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He stumbled back, reaching down to grab at the searing, throbbing pain that was his abdomen, and glanced up into Kate Argent’s maniacally grinning face.
“Scott had a lot of interesting things to say about you at the bowl—”
Peter practically flew past where he’d stumbled back into the side table by the front door and leaped at Kate, transforming into the biggest wolf Stiles had ever seen. He was a pretty russet brown with frosted white tips, and if it wasn’t for the biting-stinging-burning sensation in his midsection and the fact that something was actively squishing underneath his hand, he would have gotten up to join Peter. He was supposed to be defending himself, after all, and—
Was he bleeding? He glanced down, and that was a lot of blood streaming out around his hand. Also, he was pretty sure he could see his intestines. Were they what was squishing under his hand? That was pretty fucked up.
His ears were still ringing from the boom, too. Wait! The boom HAD been a rifle shot.
That bitch shot him!
Oh, that bitch shot him.
The burning-biting-stinging spread from the wound under his hand, pinpricking across his body and radiating through his limbs and digits as sweat beaded up through what had to be every pore on his skin. He could feel the heat he was radiating, like he’d been locked in an active furnace.
This was probably not good. He should be freaking out more than this. He was sure of it.
Something clattered to the floor in front of him as he heard that husky, feminine voice turn into a husky, feminine gurgle. He hoped that was Peter ripping that bitch’s throat out. With his teeth.
Heh. That was Derek’s threat. Would probably be hot to watch.
That damn red was creeping into his line of sight again.
“—iles! Stay with me, Baby!”
That was Peter’s voice! He loved Peter’s voice. He loved Peter. He was a good alpha with a good ass.
What was with people shoving things through his torso to kill him, anyway?
Didn’t gut shots take a while to bleed out? Did he lose time? This seemed very sudden to him.
What felt like red-hot pokers stabbed into his wound and mashed about in his guts, finally retreating only to stab in and mash again and again and again.
More red took over, which was not okay. He wanted to look at Peter. Peter was pretty.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit! Where’s my fucking—”
The burning sensation got stronger, and it smelled like someone had burned a steak. That was tragic. Burned steak was wasted steak.
A line of fire caught inside him, live electricity jolting out from the gunshot wound in rapid succession and burning him alive from the inside out. He shot upright, gasping for breath and praying through the fog of pain and agony for the burning to stop.
Strong arms wrapped around him and lifted him off the hard surface he was on.
The floor!
He was on the floor. Peter would be so proud of him for figuring that out.
“Come on, Love, stay with me.”
Always. He’d always stay with Peter. Peter was gonna bite him, after all. Again. If only he could tell Peter that, but his mouth didn’t seem to want to work anymore.
A shot rang out from…somewhere. Definitely from somewhere.
He really hoped it hadn’t hit him. He’d already been shot.
“That’s gonna need stitching, Uncle Peter.”
Derek? Derek was here? When did Derek get here?
“Jesus Christ, Stiles!”
Oh, and that was his dad. That was nice. He liked his dad. And Derek. And Peter.
All he needed was Scottie and all his guys would be here.
“Hold him down.”
The ringing in his ears got louder. New pain invaded his midsection.
Black took over.
—————
He opened his eyes to the white popcorn ceiling of his room in his dad’s old house, which was probably not something to worry too much about this time since he’d been waking up to it every morning for the past couple weeks, now.
His abdomen hurt.
Fuck, he’d been shot. That crazy bitch had shot first and never even bothered with questions! That was just rude.
He moved to sit up, but a hand on his chest stopped him.
“Best to not do that right now, Sweetheart. The whole she blew in you was absolutely massive, and the damn thing is still healing up. Just try to lay still.”
He relaxed back and closed his eyes again. His alpha was by his side, and all would be right in the world.
“That bitch shot me, Peter. She shot me for no reason!”
The hand on his chest rubbed lightly and lips landed on his forehead.
“Homicidal maniacs tend to do that, Love. Don’t worry; I downed her, and Derek and your father finished her off when they arrived. I had Derek take her head for good measure.”
Thank god. One Argent down, two to go—except that Peter was supposed to kill Kate. He needed to kill Kate for revenge-y reasons.
“I thought you were going to kill Kate! We had this whole conversation about it, remember? About how therapeutic it would be for you to end her yourself?”
Peter chuckled from above him and slightly to his right, so the inner side of his bed.
“You’re more important to me than any vendetta, Love. I was much more worried about getting those bullet fragments and the wolfsbane out of you and getting you healed…You scared the shit out of me, Stiles. Don’t let it happen again.”
Like he could help it. If crazy people showed up at his house with guns and ranting about best friends and bowling alleys, there was very little he could do about it.
Except Scott didn’t know about him. He couldn’t have possibly accidentally spilled any beans that he didn’t actually hold. He tried to remember if he’d done anything that might allow her to put pieces together, but he couldn’t think of anything offhand.
He hummed and then demanded a kiss, still unsure about how Kate had put things together and arrived at “Stiles was a werewolf.”
Peter kissed him, but not thoroughly enough this time that Stiles didn’t hear the thumping of feet up the stairs and the steady heartbeat of his dad approaching.
“Help me sit up, Peter. Dad’s on his way up, and he’s got to be freaked out enough already.”
Peter helped rearrange him into a partially upright position with minimal effort and pain on his part. As a bonus, Peter shifted them both around so that he was leaning back against Peter, who was apparently as shirtless as he was, meaning some quality skin-on-skin time and some more of that wonderful Hale Healing Mojo. With the exception of the whole Kate Argent showing up and shooting him thing, this night was turning out to be pretty great, really.
“We’ve decided to bury—Stiles! You’re awake again!”
His dad rushed toward him, leaning over and hugging him gently when he reached the edge of the bed.
“How are you feeling, son?”
Apparently it was dumb question time. He wondered what it was about near-death experiences that always turned other people stupid.
“Like I just got shot in the gut, Dad. Hurts like hell when Peter’s not pain draining me.”
“That’s what you get for getting shot in the gut, kid.” His dad lightly scuffed the back of his head. “You’ll be pleased to know I shot that bitch and then Derek pulled her heart out of her chest, like he punched his way in and then pulled her heart right out. It was grisly and disturbing and somehow vindicating…Werewolves, huh?”
Stiles smirked and nodded, agreeing completely with Dad’s sentiment. “Werewolves.”
Dad patted him on the knee.
“Anyway, Derek and I are headed out to get rid of the body. Shouldn’t that hole in your stomach be better by now?”
He glared. “She shot me. With a rifle. Point fucking blank. I’m allowed to take some time to heal, Daddio.”
Peter’s arms tightened around his chest. “Must you remind me of how close I came to losing you?”
He patted Peter’s arm. “I’m right here, WorryWolf. It’s gonna take a whole lot more than Kate fucking Argent for me to leave you.”
Peter sighed, so Stiles laid his head back and rested it against Peter’s cheek, accepting the cheek kiss he got in return.
“Go bury that bitch, Dad, then come back safely. It’s apparently a night of unexpected badness, and I want all my guys safely under the same roof.”
“Only if you close your eyes and get some more sleep, Kiddo.”
Stiles yawned at him in response, and Dad left to bury a body with Derek. His life was so strange now.
——————
“How the fuck did she figure out I was a ’wolf? I have thought and thought and thought, and I can’t figure that out. I was so careful, Peter!”
He’d slept for another eight hours, apparently, and was now able to sit up and move around freely on his own, completely fucking healed—thank gods for wolfy super healing. He was currently pacing his room and gesticulating wildly toward Peter, who was sitting calmly in Stiles’s office chair and smirking at him.
“She was a hunter, Stiles, and, much as it pains me to admit this, a good one at that. Knowing her father as I do, she’d probably been trained since she was a pup to spot the signs of shifters. She knows what questions to ask humans not in the know. Scott didn’t have to know anything to notice any odd quirks you may have picked up lately. He probably didn’t even think anything of them, but she knew how to ask about them. It’s not your fault. It’s not Scott’s fault.”
Stiles stopped and stared at Peter. That was completely and totally logical, and it irked him. He pointed at Peter. “You are not supposed to be the voice of reason, sir. You are supposed to be all grr, grr, let’s kill them all.”
Peter affected the deadpan blank face that he rarely pulled out. “Grr. Grr. Let’s kill them all…Oh, wait. Katie’s already dead, Daddy isn’t in town, and you’ve made me promise not to kill Chris and Allison Argent. I suppose we could go after Victoria right now, but that just seems a tad bit cruel in the same night as Kate’s death, even for me. We should give Gerard time to arrive, first, I think.”
Ugh. “Fine, Mr. Calm and Sensible. We’ll do things your way.”
Peter’s smirk was back. “Of course we will, Darling. I’m the alpha.”
Stiles scoffed, then nearly walked into a wall when another thought hit him.
“Jesus Christ, Pete, all the gunshots last night! We live in a quiet slice of suburbia. Multiple gunshots had to draw all sorts of attention, and everything happened right there at the front door! How the fuck are we going to cover THIS clusterfuck up? And they just buried the body? There have to be official investigations underway, especially with the county sheriff directly involved. Fuck!”
“Breathe, Stiles. Remember to breathe. You’re not on your own this time, remember? You have competent adults who are actually in the know around you now. There was an attempted home invasion here last night, and the burglar took a shot at me, but luckily missed. Your dad showed up shortly after and took a shot at the burglar, hitting her somewhere, but she got away from us. There was a blood trail and everything for the deputies to follow when they arrived on scene. Unfortunately, they followed it to a dead end at the local vet’s office, which had been broken into and robbed of the supplies needed to tend to a bullet wound, as well as some prescription-strength pain relievers. It was all very upsetting, but your dad and I gave descriptions of the female burglar, so hopefully they’ll find her. I just thank god that you were upstairs, safely asleep while all of this was going on. I swear, you could sleep through an ongoing air raid. All the neighbors saw was a woman matching the description we gave shoot into the open front door, then your father arriving minutes later and shooting into the same door. Nobody saw her leave through the back. Everything’s covered, and your first aid kit is even more well stocked now.”
All Stiles could do was stare at him. That was brilliant. It was even better than anything he would have come up with, and he’d come up with some pretty smart shit before. That was so…hot. That was so fucking hot. His brilliant, psychotic alpha, partner, and future mate was so hot, and Stiles was pretty sure he needed to drop to his knees at that moment and show Peter how hot he was.
“Fucking…Mate me, Peter. I need you to mate me like right fucking now. Fuck.”
In the literal blink of an eye, Peter was out of the office chair and across the room, holding Stiles in one arm and holding Stiles’s left arm in the other hand. His fangs were out.
“Are you serious, Darling? Because if you are, consider it done.”
This was it. This was their moment; he could feel it. Slow had been kicked off the island, replaced by the surety of right fucking now. He looked into Peter’s blue eyes. Everything was happening so quickly, but was anything really going to change? Stiles had seven fucking years of build-up to this. He’d fallen in love with a jaded sociopath in The Before and gone completely crazy for this saner sociopath in front of him.
The look in Peter’s eyes, on his face, suggested he was just as serious about Stiles, whether Stiles could wrap his head around that fact or not.
“I’m serious, Pete. Do it.”
Peter brought Stiles’s wrist to his mouth, but he did it slow. The movements were controlled and meant to broadcast every one of his intentions. Stiles didn’t stop him.
Peter closed his eyes and pressed kisses, first closed-mouth and then open, to Stiles’s inner wrist, lipping at the skin there and then tonguing it lightly. The touches were gentle but firm, in control and undemanding. The actions held no urgency; they had all the time in the world to do this right.
The touch of Peter’s lips brought shockwaves of pleasure and affection across their pack bond. Stiles shivered at the sensations, never having felt this much love aimed at him—not even from his parents, who’d always loved him very much. In the past few weeks, he’d never felt pack bonds so actively as he was feeling the one between him and Peter. It was warm and dry and all-encompassing, almost throbbing with a heartbeat of its very own.
Peter bit lightly at his wrist, barely a nip, catching the skin between his fangs and tugging once, the soft smile never leaving his face. He was happy—Peter Hale was genuinely happy, and Stiles had done that. It lit up something very bright within him and made his head go slightly fuzzy.
“Don’t tease me, Love. I want your mark. I want you as my mate.”
Peter growled softly at his use of a pet name, the growl so soft and gentle it sounded more like a purr. His eyes flashed red, and he bit into Stiles’s wrist.
Stiles had thought the turning bite was orgasmic. It was nothing compared to the rush of this mating bite.
His heartbeat instantly sped up till he was sure it would thump right out of his chest. It felt like most of his insides liquified themselves to gelatinous ooze, leaving him shaking and quaking in his mate’s arm. Every ounce of blood in him traveled to his cock; he was fairly sure he’d never been this hard in his 23 years on this earth.
Peter sucked once, drawing out blood that he promptly swallowed down and tonguing at the skin between his fangs, rolling the vein there back and forth.
Stiles’s vision whited out, multicolored spots taking up position and flashing across his field of vision.
The hand Peter had around him reached down and grabbed at his ass, and Stiles came right there, positively coating his boxers, the excess dripping onto his sleep pants. It was sudden and heavy and messy, and Stiles would have fallen to the floor with the rush of it if Peter hadn’t had that hand on his ass to hold him up and against him.
Peter pulled his fangs out of Stiles’s wrist, and Stiles couldn’t stop the whimper that passed his lips if he’d tried.
That gentle smile stayed in place, making Peter look soft and vulnerable in a way Stiles knew he’d never let anyone else see. Peter leaned in and nuzzled his cheek against Stiles’s, both a not-so-subtle scent marking and an open display of affection.
“You’re mine now, Baby Boy. Forever and ever. I’m going to take such good care of you.”
Stiles’s chest felt so full there was hardly enough room to let in the air he needed to breathe. The bond he shared with Peter was a solid line of heat and red light that seemed so physical he felt he could reach out and strum it.
He grabbed Peter’s left arm and pulled on it until he was holding Peter’s wrist, then looked up into his alpha’s eyes, silently asking for permission to return the favor.
His blood still rested on Peter’s lips.
Peter licked his lips clean and nodded at Stiles, so he brought that wrist to his lips and extended his fangs, wasting no time before biting down. Peter gasped above him, and Stiles sucked on the bite, drawing blood into his mouth.
Blood was not supposed to taste good.
Blood had never tasted good—bad pennies were gross, and that’s what blood had always tasted like to him. Peter’s blood, however, was almost sweet, like it had been lightly honeyed. Stiles licked around his fangs to get more. Peter groaned and tightened the grip his right hand had taken on Stiles’s hip.
Stiles felt confident he’d bitten deep enough and sucked hard enough that his bite would scar, ’wolf healing be damned, so he pulled out and off Peter’s wrist, lifting his head just enough to smash his mouth against his mate’s.
The kiss was heavy and messy, teeth clacking and lips smashing together, saliva and blood mixing and melding as they found their new equilibrium as a mated pair. Peter’s tongue licked into his mouth, that glorious appendage swirling around and claiming his own.
Stiles pulled back and dropped to his knees, fumbling with the button and zip of Peter’s designer jeans while he admired the wet spot in front of him—he hadn’t been the only one to come with the mating bite.
He got Peter’s pants open and pulled his dick out, admiring the length and the girth in his hand, the uncut foreskin and the prominent veins. He leaned in and drew in a deep breath through his nose, inhaling the musk and that underlying woodsy smell that was just Peter. He’d always been told he was good at blowies, so he put all his tricks into action for Peter.
His tongue darted out, kitten licking its way back to the head and all that foreskin. He’d never had an uncut dick in his…anything before, but he did the best he could with it, pushing the skin back and taking just the head into his mouth, letting his tongue lick and swirl as if it was the best lollipop he’d ever had in his life. He opened his jaw more and took more in, letting his lips slide over taught skin, his tongue trailing along the prominent vein as it went.
Peter was big; Stiles had to work to stifle his gag reflex as he sucked his way back to the tip. He could feel Peter shiver around him, Peter’s hands coming to rest against his head. He bobbed in and back out a few times, licking and sucking and slurping at appropriate moments. He lapped at salt and musk, licked against hot, velvety skin.
Peter shivered and groaned, his hands moving from Stiles’s head to his shoulders and back again as his cock grew hotter and bigger and heavier in his mouth.
Stiles was just finding his groove when Peter gasped his name and pulled him off and back up to eye level.
“When I come again,” he insisted with a growl, “it’ll be inside of you.”
Peter smashed his mouth against Stiles’s, whirling them around and backing Stiles up until the backs of his knees hit the bed and folded in, knocking him onto his back. Peter landed on top of him, licking a solid stripe up his jawline and then nipping and biting his way back.
Stiles forced himself to remember how to breathe.
Peter lapped his way down Stiles’s neck until he reached the juncture of his neck and his shoulder, where he bit down with his human teeth. Stiles cried out in pleasure-pain, folding in around Peter and gasping his name. Peter tugged slightly on the skin without breaking it before releasing his hold and laving the bite marks. His hands roved Stiles’s body, caressing his chest and and rubbing over his abdomen, tweaking his nipples and feathering over the place he’d been shot just the night before.
His cell phone rang.
Peter’s head snapped up as he raised one eyebrow expectantly at Stiles, who promptly declared, “Fucking ignore it, Peter. Jesus! Whoever it is will call back,” and wrapped his arms around his mate, his hands kneading at Peter’s shoulder blades.
Peter’s mouth found one of his nipples, and he wasn’t gentle with it. He bit down and pulled at the skin, sucking the nipple as far into his mouth as he could get it before swirling his tongue around it. Stiles cried out again and held on for dear life, his dick chubbing up in his sleep pants again.
Peter’s hands wandered lower, grabbing hold of both his sleep pants and his boxers and tugging them down, exposing his already wet nether regions to the cold air.
Even that wasn’t enough to kill the quickly burgeoning erection.
One of Peter’s hands wrapped around Stiles’s cock, jacking him slowly and using Stiles’s own spend to ease the way while he mercilessly attacked Stiles’s nipples with his mouth. Stiles didn’t know whether to buck up into the pleasure of the hand or fold in to hide from the pleasure-pain that mouth was inflicting on him, so he gasped and groaned and did both.
His cell phone stopped ringing.
Stiles felt Peter’s other hand swipe through the sticky mess on his thigh before wandering lower and behind him, sneaking up his crack to play with his already tight and aching hole.
His cell phone rang. Again.
Peter ripped that heavenly mouth away from Stiles’s right nipple.
“For the love of ever-holy fuck, Stiles. Please kindly tell whomever that is to fuck right off. We’re busy, here.”
Stiles sighed his discontentment and reached for his phone, scooting himself up so he was completely on the bed. Peter followed him, crawling along with every scooting movement until he was on all fours and bracketing Stiles.
Stiles hit the button to accept the call without taking his eyes off Peter.
“H’oh my god, what?!”
“Stiles!” Scott’s voice carried down the line. “You missed my first call, man. Not cool. Also, why are you not here?”
He slapped a hand over the top of his face, rubbing his eyes and then immediately regretting that decision because that was the hand he’d used to help with the blow job.
Peter burst out laughing, deep belly laughs that Stiles normally delighted in drawing out of him. In this moment, however, Stiles just glared and stuck his tongue out at him.
“Yeah, man, a little busy here…Uh, helping Peter with something. I was feeling really bad this morning, so Dad called me out.” At least he hoped Dad had called him out.
Peter went back to his ministrations to Stiles’s nipples, one hand back to wetly playing around the outside of his hole.
“Whatever, man. Just remember he’s old enough to be your dad, man. I know how you get. Anyway, you wouldn’t have happened to have heard from Allison’s aunt Kate, would you? I know it’s a long shot, but apparently she left late last night and hasn’t been back home, and Allison’s dad is worried. I told her he needs to go talk to your dad, but apparently he just grunted at her when she suggested that earlier.”
Peter licked down to Stiles’s belly button before nipping and sucking at the brand new skin where the gunshot wound had formerly been, and Stiles’s eyes crossed involuntarily. Apparently newly regrown skin was extra sensitive. That was a thing he now knew.
He uncrossed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and tried to focus back on what actually appeared to be an important conversation with Scottie.
“I haven’t seen her, man, but I went to bed pretty early last night. Really tired, you know?”
Peter’s tongue dipped into his belly button, which should not have been erogenous but went straight to his already hard-as-rocks dick. He coughed to cover his gasp.
“Hey, she didn’t leave the house armed or anything, did she? We had a break-in attempt here last night, but Peter scared the person away. Dad shot at her—they were both sure it was a female—but she got away before anyone could find her. I doubt it could be Allison’s aunt—she seemed too cool to do something like that—but the timing is weird, right?”
Peter huffed and his mouth curled into one of his small, pleased smiles. A finger breached the muscle it’d previously been massaging into relaxation, and Stiles nearly flew off the bed.
“Holy shit, dude! Let me guess: You slept through it. Man, you could sleep through a major earthquake, I swear.” Scott laughed. That finger stayed in as far as it had gone, massaging his inner wall. It felt far too good, and Stiles wanted more of it.
He bucked down slightly, exhaling heavily with the slight burn of the now-dry finger inside him as it slid further in, then let out a shaky laugh.
“Yeah, you know me. Listen, Scottie, I’m sorry I can’t be more help, but I’ve really got to go. In the middle of things and stuff, you know.”
That finger pushed in deeper, to the second knuckle, and Stiles flinched and bore down, trying not to grunt with the motion and mostly succeeding.
“Sure, dude, but if you do hear anything from your dad or even Kate or Allison’s dad, let me know, okay? I hate that Allison’s worried, so we’ve got to help her. I’m probably going to head over there when Mom gets home from work.”
That finger rubbed, and he saw stars. Peter had found his damn prostate already. He attempted to turn the “ah ha ha” that escaped his throat into an awkward laugh for Scott’s sake.
“Sounds good, man. I’ll keep an ear out and let you know.”
He ended the call, leaned over with Peter’s finger still inside him, and got his lube out of his nightstand drawer before chucking it at Peter’s head with a declaration of “lube, asshole, use it.”
——————
Peter was large and girthy and hard as nails, and the man knew how to use his cock for his partner’s benefit. Stiles had never had it so good, and he could admit that he’d had it good a few times in his life. He’d managed to come a second time completely untouched, just on Peter’s cock inside him and that wicked tongue playing with his neck, and then a third time as he rode his mate right into the sunset.
Peter fucked him for hours, literally. He was glad he had super healing, and he was really looking forward to sex that good for the rest of their lives.
When Peter had finally gotten off, he pulled out and rolled off of him, taking all his delicious warmth with him and leaving Stiles sweaty and chilly with a mess between his legs.
“Well, I think I can safely say we took that nice and slow, wouldn’t you agree?”
Stiles bitch slapped in the direction of Peter’s chest, because that was absolutely horrible, but he was too sated and happy to focus on actually hitting his alpha-mate-boyfriend. He was going to have to settle on an appropriate term at some point. “Alpha-mate-boyfriend” was a mouthful. He was tempted to go with boyfriend just to piss Peter off—apparently it sounded too juvenile or some shit like that.
“You suck. Get a cloth and clean us up?”
Peter chuckled and rolled over Stiles to get out of bed, stopping on top of him momentarily and worrying his teeth at a spot he’d been focused on before. Deepening a love bite, Stiles suspected, though he doubted it would last long given his rapid healing. It was kind of a shame, really. He would have loved to wear Peter’s love bites for people to see.
Stiles giggled, swatted at his ass, and told him to move along because he was starting to feel gross. Peter got back up, and suddenly Stiles was laying on his stomach, balancing on his knees with his ass in the air.
There was no way Peter would—
Peter did. Hands fanned his ass cheeks wider and a rough tongue swept up his crack. He bucked up and huffed out his surprise at the sudden touch, and the tongue swiped harder at his still-gaping hole. It felt like the nerves surrounding his hole were connected to every part of his body. Every touch, every swipe, every kitten lick curled his toes and fingers, set his scalp to tingling, and woke his cock up even more. Apparently refractory periods were a thing of the past.
He actually hated how breathy he sounded as he rambled out “oh Jesus Christ, Peter, oh my fuck, that feels so, Gods.”
Peter’s deft tongue left him for just a minute so he could demand Stiles tell him how it felt, how he felt, then it was back to work against his ass, definitely cleaning him inside and out.
Stiles took that as permission to babble.
“Fuck, Love, feels so fucking good, so fucking rough—that’s it, harder, harder! Love the way you feel against me, inside me, want you inside me always, Jesus, fuck, eat me like that, your fucking tongue, I swear to god, never had it so good, Pete.”
The string of dirty talk continued, as did Peter’s ministrations. Stiles grew harder and stiffer, his thigh muscles and abdomen shivering under the work of keeping him upright. All he could do was fist and pound at the sheets below him and babble every dirty thought and compulsion that came to him.
Peter pulled away long enough to inform him that Stiles would be coming on Peter’s tongue and only on Peter’s tongue this time, then dove back in and picked up the pace of the licking and the sucking and the nibbling he had going.
Stiles’s breathing was so ragged he didn’t know if he’d be able to breathe without hacking for much longer, his throat dry and sore. All he wanted to do was beg Peter to make him come.
“That’s alright, Love, you can come whenever you want. You don’t need my permission, Stiles. Just come for me when you’re ready.”
Peter’s hands gripped at his hips, his tongue dove deep into Stiles’s already abused hole, and Stiles blacked out with one final scream.
When he came back around to full consciousness, he was laying on his back against the warm, solid frame of alpha and mate—a very, very smug alpha and mate.
He was warm and dry, though, under blankets and comfortably pillowed against massive pecs, and he’d just blacked out due to mind-blowing sex for the first time in his lives, plural, so he figured he’d let Peter have this one.
He smacked his lips and stretched, letting his arms swing back and wrap themselves against Peter’s neck on the downward motion.
“Peter Hale, I have never before had sex mind-blowing enough to cause me to actually black out before. Well done, you.”
Peter chuckled, that smug smell settling in more thickly around them.
“I told you I’d take care of you, Sweetheart. I meant every word of that. I’ll take care of you in absolutely every way from here on out.”
Stiles nuzzled against the pec he was pillowed on.
“I believe you, Pete. That was…There are not words to describe what that was, although I’m fairly sure some of that was illegal in certain states.”
One of Peter’s hands came up to firmly stroke his side, using just enough pressure that it didn’t tickle at all.
“Oh, it definitely was. Luckily, we reside in the great state of California, where everything I did to you was perfectly legal, as is everything I plan to do to you in the future.”
Stiles let out a yawn before picking up an actual conversation he needed to have with Peter:
“So, that call with Scott. The Argents are already looking for Kate, even though I doubt they know anything is really wrong. How do we want to play this?”
“Ugh, Darling, I’m feeling entirely too sated to possibly discuss the fucking Argents right now. Let’s table this discussion for pack time, huh?”
Stiles pulled his arms down and rolled himself over so he was facing Peter, gratified when Peter’s arms closed around him like a reflex.
“No, I’m serious. We need to figure this shit out so we can stay on top of it. Grampy Argent is probably going to come rolling into town relatively soon if we don’t lock this shit down.”
Peter sneered. “Then let him come. I have two strong beta ’wolves and the county sheriff in my pack and further reinforcements inbound. Let him do his worst.”
Stiles blanched. “Pete, dearest, alpha mine, his worst is all-out war against the supernatural world, remember? I died because of his worst. Also, what do you mean you have reinforcements inbound? Nobody discussed reinforcements with me.”
Peter leaned up and pecked a quick kiss to his lips.
“It was all arranged while you were sleeping. Letting Kate get the drop on us was sloppy on my part, and I know better. I’ve called in some friends of mine with law enforcement backgrounds to join the local Sheriff’s Department—I happen to have an in with the local sheriff that will guarantee them jobs—to make sure your father stays safe, and I called in a friend of mine, another alpha, to bring his pack and back us up. He should be here sometime tonight, actually. He wasn’t far from the general area when I called, and they left immediately for Beacon Hills when I told him what was likely to happen. He’s got a bit of a grudge against Gerard, himself.”
Stiles snorted. Everyone who had ever met the man had a grudge against Gerard Argent. He leaned down for one more kiss from his mate before rolling off him and reaching for clean clothes. He could hear Derek and his dad both home and moving around in the kitchen.
“Come on, then, Alpha. It’s pack time.”
——————
By the time they’d made it downstairs, gotten drinks, and settled around the table, it was already 11:30 PM. Dad had called Stiles out of school that day because he was a responsible adult and Stiles had completely forgotten school was a thing that existed, what with getting shot in the gut and all, but he wanted Stiles to go to school the next day, which was Friday, which really just made no sense. He spent another 20 minutes arguing with Dad about the ridiculousness of going to school for only one day before the weekend, and Peter finally just asked Dad to call him out for tomorrow, too, because they had things they needed to discuss and everybody knew Stiles wasn’t going to let this go until he’d won.
Stiles nearly crowed. His alpha had taken his side. It was a beautiful feeling.
Dad rolled his eyes, but agreed that one more day out probably wouldn’t hurt anything so long as Stiles promised to go every day for the following two weeks. That was a deal Stiles had no problem making, so they were able to move on to Scottie’s little mid afternoon phone call and what the hell they were going to do about the Argents.
Nobody seemed as worried about it as Stiles believed they should be. Gerard Argent had been a constant thorn in his side until the day he’d become a pipe through his stomach; he knew what he was talking about. Everyone at the table but Derek knew that he knew what he was talking about. They should be focusing on covering the situation and coming up with plans to kill the old man on sight.
He also wanted to talk about bringing Scottie in on the whole werewolf situation, since Scott NOT knowing had resulted in him getting gut-shot.
Instead, Peter announced their official mating, which resulted in both his dad and Derek yelling at Peter about how young Stiles was and Peter smirking and telling them that what was done was done.
The yelling was still going on when someone knocked on the door. Stiles stood up to get it, which resulted in all three of his guys jumping out of their chairs and growling at him to sit the fuck down.
He threw up his hands and sat back down. The knocking grew louder. Derek, Peter, and Dad all looked at each other, lips and eyebrows having their own private little conversation, then Peter and Dad both sat back down and Derek headed to the front door, opening it and talking to someone with what sounded like a British lilt. A male someone with a British lilt.
Stiles was willing to bet that once Derek invited him in, he’d hear the tapping of a cane.
Son of a bitch.
Peter could have just said the alpha he’d invited into their den was fucking Deucalion Blackwood. It would have been nice to prepare himself for dealing with the Alpha Pack and the Argents at the same goddamn time.
Sure enough, Derek invited them in and Stiles heard the steady tap tap tap of Deucalion’s cane. He looked at Peter and raised an eyebrow, which his illustrious alpha simply shrugged at.
He and Peter stood up as the new arrivals approached the kitchen, turning in time to see Deucalion stand in the doorway, smirking at Stiles.
“You must be Stiles.”
Stiles did not roll his eyes. That had been Before Peter’s line back when he’d been a crazy cartoon villain. He did not need to deal with Deucalion turning into a crazy cartoon villain this time around—he was a bad enough monster-of-the-week villain, they didn’t need to add any more layers on that.
He walked over and took Deucalion’s hand to shake it.
“I am, indeed. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Alpha Blackwood. Alpha Hale has had many good things to say about you. I hope our time together can be both productive and amiable.”
Deucalion offered him a warm smile. “I hope for that as well, Stiles. I hope for that as well.”