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"So after some mistakes were made..."
"Murders, after some murders were made..."
"Anyway," Peter glared at Stiles before turning his attention back to the other party in the room, “after a few incidents, my partner here thinks I should come and work on my aggression. Personally, I don't see where there's a problem."
"You don't see a–do I need to remind you about what happened while we were supposed to be enjoying our honeymoon?"
“I was simply multitasking."
"Stabbing two people at the same time is not multitasking, Peter!"
The therapist, who'd been sitting there wide-eyed the whole time, stood up and grabbed her purse.
"As lovely as this has been, I am simply not drunk enough to deal with all of that. Good day, gentlemen."
With that, she walked past them and out of the room, slamming the door shut on her way out.
The minute they were alone, Peter and Stiles looked at each other and busted out laughing.
"Oh man, did you see how quickly she ran out? How many does that make now anyway?"
"Ten...Twelve if you count that couple from the hippie commune we terrorized last week."
"That was definitely a fun one," Stiles said as he climbed into his wolf's lap, “When do you think Scott's going to figure out our game and stop trying to send us to couples therapy?"
"I'd say about the same time he realizes the northern section of the preserve is our body dump and not home to a family of were-skunks."
"Which is probably never...how did you manage to convince him of that one anyway?"
"I simply borrowed a lovely pair of actual skunks from Deaton's office and threw them at him when he got close."
Stiles laughed before leaning down and pressing his lips to Peter's.
"You are absolutely ridiculous, Zombiewolf."
"And you love me for it."
"That I do...wanna fuck on the therapy couch until our time's up?"
"Gladly."