A little something for @steterweek Doesn’t exactly fit the prompt, but the spirit is there ;)
Stiles looks down at the book in front of him, biting his plush pink lips. His long lashes flutter against his cheeks when he blinks. The thumb and forefinger of one hand caress the corner of the page he’s reading, back and forth, back and forth.
All these things, Peter can handle. He’s had time to adjust to how maddeningly pretty Stiles is, his big eyes and long lashes and that mouth, the way he can’t keep his hands to himself.
As tempting as all these things are, what’s caught Peter’s attention right now is Stiles playing with the long hair by his ear, twisting a curl around his finger. Because Stiles’s hair is long enough to do that now. Stiles’s hair is curling gently around his ears and down his neck and it’s driving Peter wild.
His boy looks even softer, even prettier this way. And there he goes again, thinking about Stiles as “his” when he really has no right to at all. God he wants that right.
He jerks at a hand on his arm. It’s Derek, grabbing his arm and dragging him out of his seat, down the hallway to the study.
“Would you just talk to him,” Derek says, once he’s closed the door. His arms are folded across his chest, and he has his most judgmental eyebrows in full play. “I’m sick of watching you pine after him like some lovesick teenager. Either get over it or ask him out already.”
Peter snorts. “Fine talk coming from you.”
“Hey, only one of us has a partner here, and it’s not you,” Derek says smugly.
“Yes, because she asked you,” Peter says, not willing to give up the fight.
“Oh so you expect Stiles to ask you? Stiles, the kid who somehow still doesn’t think he’s attractive? The one who regularly jokes about being single forever? The one who still hasn’t figured out after a year that you’re basically courting him? That Stiles?”
He won’t admit it out loud, but his nephew might have a point. God he hates when Derek’s right. “What if he says no?” Peter asks, and maybe he’s hoping that Derek knows something he doesn’t, will assure him that Stiles wants him. He doesn’t.
“Then you can deal with it and get on with your life. Do you really want to waste another year pining over him when maybe he could be yours?”
Derek’s made two good points in a row. The universe must be out of alignment. “Fine. I’ll talk to him,” he grits out.
“See that you do,” Derek says, sounding almost exactly like his mother. Peter’s heart aches, even in the midst of his annoyance.
“What was that about?” Stiles asks when Peter gets back to the dining room.
Peter holds out his hand instead of answering. “Come for a walk with me?”
Stiles tilts his head, looking like an adorable puppy, trying to figure Peter out. Eventually, he takes the offered hand, and doesn’t let go as they walk out of the house, down the steps, and out into the forest.
Peter lets himself soak in the moment, listening to the sounds of the trees and Stiles’s heartbeat. Stiles’s hand in his feels warm and comfortable. He wants to live this moment a thousand times in the years to come.
“You’re not like, dying or anything, right?” Stiles asks after some time. “You’re kind of freaking me out dude.”
Peter can’t help it, he laughs. His intentions being horribly misread is exactly how this would go with Stiles, isn’t it? They’ve been that way since the beginning.
“No, sweetheart,” he says once his laughter has calmed, “I’m in love with you.”
“Oh,” Stiles says. His heart speeds up, but he sounds calm when he says, “I thought you might be? But you’re really hard to read.”
Peter’s stomach drops. “You don’t feel the same?” He asks. They’re still walking, still facing forward. Stiles hasn’t let go of his hand at least, so there’s that.
“Of course I do,” Stiles says. “I’m absolutely crazy about you.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Peter asks.
“Why didn’t you? You’re the one with the super sense of smelling. I figured you knew how I felt, and if you didn’t say anything, you must not want me. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship by bringing it up.”
“Not want you?” Peter does stop then, touches Stiles’s cheek softly, reverently. “How could I not want you, you gorgeous, brilliant, amazing boy.”
Stiles’s smile is small but delighted, his eyes dance. “Why now?”
“It’s this goddamn hair,” Peter says, reaching up to tug at a strand. It’s soft. His fingers linger.
Stiles laughs. “This hair really does it for you, huh?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“What if I told you that I’ve imagined you pulling on it while I…um…you know,” Stiles says, suddenly shy.
“I’d probably have to kiss you.”
“You should definitely kiss me then. Because I’ve imagined it. A lot.”
“Oh really?” Peter says, pulling Stiles up against his body.
“So many times,’ Stiles says, nearly touching their lips together. “Other things too,” he adds, brushing his nose against Peter’s. “Filthy, filthy things. I’ve been a very naughty boy, Peter.”
Peter kisses him then, a kiss that Stiles quickly turns wet and messy in the best way, the sweetest moans falling from his lips.
“You’ll be mine?” Peter says, feeling a little drunk on his boy already.
“I’ve been yours for a very long time,” Stiles says.
The walk back to the house is slow and meandering, their hearts as intertwined as their hands as they share confessions and secret wishes and hopes. Peter can’t wait to be absolutely insufferable to be around, sickeningly in love. It’s going to be wonderful.
