Looks Like Prey part 2
Please refer to part one for warnings and notes.
You come to the house early in the day on the full moon, so that you can have some time alone. You haven't been back since that night, spending your days keeping an eye on Stiles and the Argents and your nights in the extended stay motel room you still haven't moved out of. You're pretty sure that Peter is living in his nurse's apartment and driving her car; you don't know what he's done with the nurse and you don't really want to.
The entryway is still splattered with the dried-up remains of Kate's blood. You can see tracks where animals have been through, licking at it. Somehow it seems fitting that your childhood home with always smell like ash and like Kate. You spend a while just walking around the house, around the property, looking for any boobytraps the hunters may have set for you. You find a few and disarm them; Peter is careful enough to avoid them, but Stiles would probably end up getting caught in one otherwise.
Eventually you make your way down to the basement, where you know you're going to end up sooner or later. It's always been where your family spent full moons, because it's where all the equipment is to restrain the kids who haven't learned to control themselves yet. Kate's scent is long gone from the room, and you're too far to smell the blood upstairs, which is a small mercy. Still, you can't forget that this is where your parents burned to death, your cousins, your aunts and uncles. You can't forget that the last time you were here Kate had you strung up by your wrists, laughing while she tortured you.
The basement is actually a subterranean complex of rooms, some of them with windows and chains like this one, some of them with solid rock walls and bars. When you were little your parents would stay in with you, physically restraining you with their own hands. Once you were older, you got the chains. And when you had control of yourself -- by then, you were Laura's omega, and you and she and your cousins would get shut in one of the rooms with bars together, as if that somehow gave you privacy, or maybe it gave the adults privacy. You wander down the hallway and look into one of the rooms; it's the one you were in the time that your cousin Conner was mad at you for borrowing his Xbox without permission, and he beat you so badly it took twelve hours to fully heal. The one on the other side of the hall is the room you were in when Conner and his sister Evelyn were practically crawling out of their skins and snapping at each other, and you decided to make things easier on everyone by just stripping off all your clothes as soon as your parents were out of sight and getting in between them.
Not all of the memories are bad ones. Some moons you just sat around and traded stories all night; sometimes you played cards or board games in the dim light from the hallway. Even on the bad nights, things were always better in the morning. No matter what happened during the full moon, your family loved you -- your pack loved you -- and Laura was always there, even if sometimes she pretended she was too tough to care.
You're lost in memories, running your fingers along the bars, when Peter arrives. "Ellie died in there, you know," he says. "I could hear her from down the hall, crying out, 'Daddy, Daddy,' coughing from the smoke." It's like claws digging into your gut and twisting; you can't bring yourself to look at him, so you stare down at your feet instead. "Lisa tried to cover her with her body to protect her. Did you know that they laced the gasoline with wolfsbane?"
"Did you know that Laura was engaged?" you ask, still not looking at him. "She'd moved on. She was going to get married and start a new pack. You probably didn't even ask before you ripped her apart."
You're deliberately goading him so it's no surprise when Peter's hand is suddenly around your throat, pushing you up against the bars. His claws are out and pricking into your skin, and there's a tiny line of heat where blood drips down from the punctures. "You know, Derek, I'd like to move on too," Peter says. His voice is level, not even angry. "All I wanted was to punish the people responsible for what happened to me -- for what happened to us."
He throws you across the room and your head cracks into the stone wall. "What, not going to protest your innocence? No, 'I was just a kid,' or 'I didn't know what I was doing' or 'I was tricked by her pretty face?'" You get to your feet and rush him, but he grabs your arm and twists you to the ground. "You're the one who can't move on, it seems." He kicks you in the ribs before you can stand, then kicks you again, this time catching your cheek with his heel. You lunge for him, but he catches you and holds you back. "Is this what you want?" Peter's claws dig into your ribs, and he throws you again. "You want me to punish you? You've always been good at taking a beating."
He stands over you and steps on your throat, constricting your airways. There's a pebble stuck in the sole of his shoe and its jagged edge slices into your skin. "Did you let her beat you too? Did you roll over for Kate just like you did for everyone else? Because I have to say, Derek, if there's one thing you excel at it's fucking." You can't get enough air, and you claw at his leg to try to get him to move, scrabbling your feet to get leverage. If you concentrate hard enough on trying to dislodge him, maybe you won't have to think about what he's saying. Peter presses his foot down harder, and you begin to see stars.
"Hey, stop! What are you doing?" Stiles's voice breaks through the rush of blood in your ears drowning out sound, and Peter takes his foot off, kicking you in the ribs again for good measure. You draw in a breath and choke on it, coughing while you struggle to your hands and knees. Stiles is standing near you, eyes wide and yellow. You can tell the moon is affecting him; he's fidgeting more than usual, and his claws are out already.
Peter looks at Stiles appraisingly, and says, "I see our omega is taking to his role quite naturally." You get to your feet, then hesitate. If you were still an omega, you would be putting yourself between them. You do want to protect Stiles from the worst of it, but you can't go back to being that again -- it's selfish, and maybe it makes you a bad person, but it's no worse than the other things you've done. Peter won't kill Stiles.
It's nowhere near as bad as the other things you've done.
"Oh shit," Stiles mutters, backing up and twitching under Peter's intense stare. Peter smiles and advances on him.
"You know, Stiles, I enjoy a challenge," Peter says, still smiling. "I think you're going to be quite challenging."
"Who, me? Oh no, I'm not challenging at all. See, this is me, not challenging you." Stiles holds his hands up in surrender, but Peter grabs him by the wrists and presses his back into the wall, sniffing at Stiles's neck. "What-- What are you doing? Are you going to-- Jesus Christ, that's a tongue, that's definitely your tongue." Stiles looks at you, eyes pleading you to intervene, as Peter licks a long stripe up his neck. You don't move. It's the moon itching under your skin, you think, that pushes a rush of heat through your body, that makes Stiles look like prey.
Stiles flinches and you realize your eyes must have changed. He lets out a high-pitched squeak when Peter presses against him; his rapid heartbeat is loud in your ears. "Okay, can we talk about this, please? Because I know things are different for werewolves than for humans but there's got to be some way I can convince you to, you know, not rape me." You make an abortive move forward when Peter growls and throws Stiles to the floor, but stop yourself before you can interfere. Peter shoves Stiles's face into the floor and rests his weight on Stiles's back.
"Yes, quite challenging," Peter murmurs before digging his fangs into the back of Stiles's neck. Stiles screams, and you approach slowly and sink to your knees beside them. You wonder if you looked so vulnerable when you were an omega. You wonder if you looked so vulnerable to Kate. Peter pulls back and licks at the wound, then looks over at you. "Help me get his clothes off," he tells you, so you start untying Stiles's shoes.
"Please," Stiles mumbles against the floor. "Derek, please." You take his shoes off and move up his body to rub a soothing hand over his hair while Peter strips off his jeans. You guide Stiles up to his knees, then strip off his shirt. Peter kneels behind Stiles and runs a hand down Stiles's naked back, claws leaving a bright line in their wake. Peter's control is excellent, so you know the claws and the red eyes are intentional, probably to remind Stiles exactly how little power he has in comparison to an alpha.
Peter opens his pants and shoves them down to his knees along with his underwear. He's only half hard, but he leans forward and rubs himself against Stiles's ass, pushing Stiles down with a hand between the shoulder blades. You shrug off your jacket, fishing out the bottle of lube from your pocket and sliding it across the floor to Peter, then you pull Stiles's arms toward you and he grabs onto your hips, pressing his face against your side. He's shaking, and there's heat and moisture against your skin where tears are wetting your shirt. Stiles has given up on trying to talk his way out of this, but his body is still thrumming with tension, both from the full moon and from the stress of the situation. You rub his head and back to try to relax him and he takes a shaky breath.
His breath is cut short, turning into a cry, when Peter abruptly pushes into him. "I see you've been teaching him," Peter says to you, and you nod. Stiles is gasping and sobbing against you, so you just keep rubbing his shoulders. Peter begins moving his hips in short thrusts, and between the moon's itch and your memories of what it felt like to be on the receiving end, you find yourself getting hard and have to take a moment to reach into your pants and adjust yourself. You crotch is uncomfortably close to Stiles's face.
"He's tighter than you were, Derek," Peter is saying, "but then you were no virgin the first time I fucked you." You're not sure what to say to that so you don't say anything at all. For a while you just listen to the slap of flesh on flesh and Stiles's sobs, which gradually fade away into heavy breathing. His grip on your hips doesn't loosen, though, and you shift your weight between your knees to get comfortable. Peter notices and raises an eyebrow at you. "You're not an omega anymore," he tells you. "Stiles has a mouth. You should use it."
You shouldn't. You know you shouldn't, but it's almost like you were waiting for permission, and you find your hands fumbling at the opening of your jeans anyway, then stripping off your shirt when the hem falls into your lap. You sit back on your heels and pull Stiles up for a moment, long enough to press a bruising kiss to his mouth and wipe the tears from his eyes. "Sorry," you say, but you guide him back down anyway. He doesn't fight it when you press your cock to his lips, and he keeps his teeth out of the way and his fangs retracted, but his mouth is slack around you. It doesn't matter, though, because you're not the omega anymore and he is and something about that and your alpha and the full moon makes you feel powerful. You roll yourself forward into his mouth and wonder if this is what it felt like for everyone else when you let them all use your body.
Peter's movements start to get more violent, and his thrusts push Stiles down onto your cock until he's practically choking. His hands grab at your hips to try to stay steady, but Peter is slamming into him harder and harder. You try to hold back so Stiles has some room to breathe, but the scent of sex is overwhelming and you want to come, you need to come right now, so you grab his hair and hold him steady while you fuck his mouth until the tension breaks. Most of your come spills out of his mouth when you pull out, and he coughs and spits out the rest. Peter follows after you with a groan, claws digging into Stiles's hips, then he backs away and tucks himself back into his pants.
Peter rolls his shoulders to stretch them out, then shoots a glance at you, his eyes back to their normal color. "I'm going to make sure there are no hunters around. You two stay here." He disappears up the stairs, and you're left alone with Stiles, who has curled up in a ball and is shivering and trying to pretend he's not crying. You reach for him but he flinches away.
When you were sixteen you'd done this many times, with just about everyone in your pack. But Stiles? Stiles was a normal human up until a couple months ago, and while some of this has got to be instinct for him, most of it is just overwhelming. You fasten your pants and pull your shirt back on, then gather Stiles's clothes and place them on the floor near him. "I'm sorry," you say. You're not sure if you're apologizing for your participation, for not volunteering to be the omega, for Stiles being part of Peter's pack, or for Stiles being bitten in the first place.
You reach for him again and this time you pull him closer to you when he tries to move away, and eventually he gives in and clutches at you, sobbing into your shoulder. You rub your hands over his back until he quiets, then let give him space so he can sit back. He's still naked, and he shifts awkwardly to try to cover up his erection, cheeks flaming red. "It's the moon," you tell him, because it's obvious he thinks he shouldn't be aroused.
Stiles glances up at you, then lowers his eyes again. "If it was just us," he says, then stops. He rearranges his legs to a more comfortable position, clears his throat, and tries again. "If it was just us, and you were the alpha, would you have done it?"
You know he wants you to say no, but you know he'll be able to tell if you're lying, so you tell him the truth. "Not like that." He jerks slightly in surprise, and you add, "I'd make it good for you. You'd want me to do it."
Stiles is looking over your shoulder, but there's only a blank wall there. "More like it was the other day?" he asks. His eye flicker to yours for a moment, then away again. You eye his crotch, and think maybe there is something you can do to make up for earlier.
You move forward into his space, and Stiles's eyes jump back to your face, startled. You put a hand on the side of his face and kiss him, slowly, gently, until he starts to respond, then you lower him down to the floor. His skin is hot when you slide your hand down to his hip, even though the basement is chilly. You mouth at his neck, a thrill running through you at how easily he submits, then cup your hand around his erection. "Do you want me to take care of this?" you ask him, nipping at the flesh below his ear. You feel more than see him nod, and it makes you smile. This is something you're good at; this is something you can do without screwing anything up.
Stiles is wonderfully responsive when you work your way down his body, twisting and arching into your touch. The extra prickle of the full moon burns away any embarrassment he had left, and even though you know it will be a long time before he can accept what Peter did to him, for now he can retreat into his animal side. You take your time going down on him, teasing him with your tongue and lips until he's falling apart under you. If he claws at your face when he loses himself, you don't stop him.
Afterward, when Stiles's features are fully human again, he reaches for his clothes. You think about stopping him, because you know that they'll be off again soon. You think about passing him the lube and telling him to spend this time getting ready. On the other hand, Stiles is cold and tired, and you're not sure he's really capable of thinking about round two right now, so you let him get dressed and go to sleep. The moon's not yet at its zenith; he'll be awake again soon. If he's lucky, he'll wake up before Peter gets back.
You think he's asleep and you've almost drifted off yourself when he whispers under his breath, "I wish it was just us."
***
You can't kill Peter.
You can't kill Peter, because the pack bond makes you instinctively protect him. Even if you weren't pack, you wouldn't be able to, not on your own -- if you could have, you would have done it that night in the hospital. If it was just you and Peter, you wouldn't even seriously think about it. Peter wanting you dead for your role in the fire, you wanting him dead for killing Laura, neither able to kill the other -- it's what you both deserve.
It's not just you though, and it won't be just you and Stiles for long either. You know Peter's going to want to grow his pack, and for someone newly turned, being part of the kind of pack that Peter runs is a hard life. You're pretty sure that if he builds a pack and gets stronger he's going to want to expand his territory, and that means fighting other packs. He's probably not above sharing out his pack for alliances either. Your family never did things like that, but after the fire things were different. Laura never grew your pack beyond the two of you, but she had to make alliances, and you wish you didn't know what that was like.
This is what you are thinking about when you run into Chris Argent at the grocery store.
He's alone, cart half-full of oatmeal and canned soup. When he sees you, he reaches into his jacket to put his hand on his weapon. A gun? A taser? Maybe even his crossbow? Chris won't start anything here, you think -- too public, too crowded. Still, you take care to be more aware of your surroundings, to be ready to run if you have to.
You nod at him and take a box of Cheerios off the shelf, placing it in your cart between the milk and the apples. "Picking up supplies for your pack?" Chris asks gruffly. You raise an eyebrow at him and say nothing. "They here with you tonight?"
"Trying to decide whether to call for backup?" you ask. "I'm just here to buy some groceries." You take a few steps closer to him, reaching for a box of shredded wheat. It brings you within arm's length, but he doesn't back off. Your gut clenches with nerves at how close he is, but Chris has always followed the code, even when the rest of his family didn't, and if you can bring yourself to say what you want to say to him, you don't want anyone overhearing.
"We're watching you," Chris says. "Peter's spilled human blood -- a lot of it, and you know I don't just mean my sister's."
"He killed my sister too," you remind him. A woman turns onto the aisle then, one child in the cart and one following behind, and starts browsing the shelves. Chris pretends to be deciding between Post and Kellogg's raisin bran, but he watches you out of the corner of his eye. You turn the box of shredded wheat and start slowly reading the nutritional information. The woman and her kids leave the aisle when you've gotten down to riboflavin.
"He killed your sister, but he's still your alpha," Chris says, putting both boxes back and taking the store brand raisin bran.
"You know how this works," you tell him, keeping your voice low. "If I find out you're planning something, I'll have to stop you. If I'm there when you come for him, I'll fight you." His brows draw together and his eyes narrow, as if you're threatening him. You suppose you are. "Don't let me find out your plans," you say, to make yourself clear.
Chris's eyes widen in surprise, but he nods. He begins to back away from you, but you force yourself to add, "Stiles needs an alpha to protect him and keep him out of trouble. If I were to find Peter dying, and there was no way to save him -- I'd put him out of his misery. Do we understand each other?"
"Perfectly," Chris says.
You spend a long time staring at the cereal after he leaves. You remember begging your father to let you buy Cocoa Puffs when you were a kid, and Uncle Peter taking your side when your dad said no. You remember fighting with Laura about who ate the last good bowl of raisin bran and left only the crumbly bits in the box.
You think you'd be a pretty poor alpha, but there's only one way to find out.
***
Thanks to quigonejinn and destronomics for beta and encouragement!
You come to the house early in the day on the full moon, so that you can have some time alone. You haven't been back since that night, spending your days keeping an eye on Stiles and the Argents and your nights in the extended stay motel room you still haven't moved out of. You're pretty sure that Peter is living in his nurse's apartment and driving her car; you don't know what he's done with the nurse and you don't really want to.
The entryway is still splattered with the dried-up remains of Kate's blood. You can see tracks where animals have been through, licking at it. Somehow it seems fitting that your childhood home with always smell like ash and like Kate. You spend a while just walking around the house, around the property, looking for any boobytraps the hunters may have set for you. You find a few and disarm them; Peter is careful enough to avoid them, but Stiles would probably end up getting caught in one otherwise.
Eventually you make your way down to the basement, where you know you're going to end up sooner or later. It's always been where your family spent full moons, because it's where all the equipment is to restrain the kids who haven't learned to control themselves yet. Kate's scent is long gone from the room, and you're too far to smell the blood upstairs, which is a small mercy. Still, you can't forget that this is where your parents burned to death, your cousins, your aunts and uncles. You can't forget that the last time you were here Kate had you strung up by your wrists, laughing while she tortured you.
The basement is actually a subterranean complex of rooms, some of them with windows and chains like this one, some of them with solid rock walls and bars. When you were little your parents would stay in with you, physically restraining you with their own hands. Once you were older, you got the chains. And when you had control of yourself -- by then, you were Laura's omega, and you and she and your cousins would get shut in one of the rooms with bars together, as if that somehow gave you privacy, or maybe it gave the adults privacy. You wander down the hallway and look into one of the rooms; it's the one you were in the time that your cousin Conner was mad at you for borrowing his Xbox without permission, and he beat you so badly it took twelve hours to fully heal. The one on the other side of the hall is the room you were in when Conner and his sister Evelyn were practically crawling out of their skins and snapping at each other, and you decided to make things easier on everyone by just stripping off all your clothes as soon as your parents were out of sight and getting in between them.
Not all of the memories are bad ones. Some moons you just sat around and traded stories all night; sometimes you played cards or board games in the dim light from the hallway. Even on the bad nights, things were always better in the morning. No matter what happened during the full moon, your family loved you -- your pack loved you -- and Laura was always there, even if sometimes she pretended she was too tough to care.
You're lost in memories, running your fingers along the bars, when Peter arrives. "Ellie died in there, you know," he says. "I could hear her from down the hall, crying out, 'Daddy, Daddy,' coughing from the smoke." It's like claws digging into your gut and twisting; you can't bring yourself to look at him, so you stare down at your feet instead. "Lisa tried to cover her with her body to protect her. Did you know that they laced the gasoline with wolfsbane?"
"Did you know that Laura was engaged?" you ask, still not looking at him. "She'd moved on. She was going to get married and start a new pack. You probably didn't even ask before you ripped her apart."
You're deliberately goading him so it's no surprise when Peter's hand is suddenly around your throat, pushing you up against the bars. His claws are out and pricking into your skin, and there's a tiny line of heat where blood drips down from the punctures. "You know, Derek, I'd like to move on too," Peter says. His voice is level, not even angry. "All I wanted was to punish the people responsible for what happened to me -- for what happened to us."
He throws you across the room and your head cracks into the stone wall. "What, not going to protest your innocence? No, 'I was just a kid,' or 'I didn't know what I was doing' or 'I was tricked by her pretty face?'" You get to your feet and rush him, but he grabs your arm and twists you to the ground. "You're the one who can't move on, it seems." He kicks you in the ribs before you can stand, then kicks you again, this time catching your cheek with his heel. You lunge for him, but he catches you and holds you back. "Is this what you want?" Peter's claws dig into your ribs, and he throws you again. "You want me to punish you? You've always been good at taking a beating."
He stands over you and steps on your throat, constricting your airways. There's a pebble stuck in the sole of his shoe and its jagged edge slices into your skin. "Did you let her beat you too? Did you roll over for Kate just like you did for everyone else? Because I have to say, Derek, if there's one thing you excel at it's fucking." You can't get enough air, and you claw at his leg to try to get him to move, scrabbling your feet to get leverage. If you concentrate hard enough on trying to dislodge him, maybe you won't have to think about what he's saying. Peter presses his foot down harder, and you begin to see stars.
"Hey, stop! What are you doing?" Stiles's voice breaks through the rush of blood in your ears drowning out sound, and Peter takes his foot off, kicking you in the ribs again for good measure. You draw in a breath and choke on it, coughing while you struggle to your hands and knees. Stiles is standing near you, eyes wide and yellow. You can tell the moon is affecting him; he's fidgeting more than usual, and his claws are out already.
Peter looks at Stiles appraisingly, and says, "I see our omega is taking to his role quite naturally." You get to your feet, then hesitate. If you were still an omega, you would be putting yourself between them. You do want to protect Stiles from the worst of it, but you can't go back to being that again -- it's selfish, and maybe it makes you a bad person, but it's no worse than the other things you've done. Peter won't kill Stiles.
It's nowhere near as bad as the other things you've done.
"Oh shit," Stiles mutters, backing up and twitching under Peter's intense stare. Peter smiles and advances on him.
"You know, Stiles, I enjoy a challenge," Peter says, still smiling. "I think you're going to be quite challenging."
"Who, me? Oh no, I'm not challenging at all. See, this is me, not challenging you." Stiles holds his hands up in surrender, but Peter grabs him by the wrists and presses his back into the wall, sniffing at Stiles's neck. "What-- What are you doing? Are you going to-- Jesus Christ, that's a tongue, that's definitely your tongue." Stiles looks at you, eyes pleading you to intervene, as Peter licks a long stripe up his neck. You don't move. It's the moon itching under your skin, you think, that pushes a rush of heat through your body, that makes Stiles look like prey.
Stiles flinches and you realize your eyes must have changed. He lets out a high-pitched squeak when Peter presses against him; his rapid heartbeat is loud in your ears. "Okay, can we talk about this, please? Because I know things are different for werewolves than for humans but there's got to be some way I can convince you to, you know, not rape me." You make an abortive move forward when Peter growls and throws Stiles to the floor, but stop yourself before you can interfere. Peter shoves Stiles's face into the floor and rests his weight on Stiles's back.
"Yes, quite challenging," Peter murmurs before digging his fangs into the back of Stiles's neck. Stiles screams, and you approach slowly and sink to your knees beside them. You wonder if you looked so vulnerable when you were an omega. You wonder if you looked so vulnerable to Kate. Peter pulls back and licks at the wound, then looks over at you. "Help me get his clothes off," he tells you, so you start untying Stiles's shoes.
"Please," Stiles mumbles against the floor. "Derek, please." You take his shoes off and move up his body to rub a soothing hand over his hair while Peter strips off his jeans. You guide Stiles up to his knees, then strip off his shirt. Peter kneels behind Stiles and runs a hand down Stiles's naked back, claws leaving a bright line in their wake. Peter's control is excellent, so you know the claws and the red eyes are intentional, probably to remind Stiles exactly how little power he has in comparison to an alpha.
Peter opens his pants and shoves them down to his knees along with his underwear. He's only half hard, but he leans forward and rubs himself against Stiles's ass, pushing Stiles down with a hand between the shoulder blades. You shrug off your jacket, fishing out the bottle of lube from your pocket and sliding it across the floor to Peter, then you pull Stiles's arms toward you and he grabs onto your hips, pressing his face against your side. He's shaking, and there's heat and moisture against your skin where tears are wetting your shirt. Stiles has given up on trying to talk his way out of this, but his body is still thrumming with tension, both from the full moon and from the stress of the situation. You rub his head and back to try to relax him and he takes a shaky breath.
His breath is cut short, turning into a cry, when Peter abruptly pushes into him. "I see you've been teaching him," Peter says to you, and you nod. Stiles is gasping and sobbing against you, so you just keep rubbing his shoulders. Peter begins moving his hips in short thrusts, and between the moon's itch and your memories of what it felt like to be on the receiving end, you find yourself getting hard and have to take a moment to reach into your pants and adjust yourself. You crotch is uncomfortably close to Stiles's face.
"He's tighter than you were, Derek," Peter is saying, "but then you were no virgin the first time I fucked you." You're not sure what to say to that so you don't say anything at all. For a while you just listen to the slap of flesh on flesh and Stiles's sobs, which gradually fade away into heavy breathing. His grip on your hips doesn't loosen, though, and you shift your weight between your knees to get comfortable. Peter notices and raises an eyebrow at you. "You're not an omega anymore," he tells you. "Stiles has a mouth. You should use it."
You shouldn't. You know you shouldn't, but it's almost like you were waiting for permission, and you find your hands fumbling at the opening of your jeans anyway, then stripping off your shirt when the hem falls into your lap. You sit back on your heels and pull Stiles up for a moment, long enough to press a bruising kiss to his mouth and wipe the tears from his eyes. "Sorry," you say, but you guide him back down anyway. He doesn't fight it when you press your cock to his lips, and he keeps his teeth out of the way and his fangs retracted, but his mouth is slack around you. It doesn't matter, though, because you're not the omega anymore and he is and something about that and your alpha and the full moon makes you feel powerful. You roll yourself forward into his mouth and wonder if this is what it felt like for everyone else when you let them all use your body.
Peter's movements start to get more violent, and his thrusts push Stiles down onto your cock until he's practically choking. His hands grab at your hips to try to stay steady, but Peter is slamming into him harder and harder. You try to hold back so Stiles has some room to breathe, but the scent of sex is overwhelming and you want to come, you need to come right now, so you grab his hair and hold him steady while you fuck his mouth until the tension breaks. Most of your come spills out of his mouth when you pull out, and he coughs and spits out the rest. Peter follows after you with a groan, claws digging into Stiles's hips, then he backs away and tucks himself back into his pants.
Peter rolls his shoulders to stretch them out, then shoots a glance at you, his eyes back to their normal color. "I'm going to make sure there are no hunters around. You two stay here." He disappears up the stairs, and you're left alone with Stiles, who has curled up in a ball and is shivering and trying to pretend he's not crying. You reach for him but he flinches away.
When you were sixteen you'd done this many times, with just about everyone in your pack. But Stiles? Stiles was a normal human up until a couple months ago, and while some of this has got to be instinct for him, most of it is just overwhelming. You fasten your pants and pull your shirt back on, then gather Stiles's clothes and place them on the floor near him. "I'm sorry," you say. You're not sure if you're apologizing for your participation, for not volunteering to be the omega, for Stiles being part of Peter's pack, or for Stiles being bitten in the first place.
You reach for him again and this time you pull him closer to you when he tries to move away, and eventually he gives in and clutches at you, sobbing into your shoulder. You rub your hands over his back until he quiets, then let give him space so he can sit back. He's still naked, and he shifts awkwardly to try to cover up his erection, cheeks flaming red. "It's the moon," you tell him, because it's obvious he thinks he shouldn't be aroused.
Stiles glances up at you, then lowers his eyes again. "If it was just us," he says, then stops. He rearranges his legs to a more comfortable position, clears his throat, and tries again. "If it was just us, and you were the alpha, would you have done it?"
You know he wants you to say no, but you know he'll be able to tell if you're lying, so you tell him the truth. "Not like that." He jerks slightly in surprise, and you add, "I'd make it good for you. You'd want me to do it."
Stiles is looking over your shoulder, but there's only a blank wall there. "More like it was the other day?" he asks. His eye flicker to yours for a moment, then away again. You eye his crotch, and think maybe there is something you can do to make up for earlier.
You move forward into his space, and Stiles's eyes jump back to your face, startled. You put a hand on the side of his face and kiss him, slowly, gently, until he starts to respond, then you lower him down to the floor. His skin is hot when you slide your hand down to his hip, even though the basement is chilly. You mouth at his neck, a thrill running through you at how easily he submits, then cup your hand around his erection. "Do you want me to take care of this?" you ask him, nipping at the flesh below his ear. You feel more than see him nod, and it makes you smile. This is something you're good at; this is something you can do without screwing anything up.
Stiles is wonderfully responsive when you work your way down his body, twisting and arching into your touch. The extra prickle of the full moon burns away any embarrassment he had left, and even though you know it will be a long time before he can accept what Peter did to him, for now he can retreat into his animal side. You take your time going down on him, teasing him with your tongue and lips until he's falling apart under you. If he claws at your face when he loses himself, you don't stop him.
Afterward, when Stiles's features are fully human again, he reaches for his clothes. You think about stopping him, because you know that they'll be off again soon. You think about passing him the lube and telling him to spend this time getting ready. On the other hand, Stiles is cold and tired, and you're not sure he's really capable of thinking about round two right now, so you let him get dressed and go to sleep. The moon's not yet at its zenith; he'll be awake again soon. If he's lucky, he'll wake up before Peter gets back.
You think he's asleep and you've almost drifted off yourself when he whispers under his breath, "I wish it was just us."
***
You can't kill Peter.
You can't kill Peter, because the pack bond makes you instinctively protect him. Even if you weren't pack, you wouldn't be able to, not on your own -- if you could have, you would have done it that night in the hospital. If it was just you and Peter, you wouldn't even seriously think about it. Peter wanting you dead for your role in the fire, you wanting him dead for killing Laura, neither able to kill the other -- it's what you both deserve.
It's not just you though, and it won't be just you and Stiles for long either. You know Peter's going to want to grow his pack, and for someone newly turned, being part of the kind of pack that Peter runs is a hard life. You're pretty sure that if he builds a pack and gets stronger he's going to want to expand his territory, and that means fighting other packs. He's probably not above sharing out his pack for alliances either. Your family never did things like that, but after the fire things were different. Laura never grew your pack beyond the two of you, but she had to make alliances, and you wish you didn't know what that was like.
This is what you are thinking about when you run into Chris Argent at the grocery store.
He's alone, cart half-full of oatmeal and canned soup. When he sees you, he reaches into his jacket to put his hand on his weapon. A gun? A taser? Maybe even his crossbow? Chris won't start anything here, you think -- too public, too crowded. Still, you take care to be more aware of your surroundings, to be ready to run if you have to.
You nod at him and take a box of Cheerios off the shelf, placing it in your cart between the milk and the apples. "Picking up supplies for your pack?" Chris asks gruffly. You raise an eyebrow at him and say nothing. "They here with you tonight?"
"Trying to decide whether to call for backup?" you ask. "I'm just here to buy some groceries." You take a few steps closer to him, reaching for a box of shredded wheat. It brings you within arm's length, but he doesn't back off. Your gut clenches with nerves at how close he is, but Chris has always followed the code, even when the rest of his family didn't, and if you can bring yourself to say what you want to say to him, you don't want anyone overhearing.
"We're watching you," Chris says. "Peter's spilled human blood -- a lot of it, and you know I don't just mean my sister's."
"He killed my sister too," you remind him. A woman turns onto the aisle then, one child in the cart and one following behind, and starts browsing the shelves. Chris pretends to be deciding between Post and Kellogg's raisin bran, but he watches you out of the corner of his eye. You turn the box of shredded wheat and start slowly reading the nutritional information. The woman and her kids leave the aisle when you've gotten down to riboflavin.
"He killed your sister, but he's still your alpha," Chris says, putting both boxes back and taking the store brand raisin bran.
"You know how this works," you tell him, keeping your voice low. "If I find out you're planning something, I'll have to stop you. If I'm there when you come for him, I'll fight you." His brows draw together and his eyes narrow, as if you're threatening him. You suppose you are. "Don't let me find out your plans," you say, to make yourself clear.
Chris's eyes widen in surprise, but he nods. He begins to back away from you, but you force yourself to add, "Stiles needs an alpha to protect him and keep him out of trouble. If I were to find Peter dying, and there was no way to save him -- I'd put him out of his misery. Do we understand each other?"
"Perfectly," Chris says.
You spend a long time staring at the cereal after he leaves. You remember begging your father to let you buy Cocoa Puffs when you were a kid, and Uncle Peter taking your side when your dad said no. You remember fighting with Laura about who ate the last good bowl of raisin bran and left only the crumbly bits in the box.
You think you'd be a pretty poor alpha, but there's only one way to find out.
***
Thanks to quigonejinn and destronomics for beta and encouragement!