
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1139844.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Peter_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, underage_mating, creeper!peter, Emotional_Manipulation,
      Bondage, Sounding, Anal, Barebacking, Daddy!Kink, Edge_Play, Possible
      Dubious_Consent, BDSM, Dom!Peter, sub!Stiles, Knotting, Toys, Prostate
      Stimulation, mentions/fantasies_of:, Double_Anal_Penetration, Throat
      Fucking, Come_Inflation, Milking, Come_Eating
  Series:
      Part 1 of Kinky_Steter
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-17 Words: 1944
****** The Undone and the Divine (Such Selfish Prayers) ******
by Ceris_Malfoy
Summary
     "Peter’s taken his time with Stiles, coaxed him gently into trust,
     into lust, into something that is so much more like dependence than
     love, and it works for them, but it took time, so much time. Time to
     tame the boy, time to teach him how to please Peter, how to want to
     please Peter. Almost too much, but it’s worth it now, to finally reap
     the reward of his meticulous labors."
Notes
     Porn, okay? Straight up porn, for no reason other than I wanted kinky
     PeterStiles porn. Don’t come here looking for any kind of feels,
     though one or two may wiggle their way in.
                    "This is as good a place to fall as any
                          We'll build our alter here
                                      ...
                           Sweating our confessions
                           The undone and the divine
                                      and
                               This is his body
                               This is his love
                             Such selfish prayers
                              I can't get enough"
                                        
                 ~"Bedroom Hynms" by Florence and the Machine
                                        
===============================================================================
Peter waits, patiently, lurking in the shadows of the room, so still, so quiet.
He watches the boy on his bed, writhing against the silk sheets, panting and
sweating and moaning, bound and helpless. Peter’s taken his time with Stiles,
coaxed him gently into trust, into lust, into something that is so much more
like dependence than love, and it works for them, but it took time, so much
time. Time to tame the boy, time to teach him how to please Peter, how to want
to please Peter. Almost too much, but it’s worth it now, to finally reap the
reward of his meticulous labors.
He just needs to wait a little longer. Just a few moments. His boy will break
soon, will sob with his need to come, will beg and plead with Peter to please,
please touch him, fuck him, anything, please. His thumb hovers over the remote
in his hands, debating whether or not to crank the speed up, torture his poor,
eager boy further. He eyes Stiles’ erection, leaking copious amounts of precome
despite both the cockring and the sound nestled firmly in his slit. He breathes
in the scent of desperation and want, so achingly thick and cloying. He
practically tastes the thunder of Stiles’ pulse, wild and rapid, skin flushed
and overheated. He hears the boys whimpers and moans and just beneath, the
soft, barely-audible buzz of the prostate stimulator he’d bought expressly for
this very purpose.
Peter smiles, and deliberately raises the vibrations from ‘mild’ to ‘fastest’.
The reaction is instantaneous: Stiles’ entire body arches off the bed, body
tensing, delectable mouth open in a silent scream. Peter regrets blindfolding
the boy when the scent of tears hits his nose. He likes seeing Stiles’ big
amber eyes wet with tears, desperate with want and need and fuck.
He breathes in shakily, pressing his unoccupied hand against the front of his
jeans, fighting the urge to just pull out his cock and stroke himself off right
here and now. He promised his boy the time of his life, and he’s not going to
go back on that now. And it won’t be long; Stiles isn’t going to last much
longer. He’s been riding the edge of too-much-not-enough for almost a half-hour
now.
"Daddy, please, turn it off, turn it off, let me come, daddy, daddy please,
Stiles finally begs, voice wrecked, hands fisting uselessly against the ropes
he’s bound with. “Be your good boy, I will, I will, please, please, let me
come.”
And, oh, doesn’t his boy beg so prettily? Peter smiles, thumbs down the
vibrations a bit in reward. “Tell me,” he orders. “What would you do to come?”
Stiles sobs, whining low in his throat. “Anything, daddy. Everything you want.
Please, please.”
"Anything?" Peter asks. "You would do anything?” He cranks the speed back up
for a brief moment, dick twitching against his jeans as Stiles practically
howls, body arching even more violently than before. He dials the speed back
down, licking his lips as Stiles collapses in a trembling heap on the bed,
caught and enraptured with the sight/sound/smell of his boy.
Stiles sobs, crying, tears absorbed into the black velvet of his blindfold. His
mouth quivers, tongue flicking out to moisten dry lips. It takes the sixteen-
year-old a long moment to regain the strength to speak, but when he does -
“Yesyesyes, always, anything, everything, please, daddy” - it is so good.
"I want to fuck you open, Stiles," Peter says, growls really, wolf front and
center, no longer lingering at the edge of the room, but prowling around the
bed, eying his boy from every possible angle. "I want to fuck you," he says as
he runs a hand down the boy’s trustingly bared throat, over the prominent
collarbones, fingers trailing against fever-hot skin, ghosting teasingly over a
peaked nipple. "I want to knot you, over and over again until you grow round
with my seed, over-full and leaking despite my knot."
Peter tweaks the nipple he’s playing with hard, watching as Stiles’ mouth drops
open again invitingly as he whines. He wants to feed Stiles his cock, watch as
the boy swallows every last inch Peter gives him, watch as he cries even as he
works his throat around Peter, milking him desperately like he’s starved for
the taste of Peter’s come. And he will, later. After.
"I want to watch you come again and again stretched wide on my dick until you
physically can’t anymore, but I’ll still be fucking you, Stiles, riding you
hard, claiming every inch of you as mine. And when I finally finish with your
ass, I’ll plug you up, keep my come in you. You’ll suck me down right after,
won’t you? Clean my dick and get it good and hard again, swallow me down, inch
by inch, gagging on it, hungry for the taste of me.”
Stiles is panting again, flush deepening. With every filthy word that leaves
Peter’s lips, the boy’s pretty cock twitches, another fat glob of precome
sliding past the jeweled head of his sound. But he remains silent, listening,
thinking. Peter doesn’t mind. Even now, at the end of his tether, Stiles isn’t
stupid, isn’t unaware of what’s happening to him. He may not hold much power,
but he holds enough: all he has to do is say one little word, and all this
stops. Stiles knows that once they do this, once Peter knots him, there is no
going back, no take-backs or re-dos, no walking away.
Peter could take him anyway, he could, no one could stop him. But Peter knows
better than to ruin all his hard work like that. Taking what he wants - what he
needs -from Stiles without Stiles’ consent will only backfire on him; for as
deeply dependent as he’s made Stiles, the boy is nevertheless still dangerous,
still far too clever by half. If Peter takes what isn’t given, Stiles will see
him dead again, one way or another. No, it is much better to do it this way,
slow and agonizing, and excruciatingly good, claiming the boy one slow step at
a time until this, the grand culmination of their twisted relationship.
Peter will finally own his boy, completely and irrevocably, and nothing will be
able to separate them. Not hunters, not his nephew or even the boy’s father.
There will be nowhere they could take his boy that Peter wouldn’t be able to
follow. And he has no illusions: he’s done his work well, very well indeed.
Stiles won’t refuse him. Maybe once, but no longer. Stiles needs him, needs
this. His pretty boy, his chosen mate. All his.
"Well, boy?" he asks, starting to strip. He is hungry, aching, patience
stretched thin, control wavering against the need to claim, to own. He’s been
patient long enough. "Do you want it?"
"Yes," Stiles says, voice so quiet Peter almost misses it. "Yes, daddy,
please," he repeats, voice louder.
Peter climbs on the bed and settles between his boy’s spread legs, grabbing the
lube from the corner where he’d thoughtfully left it after working the toy into
Stiles’ ass. He slicks his cock and eyes his boy thoughtfully, contemplating
stretching the boy so that he’s forced to take both his length and the prostate
stimulator. But, no. Not tonight. He hooks a finger into the ring of the toy,
and he slowly works it out, taking in the way that tight ring of muscle
stretches around the gleaming black plastic, slick with lube still despite how
long it’s been inside. Stiles gives off a delicious chorus of noises -
yesyesdaddypleaseplease - when Peter finally gets to put the head of his cock
against Stiles ass and push.
That tight ring of muscle gives way, eagerly opening for his slicked length,
taking him easily. He flashes to the greedy way Stiles swallows him down as
he’s sucking him off, and he groans. He should have known the boy’s other hole
would be just as greedy, just as hungry. The toy had been slightly smaller than
Peter’s cock, and he consequently is surrounded by tight, wet heat, the muscles
within spasming around his length.
Oh, he is going to enjoy this.
He pauses only long enough to get a firm grip on Stiles’ hips, pulls out until
just the head of his dick is left in the boy’s clenching heat, and then he lets
go of any claim to control he’s had, snapping his hips forward and back, over
and over, relentless and unforgiving. His thrusts are long, deep, hard, and
swift, every single one belying his human appearance: too much speed, too much
strength, too much, too much. And his boy is simply forced to take it, unable
to do anything other than scream and beg and cry some more.
"Look at you," he pants, greedily watching Stiles as he fucking writhes.
“You’ve been aching for this, haven’t you? How long, Stiles? How long have you
wanted my cock, my knot?”
Peter shifts positions, leaning forward, hips working fast and fierce, licking
at his boys neck, sucking deep bruises all down that pale expanse of skin,
tonguing the hard beat of Stiles’ pulse and biting. He releases his hold on the
boys hips, braces himself with one hand and uses the other to reach between
them, playing with the release on the cockring. “Tell me, baby boy,” he grinds
out, “Tell me, how long have you wanted my cock?.”
Stiles says nothing, apparently completely incapable of speech.
That won’t do. Peter stills his mad thrusting to a torturous grind. “Tell me,
Stiles.”
"You h-held my wrist i-in your h-hand, and I w-wanted," Stiles pants out, voice
breaking several times as he tried to work his hips against Peter. "Wanted you
t-to b-bend me over your n-nurse’s car and f-fuck me."
Peter’s breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, all he can see and hear
is white hot static. He doesn’t even realize that he’s broken the cockring off
until Stiles comes, hard enough that the sound Peter had worked into him nearly
an hour before is forced out of his slit, come splattering against the boy’s
heaving chest all the way up to his chin. His ass clamps down hard on Peter,
and it’s too much, much too much, Peter’s been on the edge of wanting since
he’d first decided tonight was the night. Something resembling a whine escapes
his throat, and he can’t help himself, he nuzzles against the boy’s neck, and
bites. He is so deep inside his boy, grinding his hips as if he could work
himself deeper, breathing hard as his knot expands, tasting blood but clamping
his sharp teeth harder, deeper.
Stiles feels so good, too good, around him. All tight heat and rippling
muscles, and his pretty boy is working his hips harder, still hard despite his
rather intense orgasm, riding Peter’s knot as best as he can, considering. And
Peter is coming, filling his boy, his mate.
He unlatches his teeth and licks at the wound, grinning at the sight of it
already starting to heal. The bond won’t start to take for another twelve hours
or so, but that’s alright. That’s just fine. Peter will keep his boy well-
fucked and full until it does.They have a long, long night ahead of them
Peter can’t wait.
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