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Stiles is reveling in summer break. He’d considered staying at school for a work-study position in one of the libraries, but then Peter and Chris had spent all of his Spring Break on a roadtrip, sending him cruel photos and texts and phone calls. So home he went, to lazy lie-ins with his... people. Or, well, incredibly athletic lie-ins, really, but still, they didn’t even start thinking about emerging from the bedroom until at least noon the whole first week Stiles was home. And clothes only ever happened because otherwise they wouldn’t eat in favor of having even more sex all over the kitchen.
Not that Stiles minds the ridiculous amounts of sex they’re having, because Peter and Chris are ridiculously hot and all his and he’s missed them while he was trapped at school all semester. But you have to replenish the energy stores somehow, and foodporn doesn’t actually generally result in much nutritional value when all is said and done.
After a week of indulging themselves it’s time for work to start again. Chris goes back to terrorizing the gun shop/firing range they own in town, and heaven won’t help them if there’s even a single BB pellet out of place. Stiles and Peter stay around the house, because it’s always best to let Chris have the run of the business on his own for a day or so after a vacation. There isn’t anyone working at the shop who isn’t perfectly capable of handling things, even during an extended absence, but Chris can be incredibly particular and needs time to make sure things are in order without Stiles or Peter underfoot.
So Peter and Stiles are left to bum around the house, while Chris goes to survey his kingdom. Stiles takes advantage of the fact that he is a proud member of the six-minute shower club (while Peter is definitely not even eligible for membership) to wander around the house. Stiles can’t stop fiddling with things, even though there’s almost nothing that’s changed since he left in January.
There are a few new pictures from Peter and Chris’s road trip (and huh, apparently not all of them were lewd. They actually managed to take a few that were fit for polite company). A decorative throw that Stiles definitely recognizes from at least one illicit text. Some new kitchen things that Stiles isn’t going to investigate too thoroughly in case Peter comes out and gets territorial. (It’s not like it was Stiles’ fault that mixing bowl had melted when they first moved in. Really, who cares about melting butter in 15 second increments when you can just open the door every so often and check it. Except that he may have gotten distracted because Chris had pinned him up against the cabinets with one hand splayed over Stiles stomach and Stiles’ cock down his throat. It was an accident, okay?) Mostly, though, the house is same.
Still, Stiles revisits everything, running his fingers along the furniture, curling up at least briefly in all the seats. It’ll make Peter happy when he finally emerges from the shower to smell Stiles starting to saturate the house again. And no sooner does Stiles complete his circuit than Peter totters into view as if he were drunk, a pair of sweatpants barely pulled over his hips.
Stiles knows, though, that Peter physically cannot consume enough alcohol fast enough to get drunk, and that there are very few things that can make Peter stagger around like someone’s tossing his inner ears around in a dice cup. Wolfsbane is out, unless a hunter was hiding in the dirty laundry piled on the bathroom floor, which leaves only one alternative. Stiles had really been hoping they’d get a few more weeks before Chris had to take a sick day. And that he’d be home when it started.
But Peter is already glassy eyed and breathless, and they’ve done this before. Stiles shoots off a quick text to Chris not to bring any company home, then sets his phone on the side table, crossing to Peter. He doesn’t bother speaking because Peter’s beyond words at this point. The only thing that will get through to him is touch.
When Stiles is only a foot or so from Peter he doesn’t so much jump on Stiles as push away from the wall, land face-first against Stiles’ neck, and just nuzzle there, fingers coming up to grasp weakly at Stiles’ t-shirt. Stiles manages an awkward sort of dance to maneuver Peter back into the bedroom, because the rugburn will be awful if he doesn’t move them now.
Apparently he’s just in time, because one second Peter is content to just rub his face all over Stiles’ pulse, and the next he’s biting up Stiles’ jaw to his mouth, pressing sloppy kisses there because he can’t be bothered to do it properly, too busy concentrating on trying to climb Stiles and get his sweatpants off at the same time.
Normally Stiles would have to contend with Peter’s greater strength, but he’s so pliable like this that it barely takes a thought before he’s falling backwards onto the bed. Stiles crawls over him before Peter can start making the needy noises Stiles knows are inevitable. They’ll happen, but the odds of Stiles coming all over himself before he can even get inside Peter increase exponentially when they do, so he’d like to delay that as long as possible.
Stiles cradles Peter’s face in his hands, kissing him slowly until Peter relaxes into it. Then Stiles runs his hands down to Peter’s shoulders and over his chest, pressing kisses the whole way down. Peter is squirming by the time Stiles nips at the rim of Peter’s navel, but then Stiles’ hands are sliding down Peter’s hips and catching the waistband of his pants. Stiles pulls the pants off and kisses his way back up Peter’s legs, tongue coming out to lap at the sensitive skin behind Peter’s knees.
Stiles is taking as much time as he can with this. He knows it won’t be long before Peter will need more than this, and normally Peter is like, the toppiest top to ever top, for all that he’s the most flamboyant of the three of them. Not that he doesn’t let Chris or Stiles fuck him, but they all have their preferences, and it usually works out that Peter is the one who ends who fucking someone, if there is indeed anyone getting fucked. To have Peter spread out beneath him like this, though, breathless and wanting, is something Stiles doesn’t think he’ll ever get over.
Peter’s hands are clutching restlessly at the duvet beneath him, so Stiles takes a little bit of pity on him and rests his face on Peter’s hipbone. He breathes in Peter’s scent, exhaling hot and wet against Peter’s hard cock, running his thumb back and forth over Peter’s other hipbone. It doesn’t really do much for Stiles beyond the normal feelings brought up by being in close proximity to a cock he also gets to touch, but Peter’s explained that if it feels like he’s being scented it soothes something in him. There are some werewolf-y things Stiles and Chris can’t really compensate for, so they try and remember the ones they can.
When Peter goes pliant beneath him, humming pleasantly, Stiles moves his head over a bit, ghosting his breath from Peter’s balls all the way to the tip of his cock before licking the head. He licks twice more, pressing his tongue in just below the head, wanting Peter’s cock in his mouth, rocking into his throat, but it won’t do anything for Peter when he’s like this. The only relief for Peter will involve penetration, which is seriously a hardship as far as Stiles is concerned. Not. (Well, kind of, actually, yes. But this is about Peter, and not Stiles, so he’ll live.) Another forlorn lick and Peter whimpers, and Stiles knows it’s time to get a little more serious.
He rolls Peter’s balls in one hand, leaning to grab the lube off the nightstand with the other. Popping the cap with his teeth is an old trick, and he doesn’t even bother to warm the liquid. He drizzles it straight from the bottle directly over Peter’s balls, catching some on his fingers to start playing around Peter’s hole. In less than a minute Stiles is stroking inside with a finger, and it’s only seconds before Peter arches his hips. Stiles adds a second, twisting them inside until he finds the spot that makes Peter gasp. A few more thrusts and Peter’s making those needy noises Stiles has been both dreading and looking forward to.
In short order Peter is doing his best to fuck himself on Stiles’ fingers, but he can’t really get leverage the way he’s lying. Stiles reluctantly withdraws his fingers and grabs Peter by the shoulder to get him to roll over, pulling him up to his knees by the hips once he gets there. Peter doesn’t even bother with his arms, just folds them loosely on the bed, cheek pressed to his forearms. It doesn’t look particularly comfortable, but by the time Peter is aware enough to care he’ll have healed any aches the position might cause. He’s not the one who has to worry about rugburn at times like these.
Stiles shakes himself out of it, shifting his attention from Peter’s healing ability to the way his own hands have started caressing Peter’s hips while he was in lala land. He changes the motion slightly, skating his hands over Peter’s ass to spread Peter open. Stiles leans in, pressing kisses from Peter’s tailbone down to where Peter is a little loose and slick with lube.
He hovers there, exhaling gently for a moment, before he nips just to either side of Peter’s hole, following each bite with another exhale and a press of lips. Moving a bit lower Stiles licks a line up from Peter’s balls back to his hole, nipping again at the rim before he uses the flat of his tongue to lick across and back up to the top of Peter’s ass. Stiles has heard stories about bad-tasting lube, but Peter is incredibly picky because of his enhanced senses, so they’ve managed to find some that’s pretty inoffensive. Not to say that it tastes great either, but it’s subtle enough that Stiles can taste Peter through it as he licks and kisses gently around Peter’s rim before dipping his tongue inside.
Stiles brings his thumbs in so they brush across Peter’s hole, spreading him wider so Stiles can breathe right against the center of Peter’s ass before he drags the flat of his tongue across. Peter presses back into Stiles’ mouth and Stiles goes for broke, pressing his face in close and thrusting his tongue into Peter over and over, pulling back occasionally to lick his way from the back of Peter’s balls up to his hole again.
Stiles lets go with one hand so he can slip a finger into Peter alongside his tongue and with a single brush of his prostate Peter’s coming hard, shaking and clenching around Stiles’ finger and tongue. Stiles keeps moving until Peter twitches decidedly forward just a bit, too sensitive for any more. Stiles withdraws his finger and licks his way out of Peter, kissing him once more before settling back on his heels while Peter recovers.
Stiles attempts to wipe his face with his forearm with minimal success, and pulls his shirt up enough to finish the job before stripping it off entirely. He wipes his arm off before he tosses the shirt in the general direction of not-on-the-bed, doing likewise with his pants. By this time Peter’s breathing has evened out, though it’s still too fast to be normal. Stiles relocates the lube where it’s slid next to Peter’s knee and runs a hand down Peter’s side, pressing another kiss to his ass as he presses the tips of his fingers against Peter so he can pour the lube down his fingers to Peter’s ass.
The snap of the lid closing punctuates the soft gasp Peter lets out when Stiles presses two fingers in up to the last knuckle, letting them just sit a moment before he withdraws them nearly all the way and presses in deep again. He does this a few more times before he switches tacks and spreads his fingers and slows his thrusts, stretching Peter open. It doesn’t take long before Stiles can press in a third finger as well, and now he focuses less on stretching Peter and more on finding his prostate with every thrust of his fingers.
Stiles can tell from the sounds Peter is making and the way he’s moving that it won’t be long before he comes again. Stiles keeps thrusting his fingers and moves up onto his knees to lay himself over Peter’s back, wrapping his other arm around Peter’s torso to stroke his cock. The scrape of Stiles’ teeth over Peter’s spine is just enough stimulation to send him over the edge, and he shakes under Stiles, clenching down on his fingers and pulsing in his hand. Peter moans as he comes, but stays hard in Stiles’ grip when he’s done.
The second orgasm seems to do even less for Peter than the first, amazingly, and all too soon Stiles slides his fingers into Peter again, scissoring them until Peter is loose enough for four. Stiles adds a bit more lube as his fingers slide in and out, hoping that the more they prep him now the easier things will be when Chris gets home. Peter may be the Energizer Bunny of sex right now, but Stiles and Chris are only human. Stiles pulls out his fingers, which causes Peter to let out a whimper that goes straight to Stiles’ cock.
Stiles grips himself tight around the base for a moment, willing himself to hold off just a little longer. He pours a bit more lube on his cock, and it’s still cold enough to be a bit of a shock, despite how the bottle keeps drifting to rest against their legs. A couple quick strokes to spread it is all Stiles allows himself before he guides his cock into Peter, pressing in until he can lie flush against Peter’s back.
He stays there just until he’s sure he isn’t going to come just from the pressure of Peter around his cock, then starts fucking him in earnest. Peter drops his upper torso to the bed, trying to use his arms and shoulders to get leverage enough to rock back into Stiles’ thrusts. Stiles keeps up the pace, trying to recite all the known varieties of monkshood in alphabetical order by species to keep himself under control.
When he can’t hold it off any longer Stiles sinks his teeth into the nape of Peter’s neck and bites down hard as he thrusts in deep and comes. The first pulse of Stiles’ come inside Peter is enough to set him off again even without a hand on his cock this time. Stiles groans around the flesh in his mouth as his hips jerk with his orgasm.
When Stiles regains the presence of mind he lets go of Peter’s skin, licking over the impressions left by his teeth even though they’ll heal in a matter of minutes. As if that was the sign he was waiting for, Peter’s body goes lax under Stiles and his hands unclench from where they’d been gripping the bedspread. The bite is as much about Stiles’ ridiculous oral fixation as it is about Peter’s need to be claimed during his heat, so it’s win-win.
Stiles holds Peter around the waist before rolling them to the side so he stays inside Peter. Being human, Stiles can’t really knot Peter, so staying inside until he goes soft is the compromise. It’ll keep Peter docile for a while, probably even long enough to take a nap. Although nap is probably too delicate a term, because Peter will crash fast and hard and nothing short of a bullhorn will rouse him. Even then he’d probably blearily bat ineffectually at it before turning and pressing his face against Stiles’ chest and pulling Stiles’ arm over his ear and going right back to sleep. Peter in heat makes power-napping seem like a competitive sport.
Stiles weaves a leg in with Peter’s and presses his face into the back of Peter’s head. Peter wraps his arms over Stiles’ where they’re still tucked around Peter’s waist and wiggles his hips back into Stiles, sighing contentedly before he relaxes into sleep. Stiles will probably slip out while Peter is passed out, but according to the clock on the bedside table Chris should also be home before he wakes up, so he can join in the fun.
Stiles sighs a bit. Peter won’t be out long enough for Stiles to fall asleep, and he doesn’t really want to think unsexy thoughts and go soft even faster, so he just thinks about what he and Chris can do once they’re all in bed. The easiest way to end Peter’s heat is for both Chris and Stiles to be inside him at the same time. It had taken them a bit to figure that out, because between preferences and practicality double penetration isn’t really something they do all that often.
Barring when Peter’s in heat, Stiles is the only one who even likes being that full. Chris doesn’t really care for having more than a couple fingers from each of them inside him unless he’s still loose from Peter’s knot, and even then not for very long. Stiles, on the other hand, loves the feeling of being filled to the point where he feels like he might fly apart if not for Chris and Peter surrounding him, holding him together.
Even so, it’s hard to work out the logistics because of Peter’s knot. Not that Stiles would give up Peter’s knot, because he loves that too, loves the stretch and burn and the way it takes ages for Peter’s come to leak out of him, the way Peter wraps around him and Chris will tangle himself up in them both when he’s home. But, inevitably, even if Stiles gets both Peter and Chris inside him one of them has to pull out before the knot comes up. With Peter on the receiving end, though, the only concern is making sure he’s prepared enough so that no one is uncomfortable for long.
Stiles gets about five seconds into his fantasies (hopefully soon-to-be realities) of double-teaming Peter when he hears Chris come in the front door. If he bothered to lever himself up Stiles would have a good view of the doorway, but Chris knows where to find them, and Stiles is warm and comfortable wrapped around Peter.
When Chris makes it into the bedroom he’s already got his shirt unbuttoned and is working on his fly, belt hanging open around his hands. Once he’s down to his black briefs he kneels on the bed, running a hand down Stiles’ arm and pressing a kiss to his temple. Stiles decides he has enough energy to at least turn to meet Chris for a soft kiss on the mouth before he nuzzles back into Peter. Chris settles behind Stiles, resting his hand in the dip of Stiles’ waist, one thigh pressed into the curve of Stiles’ spine.
They don’t really need to be quiet, because Peter will wake up when he’s ready for round two (or four, depending on how you count them) and not a second before, but there’s a quiet intimacy to the eye of the storm they’re in. Stiles manages to hold up three fingers where Chris can see them without dislodging Peter’s arms and Chris responds with a quiet huff that could be laughter or incredulity. Stiles smirks a bit, pleased with himself, and Peter shifts a bit in his arms.
Chris stands again, stripping off his briefs, then picks up the now mostly-empty bottle of lube from where it had fallen, still open, to the floor. He holds it over Stiles’ face until a drop falls on Stiles’ cheek, which at least gets Stiles to look a little sheepish. At least they have small area rugs that are easy to throw in the wash. Chris grabs another bottle from the nightstand in time to see Peter stretching out against Stiles, although between the heat and the healing factor it’s more sensual than because of any aches.
It doesn’t take much for Chris to coax Peter out of Stiles’ arms. Peter happily presses himself against Chris, running his hands over Chris’s skin and nuzzling his face into Chris’s stomach. Stiles moves up to lean back against the headboard, shuffling the pillows around so he can comfortably slouch there and watch.
Chris crawls onto the bed, pressing Peter backward as he goes until they’re laying flush against each other. He undulates against Peter, who throws a leg up around Chris, trying to pull him closer. Chris backs off, though, enough to work a hand between them so he can grip their cocks together, sliding his hand up and down long enough to draw a keening moan from Peter. He sits back, then, but keeps jacking Peter, using his other hand to go lower, cupping Peter’s balls briefly before pressing firmly against the skin behind them. Peter bears down, tipping his hips up to try and get Chris where he wants him, but Chris pulls back entirely.
He leans forward enough to grab Peter by the wrist and pull Peter up to his knees so he can move them up the bed. Chris turns Peter when they reach Stiles so Peter ends up facing Stiles while straddling his chest and puts Peter’s hands on top of the headboard, pressing his torso forward and running his hand down Peter’s spine.
Stiles grips Peter’s hips, pulling him forward until Stiles can mouth at Peter’s cock, because now that Chris is there Stiles doesn’t have to do all the work and he can indulge himself a little. Peter is still hard, had been even while he slept, and when Stiles licks his lips after pressing open-mouthed kisses to Peter’s cock he can taste the come from Peter’s earlier orgasms. Peter lets out a stuttered moan when Stiles takes him into his mouth and starts sucking, running his tongue along the underside of Peter’s cock as he moves back and forth. A louder cry and sudden jerk of Peter’s hips let Stiles know that Chris has started opening Peter up again.
Chris works two fingers into Peter, moving them gently because Peter’s already started tightening up again. He’s still slick with lube and come, and Chris uses one hand to hold Peter still while Chris licks at Peter around his fingers. Chris uses long strokes of his tongue to swipe up the come that’s leaked from Peter, lapping it up until he’s thrusting his tongue inside of Peter, chasing the taste. Peter’s back to whimpering with each breath, pinned between Chris and Stiles. Chris crooks his fingers inside Peter, rubbing over Peter’s prostate until Peter tenses and cries out, spasming around Chris’s fingers. Stiles moans as Peter’s come fills his mouth and Peter’s thighs quiver with the effort of keeping him upright.
Chris backs off from Peter and pulls him back by the hips so Stiles can slide over to the edge of the bed, where Stiles pulls Peter over to straddle his lap. Chris kneels on the floor at Stiles’ feet, and spreads a bit more lube on his fingers. Stiles holds Peter in place as Chris presses three fingers into Peter, needing only a few thrusts until they’re back up to four. Chris spreads his fingers even more as he thrusts until Peter is taking all four of Chris’s fingers up to the knuckle, stopped only by the base of Chris’s thumb pressing against Peter’s rim. Chris meets Stiles’ eyes over Peter’s shoulder. At Stiles’ nod Chris withdraws his fingers, pulling a whine from Peter as he shoves his hips back, trying to keep Chris inside.
Stiles coaxes Peter forward and up, so Chris can grip Stiles’ cock and hold it steady as Stiles guides Peter down onto him. Peter throws his head back and attempts to rock his hips again, trying to get Stiles to move, but Stiles holds him still. Peter braces himself with his hands on Stiles’ chest as Chris’s fingers run around where Stiles is stretching him open, massaging gently until he slips a fingertip in. Chris presses in carefully, until he can easily thrust in and out. Four fingers was a good start, but it will be more comfortable for everyone (except Peter, who is too out of it to care and thus doesn’t count) to go the extra mile. Chris slips another finger into Peter next to Stiles’ cock, thrusting in and out while Stiles tries to keep his hips from bucking up into Peter with the movements of Chris’s fingers.
Peter is writhing in Stiles’ lap now, desperate for more, so Chris pulls out his fingers and lubes up his cock as he stands. He presses slowly in alongside Stiles and gives a few experimental thrusts, working himself deeper into Peter with each one until he’s fully seated. He pulls out then, nearly all the way, only to give a long, deep thrust that makes both Peter and Stiles cry out. Chris grips Peter by the hips, lacing his fingers with Stiles’, and starts a steady pace.
And this, this is what Peter needed, to have Chris and Stiles both splitting him open, not quite a knot, but sufficient to trick his body into thinking he’s being bred. It’s enough to set Peter off again, so he’s clenching down on Chris and Stiles as they fuck into him. There’s really no way anyone could expect either of them to not come in this situation. It’s enough of a challenge fucking someone through orgasm, even if Stiles has already come once before, but the tight press and added friction of Chris moving against him is just too much. Stiles curves his torso in, sinking his teeth into Peter’s shoulder, unable to do more than twitch because of the weight of Peter in his lap and the pressure of Chris holding Peter in place.
Chris manages a few more shaky thrusts before he’s coming as well, biting in the meat of Peter’s other shoulder, fingers pressing bruises into Peter’s hips. Peter slumps forward against Stiles, who brings his fingers up to card through Peter’s hair. Chris drops his head to Peter’s shoulder, running his cheek across the spot where he’d bitten Peter. They stay there, just breathing, until Peter brings a hand up to cup the back of Chris’s head, and that’s how they know he’s starting to come back to himself.
Chris pulls out slowly, but even so Peter hisses. Stiles helps steady Peter as he rises to his knees just enough for Stiles to slip out before he collapses next to him. Stiles manages to push himself back on the bed far enough that his feet aren’t hanging off, even if he is still laying sideways. Peter does an oozing crawl until he can put his head on Stiles’ chest and wrap an arm around him. Chris has miraculously found the energy to get the box of wipes from the nightstand. He wipes everyone down before grabbing a blanket from the foot of the bed and crawling in behind Peter, lacing their fingers together on Stiles’ ribs.
In the morning Peter will probably sneak into Stiles’ shower and blow him until the only thing saving Stiles from gravity is Peter pressing him against the tile. Then he’ll probably fuck Stiles over the couch so that neither of them remember to eat because Stiles will fall asleep waiting for Peter’s knot to go down. Peter will make something vaguely pornographic for dinner, and then he and Stiles will gang up on Chris. Then they’ll all pass out in an exhausted heap only to wake up in the middle of the night because they couldn’t be bothered to get properly under the blankets, and at least one of them will be uncomfortably itchy from dried come and lube.
For now, though, they curl into each other, Peter nestled in the middle. Stiles threads a leg between Peter's until he can hook his foot behind one of Chris's ankles and then sinks into the mattress, letting the sound of Peter and Chris's breathing lull him to sleep. It's good to be home.