolled his eyes but didn’t stop the smile from stretching across his face. Stiles leaned closer. “For Christmas dinner. Since you’ve been here for a year now.”

Peter saw the blush spread across Stiles’s face. He leaned in closer, their faces impossibly close. “It’s been a year, has it?”

Stiles huffed, grabbing the collar of Peter’s shirt to pull him closer. Their lips met in a sloppy kiss, more tongue and teeth than lips, but Peter melted. He forgot why he was even mad as Stiles nipped at his lip. Peter’s hands trailed up Stiles’ neck, fingers sliding into his hair. Stiles pulled free, pressing his forehead against Peter’s. “Well, that’s new.”

Peter let out a small chuckle. “Let me finish dinner, sweet boy.”

Chapter Text

Stiles looked down at the invitation. His dad had dropped it off an hour ago, getting in his monthly visit. He still hadn’t seen that Peter lived with him, but Stiles hadn’t found it necessary to tell him. What happened between him and Peter was between the two of them. He didn’t have the time to think about why he hadn’t told his dad he had been living with Peter for nearly two years and had been dating for almost a year; the invitation in his hand was so much worse.

It came from someone he really never wanted to see again. Theo Raeken had sent a wedding invitation with his full name listed. Theo Raeken had sent him a wedding invitation for Scott and Malia’s wedding; Stiles knew what that meant, and he tried to pretend it didn’t hurt so bad. Scott was getting married, and Theo Fucking Raeken was his best man. After years and years of being best friends, Stiles wouldn’t be a part of Scott’s wedding. Stiles traced their names with his blackened fingertips, debating if he should go. He curled his hands into balls, hiding his stained fingers. He would only taint the wedding anyway.

Peter came in, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ chest. He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ neck. “How was your day, darling boy?”

Stiles closed his eyes, dropping his head back onto Peter’s shoulder. He sighed, soaking up his warmth. “Scott and Malia are getting married.”

“Oh.” Peter reached forward, grabbing the invitation. “He didn’t call?”

Stiles looked at Peter, sadness etched on his face. “She didn’t either?” Stiles plucked the card stock from his fingers. “Theo sent it to my dad addressed to me, full legal name and all.”

Peter stood up, stepping around the table to take his seat. “That little miscreant? What does he have to do with their wedding?”

Stiles huffed. “He’s Scott’s best man.”

“There’s no way that you know that.” Peter huffed.

Stiles couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “That’s why he sent the invitation. Honestly, I thought it would be Liam.” Peter hummed, but Stiles was staring out the window. They had upgraded their garden; their Kale was doing beautifully. “I just won’t go.”

“You’re going to miss your best friend’s wedding?” Peter asked with his eyebrow arched.

“Can I really call him that? We haven’t spoken in eight months. Not to mention I’m dating the father of the bride.”

“Dating, hmm, is that what you call it?”

Stiles couldn’t help but smile. “We share meals and a bed,” Stiles blushed. “ and a shower.”

“Shower times are some of my favorite, dear boy. Along with bent over the kitchen counter times and in the grass under the moon times.” Peter reached out, grabbing Siles’ hand. “Does that mean your my boyfriend?”

Stiles huffed, rolling his eyes. “That’s a dumb ass fucking word. Partner is more like it.”

“Hmm, partner? I may be able to tolerate that.” Peter’s face stiffened, showing no emotion. “Would you like to go alone?”

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh. “I wouldn’t survive on my own.”

The wedding was very much Scott McCall, and Peter hated it. There were too many people and competing scents from the flowers. He honestly didn’t understand how Scott or Malia could stand it. It was horrible on his sensitive nose. He looked to Stiles, who was standing at the back as Peter had decided to talk to his daughter. He was trying not to think of the hurt not being invited to her wedding had caused him. He needed answers about Stiles.

Stiles had refused to talk about what had happened, how he ended up alone. He had claimed that they grew apart, it was a natural process, but Peter knew better. Stiles was loyal to a fault, and there was nothing that would pull him away from that pack. After everything that had happened, Stiles deserved better. He knocked a moment before entering the bridal suite.

“Malia,” She turned around. “You look beautiful.”

“Dad? What are you doing here?” She gave him a short hug. “We decided not to invite you.”

“Obviously.” He looked around the room, picking up a picture of Scott and Malia together in Paris. “I’m Stiles’ date.”

She hummed, turning to look at her reflection in the mirror. “I didn’t think he would show.”

Peter slammed the picture down. “His best friend’s wedding; why would he miss it?”

Malia’s eyes flashed as she snarled. “He was the one who left us. He said he couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Bullshit.” Peter rolled his eyes as Malia turned around, growling at him. “Who told you that?”

She shrugged, realizing that something might not be right. “Theo told Scott, and he told us to back off. Derek threw a fit, but we left him alone.”

Peter didn’t need anything else; he had decided on Stiles’s Christmas present. That shitty little boy had taken something from Stiles that he couldn’t afford to lose. If Peter hadn’t shown up when he did, there was no telling where Stiles would have ended up. He had been spiraling, and even after Peter had shown up, it had taken months for Stiles to make any progress.

Stiles and Peter sat in the back. The wedding was beautiful, but Stiles was ready to go home. It only served to show everything that Stiles had lost, his family, friends, and pack. They had left him alone, and it was heartbreaking after the wild ride. They had forgotten him, through no fault of their own, just for him to come back and be forgotten again. Peter had saved his life.

After the wedding, Peter disappeared, saying he would meet Stiles at home. With Peter gone, Stiles didn’t have a reason to stick around. He quickly said his goodbyes to everyone, but there was a divide. They weren’t cold per se, but they weren’t warm and welcoming. After everything they had been through together, he wished they were closer, but there was nothing else to say. Liam had wrapped him up in a hug, nuzzling his neck. For a moment, Stiles thought Liam had missed him, but Scott had cut in to clap him on the shoulder to say goodbye, and Liam had run away.

Stiles took a long way home, enjoying driving with the windows down. The light in the kitchen was on when he pulled up, but he couldn’t see Peter. He walked into the house, dropped off his keys, calling out for Peter.

“In the basement!” Peter called back.

Stiles was confused, but he went down the steps to the basement. He could hear Peter moving things around, but Stiles stopped when he could see what was going on. “Holy shit.” He looked to Peter. “Why is Theo in my basement?”

“Merry Christmas!” Peter stabbed Theo in the leg.

Stiles huffed, walking to stand in front of Peter. “What did I say about gifting me things to kill?” Peter rolled his eyes, but Stiles carried on. “On top of that, he had redemption or something. He joined the pack.”

“He took your place.”

“Wow, okay, good way to kick me when I’m down, babe.” Stiles refused to cry.

“I spoke to Malia, and she had pertinent information to share with me about your leaving the pack. This villain-wanna be,” He motioned to Theo. “Informed Scott that you could no longer handle the pack, and Scott being the trusting puppy he is, believed him.”

Stiles was reminded of the hug Liam gave him earlier, salt in the wound. “So you brought him here so I can take revenge?”

Peter moved quickly; his hand threw Theo’s chest. He dropped the heart on the work table before grabbing a towel. “Merry Christmas, love.”

Stiles stared at him. His eyes shifted from Peter to the heart and back to Peter. Before he knew what was happening, Stiles was perched on Peter’s lap tugging his shirt off, neither caring about the blood on the floor. Peter’s claws tore at Stiles’ jeans. The denim was shredded, and Stiles ground down, moaning low in his chest. Peter’s eyes flared, flipping Stiles on his back while he cradled his head. Peter kissed down his neck, nipping at Stiles; collar bone, making him squirm.

“Peter.” Stiles moaned, his neck arching. Then he saw Theo. “Peter.” His voice was clear as he gave Peter a light shove. “Not here, Peter.”

Peter heaved him up, cradling Stiles to his chest. Stiles nipped at his ear, and Peter carried him up the stairs. Before Stiles knew what was happening, he stood under warm water while Peter swallowed him down. His hands gripped the smooth globes of Stiles’s ass, his fingers stretching him. Stiles’ body didn’t know where to push back onto the fingers or arch into Peter’s nose, nuzzling the coarse pubic hair while his bearded chin scrapped against his balls. He fought to find his words, but Peter didn’t give him a chance to get there.

Stiles’ face was pressed against the slowly warming tile, panting to catch his breath. One foot was perched on the side of the tub, pushing up on his toes. “Are you ready, sweet boy?” Peter didn’t give him a chance to catch his breath before sliding home. Peter leaned forward, draping himself over Stiles’ back. His lips centimeters from Stiles’ ear. “Merry Christmas, darling.”

Chapter Text

Stiles’ heart was racing. The item in his pocket was heavy, burning a hole through the material. He had traded a copy of his bestiary for the moonstone and traded his tome of Draconic translations for Adamantine metal. He pulled the Adamantine into thin strips the then twisted it into intertwining strands, circling the moonstone. The ring was beautiful. He feared it would be too much for Peter, however.

He had been planning for months, but Stiles couldn’t stop the dread of Peter saying no. He knew that Peter loved him, there was no denying it, but it didn’t stop his mind from going to the darkest places. Because of what Peter had done with Theo, Stiles had been able to reconnect with Derek and Cora. Derek had been the heavy lifter of his hopeful engagement present. The gift was tied securely in the basement, a car battery keeping him busy.

Stile had gone out the night before, hunting. He had never been the type, but much like Malia, Peter loved venison. Derek had talked him through gutting and preserving the meat. He marinated the backstrap, ready to cut it into steaks for dinner. Peter was pulling up to the house while Stiles was basting the steaks in homemade butter, garlic, and rosemary. He was shaking, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He pulled on his nice suit coat as Peter opened the door.

“Welcome home.”

Peter stopped in the door, his hand on the doorknob. He looked around as if to make sure they were alone. He cleared his throat, dropping his keys in the bowl. “Hello, sweetie.” He kicked the door shut. “Is that steak?”

Stiles smiled, ignoring the sweat dripping into his eye. “Venison.”

Peter moved in closer, stepping around the counter. “Garlic roasted potatoes and Burboun carrots as well.” Peter looked at him through narrowed eyes. “What have you done?”

Stiles could feel the panic nearly overwhelming him, but he took a calming breath to steady himself. “Sit down.” Stiles grabbed the wine he had been aerating. He poured a glass for Peter before sitting down.

“Did you sell your soul to a demon?” Peter took a deep glug of his wine. “Summon a deity?”

Stiles couldn’t stop the giggle from passing his lips. “Something like that.” Stiles poured his own glass of wine. “It’s a good thing, though.”

“For you or for me?” Peter finally dug into his food, setting Stiles at ease for a moment.

Stiles hummed, his nerved making it hard to eat. “Both, I hope.” The mahogany box was heavy in his pocket. He downed the rest of his wine before fingering the box. He knew Peter could sense his anxiety, but it didn’t matter. He would let it slide until Stiles was ready to talk about it. “I wanted to talk to you, though.”

Peter motioned for Stiles to continue.

Stiles cleared his throat. “My life went to shit real quick. I was ready to die.” Peter dropped his cutlery, focusing on Stiles. “When those vamps came into the territory with you, I was going to burn the forest around us, not caring if either of us lived or died.

“Darling.” Peter leaned across the table.

Stiles pulled the box out of his pocket, placing it in Peter’s upturned hand. “When you showed up on my doorstep, I wondered what I did to deserve such an unwanted guest, but Peter, you gave me a new beginning.” Peter opened the box, looking at the ring. “You pulled me out of whatever mess I was in and became my partner in everything.” Stiles ran his shaking hand through his hair. “Peter Hale, will you marry me?”

Peter pulled out the ring, rubbing the stone gently with the pad of his finger. He looked up at Stiles, tears in his eyes. Stiles had never seen the other man cry, but the tears made his eyes shine even brighter. “Stiles,” his voice broke. “I would be honored.” Peter pulled the ring on, and it was a perfect fit.

“I’m glad.” Stiles laughed. “Your engagement present is in the basement.”

Peter followed Stiles down to the basement, his heart pounding in his chest. The only person in the world that could send him flying off balance. Sometimes stiles made the earthquake under his feet, but other times Stiles made it feel like it trambled under his fingers. Peter could hear electricity thrumming and horrible groans. He looked up, his entire body jerking. Gerard Fucking Argent.

Stiles smiled at him. “Merry Christmas.”

“Christmas isn’t until next week.” Peter couldn’t take his eyes off the struggling old man.

“It’s an early present.” Stiles circled Gerard, his hand hovering over his shoulders. “I figured you would want some options. We could see how much voltage it would take to stop his heart.”

Peter hummed, looking at the battery; Stiles must have got it from the Argent basement. “That’s an option.”

Stiles pulled a knife from the table. “We could make it quick.” Stiles pressed it to the thin skin of Gerard’s neck. “and open an artery.”

Peter’s eyes flared. “I love this side of you, my naughty boy.” Peter leaned against the counter. “It would be a shame to end it quickly.”

Stiles smiled, magic flaring, his stained fingers flaring to life. He trailed his fingers down the side of Gerard’s face, leaving blisters in his wake. Gerard screamed through his gag. “I could burn him alive for you, my wolf. Would that satisfy you?”

Peter leaned over, switching off the electricity, so his little mate wouldn’t hurt himself. Peter leaned against the counter again, crossing his arms over his chest. “Make him hurt, my sweet boy.”

Gerard survived for seventy-two minutes; Peter couldn’t be more pleased. Stiles let his magic fizzle out before he pulled Peter into a deep kiss. “Merry Christmas, lover-wolf.”

Chapter Text

The table was set with more place mats than the year before. He had spent the night on the couch the year before that, nursing a beer. The year before that, Stiles couldn’t remember. He had drunk an entire bottle of Jack and woke up the next morning face down on the bathroom floor. This year was the first year he would celebrate with family in seven years. Derek, Braeden, and their daughter Lily had flown up a few days before. His dad and Jane were picking Cora up from the airport at noon, but best of all, Liam, Scott, and Malia were driving in before dinner.

Stiles circled the table, watching Derek rush around the kitchen. Stiles was itching to get in there and help, but Derek might actually bite his throat out. He was supposed to be relaxing, making sure he had his vows ready. Did you know how rare it is for a full moon to fall on Christmas? There was no way they would miss getting married under that moon. Derek and Peter had spent the night before setting up, but they hadn’t let Stiles see it. They had been preparing for weeks, and Stiles hadn’t snooped, not once. That was a bit of a lie, but when he was the white moon orchids and how beautiful they were, he’d changed his mind. He didn’t need to see it.

Peter was out, running an errand, he had said, but Stiles knew he was picking up the rings. Peter hadn’t been as sly as he thought he was, but Stiles didn’t care. He couldn’t wait to see what his soon-to-be husband had found. Stiles knew they weren’t something Peter had found in a catalog but had specially made. He had to actively avoid the phone call from Mr. Rutgar, a blacksmith that works on 42^nd street. He called three times the day before confirming a pick-up time.

Braeden shooed him upstairs to get a shower before dinner. They were on a schedule; they wanted to exchange vows when the moon was the highest in the sky, but they wanted plenty of time to eat and relax before midnight. The hot shower soothed his aching muscles, wound up tightly from nerves. He wanted to marry Peter, but his anxiety made his body shake and his mind race. He grabbed a worn, folded piece of paper from the armoire. He pulled the paper between his fingers, knowing if he oped it again, he would throw it away and start over.

He didn’t know how to put what he felt for Peter into words, not in a grand statement before their families. He was terrified that he would embarrass Peter. Their families would expect it from him, ADHD, weirdo, Stiles, of course, he would fuck it up somehow. After years on his own, a hermit in the woods, he could be as broody as Derek in the early years. He was jaded and crude, rough around the edges, but Peter loved him, and Stiles swore not to fuck it up.

“Get out here before I drag your skinny ass out.” Derek knocked on the door, obviously sensing his impending panic.

Stiles looked at himself in the mirror. He tried to smile at his reflection but couldn’t get his lips to twitch. He would put on his black linen tunic before they headed out into the forest; it would be his luck to spill food on himself.

Derek knocked again, whispering to Stiles. “If you don’t want to do this, you just have to let me know.”

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh, pulling open the door. He looked at Derek, not even trying to hide his smile. “I want to do this, but Derek, thank you, man.”

Derek rolled his eyes, dropping his heavy hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “I’ll kill him if you want me to.” Derek gave Stiles a shy smile, his bunny teeth on display, to show that he was mostly joking.

Stiles winked at him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The food smelt delicious. Derek had followed Stiles’ and Claudia’s recipes to the tee. It felt like family, warm and homey. Peter’s car was pulling up as he made it into the kitchen, sneaking a bite of dressing. He could hear Lily’s calling out for her Uncle Peter. Stiles turned in time to see Peter swing her up in his arms; it warmed Stiles’ heart. The past year Derek and Peter had gotten closer. It would never be like before the fire, but Peter could build a relationship with Lily, which was all that mattered.

“Let’s go see what snacks Uncle Stiles is sneaking.” Peter’s voice was booming, and Stiles could feel Derek’s frown, and Stiles scooped up more dressing to share with Lily.

Peter pressed a kiss to Stiles’ lips, transferring Lily to Stiles. “Hey, Lilybell, do you want a bite of dressing?” She nodded, and Stiles scooped some up. “It’s my momma’s recipe. Do you like it, sweet pea?”

His mother had baked the seasonings into the cornbread and made her own broth days before. She then cooked her carrots, onions, and celery in bacon fat. Claudia Stilinski loved to go all out during the holidays. Stiles and his father had gone years without celebrating the holidays after her death, but his wedding was the perfect time to go all out. His mother would have loved it. Stiles could imagine her dancing around the kitchen, moving to the music as she made a delicious dinner.

His dad’s booming voice called from the sitting room. “Peter! Make yourself useful and unload the truck.”

Peter rushed out, scooping Cora up in a hug before grabbing the bags. The sheriff hugged Stiles, pressing a kiss to his head and ruffling his hair. “Hey, kiddo.” He pulled back, patting Lily’s head before Jane took her.

“Sup, daddio.” Stiles pressed his face against his dad’s chest. His fingers clutched at Noah’s shirt, glad his dad and Jane were spending more time with Stiles since he and Peter had gotten engaged.

“Give me the word, Stiles, and I can get you out of here.”

Stiles laughed, his eyes burning with tears when he pulled back. His dad was smiling. “Thanks, dad.” Stiles looked past him to see Peter carrying six bags with a slight smile and Cora nipping at his heels. “I think I’m good.”

“Stilinski!!” Cora called out, tossing her bag into his waiting arms. “Show me to my room.”

Stile rolled his eyes but led her back anyway. He almost regretted expanding his home. When he had moved to the area, it had only been a tent. He laid it on the concrete and used his magic to cover it with moss and melic. Everything was fine and dandy until the local gym closed for a week, and he wanted a shower. He left the tent up, but he built an outdoor shower and bathroom. Next came the kitchen, then the bedroom. He had found out that he liked working with his hands and fitting his tiny home with plumbing and electricity. After Peter came along, he had help, and the house grew, with four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a library.

He dropped the bag on the bed, turning to leave, but Cora shut the door, and the silencing rune activated. “I have to talk to you.”

Cora leaned agist the door, blocking his way out. Stiles shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Sure.”

She looked down at her heavy boots, her arms crossed over her chest. Stiles could tell she was nervous, and that was strange in itself. In the years Stiles had known her, she had always put on a brave face, much more like Peter than Derek. She looked at him, her eyebrow ticked up. “I love my uncle, but he is hard to love or have his sights fixed on you. So,” she shrugged. “say the word, and he’ll wake up in a cell in Argentina.”

He couldn’t believe it, three people in less than an hour threatening Peter to protect him. It was wild. Stiles looked at her, wondering how confident she was that she could do it. He winked at her. “We’re good, Hale, but I’ll keep you on speed dial.”

“Stiles!” Scott was calling from downstairs, and Stiles couldn’t understand the feeling of dread that welled up in his gut.

“Go get your attack-puppy.” She moved, letting Stiles out of the room.

Stiles couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Scott was pushing 30, a married man with a baby on the way, but he was still a puppy at heart. After everything they had gone through, everything they had lost, Scott was still a child at heart. He was naive and trusting but a good alpha nonetheless. He could never be an alpha for Stiles and Peter, but Scott knew and understood that. “Upstairs!” Stiles called back, knowing Scott would find him. He opened the door to the room Scott and Malia would be staying in.

Stiles could hear Scott bounding up the stairs. “What’cha doing up here, bud?”

“Getting Lady hale settled.” Stiles led Scott to the room. “She expects the fine china, you know.”

Scott huffed. “It’s your wedding day, man; you should already have the fine china out.”

Stiles scoffed, watching Scott put their bags in the corner of the room. “You lot are lucky I sprung for the sturdy plastic plates.”

Scott looked at him, his hand tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. “I wanted to talk to you, actually.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, kicking the door shut. “What’s up, buddy?”

“So, Malia and I talked, and we know you’re strong and independent.”

“But?” Stiles could tell where it was going, and he wanted to laugh. No one had paid him any attention until he announced his engagement to Peter; it only irritated him a little bit.

“We have room at our house if you wanted to, you know, get out of here, lay low.”

Stiles leaned against the door; his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to. He arched his eyebrow, watching Scott start to flounder.

“I know you are okay now, maybe, but next year or something, you might not be, and you know I love you, man. So does Malia. The baby will love you; I know it. Uncle Stiles. That’s you.”

Stiles laughed. “I love him, Scott.”

Scott shrugged. “I know, but if you ever change your mind.”

“I’ll call you.”

Everything moved quickly after that. Stiles didn’t have an opportunity to enjoy the food and the company of his loved ones. They weren’t in a rush, not really, but he was in a fog. The only thing that seemed to pull him out of it was Peter’s warm hand on his knee while sitting in the back of the hummer Derek got for them. They didn’t have to go far; it was technically on Hale’s property.

The clearing was beautiful; of course, it was. Peter hired a green witch out of San Fransisco who grew Red Maple Trees, twisting them together into an arch. White moon orchids had been weaved into the branches, giving them a beautiful backdrop for their vows. A walkway of clover and moss lined with stones led to the arch, the moon big and bright in the background. Their families got out of the cars and stood around the arch. Last to get out were Peter and Stiles, but they needed a moment.

Peter squeezed his knee, pulling Stiles’ attention from his dad, who was pulling out his notebook, preparing to read for the ceremony. “Are you okay, love?”

Stiles smiled. “Yeah.” He looked back, seeing Derek check his watch and squint at the hummer, but the windows were blacked out. They were waiting on them.

“Do you want to leave?” Stiles looked at Peter; his face was stony, showing no emotion, but Stiles could see the worry in his eyes.

Stiles grabbed his hand, squeezing his hand. “Do you know you are the fifth person to ask me that today or imply that I would want to get away?” Stiles sighed. “The only thing I’m worried about is if we made the wrong decision by inviting all of them.”

Peter looked out the window, looking at everyone waiting on them before shrugging. “I’d question your sanity if you didn’t worry about it.”

Stiles huffed, rolling his eyes. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Peter’s. “Sanity is overrated.”

They stood under the moon, their family surrounding them. Peter’s eyes were bright, rubies shining in the moonlight. Stiles thought he was beautiful. His heart started racing, his magic pushing to the surface and rolling out of him in waves. All the plant life around them started to grow and bloom as sparks of magic danced around them like lightning bugs. Distantly he could hear Jane gasp and the flutter of her camera, but he only had eyes for Peter, who was wearing a dazzling smile.

His dad cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, let’s begin.”

Peter and Stiles turned to face him. They interlocked hands, holding them out to Noah, who laid an open palm on their hands. The remainder of their family placed a hand on them, binding them together. Stiles gasped at the pack bonds burning to life in his chest.

“Under the guidance of the moon, we bind these two.” Noah started. “With the warmth of the wind through the trees, we shelter these two. Digging into the earth, we ground these two.” Noah cleared his throat again, tears in his eyes. “Peter, your vows.”

Peter turned to face Stiles, smiling. “Stiles, my love, my mate. You are my world and the burning flame of my soul. There is no one in this universe or the next that can hold a flame to you, as you are the sun to my moon. I vow to love you when you fall into darkness. I vow to stand by your side for as long as you’ll allow me. I vow to hold your hand, whether it’s steady or shaking. I vow to be truthful to you and you alone. You are My Stiles, My Love, My Partner.” The ring Peter placed on his finger was beautiful, twisted around a ruby, taking Stiles’ breath away.

Noah did nothing to hide the tears streaming down his face. “As father, family, and pack mate, I accept these vows.” Noah nodded to Stiles. “Stiles, your vows.”

“Peter Hale, my lover, my partner in crime, my big bad wolf.” Cora chuckled behind him, but Stiles was focused on Peter. “You pulled me out of the darkness and reminded me that even the moon is beautiful on the darkest night. You are my moon, the light that guides my way. You taught me to look through the haze and find the flower blooming in the snow. I vow to guard your back against those who want to use it for target practice. I vow to cherish you when you feel there is no reason to and show you how I see you. I vow to love you during the joys of life and the pitfalls. I vow to trust you when no one else will. You are My Peter, My CreeperWolf, My Partner.”

Derek squeezed his shoulder. “As nephew, family, and packmate, I accept these vows.”

“By the power of the moon and the earth, I pronounce you bonded husbands.”

Peter cupped Stiles’s face with both hands, kissing him. Peter’s thumbs traced his jaw as Stiles melted into him. Everyone cheered and whooped as they broke apart, smiling. Stiles looked up at Peter, his lips twisted into a wicked smile. “Bite me, husband mine.”

Peter’s eyes flashed brighter than ever; his fangs descended down. “Oh, sweet boy, I told you, I can be very persuasive. Have I finally persuaded you?” He brought Stiles’ hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle.

“Something like that.” Stiles smiled; Peter was the only alpha he would acknowledge.

Peter kissed the inside of his wrist, looking up at him, making sure he was certain, but Stiles nodded. Without any further questioning, Peter bit down as all the wolves started to take his pain; Stiles went woozy, falling into Peter’s arms. “Are you ready to get out of here, my love?” He scooped Stiles up bridal style.

“Yes,” Stiles said, laying his head on Peter’s chest.

Their family waved them goodbye, but Stiles was barely keeping his eyes open. Peter was seeping the pain away, never letting his husband feel more pain than he needed to. They were off into the night, hummer cruising to the airport. Peter rented a bungalow on the water in Bora Bora. The beginning of rest of their life would start in a warm bed with linen sheets and waves crashing around them. It was a beautiful start to a beautiful life.

Chapter Text

By the time the plane landed, Stiles’ fever had broken. His eyes flashed a beautiful ice blue, but Peter wouldn’t let him worry about it for a moment. He cupped Stiles’ face, his thumb brushing away stray tears. He pressed a kiss to his lips, chasing away any fears or guilt Stiles still held. Peter watched him look around as his senses went haywire. Stiles tugged at his ears and scrubbed at his eyes from the new information, and Peter was glad they were going to be isolated for the next few weeks.

The bungalow was wonderful; it was secluded and beautiful. Gentle waves broke around them as they walked down the pier to their home away from home. Stiles held his hand, squeezing his fingers as he drug Peter to the front door, oohing and aahing along the way. Peter put away their bags while Stiles sniffed around the bungalow, his little nose scrunching up at the new scents.

Stiles was on his knees with his face pressed into the couch, chasing scents of previous guests. Peter ran his fingers through his soft hair. “Why don’t you go take a shower, love, and I’ll check the bedding.”

They had rented from a were-friendly company, so Peter trusted their minimal scent guarantee, but with Stiles’ new nose, it would be extra sensitive. The bedding was free and clear, salt being the only scent that clung to the soft fabric. Peter stepped into the bathroom, the mirrors fogging up from the hot shower. Stiles was standing under the water, his eyes glowing as he tracked Peter’s movements. “Are you joining me, wolf-mine?”

Peter quickly stripped, stepping in behind Stiles. He watched the water cascade down Stiles’ back, rivulets trickling down his legs. “How do you feel, darling?” Peter grabbed the shampoo, pouring some in his hand before gently rubbing Stiles’ scalp.

Stiles hummed, rolling his shoulders. “It’s….hard.” His body was shaking as the shampoo rinsed from his hair. “It’s a lot of information.” He turned to look at Peter. “It’s like my ADHD has turned up to ten. I can’t focus.”

Peter hummed, soaking the washcloth and soaping it up. “Let me see if I can help.” He gently grabbed Stiles’ hand. “Close your eyes.” Stiles closed his eyes, shifting from foot to foot. Peter gently scrubbed the palm of Stiles’ hand, dipping between the fingers. “Can you feel that?” Stiles’ nodded, his breathing slowing down. Peter started using soothing circles, moving up Stiles’ arm. “Tell me about it. What can you feel?”

Stiles hummed, his face scrunching up as he focused. “It’s warm, scratchy.” He tilted his head to the side. “I can feel your fingers.”

“Good job, Stiles.” Peter worked the washcloth up Stiles’ shoulder and across his collarbone. “Tell me what you smell.”

“The water smells like the river back home, clean.” Peter worked his way to the other arm. “The soap smells like lemon and clean laundry, like the laundry mat mom used to go to when the dryer went out.” Stiles dropped his head to Peter’s shoulder, gasping. “You… you smell like the dirt in mom’s garden and warm leather.” He pressed his nose into Peter’s neck. “How? How do you smell like that?”

Peter gently turned Stiles, gently scrubbing his back. “What do you hear?”

Stiles grunted, frustrated at Peter for dodging the question. “The water moving through the pipes.” Stiles reached up, tugging at his ears. “The water bubbles in the shower head. It’s so loud when it hits the tile.”

Peter dropped to his knees, cleansing Stiles’ knees. “What else, love? Focus.”

Stiles leaned forward, his forehead hitting the tile with a light thump. “I can hear you breathing. It sounds fast.” Peter hummed, rubbing soothing circled in Stiles’ firm bottom. “Your heart.” Stiles’ eyes popped open, going wide with the new information. “It’s steady and loud.” He turned to look down at Peter. “It’s just got faster.” Stiles gave him a wicked smirk.

Peter gently cleaned Stiles’ cock, giving it gentle strokes. “What about now?”

“It’s so loud.” Stiles ran his fingers through Peter’s wet hair. “Are you okay?” Stiles cupped Peter’s face, looking down at him, startlingly worried.

Peter looked up at him, smiling. “I’m perfect.” Peter swallowed him down, bobbing deep and long.

“Oh my  god.” Stiles slumped Peter, holding him up. “It’s so… oh… it’s different, so sensitive.” Peter hummed, his throat rumbling, sending Stiles careening over the edge. “What the fuck?”

Peter stood, smirking at Stiles. “It’s the new senses, sweetheart. You’ll have to get used to it; we’ll have to practice.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Dry off while I get cleaned up, love.” He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ lips. “Be in bed when I get there.” Peter gave him a firm swat on the ass as he rushed out of the shower stall.

Peter quickly cleaned himself and wrapped a towel around his waist. He stopped before stepping out into the room, taking a steadying breath. For the first time in their relationship, he didn’t have to hold back. His little mate was a wolf; he was as durable as Peter and had wolf instincts to boot. Peter pushed down his wild excitement, making sure he didn’t pounce on Stiles before a bit of teasing fun.

When Peter stepped out of the bathroom, any steady breathing and calming thoughts flew out the window. Stiles was stark naked, rolling around in the soft sheets. He was feeling the material scrape across his skin, enjoying it with his eyes closed, scrunched up as he processed the feelings. His soft skin had pinked up from the hot shower, making Peter’s mouth water. Peter stepped forward, fingers softly tracing the bones in Stiles’ delicate ankle to his firm calf.

Stiles’ eyes popped open, warm whiskey eyes staring Peter down. “It feels so good.” Stiles squirmed, arching into Peter’s touch. His fingers trailed along the soft flesh of Stiles’ inner thigh. Stiles’ cock jumped when Peter’s fingers made it to the curve of Stiles’ supple bottom. “Peter.” Stiles gasped as Peter’s fingers pressed against his perineum.

“Yes, love?” Peter scraped his knuckles across Stiles’ firm cock. Stiles’ eyes flashed, and his breathing labored. “What can I do for you, sweetheart?” Peter stepped closer, leaning over Stiles as he gently thumbed the head of Stiles’ cock.

Stiles arched into Peter’s touch; his fingers ached from gripping the sheets. “Fuck.” He spread his legs as Peter kneeled on the bed. His heavy cock dropped onto Stiles’ firm belly, sliding against Stiles’. Peter grabbed Stiles’ hand, gently pressing it into the mattress above his head, their fingers intertwined.

Peter pressed his forehead to Stiles’, breathing in Stiles’ moans. He smirked down at his little husband. “What do you hear, sweet boy?”

Stiles’ body snapped, his eyes wild. “Fuck you.”

Peter chuckled, grinding down onto Stiles, their cocks sliding against each other. “You have to focus, Stiles.” He loved to see Stiles squirm, his body begging for more, but Peter did not want to get sliced up during their first time after their vows. Stiles needed a bit of control before Peter would move much further. “You need an anchor.”

“I don’t” Stiles struggled, his fangs descended, small and deadly. “I don’t know.” Peter pressed open-mouthed kisses to Stiles’ jaw, dragging his lips down the soft curve of Stiles’ neck. Peter nipped at his collarbone, and Stiles gasped. “Fuck! I can’t focus, Peter; your heartbeat is sooooo loud.”

Peter paused, looking down at Stiles, a smirk stretching at his lips. He nipped at Stiles’ lips before rolling his hips, building a steady rhythm. “Is that so, husband?”

“Fuck.” Stiles moaned, wrapping his legs around Peter’s waist. “It’s loud and fast.” Stiles’ fingers dug into Peter’s back, trying to press closer. “And you smell so good,” Stiles whined. “What else am I supposed to do when it’s all I can smell?”

Peter laughed; Stiles arched his neck, his head pressing into the pillows. Peter licked Stiles’ throat, nipping at his chin. Peter let Stiles’ hand go free, reaching for the lube. He quickly coated his fingers, trailing down Stiles, hip then the curve of his ass. Peter leaned back, giving himself more room to work. Stiles whined deep in his throat as Peter’s fingers slid over his hole.

“Peter, baby, I can’t, it’s so loud,” Peter added pressure, rubbing gentle, soothing circles. Stiles cried out when Peter’s fingers slipped in. Stiles rolled his hips, fucking down on his finger, begging for more. When Peter added the second finger, Stiles gasped, finally getting it. “Fuck me, you smug bastard.”

Peter’s fingers twisted, his knuckles pressing into Stiles’ prostate. He built a steady rhythm, fingers tugging at the rim on every retreat. Stiles’ feet let his feet fall from Peter’s hips, and his knees deop open, giving Peter more room. Two fingers became three, then three became four, slowly pumping in and out.

“Come on! Fuck me, claim me, Peter!”

Peter smirked, pulling his fingers free. Peter flipped Stiles on his belly with quick hands and coated his cock with lube. Peter pulled Stiles to his knees and pressed a heavy hand between his shoulder blades. Peter guided his cock to Stiles’ waiting body, slowly pressing in. When Peter bottomed out, he laid over Stiles’ back, whispering in his ear. “Is this what you wanted, little one?”

Stiles reared back with new werewolf strength. He pushed to his hands, rocking back on Peter’s cock. Peter leaned back, gripping Stiles’ warm hips, not guiding or pushing, just squeezing. Stiles rocked back, their bodies slapping together. Stiles’ moans echoed out the open window, dancing on the breeze. “Fuck.” Stiles rocked back faster.

Peter watched his cock get swallowed up by Stiles’ hole. “Is this what you wanted, sweet boy?” Stiles moaned and dropped his shoulders to the mattress. Peter grabbed Stiles’ cheeks, pulling them apart. “So pretty, baby.” Peter pulled back, making Stiles work harder to rock back, his hole stretching around Peter’s cock with every thrust.

“Peter, fuck me.” Stiles gasped out, losing steam.

“Oh, baby, you can do it.” Peter ran his thumb along Stiles’ stretched rim. “Take what you need.” Peter’s finger’s trailed down, cupping Stiles’ heavy balls, giving them a light tug. Stiles cried out, doubling his efforts, thrusting back on Peter’s cock. Stiles’ legs shook as Peter cupped his cock, giving it sharp tugs. Stiles was whining as sweat beaded on his back. His arms stretched out in front of him, wrapping his fingers around the headboard.

Peter gave in, thrusting into Stiles with earth-shattering force. The bed moved as he started a fast and heard rhythm, the sound of slapping skin filling the room. Stiles cried out, chanting yes as Peter’s hand gripped the back of Stiles’ neck. Every punishing thrust took Stiles’ breath away, gasping out moans. “Peter.” Stiles whines, his hand scrambling back for Peter.

Peter leaned forward, rolling his hips, grinding against Stiles’ prostate. “So good, Stiles.” Peter nipped at Stiles’ neck, hot tongue soothing the bites. Peter grabbed Stiles’ hands, intertwining their fingers.

“Yes.” Stiles squeezed Peter’s hand. “Bite me,” Peter growled, nipping at Stiles’ shoulder. Peter’s human teeth scraped along Stiles’ sensitive skin. “Bite me, alpha!” Stiles cried out as he came, and Peter’s blunt teeth bit into the flesh of his shoulder, not breaking the skin but giving him a deep black bruise. After a few more thrusts, Peter followed cumming deep in Stiles.

Peter pulled out and trailed his fingers along Stiles’ arms, rubbing soothing circles. “Are you okay, sweet boy?” Peter rolled onto his back, pulling Stiles onto his chest. Peter pressed a kiss to Stiles’ sweat-damp hair.

Stiles looked up, his eyes hooded and hazy. “Fucking brilliant, husband-mine.” His head dropped to Peter’s chest, his heartbeat lulling Stiles to sleep. Peter gently scratched at Stiles’ scalp, breathing in his mate, his husband. It would be weeks of salt, sand, and sex, an excellent start to the rest of their lives.