
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2692394.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Peter_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Librarian!Peter, Knotting, Praise_Kink, Magic!Stiles,
      Psychic!Stiles, Edging
  Series:
      Part 12 of Giving_Myself_to_You_(Prompt_Fills)
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-11-30 Words: 2413
****** Cinnamon and Spice ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     Peter's a librarian and Stiles is his new favorite patron.
Notes
     WARNING: underage sex (Stiles is sixteen), explicit sexual content,
     foul language, mentions of feminization.
See the end of the work for more notes
Peter meets Stiles during a long weekend.  The boy is at the library, working
on a group project by himself, and the incessant tap-tap-tapping of his pen
against the tabletop he is sitting at is what makes Peter migrate over in the
first place.  He puts on his best stern librarian look; smile tight over his
lips as he towers over the young teenager.  Stiles only glances up when Peter
clears his throat, still chewing anxiously at the tip of his own thumb even as
he otherwise freezes.
“Um.”
Stiles swallows, and Peter can smell the nervousness and the general scent of
medication.  He glances from Stiles’ face, to the pen in his hand, and back
again.  Stiles drops the pen.
“Sorry.”
“Just try and keep the noise to a minimum.”  Peter says and turns to walk away.
Stiles trades drumming his pen for bouncing his leg.  Peter finds it more
bearable and doesn’t reprimand him again.  They’re both the only ones there
until closing. 
===============================================================================
Stiles shows up more and more to the public library.  He’s always working on
something, so Peter doesn’t really mind until one day he ends up walking
through the door smelling like the thick wafts of cinnamon that only come with
the use of magic.  Peter watches him carefully from behind his desk as Stiles
plops his backpack unceremoniously down onto his usual spot before heading
towards the occult sections. 
Making sure that things will be attended to in his absence, Peter follows.  He
spots Stiles crouched in the back stacks, fingers like ecstatic birds against
the spines of old texts and tomes.  Peter clears his throat, and Stiles looks
up sharply, eyes wide and lips parted. 
“Can I help you find something?” he asks.
Stiles shifts, looking about ready to dart, and that intrigues Peter all the
more.  “Do you have any books on premonitions?”
Peter tilts his head.  “Dream interpretations or visions?”
“Both?”  Stiles asks.
Peter hums and moves closer.  “You’re in the wrong section.”
Stiles’ brows pinch.  “I am?”
“Come with me,” Peter says and gestures back down the isle of books. 
He leads and Stiles follows.  Peter quite likes how willing he is.  He takes
him all the way to the back, taking out a ring of old and new keys and
unlocking a creaking deadbolt.  The door swings open and Peter watches Stiles
enter the room, feeling about as fascinated as the boy looks. 
That scent of cinnamon sharpens.  Peter wants to eat it up. 
“What is this?”
“Beacon Hills’ biggest secret,” Peter smiles. 
Stiles looks his way, curious and confused, but Peter knows that this boy has
something special about him.  Something like raw heat, energy buzzing so
harshly in his chest that he can barely contain it under his skin. 
“How long have you been having visions, Mr. Stilinski?”  Peter asks.
Stiles pauses, staring at Peter for a long, quiet moment.  “Since my mom died.”
Peter makes a small sound, like acknowledgement and condolences mixed into
one.  “She must have passed on the sight to you, then.”
“How did you--?”
Their eyes meet and Peter lets it hold.  His gaze flares an ethereal blue and
Stiles straightens out to a considerable height.  Peter smiles at the spike of
citrus—like a clementine, he realizes—and Stiles licks his lips as he shuffles
closer.
“What are you?” he asks.
“I’m a librarian.” Peter answers simply.
When Stiles goes to ask more, Peter is quick to distract him with the hidden
collection.  Stiles asks questions, curious ones about things he might not be
ready to learn, but Peter has always been a knowledge seeking type so he
recognizes it n Stiles.  The urge to nurture that hunger is too strong for
Peter to ignore.
Plus, the eager look on the boy’s face is delectable.  Noisy as he can be,
Peter can appreciate the clumsy potential Stiles presents.  He tells Stiles
that, if he’d like, Peter would happily teach him all that he needs to know
about what he is.  Stiles accepts without batting a lash.
===============================================================================
Peter knows that he should probably tell someone about the little psychic boy
he’s tutoring.  Perhaps his sister, or perhaps that absurdly cryptic emissary
of theirs.  He doesn’t.
Stiles comes to the library after school on most days.  Sometimes he smells
normal—that hint of spice and citrus, medicinal taints gone ever since Peter
introduced him to calming teas that do a much better job at easing his nerves
than Adderall.  Most days, though, Stiles appears with anxiety souring his
skin.  On those days, Peter can make out hints of other people—friends, he
assumes—until Stiles walks up to the desk, sopping wet, with a split lip.
It has been years since Peter felt the want to murder.  He’s surprised it hits
him so strongly as he guides Stiles back to his private office to sit him
down.  That spark of magic is not nearly as prevalent on days like this,
smothered by so many other emotions and scents; it’s disappointing.  Peter is
hoping that someday Stiles will get angry enough to lash out instead of
suppress what is growing inside of him.  Today isn’t that day, but it should
be.  Peter sits Stiles down in a leather wingback and kneels before him. 
Tilting his chin up, Peter tsks at the smear of blood on Stiles’ lip.
“What happened?” he asks.
Stiles sniffs.  “Just this kid, Jackson.  I actually got a pass by him during
lacrosse, so he roughed me up in the locker room after.”
Peter’s lip curls up in a sheer.  “Would you like me to show you a way to get
back at him?”
Stiles’ smile is small.  “I laced his water with Black Locust while he was in
the showers.  I don’t think I’ll have to deal with him for a couple of days.”
“Did you?” Peter asks, chest constricting with something like pride as Stiles
nods.  “Good boy.”
There’s a spark at his fingertips where he’s still cupping Stiles’ jaw, and
Peter realizes that Stiles is developing physical abilities too.  There is a
twist to the smell of cinnamon, musky and thick like honey, and Peter notes
faintly that Stiles smells like arousal.
His grin broadens.  “Would you like to study back here today?  I’ve brought
some samples of the herbs you’ll be reading about.”
Stiles shifts in the seat.  “Yes.  Please.”
“I also have a spare shirt,” Peter says.  “If you’d like that?”
He can practically feel Stiles’ skin vibrating with excitement, and feels it
echo in himself.  The idea of his scent clinging to Stiles’ skin leaves heat
thrumming through him.
“Please,” Stiles repeats.
“Of course,” Peter says enigmatically.
===============================================================================
Over the next month, Peter sets about a long and unneeded process of
seduction.  It’s easy, absurdly so.  Stiles is very young and Peter knows
exactly when he’s aroused.  Peter makes sure that Stiles is on the edge of
desire every moment that they spend together.
Small touches during lessons grow more forward when they begin meeting on
Peter’s off days so that Peter can teach Stiles some moves in self-defense. 
Soft praises murmured into Stiles’ ear as he reviews his translations at the
library.  He wonders if Stiles is even aware of his own reactions.  The way he
perks up whenever Peter looks his way.  Or the way he is so eager to please.
Peter knows that his interest in the boy is no longer purely recreational. 
That becomes blatantly clear the moment Stiles shows up to the library with a
dopey smile on his face and perfume clinging to his clothes.  The entire day,
Peter subtly scent marks, on edge until the moment Stiles is about to head home
and the teen smiles brightly as he reaches up to press a palm to Peter’s jaw,
scent marking him in return.
Peter stops hiding his more primal tendencies after that.  He’s pleased Stiles
figured him out so easily, and even more pleased when Stiles begins doing
things in reply to Peter’s seduction—seducing Peter right back.  Simple things,
like bearing his neck for him, like leaving his scent on Peter and in Peter’s
office, like letting Peter feel like he knows everything despite the fact that
Stiles is obviously on par with Peter at the very least on a mental level.
They’re dancing, intricate and more complex than most courtships, but
definitely dancing around one another.  That’s why, when Stiles finally makes a
move, Peter isn’t all that surprised. 
It’s a Friday night, near closing time, and he has plans to take Stiles out to
dinner after hearing that his boy’s father is on duty all night.  He goes to
the back room where he left Stiles with the vast collection of magic and
informational texts and finds the entire area smells like the spice of Stiles’
magic and the tang of his arousal.  Migrating towards the heady smell, Peter
finds Stiles sitting between two rows of shelving; leather bound tome open in
his lap.  There’s a picture etched in loving detail on the yellowing page, and
Peter feels all of the heat in his body rush to his groin when he realizes what
has Stiles smelling like a brothel. 
He clears his throat and Stiles looks up sharply, pupils blown wide.  “Peter.”
“Stiles,” he says, voice low.  
“Have you—”  Stiles’ voice cracks and Peter wants to devastate him.  “Have you
ever knotted—knotted with someone?”
“Once,” Peter replies.  “With my ex-wife.”
Stiles swallows.  “Oh.”
The book snaps shut without Stiles even touching it.
“Peter?”
“Yes?”
Stiles pushes to his feet, shuffling forward and pressing the book to Peter’s
chest.  “I really want you to fuck me.”
“Okay.”
===============================================================================
Peter takes Stiles, quite thoroughly, for the first time over his desk in the
back office.  He knows he should feel bad, screwing a sixteen year old, but he
can’t bring himself to give a shit when it comes down to it. 
He takes his time working Stiles open.  Strips him, clears his desk in a
scatter, and presses Stiles forward over the lacquered wood.  The scent of the
boy’s arousal is heady, and Peter loses himself in that rich smell of
desperation when he’s got three fingers spreading Stiles wide.  The slick is a
mixture he made himself, and it warms on contact, leaving Stiles writhing and
on edge for what seems like forever. 
Mewls and moans fall from Stiles’ lips like breath, and Peter thinks he could
listen to that for hours.  He decides to put that off for some other time when
he has to fist around base of Stiles’ cock, stopping his orgasm just as it
hits.  Stiles practically sobs, clawing at the desk like something beautiful
and savage.
“Such a good boy,” Peter breathes, kissing and biting at the line of his
shoulder.  “Don’t come yet, sweet boy, not yet.”
Stiles whines.  “Please, Peter.”
“Not yet, Stiles.  Can you hold off for me?  Be a good boy and wait to come
until my knot is in you?”  Peter asks between kisses down Stiles’ spine,
fingers curling to rub over that bundle of nerves, not releasing his hold at
the base of Stiles’ cock. 
He thrashes, whimpering, and the overhead light pops in a rain of glass onto
the floor.  “Yes,” he gasps, hips rutting.  “I’ll be a good boy.  I can be—I
can be a good boy.”
Peter groans.
It doesn’t take him long to work free of his pants.  He sits in his desk chair,
hauling Stiles down into his lap.  Stiles is already so far gone that he
doesn’t notice Peter is fully dressed aside from his freed cock, pants pushed
down just enough.  Chest to Stiles’ back, Stiles’ long legs draped messily over
Peter’s thighs, Peter grasps Stiles hips and lowers him down, down, down onto
the large length of his cock.  Stiles makes this pretty keening sound and Peter
rolls up to sink deeper into the impossibly tight heat of his body.
Using preternatural strength, Peter fucks Stiles at a steady pace by lifting
and pulling him down onto his cock.  Stiles babbles, one hand digging in at the
arm rest as his head lulls back against Peter’s shoulder, and the other tight
around the base of his own cock.  Peter picks up the speed when he sees that,
praising Stiles with heated and increasingly filthy words as the obscene sounds
of their bodies meeting creates a rhythm. 
“So fucking tight for me, Stiles.” Peter mutters, grunting when Stiles twitches
tighter.  “Fuck.  So good, baby.  Wet and hot, tight little cunt.  Gonna knot
you, sweetheart.  Wish I could breed you.”
 Stiles cries out when the angle changes, and Peter wonders why he waited so
long to do this when Stiles sounds so sweet and feels so much sweeter.  “Come
in me.  Please, Peter, come—come in me.”
Hissing, the pace quickens, and Peter feels the tension of orgasm building,
toes curling in his shoes as his abdomen goes tight.  “My sweet boy.  My
Stiles.”
As Stiles pants out “yours, yours, yours,” Peter comes.  He tugs Stiles down
sharply, buried to the hilt, and spills out deep into the heat of Stiles’
body.  Stiles lets out a wrecked sound and Peter reaches around to keep Stiles’
own hand wrapped tight at the base of himself, the other keeping him close by
the hip.  The base of his own cock swells inside of Stiles, locking them
together.  Stiles snuffles, trembling, as he turns his face to tuck his nose
under Peter jaw.
“It’s so big, you’re so big.”  Stiles whispers, wrecked and twitching around
the girth of Peter’s knot.
Peter rumbles, pleased, rocking up just to hear Stiles’ breath hitch.  “Feels
good, baby.”
“Feels good,” Stiles groans in agreement.  “Lemme come, Peter.  Please, I’ve
been so good, please.”
Peter eases their hold around Stiles dick, stroking up once.  “Come for me.”
Stiles does.  It’s wonderfully violent, shooting in thick ropes over Stiles’
bare chest.  Stiles’ back bows sharply as he gasps a ragged breath, and the
tightness of him leaves Peter a bit breathless too.  When he’s finished, he
goes liquid pliant in Peter’s lap, jaw hanging open as he trembles.  Peter pets
at his hips, other hand coming up to lick at the spunk smeared there.
===============================================================================
Peter ends up taking Stiles home with him an hour later after coming into him
again.  He ends up knotting him once more in bed and Stiles tells him that he’s
the best librarian he’s ever had.
End Notes
     Steter Week Theme: Librarian!Peter
     Prompt: Hi I'm sort of stalking you because you're amazing and I
     wanted to send a prompt so if you don't mind could I maybe get a
     praise!kink one where Peter mockingly calls Stiles 'Good Boy' and is
     surprised by how strong the scent of arousal from Stiles is
     afterwards and starts dropping in little praises that would seem like
     nothing to anyone else to tease Stiles catches on and decides to show
     Peter just how good he can be. (anon)
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
