Chapter Text
Stiles walks out of the backdoor with a small skip in his step. He unbuttons his shirt and pulls out his phone. Looking down both ends of the empty alley, he types out another text to Scott.
Going 2 get laid. Suck ittttttt
He smirks as he slides his phone back into his pocket. What’s the point in being an asshole chef if he doesn’t actually act like an asshole?
At least that’s how he reassures himself as he ghosts his best friend for some dick. Some great dick—but a dick all the same.
Stiles slowly wanders down the alley toward the employee parking lot.
He doesn’t spot Peter.
Leaning against the wall, he waits for another five minutes before sighing. Stiles runs a hand through his hair—jeez, he needs a cut—and berates himself for thinking that Peter wanted another round, that maybe the man wanted something more than just another round.
Shit.
He blows out a loud breath and kicks off of the wall, walking towards his jeep with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes fixed forlornly on his feet.
“What’s got your pretty face so upset, darling?”
Stiles chokes back a scream, scrambling backward at the sound of the disembodied voice.
He can see the back of his jeep parked at the end of the lot.
There’s a figure leaning against the passenger door.
“Jesus tap-dancing Christ, Peter!” He’s got one hand over his heart and the other gripping the can of pepper spray that’s attached to his keys. “You can’t just loiter in dark parking lots and say creepy one-liners—you’re, you’re fucking lucky I didn’t mace your motherfucking face!” Stiles’ racing heart slows as he takes in deep breaths.
Peter’s face comes into view as he steps forward out of the shadows. “My apologies. I was simply waiting for you. When I saw you approaching, you looked quite distraught.” His brow furrows. “Are you okay?”
Stiles huffs. “Yeah, I just—I’m fine.” He walks into Peter’s space, looking cautiously into the man’s blue gaze. “Did you still want to—”
And then Stiles sees it.
Sees him.
Another figure emerges from the dark, rounding the hood of Stiles’ jeep and coming to a stop next to where he and Peter are standing.
“Chris,” Stiles breathes.
He backs away from Peter instinctively. “What…?”
Chris gives him a slow smile, his eyes glittering with a satisfied warmth. “Judging by the look on your face, I take it Peter failed to mention that I would be waiting for you, too?”
They both turn to look at Peter as the man shrugs, unrepentant. “I thought it would be a nice surprise.”
Stiles backs a few steps away from both of them. “You two…,” he looks between Chris and Peter. “So, you two know about…,” Stiles smacks his hands together sharply a few times, and then mimes between him and each man. They both look at each other, amused.
“Yes, Stiles,” Chris says, “we both knew about,” he mimics Stiles’ crazy gestures, “as soon as you introduced yourself as our waiter.” He glances at Peter. “Peter and I have known each other for years. You could say that we…have similar tastes in male partners.”
Stiles’ eyes widen.
“We’ve cruised the same haunts for a long time now,” Peter interjects. “And after so many years, you come to notice certain things about a man.” He coughs out a laugh. “Like when Christopher dribbled water out of his mouth when he was checking out your ass every time you walked away from our table. The man is not subtle.” Peter steps closer to Stiles. “That you can trust.”
Chris growls low in his throat. “Don’t let Peter fool you, either. He was practically deepthroating the breadsticks that you brought out.”
Peter smacks Chris in the shoulder. “Now, don’t be crass.” He winks at Stiles. “He’s not wrong, though. I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”
And Stiles? Stiles is hard again.
He coughs awkwardly into his fist. “I did.” Both men stop scowling at each other to look over at Stiles. “Notice, that is. I was sporting an erection all night thanks to the two of you.” He glances away, embarrassed by his own words. “It was torture—like I was reliving my night with you.” Stiles fixes his gaze on Peter, and then on Chris. “My nights with both of you.”
He adjusts himself in his tight slacks.
Both of their electric blue stares drop to his crotch.
“Yes, well,” Peter licks his lips, “we’re here to ask if you’d like to have another one of those nights…”
“With the both of us,” Chris finishes.
Stiles blinks, and then looks up at the night sky.
Whoever’s up there—thank you.
His gaze drops back down to earth. He can see the hunger in their eyes.
“Yes. To both of you, yes—just,” Stiles swallows, “fuck yes.”
“Here…just, just let me get my—oh fuck, my—keys,” Stiles gasps out as he’s slammed against the front door of his apartment. Chris is making his way along Stiles' jaw—the man’s graying beard scratching his cheeks and his muscled arms keeping Stiles pinned effortlessly.
Guh, Stiles can’t get enough of him.
While Chris is sticking his tongue down Stiles’ throat, Peter is sticking a hand into Stiles' pocket, grabbing a handful of his bulge as he searches for the house keys.
Stiles shudders as Chris' hands slide down his face, traveling along his body until both palms settle on the curve of his ass. He whimpers when Chris' hands—those big, strong hands—dig harder into his flesh.
Chris breaks away from their kiss when Peter opens the door. “God, I’ve been dreaming about you for a fucking month,” he growls, nipping at Stiles’ bottom lip.
Peter disappears into the apartment, shrugging off his suit jacket as he enters.
“Wrap.” Kiss. “Your.” Suck. “Arms.” Bite. “Around.” Lick. “My neck,” Chris rasps out, finishing his order with a smooth roll of his hips.
“Mmph,” is all Stiles can think to say in response.
Once his arms are tightly wound around Chris’ neck, Stiles feels those wonderful hands dig into his thighs, hoisting him up. He wraps his legs around Chris’ waist as he’s carried through the doorway. Chris takes a moment to pause—breathing heavily against Stiles’ parted lips—and kicks a long leg backward, slamming the door shut with his booted foot.
“So hot,” Stiles mumbles, grinding down against Chris.
“You like that, huh?” Chris chuckles, his gaze half-lidded.
He walks them over to Stiles’ leather couch. Chris sets him down atop the back of the sofa, dragging his hips closer until he fits into the cradle of Stiles’ legs. Snaking a hand in between them, Chris grips Stiles’ cock and strokes him through his pants.
Stiles moans, long and loud—absolutely shameless in the way his hips start to stutter under Chris’ firm grasp.
“It’s nice to know that you’ve kept everything in the same spot,” Peter purrs as he steps out of Stiles’ bedroom. Stiles turns his head to the side, looking at Peter as he starts unbuttoning his shirt. The tease strips slowly, and Stiles can’t look away from the miles of glorious, tanned muscle that are being revealed.
“I was right…I’m actually going to die,” Stiles pants, “You two are going to kill me.” He frames Chris’ face with his long fingers, diving back in to suck on his tongue.
He can hear Peter kneel on the couch cushions behind him. Stiles’ arms are yanked backward, Peter’s hands coming around his chest and ripping open his shirt. Chris untangles himself from Stiles’ octopus grip, dropping to his knees and untying Stiles’ shoes. He slides back up, granting Stiles another kiss before taking ahold of his belt buckle.
Stiles wriggles as Peter strips his shirt off of him, the man’s warm, naked chest coming to rest at his back. He squirms as Chris wrestles with his pants, pulling both his slacks and his briefs down in one hard tug.
“You might be needing this,” Peter says, tossing Chris the tube of lube Stiles keeps by his bedside.
Chris catches it with one hand and starts jacking Stiles’ cock with the other.
“Goddamn you both,” Stiles croaks as Peter starts playing with his nipples.
Peter just laughs and murmurs, “Love you too, sweetheart.”
Chris takes a moment to peel off his leather jacket, tossing it aside carelessly. He slots himself back in between Stiles’ legs and squirts some lube onto his fingers. He looks Stiles dead in the eye and whispers, “Now, what do you say?”
“Shit,” Stiles groans.
Peter stills for a second behind him.
God, he remembers this—this, this madness. Stiles remembers this particular game, how it made him feel.
God, he’s missed this.
Chris strokes his dick, sliding his palm down until he reaches Stiles’ balls. “What do you say?” he growls out.
Stiles reaches back and holds onto Peter. “Please,” he moans. “Please fuck me.”
Chris smirks. “Now was that so hard?” And then he slips two fingers into Stiles’ ass.
“I never knew you were so…demanding, Christopher,” Peter says, licking along the base of Stiles’ throat.
Stiles pants as Chris finger fucks him. He drags one arm away from Peter’s neck and steadies himself on the couch as Chris picks up the pace.
“Fuck!” he screams, sweat starting to drip down his temple.
Chris looks up from watching his hand piston in and out of Stiles and holds Peter’s surprised gaze. “I didn’t know either.” He slows his hand, running his thumb over Stiles’ perineum before sliding a third digit in. “Not before him.” His eyes burn through Stiles, and he can’t look away. “One look at him and I just—need,” he twists his wrist, “this from him, whatever this is.”
“So right,” Stiles mumbles. “So right, so good.” He bites the inside of his cheek. “You’re so good to me, Chris.”
Stiles watches, attention rapt and Peter biting at his ear, as Chris jerks away, kicking off his boots and unfastening his belt. Chris meets his gaze. A glimmer of déjà vu settles over them.
Chris pulls his jeans down to his thighs and grabs one of the condoms Peter set on the sofa.
Stiles stares as Chris’ thick dick bobs in the air. Chris slides on the condom, slicks more lube on his dick, and then steps back into Stiles’ space.
“You look so beautiful,” Peter breathes in his ear.
And then Chris thrusts forward, burying inch after inch of his cock into Stiles.
Peter fists Stiles’ leaking dick and starts stroking, a counter to the agonizingly slow fuck Chris is giving him.
“You’re a fucking sadist,” Stiles grits out through clenched teeth.
“The word you’re looking for is hedonist,” Peter corrects.
He grunts as Chris slows even further. “I wasn’t talking to you, handsome.”
Chris smiles beatifically down at Stiles. “So you remember our time together.”
“Yes, you bastard,” he shouts. Breathing heavily, Stiles begins to laugh. “How’s that table, by the way?”
Chris laughs, too. “Still broken. I’m thinking of turning it into an art installation.”
“I’d pay to see that,” Stiles huffs.
Peter pinches his nipple. “So would I.”
“C’mon,” Stiles pleads. “Give me what I want.” He clenches, reveling in Chris’ sharp inhalation. “What we both want.” He licks his lips. “Please,” he whispers.
Chris shudders, drawing his hips back slowly. “Fuck, yes.” Then he slams back into Stiles’ ass, eliciting a “Damn” from Peter and a hissed “Yessss” from Stiles.
Stiles turns his head and captures Peter’s soft lips with his own. They pant into each others’ mouths as Chris continues to drill into Stiles.
“You like it so rough, sweetie,” Peter hums against his lips. “You just let him take and take and take, don’t you?” He drags his arms down Stiles’ abs, nails scratching at his happy trail. “It’s so lovely to watch,” he glances at Chris’ cock pounding into him, “but you remember our time together, too, don’t you?”
Stiles shivers and nods his head.
“You might like to be fucked, darling, but you also like to be worshipped,” Peter tugs at his hair. “And that’s what I did, didn’t I? I worshipped that pretty cock and your hungry hole until you cried.”
Stiles mewls into Peter’s mouth as Chris grinds inside him.
“And you want to know the best part?” Peter asks, his hand stroking Stiles’ cock faster, keeping time with Chris’ hard thrusts.
Stiles nods, greedy for Peter’s dirty talk—his cheeks splotchy red and his body curling with the mounting pleasure.
“I’m going to do it all again. Only this time, you’re going to be all fucked out and spent, cum drunk and sensitive when I do it.” Peter lets go of his cock and watches as Stiles helplessly humps the air. “After Chris makes you come, you’re going to sit on my dick and ride me until you do it all over again.”
Peter’s silky promise and Chris’ sharp strokes push Stiles over the edge. He comes with a hoarse cry, dick emptying all over his belly.
“Oh fuck!” Chris grunts as Stiles orgasms around him. He thrusts a few moments longer, and then finishes while grinding against Stiles’ prostate. Chris shudders above him, eyes bright and dilated.
He and Chris bask in their shared glow for a few minutes before Peter plucks at his nipples. Chris nods and slides out of Stiles, gathering him close for a few more slow kisses.
Stiles hears the crinkle of another condom wrapper.
Peter spins Stiles around and pulls him down into his naked lap. “That was breathtaking, you beautiful boy.” He lowers his head and sucks at one of Stiles’ sensitive nipples. “Are you ready?”
Stiles can’t nod fast enough.
Chris walks away from the living room, now completely naked, and into the bathroom.
Stiles lifts a leg, straddling Peter, and then takes ahold of the man’s long cock. He lowers himself slowly, shouting out, “There’s…water and snacks...in the kitchen.” He gasps as Peter licks his jaw.
Stiles starts rocking side to side, swiveling his hips until he finds the perfect spot. Peter laughs at Stiles’ victorious smile and then kisses him. Stiles begins to ride Peter, all smooth and leisurely. Peter moans.
Chris wanders out of the bathroom, strolls over, and runs a hand up his spine. “Thank you, Stiles.” And then he disappears into the kitchen.
Stiles’ eyes roll back as Peter thrusts upward at the same time he rides downward.
“Yes, Peter, just like that!”
“Like this?” Peter’s balls smack against Stiles’ ass.
“Yes, you smug prick, like that.”
And then Stiles loses himself to their dance.
“Do you know what that filthy mouth of yours gets you?” Peter asks, voice soft and strained.
Stiles opens his eyes and gazes down at the slap of their bodies. “What?” he murmurs.
Peter’s eyes turn into pleased slits. “An audience.”
“Wha—?”
Peter pulls out of Stiles and turns him in his lap.
Chris is sitting across from them in the loveseat, thighs spread wide and a half-drunk bottle of water at his side. The man is palming his dick idly, and Stiles can’t help but meet Chris’ lusty gaze and groan.
Slipping back into Stiles, Peter leans forward and says, “Look at him. He’s already had you, fucked you nice and hard, and he still can’t get enough.” Stiles yelps as Peter reaches around and grips his sensitive dick. “He’s already planning three more rounds, just look at him.”
Stiles looks. He whimpers at what he sees.
It makes him fuck Peter faster.
“Yes, that’s it. Take what you need.”
Peter strips his cock until Stiles can’t take it anymore.
He gives into the overwhelming pleasure and just lets that ache burn.
Stiles spills into Peter’s hand with a loud shout.
Peter groans into his ear, whispering sweet nothings as he continues to fuck into Stiles.
He comes with a sharp inhale, both of his hands running up and down Stiles’ legs. Peter cuddles him close as they both try to slow their breathing.
After a beat, Stiles rolls off of Peter and slumps into the cushion next to him.
The three of them settle into a comfortable silence.
Peter glances over at him and asks, “Did I hear something about snacks?”
When 3 am rolls around and they're all squeezed into Stiles' bed, panting and sated, Stiles laughs.
He chuckles softly until both of his lovers turn their heads and look at him. Then he laughs harder.
"What?" Peter asks.
"It's just, I think I need to tell you both something." Stiles holds a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter.
Chris rolls onto his side to face him. "What is it?"
Stiles meets his curious gaze. "You know how nervous I was at dinner?"
Peter strokes his hair. "You hid it very well, but yes."
"It wasn't just because of you two."
Chris raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Stiles stops laughing. "If we're going to continue doing this, y'know, seeing where all of this goes, I thought I should just get it all out in the open." He puts his arms behind his head and looks up at the ceiling. "I had sex with both of your daughters."
Both men still.
Chris jerks upright. "Wait, what?"
Peter sits up, leaning on his elbow. "Both of our daughters?"
Stiles nods, biting his lip.
There's nothing but silence.
"You're both better."
Both men whip around to stare at him. "That's what you were wondering, isn't it?"
Peter's shoulders start to shake, and Chris reaches out and smacks him. "It isn't funny!"
"It’s not?" Peter snickers. He lays back down and curls into Stiles' side.
Stiles can see the corners of Chris' mouth raise in the moonlight. "No, it isn't funny asshole."
But it is. It really, really is.