Fic: Imagine You and Me, Teen Wolf, Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Title: Imagine You and Me
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,502
Summary: In which Chris is oblivious and Peter runs the risk of chafing
Additional Notes: Beta'ed by Temaris.
Imagine You and Me
Peter snarls, slamming the door to his apartment behind him, a flare of satisfaction running through him at the bang that rings through the air.
Chris Argent is the most infuriating, oblivious, cock-teasing bastard on the planet.
Peter has laid out his intentions, has done everything short of flashing a neon sign, and still the hunter's done nothing apart from light touches and glances and argh!
Beyond dropping to his knees in the middle of the next pack meeting (and he's seriously considered that), Peter isn't sure just how much more obvious he can be, but still Chris hasn't made a move.
It's ridiculous; he hasn't jerked off so much since he was a teenager, all fang and fur and rampaging hormones. And now, the slightest touch from Chris has Peter's cock almost sitting up and begging. He's fed up of having to dive into Derek's bathroom every time Chris touches him. (To be honest, Derek's fed up of Peter diving into his bathroom, as well. His nephew has already commented that if Peter jerks off in there one more time, Derek's going to tie Peter's dick into a knot. And Derek's not the only one. The looks he gets from all the wolves in the pack tell their own story. Especially Erica, although hers is more of an If you do get Papa Argent in bed, can I watch? story. Which is why Erica is Peter's favourite.)
There's part of Peter that thinks maybe he should just let it go, that maybe Chris knows exactly what's going on and this is as far as he's prepared to take it. That the other man is perfectly happy with teasing touches and flirting but has no intention of actually pinning Peter to a bed and taking him apart.
Which is a pity, because if there's anything those arms look like they're perfect to do, it's holding Peter down as Chris drives into him.
Peter feels his dick twitch at the thought. Well, at least he's not at Derek's. At least he won't have to head into the bathroom just to get some relief and then have the face the disapproving looks of a group of teenagers. (Like most of them don't spend all of their free time jerking off. They seem to forget that he's a werewolf as well, and that they aren't the only ones who can smell things.)
Snapping open the buttons on his jeans, he drops down on to the couch. (It's a ginormous piece of furniture that's soft and buttery leather. Peter saw it and fell in love, and, yes, it may have cost him a small fortune, but good god, it's sinfully comfortable and more than worth it. He's spent many an hour, with his head back and his hand moving slowly over his cock on this couch. He's about to spend many more.)
He closes his eyes as he wraps his fingers around his half-hard cock, imagining Chris in front of him, his hand around the back of Peter's neck as he feeds Peter his cock. And Peter can almost feel it, the hard thickness hitting the back of his throat. Can almost taste the precome slicking his tongue as he's surrounded by the scent of wolfsbane and cordite, and, oh god, that's not in his mind--
His brain supplies the information only seconds before there's a knock at the door, sharp and precise, and even if he hadn't scented who was outside his apartment, Peter would have known just by that knock. Standing up, he stuffs himself back into his jeans, wincing slightly as he fastens them over his still partially-hard cock.
Peter opens the door, eyeing Chris as he stands there. "Christopher, whatever brings you to my humble abode?" And Peter's torn. On the one hand, he wants Chris to go away so he can get back to what he was doing. On the other hand, it's Chris, and even a single touch from Chris outweighs hours with Peter's own hand. And, dear god, he really has turned into a teenage girl, hasn't he. (Even if all the teenage girls he actually knows are more likely to eviscerate someone with words and teeth and then use Molotov cocktails to clean up the remains, than to sit around moping about boys. Which means he's actually turned into a caricature of a teenage girl, and a bad caricature at that. Apparently, this is what his life has come to.)
"I need to talk to you," Chris says. And this is the moment. This is the moment when Peter either invites him in or closes the door in his face and goes back to jerk off. Actual Chris, who is probably there to talk shop about demons and ghosts and whatever else Beacon Hills has decided to throw at them this week, versus imaginary Chris, with his hands on Peter and his hard cock pressing into Peter's body. No contest, really.
Peter waves Chris into his apartment.
"What is it you need?" Peter asks, opening up his laptop to bring up a copy of the Hale bestiary. Whatever it is Chris needs, they'll probably be able to find at least a little information in there.
"So, Allison pointed out that you've been pretty much throwing yourself at me, and I've never noticed."
Or maybe not. Peter slams the laptop shut. "Excuse me?"
Because, yes, Allison is completely right, but that doesn't mean Peter ever expected Chris to just turn up and announce it.
Chris looks at him. "Allison mentioned that this," he motions between himself and Peter, "may actually be more than what I was thinking it was."
"And if Allison was correct," Peter replies slowly, "what would your opinions on that be?" Because if he's about to get shot he'd really rather know ahead of time.
"Well," Chris' voice is equally slow, and Peter can't help but want to laugh at the fact that they're two of the adults in the pack, "if Allison was correct, then I wouldn't be averse to the idea."
Peter holds up a hand. "Hold up. Are you saying that you not only have no objection to a werewolf, as Allison put it, throwing themselves at you, but you also would be open to exploring the consequences of that possibility?" Preferably with Peter. And preferably naked.
A smile crosses Chris' face. "So long as that werewolf is you, Peter, then yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."
Peter finds himself smiling back, before a thought crosses his mind. "And you couldn't have figured this out six months ago, before I nearly died of blue balls?" Because as fantastic as it is that Chris is finally with the programme, Peter's pretty much rubbed his dick raw in the past few months. (If it hadn't been for werewolf healing, he probably would have ended up in the emergency room with intimate chafing on more than one occasion. Which would have been fine except, knowing Peter's luck, it would have been on a day Melissa was working, and that would have meant explanations, and Melissa seeing straight through Peter and knowing exactly why he was there and who the cause was.)
"To give me my dues," Chris comments, "it took Vic asking when was I going to kiss her before I even realised she was interested."
"You're the most observant person I know." Seriously, a man who can spot a three-fold sacrifice with very little information isn't, Peter thinks, the kind of person who would have missed Peter telegraphing both eagerness and willing in every way he could think of short, of pinning Chris down and riding him like a pony.
"Not about stuff like this," Chris replies, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and glancing away as--
"Christopher Argent, are you blushing?" And, yes, Peter may have been a little too gleeful in pointing that out. But he's never seen Chris blush before. He's seen him describe the mating rituals of a kelpie to the pack before, in such detail that even Stiles turned bright red, without ever missing a beat. But here, standing before Peter, there's a flush to Chris' skin. It's actually kind of adorable. Not that he's going to tell Chris that. Well, maybe just this once. "You know, it's kind of cute that the big, bad hunter didn't notice--"
"Peter--" Chris's soft growl cuts him off.
Peter grins as he steps forward. "No, really, Chris, it's--"
And this time it's not words that cut Peter off, but Chris' lips, warm and insistent against Peter's own.
Chris pulls back after long moments. "Now, do you really want to talk about how cute everything was or--" Chris trails off with a smirk.
And, if Peter's being honest, there is a part of him that wants to call Chris cute again, just to see the delicious blush sweep across his skin. But the rest of him would rather just keep on kissing him. And so he does.
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,502
Summary: In which Chris is oblivious and Peter runs the risk of chafing
Additional Notes: Beta'ed by Temaris.
Imagine You and Me
Peter snarls, slamming the door to his apartment behind him, a flare of satisfaction running through him at the bang that rings through the air.
Chris Argent is the most infuriating, oblivious, cock-teasing bastard on the planet.
Peter has laid out his intentions, has done everything short of flashing a neon sign, and still the hunter's done nothing apart from light touches and glances and argh!
Beyond dropping to his knees in the middle of the next pack meeting (and he's seriously considered that), Peter isn't sure just how much more obvious he can be, but still Chris hasn't made a move.
It's ridiculous; he hasn't jerked off so much since he was a teenager, all fang and fur and rampaging hormones. And now, the slightest touch from Chris has Peter's cock almost sitting up and begging. He's fed up of having to dive into Derek's bathroom every time Chris touches him. (To be honest, Derek's fed up of Peter diving into his bathroom, as well. His nephew has already commented that if Peter jerks off in there one more time, Derek's going to tie Peter's dick into a knot. And Derek's not the only one. The looks he gets from all the wolves in the pack tell their own story. Especially Erica, although hers is more of an If you do get Papa Argent in bed, can I watch? story. Which is why Erica is Peter's favourite.)
There's part of Peter that thinks maybe he should just let it go, that maybe Chris knows exactly what's going on and this is as far as he's prepared to take it. That the other man is perfectly happy with teasing touches and flirting but has no intention of actually pinning Peter to a bed and taking him apart.
Which is a pity, because if there's anything those arms look like they're perfect to do, it's holding Peter down as Chris drives into him.
Peter feels his dick twitch at the thought. Well, at least he's not at Derek's. At least he won't have to head into the bathroom just to get some relief and then have the face the disapproving looks of a group of teenagers. (Like most of them don't spend all of their free time jerking off. They seem to forget that he's a werewolf as well, and that they aren't the only ones who can smell things.)
Snapping open the buttons on his jeans, he drops down on to the couch. (It's a ginormous piece of furniture that's soft and buttery leather. Peter saw it and fell in love, and, yes, it may have cost him a small fortune, but good god, it's sinfully comfortable and more than worth it. He's spent many an hour, with his head back and his hand moving slowly over his cock on this couch. He's about to spend many more.)
He closes his eyes as he wraps his fingers around his half-hard cock, imagining Chris in front of him, his hand around the back of Peter's neck as he feeds Peter his cock. And Peter can almost feel it, the hard thickness hitting the back of his throat. Can almost taste the precome slicking his tongue as he's surrounded by the scent of wolfsbane and cordite, and, oh god, that's not in his mind--
His brain supplies the information only seconds before there's a knock at the door, sharp and precise, and even if he hadn't scented who was outside his apartment, Peter would have known just by that knock. Standing up, he stuffs himself back into his jeans, wincing slightly as he fastens them over his still partially-hard cock.
Peter opens the door, eyeing Chris as he stands there. "Christopher, whatever brings you to my humble abode?" And Peter's torn. On the one hand, he wants Chris to go away so he can get back to what he was doing. On the other hand, it's Chris, and even a single touch from Chris outweighs hours with Peter's own hand. And, dear god, he really has turned into a teenage girl, hasn't he. (Even if all the teenage girls he actually knows are more likely to eviscerate someone with words and teeth and then use Molotov cocktails to clean up the remains, than to sit around moping about boys. Which means he's actually turned into a caricature of a teenage girl, and a bad caricature at that. Apparently, this is what his life has come to.)
"I need to talk to you," Chris says. And this is the moment. This is the moment when Peter either invites him in or closes the door in his face and goes back to jerk off. Actual Chris, who is probably there to talk shop about demons and ghosts and whatever else Beacon Hills has decided to throw at them this week, versus imaginary Chris, with his hands on Peter and his hard cock pressing into Peter's body. No contest, really.
Peter waves Chris into his apartment.
"What is it you need?" Peter asks, opening up his laptop to bring up a copy of the Hale bestiary. Whatever it is Chris needs, they'll probably be able to find at least a little information in there.
"So, Allison pointed out that you've been pretty much throwing yourself at me, and I've never noticed."
Or maybe not. Peter slams the laptop shut. "Excuse me?"
Because, yes, Allison is completely right, but that doesn't mean Peter ever expected Chris to just turn up and announce it.
Chris looks at him. "Allison mentioned that this," he motions between himself and Peter, "may actually be more than what I was thinking it was."
"And if Allison was correct," Peter replies slowly, "what would your opinions on that be?" Because if he's about to get shot he'd really rather know ahead of time.
"Well," Chris' voice is equally slow, and Peter can't help but want to laugh at the fact that they're two of the adults in the pack, "if Allison was correct, then I wouldn't be averse to the idea."
Peter holds up a hand. "Hold up. Are you saying that you not only have no objection to a werewolf, as Allison put it, throwing themselves at you, but you also would be open to exploring the consequences of that possibility?" Preferably with Peter. And preferably naked.
A smile crosses Chris' face. "So long as that werewolf is you, Peter, then yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."
Peter finds himself smiling back, before a thought crosses his mind. "And you couldn't have figured this out six months ago, before I nearly died of blue balls?" Because as fantastic as it is that Chris is finally with the programme, Peter's pretty much rubbed his dick raw in the past few months. (If it hadn't been for werewolf healing, he probably would have ended up in the emergency room with intimate chafing on more than one occasion. Which would have been fine except, knowing Peter's luck, it would have been on a day Melissa was working, and that would have meant explanations, and Melissa seeing straight through Peter and knowing exactly why he was there and who the cause was.)
"To give me my dues," Chris comments, "it took Vic asking when was I going to kiss her before I even realised she was interested."
"You're the most observant person I know." Seriously, a man who can spot a three-fold sacrifice with very little information isn't, Peter thinks, the kind of person who would have missed Peter telegraphing both eagerness and willing in every way he could think of short, of pinning Chris down and riding him like a pony.
"Not about stuff like this," Chris replies, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and glancing away as--
"Christopher Argent, are you blushing?" And, yes, Peter may have been a little too gleeful in pointing that out. But he's never seen Chris blush before. He's seen him describe the mating rituals of a kelpie to the pack before, in such detail that even Stiles turned bright red, without ever missing a beat. But here, standing before Peter, there's a flush to Chris' skin. It's actually kind of adorable. Not that he's going to tell Chris that. Well, maybe just this once. "You know, it's kind of cute that the big, bad hunter didn't notice--"
"Peter--" Chris's soft growl cuts him off.
Peter grins as he steps forward. "No, really, Chris, it's--"
And this time it's not words that cut Peter off, but Chris' lips, warm and insistent against Peter's own.
Chris pulls back after long moments. "Now, do you really want to talk about how cute everything was or--" Chris trails off with a smirk.
And, if Peter's being honest, there is a part of him that wants to call Chris cute again, just to see the delicious blush sweep across his skin. But the rest of him would rather just keep on kissing him. And so he does.