Fic: Call Me Maybe, Teen Wolf, Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Title: Call Me Maybe
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,478
Summary: In which there is phone sex
Additional Notes: Beta'ed by Temaris.
Call Me Maybe
Chris doesn't look at his cell as he picks it up from where it's vibrating on the hotel desk, thumbing it as he lifts it to his ear.
"Argent."
Silence answers him, and Chris is about to hang up, about to attribute it to someone's cell dialling him after being knocked. (It wouldn't be the first time he's been butt-dialled. He once answered a call from Allison only to hear the muffled tones of her and Lydia discussing a certain attribute of Scott's. Chris had subsequently hung up very, very quickly and never mentioned it to his daughter. Although he did start looking at Scott with a whole new appreciation.)
But there's a noise before he slides this thumb over the screen to disconnect the call. A moan that's low and guttural and has Chris' cock starting to pay attention like it's one of Pavlov's dogs. (And it's not as though he gets many people ringing him and moaning down the phone at him, but he knows that moan. He's spent countless hours extracting that very moan from its owner.)
"Peter?"
The moaning gets louder, interspersed with soft gasps, and, if Chris listens carefully, he can hear the slick glide of skin over skin. (And here he'd thought that this trip would be boring. He'd been unable to put off the meeting he needed to attend as a requirement of his dealers licence. Peter had ended up staying back in Beacon Hills after Lydia had seen fairies in the Preserve, which meant the original plan of him and Peter away from the pack for five days had been a bust.)
Pushing the chair he's in away from the desk, Chris pops open the buttons on his jeans, freeing his hard cock to the air. Putting the phone on speaker, he turns the volume up to the maximum before placing it on the desk to free up both his hands.
"Chris--"
His name is a gasp out of the phone that makes his dick twitch. Closing his eyes, he wraps the fingers of one hand around his cock, as he reaches down with the other, cupping his balls. (Chris has never dated someone who loves playing with his balls as much as Peter does. There were nights that Peter pushed Chris back onto the couch and sank to his knees in front of him. Nights that Peter spent what felt like hours mouthing and licking at Chris' balls.
Peter had once tried to tell him that it was a wolf thing, that Chris' scent was strongest down there. That, whenever Peter was on his knees, he was surrounded by the scent of mate and home and Chris. Personally, Chris just thinks that Peter's a kinky fucker with a testicle fetish.)
He jacks himself slowly, each moan and soft murmur coming from his cell making him harder. And he wishes Peter was there, wishes his wolf was there to sink to his knees and swallow Chris down.
"Are you close, Peter?" Chris asks the question, even though he already knows the answer, even though he knows the bitten off groans he's hearing mean Peter's only a few strokes away from coming.
"Yes--"
"Don't. Take your hand off your cock." And even though he's thousands of miles away, Chris knows Peter will listen to him. Even though he knows it, he still smiles at the whine of frustration that comes from Peter. And it's heady, that Peter Hale obeys him in this. That Peter Hale, who normally bends for nothing and no one, bends for Chris. (And Chris isn't stupid enough to think he's tamed Peter, isn't so stupid that he doesn't understand that the only reason Peter kneels for Chris is that he wants to. And that's what gets Chris so hard. That Peter wants to.)
"Put two of your fingers in your mouth, Peter. Slick them up as much as you need, because it's all you're getting before they go up your ass." Because Peter likes the slight bite of pain that comes with no lube. He likes it when Chris works him open with just spit and precome before sliding in.
"Jesus, fuck, Chris--" The words trail off and then there's the soft sound of sucking.
And, fuck, Chris had thought he couldn't get any harder, but he's wrong. Each slick of Peter's tongue across his fingers (and how close is he holding his phone to his mouth that Chris is hearing everything) is making Chris think of Peter sucking on other things. Is making him think of his hands on Peter's head as Peter swallows him down.
"That's enough, Peter. Now slide them inside yourself." Chris has to concentrate on making the words form, has to concentrate on doing anything beyond the slow stroking of his cock, beyond imagining Peter with his legs spread and his fingers buried in his ass.
There's a sharp gasp and Chris knows Peter's just pushed his fingers inside, his body opening around the slick digits. "Does it feel good, Peter?" Because Chris knows how it feels from his side, how good to feels to press his fingers into Peter's body and feel the wolf clinging to him, hot and tight and perfect.
"Yes--" The word breaks in the middle, like Peter can't form it all with one breath.
"Jack yourself," Chris says, tightening his grip on his own cock. "I want to hear you, Peter. I want every moan and every gasp until you come."
Peter doesn't answer with words, doesn't answer with anything except the slick slap of skin over skin. And Chris is grateful his phone has such a good speaker, because every snatched breath, every bitten-off curse and every murmur of his name is there for him to hear.
"That's it, Peter," Chris says, his words low. His hand is moving over his own cock, stripping himself in the same rhythm Peter has fallen into. And he can almost feel himself there with Peter, can almost feel himself driving into his wolf's body.
Peter's getting louder now, sharp and guttural, and Chris knows he's close.
"Come on, Peter. Come for me." Chris can feel his own orgasm building in the pit of his stomach, can feel his balls tightening with each of Peter's moans.
There's a choked-off yell, Chris' name half-formed on Peter's lips, and it's like he can hear Peter coming, can hear the soft splatter of come against Peter's skin. It triggers Chris' own release, juddering through his body as he comes over his fingers.
There's harsh breathing for long moments, both his own and Peter's, before a huff of laughter comes from his cell.
"Jesus, Argent." The words are slow, deliberate, like Peter isn't entirely back together yet. "You're going to kill me here."
"You rang me, Hale. It's entirely your own fault." Because Chris isn't sorry, will never be sorry for taking Peter apart, for being allowed to take Peter apart.
There's silence for a second, and then, "When do you think you'll be home?"
Chris can't stop the flare of satisfaction he feels when Peter says home. And there's a chance Peter's just talking about Beacon Hills, but Chris doesn't think so. "I'm pretty much done here, just a couple more things to do. Should be back by tomorrow night, Thursday at the latest."
"Good. I need someone who isn't a whiny teenager, or Derek, to keep me sane."
And even though Peter isn't saying them, Chris hears the words anyway. "Two days maximum," he assures Peter. "Promise."
"I suppose I can survive until then," Peter comments lightly, before, "Stay safe, Argent. I'd hate to lose you now I've broken you in."
The call disconnects before Chris can respond, his huffed out Love you, too, Hale-- spoken to the silent phone screen. Glancing down, Chris wipes his hand across his shirt, smearing come across the front of it and making a mental note to make sure it's wrapped in something before he packs it. If he gets up early tomorrow, he should be on the road by 10:00, which will put him back into Beacon Hills in the early evening. More than enough time to track Peter down to his apartment and show him exactly how happy Chris is to be back.
Unable to stop the smile from crossing his face, Chris closes down his laptop before he stands. Draping his clothes over the back of the chair after he pulls them off, Chris picks up his phone and sets the alarm on it for an early call. It's earlier than he'd originally planned on leaving, but the sound of the noises Peter made as he was coming are still in his mind. And if it's a choice between a couple of hours extra sleep or a couple of hours extra to fuck Peter? Well, it's no contest, really.
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,478
Summary: In which there is phone sex
Additional Notes: Beta'ed by Temaris.
Call Me Maybe
Chris doesn't look at his cell as he picks it up from where it's vibrating on the hotel desk, thumbing it as he lifts it to his ear.
"Argent."
Silence answers him, and Chris is about to hang up, about to attribute it to someone's cell dialling him after being knocked. (It wouldn't be the first time he's been butt-dialled. He once answered a call from Allison only to hear the muffled tones of her and Lydia discussing a certain attribute of Scott's. Chris had subsequently hung up very, very quickly and never mentioned it to his daughter. Although he did start looking at Scott with a whole new appreciation.)
But there's a noise before he slides this thumb over the screen to disconnect the call. A moan that's low and guttural and has Chris' cock starting to pay attention like it's one of Pavlov's dogs. (And it's not as though he gets many people ringing him and moaning down the phone at him, but he knows that moan. He's spent countless hours extracting that very moan from its owner.)
"Peter?"
The moaning gets louder, interspersed with soft gasps, and, if Chris listens carefully, he can hear the slick glide of skin over skin. (And here he'd thought that this trip would be boring. He'd been unable to put off the meeting he needed to attend as a requirement of his dealers licence. Peter had ended up staying back in Beacon Hills after Lydia had seen fairies in the Preserve, which meant the original plan of him and Peter away from the pack for five days had been a bust.)
Pushing the chair he's in away from the desk, Chris pops open the buttons on his jeans, freeing his hard cock to the air. Putting the phone on speaker, he turns the volume up to the maximum before placing it on the desk to free up both his hands.
"Chris--"
His name is a gasp out of the phone that makes his dick twitch. Closing his eyes, he wraps the fingers of one hand around his cock, as he reaches down with the other, cupping his balls. (Chris has never dated someone who loves playing with his balls as much as Peter does. There were nights that Peter pushed Chris back onto the couch and sank to his knees in front of him. Nights that Peter spent what felt like hours mouthing and licking at Chris' balls.
Peter had once tried to tell him that it was a wolf thing, that Chris' scent was strongest down there. That, whenever Peter was on his knees, he was surrounded by the scent of mate and home and Chris. Personally, Chris just thinks that Peter's a kinky fucker with a testicle fetish.)
He jacks himself slowly, each moan and soft murmur coming from his cell making him harder. And he wishes Peter was there, wishes his wolf was there to sink to his knees and swallow Chris down.
"Are you close, Peter?" Chris asks the question, even though he already knows the answer, even though he knows the bitten off groans he's hearing mean Peter's only a few strokes away from coming.
"Yes--"
"Don't. Take your hand off your cock." And even though he's thousands of miles away, Chris knows Peter will listen to him. Even though he knows it, he still smiles at the whine of frustration that comes from Peter. And it's heady, that Peter Hale obeys him in this. That Peter Hale, who normally bends for nothing and no one, bends for Chris. (And Chris isn't stupid enough to think he's tamed Peter, isn't so stupid that he doesn't understand that the only reason Peter kneels for Chris is that he wants to. And that's what gets Chris so hard. That Peter wants to.)
"Put two of your fingers in your mouth, Peter. Slick them up as much as you need, because it's all you're getting before they go up your ass." Because Peter likes the slight bite of pain that comes with no lube. He likes it when Chris works him open with just spit and precome before sliding in.
"Jesus, fuck, Chris--" The words trail off and then there's the soft sound of sucking.
And, fuck, Chris had thought he couldn't get any harder, but he's wrong. Each slick of Peter's tongue across his fingers (and how close is he holding his phone to his mouth that Chris is hearing everything) is making Chris think of Peter sucking on other things. Is making him think of his hands on Peter's head as Peter swallows him down.
"That's enough, Peter. Now slide them inside yourself." Chris has to concentrate on making the words form, has to concentrate on doing anything beyond the slow stroking of his cock, beyond imagining Peter with his legs spread and his fingers buried in his ass.
There's a sharp gasp and Chris knows Peter's just pushed his fingers inside, his body opening around the slick digits. "Does it feel good, Peter?" Because Chris knows how it feels from his side, how good to feels to press his fingers into Peter's body and feel the wolf clinging to him, hot and tight and perfect.
"Yes--" The word breaks in the middle, like Peter can't form it all with one breath.
"Jack yourself," Chris says, tightening his grip on his own cock. "I want to hear you, Peter. I want every moan and every gasp until you come."
Peter doesn't answer with words, doesn't answer with anything except the slick slap of skin over skin. And Chris is grateful his phone has such a good speaker, because every snatched breath, every bitten-off curse and every murmur of his name is there for him to hear.
"That's it, Peter," Chris says, his words low. His hand is moving over his own cock, stripping himself in the same rhythm Peter has fallen into. And he can almost feel himself there with Peter, can almost feel himself driving into his wolf's body.
Peter's getting louder now, sharp and guttural, and Chris knows he's close.
"Come on, Peter. Come for me." Chris can feel his own orgasm building in the pit of his stomach, can feel his balls tightening with each of Peter's moans.
There's a choked-off yell, Chris' name half-formed on Peter's lips, and it's like he can hear Peter coming, can hear the soft splatter of come against Peter's skin. It triggers Chris' own release, juddering through his body as he comes over his fingers.
There's harsh breathing for long moments, both his own and Peter's, before a huff of laughter comes from his cell.
"Jesus, Argent." The words are slow, deliberate, like Peter isn't entirely back together yet. "You're going to kill me here."
"You rang me, Hale. It's entirely your own fault." Because Chris isn't sorry, will never be sorry for taking Peter apart, for being allowed to take Peter apart.
There's silence for a second, and then, "When do you think you'll be home?"
Chris can't stop the flare of satisfaction he feels when Peter says home. And there's a chance Peter's just talking about Beacon Hills, but Chris doesn't think so. "I'm pretty much done here, just a couple more things to do. Should be back by tomorrow night, Thursday at the latest."
"Good. I need someone who isn't a whiny teenager, or Derek, to keep me sane."
And even though Peter isn't saying them, Chris hears the words anyway. "Two days maximum," he assures Peter. "Promise."
"I suppose I can survive until then," Peter comments lightly, before, "Stay safe, Argent. I'd hate to lose you now I've broken you in."
The call disconnects before Chris can respond, his huffed out Love you, too, Hale-- spoken to the silent phone screen. Glancing down, Chris wipes his hand across his shirt, smearing come across the front of it and making a mental note to make sure it's wrapped in something before he packs it. If he gets up early tomorrow, he should be on the road by 10:00, which will put him back into Beacon Hills in the early evening. More than enough time to track Peter down to his apartment and show him exactly how happy Chris is to be back.
Unable to stop the smile from crossing his face, Chris closes down his laptop before he stands. Draping his clothes over the back of the chair after he pulls them off, Chris picks up his phone and sets the alarm on it for an early call. It's earlier than he'd originally planned on leaving, but the sound of the noises Peter made as he was coming are still in his mind. And if it's a choice between a couple of hours extra sleep or a couple of hours extra to fuck Peter? Well, it's no contest, really.