Chapter Text
Stiles knew that it was a very, very bad idea.
He'd made a lot of bad choices over his life, but so far this was probably the worst one, the most dangerous, the most reckless. He was called reckless a lot, but usually they were actually thought out plans he knew would pull through. Because Stiles Stilinski had a huge secret, and it gave him a vast advantage.
But getting involved with Peter Fucking Hale in any intimate capacity was stupidity. Stupidity he couldn't resist, gasping and legs shaking as he sank down on that long, thick cock inside him over and over. Peter's hands— clawed fingers— gripped his hips tightly, helping Stiles move with small thrusts up into his prostate that were driving him crazy.
Getting involved with Peter Hale was stupid, fucking Peter Hale was possibly insanity.
"That's it, fuck, gorgeous, you're so fucking perfect," Peter growled.
And yet, how was Stiles ever meant to resist this?
He threw his head back, gasping raggedly and writhing, so close to the edge, his skin bathed in the glow of Beacon City far below. Peter's penthouse windows, uncovered, let that light in, the rain beating against the windows and making the neon lights dance across pale skin. It was just them, in the dark, nothing but the rain and the sounds of their coupling to fill the space. Stiles felt the kind of heat that came from the inside out, the room was cold but Peter… oh Peter was so warm, so alive. Stiles hadn't felt alive since the Nogitsune, but Peter made him feel alive with a vicious intensity he couldn't resist.
So maybe he was taking advantage of Peter, maybe Peter was taking advantage of him, it was their own business and Stiles would grasp it with both hands and ride him till he exhausted them both.
And exhaust them both he did, shaking as he came, clenching around Peter's cock and dragging the beta off the cliff of bliss with him. After, he collapsed onto the bed next to the wolf, letting him nose at Stiles' throat and haul him close, like this meant something.
"Mm, much better," Peter purred. At Stiles' questioning sound, he continued. "You smell like me, far better than before."
Stiles rolled his eyes and sat up with a mutter of "Creeperwolf."
Peter just smirked up at him, lounging back like a porn mag model, naked, cock soft and wet, without an ounce of shame.
"Well, I hope you enjoyed it because I'm going to shower," Stiles drawled, pushing himself out of bed and ignoring the twinge in his hips and ass.
"You'll still smell like me, regardless," Peter snorted, and eventually also stalked to the bathroom after Stiles.
Stiles wanted to protest, to take a shower alone and wallow in his bad decisions, but his stupid heart wanted it, wanted to be held in the warm water and treated like he was precious. Peter did that, touch softer than Stiles thought capable as he washed him and pressed sweet kisses to his skin- like he felt something more than lust and a weak pack bond for Stiles.
Though… it wasn't as weak as it used to be. In fact, it might have been the strongest bond Stiles currently had.
Derek was gone, left to get away from Beacon Hills again, even tried to get Stiles to leave too because Stiles was 18 and could go free if he wanted to. But he didn't leave, and Peter didn't either. Stiles thought it would have been better if Peter had, there was nothing for the blue-eyed beta here after all. Both of them were pack outcasts, treated like they were barely better than the enemy by Scott.
Scott, the man that Stiles had given up almost everything for. In the end, he'd been right not to trust Scott with his secret, to not tell him that Stiles had known about the supernatural from the start. At this point, if Scott hadn't worked out on his own that Stiles wasn't human on his own, and kept treating Stiles like a fragile, psychotic human, he deserved to be kept at arms length. There was of course a small part of Stiles that still yearned for them to be brothers, to be one anothers closest, but… any chance he had of that died when Claudia Stilinski did. Or maybe it was when Scott had been bitten.
They'd lied out their asses when they said that Claudia had only died of a rare form of dementia, which is why it had seemed to be such a shock when Stiles had exhibited the symptoms of it too before they realised it was possession and not a resulting symptom of his inhuman nature being denied. Stiles was only half blooded after all, it shouldn't have affected him like it did Claudia, but all the same it terrified him.
What had saved him, in the end, was that he'd hidden his true nature so well that not even the Nogitsune had realised what his host was.
"Stop thinking," Peter rumbled against his wet skin, pulling Stiles' back to his broad chest. Peter was only a few inches taller than Stiles, but quite a lot broader and more muscular. It made a difference, especially when the wolf held him.
They'd fallen together only two weeks ago, after a research binge for Scott in Peter's penthouse lounge. They'd sent off the info but Stiles had felt angry with his supposed best friend, because apparently even half-breed monsters were still all monsters. And it solidified his decision to never confide in the true idiot.
Peter, however, had decided that Stiles needed to let off steam, and had successfully seduced him in about 5 seconds flat. Stiles wasn't easy, okay? But he needed it, and Peter knew just what he needed, and he had eyes. Peter was so fucking beautiful, he harbored a darkness at heart that called to Stiles, and related in a way no one else did. Peter was perfect for him, which made it hurt even more that this was just great sex followed by the aftercare from a pack-mate, not a lover.
"Asking me not to think is like asking the sun to turn off," Stiles grumbled.
Peter huffed, "I wasn't asking, sweetheart, I was telling. Come on, you're all clean, let me get you to bed."
"I should get home," Stiles said instead.
His dad was working late, the only reason Stiles had come crawling back to Peter's bed so far past sunset. The lonely and the quiet had crept in and made his head spin, he'd needed Peter to fuck it out again.
"Noah is working, stay here and let me keep you safe instead," Peter coaxed, "I don't think you should be alone."
And that was another thing. Peter, like Derek, kept treating Stiles like he needed a protector at all times. If it wasn't such a stupid thought, he'd think that Peter stayed in Beacon Hills for him.
"I don't know if you noticed, Peter, but I'm alone a lot. It's Beacon Hills, but I can handle myself," he drawled.
Peter sighed, arms like steel bands around Stiles' waist.
"At least when I was the big bad, I knew you were safe."
Stiles snorted. "Uh huh, and since then we've had a psycho wielding a Kanima, a Darach, a Demon, and now a twunk with mommy and daddy issues whispering in Scott's ear."
Peter growled darkly at the reminder of Theo. He'd come to town a few weeks ago, reeking of trouble and making Stiles' hackles raise. He wanted to bare his fangs at the man, but Scott was attached to the bastard. It was only a matter of time before Theo stepped out of line, and Stiles knew he'd be there when the bastard did.
He idly petted Peter's arm, trying to soothe him without even realising it. The growls died down and Peter nuzzled his throat.
"Come to bed, baby. Let the big bad wolf keep you warm."
"That was terrible, never say that again," Stiles deadpanned but relented, letting Peter smugly dry him off and drag him to bed.
He drifted off some time after Peter, to the warmth and safety of a pair of strong arms and a firm, naked body against his.
Stiles regretted a lot, but in this moment the only thing he didn't regret was Peter Fucking Hale. Or Fucking Peter Hale. The biggest regret he did have was not leaving when Derek asked him too. His other biggest regret was not letting Peter trail after him around town.
He was almost in tears, shaking and gasping and soaked to the bone as he stumbled from his precious Jeep in the downstairs parking lot of Peter's apartment complex. He'd luckily had a jacket to cover the blood pouring from his shoulder from Donovan's bite, but there was nothing he could do about his pale skin and the pink tinged water dripping everywhere as he made his way to the lift like a drunk man.
Stiles barely had the wherewithal to scan the copy he'd made of Peter's keycard to get to the penthouse, leaning heavily and shakily against the elevator walls through the jarringly serene ride to the top. The contrast of soft music, bright lights, gold mirrors and marble flooring to his shaking, wounded, soaked form was too much for his mind.
He laughed, weak and a little hysteric, before the doors slid open and Peter was already there, eyes glowing blue and fangs bared. He grabbed for Stiles as the younger toppled forward in relief, swept up into strong arms and carried into the penthouse on quick feet.
"What happened? Why didn't you call?" Peter demanded on the way to the bathroom, seeming almost panicked. It would have made Stiles laugh again if he didn't feel so fucked up.
"S'broken," he slurred, "s'- too much- I- I killed 'im P'ter-"
He wanted to be sick, or to throw up. He knew that death was a necessary part of his life, that wasn't the problem.
It was the way he didn't have his pack bonds to anyone but Peter, and a faint one to Derek, and something to his dad but he couldn't think about that right now. Not about the way his dad had looked at him with worry and paranoia as Donovan's body was found to be not there at all. Like Stiles could be possessed again. Or about Scott’s disgust and rage as he called Stiles a murderer. A murderer, and not pack.
"Who, baby? Who'd you kill?"
The story came pouring out of him, words shaky ad disjointed. Who Donovan was, the attack, the death, the body going missing, Theo cornering and threatening him, then Scott's reaction all in one night. Peter, who had been able to smell the blood, was ripping clothes off him till he located it and was swearing.
"M'I gonna turn?" Stiles whimpered nonsensically. He couldn't turn, he knew that, and he'd heal faster than a human too, but Peter didn't know and he didn't know how to tell him now.
"No, no, you don't… you don't smell like there's any change or rejection. Just a wound," Peter sounded displeased.
"Wh't do I sm'll like?" He couldn't help but ask, eye's now half lidded as he watched the man he was so unfortunately falling for patch him up with steady hands and wild eyes.
"Like… clean water and storms, wet earth, magic, warmth," Peter said distractedly, jaw flexing any time he saw the damage to Stiles' shoulder. Sometimes his eyes flashed blue again, as though struggling with his emotions.
Everyone knew Stiles had a bit of magic. They just didn't know he was more like Peter, a creature with an affinity for a little magic.
They didn't know Claudia Stilinski had been a pure blooded siren, falling in love with a human.
They didn't know…
Stiles was half Siren.