PROMPT: Peter/Stiles. Love/Hate.
Stiles tailed the group out of Derek’s apartment after they had finished drawing their plans. The latest big bad wasn’t anything compared to their previous problems, but it was enough to fill the room with the both sweet and acrid scent of adrenaline.
Peter hung back just outside the door, grabbing Stiles by the shoulder and ushering him into the dark alcove down the apartment hall. Stiles struggled, but quickly relented, allowing Peter to direct him.
“I know what you want,” hissed Peter once the rest of the crew was out of earshot.
“What?” spat Stiles in angry confusion, his proverbial hackles raised and just as obvious as if they were physically there.
“I can’t give you want you want, Stiles,” said Peter, feeling both angry and regretful about it. “There will be no riding off into the sunset, no happily ever after with me.”
He stared Stiles in his beautiful, dark butterscotch eyes, waiting for the boy to understand. He glared as he stared, putting all his anger and frustration, his murderous, callous, burnt, ill-intending heart into his expression.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll put this frivolous little school-girl crush of yours to rest,” he said, hand tightening roughly where it was wrapped around the juvenile but noticeable muscle of Stiles’ shoulder.
Stiles glared right back at him. His eyes were hot as embers, stoked by sudden, violent anger. Peter had always loved working Stiles up. He loved seeing that expressive face contort, those eyes blaze, that body absolutely thrum with potential energy just waiting to go kinetic.
“Who says I want a happily ever after?” asked Stiles in a low voice barely louder than a whisper.
“Everyone wants a happily ever after, Stiles,” he said, his voice still hard.
Stiles studied him through narrowed eyes for a few beats. Peter allowed it.
“What’s yours?” asked Stiles, finally.
Peter should have expected it. He had so perfectly set himself up for the question and Stiles was the type of person to want to know. Still, it caught him off guard and, he wasn’t sure what his face did in response, but it was obvious that he had unwittingly communicated something to Stiles.
“Mine was burned away in a fire,” growled Peter, pushing Stiles back the half an inch into the brick wall at his back sharply enough that the boy’s head made a delightful crack sound.
“Right,” said Stiles, a sneer taking over his face as if he had gotten all the information he needed. Peter’s stomach twisted as if a threat had just discovered his weakness. “I’m not saying that I’d ever be interested in a creepy-ass, mangy, big-bad-wolf-type such as yourself –so don’t flatter yourself, you smarmy asshole, but, if I were, I wouldn’t be deterred by your pathetic attempt at warning me off just now.”
Peter let Stiles go, taking a step back even as he tried to keep the scowl on his face intimidating instead of fearful. Even though his heart was hammering and he felt a cold mix dread and excitement washing over him. FUCK! He could not let a fucking little college student intimidate him like this! He was the true alpha, damnit! He always was. He had been even when his older sister was head of the pack, even when Laura had taken over, even when the responsibility had fallen into little Derek’s lap.
“This isn’t over,” said Stiles as he stepped away from the wall all false bravado and hummingbird heartbeats. “I’m not through with you, Peter Hale. Your ass is mine.”
“I look forward to it,” deadpanned Peter as he watched Stiles wince and then nearly fall over himself to run down the apartment staircase to catch up with the others.
Really, though, he did.