
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/561837.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Peter_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Rule_63, Girl!Stiles, First_Time, Hand_Jobs, Cunnilingus, Oral_Sex,
      Fingerfucking, Uncircumcised_Penis, Genderswap, Plot_What_Plot/Porn
      Without_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-11-13 Words: 4629
****** (there must be) something to it ******
by evanelric
Summary
     She’d already known that Peter favors boxer briefs when he bothers
     with underwear at all, and that he dresses to the left, but now she
     knows how his breath stutters when she grips him through the cotton
     and what the well-placed application of her fingernails to his
     shoulderblades can do when she moves her thigh just so between his.
     She’s gonna chalk this one up as a win.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Stiles is not really sure how good she is at this kissing thing, but she’s
really enjoying the way Peter’s tongue is sliding against her own. Peter’s
hands are hot on her jaw and her back, even through her t-shirt, and his body
is a delicious line of pressure and heat against her torso. She’d always kinda
laughed at romance novels when they talked about heroines pressing their
heaving bosoms against their lover’s rock-hard chest, but she’s starting to
think maybe they weren’t just making crap up.
She moves her hands from Peter’s shoulders to cross her wrists behind his neck
and presses herself even closer to him, breaking the kiss to gasp because
apparently she should have been paying more attention to breathing and less to
the way Peter is touching her. Peter isn’t deterred, though, and merely trails
kisses down her chin to the side of her neck, a hand threading back into her
hair to cradle her head as she tilts it to give him better access.
She’s pretty sure he’s just kissing her and not giving her a hickey (she gave
herself one, once, as an experiment, just to see how the process worked. Mostly
it had been kind of boring and it stung a bit, but she’s heard a lot to do with
sex depends on the whole cooperative aspect of it, so she’s still open to the
possibility) but she’s really less concerned about possible lovebites and more
about getting Peter’s tongue back in her mouth.
Apparently the universe is plotting with her for once because the breathy Peter
she exhales as she presses impossibly closer to him as he sets his teeth
against her collarbone is just the ticket. Eventually she stops having to think
about making sure she breathes through her nose and she can just concentrate on
what they’re doing.
She loses herself in the way their mouths are moving and the way Peter’s hands
move on her clothed skin. She tries to touch him the same way but doesn’t
really see how she can even come close to making him feel as awesome and undone
as he’s making her feel. One of them lets out a needy whimper when Peter’s
fingers slip under the hem of Stiles’ shirt to skim along her hips. Then Peter
pulls her close and rocks his hips into hers and there’s that pleading noise
again. It can’t be Peter, because he’s groaning, edging on a growl, which means
it must be Stiles who’s whimpering. The realisation makes her gasp and come
back to herself, suddenly self-conscious. Peter just keeps holding her close
and Stiles puts paid to all the fantasies she’s had of wiping that smirk off
his stupid gorgeous smug face. So yeah, kissing is definitely something Stiles
is down with.
                                     ****
It doesn’t really take long for Stiles to, well, not get tired of making out,
per se, but to want to expand their repertoire. If she fingers herself into a
sobbing mess most nights thinking of all the ways Peter has touched her and
some ways he hasn’t yet but she would really like him to then she can only
imagine what Peter is going through. And from the way they always end up
plastered together with Stiles wrapped around Peter like she can crawl inside
him and stay there forever it isn’t really a great stretch of the imagination,
even through the varying layers of clothing.
She’s managed to negotiate shirts off (and bras in her case), which, wow, she
had no idea nipples were so awesome until Peter set his teeth to hers, but
every time she does more than accidentally-on-purpose brush (or grind, but
who’s paying attention) against Peter’s cock he pins her wrists to whatever
surface they’re making out on (which had been kind of weird that time she’d
straddled him in the desk chair, but overall is probably way more of a turn-on
than Peter had meant it to be).
So she figures that maybe if she comes out and raises the idea before she
starts getting all moan-y and stuttering that Peter might take her seriously
instead of just thinking she’s getting caught up in the moment. You’d think
that he wouldn’t have hangups once he got over the part where she’s 17 and he’s
36, but apparently not. She waits until he’s perched carefully on her
windowsill, one hand braced on the bottom of the raised window above his head
and one foot halfway toward the floor before she unsubtly blurts out, “I really
wanna suck your cock.”
Peter, admirably, does not fall face-first to the floor, but he does manage to
look kind of shocked. Stiles is completely gobsmacked, though, because she had
really intended to go about this in a mature, adult fashion (there may have
been a powerpoint presentation prepared) and instead she sees him crawling into
her room all lithe, predatory grace and just blurts that out. She’s kind of
mortified, but this is pretty much how her life has always gone, so she takes
the moment and runs with it, hoping that by the time Peter catches up he’ll
give in out of weariness and/or confusion. It’s worked pretty well on basically
everyone else in her life, and she’s hoping it continues to be the case with
Peter.
She doesn’t really expect Peter to gently place a finger to her lips and calmly
and rationally discuss the issue (and yeah, those are the adjectives she’s
gonna go with even though she feels like she’s whining most of the time), but
she’s been reading up on this stuff and pretty much everything that looks legit
talks about becoming comfortable with your partner’s body and being comfortable
with your own and orgasms are nice but not necessary.
Peter counters with tragically rational arguments about more not necessarily
meaning everything and pacing themselves and emphasising the whole ~becoming
comfortable~ part of Stiles’ own argument, which, not even cool, but then he
kisses her and they kind of melt into each other, so Stiles is willing to
compromise with underwear makeouts for the time being.
She’d already known that Peter favors boxer briefs when he bothers with
underwear at all, and that he dresses to the left, but now she knows how his
breath stutters when she grips him through the cotton and how he likes it when
she licks not into but around the rim of his bellybutton and what the well-
placed application of her fingernails to his shoulderblades can do when she
moves her thigh just so between his. She’s gonna chalk this one up as a win.
                                     ****
When she finally manages to get Peter naked it’s definitely tempered by the
fact that she herself is also naked. And it’s not even that she’s ashamed of
her body, not really. She just knows that well, Peter is pretty fucking fit,
especially considering the fact that he spent most of the last decade in a coma
and is closer to 40 than 30, and she’s also aware that she’s not really
gorgeous. She’s seen all the pornograpic artsy things about how women’s bodies
are all different, et cetera, but she still kinda worries. It doesn’t even make
sense, because it’s not like her underwear had really been concealing much, and
it’s not like Peter is even looking at her crotch, although he kind of is, but
it’s more a strangely reverential whole package gaze, which, wow, what even.
But then Peter is stepping toward her and he’s tipping her chin up into a kiss
and she falls into it, and it’s soft and slow and sweet and she pretty much
forgets that they’re both naked and kissing until he breaks the kiss and she
realises she’s kind of plastered against him and his naked erection is pressed
against her abdomen. And, hey, that’s a lot different from a cloth-covered
erection.
But Stiles still has visions of getting Peter off in her head, and if she’s
completely honest it’s at least as much about how awesome it’ll feel to know
that she made him come as it is about actually doing it, if not more so. So she
presses another kiss to Peter’s lips and draws back even as he tries to follow
her mouth. She trails her hand pretty blatantly down his torso, resting her
forehead on his shoulder so she can watch what she’s doing. She stops with her
hand on his abs, trailing her thumb through his happy trail.
“Can I?” she whispers. Peter’s hands tighten just a bit on her waist, and she’s
already a little giddy. The yes is still slithering out of his mouth when
Stiles trails her fingers to the base of Peter’s erection and then back up to
the tip.
She knew he was uncut (it’s not really like werewolves are religious or born in
hospitals, so why would they be circumcised, really), but this is the first
time she’s really had the opportunity to see what that means. She’s seen uncut
cocks before, because the internet exists and she has a (sometimes more than)
healthy amount of curiosity, but theoretical and practical knowledge and so on.
Peter’s cock curves upward just a bit, and while he’s definitely still got his
foreskin it doesn’t completely envelope the head of his cock or anything.
Visually it’s pretty close to the stuff she’s seen in porn, but as she grips
him Stiles can feel the extra leeway the foreskin gives. She holds him like
that for a moment, brushing her thumb softly up and down the shaft to feel the
way the skin moves as Peter holds himself still, barely breathing. Stiles feels
pretty ridiculous that she can make Peter like this when he can eviscerate men
twice her size without even breaking a sweat.
She brings her head up and presses a kiss to the underside of Peter’s jaw,
grabbing his hands and pulling him gently to sit with her on the bed. She
kisses him again and his hands trail over her nipples and under her breasts,
around her ribs to cup her ass and pull her into his lap, enough for their
chests to brush but not enough to touch any farther down, for which Stiles is
kind of grateful once she notices. Eager she may be, but not really ready for
the whole shebang yet.
She strokes a thumb down his jaw (it may or may not deliberately be the same
thumb she stroked along his cock moments before) and draws back from the kiss,
hoping that the little bit of embarrassment she’s still feeling won’t make her
any redder than her normal arousal flush when she grabs Peter’s hand with her
own and brings it down to his cock between them.
“Tell me what you like,” she murmurs against his lips.
“Stiles, you don’t know what you do to me,” he breathes back at her.
Because she’s Stiles she whispers back, “That’s why you should show me.”
Peter chuckles and pecks her on the lips before bringing her hand up to kiss as
well. He grabs the lube she so thoughtfully placed on her pillow earlier and
cups a hand beneath both of Stiles’ before drizzling some onto them. She
immediately rubs her palms together because while there is a time and a place
for cold lube (at least in her book) she’s pretty sure their first handjob
isn’t it. The almost-laugh Peter breathes out is a pretty good indication she’s
right. And it might not be the most romantic thing for Stiles to quirk her
eyebrow and hold her hands out to the sides, palm up, in a pretty unmistakable
what now? gesture, but apparently Peter has a thing for Stiles and he knows
she’s kind of goofy all the time, so she figures he’ll deal, especially as he’s
about to get a handjob. Also the whole part where he has a thing for her.
He grabs her around her right wrist and brings it down, and a quick glance
tells Stiles that his gaze is pretty much locked on the approach her hand is
making to his cock. He lets her wrist go and folds his fingers around hers just
enough to close her hand around the base.
“Here. Slow and loose at first, to smooth the way,” and he’s using his
fingertips on the back of her hand to guide the motion up and down his cock.
Stiles is breathing carefully, kind of entranced, and realises she’s holding
her other lube-covered hand out in the middle of nowhere. She makes a vague
motion toward where their hands are moving together, because waste not, want
not, right? Or at least not have a hand uselessly slathered in lube or have to
awkwardly try to wipe it off on the bedspread when she has better things to
focus on.
Peter’s eyes are still glued to the ring of her fingers moving on his cock, so
she makes an executive decision and draws her right hand high enough that she
can wrap her left hand in its place before removing her right hand entirely.
Stiles works her hand up and down until she’s relatively convinced she’ll leave
more lube on Peter’s cock than was on her hand when she started, then replaces
her left hand again with her right.
Peter’s eyes are hooded now, and he’s leaning back on one arm, the hand that
had been guiding hers resting on her thigh where it’s splayed over Peter’s. She
continues the easy motion he set initially for a few more strokes.
“And now...?” she prompts, because she’s becoming convinced that Peter might be
happy to just sit there watching her hand, but she kind of really wants to make
him come undone.
“Now, firmer,” and she tightens her grip a bit and continues stroking,
faltering just a bit when his fingers close over hers, closing her fist a bit
more. She feels a muscle in his thigh jump beneath hers. “Firmer,” he says.
Stiles is torn between wanting to watch her hand and him watching her hand, but
then he looks up and catches her gaze. His pupils are a little blown, so she
decides to go with door number three and kisses Peter instead, although most of
her attention is on the way her fist is moving up and down Peter’s cock. It’s
hot and slick and she thinks she can feel his heartbeat, but can’t tell if
that’s just the pounding of her own pulse in her head.
“And at the top, move your thumb like this” and he brushes his thumb just below
the head of his cock, breath hitching in the middle. Stiles is biting her lip
now, switching her gaze between the flesh sliding through her grip and Peter’s
face. His face is a little scrunched up, and he’s got a pretty good flush going
himself, pink running down his throat and chest, and she’s a little surprised
to find her other hand suddenly splayed there, carding through the hair there
and rubbing across a nipple. She’s not sure if it was that or if she
inadvertently did something awesome to Peter’s cock while her attention was
diverted, but Peter moans out her name in a way he never has before that makes
her throb with want.
“So was that for this?” Stiles brushes over Peter’s nipple again to no avail.
“...Or something else? Cause I’d really like to hear it again.” Peter moans
again, a little brokenly, and while it’s awesome it’s not the same, not like it
was pulled from the depths of Peter’s chest without his knowledge or consent.
Stiles keeps working her other hand, trying to figure out what it was she did,
when Peter grabs the hand she’s been running over his chest and moves it down,
down past his cock to his balls. When her fingers make contact he hand on a
bible whimpers and drops her hand like he’s been scalded, clenching his eyes
shut. Stiles stutters in the rhythm of her stroking, carefully cradling Peter’s
balls in her other hand and now she understands what it meant when stories
talked about rolling a man’s balls in your hand.
Suddenly Peter sits up enough to crash their mouths together, a brief press of
lips before he’s just breathing Stiles Stiles Stiles over again as his hips
jerk upward into her fist and he’s coming all over her hands and his own thighs
and stomach. Stiles is a little disappointed she didn’t get to see him come, or
his face when he did, but she can feel the way his breathing is labored as he
slumps down so his face is pressed into the curve of her neck into her shoulder
as he gently grips her wrist, stilling her movement.
“Too much,” he manages to breathe into her collarbone. Stiles is pretty
freaking thrilled right now. She just made Peter come, and it’s not like she
has a lot of (any) experience with this, but she’s pretty proud that he’s kind
of just wrapped himself up in her and can’t seem to do much more than breathe
wetly into her clavicle and press lazy kisses there every once in a while as
his hands trail up and down her sides on just this side of ticklish. She’s
pretty awesome, okay.
And well, she’s still kinda curious, so she brings her hand up behind Peter’s
back where he’s slumped against her to her mouth and licks at the side of it.
She pretty much decides that anyone who says that come tastes good is mentally
disturbed, because it really doesn’t, but if a blowjob will do to Peter what a
handjob just did then tasting jizz is a price she will gladly pay. And from all
the things she’s read apparently those are even more awesome for the receiver,
so. Mission accepted, if postponed to some later date when she hasn’t fondled
Peter’s brains all over her bed.
Peter, meanwhile, has apparently recovered his breath and is kind of really
still. Stiles would say dangerously so, but the only real danger she’s in from
Peter these days is of being a little bit ravaged, and as recent events would
suggest she’s pretty okay with that. So she goes still right back, with her
hand awkwardly held over Peter’s shoulder a few inches in front of her face
while his breath kinda mists down her chest, and then she pulls the arm to the
side and down suspiciously fast as Peter raises his torso slowly. It probably
shouldn’t do the things it does to her that his eyes are still red and his
teeth are a bit sharper than they generally are.
“Stiles.” Peter has this way of making her name both a question and a statement
that she usually kind of hates because it’s so vague, but sitting here in her
bed, naked in her lap with his come all over them she kind of really can’t be
bothered. So she brings her hand back up and licks it again; a nice, hearty
swipe of the tongue this time, not the experimental little taste from before.
She’s still not used to the bitterness, so she doesn’t quite manage to school
her features to be impassive, or even impish, but it does the trick and Peter
is holding her face still so he can lick into her mouth as if tasting himself
there is the best thing that could have happened. Stiles is pretty sure she
looks nearly as dazed as Peter when they stop, foreheads against each other and
breathing heavily.
“Stiles,” and this one is more an exhalation that she’s only just now getting
used to hearing, that means she’s done something really right and awesome, and
she hopes she never really gets used to hearing it. And then her brain breaks
when Peter follows it with “I want to taste you.” Because she had not really
expected Peter to go down on her so soon after the commencement of mutual naked
time, but she can’t really honestly say she’s averse to the idea. Peter must
hear the stutter of her heart, though.
“Not if you don’t want to, we don’t have to if you’re not ready,” and he’s
still cradling her face and looking into her eyes more earnestly than someone
whose lap is covered with naked girl and jizz has a right to. And okay, yeah,
she’s got some trepidations, because while Stiles is pretty familiar with her
own fingers and a vibrator and knows how she likes things to run, oral sex is
not really something she can have any familiarity with unless she decides to
become a contortionist. Peter laughs.
“I uh, guess that was out loud, huh?” She’s used to this general scenario of
word vomit and the particular audience of Peter that she can mostly slog on
unhindered through this, but she can still feel the blush creep down her ears
and neck. She wipes her sticky hands on the comforter to either side of their
thighs and grabs Peter’s hands, bringing them down and holding them in hers. “I
want you to, but, well, I am kinda nervous. Only so much exploring I can do on
my own, you know?” She quirks one side of her mouth up self-deprecatingly.
Peter kisses the tip of her nose, which causes Stiles to scrunch her face up.
“Then we’ll find out together,” Peter says, because sometimes he’s kind of
stupidly perfect now that he’s not creeping on her and is pretty much allowed
whatever he wants because these days it tends to fall pretty well in line with
what Stiles wants as well. He runs his hands up her arms and back down again
before grabbing Stiles around the waist and rolling them so she ends up laying
on her back on the other side of the bed with Peter poised above her.
He kisses his way from her mouth down her neck, sucking a hickey at the top of
her breast where it’s just too low to show even when she wears shirts that slip
off one shoulder, using his hands to brace himself over her. This isn’t
anything they haven’t done before, as long as Stiles doesn’t think about the
naked part, and in short order she’s got her fingers twined through Peter’s
hair as she arches her chest up into his mouth and throws a leg over his. One
of Peter’s hands skims down her ribs to her thigh, thumb running back and forth
in the crease where Stiles’ leg meets her abdomen.
Peter licks and nips his way across Stiles’ chest as he moves his hand down the
inside of Stiles’ thigh, and it’s not like Peter hasn’t been pretty clearly
broadcasting his intentions but Stiles still tenses when his fingers brush over
her. Peter makes gentle shushing noises as he levers himself up the bed to kiss
Stiles once more, stroking her hip reassuringly.
“You’ll tell me if I do anything you don’t like.” And again with the question
statements. Stiles gets through half a thought about interrobangs before
Peter’s brushing against her deliberately, trailing his fingers through the
wetness from how much she liked getting Peter off. It’s just fingertips against
her, and Peter’s lips and tongue and teeth trailing down her torso until with a
final bite to her hipbone Peter spreads her thighs wider and puts one of
Stiles’ legs over his shoulder. She looks down just in time to meet Peter’s
eyes as he breathes a slow, hot breath over her and follows it up with a long
lick. She throws her head back, squeezes her eyes shut and throws her arm over
her mouth to muffle the ridiculous noises she knows she’s going to make. Peter
licks her again, a little deeper this time, and she does make a noise.
“Let me hear you, Stiles,” Peter says as he runs a hand up the outside of her
thigh, and presses a kiss to the inside. She whines a bit at that, but reaches
down to grab the blankets with both hands as she glares at Peter.
“You’re cruel and I hate you.” His only response is to chuckle and lick her
again, pressing close at the end to work his tongue back and forth over her
clit. “I take it back,” Stiles gasps. “I’ll only hate you if you stop.” Peter
hums his laughter and Stiles’ leg flexes where it’s draped over Peter’s
shoulder.
This is so different from what she’s done to herself. The slick motion of
Peter’s tongue into her and over her clit is way better than her fingers, but
somehow not enough at the same time. It’s great, but she can tell she’s sitting
at a steady thrum that’s more likely to trail off into nothing than get her
off. Normally this is the point at which she’d bring in the vibrator and work
herself open with the power off, but she’s got a much better alternative at
hand. And if she makes a terrible pun in her head as she threads her fingers
through Peter’s hair again he’ll never know.
“More, Peter,” and his mouth is moving back up to her clit as he carefully
slips a finger into her, working it in and out slowly in time with his mouth.
Stiles lets out a frustrated noise and presses her heel into Peter’s ribs.
“Peter, please, my vibrator is bigger than your finger, I need more than that.”
Peter’s moan sparks one in Stiles that turns into a drawn out exhale as Peter
adds a second finger and crooks them a bit as he moves them in and out. And
this is what Stiles needed, more than she’d imagined even. No amount of
imagination could have prepared her for this. As much as she loves kissing
Peter and people tease her about her oral fixation, there is nothing in the
world like Peter’s mouth on her clit, sucking and licking, while he opens her
up on his fingers, thrusting a bit faster and angling them to find that spot
that she only ever seems to be able to locate on the very best days.
Stiles suddenly realises she’s babbling and sobbing a little bit and most of it
seems to be variations on “Oh my god, Peter.” Then suddenly everything snaps
and her spine bows and she might (probably did) scream and Peter is still
there, working his fingers and humming around her clit and usually Stiles isn’t
good enough to make herself come again but this is definitely that same feeling
rolling up and Peter does something amazing with his mouth that Stiles can’t
even tell what is because she’s too busy shaking apart and sobbing through her
second orgasm.
This time, though, it’s too much, and she tugs weakly at Peter’s hair, and he
pulls away so slowly, like he’s sad to leave, and clearly Stiles has gone
completely loopy from coming twice in rapid succession. Peter nuzzles into her
shoulder again, and that’s no good because Peter did such a good job she wants
to kiss him, so she squirms a bit.
“No, c’mere, kisses,” and Peter tastes like Stiles, and she can almost see why
Peter licked his way into her mouth so thoroughly when she had his come on her
tongue, because it’s kind of heady, but still not exactly pleasant. Fair’s fair
though, and it’s totally worth it.
Overall, Stiles decides as she wraps herself around Peter, she’s pretty pleased
with how real life is compared to the stuff she’s read. It’s not all roses, but
there’s Peter and her and that’s pretty awesome all by itself.
End Notes
     thanks to TheShadowPanther for her invaluable help beta-ing this
     piece of ridiculousness~
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
