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Stiles paces outside of Peter’s apartment, worrying his lip between his teeth as he runs over his request in his head. His heat had been rapidly approaching, and he was going to be damned if he spent another one locked in his room, alone and in pain. He used to have suppressants, but after the nogitsune possession, they never quite worked right after that. So he had to suffer through his heats alone.
Maybe some would judge Stiles for his choice, but Peter was one of the few people who had seen Stiles at his darkest, and hadn’t batted an eye. The worst he could say was no . And maybe laugh in his face.
Stiles really hopes he doesn’t laugh in his face.
With one last deep breath, Stiles pauses his anxious pacing and raps his knuckles gently against the door. The door opens almost immediately, and Stiles supposes he shouldn’t be surprised; Peter could probably hear his pacing and smell his nerves.
“Stiles, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Peter greets, eyebrows raised in mild amusement as he holds the door open.
Stiles swallows hard, fidgeting where he stands. “Uh–well–”
“Being at a loss for words is unusual for you,” Peter teases but steps aside. Stiles forces himself to walk through the doorway.
“I need an Alpha to spend my heat with,” Stiles blurts before he loses the little confidence he has, feeling his cheeks going red. “I’m tired of solo heats. You were the first person I thought about asking.”
Peter blinks at Stiles in mild surprise, and for a moment, Stiles worries he’s about to reject him. But then he’s stepping forward into Stiles’ space, burying his face against his neck.
“You’re about a day, maybe a day and a half away from it,” Peter says softly, inhaling deeply in a way that makes Stiles shudder with want. Slowly, he pulls back to look at Stiles. “You’re absolutely sure?”
Stiles nods quickly. “Yes. Please.”
“Go home, get what things you need, and come back here,” Peter orders, and though his tone is gentle, Stiles instantly feels the urge to obey itching under his skin. “I’ll get some supplies.”
There’s still a curl of anxiety in Stiles’ chest that makes him pause by the door. “You’re sure you want me?”
Peter rolls his eyes. “I don’t bring just any omegas into my bed, Stiles. Now go.”
Stiles nearly trips over himself as he leaves Peter’s penthouse and returns to the parking garage to get in his jeep. He feels like he’s in an excited daze as he drives home, almost giddy when he finally gets up to his room. He haphazardly packs a duffle bag with his comfiest clothes–though he doubts there will be much time for wearing them—and a blanket that always brings him a little extra comfort when his heats hit. He leaves a note for his father, telling him where he is, and not to worry about him being away for a few days.
When Stiles returns to Peter’s loft in record time–he’s giddy, what can he say– something delicious smelling is wafting through the kitchen and living room.
“Cooking me dinner? You’re more of a romantic than I thought you were,” Stiles chirps, leaning against the counter as Peter pours them each a glass of red wine.
“Don’t get used to it,” Peter retorts, though he has a hint of a fond smile on his lips as he passes him a glass, “This has been a long time coming, is all.”
“I just didn’t take you for an alpha who liked to court, that’s all,” Stiles teases before taking a long sip. “Wait–what do you mean that this is a long time coming?” He pries, scrunching up his face as he studies Peter.
“Is it really that surprising to you that I’ve been pining for you?” Peter snorts, shaking his head as he turns back to the stove.
They eat dinner and finish their wine out on the balcony, mixing small talk about the pack, with a list of their personal do’s and don’t’s for mating. If it was anyone else, Stiles would have been a nervous, awkward wreck. But Peter puts him at ease, makes him laugh when he retells a very awkward experience with the first heat he helped out with. He’s even kind enough to let Stiles’ stay in his room–he suggests the smell of alpha might keep Stiles calm–and takes the bed in his guest room.
Stiles might be just a little smitten.
Stiles’ heat hits full force in the middle of the night–just a tad ahead of when Peter predicted–and forces him awake, overheated and doubled over in cramps. And alone. He doesn’t want to be alone again.
Stiles is about to cry out, his foggy heated brain forgetting that he doesn’t have a very willing alpha just next door. But then Peter is there, calmly shushing him. He whimpers a little when he suddenly feels Peter’s soothing touch on his back, feels himself already leaking slick in his boxers. He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t feeling so overwhelmed.
“Come here, sweetheart. Let’s get you comfortable,” Peter coos softly, coaxing Stiles out of his fetal position and onto his hands and knees, a pillow tucked under his chest for when he inevitably gets tired and collapses. It isn’t even a command but the sound of Peter’s voice is so smooth and makes Stiles melt and obey. Peter works off Stiles’ damp boxers easily and tosses them away, before he palms Stiles’ cheeks and spreads them.
Stiles lets out a cry of surprise as Peter licks a stripe up his hole before working him open on his tongue. His hands clutch in the sheets. Peter eats him out like he’s a starving man and Stiles’ is the only thing he’s eaten in days. It makes his cock throb and a gush of slick slip down his legs. Everything feels good. Amazing really.
But Stiles is impatient and the heat is still twirling up his spine, his body twitching with heat.
Peter pulls back with a growl. “Alright, baby, alright. I’ll fill you up.” Despite how slick Stiles is, Peter still reaches for the lube he had placed earlier on his bedside table. He makes quick work of slicking up his fingers and pressing two immediately into Stiles. It doesn’t take long before he’s adding a third, and then a forth, and Stiles’ is whining and squirming every time Peter brushes his sweet spot.
“N-Need your cock, alpha,” Stiles slurs needily, head hanging between his arms as he rocks back against his fingers insistently. “P-Please.”
Peter chuckles lowly at his enthusiasm, removing his fingers slowly before slicking his cock up with a mix of extra lube and Stiles’ slick. “Well, since you asked so nicely, sweetheart. I suppose I could oblige.” Peter purrs, gripping one of Stiles’ hips in his hand, the other lining his cock up. He presses in one slow, fluid thrust that punches the air from Stiles’ lungs. He leans over Stiles’ back, scenting the back of his neck like his life depends on it.
Stiles arches his back as he’s filled to the brim, not even letting himself adjust before he begins to grind back against his alpha. “W-Want all of you, Peter. Please,” he pleads, looking over his shoulder at Peter with a hazy look.
Peter raises an eyebrow, squeezing Stiles’ hip gently. “You have me, baby,” he rumbles, biting and suckling a few dark marks across his shoulders.
Stiles’ shakes his head. “N-No. Want your full alpha form. Please , Peter,”
Peter stiffens, eyes widening for a second in surprise before narrowing. “I’m not sure about that, sweetheart. I could hurt you.”
“I’ll be fine. I need it,” Stiles all but demands. “F-Fuck me like a true alpha. Or I’ll go find someone else.”
That’s the final straw.
Peter lets out a possessive growl, his claws already extending, digging into Stiles’ tender hips. “Brat,” he hisses. As if he would ever let another alpha touch his sweet little omega again. “You’re not going to be able to walk tomorrow.”
“G-Good.”
Peter slowly allows himself to let go of that tight string of control he had been holding onto since he started eating Stiles’ out. His form grows larger, his fangs dropping low and sharp, his eyes glowing a startling red. And probably most noticeable to Stiles, his cock grows thicker and longer.
Stiles hands claw at the sheets as he lets out a loud groan. “Fuck yesss,” he sputters, gasping as a hairy, long arm slides up his chest and pulls him up and back. He happily lets Peter manhandle him onto his lap and the moment he glances down at himself, he makes a little choked sound.
“P-Peter,” Stiles breathes, a shaky hand coming to rest on the small swell of his lower stomach where Peter’s impossibly large dick is now pressing against him. The thought of how fucking hot it is hits him hard, his cock twitching as he suddenly comes against his stomach and hand, another wave of slick sliding down his thighs. “Holy shit.”
Peter’s only response is a deep growl of approval, a large clawed hand nearly dwarfing Stiles’ as it covers his messy stomach. He begins to thrust up into Stiles, in a way that makes Stiles’ whimper and melt back against his chest. He’s still worked up despite having just come, but he feels boneless, enjoying the way he feels almost like a personal fucktoy with how big Peter is. The heat is still lapping up his spine, but the discomfort is no longer hovering there. All he feels is warmth and a need to be bred.
“Mine,” Peter snarls against Stiles’ ear, his hips thrusting up harder and rougher. Stiles nods his head vigorously, scrambling for balance. He brings a hand up behind him, gripping Peter’s shoulder.
“Y-Yours. Always yours. Breed me, please,” Stiles moans, trying his best to rock his hips along with Peter.
Those must be the magic words that Peter needs to hear because he clamps down on Stiles’ shoulder with his teeth–deep enough for indents and a hearty bruise, but not enough to seriously break skin–and holds his hips tight. He rocks up roughly, bouncing Stiles’ on his cock mercilessly.
A plethora of whimpers and cries tumble from Stiles’ lips as he gets fucked, eyes widening as he begins to feel Peter’s knot catching at his rim. It feels almost on the edge of too much, but he so desperately craves the fullness.
“Knot me, alpha,” Stiles cries, arching his back as he comes again. As if on cue, Peter practically howls as his knot finally locks them in place. He’s left scratches all over the pale skin of Stiles’ stomach and hips, and his neck and shoulders are scattered with bites that make Peter’s inner wolf preen with pride.
Stiles remains still against Peter, panting and shaking a little as he comes down from the initial wave of heat. He knows it can’t possibly be over so soon, but at least he isn’t alone.
“T-thank you, alpha,” Stiles whispers breathlessly, turning his head slightly to burrow his face against Peter’s throat.
“Anytime, sweetheart.” Peter shifts them carefully on the bed, settling Stiles’ and himself on their sides. The shifting makes them both groan softly, and Stiles brings a hand to his stomach once again, idly running it over the small bump there.
“Think it’ll take?” Stiles says idly, before he can stop himself. He feels his cheeks flush in mild embarrassment.
“Might have to try a couple more times,” Peter teases, grinning as he hooks his chin over Stiles’ shoulder to eye the bump himself. “Maybe we’ll get lucky though.”
A look of fondness crosses over Stiles’ face, a warmth that isn’t heat related filling his chest.
“Yeah, maybe we will.”