Fic: Ricochet, Teen Wolf, Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Title: Ricochet
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,517
Summary: In which there is Chris, Peter, and a gun.
Additional Notes: Based on a prompt: Imagine Chris fucking you against his guns cabinet.
Ricochet
Peter grins as his back hits the wall of Argent's study. "Come on, old man," he taunts. "Thought you wanted to see me on my knees. Thought you wanted me to use my mouth for something useful."
Argent growls low in his throat, and Peter can't help but react, his wolf responding as the arm against his throat pushes harder.
Argent glances down, the sneer on his face widening as he realises Peter is hard, flesh straining behind his jeans. "Seriously, Hale. Is this what you need? Someone to pin you down and fuck you like the bitch you are."
Peter swallows down on the 'Yes--' that's welling up in him, bites back on the instinct to tilt his head, bare his throat.
But maybe he doesn't need the words, because Argent just smirks. "Thought so."
Peter doesn't get the chance to reply, to deny, before Argent's lips are covering his, harsh and rough. He's nipping at Peter's lower lip, a sharp pain before the taste of iron and metal slides across Peter's tongue.
When Argent pulls back there's a streak of red across his mouth, lips stained with Peter's blood. Peter watches as Argent's tongue licks at the blood, his eyes not leaving Peter's lips as the bite he left behind heals.
And Peter wants to return the favour. Wants to bite and claw at Argent until his marks are all over the hunter's skin. Wants to leave his signature in red and purple, scored over Argent's flesh.
But not today. Not when his cock is throbbing hard behind his jeans. Not when his wolf is howling out for Argent to hold him down, to fuck him, to make him submit.
There's a beat of silence, and Peter can smell the desire coming from Argent, the want and need bleeding from every pore, thickening the air around them.
"Thought you were going to fuck me." The words are a sneer on Peter's lips, daring Argent to take, to claim.
A look of hot possession flashes over Argent's face, his hand darting out to tangle his fingers in Peter's hair. He tugs Peter away from the wall, dragging him across the room. And Peter lets him. Even though he could be out of Argent's grip in a matter of seconds, Peter lets himself be pulled, boots the scuffing the carpet as he goes. Because he wants to know what Argent will do if given the chance, wants to know how far the hunter will go.
Argent pushes Peter once they get to the other side of the room, turning him as he does so. Pushes him until there's the rattle of Peter's hands against metal, against the long, locked cabinet that runs almost the full length of the wall.
Grabbing Peter's wrists, Argent presses his hands against the metal. "Don't move them."
"And what makes you think I'll take orders from a hunter?" Even if Peter is already spreading his fingers over the cool surface, even if he's already bracing himself.
Argent's laugh is low, his fingers back in Peter's hair so he can tug Peter's head back. "Because you're hard at just the thought of my cock splitting your ass open. So, be a good little puppy and don't fucking move your hands."
Peter curls his fingers, nails too sharp to be entirely human scoring shallow grooves in the metal as he looks at Argent, not lifting his hands away.
Argent just smirks. "Good boy."
And then Argent's hands are at Peter's belt, pulling it open, tugging down his jeans until they're half way down his thighs.
"Commando, Hale? Guess you really are desperate for my dick."
He doesn't wait for Peter to respond, doesn't wait for anything before he's spitting into his palm and wrapping his fingers around Peter's cock.
Peter hisses when Argent's fingers cover him, skin catching against skin as he starts to jerk him, the saliva on Argent's hand nowhere near enough.
"Is this what you wanted, Hale? A hunter's hand around your cock?"
Argent is quick and rough as he strips Peter's cock, and it's not how Peter normally jerks himself, but it's sharp and harsh and perfect.
There's a litany of filth pouring from Argent's lips into Peter's ear, the words base and low, filling Peter like molasses. Words about how fucking desperate Peter is, about how Argent knew he'd be like this, whining like a bitch for a hunter's touch.
And with each word, with each touch, Peter can feel it building in him. It's a steady ball of heat, rolling through him like a fire. His wolf is hammering at the inside of his skin, and he can feel the prick of fur underneath his flesh.
Argent is still talking, telling Peter how good he's going to look on his back, on his knees. And the thought of it has Peter's balls tightening. The thought of laying himself out under Argent's gaze, putting himself in the hands of a hunter, of this hunter.
Argent's hand twists slightly, his thumb nail scoring a line down Peter's cock. And that's all it takes for him. All it takes for the pleasure to crest over him, body shaking as he comes, splattering white onto the cabinet and over Argent's fingers.
There's a "Slut," muttered just loud enough for Peter to hear it as Argent shifts, moving until he's behind Peter, until a hand grips one of Peter's ass cheeks and pulls.
Fingers slide over Peter's hole, spreading the come on them across him. And Peter can't help but push back, wanting those fingers inside him, wanting to be split out and spread open. But Argent just pulls his hand away, reaches out to wipe the come off the grey metal before he's back at Peter's ass, a fingertip pushing inside just that tiny bit, just enough to make Peter growl because it's nowhere near what he needs.
Argent's finger pulls out at the growl coming from Peter's throat, and then the bastard's stepping back, and for a moment, Peter thinks he's going to leave him there, cock hanging out and his own come slicked over his asshole. But Argent's hands are on him, pulling Peter back slightly.
Peter can't see the number Argent enters as he opens the cabinet, thumb sliding over the lock as he puts in the combination. The cabinet's full, and Peter wonders how many of these guns have been used to kill, how many have been held to a wolf's head with nothing more than the intention to end them.
"Choose one," Argent says.
"What?" Because Peter doesn't know what he means.
"Every single one of these has been used to put down rabid dogs like you. Some of them are even still loaded. So choose which one I'm going to fuck you with."
Peter's breath catches in his throat, his entire being split between wanting to turn and tear Argent's throat out for daring to even think such a thing, and sticking his ass out further. Because Peter's skirted that edge ever since he was young, balancing between the razorblade of the cliff edge and the abyss that wants to swallow him whole.
And no one, no alpha, has been able to put him down and keep him there. Has been able to sate the violence in Peter's wolf in a way that has him finally quiet. Until now. And it burns that the one who can apparently do this to him is a fucking Argent.
"Choose," Argent repeats. "Or I'll choose for you. And believe me, Hale, you do not want that."
Peter doesn't move, and the moment stretches out until Argent reaches for one of the guns. And then Peter's nodding towards one of the weapons, sleek and black. "That one."
Argent smirks as he reaches out, plucks the gun from where it's hanging. He trails the barrel down Peter's cheek. "I took down a rogue in Baton Rouge with this gun only a few months ago. Big, feral bastard; had already killed a half dozen people before I got there." He moves the gun across Peter's shoulder, steadily edging it down Peter's spine.
And Peter can feel the slight chill from the metal seeping through his shirt, the fabric slowly dragging as Argent draws the gun down. He edges it over the hem of Peter's shirt, and Peter can't stop the shiver that runs through him as it skirts around his hip.
"You know," Argent says, conversationally, "I'm not even sure if I emptied the full clip into that beast." He's running the gun in light circles over Peter's ass cheeks, dipping into the crease further and further each time.
Peter shifts slightly, and it's not that he's pushing back into Argent's touch, pushing back into the gun creeping closer to his asshole; it's not.
There's a huff of amusement from Argent, and suddenly the gun is no longer at Peter's ass, is being held in front of his face.
"Suck it."
Argent nudges the gun barrel against Peter's lips, and his automatic reaction is to turn away, to growl and snap. He sneers at Argent, but Argent doesn't pull back, just presses the gun harder against Peter's lips.
"Suck. It."
Well, if Argent wants a show, Peter will fucking give him one. Keeping his gaze locked on the hunter, Peter opens his lips, his tongue darting out to lap at the gun barrel. He curls his tongue around the metal, moaning low in his throat. Peter moves forward slowly, taking the gun further into his mouth. He laves his tongue over the metal, exaggerating each movement, making sure Argent can see.
Because Peter's good at this, at taking a man into his mouth and taking him apart until he's begging and offering Peter everything. And since he's pretty sure that the extensive weapons collection is little more than an extension of Argent's dick, then deepthroating the gun is only one step away from being on his actual knees, only one step away from swallowing Argent down.
"Fucking slut," Argent comments, as he pulls the gun from Peter's mouth, shiny slick and wet. He moves behind Peter, and there's a hand between Peter's shoulder blades, pushing him further into the cabinet.
The gun presses between his ass cheeks, and rubs over Peter's hole once, twice, before it's pushing inside, sliding into Peter on spit and come.
Peter groans as his ass opens around the metal, still cool and only slightly warmed from his mouth. There's no time for him to adjust, for his body to remould itself against the foreign shape now inside him. No time before Argent is pumping the gun in and out of him, the brush of the hunter's knuckles against his ass as he fucks the weapon into Peter.
"What does it feel like, Hale? Being fucked by something that's killed your kind?"
Argent doesn't wait for an answer, twisting the gun inside Peter as he continues to fuck it in and out. And Peter's wolf is howling inside him, howling in both supplication and rage that the only person Peter's found capable of giving him this is Chris fucking Argent.
His claws dig into the metal of the gun cabinet as Argent moves closer, a band of heat down Peter's side as Argent presses against him.
"And you know the best thing about this, Hale?" Argent murmurs, hot breath ghosting over Peter's neck as he talks.
Peter closes his eyes as the thrusting of the gun gets quicker, sharper.
"It's not that you're standing here, letting me do this, like the fucking bitch that you are."
There's a muted click, and Peter's heart starts to pound. Because he knows exactly what that noise is, recognises the sound of a safety being slid off. And even with that, even with the roar of blood rushing through him, loud and thundering in his ears, he still can't do anything more than stick his ass out further, to push back into Argent's touch.
"It's not even that you're fucking gagging for this," Argent continues, the force of the gun into Peter's ass getting harder. "The best thing, Hale," and Argent's voice is low, rough, and maybe he's not as unaffected by this as he's making out. "The best thing is that you know I'm the only one that can do this for you."
The heat is spreading low in Peter's belly as the gun shifts slightly in Argent's grip. And the fucking thing is, he's not wrong. Peter's wolf is howling, screaming, clawing at Peter's insides like he needs to break free, like he needs to feel dirt under his claws and blood in his teeth. And even though Peter's already come, he's harder than he's ever been, cock straining into the air, jerking into nothing with each thrust of the gun into him.
Blunt teeth nip at Peter's ear, tugging harshly before letting go. "The best thing is that you'll never get this anywhere else. That you'll come crawling back just to feel this again."
Peter arches back, sharp teeth biting into his lower lip until he can taste blood, as sharp and metallic as the gun fucking him. He can feel Argent's grip move, feel the finger against the gun's trigger. His breath is heaving, like he can't get enough air into his lungs, like he's been running for hours with no destination in mind. Peter tilts his head to the side, the whine getting stuck in his throat when the wanted bite into his bared skin doesn't come.
"The best thing about all of this, Peter, is that you're mine."
Argent's finger presses down, the click loud and sharp, and Peter howls as he comes, his ass spasming around the barrel, around the empty chamber.
The gun is pulled out of him abruptly, his ass clenching at the sudden emptiness, clenching as his cock continues to spurt white against dark grey. There's the sound of rustling behind him, of a belt and a zipper, and then Argent's hard cock is pushing into him.
"Fuck--"
The curse is low, guttural, as Argent presses inside in one steady thrust. And Peter feels like he's hanging by his fingertips, claws dug into the metal as Argent fucks him, his wolf quiet inside him for the first time since the fire.
It only takes a few thrusts before Argent's coming, emptying himself into Peter's ass, wet heat filling him as Argent mouths at Peter's neck for a moment before biting down. And Peter's entire body clamps down at the bite, Argent's low groan drowned out by the rending metal under Peter's claws.
Teeth and cock leave Peter's body at the same time, and he can feel the trickle of blood from the bite, feel it seeping into the neck of his shirt, staining it red.
Argent's breathing heavily behind him, his forehead resting against Peter's shoulder. "Mine," he says, as fingers work their way in between Peter's ass cheeks, to feel where his come is dripping out of Peter's body. "Mine."
Peter's wolf rumbles his approval, and Peter doesn't disagree.
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,517
Summary: In which there is Chris, Peter, and a gun.
Additional Notes: Based on a prompt: Imagine Chris fucking you against his guns cabinet.
Ricochet
Peter grins as his back hits the wall of Argent's study. "Come on, old man," he taunts. "Thought you wanted to see me on my knees. Thought you wanted me to use my mouth for something useful."
Argent growls low in his throat, and Peter can't help but react, his wolf responding as the arm against his throat pushes harder.
Argent glances down, the sneer on his face widening as he realises Peter is hard, flesh straining behind his jeans. "Seriously, Hale. Is this what you need? Someone to pin you down and fuck you like the bitch you are."
Peter swallows down on the 'Yes--' that's welling up in him, bites back on the instinct to tilt his head, bare his throat.
But maybe he doesn't need the words, because Argent just smirks. "Thought so."
Peter doesn't get the chance to reply, to deny, before Argent's lips are covering his, harsh and rough. He's nipping at Peter's lower lip, a sharp pain before the taste of iron and metal slides across Peter's tongue.
When Argent pulls back there's a streak of red across his mouth, lips stained with Peter's blood. Peter watches as Argent's tongue licks at the blood, his eyes not leaving Peter's lips as the bite he left behind heals.
And Peter wants to return the favour. Wants to bite and claw at Argent until his marks are all over the hunter's skin. Wants to leave his signature in red and purple, scored over Argent's flesh.
But not today. Not when his cock is throbbing hard behind his jeans. Not when his wolf is howling out for Argent to hold him down, to fuck him, to make him submit.
There's a beat of silence, and Peter can smell the desire coming from Argent, the want and need bleeding from every pore, thickening the air around them.
"Thought you were going to fuck me." The words are a sneer on Peter's lips, daring Argent to take, to claim.
A look of hot possession flashes over Argent's face, his hand darting out to tangle his fingers in Peter's hair. He tugs Peter away from the wall, dragging him across the room. And Peter lets him. Even though he could be out of Argent's grip in a matter of seconds, Peter lets himself be pulled, boots the scuffing the carpet as he goes. Because he wants to know what Argent will do if given the chance, wants to know how far the hunter will go.
Argent pushes Peter once they get to the other side of the room, turning him as he does so. Pushes him until there's the rattle of Peter's hands against metal, against the long, locked cabinet that runs almost the full length of the wall.
Grabbing Peter's wrists, Argent presses his hands against the metal. "Don't move them."
"And what makes you think I'll take orders from a hunter?" Even if Peter is already spreading his fingers over the cool surface, even if he's already bracing himself.
Argent's laugh is low, his fingers back in Peter's hair so he can tug Peter's head back. "Because you're hard at just the thought of my cock splitting your ass open. So, be a good little puppy and don't fucking move your hands."
Peter curls his fingers, nails too sharp to be entirely human scoring shallow grooves in the metal as he looks at Argent, not lifting his hands away.
Argent just smirks. "Good boy."
And then Argent's hands are at Peter's belt, pulling it open, tugging down his jeans until they're half way down his thighs.
"Commando, Hale? Guess you really are desperate for my dick."
He doesn't wait for Peter to respond, doesn't wait for anything before he's spitting into his palm and wrapping his fingers around Peter's cock.
Peter hisses when Argent's fingers cover him, skin catching against skin as he starts to jerk him, the saliva on Argent's hand nowhere near enough.
"Is this what you wanted, Hale? A hunter's hand around your cock?"
Argent is quick and rough as he strips Peter's cock, and it's not how Peter normally jerks himself, but it's sharp and harsh and perfect.
There's a litany of filth pouring from Argent's lips into Peter's ear, the words base and low, filling Peter like molasses. Words about how fucking desperate Peter is, about how Argent knew he'd be like this, whining like a bitch for a hunter's touch.
And with each word, with each touch, Peter can feel it building in him. It's a steady ball of heat, rolling through him like a fire. His wolf is hammering at the inside of his skin, and he can feel the prick of fur underneath his flesh.
Argent is still talking, telling Peter how good he's going to look on his back, on his knees. And the thought of it has Peter's balls tightening. The thought of laying himself out under Argent's gaze, putting himself in the hands of a hunter, of this hunter.
Argent's hand twists slightly, his thumb nail scoring a line down Peter's cock. And that's all it takes for him. All it takes for the pleasure to crest over him, body shaking as he comes, splattering white onto the cabinet and over Argent's fingers.
There's a "Slut," muttered just loud enough for Peter to hear it as Argent shifts, moving until he's behind Peter, until a hand grips one of Peter's ass cheeks and pulls.
Fingers slide over Peter's hole, spreading the come on them across him. And Peter can't help but push back, wanting those fingers inside him, wanting to be split out and spread open. But Argent just pulls his hand away, reaches out to wipe the come off the grey metal before he's back at Peter's ass, a fingertip pushing inside just that tiny bit, just enough to make Peter growl because it's nowhere near what he needs.
Argent's finger pulls out at the growl coming from Peter's throat, and then the bastard's stepping back, and for a moment, Peter thinks he's going to leave him there, cock hanging out and his own come slicked over his asshole. But Argent's hands are on him, pulling Peter back slightly.
Peter can't see the number Argent enters as he opens the cabinet, thumb sliding over the lock as he puts in the combination. The cabinet's full, and Peter wonders how many of these guns have been used to kill, how many have been held to a wolf's head with nothing more than the intention to end them.
"Choose one," Argent says.
"What?" Because Peter doesn't know what he means.
"Every single one of these has been used to put down rabid dogs like you. Some of them are even still loaded. So choose which one I'm going to fuck you with."
Peter's breath catches in his throat, his entire being split between wanting to turn and tear Argent's throat out for daring to even think such a thing, and sticking his ass out further. Because Peter's skirted that edge ever since he was young, balancing between the razorblade of the cliff edge and the abyss that wants to swallow him whole.
And no one, no alpha, has been able to put him down and keep him there. Has been able to sate the violence in Peter's wolf in a way that has him finally quiet. Until now. And it burns that the one who can apparently do this to him is a fucking Argent.
"Choose," Argent repeats. "Or I'll choose for you. And believe me, Hale, you do not want that."
Peter doesn't move, and the moment stretches out until Argent reaches for one of the guns. And then Peter's nodding towards one of the weapons, sleek and black. "That one."
Argent smirks as he reaches out, plucks the gun from where it's hanging. He trails the barrel down Peter's cheek. "I took down a rogue in Baton Rouge with this gun only a few months ago. Big, feral bastard; had already killed a half dozen people before I got there." He moves the gun across Peter's shoulder, steadily edging it down Peter's spine.
And Peter can feel the slight chill from the metal seeping through his shirt, the fabric slowly dragging as Argent draws the gun down. He edges it over the hem of Peter's shirt, and Peter can't stop the shiver that runs through him as it skirts around his hip.
"You know," Argent says, conversationally, "I'm not even sure if I emptied the full clip into that beast." He's running the gun in light circles over Peter's ass cheeks, dipping into the crease further and further each time.
Peter shifts slightly, and it's not that he's pushing back into Argent's touch, pushing back into the gun creeping closer to his asshole; it's not.
There's a huff of amusement from Argent, and suddenly the gun is no longer at Peter's ass, is being held in front of his face.
"Suck it."
Argent nudges the gun barrel against Peter's lips, and his automatic reaction is to turn away, to growl and snap. He sneers at Argent, but Argent doesn't pull back, just presses the gun harder against Peter's lips.
"Suck. It."
Well, if Argent wants a show, Peter will fucking give him one. Keeping his gaze locked on the hunter, Peter opens his lips, his tongue darting out to lap at the gun barrel. He curls his tongue around the metal, moaning low in his throat. Peter moves forward slowly, taking the gun further into his mouth. He laves his tongue over the metal, exaggerating each movement, making sure Argent can see.
Because Peter's good at this, at taking a man into his mouth and taking him apart until he's begging and offering Peter everything. And since he's pretty sure that the extensive weapons collection is little more than an extension of Argent's dick, then deepthroating the gun is only one step away from being on his actual knees, only one step away from swallowing Argent down.
"Fucking slut," Argent comments, as he pulls the gun from Peter's mouth, shiny slick and wet. He moves behind Peter, and there's a hand between Peter's shoulder blades, pushing him further into the cabinet.
The gun presses between his ass cheeks, and rubs over Peter's hole once, twice, before it's pushing inside, sliding into Peter on spit and come.
Peter groans as his ass opens around the metal, still cool and only slightly warmed from his mouth. There's no time for him to adjust, for his body to remould itself against the foreign shape now inside him. No time before Argent is pumping the gun in and out of him, the brush of the hunter's knuckles against his ass as he fucks the weapon into Peter.
"What does it feel like, Hale? Being fucked by something that's killed your kind?"
Argent doesn't wait for an answer, twisting the gun inside Peter as he continues to fuck it in and out. And Peter's wolf is howling inside him, howling in both supplication and rage that the only person Peter's found capable of giving him this is Chris fucking Argent.
His claws dig into the metal of the gun cabinet as Argent moves closer, a band of heat down Peter's side as Argent presses against him.
"And you know the best thing about this, Hale?" Argent murmurs, hot breath ghosting over Peter's neck as he talks.
Peter closes his eyes as the thrusting of the gun gets quicker, sharper.
"It's not that you're standing here, letting me do this, like the fucking bitch that you are."
There's a muted click, and Peter's heart starts to pound. Because he knows exactly what that noise is, recognises the sound of a safety being slid off. And even with that, even with the roar of blood rushing through him, loud and thundering in his ears, he still can't do anything more than stick his ass out further, to push back into Argent's touch.
"It's not even that you're fucking gagging for this," Argent continues, the force of the gun into Peter's ass getting harder. "The best thing, Hale," and Argent's voice is low, rough, and maybe he's not as unaffected by this as he's making out. "The best thing is that you know I'm the only one that can do this for you."
The heat is spreading low in Peter's belly as the gun shifts slightly in Argent's grip. And the fucking thing is, he's not wrong. Peter's wolf is howling, screaming, clawing at Peter's insides like he needs to break free, like he needs to feel dirt under his claws and blood in his teeth. And even though Peter's already come, he's harder than he's ever been, cock straining into the air, jerking into nothing with each thrust of the gun into him.
Blunt teeth nip at Peter's ear, tugging harshly before letting go. "The best thing is that you'll never get this anywhere else. That you'll come crawling back just to feel this again."
Peter arches back, sharp teeth biting into his lower lip until he can taste blood, as sharp and metallic as the gun fucking him. He can feel Argent's grip move, feel the finger against the gun's trigger. His breath is heaving, like he can't get enough air into his lungs, like he's been running for hours with no destination in mind. Peter tilts his head to the side, the whine getting stuck in his throat when the wanted bite into his bared skin doesn't come.
"The best thing about all of this, Peter, is that you're mine."
Argent's finger presses down, the click loud and sharp, and Peter howls as he comes, his ass spasming around the barrel, around the empty chamber.
The gun is pulled out of him abruptly, his ass clenching at the sudden emptiness, clenching as his cock continues to spurt white against dark grey. There's the sound of rustling behind him, of a belt and a zipper, and then Argent's hard cock is pushing into him.
"Fuck--"
The curse is low, guttural, as Argent presses inside in one steady thrust. And Peter feels like he's hanging by his fingertips, claws dug into the metal as Argent fucks him, his wolf quiet inside him for the first time since the fire.
It only takes a few thrusts before Argent's coming, emptying himself into Peter's ass, wet heat filling him as Argent mouths at Peter's neck for a moment before biting down. And Peter's entire body clamps down at the bite, Argent's low groan drowned out by the rending metal under Peter's claws.
Teeth and cock leave Peter's body at the same time, and he can feel the trickle of blood from the bite, feel it seeping into the neck of his shirt, staining it red.
Argent's breathing heavily behind him, his forehead resting against Peter's shoulder. "Mine," he says, as fingers work their way in between Peter's ass cheeks, to feel where his come is dripping out of Peter's body. "Mine."
Peter's wolf rumbles his approval, and Peter doesn't disagree.