Chapter Text
He smells him before he sees him, the scent competing over the sticky smell of stale beer and sweat. It smells like burnt sugar, a little bitter mixed in with the sweetness. He leaves the paperwork on the desk and steps out of his office, passing the bathrooms that he can tell Erica still hasn't cleaned.
A lithe, what Peter could only describe as a boy is standing in the middle of the empty bar, one hand gripping the dolly's handle full of boxes of Hair of the Dog; one of the few werewolf beers that doesn't taste of ass. (And Peter would know.) His mouth is slightly parted as he surveys the bar and Peter suppressed thoughts of what he could put in that mouth.
"You're not the usual guy," Peter smirks when the human jumps and turns sharply, his limbs flailing in shock.
"Uh...yeah, Boyd couldn't make his usual route today. Can you sign for this?" he kicks the bottom box gently with the toe of his sneaker.
Peter nods. "Aren't you a little young to be a delivery boy?"
"I'm twenty three, sir," the boy raises an eyebrow and his mouth curls up at one corner. The sun shining through the high windows lights him up and Peter allows himself to look at the broad shoulders that taper down to his stomach where his shirt has ridden up, and a small thatch of his happy trail is visible. He feels his fangs begin to emerge, and he sighs through his nose to control it.
He steps forward with a hand out. "As much as I like the sound of 'sir', my name's Peter Hale. Welcome to my humble establishment."
"Stiles Stilinksi, sir," Stiles laugh is cut short as Peter uses the handshake to jerk him forward until they're chest to chest. Stiles is caught off balance and leans into Peter's chest with a squawk.
"It's nice to meet you, Stiles," Peter says the name slowly, liking the way it feels in his mouth.
"Uh...likewise," Stiles puts on a brave front, Peter will give him that.
"I can smell your fear...and your lust," he lets his eyes flash and his voice drops to a growl.
"Ew. Gross, dude," Stiles complains, but he doesn't step back. Even when Peter leans in closer to smell, he simply tilts his neck back and swallows.
Peter runs his nose up the side of Stiles' long, pale throat and breathes in, expanding his lungs in an attempt to inhale the scent as deeply as he can. He releases Stiles' hand and grips him at the hip instead, his thumb brushing against bare skin under Stiles' too-short shirt. He licks over the pulse point and the low moan he gets in return has his hand clenching tighter; forgetting himself until the pained "oof" from Stiles brings him back.
"Did that hurt?" he sighs the question, annoyed that he's even bothering to ask.
Stiles nods, "A little."
"I could kiss it better," Peter squeezes again, relishing that he's probably leaving his mark on this stranger. Stiles nods again and Peter pushes his shirt up a little higher, the tips of his fingers brushing across the hard stomach he finds there. His wolf wants to grab this boy and carry him away to ravage and cover in his own scent. He considers it, imagining Stiles spread across his bed, sweaty and covered in their mingled come. He bites off a rising growl as his claws pop out and press gently against the vulnerable stomach. The way Stiles suddenly smells overwhelmingly of lust, but still under laced with a hint of fear, has him rutting forward without thought.
Right until someone clears their throat and he snaps around with a snarl, only to find he's been interrupted by his own sister. Alpha Talia raises an eyebrow, not even bothering to flash her eyes at Peter's actions.
He tries to clear his head but all he wants to do is display his dominance, slash through the throat of his Alpha. All over a boy. He takes a deep breath, but then realizes that won't actually help when his nose fills with the scent of Stiles.
But Stiles decides it for him, wiggling out of his grip and tripping backward.
"I'm so sorry, Alpha Hale," he presents his throat, his face a delightful flaming red.
"Emissary Stilinski, there's really nothing to apologize for. I imagine it was entirely my brother's fault."
"Erm...he started it?" Stiles finishes with a wince and a shrug, making Talia laugh.
"I'm afraid I did, sister dear. I couldn't help myself. He just looks so juicy."
"Eww," Stiles mutters and Talia laughs again.
"Well, try not to maul the human right in the middle of your bar, Peter. I know we've had conversations about discretion before," she chides lightly.
"Ah yes, I seem to remember something about that. It means to maul them in private, isn't that it?" he smirks at Stiles when he hears him swallow audibly.
Talia cuffs him around the back of the head and shoos him out the room. He goes reluctantly, feeling Stiles' eyes on him as he retreats to his office.
***
"The thing is...he's really gross," Stiles shouts in Scott's face. The music is thrumming outside the bar and Stiles has maybe pre-gamed a little too aggressively. He's wiggling to the music and flailing around whilst he talks. More than usual anyway. Scott listens and nods, reaching out to stop him from knocking over a row of bikes he's nearly tripped over twice.
"Right. Gross. You said that," Scott nods, watching the parking lot and brightening when he sees Kira hurrying towards them.
"I'm so sorry," she smacks a kiss to Scott's mouth and one on Stiles' cheek. "I can't believe you got us an invitation to Hale on Wheels."
"Pretty sure Alpha Hale just wants to parle with our True Alpha here," he slings an arm around Scott's neck and grins.
"Well that's your job, our True Emissary," Scott pushes him off.
"That's me!"
They reach the front of the bar and hand over their ID. The huge bouncer glares pointedly at Stiles' drunken swaying, but waves them in when he realizes who Scott is.
***
Stiles is sweaty and surrounded by werewolves. He isn't sure who he's dancing with; he'd started out with a skinny guy with half a shaved head, but now he's with a giant bear of a man who's wearing far too much leather for polite company. Stiles doesn't care, he's perfectly happy swiveling his hips and moving into whose ever arms will have him. The music thrums throughout his whole body and he hasn't stopped for a break once in the last hour. He's been asked if he wants a drink or to go somewhere 'quiet' and every time he shakes his head no. That's not what he came for. He came to get his dance on.
He pushes his sweaty hair out of his face and tries to move away from Giant Bear McGrabbyHands, but he doesn't make it far. The Were grabs him around the waist and reels him back in, and Stiles laughs nervously, struggling against the vice grip and pushing uselessly at the guy's biceps.
"Hey. No touchie!" he smacks at the huge chest, but the guy just laughs and hauls him bodily through the crowd. Stiles looks frantically for Scott but can't see anyone he knows. He inhales a deep breath to scream, knowing even above the noise Scott will hear him, but his scream chokes off with a grateful 'thank God' when Peter Hale comes to his rescue, his eyes burning an icy blue. Stiles knows what that means and so does the bear, because he drops Stiles without warning, throwing his hands up and backing up towards the exit.
Scott has come to the rescue (a little late thanks, Scott) and is currently standing shoulder to shoulder with Peter over Stiles. Both men are partially shifted and growling, the crowd edging back, some with fear on their faces and some filled with glee at the prospect of a fight. Stiles lets Kira haul him up, he got over being weaker than the smallest members of the pack a long time ago, and he wobbles his way into Scott's line of site.
"Hey, bro. As impressive as this display of territory protecting is...the guy's gone. Job done."
Scott melts back into his regular goofy face, looking chagrined and Stiles lets himself be manhandled by Scott checking for injuries.
"Stiles, you're bleeding."
His reply is cut off when suddenly unfamiliar werewolf arms are wrapped around him (again), and unfamiliar werewolf teeth too close for comfort. Peter grips his head and tilts it forward, the tips of his claws surprisingly gentle. He's still growling but it sounds pained, rather than angered, as he prods at the top of Stiles' head.
"Ow. Ow! Fucker!" he's shocked into silence when Peter licks at the cut.
"Dude..." Scott and Kira gape at the sight with twin looks of revulsion.
"You're hurt," Peter picks up Stiles like a football and starts making his way through the crowd.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Stiles wiggles as hard as he can. "You save me from that guy just to do the exact same thing?! Not cool!"
He can hear Scott and Kira following and protesting, but Peter doesn't reply, just barrels his way toward the back office and sets Stiles on his feet. He grabs Stiles by his shirt when he sways off balance and then turns his back.
He opens a cabinet against the far wall and Stiles feels his heart skip in fear until Peter turns around with a white First Aid box clutched in his claws. He holds it out to Stiles, breathing heavily.
"I don't know what to use," Peter explains, the words lisping around his fangs, when Stiles just stares at him blankly, and shoves the box into Stiles' chest.
"Right. Guess furries don't have to use these very often," he takes the box just as Scott and Kira rush in. They stand in the doorway, blinking confusedly at the sight of Stiles casually sitting on the edge of the desk, legs dangling, and Peter hovering, still partially shifted.
"A little help, Kira. You know how I get around blood," Kira nods and shoves past the two wolves to play nursemaid.
"I have to go," Peter snarls as he turns and runs out of the door, shoving Scott against the frame to get past.
"Well, that guy's...weird."
"I know right?!" Stiles shouts flailing his hands.
"Would you stay still, Stiles!" Kira admonishes. "The quicker I get done, the quicker we can leave this place!"
***
It turns out he needs stitches and Melissa insists someone stays with him to make sure sure there's no other damage.
"How will we know the difference?" Boyd laughs when Stiles swats at him ineffectually. This is how they end up having a sleepover.
"It's not a sleepover, Stiles," Lydia rolls her eyes.
He lies awake for a really long time, his mind replaying the flash of Peter's eyes. A blue eyed wolf means you've killed an innocent, which is frowned upon even in werewolf culture. Blue eyed wolves aren't to be trusted, they're the boogieman for the big bad wolves.
So why can't he stop thinking about the guy? Their first meeting had him jerking off in the jeep in the fucking parking lot. Scott had wrinkled his nose and given him his judgmental face next time he'd given him a ride. Stiles had just shrugged and smirked.
It's considered very bad etiquette to haul a human around like Peter had tonight, but Stiles can't deny it had turned him on, even in the midst of a head injury and surrounded by people who could smell his arousal; his dick didn't care.
He's obviously fit to be out in public otherwise Alpha Hale wouldn't let him even be in the bar, much less own and run one. Maybe there's a story. He sighs and scrunches at his pillow, rolling over to his side. Maybe he's just making excuses 'cause he wants to climb Peter like a tree. His dick agrees as it twitches at the thought; he can see Peter in his head, holding him up against a wall and fucking him hard and fast. Sex with Peter would be hot like burning and so so filthy. Stiles lets out a groan of frustration into his pillow.
"Oh my God, Stiles. I can smell you. Stop thinking!" Isaac complains and kicks him in the hip. He probably means it to be a gentle tap but Stiles begs to differ, because werewolf, as he curls away from him with a pained "oof." At least it makes him stop thinking sexy thoughts about Peter Hale. That's probably for the best. Right?