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Peter Hale was not a morning person. Waking up and functioning before 10 a.m. had always been troublesome; back when they were kids someone even had to come kick him out of bed for school and Talia always volunteered. Looking back, maybe it should have rung a bell how much she loved torturing him but he’d thought… siblings, you know? Tough love and all that crap. Who in their right minds could come up with “hey, maybe she’d steal half my memories one day”.
Well. Peter was not in his right mind anymore.
“You’re brooding again.”
Peter huffed, a half-growl hidden in it.
“I’m waking for fuck’s sake.”
There was a chuckle. “You’re such a sunshine in the morning.”
The warning growl that started deep in his chest immediately turned into something closer to a purr when a cup of strong coffee landed right in front of him. There was a pat on his shoulder and a soft kiss on the top of his head. Then the person wisely stepped back and left Peter to slowly wake up, sipping on a perfectly brewed coffee.
Far better than a kick out of bed.
It was a Sunday and none of them had to work today. Once he’d taken his sweet time drinking his coffee and taking a long shower, Peter stepped out on the deck and inhaled deeply. The weather was crisp, hinting about the upcoming fall. The air smelled of fallen leaves and soil, of campsites deeper in the woods and the pecan pie their closest neighbor (half a mile down the road) made for when her grandkids visited. Peter took all that in and turned to face the other person, sitting in one of the deckchairs.
Chris smiled back, no teasing about “did you finally wake up”, no questions whatsoever. He was still sipping on his own long cold coffee and reading the newspaper like an old person, who did not believe in modern technologies.
Or, according to Stiles, like Derek.
“It’s a nice day. Wanna go for a hunt later?”, he just asked.
They usually went out together, deep in the forest and far from the trails; one armed with a shotgun and the other in a beta shift, sticking relatively close to each other so Chris didn’t shoot Peter by mistake if he lost sight of the wolf. Sure the bullets weren’t of the wolfsbane kind but they could still cause pain. And none of them wanted that.
It had been awkward in the beginning, the first time Chris suggested it. He could see Peter’s wolf needed it and he himself liked to hunt (not weres, not anymore). It had been something they both liked and it sounded like something that would be fun to share as a couple.
But it was one thing to have seen your partner naked and lost in pleasure and another thing to have seen him as an animal. It was another level of intimacy they had to go through and it was weird and unnerving at first, mostly for Peter, but like anything else they had done in the past five years they’d been together, they turned out to be surprisingly good at this too. Peter knew how to move in a way that Chris always had a visual of him, a way that didn’t trigger any old hunter reflexes. Chris knew how to never stand in the way of Peter’s prey. They made it work.
On their first hunt together Chris had come home with a couple of rabbits. Peter had dragged a deer. Chris had taken a look at Peter’s smug bloody face and just shook his head with a fond smile.
It had started a sort of friendly rivalry between them.
“Yeah”, Peter smiled now, “Let’s go for a hunt.”
At first Peter didn’t get it. The mountain lion on the deck with a note of a simple heart doodle looked like a fucking challenge in his opinion, Chris’ way of saying “look, I can do this too, I caught a bigger prey than you”.
But then it was a duck and it made no sense. Duck didn’t beat a cougar.
Then it was new tires. Because “those roads get slippery at this time of the year and you drive a ridiculously unstable sports car”. But, well. Okay. He wasn’t wrong, per see. Maybe he was just being a caring partner?
For a month or so there were more pillows around the house, new throw blanket, fancier wine glasses.
Then. Then the silk bedsheets.
Chris hated silk. Peter knew because they’d tried, early on in their relationship and Chris hadn’t stopped whining about slipping all over the bed and feeling inadequate when they got down to it.
But you know who loved silk?
Peter did.
And it slowly started making a sense.
“You’re terrible at this.”
Chris froze, caught literally red-handed while he was leaving the rabbit on the deck. He looked up, not quite meeting Peter’s eyes. He was strangely nervous, uncharacteristically so for the proud man that he was. His lips were tightly pressed together as he tried to preserve some dignity when he obviously thought that Peter was rejecting him.
“Is that a no then?”, he asked quietly.
“Depends”, Peter dodged, a slight smirk on his face. “First things first and to make this abundantly clear – are you actually courting me?”
Chris frowned. “I thought it was obvious.”
Peter chuckled. “At first I thought you were challenging me with the bigger prey. Then I decided you were just being a doting partner, with the tires. But then the pillows and blankets and stuff? Making a more comfortable den? It got me thinking but I still wasn't sure.”
Chris’ frown deepened. “What did it?”
“The silk sheets”, Peter grinned.
“Ah”, Chris nodded.
“So was all that… a proposal of sorts?”, Peter asked.
“No”, Chris mumbled, looking away.
“So you don’t want to get married?”, Peter probed, not letting go.
Chris shook his head. Peter sighed.
“Then what do you want, Christopher?”
There was a long silence. Then, very quietly,
“A wedding is… for me, a wedding is something that has been decided for me by other people. A contract between hunter families. I don’t want this. For us.”
“Then?”, Peter pushed gently.
Chris’ lips were still tightly pressed together. His hands kept fidgeting, ruffling the poor rabbit’s fur. He still didn’t meet Peter’s eyes. His cheeks were suspiciously pink.
“Chris…”
“A mating.”
Oh.
Peter smiled softly, in a way he only allowed around Chris. He ran his hand gently down Chris’ stubbly cheek. “In my heart, you are already my mate.”
“But for the others, I’m not”, Chris whispered.
“Hm?”, Peter frowned.
Chris tilted his neck.
Oh.
Oh.
His heart tripped inside his chest. Words spilled out, stuttered and messy.
“You wanna… I mean, are you sure…”
Pale blue eyes finally took a quick look at Peter’s. Whatever Chris saw there must have finally reassured him somewhat because he smiled hesitantly.
“Is that a yes then?”, he asked, voice cracking.
Peter just took his hand, placing it over his own heart, beating erratically in his chest.
Chris’ smile widened.
Few things could mar a werewolf’ skin. Few creatures. Very few weapons. Even tattoos didn’t stick if not branded by fire.
But a mating bite, even by a human mate, could.
Peter examined his own neck in the mirror, feeling childishly elated. He’d never even had a hickey for long. But that. That was Chris. That was going to stay.
There was a quiet chuckle behind him. Their eyes met in the mirror, Chris leaning on the doorframe and smiling at him.
“Breakfast is ready”, he said, nodding in the direction of the kitchen.
Purposefully making a show of his own mating bite, a perfect imprint of Peter’s teeth.
Peter’s eyes flashed electric blue.
They weren’t gonna make it to the kitchen.