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Peter sighs as he walks in the door of his apartment, the weight of being back in Beacon Hills settling heavy on his shoulders. Two weeks away and he’d almost forgotten how suffocating it felt to be back in this cursed town, like thorns beneath his skin. One day, he was going to leave this cursed town and never look back.
Unfortunately, there’s still one thing here he can’t leave without.
Peter smiles softly at the sound of a steadily beating heartbeat in his bedroom, leaving his suitcase at the door with his shoes to pad quietly down the hall. He nudges the door open and stands in the doorway for a moment, admiring the view.
Stiles’s hair is ruffled, his body curled up and looking smaller than usual in his big bed. He’s sleeping on Peter’s usual side, lips slack as small puffs of air escape his mouth. He’s got the blankets pulled up over his shoulder, but he thinks Stiles might be wearing one of his shirts.
Peter silently shucks off his clothing and crawls into bed behind him.
“Mmm, Pet’r?” Stiles mumbles groggily when Peter leans over him to nose at his cheek, pressing soft kisses along his jaw. He uncoils a little, leaning back into the soft kisses and tilting his head to allow more access. Peter rumbles approvingly, kissing down the side of his exposed throat.
“I’m here, my love,” Peter whispers into his skin. Stiles rolls more to his back, the blankets shifting down with his movement, and Peter lets out another pleased rumble at the confirmation that Stiles is, indeed, wearing one of his v-neck t-shirts to bed. Peter slides a hand up underneath the soft material, splaying his fingers across Stiles’s soft belly. Stiles arches into the contact like a content kitten.
“Missed you,” Stiles murmurs drowsily, tilting his head up naturally as Peter moves down his neck to suck a mark onto his collarbone.
“Did you?” Peter asks lightly, skimming his nose over Stiles’s skin and using it to nudge the t-shirt further down Stiles’s shoulder. Despite their similar heights, the shirt looks oversized on Stiles’s slimmer build, and Peter loves the way the material hangs off him. The possessive beast inside him thrills at the sight.
“Mmm, harder to deal with all the stupid without you there whispering snarky comments in my ear,” Stiles murmurs, and Peter snorts.
Stiles settles completely onto his back when Peter shifts away, and Peter slides over him to lay between his legs, tugging the sheets to the side as he moves. His lips return to Stiles’s bare shoulder, sucking a mark there before trailing kisses down his chest, using his chin to nudge the pooling shirt aside the scant few inches needed to bare a nipple to the room. Stiles’s breath stutters as prickly stubble scratches across the sensitive flesh, and he arches with a light gasp when Peter circles the nub with his tongue before taking it into his mouth and sucks. His fingers continue to stroke the soft skin of Stiles’s belly beneath the shirt before releasing the stiff nipple and slipping further down the bed. He settles between Stiles’s legs, nipping his waist lightly when his legs naturally move to accommodate him.
“You don’t smell enough like me,” Peter laments as he pushes the shirt up his chest, revealing all that beautiful mole-dotted skin he’s spent so much time mapping with his lips and tongue. There aren’t any marks on that perfect pale flesh, and Peter thinks that’s a travesty.
“Oh? Staying in your apartment, sleeping in your bed, wearing your shirt, I don’t smell enough like you?” Stiles smiles, eyes still closed and body lax.
“No.” Peter replies, sucking a mark into Stiles’s skin a few inches below the nipple he’d played with.
“Hornywolf,” Stiles whispers, lips quirking. Peter hums in agreement, kissing a trail down Stiles’s stomach. The skin twitches under his lips as Stiles’s legs shift, the swish of his limbs over the sheets loud in the otherwise silent room.
When Peter’s lips reach the waistband of Stiles’s boxer shorts, he gently tugs them down his thighs to tease a mark onto his hip. Once he’s sure the mark won’t be fading any time soon, Peter sits back and helps Stiles out of his boxers, stretching over him to retrieve their lube from the nightstand. Stiles’s shiver at the quiet snick of the cap is instinctual, one of his legs sliding up higher on the bed, hands reaching blindly for Peter. Peter chuckles a little, insides going soft at the sight of his sleepy grabby hands. He lets Stiles pull him down into a kiss as his slick fingers find their target.
Stiles’s body is loose and relaxed from his sleepy state, so it takes no time at all before Peter has him gasping and arching on three of his fingers.
“Peter, please,” Stiles whispers, one hand carding through his hair while the other tugs him closer. His eyes are still closed in the dark room, mouth dropped open with soft pants. “Need you, missed you so much.”
Peter doesn’t make them wait any longer than necessary, blanketing Stiles’s body with his own and pushing into him with one smooth, slow, steady glide. His eyes flutter closed on a near-silent moan at the feeling of Stiles’s slick heat hugging him tight. He tucks his face into Stiles’s neck, the grounding relief of being back inside his love’s body flowing over him like a warm wave. He’d always scoffed at the people who called this feeling ‘coming home’, but there truly was no better explanation for it. Stiles would always be his home.
Peter keeps the pace slow and easy, taking the time to luxuriate in being back inside his lover, surrounded by his scent and the breathy little sounds he makes in his ear. Something about the darkness, the late hour and Stiles’s sleep-heavy limbs makes him want to take his time. He’d missed him, and from the clumsy yet tight grasping of his lover’s fingers, it’s clear Stiles had too.
“Love you,” Stiles breathes out next to his ear, body arching beneath him as a deep thrust hits just right.
Peter buries his face into the crook of Stiles’s neck in response, skimming his nose up along the tendon to place a soft kiss below his ear. His cheek rubs along the underside of Stiles’s jaw in the same movement, the motion satisfying his wolf. He can’t hold back the pleased rumble that rises through his chest.
“Love you too, baby,” Peter whispers, listening to Stiles’s breath stutter in his ear on another firm thrust. “So much.” Holding himself up on one forearm, he uses the other hand to stroke over Stiles’s smooth waist and stomach, murmuring quiet praises and peppering his skin with soft, sensual kisses. “So good for me, baby. So good.”
It doesn’t take long before Stiles’s gasps are catching in his throat and his moans sound more like sobs, his body more sensitive and easily overwhelmed in this hazy state. Peter’s hand drifts over his stomach, taking him in hand and stroking in time with his steady thrusts. Stiles clings to Peter, mouthing wetly at whatever skin he can reach.
“Mmm, Peter, Peter, Peter,” Stiles chants mindlessly, pushing into any skin he can find. Peter revels in it, nuzzling back, basking in the slide of skin against skin and his partner’s tender touch. Stiles’s scent is saturated in drowsy contentment and love, and Peter wants to roll in it, wants it to sink into every surface and every pore until it could never possibly fade.
Stiles comes with a choked off moan, body arching up into Peter’s as he finishes. Peter groans too, hips stuttering under the onslaught of sensations as Stiles wraps himself around him like an octopus, teeth sinking into his neck. Peter stops stroking Stiles, not wanting to push him too far like this, and presses their bodies together to smear Stiles’s spend between them, working the scent into their skin as he works towards his own end.
A low growl reverberates through him as he reaches it, thrusting as deep as he can and holding there as he comes. He latches onto the skin just below Stiles’s jaw and works a claim into his skin with lips and tongue and teeth that will be visible for days to come.
By the time he comes back down from his orgasm, Stiles’s body is lax beneath him, fingers stroking idly up and down Peter’s spine as he slowly sinks back towards sleep. He mutters drowsily as Peter pulls out, grip tightening briefly in protest when he shifts away, but Peter only stretches to grab a cloth from his nightstand. Placing gentle kisses along Stiles’s neck and shoulders, he gives them a cursory wipe down, just enough to make sleep bearable until he can wash them properly in the morning. He doesn’t want to leave the warm, comforting circle of Stiles’s arms to do more than that now. Tossing the cloth away, he maneuvers them into a more comfortable position for sleep, pulling the sheet back over them.
“Goodnight, love,” Peter whispers, lips brushing against Stiles’s hair. He doesn’t expect a reply, but Stiles shifts and stretches with a low hum.
“Mmm, ‘nigh, welc’m h’me,” he slurs, snuggling deeper into Peter’s hold. “Love you.”
“I love you too, my darling. Sleep well.”
Stiles's lips smack with a final jumble of sounds that Peter is fairly certain are meant to be “will now that you’re home” before he finally succumbs to sleep, dead to the world. Peter’s lips quirk as he directs one last, achingly fond look at his young lover before settling down to join him in slumber. He, too, is sure to sleep better now that he’s got his love in his arms and the scent of their home surrounding him. There’s no place he’d rather be.