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Foxes and wolves didn’t get along; they never had and never would. It was a well-known fact and it applied to the animals themselves as well as shape-shifting humans. The two canine species were too different: their philosophies, their personalities, everything down to their biologies.
That was what Stiles grew up learning from his werefox mother before she took her own life when he was ten. During that time, Stiles and his mother were the only werefoxes in Beacon Hills, a town known for the large number of werewolves drawn to it. Now that Stiles was twenty, he was the sole werefox in the whole county and the only male omega in his age group. According to him, his life was dealt a pretty shitty hand.
So, he made it a point to only interact with and befriend humans, mostly betas, and it was going rather well until a certain knot-head who was almost double his age started trying to court him. The knot head’s name was Peter Hale and, you guessed it, he was an alpha werewolf. Just like all other alpha werewolves, he couldn’t take a goddamn hint.
“You again?” Stiles growled after opening his front door to get the mail and nearly walking face-first into Peter’s broad chest.
“Hi yourself,” Peter said, paying no mind to the bristling fox, as his lips stretched into a lazy smile. “How’re you doing on this beautiful Saturday?”
The scowl on Stiles’ face deepened when he realized the wolf wasn’t scared of him. Which was quite rude considering shapeshifters of every type were dangerous in their unique ways. He almost wanted to prove it to the older man right then and there but dropped that idea as he spotted his nosy neighbor across the street peeping through her curtains to watch the exchange. “Fine,” he spat out, “until you showed up.”
“I’ll get out of your hair soon, little fox,” Peter said. His smile turned into a smirk like he was enjoying agitating Stiles. Then, he fished an envelope out of his back pocket.
“No,” Stiles said before Peter had the chance to try to hand it to him, “I don’t accept.”
“Come on.” Peter wiggled the envelope between them like he was waving a toy at a pet. “You can’t tell me you’re not at least a little bit curious about what I got for you.”
“I’m not,” Stiles said and while his unsteady heartbeat told them both he was lying, he didn’t care. Unless the alpha specifically told him accepting the damn thing didn’t mean accepting his courtship, then the omega would never—
“It’s just a gift,” Peter said, his steel blue eyes flicking down to Stiles’ chest before coming back up to stare directly into Stiles’ soul, “it has nothing to do with you accepting—neither my courtship nor anything else—so take it.”
Unsure if this was a ruse or not, Stiles hesitated and licked his lips—firmly ignoring how the wolf’s eyes tracked that motion too. “Just to clarify, I owe you nothing in return and you’ll leave my porch if I take the envelope.”
“That’s correct,” Peter said, all smug and shit.
“Whatever, fine.” Stiles snatched the item away and gave the alpha a pointed look.
A wink later, Peter was gone down the sidewalk toward his fire red sports car but Stiles could still feel the confidence from where he remained standing. Once the alpha had driven off, he looked down at his hands, examining the envelope for a second before tearing it open without caring if he might damage whatever was inside.
Luckily, the thing inside of the envelope was made up of thick plastic and wasn’t harmed. Stiles stared at it in shock. It was a $200 gift card for in-game purchases of his favorite game. He had hours upon hours logged in it but had yet to justify spending any real world money for items and outfits. The gift was a tad bit creepy because how did Peter know his favorite game? But, still, it was useful, thoughtful, and—
And made Stiles unwillingly let out pleased omega pheromones, stinking up his front porch with his cinnamon scent in a record amount of time. He tried and failed to cover it up. Then, he barely resisted the urge to punch the white column next to him out of frustration.
*
A few days later, when Stiles literally ran into Peter this time, he couldn’t help but wonder which god he pissed off in his last life. Peter, however, seemed more than happy for their carts to bump into each other at the grocery store.
“Stiles,” Peter said like they were old friends, “I’ve been meaning to check up on you.”
“Please don’t,” Stiles said and he attempted to maneuver around the older shapeshifter, only to be stopped when a sturdy boot landed in front of one of his cart’s wheels.
“Is that any way to thank me?” Peter asked, soft yet dangerous, as he loomed over Stiles, properly displaying their size difference.
While Stiles tried to come up with an answer that would get him out of this situation, he took a sharp intake of breath, far closer to Peter than he ever had been before. It was a mistake he would soon come to regret. The alpha’s heady scent invaded his brain, making his thought process worse, making him stammer when he realized Peter smelled like a campfire during winter made up of oak. “I—alpha, thank you,” he slurred through his haze, the omega side of him nearly taking over, desperate to give the alpha in front of him whatever he wanted.
“Oh shit,” Peter said as he abruptly pulled back from Stiles’ personal space and popped the collar of his navy polo to smother the scent glands on his neck. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Take deep breaths.” For some reason, he seemed to be scared, wide eyes scanning Stiles’ face desperately.
“M’kay.” The omega followed the order happily, wanting to please the alpha courting it, and he gulped down the stale supermarket air. The fog lifted soon after. What was once a docile werefox was now anything but. Sharp orange bled into his normal hazel irises in absolute fury.
“There you are,” Peter said with a sigh, like a relief, like this whole mess wasn’t his fault. “Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to get you scent drunk.”
“I don’t want to fucking hear it!” Stiles yelled, not giving a single fuck that every head in the place snapped toward him, and he stomped off toward the automatic doors, leaving both the knot head and his half-full cart behind. If he stayed there any longer the claws digging into the meat of his palms would’ve been digging into Peter’s guts and disemboweling the bastard.
It usually took a lot of concentrated alpha pheromones to get an omega scent drunk. Stiles had never gotten anywhere close to being scent drunk before nor had he heard of any omega being affected that quickly. He was furious with Peter but also with himself, at the needy omega inside of him that had apparently already accepted Peter’s courtship unbeknownst to him.
*
“I’m fucked,” Stiles said matter-of-factly from where he stretched out in the middle of his living room, surrounded by the three friends he texted an S.O.S. for an emergency meeting.
“You’re dramatic,” Lydia said without looking up from scrolling on her cell phone.
“No I’m not,” Stiles huffed, defending himself, and when the other omega ignored him, his pleading eyes sought out his best bud, a beta. “Scotty, I’m not being dramatic, am I?”
“Umm,” Scott scratched the nape of his neck awkwardly, “maybe a little bit, dude.”
“I’m with Lydia on this one too,” Allison, another beta, piped up from her boyfriend’s side.
Stiles pouted, not caring that it was childish; he deserved to bitch and whine to his heart’s content and the organ held a lot of it right now thanks to Peter. “You guys would get it if you weren’t human,” he whined. “Wolves and foxes are like oil and water.”
“What is this, Romeo and Juliet?” Lydia’s face scrunched up in annoyance rather than laughter.
“Of course not,” Stiles said, trying to find the right way to explain it without sounding crazy, but before he could, the doorbell rang.
It took almost a full minute for Stiles to answer it due to him groaning and dragging his feet the whole way. When he opened it, he found an ornate vase, full of flowers and no one to yell at for dropping them off. The flowers were bold yellows and purples he didn’t know existed in plants and the vase matched with purple and gold swirls. He picked it up, having to use two hands due to its surprisingly hefty weight, and brought it inside to place on top of his coffee table.
“Wow,” Lydia said as she dropped her phone onto the side table next to her.
Nodding, Allison agreed, scooting closer to the edge of the couch. “Someone spent a lot of money on those.”
“Dude,” Scott said, eyes wide as he looked into the massive bundle, “there’s a card.”
“Read it!” the girls demanded with glowing smiles.
“Fine,” Stiles grumbled, pretending like he didn’t want to know what it said, pretending like his omega wasn’t somehow both smug and shaking with excitement to see what Peter wrote. The gift had to be from the alpha werewolf and everybody in the room knew it. His fingers trembled with his conflicting emotions as he opened the thick, folded-over piece of paper and read it out loud.
Dearest Stiles,
I want to formally apologize for what happened at the store yesterday. I tend to have very good control over my scent and must’ve lost it without realizing it. I promise I’ll do better and pay more attention to it. Also, I need you to know that I would never do that to you on purpose.
Please understand that I don’t see you as a docile omega nor do I want you to be that way. You have this spark, this fire, that makes you glow in my eyes. That’s why I’m trying to court you. If you truly wish for me to stop trying after this incident, I completely understand and while I’ll be devastated, I’d do it for you.
Again, from the deepest part of my heart, I’m sorry.
Sincerely,
Peter Hale
By the time Stiles finished reading it, his face was on fire; angry and embarrassed that not only the apology was working on him, but that he believed everything the knot head said. On top of that, he also had the sneaking suspicion that the alpha werewolf might not even be a knot head at all and Stiles had been wrong about him from the start. Stiles hated being wrong.
His brain was overworking itself and he couldn’t hear his friends’ worrying questions over the buzz. As if possessed, he shoved the piece of paper right up against his nose and took a deep breath. Although the letter had just been surrounded by flowers, Peter’s alpha scent remained heavy on it, like it spent time in his hands as he re-read his own words. It calmed Stiles enough to return to his normal self and he opened his eyes he didn’t recall closing.
“You with us, dude?” Scott asked, filling up Stiles’ vision from how close he was.
“Yeah,” Stiles rasped, throat dry and eyes wet.
“Oh honey,” Lydia cooed and brought the other omega into a much-needed hug.
*
Stiles wasn’t entirely sure where Peter lived but he knew the places he frequented and those places were around one of the nicer apartment complexes in town. He drove there with his old beat-up Jeep, sighing in relief when he saw the werewolf’s flashy red sports car in the lot and parked in the free space next to it. But now that he was there, he was at a loss for what to do next. It wasn’t like he could go door-to-door until he found the person he was looking for. As he was considering his options, he was thoroughly distracted.
Distracted enough that a knock on the driver’s window made the omega jump away from it at lightning speed. One look with wide hazel eyes revealed Peter in all of his glory—if glory meant a near-permanent smirk and a low-cut v-neck shirt that seemed to be spray painted on his body.
“Oh my god,” Stiles whispered, clutching his chest with one hand while the other worked the crank to roll the window down.
“Looking for little old me?” Peter was missing his usual teasing tone and he seemed to be on edge, shoulders tense and his smirk not reaching his expressive eyes. Near the collar of his dark shirt were two white patches covering his scent glands. They were odd to see on an older shapeshifter, mainly because they were usually used for teenagers after they presented as their second gender until they learned how to correctly control their scent.
“Yeah, I, uh,” Stiles struggled for words when the patches caught his eye, an obvious sign that the alpha was sticking to his promise from the letter, “I got your flowers.”
“Did you like them?”
“I loved them, actually,” Stiles said as he mentally hyped himself up for what he came here to declare. “And I’m, like, accepting the gift, if you catch my drift.”
Peter’s eyes lit up, saying, “Are you trying to tell me you’re accepting my courtship?”
“There’s no trying,” Stiles rolled his eyes, now annoyed, “I am accepting your courtship, you damn knot head.”
“Great.” Peter’s grin was wider than Stiles had ever seen it despite the rude name he had just been called.
Stiles felt his face heating up so he quickly changed the subject and pointed to the scent patches on the alpha’s neck. “Is getting omegas scent drunk a common occurrence for you?”
“No, not at all; I was going to ask you if you were particularly sensitive to alpha pheromones.”
“Nah, not more than normal omegas.”
“Weird,” Peter commented, brows furrowing and lips dropping to a thoughtful line. “I’ll keep wearing the patches just in case then.”
“Thank you, Peter.”
“Anytime, my dear.”
My dear.
Stiles really was fucked, wasn’t he?
*
Peter was old-fashioned and that was the nicest way Stiles could put it.
The alpha plainly and almost firmly told the omega that he was going to court him by the books. At first, Stiles was confused because, uh, which books was Peter going on about? But then it became painfully obvious that Peter meant he was going to use the archaic, nearly extinct, methods. Like all other things about Peter, the fox learned about this the hard way—and, again, that was the nicest way Stiles could put it considering that there was a dead stag on his front lawn.
Peter answered his frantic phone call halfway through the second ring, saying, “Good morning, dear.”
“Which one?” Stiles quipped while standing on his porch in his pajamas which consisted of only a pair of tiny gym shorts. “Me or the dead buck?”
“You, of course,” Peter said with a hearty chuckle.
The cute pet name still affected Stiles despite the slain animal in front of him. He hated it… probably. The warm feeling it gave him crept from his face, down his neck until it hit his hard nipples and the omega wished he’d worn a shirt. “Peter,” he hissed, trying his best to seem angrier than he actually was, “what the hell am I going to do with this thing?”
“Eat it, wear its pelt, stick its head on your mantle, whatever you want. It’s yours to do with what you please.”
What Stiles was about to do was such a stereotypical whiny omega response he would usually hold his tongue but he didn’t want to lie to the alpha courting him. It was an ingrained biological trait yet somehow more than that; he didn’t want to hide anything from Peter, no matter how weak it might make him seem.
“...You didn’t even butcher it for me.”
“Oh darling, you’re right,” Peter said and while Stiles couldn’t figure out if the wolf was teasing him or not, he did hear the jangling of keys from the other line. “Go to work and I’ll take care of it for you, okay?”
“Okay.”
Around nine hours later, when Stiles finally made it back home, Peter was waiting for him by his front door. He looked different in the light of dusk. Softer, maybe. It wasn’t quite the right word, but it was the one that popped into Stiles’ mind as he parked in his driveway and met the older, larger shapeshifter on his porch.
“How was work, dear?” Peter asked with the usual gleam in his icy blue eyes that came when he was up to no good.
“The same as always,” Stiles said, shrugging, not feeling wary under the gaze for some reason. “How was butchering up an innocent animal?”
“Fun.” Peter’s grin was sharp, alpha canines glinting under the last of the sun’s rays.
The reaction was immediate. On the right side of Stiles’ neck, a scent gland—the one bitten and claimed during a mating ritual—fucking throbbed. The omega shivered and looked away to his door, attempting to get a handle on the damn horny side of his mind that wanted to climb the alpha like a tree. He tried his best to control his emotions, to control his scent from broadcasting his body’s reaction.
“So, err,” Stiles spoke up again in an attempt to distract himself and perhaps the wolf as well, “where’s the meat?”
“Mostly in your freezer but there’s some in your fridge too.”
“Thank y—” Stiles said before his brain could process the information. Once it had, his eyes went wide and snapped to the wolf’s smug face. “I’m sorry—what?”
Not unlike being disappointed with a child, Peter clicked his tongue. “For the son of the sheriff, your home security was literally nonexistent, especially for an unmated omega.”
“That doesn’t give you permission to break into my house!” Stiles exclaimed while internally cursing himself out for agreeing to this whole courting thing with an alpha werewolf out of all the different types of people in the world.
“Darling,” Peter said, halfway between dangerous and sweet, reminding Stiles of the incident in the grocery store, “I didn’t have to break anything, your front door was unlocked and cracked open.”
Stiles’ brow furrowed as he tried to recall locking the door this morning before he left. Much to his dismay, he realized Peter was right, he didn’t lock it. “I guess I was distracted by your gift.”
“Just be more careful next time, my dear.”
“Right,” Stiles said with a sharp nod and when Peter took that as his dismissal, the omega leaned forward on his tip-toes to kiss the alpha on the cheek. Then, he booked it into his house and locked the door behind him before Peter had the chance to respond.
There was no escaping text messages though.
Peter the Knothead | 6:08 P.M.
That was a nice surprise.
Have a good night, dearest.
*
Although Stiles was happy that Peter proved he could provide for him, he started to grow wary of what kind of present the werewolf had in mind next. He found himself checking for more dead animals on his property every morning and every night. The deer meat was delicious though so he didn’t complain—at least not to the face of the alpha courting him.
Three days went by like that, with Stiles spending his free time sniffing for wild animal blood and exploring different ways he could cook the massive amount of deer meat. He was distracted by that second activity when the doorbell rang, taking him by surprise, and making him nearly drop his phone into the pot of bubbling deer chili he was stirring with his other hand.
A little bit more peeved than he should’ve been, he stomped to the door and swung it open, ready to tell Peter how a warning would be nice next time. But it wasn’t Peter standing in front of him. It was a random human, a female beta, dressed in a beige uniform, holding an equally beige, medium-sized package and a clipboard.
“Mr. Stilinski?” she asked. The clipboard was shoved into his hands although she didn’t get an answer. “Sign here.”
“Uh, okay,” he said before doing what he was told and giving it back.
She handed him the box. “Have a good day, sir.” And then she was on her merry way.
Dazed and a tad bit disappointed she wasn’t Peter, the fox kicked the door closed behind him and went back to his kitchen, setting the item on what little counter space wasn’t messy from his food prep. In a fluid move, his pointer fingernail turned into a claw and cut through the tape. Then, he opened it.
Stiles wasn’t sure what he was expecting but it sure wasn’t the huge, fuzzy, bright orange blanket he found.
Stiles | 5:38 P.M.
This from you?
*image attached*
Peter the Knothead | 5:39 P.M.
Of course. I got it for your nest. Do you like it?
Stiles | 5:41 P.M.
Yeah
Thanks
Why orange though
Peter the Knothead | 5:42 P.M.
It’s the same color as your glowing eyes, little fox.
*
At a rate of about four times per year, alphas had to deal with ruts and omegas had to deal with heats, periods of time where their bodies craved sex in a dazed state like an addict. Both of them generally lasted three days but omegas got an extra day beforehand. It was called pre-heat. While omegas weren’t a horny mess during it, they wanted affection and attention, usually in the form of emotional support from either a trusted friend or a mate. On top of that, the affected omegas were easily irritated, needy, and could be quite manipulative to get what they needed.
Stiles was no exception.
Actually, he was generally more manipulative than other omegas due to his fox nature. The most it ever manifested in was guilt tripping his friends into a group cuddle pile until the real heat hit him. But that was before Peter waltzed into the omega’s life as he belonged there.
It was to no surprise that when Stiles felt the pre-heat symptoms, he whipped out his phone to send a text message; however, this time, it wasn’t to the group chat with his friends. It was to Peter. He did his best to be vague, telling the other shifter that something happened and that he needed him to be at his house as soon as possible. He got a confirmation response almost immediately.
Stiles waited on his porch, pacing back and forth, anxious to see the alpha. Just as he thought of calling to check on where Peter was, the familiar sports car turned down the street and parked in his driveway behind the Jeep. Peter wasted no time, quickly cutting the engine, crossing the yard, bypassing the stairs with a single leap.
Before anything else could happen, Stiles surged forward, embracing the alpha in a tight hug. He let out a sigh of relief into the pecs his face was smashed against as Peter returned the hug. The relief didn’t last long though because all he could smell was mild laundry detergent and sandalwood soap. He pulled back from the embrace to glare at the matching white patches on either side of the alpha’s neck, the things responsible for the lack of that amazing scent of oaky smoke.
“Dearest?” Peter’s eyebrows were pinched in concern. “Everything alright?”
Instead of giving a verbal response like a normal person, the annoyed fox acted, surging his hands forward to rip off the offensive patches. The pads of his fingers barely touched the material before Peter easily grabbed Stiles’ hands with one of his and restrained them in the air between them.
“Hey, hold on, wait,” said Peter, “that’s a bad idea; you could get scent drunk again.”
“I don’t care,” Stiles said as his face shifted slightly, growling and baring his fangs.
“I care.” Peter’s voice was on edge like he was resisting shifting too.
Stiles’ temper irrationally flared, teeth snapping as he itched for a fight, wanting the damn wolf to shift so that they could beat each other into a pulp. He knew he wasn’t going to get what he wanted—not with the alpha werewolf somehow having a shit ton of self control. Now he was determined to make it a problem. All was fair in love and war, and this was definitely both.
Peter, either oblivious or uncaring of the challenge, asked, “Is this all because you’re obviously in pre-heat or do you actually have a bone to pick with me?”
“Maybe it’s both,” Stiles said as his half-shift faded away. He tested Peter’s grip on his wrists and huffed when it was solid.
“Oh, I doubt it, little fox,” Peter said with a tiny smirk. “I think you’re acting out because you want my scent to be in your nest during your heat and you don’t know how to ask for it.”
Warmth erupted on Stiles’ face and the rest of the fight drained from his body as he realized Peter was right. Well, almost right. “Spend my heat with me,” Stiles blurted out before he could psych himself out of it.
“No,” Peter said. The omega whined and he let his wrists go. “How about this, I’ll scent a shirt tonight without the patches on and you’ll have it bright and early tomorrow morning, okay?”
“Why?” Stiles asked, placing his freed hands on Peter’s broad shoulders despite the sting of rejection. “Why’re you courting me if you don’t wanna fuck me?”
“Darling, it’s taking every last ounce of my self control to not jump your bones and stuff you full. I want to do this—courting you in the way you deserve, the right way, and once your pre-heat and heat are over and done with, I know that you’ll agree with me.”
“I hate you,” Stiles pouted.
“Whatever you say.”
It was clear that Peter didn’t believe him.
In the early hours of the next morning, Stiles once again found out Peter was a man of his word. The already half-dazed omega found the shirt innocently leaning against his doorstep in a double-sealed plastic bag, right where Peter texted him it would be. He rearranged his entire nest so it was in the spotlight, smack dab in the middle, next to his new orange blanket, where Stiles curled around it.
*
The shirt worked for most of Stiles’ heat, all the way until the very last day, and then the fabric lost all value. It didn’t smell of Peter, only an omega in heat, frustrated over the lack of a real knot. His hands were starting to cramp and the toys weren’t helping anymore and he could no longer make himself orgasm. By some miracle, he was able to find his phone in his messy nest and call the person he needed the most at the moment. He was in such a desperate haze that embarrassment wasn’t even an option.
“Hi, dear,” Peter said when he answered, his voice loud from where Stiles dropped his phone next to his ear after putting it on speaker. “Is your heat over already?”
“Alpha,” Stiles rasped as the sound of the werewolf alone sent goosebumps up and down his flushed body.
“Stiles?” Peter now sounded worried.
“Please, I need you, can’t cum without you,” Stiles rushed out frantically, nearly hyperventilating. “It hurts, make it stop, I—”
“Breathe, little vixen,” Peter calmly said with a deep sigh that Stiles tried to mimic. “I’ve got you but you need to breathe.”
Stiles took a large shuddering breath. “M’kay,” he panted into the receiver.
“You can’t cum, is that the issue?”
“Not anymore, not without your scent,” Stiles admitted, using all of his brain power to try to focus on answering the alpha. “Toys are useless too; they’re not you.”
A muffled string of curses came on over the line. It was followed by a much more put-together, “Tell me about your toys, my dear.”
“Why?” Stiles growled, the fox becoming irritable by the lack of Peter’s magical alpha cock appearing in front of him. “Just come fuck me already!”
“I can make you feel good from far away too if you’ll trust me.”
Stiles wanted to growl at him some more but he also really, really needed to cum. Eventually, horniness ruled out and he said, “A vibrator and a dildo.”
“Describe the dildo for me.”
“Average size, the knot inflates when I push a button on the base—but it’s still useless.”
“The inflatable knot’s not helping?”
“Need your knot,” Stiles said as he teased a nipple, trying to build up pleasure again.
“Let me try something else first, okay?” Peter asked, sounding amused. “And if it doesn’t work, I’ll consider coming over.”
“…Fine.”
“Touch yourself like normal.”
Stiles did, continuing to play with the nipple with one hand while the other grabbed the dildo and pressed it back into his tight, wet hole. Shuffling came from over the line and he tried his best to ignore it, focusing on obeying the command, but the shuffling was followed by the sound of a zipper and a controlled sigh. “Are you—” he paused to lick his dry lips “—are you getting yourself off too?”
“I can’t help it,” Peter said, chuckling, “you sound too delicious.”
“Really?” Stiles pressed as he started fucking himself with the toy.
“Oh, trust me, you have no idea what you do to me, what I want to do to you.”
“Tell me, please, I wanna know,” Stiles begged through a needy moan.
“I want to eat you up—take my time and explore every nook and cranny of that hot-ass little body of yours until you’re so wet I could drink your slick.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles whined, high-pitched and cracked, feeling his hole somehow drip even more slick.
The gruff groan Peter let out was downright sinful. “I want to feel you cum on my cock, making me fill you up to the fucking brim.”
“Me—me too,” Stiles admitted. He also wanted to inject the sounds Peter was making into his fucking veins but all he could do was sear them into his memory the best he could and hope they were still there when he was no longer in his hormone-induced haze.
“Yeah, little vixen? You gonna milk me dry?”
“Yes!” Stiles wailed, frantically working the dildo in and out faster and finally moving the fingers on his nipple to stroke the head of his cock.
Peter growled through his erratic breathing. “You’re about to make me knot my fist.”
There was no need for Stiles to press the knotting button because that image alone finally allowed the tension in Stiles’ groin to break, cumming with a cry out to the wolf, who was roaring through his own orgasm. They were silent for a few seconds, breathing heavily and enjoying the afterglow.
“Ah, shit,” Peter panted over the sound of paper towels ripping off the roll. “Feel any better. darling?”
“No, need more, one more,” Stiles mumbled, the pool of arousal in his guts not fading at all.
Peter chuckled and Stiles thought he was about to be teased but all that came out of the wolf’s mouth was, “Want me to help out again? I don’t mind.”
Stiles deliriously nodded before remembering he was alone in his nest. It was warm like the heat inside of him but he felt cold now. “Please,” he begged, soft and sweet and perhaps a tad worried that he would be denied.
“Anything you want, sweet boy,” Peter purred. “Do you usually use the vibe on your dick?”
“Y-yeah,” said Stiles, reaching for the forgotten vibrator while he ground down on the dildo, seeing stars as it rubbed against his prostate.
“Go ahead,” Peter commanded, sounding far more in control now, and this new direction was sexy.
Obediently, the fox turned it on the lowest setting and pressed it under his sensitive slit, letting out a warbling whine when it made contact. The buzzing shot like lightning through his trembling core and a shocked cry was punched from his lungs. “Oh my god,” Stiles gasped after sucking down air. “Need your knot.”
“Next time, darling, I promise.”
Half-delirious, Stiles remembered the dildo and pushed the knotting button. The blub near the base of it swelled and he started grinding down on it again, trapped between the two toys. “Ah, please—I’ve been a good omega.”
A pause and then, “You have been such a good boy for me, haven’t you?”
“Uh-huh, been good.”
“Following all of my orders, yeah?”
“Hmm-mm,” Stiles hummed for the fleeting seconds he could keep his lips together, eyes screwing shut and toes curling, right there on the cusp of the orgasm he craved.
“So be good and cum for me.”
Stiles’ body obeyed, back arching and mouth screaming as he coated his torso with wave after wave of infertile seed. When it was finally over almost half a minute later, he sunk back down into his nest with a deep sigh. The alpha murmured sweet praises into his ear as he removed the toys from his nest and proceeded to black out.
*
Omegas usually felt exhausted after a heat and rightfully so. Stiles felt that way too, limping from his bed to the bathroom to wash himself with a warm, wet rag. The tiredness he could live with; what he couldn’t live with was stomach-dropping mortification as memories started coming back to him while he cleaned himself of dried cum, slick, and sweat.
There was no way he could face Peter again, not when he couldn’t even face himself in the bathroom mirror. He hated succumbing to his biological instincts, being reduced down to nothing but a desperate, whining mess. Heats were the worst. He honestly wanted to curl up and die but his nest was gross and there was no one nice enough to show up and rip his throat out.
Alas, he had to do something, so he grabbed his phone, changed into pajamas, and walked on wobbly legs to his living room to crash on his couch. He couldn’t think of a movie or show he wanted to watch on TV. He considered other options to pass the time but most of those involved getting up and that was just not in the cards for today. Doom scrolling on social media it was, he decided, using the pad of his thumb to unlock his phone.
Hours passed like that, with the omega only moving once to plug his phone into the charger next to him and grab a large glass of much-needed iced water. He ignored all messages, from work emails, from his friend group chats, and especially from Peter. The only thing he wanted to do was distract himself and pretend like he didn’t exist for the whole day. He could go back to being a normal person tomorrow.
At exactly one o’clock, his hope for a peaceful day was shattered by his ringtone blaring, nearly startling him off of the couch. Peter’s contact picture was smiling innocently on the phone screen. It was time for Stiles to face reality. Swallowing down his nerves, he answered.
“Hi,” he croaked, vocal cords protesting.
“Feeling any better, dear?” asked Peter.
“Uh, yeah, back to normal, I guess.”
“You guess?” Peter teased.
Stiles hated what he was about to say but he knew he had to say it at some point and it was easier to do it over the phone than in person. “I’m sorry.”
“For what, darling boy?” The frown could be heard in the alpha’s voice.
“You know what,” Stiles said as he played with a loose thread on his plaid pajama pants.
“Trust me when I say that there’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Peter interrupted.
Because Stiles was still a teenager at heart and also couldn’t help himself, he cracked a grin and said, “Not even my butt?”
A soft scoff answered him, followed by a much louder, “Glad to see you’re back to your usual antics.”
“You know you missed them,” Stiles said as his grin grew.
“I did. A lot. How about a dinner date tomorrow?”
“Okay,” Stiles agreed, quickly and easily. If his past self could hear him agreeing with an alpha werewolf—to a date, no less—he probably would’ve passed out from shock.
*
Beacon Hills was a small enough town that it was odd that Stiles had never heard of the restaurant Peter chose for their dinner date. He almost wanted to research it beforehand but he refrained because he knew Peter would never steer him wrong and because he wanted to be surprised.
And surprised he was.
This place was bougie.
Stiles felt like a lost wild fox as they entered the building and were led to their table after the alpha rattled off their reservation name and time. He made sure to watch his step, not wanting to knock anything expensive over. And everything looked expensive, from the crystal wine glasses to the ridiculous life-sized marble statues, to the other guests.
They made it to a two-seater table without a hitch and he was grateful for his date when the alpha pushed in his chair for him. Mere seconds later, he was grateful again. This time, it was for his past self, who agreed to let the alpha order for him all night as another part of their courting, so he didn’t have to use his struggling brain cells to answer whatever question the waitress asked.
The silence after the waitress left wasn’t tense or awkward but it still got to Stiles. It resulted in him opening his mouth and asking, “How long do you plan on courting me before you’ll pop the mating question?”
“Why?” Peter grinned. “That excited to be my mate?”
“No—I—Yes?” Stiles stammered and stumbled through the words as he felt a fierce blush form.
“Relax,” Peter said through a snicker, “I’m only pulling your leg.”
Stiles pouted to himself for a few seconds but then he realized something. “You never answered my question.”
“That’s because I’m not sure how to, darling.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t have a timeline planned or anything.” Peter shrugged and looked conflicted. “I’m following my natural instincts. When they feel like it’s time, then I’ll ‘pop the mating question,’ as you put it.”
That was reasonable, actually. Far more reasonable than what Stiles was expecting. “I understand,” he said, throwing a small, reassuring smile.
Peter matched it as his attention switched to the menu open in front of him. Absent-mindedly, the alpha itched at the corner of one of the scent patches on his neck and the action made Stiles frown.
If they were going to continue courting until the wolf was satisfied, then they were going to have to do something about that. Plus, if they ended up becoming mates, that would be even more of a clusterfuck. Stiles decided to do some research on scent drunkenness later. Maybe he would find other solutions or the root of the problem altogether.
“You seem to be thinking awfully hard about something and I know it’s not about a dinner choice,” commented Peter.
“Sorry,” Stiles said as he came back to the present, “my mind wandered for a bit.”
“No worries,” Peter said while folding the menu back up. “Are you sure you’re still fine with me ordering for you?”
“Yeah.” Stiles nodded. “I trust y—”
“Yo! Stinky Stilinski!”
With wide eyes, Stiles froze. There was only one person that called him that. The one person who confirmed all of his prejudices against werewolves and alphas: Matt Daehler. The last time Stiles remembered seeing him was years ago, at their high school graduation ceremony, despite how small their town was. The prick just had to show up right now for the first time in years.
“Matt,” the fox said coldly, eyes narrowing and glancing from his date’s confused expression to his high school bully’s punchable face.
“Should’ve known you’d eventually need a sugar daddy,” said Matt, leering at both of them as if they pissed in his cereal that morning. “Bet he finally found a use for that big mouth of yours, huh?”
“Excuse me?” Peter growled, wolfy features making themselves known on his handsome face.
“You’re excused,” Matt growled back, fangs and claws dropping as well.
The scent patches contained the smell of Peter’s wrath but that didn’t make his aura any less threatening. Between the two of them, he was bigger and stronger—in every meaning of the words. Matt might’ve also been an alpha werewolf but he was no match for Peter fucking Hale. Honestly, Stiles would’ve loved to watch Matt get his shit rocked if they were anywhere else other than a restaurant full of nosy witnesses watching the scene. Alas, that was considered assault and Peter couldn’t court him from a jail cell, sadly.
“Oi, knot heads,” Stiles said over their growling, doing his best to release a calming omega scent, “break it up, we’re in public.”
Peter obeyed first, canines going back to their human shape at a speed only achievable by experienced shapeshifters. His ice blue eyes went from Matt to Stiles as his brows raised; he looked impressed. At what, the omega didn’t know.
“Whatever,” Matt snarled. His shift back to normal was slow in comparison. “You guys aren’t worth it.” Then, he turned on his heel and stomped toward another area of the restaurant, presumably to whichever table he came from that couldn’t be seen from the angle.
With an amused chuckle, Peter said, “Old friend of yours?”
“Hah, funny,” Stiles snorted.
“Are you alright?” the wolf asked, concerned, reaching out to place a hand over the fox’s much smaller one. When Stiles nodded, he added, “Let’s not think about him, okay?”
“Okay,” Stiles agreed because Matt was the furthest thing from his mind now. All he could think about was how much he wished Peter’s touch on his skin would mark him. It couldn’t, though, not with the patches on Peter’s neck soaking up all of his scent.
*
A few hours and dozens of browser tabs later, Stiles was starting to get a headache from the bright glare of his laptop in his dark bedroom. He rubbed his eyes as a way to clear his brain but it was to no avail. The content on the sites he found kept playing on a loop, over and over again, although they were all no good. Nearly every last one of them connected automatic scent drunkenness to true mates—which was a bunch of bullshit, to put it lightly.
True mates were the stuff of fiction, of fairy tales and romance books, alongside elves and vampires. No one actually, truly believed that some mates were just destined to be together—other than the nutcases that thought that elves and vampires also walked the Earth.
Opening his eyes, Stiles shook his head in disbelief and almost exited out of the last tab but something near the end of the page caught his interest. He scrolled down to read the paragraph in its entirety. It listed out all of the ways to reduce the rate of getting scent drunk. At the end of it was a reference link that led him to a doctor’s website that, thankfully, provided medical reasoning for the methods.
For the first time since starting his research, he felt hopeful.
*
“Hello, darling,” Peter purred after opening his front door for the omega.
“Hi, do you mind if I come in?” Stiles asked, firmly ignoring how his body had developed the tendency to react to the wolf’s purring with a flash of horniness.
“I’d love for you to, but,” Peter paused, turning to sniff over his shoulder, “I have yet to fully remove my scent from my humble abode.”
Having no idea the alpha was considering doing such things, Stiles stared dumbly into blue eyes for a second or two before remembering why he was here at all. “Actually, that might help us.”
“Oh?” Peter leaned against the door jamb, clearly interested.
“I was researching scent drunkenness and,” Stiles sped up his explanation as Peter started frowning so he rushed out as many words as possible before he was completely shot down, “I found a website, like a proper medical one, that gave tips on reducing the rates of them and I was thinking that—”
“No.”
“Peter,” Stiles whispered, both a plea and a prayer. “Think about it: are you really going to keep wearing patches when we’re mates?”
“Yep,” the stubborn werewolf said and he really must’ve felt strongly about the subject because he didn’t stop to tease Stiles on his use of ‘when’ they mate and not ‘if’ they mate.
In a Hail Mary move, Stiles put on his best puppy eyes he learned from Scott and pouted. “Can we at least try? Just a few times.”
Peter gave him a once-over before sighing. “Fine.”
“Awesome!” Stiles said, a huge smile splitting his face as he resisted the urge to squeal and jump in excitement. “So, the main takeaway was exposure, starting small and keep building up.”
“How small?”
“Well, about that,” Stiles felt his cheeks heat up, “their first suggestion was for you to give me a piece of clothing but…”
“We already did that, huh?” Peter’s eyes dilated, bright blue turning dark at the memory.
Not wanting to dwell on the embarrassing yet extremely hot memory, Stiles kept the conversation on track by saying, “The next step would be for me to enter your home for a little bit—not anywhere that your scent would be concentrated, like your bedroom, but like your kitchen or dining room or something.”
“I see.” Peter scratched at his five o’clock shadow in thought. “There’s a spare bedroom I only use once in a blue moon, right next to us, conveniently.”
“That’ll do,” Stiles said even though he thought that the wolf was still being a little bit of an overprotective worry-wort by choosing the safest option.
“Perfect,” said Peter, his thin smile not quite reaching the rest of his face, proving he was worrying internally.
Stiles wanted to call him out on it but the front door was already opening wider to allow him to slip in between it and Peter, ducking under flexing biceps. The entranceway was a good size for an apartment, large enough for a coat rack, a shoe rack, and a closed door to the left before the room stretched into a hallway.
Peter closed one door and opened the other, ushering the omega into the room before he could take in more details—like how nearly all of Peter’s jackets were made out of black leather because of course they were.
The spare bedroom wasn’t as exciting as the entranceway. It was basic, holding zero personal effects, leaving Stiles with no more distractions. A simple breath later was all it took for Peter’s scent to make itself known. While it was stale, it immediately relaxed the omega, making his shoulders stop tensing—something he wasn’t even aware his body was doing.
“Feel okay?” Peter asked as he placed his large hand on the small of Stiles’ back.
The fox took in a few more deep breaths to ensure he wasn’t about to lie to the alpha courting him. “Peachy,” he eventually said, swallowing down the itch to get a fresher hit of the smoky smell. “I’ve missed your scent.”
“Oh, Stiles,” Peter said as he moved the hand on Stiles’ back to his hip and grabbed it possessively, “you can’t just say things like that.”
“Like what?” Stiles turned his neck to look up at the larger shifter, feigning innocence. He felt like he was consistently the one being teased and it was about time for Peter to have a taste of his own medicine.
“You’re a menace,” Peter growled before claiming Stiles’ lips with his own.
There was a huge risk of the alpha pulling away if Stiles responded too eagerly, so he didn’t, melting into their first kiss. It was nearly perfect and he couldn’t help to think how it would’ve been perfect with the fresh scent of the wolf all around him. Stiles would take what he could get though, pulling Peter closer by carding his fingers in the short hair at the nape of his neck, pressing their bodies together. A growling groan rumbled between them, shaking Stiles to his very core, making his thighs clench with need.
Just when Stiles thought he was going to go light-headed from the lack of proper air, Peter pulled back enough so that the men could breathe into each other’s parted mouths. He donned a victorious smirk—and the omega didn’t have to look down to know it, all he had to do was to keep his eyes on Peter’s own, blue alight with a smug spark, only accented by crow’s feet.
“Wow,” Stiles whispered. “Can we do that again?”
“As you wish.”
*
The next steps of the methods ended up helping out their endeavor too. After a few weeks, they were at a point where Peter and Stiles could go to busy, outside events like farmer’s markets without the omega getting scent drunk. Their courting, while slow to progress, was going amazing as well. Stiles received various gifts twice a week and they went on dates once a week. Everything was swell. Peter didn’t seem to have any regrets about choosing him.
So, of course, Stiles just had to go and open his big, fat mouth.
“How do you feel about true mates?” Stiles asked as they sat on a wooden park bench, not too far away from tents and crowds at the local arts and crafts fair they were browsing together.
“It’s an overdone TV trope,” Peter said as their eyes met. “Why?”
“What if they were real?” Stiles immediately regretted his words when Peter gave him a look of dismay. “I mean,” he backtracked, “I’m asking, like, hypothetically.”
Peter’s expression didn’t drop but the alpha reached out to interlace his fingers with Stiles’ closest hand, enclosing it from the world, easing the omega’s worries. “Hypothetically, if true mates were real, then I hope you would be mine and I would be yours.”
“That’s…” Really sweet, actually; more than Stiles was fishing for, yet, it still didn’t quite answer the true nature of his question so he changed tactics. “What if we were true mates?”
“Nothing would change,” Peter said, not taking a second to think about it, as his face returned to normal. “We would both still be here, together, right?”
“Right.” Stiles grinned, his scent turning pleased—but unlike usual, he didn’t give a shit. Peter’s answer was what he needed to hear because, in all honesty, he’d started to give the whole true mates idea some credit. Wild how his opinion on such a matter had nearly flipped on its axis.
*
An expected knock came from Stiles’ front door mere seconds after he finished putting a pan full of quartered red potatoes in his oven and shutting the appliance. He flung off his frilly, fox-themed oven mitts onto the last remaining clean part of his kitchen counter before wiping his hands across his stomach, smearing a greasy mix of sweat and olive oil into the matching apron. Both of the items were gag gifts from Lydia last Christmas, gifts that Stiles swore up and down would never be put to good use, but there he was, proving his past self wrong. Over the past couple of months, Stiles found out just how wrong his past self was, especially when it came to alpha werewolves—or, well, maybe just a certain alpha werewolf.
Not wanting to keep his guest waiting, Stiles multitasked, starting a timer on his phone as he bee-lined towards the front door and opened it. He was still staring at his phone, ensuring that the timer had one hundred percent started, when a gust of wind came up, hitting him with pure alpha pheromones. Peter’s pheromones. So thick and fresh that there was no way the wolf had scent patches on his neck glands. Stiles had no time to react to such a wonderful surprise though, because Peter was faster.
“Hello, darling,” said Peter as he slid a knuckle under the point of Stiles’ chin and raised his head, forcing the wide-eyed deer-in-headlights stare to go from an electronic screen to a man-eating smile. “Thought I’d surprise you with the last step of our side project. You don’t mind, do you?”
Ah, yes. The last step. The final check. It went something a little like: ‘the alpha entering the affected omega’s residence without scent patches, being sure to use unscented soap and laundry detergent the day of.’ And, judging by the tingling assault happening in Stiles’ sensitive nostrils, Peter followed the directions to a T.
Stiles expected Peter to show up on his doorstep—the fox invited him over for a home-cooked dinner, after all. What he didn’t expect was this. Panic flooded his nerves, waiting for his dumb biology to get him drunk off of the campfire smell. A second passed, followed by a few more, with neither man saying a word. Peter watched, seemingly unworried although his smile twitched, giving away his silent worries. By the time a full minute had come and gone, Stiles let out a shaky sigh of relief, now prepared to speak for the first time.
“Hi,” he greeted, voice small but not uncertain. “Kiss me then come inside. We’re gonna let bugs in if we keep standing here.”
“Yes, dear.”
They shared a deep, charged kiss before entering the house and closing the door. Peter let Stiles lead them into the kitchen although he surely already knew where it was due to the time he delivered the butchered buck. Speaking of the deer, Stiles fetched the marinating meat from the fridge and started over various cooking tasks while Peter poured the dark red wine he brought into two glasses.
They had a perfectly normal date, like the whole scent drunk fiasco never happened. Stiles couldn’t shake the feeling of delight for days afterward.
*
“Are you ready for this?” Peter asked out of nowhere. “I think it’s time.”
“Err,” Stiles stalled as he dogeared his place within his book, looking up at Peter’s face from where he was laying in the wolf’s lap. They were having a lazy, cozy Saturday evening together in Peter’s apartment, hardly leaving the comfortable couch. They had no plans that Stiles knew of, so he was at a loss for what ‘this’ could’ve been. “Can I keep my sweatpants on?”
“Sure.” Blue eyes twinkling with amusement, Peter huffed a laugh as he paused the movie he was watching and placed the TV remote on a nearby side table. “You’re going to have to let me up though, darling.”
Always a little shit when he wanted to be, Stiles let out a loud, annoyed groan, but when Peter fixed him with a ‘yeah right’ look, he lifted his head and turned his body to the side so he was sitting normally. The omega watched Peter slink off into his office around the corner and listened to some rummaging around while he attempted to figure out what the alpha was about to spring on him. It was bound to be another gift, Stiles thought since he’d only received one this week so far.
Peter returned with his hands behind his back and a face that gave nothing away. Typical. He made sure to not turn his torso even slightly as he approached. Then, he sat on the coffee table in front of Stiles. “Close your eyes.”
Oh, they’ve done this song and dance before. Stiles would close his eyes and Peter would place the gift in his hands. Easy-peasy.
The fox’s inner omega was eager so he quickly agreed with a nod as his eyelids fluttered shut and he cupped his hands between them. He waited on the edge of his seat for something to land in his upturned palms, but nothing did. Instead, there was a cold chain slipping around his neck, making him shiver. It inched forward and back a few times—Peter was probably latching the ends together—before a weight of what could’ve only been metal settled a little bit below his collarbone.
“Okay, you can open your eyes, little fox.”
Prepared to strain his neck down to get a look at his new jewelry, Stiles obeyed, only for his head to freeze. Wetness clumped in the corner of Peter’s eyes. Unshed tears. The alpha werewolf didn’t look sad but Stiles still had no clue what to do in this situation.
“Stiles, darling.” Peter’s steady voice cut through his tangled thoughts. “Before you accept your gift, you need to know something.”
“Okay, tell me,” Stiles said through a held breath.
“This isn’t a courting gift, this is my mating gift.”
Those last two words repeated in Stiles’ head, over and over again, like a build-up to an EDM song Stiles would never admit he enjoyed. Mating gifts were the last and final gift courting alphas gave an omega. If the omega declines it, the courting ends. If the omega accepts it, they, by extension, accept the alpha as their mate. These types of gifts were a big deal, typically done in public with the omega’s family and friends watching.
Stiles was pretty sure he would’ve had a large enough panic attack that his heart would give out; he was beyond thankful it was just them in Peter’s private living room. He opened his mouth to tell the wolf just that but stopped himself. Right now, tradition only allowed him to give a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer. While he thought of his choices, he brought a trembling hand up to the necklace and held it slightly away from his chest as he peered down.
The metal was a shiny, polished silver—but that wasn’t what caught his eye. The attached matching pendant did. It wasn’t too big nor too small; a perfect size to get details into an obviously commissioned one-of-a-kind design. A fox and a wolf were curled around each other in order to form a perfect circle. In their eyes were gemstones, the wolf’s matching Peter’s shifted red eyes and the fox matching Stiles’ shifted orange eyes.
The rapid beat of Stiles’ heart doubled and he could’ve sworn the organ burst from how loved, how wanted he felt in this moment. All he had to show for it was silent tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked back up at Peter, whose face was a mixture of love, hope, and something so close to despair, that Stiles had no choice in the words that tumbled out of his mouth. The answer he knew he had for weeks by this point:
“Yes.”
“Yes?” A grin broke Peter’s face, and wide enough it pushed out his tears as well.
“Obviously, you knothead!” Stiles exclaimed, smiling like an idiot as he tackled Peter into a hug. They tumbled over the coffee table, somehow not breaking the wood, and landed in a heap of limbs on Peter’s shaggy area rug, laughing all the way.
*
“Sex,” Stiles demanded, a mere twenty-four hours after accepting his necklace, crossing his arms over his chest in the middle of Peter’s kitchen like the werewolf owed him money. “We need to have sex, like, now.”
“Oh?” Peter answered as he finished wiping down the counters from their earlier meal. “And why’s that?”
Stiles huffed. He should’ve expected this, really. Anytime the alpha—his alpha, he reminded himself with a blush—had the chance to tease him, he took it. “You know why.”
“I think I do,” said Peter, stalking closer, eyes glinting despite the dim light. He stopped directly in front of the shorter man, making him look up to maintain eye contact. “You want me to claim you, hmm? Isn’t that right, my little fox?”
The blush in Stiles’ cheeks kicked up a few degrees in temperature. “Well, I mean…” He nervously licked his bottom lip. Arousal tightened his gut when Peter watched the motion like the predator he was. “We need to seal the mating bond.”
“That’s not the only reason though.” Peter’s grin was dangerous. He leaned down to bring it closer to Stiles’ ear and whispered, “I’ve been smelling the arousal in your scent for the past hour.”
Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, as if to block out how needily he said, “Okay, fine, I really, really want you to fuck me, so please, will—eep!” Whatever he was about to ask was lost forever as he was picked up and flung over Peter’s shoulder like he weighed as much as a bag of potatoes.
As soon as Stiles blinked open his eyes, he was flung again, onto Peter’s firm mattress. He bounced a few times before he was able to get his bearings straight, just in time to see the wolf removing his shirt in such a way that could only have been on purpose. Because, holy shit, salvia pooled in Stiles’ mouth due to how much he wanted to trace those abs with his tongue. Then, Peter started on his jeans with a sly smile, and, once more, holy shit.
Getting with the program, Stiles stripped, quick and eager, nearly tripping over himself and onto the floor thanks to a pant leg catching on his foot due to the rush. Yet, when he looked up to see a naked Peter, he didn’t care. Actually, he stopped caring about everything but the alpha in front of him. Peter must’ve been thinking along those same lines, his heated gaze kept going up and down Stiles’ body. It made Stiles realize that he had yet to look down.
That stray thought was all that was needed for his eyes to drop automatically, bypassing Peter’s impressive abdominal muscles since he saw them during his prior ogling. But, maybe, just maybe Stiles’ eyes were failing him, surely he was seeing double or something—something like seeing things twice as large as they were in reality. Stiles blinked a few times in rapid succession but, nope, Peter’s hard cock remained the same ridiculously massive size.
“Like what you see, darling?” Peter asked, his voice rumbling with an alpha purr that shouldn’t have made a new wave of slick leave a mess underneath Stiles.
Not trusting his voice, Stiles nodded, and it was the truth. Although their size difference was jarring, screw it; the omega was going to make this work. On the plus side, it was hot as hell.
“Don’t worry,” said Peter as he joined Stiles on the bed, “I’ll make sure you’re nice and ready for my dick.” And the alpha remained true to his word, proceeding to finger-fuck and blow Stiles until two orgasms escaped him with loud, desperate noises.
“I—I—” Stiles’ face burned. “I’m wet enough, stretched enough, please.”
“Yeah?” Peter licked slick and cum off of his lips and hands before crawling up Stiles’ body, pressing them together. His hard-on twitched against Stiles’ hole and the omega saw stars. “You’re ready for your alpha’s cock?”
“Please,” Stiles repeated, shaky hands slipping onto the mounds of Peter’s shoulder muscles as his legs weakly squeezed around Peter’s hips.
Peter didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to use words, the press of his cock’s head into Stiles’ rim was enough of an answer. His ice-blue eyes watched Stiles’ face as he continued pressing into his mate at a slow pace
Stiles was getting stretched open wider and wider—and holy fuck, the cock in him was longer and thicker than his dildo, which meant that his knot was bound to be massive. The omega hung onto that image to get him through this slightly uncomfortable moment. It was only when Stiles’ vision blurred as his eyes crossed and he lost the air in his lungs that he felt his alpha’s hilt press against his rim.
“You took me so well,” Peter praised as he lovingly ran his hands up and down Stiles’ sides. “Just breathe, little vixen; I can wait for however long you need me to.”
Stiles took a deep breath. In. Out. One more time. “Thanks,” he managed to croak out, sounding just as wrecked as he felt. A few more steadying breaths full of campfire-smell later, Stiles nodded and told Peter to move.
“Let me know if it hurts, darling,” Peter said, soft and sweet. He slid almost all the way out before slamming back in without warning. Again and again, giving Stiles no time to adjust to such a brutal pace.
“Alpha!” Stiles moaned, almost screaming if it wasn’t for his hoarseness. The pleasure was downright insane and the fox could practically feel his brain melting as he tried to process it. Aborted gasps left his parted lips with every thrust; he wouldn’t have been able to stop them even if he tried.
“My very, very good boy, perfect omega.” Peter’s words were so, so sweet, completely opposite of his punishing hips.
“I—” Stiles whimpered between moans as Peter kissed at a sensitive scent gland. “I am?”
“You are.” The tips of Peter’s wolfy canines pricked against the puffy flesh with the words before he pulled off with a deep groan. “Do you think I would settle for less than the best?”
Stiles shook his head, knowing for a fact that the wolf was far too self-centered to mate with someone he didn’t love, faults and all. He held on to his alpha tighter as he felt his third orgasm approached.
It grew closer as Peter’s sounds started to become louder, heard even over Stiles’ own whimpering moans. He was growling, groaning, whispering sweet nothings into his omega’s ear. “Does that feel good?”
“Ye-yeah,” Stiles said through a shaky exhale. He gasped in more air to add, “You feel good.”
“You feel good too, darling,” Peter purred, licking Stiles’ neck from his collarbone to his ear, right over the scent gland that the alpha was going to bite once his knot inflated and they were locked together as one.
The threat and the promise rolled into something the fox craved, something he craved more than his own approaching orgasm. “I—Ple—ah, I—” Stiles didn’t know he wasn’t making a lick of sense, too fucking overwhelmed and too fucking close. “—I can take it, I-I can, alpha!”
“Fuck yeah, you will.” Peter’s thrusts somehow increased as his body started to shake them both. His knot started to swell, kissing Stiles’ rim with every thrust, teasing him for what was to come. A few more direct hits to his prostate later and Peter came inside of him with a roar, knot locking up.
Stiles followed, cumming all over himself and trembling. He was still riding the aftershocks as Peter’s fangs found the scent gland on the right part of his neck and bit down. “Peter!” he screamed as another wave of pleasure went over him. In the end, it was instinct alone that allowed him to bite Peter’s scent gland back, completing their bond for life.
*
Two months later, Stiles realized that wolves and foxes could get along just fine, but he kept having this nagging feeling like he was forgetting about something. His mate was in good health, he was in good health, so what was the issue?
Distracted by those types of thoughts, Stiles didn’t pay attention to the knife he was using to cut up a bell pepper for a stir fry. He missed, nicking a sliver of skin off instead, and then came the stinging pain. Well, the stinging pain and Peter rushing in from Stiles’ living room, panic on his face.
“Are you okay?” He asked, looking at Stiles like the fox yelled out.
But he didn’t. There was no way his alpha could’ve known he hurt himself; mating bonds didn’t work like that and not even the smell of blood moved that fast. They both stared at each other for a beat before Stiles remembered he was asked a question. “Knife got me, no worries.” He wiggled his fingers at Peter, the wound already closed thanks to supernatural healing.
“Oh, okay, good.” Peter visibly relaxed. “That was it?”
“Yep,” Stiles said as he put the knife down to properly turn to his mate. “How’d you know I was hurt anyway?”
Peter looked just as confused as Stiles felt. “I don’t know.” He frowned. “I just, like, felt it, I guess.”
That nagging sensation came back. What was Stiles forgetting? Something that could explain this, something like—
“Holy shit.” Stiles’ eyes widened in realization before grabbing his phone and scrolling through his bookmarked websites to find that one he saved all those months ago. He quickly found what he was looking for and tapped on it while Peter padded across the room and leaned over his shoulder to see what was happening.
“True mates?” Peter asked with a controlled sigh. “This thing again?”
Stiles gave him a look as he shoved his cell phone in the wolf’s hands. “Think about it: the scent drunkenness, the bond even your sister admitted was stronger than most, and now this, the fact that you just felt my pain.”
It seemed like Peter was giving the idea some thought as he scanned the site Stiles found during his research. When he reached the end, he hummed. Then, he scrolled back to the top of the article and started reading it again, slower this time.
Although Stiles didn’t know why, he held his breath. It was stupid, really, when he thought about it. As Peter said during the arts and crafts festival, it didn’t matter if they were true mates or not; they would still be right here, right now, together.
“Huh, maybe you are right,” Peter commented.
Stiles grinned. Perhaps that was what he wanted to hear all along and he finally got it. Hell yeah, life was good. He got to say his favorite sentence ever: “I told you so.”