PROMPT: "Mate, you say you ship steter, but I have yet to see you write them. Your AO3 is suspiciously devoid of Steter writings. I feel the need to call bullshit." - anon
Stiles wanted to hate himself for the fluttering interest starting to rise in his groin, but he was a little preoccupied trying to remember to breathe.
“All I would have to do was bite down… right…. here,” spoke Peter in a low, sultry voice that shouldn’t have made Stiles want so much –not with Peter’s eyes flashing red, his canines long and pointed, and his breath ghosting over the thin skin of Stiles’ wrist.
“Dude,” Stiles finally managed to croak out as indignantly as he could muster considering the warring feelings of terror and arousal at Peter’s presence. “You are starting to sound like a broken record. You’ve already asked and I already said no.”
Peter leaned in, letting his lips drag briefly up the inside if Stiles forearm. His eyes were closed and he had a blissed out look on his face. Stiles wondered what he smelled or tasted like to give Peter that look. There was a part of him who wanted Peter to climb under the blankets with him, who wanted to see what Peter's strange and, frankly, kind of terrifying obsession with him would lead to.
“I thought I’d give you another chance,” Peter murmured against the inside of Stiles’ wrist sending goosebumps racing across Stiles entire arm. “I’m the alpha again and this time–”
“No means no, you fucking creep,” growled Stiles, trying to pull his arm from Peter’s grasp.
“I would have been so good to you,” said Peter with sad resignation, brushing his lips against Stiles’ arm one more time before letting him go.
“Just get the fuck out of my room,” commanded Stiles hoarsely.
“If you change your mind–”
“I won’t!” snapped Stiles.
He watched angrily as Peter nodded to himself and turned to leave. Stiles tried his hardest to keep his breathing steady, not wanting to give Peter anymore indication of how he had affected Stiles than his wolfy senses hadn't already picked up on.
Once Peter was gone through his window, Stiles let out a long breath and pulled the blankets up to his shoulders. He could tell by the tent in the blankets and warmth in his belly that he was more than half hard. Fuck, why did he have to go to bed naked that night?
Stiles shuddered in a mix of arousal and trepidation at the thought of only his thin blanket having been between him and Peter. He squirmed with want at the thought of that warm breath ghosting over other places than his wrist --places where his skin seemed just as thin, but much more sensitive.
He waited exactly eight minutes and twenty two seconds after Peter had gone before he gave in and wrapped a hand around his dick to tug it to full attention. He hoped Peter had left completely and hadn't stuck around to creep on Stiles further.
He closed his eyes tight as he moved his fist up and down his dick, biting his lip when a groan started building in his throat. He knew he couldn’t trust Peter, the man was broken and power hungry, always scheming and manipulating, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want him. Fuck, Stiles was such a fucking mess. When he slept, his dreams would alternate between horrible nightmares and delicious sex dreams, with both kinds heavily featuring Peter Hale and his smarmy smile and piercing eyes.
Stiles let out a long, low groan when he came, throwing his head back against his pillow and enjoying the release. He felt lax and gloriously spent, the tightness of his body from the encounter with Peter completely gone.
“I could have done that for you,” came Peter’s voice, startling Stiles.
His eyes flew open and he quickly sat up, body tense once again. Peter was leaning against the window he had disappeared out of not fifteen minutes earlier.
“Fuck!” Stiles spat out in embarrassed anger.
“You keep saying no to me, Stiles... and maybe I would believe you if the rest of you wasn’t screaming the exact opposite every time I’m near,” said Peter.
“I don’t want to be a werewolf and I sure as hell don’t wanna be in your pack,” growled Stiles. “Now, get out and stay the fuck away from me.”
“Alright, alright, I just wanted to be sure, ” said Peter, “teenagers… such confusing creatures.”
“I think I've been pretty clear,” spat Stiles.
“You smell a little messy,” said Peter, canines lengthening again, “could I at least help you with clean up before I go?”
Stiles’ couldn’t help the low groan as he watched Peter hungrily luck his lips and the meaning of his request sunk in. Fuuuuck yeeess, he wanted that, but no. No.
“Just go,” ground out Stiles.
Peter sighed heavily as if Stiles were being unreasonable before swinging out the window with dramatic flair. Stiles glared after him.