Chapter Text
Peter woke at some point in the night to soft, sweet sounds, and an overwhelming scent of arousal and sex. He lifted his head blearily and his brows raised when Stiles bucked against his thigh with a soft, sleepy moan, in the midst of a wet-dream. The boy's leg dragged over Peter's own sleep-aided erection and Peter dropped his head back onto the armrest.
He really should've brought them to his bed. Oh, how he would've loved to have those scents in his sheets.
He closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the smells and sensations, enjoy the way Stiles moaned, enjoy the hard length that dragged lazily against his thigh, and the thigh which dragged against his own. He didn't consider for a second waking Stiles up and ending this lovely moment. Instead, he carefully took hold of Stiles' knee, just to keep it in place, and let himself work himself up. It had been so long since he'd had something like this, and he wasn't going to take it for granted, no matter how 'wrong' it was. It wasn't Stiles' fault, after all. And Peter wasn't one to let a desirable opportunity pass so easily.
And when Stiles' breath got faster, his body got tense, his movements got quicker, he allowed himself to tumble over the edge of a quiet, wonderful, half-conscious orgasm along with the boy. Soft, breathy grunting filled the loft for several moments as they both rode out the pleasure... And then Stiles froze, and went to push himself up with fear soaring into his wonderful orgasm-scent.
Peter squeezed his knee, bucking up into his thigh, just in case the boy hadn't realized that he'd done the same thing he had. "It's okay," Peter whispered, and noted a bit of a shake in his voice. "Lay back down."
Stiles swallowed loudly, heart pounding in his chest, but the fear slowly slipped away from his scent, and was replaced by something much sweeter. He settled back down, and after a few moments of Peter running his fingers up and down the boy's arm soothingly, they both fell to sleep once more.
Neither of them mentioned it in the morning. But Peter did offer Stiles a pair of his underwear, and Stiles took them with a furious blush.
"Feel free to spend the night any time," Peter purred with a smirk on their way to the door, and Stiles smiled shyly at him.
"Yeah yeah, Creeperwolf... But uh..." Stiles ran his hand through his hair, pulling at the back of his neck nervously. "What do you think about... You know... Like, just normal scenting, too? Like, normal... touching and stuff?"
Peter raised a brow. "In front of the pack?"
Stiles shrugged.
Peter hummed, and thought about it. He worried slightly that this would lead to some very big issues - namely, he worried it would lead to Stiles touching Peter too much, causing the wolf to want to shove him up against a wall and bring about an orgasm that has nothing to do with the lack of control of a wet-dream... But, he couldn't exactly make himself say no , either. "Anything you want, dear. You have my permission."
Stiles smiled and ducked his head. "Okay, cool."
"That being said," he added, "I feel I might need to remind you that my control may get very, very thin if you start getting too bold."
Stiles bit his lip around that grin. "Noted. But I'm gonna remind you that I don't want this getting complicated. Okay? Just a means to an end, I guess. Just a way for us to get the physical touch we need."
Peter agreed, even though, not so deep down at all, it pained him to think this was all they could be.
And just like that, Peter had just gotten himself the most complicatedly simple platonic relationship which was nothing short of a wondrous conglomeration of comfort-frustration-arousal-denial-perfection .
Stiles started scenting him at pack meetings, hesitantly at first, until it became normal for Stiles to perch on Peter's armrest, shoulder to shoulder, leg dangling to brush against Peter's own. And the wolf found himself leaning into Stiles' side, or wrapping his arms around his waist to nuzzle the back of his neck, just to hear the soft sigh come from the boy - just to smell his anxiety lessen just a little. They teamed up more often than not on missions and research binges, they seeked out each other's company, and spent the night with each other so often, their scents had nearly become indistinguishable. They simply became so comfortable just touching each other that they both forgot it was even strange.
Until the pack finally came forward against Derek's requests and accused the two of them of sleeping together, going so far as to threaten kicking Peter out of the pack for taking advantage of Stiles.
Stiles had tried to scream at them to back off and leave it alone. Peter had tried to approach it calmly and suggest very nicely that they stay the fuck out of their business or there would be bodies to bury. But finally, Derek had stomped into the room and roared at all the Betas, "Shut up and leave them alone! If you can't understand it, then you don't get to try to butt in and change it!"
The Betas had all fallen silent and shrunk away, and Stiles had been surprised by Derek's anger on an issue the boy surely thought the Alpha didn't care about. But Peter knew, and he was simply surprised that he had actually stood up against his idiot betas for once.
The first night Stiles had spent over, Derek had come down and immediately smelt what had happened on the couch. At first, he was angry, thinking the worst, just like the Betas. Thinking Peter was the one who took advantage of Stiles, and not the other way around. But Derek was touch starved too, and once Peter got him to sit the fuck down and listen, he understood. He understood all too well. And the night had ended with Derek shrugging, congratulating his uncle for finding love, walking away with a smirk when Peter tried to explain it wasn't love , it was convenient circumstance , and being kind enough not to call him out on his lie.
Once the drama with the Betas was over, Stiles and Peter felt free to comfort each other more than ever. Stiles had taken a liking to sitting on Peter's lap, and Peter had liked the weight of him, liked wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in his side.
None of it was sexual. Sure, at first, there had been the occasional fluke of arousal when one of them forgot themselves, but in a whole, they did it just because they needed it. They held each other because it made them feel safe, comfortable, whole. It made them feel like they had pack, even when they didn't. No complicated feelings (at least, not spoken ones, anyway), no expectations, just touch .
Only in the night did their bodies take over. The two of them had dry-humped each other into completion without really meaning to quite a few times. So often, in fact, that it wasn't even strange to them anymore. Stiles had even begun keeping pairs of underwear in Peter's bedside drawer.
And Derek had pointed out one day that that was not a normal, simple relationship at all. And perhaps the moron was right... But Peter didn't care. As long as Stiles kept coming over, as long as he kept giving him the physical contact he so desperately craved, he was happy to keep lying to himself.
Don't get him wrong, Peter wanted the boy so badly it took all of his energy to hold himself back if Stiles touched him a bit too much or in a place that was too good , or every single time he woke up in the middle of the night to those sweet noises and that mouth-watering scent. But that's not what their newfound relationship was about. It was about safety and comfort, and it was perfect. Peter was getting around to settling with it, and was sure he'd be happy for the rest of his life if he got to have Stiles in any way.
But, of course, just when Peter was starting to get used to it all, Stiles had to go and throw a wrench in the system and kiss him.
It was late. It was one of the nights where their bodies were doing the talking. Peter woke up with a soft grunt and didn't hesitate to wrap his hand around Stiles' waist, pulling him against him. Stiles gasped awake and wrapped his arm around his shoulders, pressing closer as his hips moved faster.
They were both awake, but neither stopped. This was becoming an occurrence that both of them accepted, if nothing else, because acknowledging the reality of the situation was far more complicated than just accepting it as normalcy, and neither of them truly wanted to stop.
Their erections, clothed in only their underwear underneath the warm blankets, slid against each other, hard, hot, aching, moaning quietly, nose-to-nose. It was normal to them, these days. Stiles' sounds were becoming familiar, and they echoed in his head so sweetly. His scent permeated his sheets, his clothes, his skin, and it was perfect.
And just as they were both getting close, just as they were about to tumble over the edge like usual - when Peter would then run his hand up and down Stiles' side to soothe him before they both fell back to sleep in blissful, if not slightly sticky, comfort - suddenly Stiles' hand slid over Peter's jaw and he kissed him.
Peter was so startled he actually froze for half a moment, before the dam fucking burst. A sharp inhale hissed through his nose and he dove for the boy, kissing him deeper, holding him closer, pushing against him.
Their movements had halted momentarily to focus entirely on their first kiss. Peter crowded over Stiles, pushing him onto his back so he could press down onto him, and got a sweet, throaty moan in response. He tilted his head, deepened their kiss, and someone's tongue darted out. He wasn't sure whose. But quickly it became simply filthy . So long of too-close-not-close-enough physical contact, sexual frustration that had been steadfastly ignored, except for the night in their dream-scapes and wet-dream half-awake states - it all culminated in this moment, and spilled over the levee they had built.
Stiles' hand scrambled down to dig fingers into Peter's thigh, and the man slotted it in between the boy's legs, dragging his hips down in a long, full-body roll that made Stiles throw his head back with a bitten off gasp.
Peter couldn't help himself. He dove for the boy's neck and groaned as the salty taste of his sex-adled sweat burst out across his tongue. He reached down and shoved a hand under Stiles' ass, pulling him up against him. Stiles' legs wrapped around his waist, moaning loudly as he rolled his hips over and over, dragging their aching erections against each other.
Stiles tangled his fingers in Peter's hair and pulled him off his neck, earning himself a flash of the eyes and a low growl that was anything but angry. Peter felt his cock give a lurch, and his growl trailed off into a pitiful whine despite his best efforts to bite it back. Stiles stared up at him, and then his fingers tightened in his hair again. Peter nodded desperately, and Stiles bit his lip and pulled him down to kiss him again.
Their lips moved together, urgently, hungrily, until their breathing picked up. Experience from their nights together taught them both that they were only moments away, and Peter shuffled up closer, getting a better angle, putting a hand against the wall to keep from shoving Stiles too far, and the boy kissed him back rough, moaning loudly into his mouth.
And then his legs tightened around Peter's waist, a full-chested moan building, and those fingers in Peter's hair pulled .
They both came violently. It was nothing like the soft, breathy grunts and subdued, twitching orgasms they'd shared before. This was full-body, loud, and just shy of not fucking enough .
Stiles shook with exhaustion, breathing heavily, whining every time Peter dragged them together just one more time. Peter wished he could've stayed like that forever, muscles tight, pressed against the boy beneath him, pleasure sparking all across his body. But Stiles whimpered in overstimulation, and he layed the boy back down and fell down beside him, panting. Stiles turned for him, reaching out, and Peter pulled him in, sucking in the scents that filled the room.
They stared at each other for a moment in silence, the knowledge of what they had just done crashing into them.
They weren't supposed to change. This was supposed to be just comfort. Just touch. Not... This...
And yet...
Stiles swallowed and tucked his head into Peter's chest, and the wolf wrapped around him.
Simple exhaustion was the only reason the two of them were able to fall back to sleep. Because what they had just done was anything but simple.
They'd just passed an unspoken boundary that, perhaps, both of them knew they could never come back from.
And Peter? Well, he wasn't too sure how much longer he could keep pretending that their not-really-relationship was enough for him anymore.