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It was sunny the day they laid his father and four deputies: Tara, Charlie, Mark, and a new guy named Jordan, to rest along with Derek Hale. It feels like an obscene joke to Stiles. He stood next to the social worker, a woman named Barbara who looked tired. Melissa watched him from the other side of the grave, confusion clear on her face, but after the screaming blow up he'd had at Scott two days ago, she didn't dare approach him. Scott, the fucking bastard, was standing beside his mother with his arm around that bitch Allison, who hadn't had the class to stay away.
Peter Hale approached quietly, dressed in a somber dark grey suit that somehow seemed more fitting than his own black suit. He gave Allison and Scott a derisive look before murmuring his condolences to Stiles. "I'm terribly sorry for your loss, he was a good man. If you ever need anything," he offered softly, laying a lily on his father's coffin and turning to leave.
Stiles stared at him for a moment and then took off after him, leaving Barbara calling after him. "I wanna get out of here," he demanded as he caught up to Peter, the werewolf blinking at him for a moment before nodding.
"Lunch?"
Stiles thought about it, food hadn't really been a thing, not since he'd watched Kate Argent empty a clip into his father, but he nodded. He got a single nod in reply and a warm hand settling on the small of his back, guiding him to Derek's Camaro...which probably belonged to Peter now.
They drove in silence up the coast, to a little place overlooking the ocean where they could sit out on the deck and hear the waves crashing against the rocks below and stare out at the water. "Does it ever get better?" he asked softly from behind the safety of his menu.
"Not that I've found," answered Peter quietly, pain and rage and grief twisting together into something terrible and empty in his voice.
Stiles felt his eyes sting, but fought back the tears. "Are you going to go after them?" He could see Peter wanted to, but Derek's loss seemed to have shaken loose something inside him, some last shred of self-preservation.
"I want to...but the Argents are banding together behind Kate and without any betas..." God, like him, Peter was the only member of his family left, realized Stiles with horror.
They paused as the waitress came to take their orders. And then Stiles was looking up, catching Peter’s eyes. "They're talking about sending me to Sacramento," muttered Stiles miserably.
"Isn't there anyone...," began Peter, Stiles shaking his head.
"Not unless I want to stay with that fucking dickhead Scott," he growled. "He's still with her! Did you know that?!?! He's still with that bitch Allison! Her psycho aunt tortured him and that fucking bitch murdered Derek! She shot Jordan and he's still with her!" screamed Stiles, his fist pounding the table and making it rattle as tears spilled over his cheeks.
Peter was around the table in a second, strong arms gathering him close as the older man curled around him. "Oh, sweetheart," he breathed softly, letting Stiles bury his face in his shoulder and cry. He wasn't sure how long they stood there, him crying and Peter murmuring soothing reassurances, but eventually he pulled away, a blush rising on his cheeks at the outburst.
"Sorry," he mumbled, sinking into his chair and taking a sip of his water.
Peter waved away the apology. "Am I wrong in assuming you'd prefer to remain in Beacon Hills?"
"They won't let me. It's either that fucktard Scott or down to a group home in Sacramento," muttered the teenage miserably. The Argents murdered his dad and he was the one being forced to leave, to give up the only home he had ever known. It was like the Hale Fire all over again. And Scott thought the Argents were the good guys?!? Well, fuck him!
Peter studied him for a moment, and Stiles could see the cogs moving. Peter Hale was a lot of things, but no one had ever accused him of being stupid. "Can I assume that if there was a way to remain you would be interested?"
Stiles scowled at him. "How?"
"Provided we could secure Melissa McCall's signature, we could marry. That would allow you to live with me. I would be more than willing to remain in your family home and pay for its upkeep as well as provide for you," offered the older man.
"And what would you get out of this deal," demanded Stiles. A part of him wanted to shout and flail, that part was in the ground with father, he didn't have that sort of luxury anymore. Another thing the Argents had taken from him.
"I get to remain in my family's territory and I get you, Stiles. A partner, a pack mate, someone I can trust. And if you are amenable, I get someone to help me destroy the Argents."
Stiles turned the offer around in his head. It wasn’t all that bad. Despite Derek’s example, he knew the Hales had money. "I stay human. No sex. And hell yes on murdering every damn Argent out there. Also, I know how to forge Melissa's signature."
Peter brightened and laughed, a warm joyful sound that was sort of nice, decided Stiles. “You are a constant delight, sweetheart. Alright, after lunch we can get the paperwork. I’m fairly sure my great-grandparents’ rings are in the vault and if you don’t mind, I’d like to use them.”
Stiles shrugged. “As long as they aren’t anything too big or flashy, ‘cause if you give me some huge diamond I’m gonna lose that fucker in like ten minutes.”
Peter just laughed.
~*~
When Peter said vault, he meant vault, the place was huge! It was also right beneath the school! Peter was looking for the rings, he’d found three sets so far, but none of them were the right set. He’d also gotten a set of claws so that Stiles would be able to open the vault if he needed to, muttering about having them made into a necklace or something
While Peter was doing that, Stiles was hunting the book shelves. There were bestiaries, mythologies, spell books, histories and all manner of other things. “Can I take some of these?” he asked, picking up a spell book and flipping through it.
“You’re going to be my husband, that makes them half yours, just don’t lose them.”
He paused at a drawing of a man with his chest sort of… exploding. He glanced at the caption beneath the drawing and then flipped the page. “Holy shit! Is this real?” he demanded, bringing the book over to show Peter the spell.
Peter glanced at the drawing and the spell, giving a small hum. “Bloodline curse. Extremely deadly and extremely complicated. Do it right and you kill one member of the bloodline and the curse radiates through the entire family, killing them all. Do it wrong and… well, let’s just say you do not want to do it wrong. They take a ton of power to fuel so no one bothers with them.”
“But this works?”
“Very effectively. What are you thinking in that devious little head of yours, my dear?”
“We should do this,” he breathed.
“We would have to fuel it. We’d need…a convergence point for several leylines,” said Peter slowly, his gaze sharpening. “We’d have to tap into them, but I’m certain there’s a spell for that somewhere in here. Look for the rings, I need to check the spell books. You are looking for matching rose gold rings, with inscriptions on the inside, something about shadows and soul.”
It was almost an hour later when Peter rejoined him and Stiles had been idly paging through the spell book he’d found. He had found the rings and Peter was right, they were kind of amazing. “How firm are you on the no sex thing?” asked Petr, startling him from another picture, this one of boils that oozed maggots. It was gross.
“Uh, why?” he demanded, glancing up at the older man, who was dusty, but looked pleased.
“Because I found a spell that not only lets us tap into the teluric currents, but amplifies the effect. We would have to have sex, however, assuming you’re still a virgin.”
Stiles felt his face heat and mumbled an affirmative.
~*~
They settled on a plan. The hardest part was going to be getting Allison, but that proved ridiculously easy. He simply shoved a gun into her back during one of the passing periods and walked her out the front door to a waiting Peter, who shoved her into the truck of the Camaro. She came out of the trunk swinging when they parked at the edge of the Preserve. Which was really kind of hysterical because Peter backhanded her into a tree and Stiles had the gun cocked and on her barely a second later.
"We need you alive, Ms. Argent, we do not need you whole, continue and I will let dear Stiles here put a bullet in you. I'm confident he can hit somewhere non-lethal," drawled Peter, his eyes flashing and his grin nothing but sharp angles.
Allison raised her hands in surrender and Peter snapped steel cuffs on her wrists and ankles before tying her up with a rope. Stiles smirked, she should have paid more attention, the rope was innocuous after the overkill of the cuffs, but Peter was a fiend with a rope and if Allison decided to try anything, she would choke herself. Peter hoisted her like a sack of potatoes and he and Peter shared a grin as Allison began choking and had to contort awkwardly to get enough air.
"Come along, sweetheart, we are on a schedule," called the werewolf, starting into the woods as Stiles ducked back into the car to grab his backpack and lock up.
"Coming. Well, not yet, but you know what I mean," he retorted, scrambling after Peter with a grin.
The walk to the Nemeton was pleasant and easy. It was almost like the trees parted to make a path for them, mused Stiles. When they reached the clearing, Peter dropped Allison and began placing the warding stones they had prepared while he made a circle of mountain ash. It wouldn't actually stop someone determined from reaching them, but it should slow them down. And that was all they needed.
"Are we ready?" asked Peter, straightening as he placed the last stone.
"Yep, should be good," announced Stiles, trying to calm his rabbiting heart. They were good. They could do this. He could do this. He watched as Peter pulled off his Henley and choked. Oh god! He couldn't do this. Because Peter was....Peter. He was all washboard abs and that thick neck and strong arms and he was fairly certain you could bounce a quarter off the man’s ass and...and... And Stiles was just Stiles. He was pale and skinny and awkward.
Peter glanced at him, smirking, the absolute fucker. "Problem, sweet boy?" asked the werewolf innocently and Stiles glared at him. Oh, it was on! He yanked off his hoodie, his flannel and t-shirt went next and Allison started babbling but he couldn’t focus on that because Peter was sliding off his jeans. And the bastard wasn’t wearing underwear!
He was thick and uncut and god, that was going to be inside him, Stiles thought a little bit hysterically. He swallowed thickly and slid off his pants and boxers, and then Peter was crowding close and starting to paint runes onto his skin. When he was done the werewolf settled on the huge stump that dominated the clearing with the lube, clearly waiting on him.
He crawled into Peter's lap, feeling young and impossibly awkward, unable to meet the older man’s eyes. Warm fingers caught his jaw, urging his gaze upwards until he met stunningly blue eyes. "Don't worry, sweetheart, it’s easy," rumbled Peter reassuringly. The werewolf licked his bottom lip, a delicate swipe of his tongue that made Stiles give a tiny little gasp. He caught a flash of Peter's lips pulled into a smug smile, but then the older man was licking into his mouth, kissing him slowly.
Peter teased and tasted him, enticed him to kiss back, shyly at first but then with growing confidence. He kissed like kissing was something he could do for hours and want nothing else. It was a dizzying heady sort of feeling and made Stiles moan softly into the older man’s mouth.
When Peter finally released him, he was panting and thrumming with a strange awareness. He felt the runes tingling on his skin and there was something buzzing just out of reach. It felt like almost like water, reach for it and it slipped through his fingers, but it was soaking into him like rain into parched ground. He sighed, leaning in to kiss Peter again.
He heard the snick of a cap, but it was distant and unimportant weighed against the enticing thrusts of Peter's tongue into his mouth. He started lightly as a slick finger found his hole, circling it, pressing in lightly only to retreat. There was the teasing scrape of a nail that was soothed a moment later. Stiles groaned as the finger retreated for a moment and then returned, pressing in, deeper this time, and then retreating, again and again until it was moving easily. Peter tugged at his rim and then pushed in deep, stretching him slowly/
"Feel up for a little more, sweetheart?" asked the older man, the words breathed into his ear. Then Peter was kissing his neck, nipping and sucking at a spot beneath his jaw that Stiles would swear was hardwired to his cock. He gave a breathy ascent and teeth sank into his neck as a second finger pushed in beside the first. It burned but Peter was worrying that spot on his neck, biting lightly and then licking or sucking lewdly and all Stiles could do was tilt his head in a silent plea for more. The fingers gently began to stretch him, scissoring, pushing in and slowly pulling out, and as the burn began to fade all he could do was hum in contentment. Peter’s fingers were thicker than his own and the angle was so much better, letting Peter get so much deeper.
He tangled his fingers in Peter's hair, tugging him up for a kiss. He kissed Peter, messy and deep, as the older man continued to play with his ass. Then he turned his attention to the older man's neck, nipping and kissing at the delicate skin over his jugular. He startled at the whine he got, delighted, and bit down harder, drawing a groan from the wolf. He chuckled and Peter crooked his fingers in retaliation and Stiles swore he passed out for a second as the universe exploded behind his eyelids.
Peter was smirking when he opened his eyes and Stiles bit him again. "Give me more," he demanded. A third finger pressed into him and Stiles bit his lip at the burn. Three fingers was more than he had ever taken before and Peter's fingers were so big. He whined, but then Peter was there licking his way into his mouth and a strong hand was closing around his cock. He whimpered, rolling his hips into the firm grip and then sinking back onto the fingers with a moan. "That's it, baby," rumbled Peter, letting him find a rhythm he liked and get used to the feeling
He wasn’t sure how much later it was when he slowed, just that Allison was shouting obscenities at them and that he had been moving easily on Peter’s fingers. “Let’s do this,” he said with more confidence than he felt, earning a wicked grin from the werewolf.
Stiles rose to his knees, shifting in Peter’s lap. The werewolf’s hands settled on his hips, warm and solid. “Get me ready, baby,” murmured Peter, handing him the lube. He slicked his fingers and latched onto Peter’s shoulder with one hand as the other curled around the werewolf’s cock, giving it a slow stroke and trying not to think about where it would be going very shortly. He was longer but Peter was so thick. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’re gonna do just fine,” promised Peter, giving him a soft kiss that seemed to promise everything would be okay.
Stiles swallowed and nodded, bringing the older man’s cock to his entrance and slowly beginning to lower himself. It slipped once or twice before catching on his rim, slowly forcing him open. It burned and he wanted to flinch away from the pain, but Peter’s grip kept him moving steadily lower. The head popped through the tight ring of muscle and he whined, the rest following until he was perched on Peter’s thighs.
A warm slick fist curled around his cock, which had sort of lost interest in the proceedings, but was quickly perking up as Peter stroked him. Stiles closed his eyes, concentrating on the pleasure and the strangely erotic fact that Peter was inside him. That he could feel him.
He bit his lip and carefully lifted himself, Peter abandoning his cock to help steady him, and then he was sinking back down. He groaned, repeating the move. “That’s it, sweet boy,” rumbled Peter, grasping his hips more firmly and beginning to move him, his cock rubbing deliciously inside him.
“With me,” Stiles panted, beginning to chant, the archaic blend of Anglo-Saxon English with something Celtic coming haltingly even to Peter; but Stiles could feel the runes burning and the werewolf was moving him with determination now, grinding up into him and hitting that spot inside on almost every stroke. He wanted to curse, or maybe moan, but didn’t quite dare, not when he could feel the magic swirling around them, so thick as to almost be solid.
Peter pulled him down hard and the tension that had been building inside him, coiling tight, snapped and he was coming. Peter snarled lifting him and slamming him back down, again and again until he followed Stiles with bitten off sort of howl.
He felt Peter come, not just the warmth or wetness, but though the reverberations in the magic as it poured into him. He felt it surge through him and groaned softly, just trying to breathe through it. His eyes caught Peter’s, the werewolf looking every bit as overwhelmed as he felt. "Later," whispered Peter, licking his lips. "We are definitely revisiting the sex issue. But later."
And then strong hands were lifting him, sliding him off the older man's cock and setting him carefully on his feet. Which were definitely not ready for prime time because his legs felt like wet noodles and he was fairly sure a good chunk of his brain was painting Peter’s abs because he'd never come so hard in his life. And he could still feel all the power buzzing away inside him, just waiting for an outlet. Because that was the whole point, a distant part of his brain reminded him, that had been the whole point, capturing all that energy to fuel what was to come.
Peter grabbed Allison and slammed her down onto the Nemeton, claws digging into her shoulders as he pinned her to the tree. "It's all you, baby," he rumbled and Stiles swallowed, forcing the weakness from his limbs and kneeling over Allison with a nod. He began haltingly, the Latin coming slowly to his orgasm fogged brain, but as he went on the words leapt to his tongue, the spell seemingly taking on a life of its own.
When it came time to reach for the dagger he ignored it, his voice sharp and vicious as it rose in volume. Ghostly claws appeared on his fingertips and he slammed them into Allison's chest, prying her rib cage apart with a wet snapping sound. Allison was shrieking but he didn't care, he was shouting the words as he dug a hand into her chest and ripped out her heart, holding it high before tearing it in half.
He could feel the power spin out of him, feel it take hold and start to work, Chris and Victoria first, then Kate and her other more distant aunts and uncles, moving through the Argent line, one after another. Until everyone with Argent blood was dead, their hearts torn from their chest.
The Argents had torn the hearts out of them, they were simply returning the favor. Stiles laughed, feeling almost giddy with the rush of the magic and the knowledge that the people who had taken his father were paying. He caught Peter’s electric blue eyes and grinned. "What do you think, is it later?"
"I think it could be," replied Peter, reaching for him.