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“You’re so hard, slut. Look at your clit,” Stiles says, his smile deviant as he flicks the tip of Peter’s cock, all veiny and red and weeping, trapped under the cock ring wrapped around the base of his dick and balls. Peter hisses, his hips twitching, his eyes flashing blue. Stiles just happened to find Peter like this, and Peter isn’t sure what he was doing here in the first place, but it seems passed the point of asking. It’s possible they’ve been here before, but Stiles would deny, deny, deny, so every time it happens, Peter just acts like it’s the first time, even though this happens way more than Stiles would ever care to admit.
He looks down at his cock, nearly purple as it drools out precum, licking his bottom lip before pulling it between his teeth. “I’m such a slut, Stiles, I need your cum inside my pussy,” Peter says, hips twitching as he writhes over his bed. Stiles’ eyes grow darker, his hand palming over his hardening cock as he shifts himself through his pants.
“Yeah? You a slut for my cock, Peter?” Stiles asks, his cock already leaking, a wet spot forming over his pants. “Show me that pussy.”
Peter does as he’s told, rolling over before sitting up on his hands and knees, his ass in perfect view. He’s got a butt plug in, preparing for this since this afternoon, hopeful Stiles would choose today to wander around the Hale house for no particular reason.
“You’re such a fucking slut, look at you. You were hoping for this all day, weren’t you?” Stiles asks, his voice low, his heart speeding up as he palms over his erection. “You need me to mark you, beta?”
Peter can’t help the tiny whimper that escapes him at the thought. Stiles hit the nail right on the head—he doesn’t care if what’s left of his family can smell the sixteen-year-old’s semen dripping out of him. That’s the whole point. Even if Stiles won’t ever say it, Peter knows who he belongs to. Any creature with sensitive senses would know it.
“Yes, Alpha. Claim your pussy.”
His cock is painfully hard, the blood flowing in, trapped under the silicone ring. His hole flutters around the butt plug, his back arching as he starts to push it out. Just before the bulb starts to slip out of him, Stiles presses on the base, easing it back in, a wicked huff of laughter falling from his lips when Peter keens in discontentment. He loves to tease Peter too much, sometimes to the point of ruining his orgasm, but that didn’t bother him as much as it should have. What bothers him most is Stiles claiming he’s straight, when he’s so clearly not.
Peter may indulge him and call his hole a pussy, but at the end of the day, Stiles’ lips end up sucking on the dark and hairy puckered skin that is anything but, and it’s as clear as the light of day that boy loves it.
“Spread your pussy lips. Show me your insides,” Stiles demands, and Peter can hear his hand rubbing over fabric as Stiles strokes himself, his precum blooming as his wet spot darkens.
Peter’s head and shoulders press into the mattress as he reaches back to hold his cheeks open, this time successfully pushing the plug out. He flexes the ring of muscle, wet and sticky with lubricant and a bit of his own cum—he likes to add his in before Stiles claims him, their fluids mixing.
“Kiss my pussy, Stiles, please, please,” Peter begs, and he swears this is the only time he’d ever beg, spread in front of his Alpha, because he knows how powerful it feels to have someone on their knees, pleading in wanton submission. He wants Stiles to feel powerful—he is only human, after all. But with a powerful werewolf between his legs begging for pussy kisses, the boy’s ego has bloated, and in the end, Peter gets exactly what he wants. Claimed.
Stiles can’t seem to hold back anymore, his hot breath on Peter’s pussy, shivers creeping up his spine. Finally, wet lips press over his used hole, and Peter’s body jerks back to feel all of him, moaning out once Stiles’ tongue laps at the sensitive skin. Peter’s cock drags over the bedsheets, his balls attempting to draw in for release only to meet resistance, and it makes him want to cry, an ache overcoming his bones as he ruts pathetically into the mattress. He’s been edging himself all day, and he needs to fucking come. Stiles isn’t going to make that easy for him.
“Stiles,” Peter whines, his limbs stretching out as he keens. “Fuck me, Alpha, please, I need to come on your cock.”
Stiles’ hands have gripped his hips, his tongue sharp as he presses it past the ring of muscle. Stiles takes his time right where he’s at, his tongue fucking inside his beta, his hand reaching between Peter’s legs to tease at his frenulum, just one finger stroking incessantly at the sensitive spot beneath the swollen head. Peter would slice their throats were anyone to hear him right now, unable to contain his desperate whines, sweat spiking over his skin as he shudders and moans.
When Stiles pulls away, his lips making a loud smacking sound as he parts, his saliva cools over Peter’s skin, muscles quivering.
“Please, Alpha, I need to come so fucking bad, please,” Peter implores, his tone despairing not just for Stiles’ ego, mouth watering as he pants. At this rate, he’s gonna bust as soon as Stiles slips inside him.
Peter can hear the impish grin in his tone when he speaks, “Tell me when you’re close.”
“I’m close,” Peter snaps back, peaking over his shoulder with a glare. Stiles’ eyes are nearly all pupil in the dark room, his smirk mischievous.
Stiles’ skinny fingers tease at his hole before he presses them inside, slipping with ease and curling just right, fingertips stroking over the bundle of nerves inside him. Peter gasps, his hips falling onto the mattress as his hips rut helplessly, the tip of his cock burning against the sheets that feel like sandpaper on his skin. Tears well in his eyes, his body aching for release, the pads of his hands and feet nearly numb as Stiles milks the head of his cock and presses on his prostate.
“Stiles,” Peter gasps out, tears slipping over his nose as his body shakes, “Please mark me, Alpha, please, I need your cum in my pussy, please,” he cries, his hole fluttering, his balls aching as Stiles fingers fuck into him, relentlessly flicking his thumb over Peter’s leaking clit.
“Oh fuck, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come,” Peter whines, hips sputtering as Stiles milks the tip of his cock, and right before Peter releases, Stiles snatches his hands away, cum spilling out of him, his pussy now void and unfulfilled as the wave washes over him and sends him… nowhere.
He can’t help but let out a devastated sob, robbed of the delicious orgasm he’d been building up all day. Peter hates it when Stiles ruins his orgasms, and Stiles knows this. It's the only reason he does it so often.
Stiles laughs wickedly behind him, his voice low as Peter sobs into his sheets, his cock still sensitive and painful when Stiles starts teasing a finger at the frenulum again. His legs press together in instinct, and Stiles’ hand comes down over his ass immediately, a loud smack resounding in the room as his skin heats up in its quick absence.
“Keep your legs open, slut,” Stiles demands, and Peter does as he’s told with a soft whimper, tears spilling over his cheeks. Stiles immediately returns to the sensitive spot, determined to keep him from softening, which is nearly impossible with the ring still wrapped around his cock despite how much his cock is screaming to slacken.
“It hurts, please, Alpha, stop, please,” Peter cries, his skin crawling, every inch of him on fire.
“I thought you wanted to come for me?” Stiles asks, his tone a feigning innocence as his hand wraps around the shaft just below the head, his grip relentless as he brings the head of Peter’s cock to his empty hand, stroking Peter’s clit against his palm. “You’ll come as often as I want you to, Peter. Got it, slut?”
Peter keens, his voice breaking as he chokes on a sob and nods dutifully. Stiles is only giving him what he wants, and Peter can’t even blame him for the monkey’s paw. It’s a nice touch, he has to admit.
Stiles pulls another orgasm out of him, this one even less satisfying than the last, tears staining his cheeks in his overstimulation as his balls empty over the sheets. He knows Stiles will steal another out of him.
“That’s a good slut, just like that,” Stiles says, his tone mesmerized as he watches Peter writhe and whimper beneath him. “Spread your pussy for me.”
Peter is shaking as he pulls his knees back under him, perching his ass out as he reaches back and spreads his cheeks. He can hear the boy’s heartbeat racing, his breath heavy as he strokes himself, pants just past his hips, shirt pouring off him.
“Tell me what a slut you are, Peter. Tell me what your pussy needs,” Stiles pants out, his stroking sounds quickening.
“I’m your beta slut, Stiles. Please cum in my pussy, Alpha,” Peter responds, flexing his hole, his cock brushing cold strands of cum between his thighs as they quiver.
“Yeah? You need my cum, baby? Need to walk around and let everyone know I marked you?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Peter breathes out, his voice hanging on by a thread as he nods in desperation. Even if Stiles only comes on his pussy, it’ll be enough. It’s pathetic, and it’s not what he wants, but it’ll be enough.
“That’s right, slut. That’s my pussy. Spread it, baby,” Stiles commands, and Peter’s two middle fingers press inside him, hooking over the ring as he spreads his pussy open, muscles fluttering in anticipation. “Oh, fuck, good girl, just like that,” Stiles moans out, his voice breaking as his hand presses over the small of Peter’s back, thumb dipping into his crack as he tugs up on the skin. Stiles is babbling now, calling Peter his slut, his pussy filthy, his breath speeding up, and he moans out as he comes, his hot semen marking Peter’s pussy, dripping inside his exposed hole and over his bruising balls.
Stiles falls back into the chair beside Peter’s bed, his arms resting over each armrest as he catches his breath and watches Peter attempt to scoop up every bit of precious cum up to shove inside his yearning hole.
As Peter searches for the butt plug to hold it all inside, Stiles laughs devilishly behind him, and Peter can feel his skin flushing in humiliation. Yeah, he wanted to come, but what he really wanted was Stiles’ fat cock buried deep enough to claim him from the inside, and now he’s doing his best with what he’s got.
“You’re so pathetic, Hale, look at you. You’d drink my cum from a cup, wouldn’t you, slut?”
Peter’s ass is still shamelessly perched in the air, his cock still painfully hard as he finds himself nodding a little too eagerly. “Yes.”
Stiles hums in response as if he’s got a plan in the works, and Peter realizes he’d eat just about anything from that boy. He just wants Stiles inside him, a part of him at all times, forever. Is that so much to ask?
He should know by now Stiles will always give him what he asks for, in the least unassuming way possible. Peter hates it, but he always ends up begging for more in the end.
"Roll over, I want to kiss your clit," Stiles says, his tongue licking over his lips. Peter doesn't think he's got another orgasm in him right now, the thought of it sending sharp splinters over his skin, but he once again does as he's told, his legs spreading as Stiles climbs in between them. His hand wraps around Peter's shaft once again, his fingers forming a tight ring just below his cockhead as the boy leans in, his sharp tongue digging into the slit. Peter's body writhes and attempts to pull away, but Stiles' tight grip around his cock prevents that, his eyes dark as he watches Peter through his lashes. He only focuses on the head, sharpening his tongue before flattening it again, sometimes wrapping his lips over the dribbling tip, until finally all he does is suckle at it like a nipple, tongue relentless.
It's all Peter can do to cry and rock his hips up, his hole clamping around the plug, his whines high and tight. "It hurts, Stiles, please, please, I can't, I can't come anymore," Peter blathers, his fingers gripping the sheets, his thighs shaking, but Stiles persists, drawing his orgasm out like he's sucking on a milkshake. Peter can't take it, his skin itching from the inside out, his brain melting, eyes crossing, and finally, whatever orgasm was left in him tips over the edge, and Stiles once again releases him just before he comes. It's the most disappointing orgasm of his life, his dick throbbing with each futile wave, not even any semen spilling out of him to testify to the torture his cock has just been subjected to.
This pleases Stiles, his lips pulled back in an evil smirk, his eyes bright. Then he's gone, leaving Peter all alone to pick up the pieces of himself.