Chapter Text
If anyone had asked Stiles how he would be spending his summer and heard the word 'porn', it would be safe to assume he meant he'd be spending a great deal of time indoors with the curtains drawn and the lights down low, watching it undisturbed. Part of that would be true. The curtains would be shut, the lighting would be dim, but Stiles wouldn't so much be watching it as he would be making it.
The first time filming was awkward, as most first times usually are. Stiles fumbled with the camera, tried and failed on many occasions to find a good angle to shoot himself with, and even when he eventually settled on a mediocre self-made stand (which was really a stack of books), he couldn't find it in himself to fully appreciate the alone time he'd been allotted while his dad was off at work.
So yes, at first, Stiles watched a lot of porn (for research purposes clearly) until he could come up with the cash to buy an overhead rig for the camera, an ample ring light for some quality lighting, and some plain blue bed sheets used only for the purposes of these videos.
It was going to be a challenge, not alerting Scott and everyone else to what he was up to. After spending days and nights with the pack, though, fighting evil in the woods and sharing popcorn on movie nights, Stiles wanted something that belonged solely to himself. The fact that it would help him make some money on the side was also a big plus.
When the first video went up, Stiles was pretty complacent with the idea that not many people would see it, react to it, or let alone think it was worth any monetary value in the form of a tip. Color him shocked when he woke the following day to a few comments, a few hearted faves, and a sizable chunk of change in the tiny clip art tip jar.
No one knew it was him, of course. He'd shot it from the neck down, didn't speak unless it was in the form of breathy moans and subtle gasps, and he made sure only the blue sheets were visible in the space around him. Stiles was pretty, and also a bit depressingly, confident that no one had ever heard his voice the way it sounded in the upload.
It was kind of fun and a little exciting. The next time Stiles filmed himself, it was early in the evening, leaving the opportunity for him to take his time. Lights were set up, the camera was charged and recording, pants were off in a matter of seconds as he sat back against his wall, legs splayed out before him. Spending all day knowing that he'd be doing this again tonight, it was no surprise that Stiles was sporting a half-chub even before the real entertainment was to begin.
Stroking himself was to be the highlight of the video, so Stiles started off by teasing any viewers he might garner by teasing himself. There was a bottle of oil he'd laid off to the side, and it was warm as he drizzled some over the head of his cock. The advertising claimed that it heated over time, and after its first use, Stiles had already planned out a five-star review in his mind the next time he found himself on the website.
It was silent in the house until now, the sounds of the oil slick-sliding on his dick loud in the quiet of the room. Long digits played along with himself in a light fashion. First coating his cock entirely in the warm liquid and then trailing to soft touches, to the tips of his fingers tickling up the length and tapping softly at the slit. It didn't take long before Stiles was pulling huffs of hot breath from his lips, nor for his skin to flush in all the right places. The idea that strangers would see this, potentially get off on it, made Stiles moan softly into the buzzing silence of his room.
Stiles didn't last as long as he would have liked, not when he began fucking the tight grip of his hand or squeezing the head of his dick as he twisted and pulled off in quick strokes, groaning and gasping just a bit louder than a whisper. He may have been home alone, but that didn't mean the neighbors needed to hear him. He came on his knuckles in short spurts of white, tiny gasps and lip-bitten moans following each rut into his hand.
The following day, the recent upload gained Stiles a few followers, a bit more money in the tip jar, and a few high praises in the comments. Words like 'keep it up, cutie ;)' and 'man what I wouldn't give to suck on that' stayed with him throughout the day. Even though it felt a little creepy being ogled at by strangers on the internet, it did give Stiles some semblance of pride, knowing others were enjoying the show.
The feeling carried over onto the group-hang at Derek's later for lunch. Stiles brought the Chinese food, Scott got the pizza. Derek supplied the drinks, a healthy mix of soda and sparkling water, and altogether it made for an enjoyable afternoon.
Stiles' phone had been buzzing all day, so much so that he had to eventually put the entire thing into silent mode. It seemed that his latest video had sparked a bit of attention. Upon closer inspection, when Stiles ducked into the bathroom sometime later to check, it had somehow ended up third on the recommended section. There he sat, in thumbnail view, fingers wrapped around his dick, knees spread, skin flushed pink, looking every bit of the twink he'd named himself for in the title of the video.
It was a bit intoxicating to see the high numbers of views and the sudden influx of tips and comments. Stiles almost didn't want to leave the bathroom, but he'd have to eventually if he didn't want the others to ask if he'd been food-poisoned again.
The site allowed for direct messages, but Stiles hadn't needed to check his inbox until now. A nice little number six, sat in a tiny bubble in the corner of the mail icon. Stiles' heart raced as he clicked on it but then shortly after, he laughed at himself for being so ridiculous. He noticed five of them were spambots saying in so many ways that 'hot, single sugar daddies could be in your area right now!'. The last one did make his stomach flip, though, in that way butterflies often did when accompanied by a crush.
'What a lovely performance. Should you ever need a partner for your videos, send me a message.'
It could've possibly just been another piece of spam or some crazy person messaging loads of people hoping for an answer, either way, Stiles wasn't going to reply, but the thought of having someone joining him in a session made the butterflies in his stomach somersault and loop-de-loop.
"Stiles?" Scott called from the other side of the door. Right on schedule with a nervous tap-tap.
"Sorry," Stiles said a moment later as he exited the bathroom. "Guess that pineapple really messed with my stomach." It was a lie, one that Scott could easily pick up on, but he didn't say anything about it if he did.
Derek huffed from the couch, not even bothering to turn around and face him. "Pineapple is healthy." It felt like an end-all to the controversy of pineapple vs. not on pizza, and usually, by the end of it, Stiles would relent, and they'd be on their merry way. "I refuse to apologize for it."
Stiles rolled his eyes. "That's fine, I mean - you're insane but sure." There's a smirk there, hidden in the corners of his mouth. Derek didn't have to see him to know it was there, and Stiles didn't have to see Derek's face to know he was hiding an amused chuckle. It was all in the way his shoulders twitched anyway.
--+
Three weeks into summer, Stiles was sitting pretty comfortable with the money deposited in his new Venmo account. A few more videos were uploaded to his page, usually made in the same manner, but with a few tweaks to the way he positioned himself. A fair bit of the comments attached to them had Stiles beaming as he entered Derek's loft in the early morning.
Scott and Isaac worked for the first half of the day at the vet clinic with Deaton, so that usually left Stiles alone with Derek to hang or research or study. Gone were the days where Derek minded having people constantly at his loft, instead replaced with a comforting welcomeness of pack. Everyone had a key to Derek's place these days. Unfortunately, that also included a certain zombie-wolf who annoyingly tended to crop up at the most random of times.
However, Peter's presence wasn't enough to deter Stiles' good mood as he strolled right on into the loft, tossing his bag on the spot on the couch next to Derek, who instantly snuffed out the jerky snacks Stiles had stashed inside. It was already unzipped when Stiles detoured to the kitchen up the spiral staircase. Peter was already up there, leaning against the large island. In his hand was a mug of fresh, hot coffee, which he sipped quietly as he watched Stiles pass him by.
"Good morning," Peter mumbled into the gray ombre stoneware mug, a coy smile peeking out from behind it. Derek had bought a set of six of the mugs the last time the pack went on a Sunday outing at the nearest farmer's market, so Stiles grabbed a matching one from the open cabinet above the coffee machine and poured himself a cup. Two Splenda and a dash of cream later, Stiles peered over his shoulder at Peter, and nodded in a way Stiles hoped would convey more tolerance for him being here than acceptance.
The last few years may have shed light on a more mellow, helpful version of Peter, but Stiles wasn't dumb, and he was hard-pressed to just let bygones be bygones, even if Derek eventually had. Shooting Peter with a two-fingered-thumb wave, Stiles padded his way back down the spiral staircase to join Derek on the couch. "I'd buy double the jerky, but I'm afraid you'd eat that too," He grumbled as Derek finished off the last of the processed meat he'd stolen from Stiles. It wasn't a big problem; Stiles had already planned to make Derek buy him lunch anyway.
His phone buzzed inside his pocket twice before Stiles pulled it out to check the screen, to make sure it wasn't a missed call or text from his dad or pack. Two email notifications bumped down from the top, and Stiles quickly dismissed them before shutting the phone into silent mode.
"It's just us here. You don't have to turn it off." Derek was already getting up to make his way to his desk by the large window. He'd probably spend a few good hours pouring over papers on it. At the same time, Stiles settled in like he always did on the couch, feet propped up, book or laptop in hand, earbuds playing low to moderately loud music.
As soon as Derek's butt left the cushion, Stiles did just that, swinging his legs up to stretch out on the length of the couch, shucking his laptop from his bag, and cracking it open. "Wouldn't that be worse? All the dinging in the quiet of the room?"
Derek slowly swung around in his swivel, backless stool, brow raised in seemingly mild interest. "Why would your phone be 'dinging' so much?" Stiles didn't quite have an answer for that. In all the ways he felt that he covered his tracks, coming up with an excuse to the sudden influx of notifications had somehow slipped through the cracks.
Thankfully, Peter chose that moment to interject himself into the conversation, sauntering down from his place on high, broad shoulders looking all the more intense as he descended the tiny spiral staircase to grace them all with his presence. "It must be hard, beating away all those ladies with a stick." Sans coffee mug now, Stiles could see the smirk on Peter's face in full display and promptly rolled his eyes at the sight of it.
"Sure, because so many women wanna get with this." He gestured to himself.
"I bet they do." Peter's smirk widened, but by now, Derek had turned back around to flip through the newspaper he was currently skimming. It was easy for him to ignore Peter; he'd practically been doing so a lot longer than the rest of them and had learned to tune him out whenever he spoke. Stiles couldn't, though, or more accurately, wouldn't, because Peter was a sly predator looking for any weak moment to strike and Stiles needed to always be on his guard.
It was there, in the quiet expanse of the room, that Stiles suddenly felt threatened. It would be hard to prove it, but the way Peter was looking at him, the way his words curled around his tongue and teeth, there seemed a more profound understanding in what he said, something more or something else hiding in the spaces between.
Stiles flushed before him, cheeks pink in the hollow from embarrassment or anger; he wasn't exactly sure at the moment. Derek grunted something at the table, but Stiles couldn't hear him, senses dull in the wake of a pattering, uneven heartbeat. Maybe it was rage he felt. Something was definitely broken inside of him now, as if his good mood had finally cracked and spilled his secrets all over the couch.
"Peter, leave him alone." Derek's words rang out into the room, but Peter merely shrugged in reply, sweeping past Stiles and the couch on his way to the door. Stiles resisted the urge to watch him walk away, but once he heard Peter's footfalls pad quietly away from the door into the hall, he felt a driving force to suddenly look at his phone.
The screen woke up, and there in the middle sat a pretty little message from Peter (or in the case of Stiles' contact information: douchebag-wolf).
'I wasn't aware you had moles on the inside of your knees.'
--+
Stiles didn't like running. He never liked doing it at school for track, or in the preserve for his life, and definitely not down the numerous flights of stairs that were in Derek's building, but run he did the moment he was two floors down from the loft, flying from step to step to bolt after Peter. He'd managed to half-lie his way out, mentioning something about needing to go grab more snacks now that Derek had emptied his bag. Derek didn't seem to care, grunting in response as Stiles crossed over the threshold into the hallway, his heart beating erratically and threatening to dislodge itself in his throat.
It didn't take too long to catch up. Something inside Stiles told him Peter wasn't exactly in a hurry for a reason. The doors to the building busted open before him, and there, waiting by his jeep, leaning up against the frame as if he owned it, was Peter fucking Hale.
"Dude, what the-" Peter cut him off with a smug grin and held a finger up against his own lips in a swift move to silence him. When Stiles flinched back, ready with a bratty retort, Peter used that same finger to point upward, to signal towards the loft up above them. It took Stiles a moment to realize that Peter was telling him they were still in range of Derek's ears.
Quietly (and still stupidly smug, Stiles might add), Peter opened the driver's side door of the jeep and waved Stiles in as if he were royalty. It made his blood boil, but he climbed in nonetheless. Peter joined him on the other side a few seconds later and once they were on the main road, Stiles felt it safe to speak.
"What the hell."
"Hm?"
He could do it, Stiles thought. He could run them both off the road, and when Peter healed from the cuts and bruises, Stiles could take a tire iron to his knees. Yup that sounded like a plan.
"So you just sit around being extra creepy looking at porn all day?"
Peter shifted in the seat, but it wasn't from embarrassment, that much Stiles could tell. He was merely trying to find a more comfortable position to sit in, draping an arm over the backrest, fingers dangerously close to brushing up against Stiles' shoulder. He got lost in thought, wondering how many fingers he could break before Peter ripped his throat out. "If you ever cared to ask what I do in my downtime, I would tell you that sitting around watching porn all day would be pointless when I can watch one of yours and be satiated for at least a few."
It was so cheesy that Stiles had to fight between being proud of Peter and wanting to crash the jeep all at the same time. He opted for rolling his eyes hard and accompanied it with a loud, long-suffering sigh instead. Why. Why did it have to be Peter, of all people, who had found his videos? Hell, how did he even know it was Stiles? It wasn't as if he'd ever been nude in front of the guy or much of the pack as a whole.
He could already feel the heat rise in his face again, the tops of his ears burning as the jeep made a left-hand turn. His tongue felt dry suddenly, thick and too heavy to talk with. Still, Stiles swallowed as best he could, gulping down a heaping of much-needed oxygen because right now, his head was starting to feel fuzzy, and the tips of his fingers had gone numb.
It wasn't until they pulled into the grocery store's parking lot and shut the jeep off that Stiles said anything more. "Are you going to tell anyone? Have you told anyone?" He couldn't bring himself to look at Peter, so he kept his face forward, gaze pointing directly at the front bumper of a car parked in the opposite space.
Peter took a moment to answer, dragging it out unnecessarily. "No, I haven't told anyone." Fingers did touch him then, the briefest tapping of soft pads against the edge of his shoulder. Stiles shuddered in response.
"Please." It was no louder than a whisper, voice cracked and raw as Stiles watched his life crumble around him. Peter would let it slip somehow, to someone, anyone, and it would trickle over into his everyday life, into pack meetings, into conversations his dad could overhear. Then everyone would know, and it wouldn't be his anymore. "Please don't tell anyone."
He looked to Peter then, turning slowly and thoroughly expecting a smirk and a flippant response, and was surprised to see Peter's face set so seriously, blue eyes staring at him, mouth set in a thin line with no hint of amusement. It should have deflated his anger, seeing Peter this way, but it only worsened his mood. Stiles shook his head, rolled his eyes, and huffed in frustration before he exited the jeep, clenching his jaw as he heard Peter follow behind him.
"Can you please go away?" The sliding doors opened before them, and the cool air-conditioning of the store hit Stiles in the face, ruffling his hair and sending a chill down his back as he grabbed a nearby basket.
Peter merely hummed and stepped up to walk next to him down the store's center aisle. "You drove me here." He countered.
Stiles' mind wandered, wondering how long it would take Peter to heal from being toppled on by any one of the heavy shelving units they passed by. He huffed and rolled his eyes, turning into a smaller aisle to browse for snacks. "What do you want from me? Seriously, if you wanted to find out if I'm uncomfortable with you seeing me like that, congrats, dude, you've succeeded."
He grabbed the jerky snacks on a nearby shelf, piling a good amount into the basket. These ones would never see the inside of Derek's loft because they were going home with Stiles to be eaten at his leisure. He managed to grab a few things he knew Derek liked and was low on, though, because Stiles could be a nice guy to people he liked.
He could also be rude to people he didn't like. Like Peter, who was currently stalking close enough behind him that when Stiles whipped around, prepared to push the creeper away, he ended up knocking his knees together. He fell back against some of the bags of candy on the shelves behind him, knocking one over onto the ground as he flung out a hand to steady himself.
Peter was close, too close for Stiles' liking. He was already wound up and angry. The heat under his skin was almost too unbearable to hide with the way Peter was looking at him, looming over him. "I'm simply offering a solution to your problem."
"A problem you're creating."
"Nonetheless." Peter lifted a hand and smirked when Stiles' shoulder jerked backward. "One night." He spoke softly around sharpened human canines, quiet enough that Stiles was sure no one in the neighboring aisles could hear him. Stiles couldn't be blamed if he were too distracted by watching Peter's upper lip curl to understand right away what Peter was asking of him. Not when the creeper-wolf was close enough that Stiles could practically feel the wall of heat all werewolves seemed to naturally put out.
He rebooted a moment later when Peter's gaze flicked over to something behind his shoulder and back again in quick succession. "Are you seriously propositioning me in the middle of the candy aisle?"
Peter dropped a bag of something into the basket. "Yes." And without waiting, pulled away and turned on his heel, starting toward the front of the store.
It took a matter of seconds for Stiles to catch up, even though his legs felt weak and wobbly, his toes just a bit too cold. "So those are my only options?" He lowered his voice as they passed by a couple shopping. "Sleep with you, or you tell everyone?"
"Precisely." The line to the checkout wasn't long. Without saying anything, Peter took the items from Stiles' basket and loaded them onto the conveyor belt. The woman currently checking out in front of them smiled at them both, and Stiles had to resist the urge to project his bad mood towards her. He smiled half-heartedly at best, catching Peter smiling and nodding once to her as well.
They made it back to the jeep in relatively awkward silence, Stiles' mind going too many miles in too few minutes, matching the frenetic beat of his heart. He wasn't disillusioned with the way Peter watched him when they were in the same room, nor the way Peter managed to turn almost every phrase into a double entendre in his presence. Still, on principle alone, Stiles would rather cut off his own tongue than admit that Peter could be entertaining and that maybe sometimes he had a good idea or two.
This was not one of those times. This was a terrible idea.
Stiles clambered back into the jeep, huffing another sigh as Peter slid into the passenger seat. "This isn't exactly fair." He said, turning to shove the bag of candy into the seat behind them. Peter caught his eye and held his gaze a moment before smirking. Stiles felt like shrinking back against the side of the door because that mouth, that fucking look Peter was giving him, was only adding fuel to his anger and quite possibly a more awkward form of arousal layered underneath.
Stiles wasn't blind to the attractiveness of Peter Hale. Despite all his nefarious ways, Peter was pretty to look at. Much like he was now, sitting in Stiles' jeep like he belonged there, shoulders broad across the small backrest, long legs outstretched to fit better in the tiny space. Even his fingers, tapping away on the dashboard and looking well-manicured, were definitely a pleasant sight to see.
He forgot for a moment that he was supposed to be angry, lost in looking at Peter in such close proximity, that when Peter slid across the space between them, it was too late for Stiles to react appropriately. Before Stiles could reel back or push him away, Peter was suddenly in his space, leaning forward and pressing his lips against Stiles' own.
It was soft, the kiss, along with Peter's lips. Stiles could smell the sharp chapstick right under his nose, feel it transfer to his lips from Peter's. It had definitely been a long time since anyone had done that; since Stiles had kissed someone or anyone had kissed him. It was difficult not to push Peter away, and if his fingers found their way curling around the fabric of Peter's shirt to pull him closer, or if his eyes rolled back before his lashes fluttered closed as Peter deepened the kiss, Stiles could only blame it on the fact that it had been a long, long, long time.
If a slightly needy noise escaped the back of his throat, well, that was entirely Peter's fault. One Peter chose to claim as he chuckled and pulled away. Stiles' lids felt heavy, but he managed to open his eyes and glimpse the proud grin on Peter's face. He fought the urge to lick his bottom lip, to taste the beeswax flavored chapstick that coated it. Instead, Stiles swallowed thickly and let loose a shuddering sigh. "Wha- what was that?"
"A preview." Peter shrugged, not moving, staying close, and invading Stiles' personal space. When Stiles did dip his tongue to swipe across his bottom lip, he caught Peter's eyes tracking the movement. It only made the heated haze worsen, the warmth underneath his skin impossibly hotter with each erratic heartbeat that pumped blood straight to his dick. Stiles was a bit unsure how they got here, how he ended up wanting to say yes, to beg even, when only moments before he'd been angry at Peter for trying to manipulate him into this exact scenario.
Dangerous. Peter was dangerous. Stiles had to remind himself, repeat it over and over like a mantra, a tether to pull him away from the gaping maw of darkness, of the unknown. That's what Peter was. As much as Stiles and the rest of the pack felt they had him all figured out, Peter was prone to the rare surprise at even rarer times, always the one to throw off previous assumptions. Peter was unknown, insanely attractive, but dangerous territory, and for some reason, was trying very, very hard to sleep with Stiles.
Stiles swallowed again and slowly uncurled his fingers from Peter's shirt, unaware until now that they'd been there longer than he cared them to be. Peter didn't stray, though; he stayed right where he was, one arm slung across Stiles' backrest, the other hand gripping the steering wheel, caging Stiles in the driver's seat. "How do I know you won't just tell anyone afterward?"
Peter shrugged again, and Stiles felt the sudden urge to punch him in the face. Or kiss him again; he wasn't exactly sure at the moment, caught between being confused and horny. "I would say 'I give you my word', but I don't think you'd believe me." Stiles snorted because -duh. "Alas, that's all I have. One night and your secret is safe with me. Plus, it's not as if I'd ever want you to stop posting videos. I do enjoy watching you."
"Fuck-" Stiles shuddered under Peter's words, poison practically dripping slowly from lips that had just been against his own. Fuck had been right. Fuck it all. "Okay, alright. Six o'clock. Dad'll be working late, so I'll be home alone."
Grinning large enough to put the Cheshire Cat to shame, Peter dipped forward and kissed Stiles again, once, twice, gathering up a groan that had slipped out and chuckling when Stiles grasped onto the scruff of his shirt. "Is that right?" He growled before Stiles nodded frantically and pulled him back in.
--+
The rest of the day happened in a blur.
Peter hadn't followed Stiles back up to Derek's loft, parting at the jeep without saying much of anything except, "See you tonight." It only made the walk back up the stairs a more weighted, lonely experience, as if something heavy was resting on Stiles' shoulders. He didn't stick around much after that, depositing the snacks he grabbed for Derek on the table where he'd left him, before ditching early with a flimsy excuse about forgetting lunch plans with his dad. It wasn't a total lie, they did end up having lunch, but Stiles couldn't stomach most of it and bailed on that too.
Five thirty came and passed, and off the Sheriff went to work, leaving Stiles home alone, a ball of anxiety that nervously flitted about his room. He tried distracting himself by tidying up but gave up halfway through, tossing any dirty clothes he'd picked up in a pile in one of the corners.
Then Stiles tried browsing on his computer for a while, but anywhere he went, it all led back to him checking his porn profile. Reading over some of the past comments helped lighten his mood a bit, and he even gave in to jotting down ideas for future videos. If Peter kept to his word, that is.
When six o'clock rolled around, Stiles was just finishing up a shopping list for some necessities like lube, extra batteries for the ring light, and the camera. Even a vibrating butt-plug that had been recommended to him from his comment section made the list. He hadn't realized the time until he heard a soft tapping noise on his window.
He rose from his chair and took careful steps towards it, catching sight of Peter crouched on the roof on the other side, the sky set in pinks and purples behind him as the sun set. Stiles took a moment to breathe, think, and decide once and for all if this was something he wanted to do. He could easily just shut the curtains, keep the window shut, let Peter know it was a no-go, but that meant everyone else knowing, the pack, the town, his dad.
Sighing, Stiles unlocked the latch and slid the window up, standing aside to let Peter climb through. "Don't you use doors? I thought Derek was the only one who skulked in through windows."
Even though they weren't even mildly askew, Peter straightened his clothes and rolled his eyes. "I thought it best I should sneak in, wouldn't want the neighbors to see a strange man entering the house without the Sheriff being home."
He had a bit of a point, but all the same, "I'm an adult, you know. Legal. I can have people over without my dad needing to supervise." He shut the window behind him and leaned up against it. "Plus, Derek's been over here before, and even though you're way olde—"
Peter held up a finger, and even though Stiles couldn't hide the smirk, he aptly shut up. "You'd be wise not to finish that statement. Argument made. Next time, I'll use the door."
Stiles nearly choked on air. "Next time?" His brows rose high on his head, but Peter didn't seem at all put out with the guffaw. He merely waved a dismissive hand, as if he couldn't be bothered to take it back or explain further, and chose to find somewhere to sit down. It just happened to be the corner of Stiles' bed, creaking as it bore the brunt of Peter's weight.
It wasn't a large bed, but it was big enough to house two Stiles-sized people in close, cuddling quarters. It looked a even smaller behind Peter now, and the logistics about how this was going to work started running through Stiles' head. It distracted him long enough not to notice that Peter had risen at some point and made his way over to Stiles' personal space. He blinked back into reality to see Peter leaning close, one arm propped up against the wall to his left, both of them standing like something out of some 90's high-school rom-com where the jock was busy flirting with the captain of the cheerleading squad up against the lockers.
The image of himself in a skirt made Stiles' cheeks flush hot, something Peter picked up on with a low, rumbling growl. Stiles hadn't meant to set him off. Still, before he could apologize or make a joke about it, Peter was pressing forward and nearing Stiles' neck with his nose and cheek, and all coherent thought left his brain. He stopped just short of touching Stiles in any capacity, but Peter was still close enough to be able to deeply inhale the air around Stiles. It set another growl off inside of him, and even though they weren't against one another, Stiles was able to feel the vibration in the space between them.
"Did you hear me?" Peter asked, his breath puffing against Stiles' skin. Stiles shuddered, shaking his head in response. "I asked if this was okay."
"O-oh," Stiles shivered again, unsure of where to put his hands. They dangled uselessly down by his sides, fingers twitching against his pants. He craned his head back to give himself room to turn and look at Peter without bumping into him. "Wait, what? I let you in, didn't I? I'm pretty sure you can do whatever you want to me."
He must have said something wrong because Peter pulled back slightly, enough to give Stiles a mildly comfortable distance from him. Stiles noted the slight downturn of his lips, not quite a frown but definitely not a smile or an amused smirk. "I get a distinct feeling that you're not entirely willing."
Stiles scoffed, taking a second to gaze over Peter's face to see where any joke or snark, or deviousness was tucked away. "Dude, we made a deal," He countered. "It's not like you were giving me much of a choice, you know."
"You didn't have to agree to it, Stiles. It's just porn, not the end of the world."Peter sighed.
Whatever mood Stiles had been in before, nervous excitement (and maybe nervous arousal if he were being honest with himself), deflated from him like a balloon, just leaving him irritated. "I know that," He bit back, pressing himself as far back as he could against the window. "but if you tell everyone, then it's not just for me anymore." Stiles was paying attention to Peter closely now and could see the small frown of his lips form into a thin, straight line. He was listening, waiting for Stiles to say something more, so Stiles huffed a sigh through his nose and continued.
"Stiles, do this impossible thing. Stiles, stay behind and worry about us all night. Stiles, research this until your eyes bleed, and then keep going —even if you find jack shit." He was loud now, moving out from around Peter to pace in the center of the room. His hands, which had been dangling for too long, fluttered about as he used them for emphasis. "I feel like I'm getting pulled apart by horses trying to keep up and help everyone. This was supposed to be my thing." He sighed, running his hands down long over his face before flopping down on his bed.
He fell back on the mattress in a huff and, a moment later, heard and felt the bed creak as Peter sat on the edge next to him. "I'm not going to tell anyone, Stiles." There was a pause. "Regardless if we sleep together or not."
Stiles pulled himself up to lean back on his elbows, skeptical, wary. "...Why would you do that?" This felt like a trick, but when Peter turned towards him, looked at him, set him with that leveling gaze, Stiles felt his face heat up again, felt his stomach flip with hope and doubt all at the same time. This close he was able to notice that Peter's eyes were icy blue, not baby blue like he'd always previously assumed, and they were giving Stiles their full attention.
"I know what it's like to want to hold on to something that's yours."
Again, Stiles felt himself deflate, frustration replacing any anger, any irritation. Peter was giving him an out, yet Stiles wasn't all that opposed to what they had been working up to. Maybe he was looking for an excuse too, with Peter of all people. "You seem very determined."
Stiles wasn't immune to the attraction of Peter. People (usually those who didn't know any better) tended to stare or ogle or flirt when the entire pack was out in public somewhere. Peter could be alarmingly charming and dangerously so. 'Catch a lot more flies with honey than vinegar' or some such thing, right? Stiles liked to think he was more intelligent than that, but when Peter looked at him like he was, open and unwavering, it made his insides burn. Stiles was pretty sure his knees would be quaking if he were standing.
Peter moved like water, smoothly, quietly, but quickly enough that it surprised Stiles to find Peter suddenly leaning over him in the blink of an eye. "I don't think you understand the effect you have on most people." His voice was low, careful in the quiet of the room, as he crooked a finger under Stiles' chin, tilting his head slowly from side to side. Stiles' skin warmed where Peter touched him, but he didn't move away. He let Peter trail that same finger down the side of his neck. It felt like fire followed it, burning just beneath the surface of his skin. "I knew it was you in the videos right away."
Stiles felt more exposed than he ever did filming himself. Maybe that was due to thinking about being touched while touching himself instead of actually having someone else's hands on him, which felt great, by the way. "I-yeah?"
"You make the same noises all the time," Peter murmured, practically purring as his finger ran low enough to pull down on the collar of Stiles' shirt. "I hear those tiny gasps after you've run all the way up the steps to loft." This time when Peter dipped his head forward, coming close to nose his way up Stiles' neck, Stiles craned to the side and gave him permission. "You're knuckles flush a pale blush when you're gripping the desk while researching, much like how they are when you're fingers are wrapped around your cock." He dragged his nose up from Stiles' shoulder, up towards his ear where he puffed each word against it, daring to sneak his tongue out to run along with the shape of it, to pull the lobe into his mouth.
It was difficult for Stiles to fully let go, but the way Peter's mouth felt hot against him was undoubtedly helping him ease into the idea. "Fuck—" Stiles breathed, shifting beneath Peter, still a bit unsure if he wanted to press forward or pull away. "You notice all of those things? Ah—" One of Peter's hands had found its way up under Stiles' shirt, warm fingers pressing into his flesh. It burned there too, practically everywhere Peter was, and pooled some of that heat low in his belly, lower still to his dick.
He felt vulnerable here, like he was sixteen all over again, searching for approval while floundering under any sort of attention. Peter was certainly giving him all of it, especially with his mouth, chasing warm lips with a heated tongue down his neck to the crook between throat and shoulder. "You make it very difficult not to notice you, dear boy."
Before Stiles could formulate a response, Peter pressed himself down against him, slotting himself between Stiles' legs, emphasizing his words with a roll of his hips and giving Stiles a glimpse of the apparent hard-on Peter was currently sporting for him. A tiny whimper escaped Stiles' lips, and he felt his face heat up from pure embarrassment. He was sure Peter could sense it too because he chuckled only a few seconds later against Stiles' shoulder and rolled his hips again.
He couldn't help the hitch in his breath or the bending of his knees and the arching of his back as he pulled Peter in closer, to leave no space between them. "There's not much —ah! —there's not much to look at." Peter had nipped at him, at the sensitive part of his shoulder. It felt like a reprimand, like Peter had scolded him for saying such a thing.
"Nonsense," Peter mumbled, licking the spot his teeth had been nibbling on. He pulled back enough to get his hands on Stiles' shirt and began tugging it upward. Stiles quietly shifted enough that Peter could pull it all the way off, tossing it to the floor somewhere, and wrapped his arms across himself to hide. Peter clucked his tongue disapprovingly and maneuvered Stiles' arms above his head, his grip gentle but firm. It's not as if Stiles were eager to climb out from under Peter any time soon, not anymore. Not when it all felt too good to pass up on. "I like the view, as do many others." He wasted no time in diving back down into devouring new parts his lips and tongue hadn't yet touched.
Stiles shook beneath Peter, wrists still bound above his head by one of Peter's own large hands. His other hand was busy touching Stiles everywhere, feeling down his chest to his belly, fingers skirting the edges of Stiles' waistband before trailing with blunt nails back up to pink nipples that pebbled harder under each pad of each digit that ran across them.
"Peter— ah fuck," Stiles moaned, shifting a bit underneath, now minutely frustrated that he couldn't move his hands. Peter replaced his mouth soon after, tongue hot and flat running across a perky nub, and Stiles lost all function of thought. All that mattered was Peter's mouth on him, Peter shifting downward, Peter's free hand popping the button on Stiles' jeans.
Pausing, and smirking at the noise Stiles made: halfway between a whimper and a groan, Peter lifted his head to look down at him. "What do you think they would say if your viewers could see you now?" He asked, finally letting go of Stiles' arms. "They'd probably want to touch every part of you." Hands came down to tug on Stiles' pants, so he lifted his butt to help. They slid off in one go, and Peter tossed those to the floor somewhere too. It wasn't difficult to notice how hard he was underneath his boxer-briefs, an obscene outline of his dick warping the PackMan design printed on it.
It was almost unfair that Peter was still fully clothed, so Stiles pushed himself up enough to tug on the bottom of Peter's shirt, earning a growling hum in reply. "I guess I've given you VIP access then; you get to put your mouth all over me." That earned him a deep rumble as Peter helped him, pushing Stiles back down once his own shirt was off.
Stiles flopped back enough that an audible "—oomph!" punched from him, but he didn't mind, too busy watching Peter hook his fingers beneath the band of his boxer-briefs and tugging them down. His dick bounced from the force of being set free so abruptly, smacking him in the stomach with a small thud, and Stiles had to hold back chuckling and risk ruining the mood.
"I plan on it," Peter growled before he dipped low and took Stiles' cock into his mouth.