Chapter Text
“Peter?” Stiles mumbled, knowing the werewolf would hear him no matter his volume.
Stiles frowned when all that greeted him was silence.
“Peter?” Stiles called out, sitting up and taking a proper look around.
There was no one here.
Stiles took a deep breath in then out, his chest feeling tight and sore. Stiles pressed the heel of his hand into a bite mark, unable to stop the fascinated prodding at the bruises decorating his skin even though he winced.
They hadn’t gone far – barely an hour’s drive – before Peter had parked the car and dragged him through some woods to this cabin. Well, carried would be more accurate. Barely three hours later and Stiles was dumped onto a bed and basically eaten. Bite marks from dull human teeth littered his arms and thighs, bruises from fingers were imprinted on his hips and wrists and legs, cuts graven across his chest and under his knees – pain all over and everywhere.
Peter said he would heal quickly after the bite. He didn’t want to miss his last opportunity to mark him.
Stiles was pretty sure Peter was punishing him, releasing pent up anger from when he had been terrified to touch him in case he broke.
Stiles lay down on the bed and shifted to find a comfy position, pulled up short when his ankle jarred. Stiles huffed. He’d been tied to the bed post. Great. Then the clank of chains drew his attention. Stiles shot up like a jack-in-the-box and examined his foot. Apparently he had been upgraded from rope he thought morbidly as he poked at the padlock keeping his ankle chained to the bed post. There was length to it though, Stiles was pleased to note as he continued to curl up in a ball in the middle of the bed and sleep.
Peter entered the cabin loudly, making sure to wake up Stiles who lurched from the bed when he heard the door slam, managing to stand next to the bed but not stray much further. He let his eyes drift over Stiles’ battered form. He smirked when Stiles fiddled with the hem of his briefs, pointing to Stiles’ hesitance.
“Hey.”
Peter stared at Stiles for a moment longer then moved with the groceries to the kitchen.
“You’ve been out? What have you been up to?” Stiles called, sitting back down on the bed watching Peter’s movements. Peter put away the groceries and started to make up a lunch. He’d been quite remiss with feeding Stiles properly today.
“Are you seriously giving me the silent treatment?”
Peter brought through the plate and handed it over to Stiles.
“After what you’ve done you think you can just ignore me? If anyone should be given the silent treatment here it’s you.”
Peter sat down behind Stiles as Stiles devoured the sandwich. Peter reached out and snatched Stiles’ wrist before he could take another bite of the nearly vanished piece. Stiles jerked for a moment eyes snapping to glare at Peter. Peter met his gaze coolly and pointedly looked towards the sandwich. Stiles rolled his eyes then closed them and took a bite.
“Cheese. And chicken.”
He took another bite.
“Lettuce.” And another. “Um… rocket? Rocket or spinach.”
Stiles slowly ate his sandwich, reporting on every bite, savouring his food rather than bingeing. Peter ran his fingers over Stiles’ shoulder blades, picking at the scabs that had formed over the scratches he had left last night. Stiles flinched.
“Where have you been?” Stiles asked after munching on lunch. Peter pressed his nose into the back of Stiles neck then pulled him flat down onto his lap, running claws down Stiles’ face but not breaking the skin. He pressed harshly against the black swollen eye. Tears ran from Stiles’ eye. Peter wiped them away with his thumb and licked them off.
“Peter, can I…” Stiles clenched his jaw and turned his face. “Never mind.”
Peter seized Stiles’ chin, turned him back, and raised an eyebrow. Stiles squirmed.
“I was -” Stiles swallowed. “Can I have some clothes? Please?”
Peter gave Stiles some false hope and pretended to deliberate before smacking him across the face. Stiles gasped and curled in on himself, twisting off Peter’s lap. Peter seized the back of Stiles neck and spun him back around. He hit across the cheek again, and again, and again.
“Peter, please! Peter, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please…”
Peter rolled Stiles onto his side and curled up behind him, pressing kisses down his shoulder blade. Stiles shivered. Peter ran blunt teeth down Stiles’ back, Stiles tensed up – holding his breath. Peter pressed his thumbs into the dimples on Stiles’ back, running his nose down his spine, and breathed deeply. The longer Peter held him the more relaxed Stiles became. Stiles eventually drifted off into a light sleep, fear and pain driving him further into exhaustion. Peter curled tighter around him for a moment before rolling away, checking the padlocks, then sat watching Stiles sleep. Stiles would need another source of stimulus if Peter expected him to remain sane, would need someone else to look after him while Peter was otherwise engaged, needed someone Stiles would feel protective over - but that person couldn't become dependent on Stiles. Ultimately their loyalty would be to him. Their alpha. His beta.
This required some thinking.
Stiles gritted his teeth slightly when he realised he had once again woken to the sound of Peter entering the cabin. Stiles wasn’t sure how long he slept – long enough to be hungry – and why was Peter leaving the cabin anyway? It wasn’t as if he had anywhere to be.
“Stiles…” Peter’s voice floated over. Stiles humffed and pushed himself up before turning to look at Peter. And Peter’s guest.
Stiles was on his feet standing on the bed before he could think about it, eyes riveted to the stranger’s face.
“Stiles, this is Michael.”
Boy. Younger than him. Brunette. Dark eyes. Button nose.
“Michael this is Stiles.”
Looked wary, but not frightened. Looked a bit… Hispanic? White Hispanic? Maybe. Peter’s hands rested on the boy’s shoulders.
“Say hello, Michael.”
What was Peter doing? Was Peter replacing him? After all this, after everything Peter put him through was he just throwing him aside like –
“Hello.”
Stiles stared at the boy.
“Stiles.”
Stiles’ eyes snapped to Peter. Peter’s eyes grew red for a moment before he raised an eyebrow and inclined his head towards Michael. Stiles glanced back to Michael.
“Hello.”
Peter’s grin stretched wide across his face. “Excellent. I’m so glad we’re all getting along. Michael why don’t you help me in the kitchen with the dinner?”
Michael allowed himself to be led into the kitchen by Peter. Stiles stood on the bed for a few moments more. Listening to the sounds in the kitchen trying to overcome the strong sense of surrealism and terror. He didn’t understand.
“Stiles.”
Peter kissed him on the cheek and Stiles jumped slightly. He hadn’t realised Peter had come up onto the bed beside him. “Get down.”
Stiles looked at Peter, he had a stern, hard expression on his face.
“What? So you can take his clothes from him too?”
Peter smacked Stiles hard enough to split his lip.
“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, darling,” he spat.
Peter unlocked the padlock before leaving a fuming Stiles and heading back into the kitchen. Stiles slowly sat down and swung off the bed. He stood up and headed for the backpack that held his clothes, throwing on the oversized t-shirt and sweat pants. He went and hovered at the kitchen door, watching as Michael and Peter fell into an easy rhythm with each other. That kind of job sharing never happened between Peter and he.
“Stiles. Table.”
Stiles bristled slightly but quietly gathered plates and cutlery together, setting them down on the table in the kitchen. Then sitting down and watching as Peter plated up the food and Michael sat down with him at the circular table.
Dinner was a tense affair. Stiles was surly, Michael was guarded, and Peter was… analysing. Eyes trained on Michael the whole night, and it was driving Stiles up the wall putting him in an even worse mood.
They migrated to the couch soon after. Sometime after it got dark outside Peter nudged Stiles.
“Go have your snack then get ready for bed. I’ll sort Michael out,” Peter murmured into his ear. Stiles stood up, glancing over at Michael who was curled up upright on the couch, blinking blearily. “He’s had a long day,” Peter cooed.
Michael rolled his eyes and glared slightly at Peter. Stiles turned, headed to the kitchen, grabbed some biscuits, and hoovered them up. He wandered back into the main room just as Peter was gathering blankets and pillows for Michael, so he grabbed his toothbrush from the bag and went into the bathroom. Keeping the door open he brushed quickly then went back into the main room, knowing Peter was counting the seconds he spent in there.
Stepping back into the main room Stiles watched as Peter knelt in front of a tucked in Michael on the couch, smoothing the hair back from his face. Stiles felt a sick sense of dread rise up in him. If Peter manipulated Michael the same way he played with Stiles then that was another life Peter would ruin. What if Peter just repeated the cycle with Michael? Tossed Stiles aside and started afresh with someone younger, someone more malleable, someone else to toy with -
“He’s not you.”
Stiles’ musings stopped mid thought. “What?”
Peter stood up and slowly came to stand in front of Stiles, cupping his cheek. “He’s not here to replace you. You know you’re my one and only.”
Stiles ducked his head a little, ashamed at how the knot in his chest loosened slightly. Peter tilted Stiles’ face up and pressed a kiss to his lips.
“I couldn’t ever replace you Stiles. Not after everything we’ve been through together. You know that, don’t you?”
Stiles stared at Peter, and he’s trembling, because the juxtaposition of love and fury never ceased to make Stiles breathless. Peter hadn’t been this raw, this gentle, in so long – and god, he so wanted Peter to be gentle with him. He swallowed past the lump in his throat.
“Of course I know that,” Stiles said, curling his fingers into Peter’s shirt. “Of course I do, Peter -”
Peter closed his mouth over Stiles’ and kissed him long and deep. Stiles pressed against Peter’s chest, pulling him in tighter.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been such a pain tonight, but I just – I don’t understand -”
Peter kissed Stiles again, distracting him from what he was saying. Peter pushed him up against the bed and lifted him onto it. Stiles winced slightly as he pressed against bruises and pulled against scabs. He removed Stiles’ shirt and kissed and bit a trail down his chest.
“Peter,” Stiles whispered. “Peter, hey, wait a second,” Stiles said tugging at Peter’s hair slightly. Peter glanced up at Stiles. “What about…” Stiles said quietly, tilting his head in the direction of Michael. Peter quirked an eyebrow. “We can’t do this with him right there in the same room,” Stiles breathed. Peter leaned in close.
“You think he doesn’t know what I do to you?”
Peter slowly slid off Stiles’ sweatpants and settled between his legs.
“I don’t care what he knows I don’t want him listening in to -”
“He’s going to be a werewolf soon enough,” Peter interrupted, pulling off his own clothes. “What are you going to do? Sexile him a mile every time we have sex? How does that work in the rain and the snow?” he asked kissing the underside of Stiles jaw.
“I don’t care. Peter – ah, Peter stop, come on. He’s right there, Peter. Peter no. Peter stop. Peter -”
Stiles woke up tangled in the sheets. Stiles spent time playing with the hem of the thin sheets, trying to decide if it was silk or satin or some other fabric he’d never heard of. Peter would probably know. Could probably tell the thread count just by looking.
Egyptian cotton. Cotton. Cotton wool. Oh wait that wasn’t a fabric. Was it? Was it cotton, or wool, or some sort of poly blend? Polyester.
Stiles snapped out of his mind ramblings when he heard the creak of the floorboards. He craned his neck and head backwards, not bothering to lift himself form the bed. He hadn’t even realised his head was pointing down the way instead of up.
“Food,” Michael said with two plates in his hands. Stiles held out a hand and Michael passed the plate over silently. Stiles rested the plate onto his stomach and then lifted his hand out again, keeping his eyes on Michael. Michael hesitated and looked suspicious for a moment before taking the hand. Stiles gently pulled him up onto the bed and beside him. Stiles started to eat his sandwich, feeling Michael’s stare on him.
“You can ask me, you know,” Stiles said lightly between bites, catching Michael’s eye.
Michael looked down at his sandwich. “Ask you what?”
Stiles shrugged - a decidedly strange manoeuvre while lying down. “Anything you’d like I suppose.”
Michael was silent while they ate.
“Go get me a t-shirt, yeah?” Stiles murmured, conscious of the fact he was wearing nothing under the sheets. Michael grabbed a t-shirt from the floor and flung it at Stiles then grabbed his empty plate and headed to the kitchen. Stiles heard the noises and clanks of washing up. What fabric were dishcloths?
The kitchen noises stopped and Stiles looked up to see Michael dithering in the doorway.
“Think we could move the tv over here?” Stiles asked.
As it turned out they could. After Michael found the extension plugs, they reprogrammed the clock and tv settings and figured out which output channel was correct. An hour or so later they were pressed up against the headboard watching cartoons. It’s how Peter found them a few hours later. He rolled his eyes.
“Has anyone thought about dinner?”
Michael leapt from the bed and sprinted for the kitchen. Peter ignored him in favour of Stiles.
“Do you like him?” he asked sitting down next to him. Stiles shrugged and pulled his knees up.
“He’s alright.”
Peter frowned. “I do hope you like him. I got him for you,” he explained. Stiles felt his chest go hollow.
“For me?”
“You’re the same sort of age, both a little lonely, both quite clever…” Peter let it hang for a moment while Stiles processed. “I’m building a pack, Stiles. But it’s our pack. I want us to make these decisions together. I want your opinion, your input. Whether you think he’d be a good addition, a strong wolf. I’d be turning you along with him, and it’s good to have a friend to go through the change with you.”
Stiles tried to let the information sink in. “I don’t know. It’s… a bit much all at once.”
“I’ll ask you again tomorrow,” Peter replied, kissing him slowly stiles stayed curled up against the headboard. “I’m going to go check up on him and then I’ll come through and watch some tv with you, alright?”
Stiles nodded slowly and watched as Peter moved across the room to the doorway. He let out a shallow breath and rested his chin on his knees, watching as Ben changed into another alien thing on the screen. Peter was soon pulling him up onto his lap.
“What would happen if I didn’t like him?” Stiles asked.
“I imagine he’d be on the run for the rest of his life, or face a long time in a jail of some sort.”
Stiles frowned. “Why?”
“Oh?” Peter replied nonchalantly. “I framed him for murder.”