Fic: Forget the World, Teen Wolf, Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Title: Forget the World
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,393
Summary: In which Peter wears red panties and Chris approves. A lot.
Additional Notes: Beta'ed by Temaris
Forget the World
The panties are waiting for Peter when he gets out of the shower, bright red against the dark blue of Chris' comforter. He picks them up, the satin and lace soft against his fingers as he remembers Chris' words, remembers "Please, Peter--"
He steps into them, sliding them over his legs and ass, tucking his cock and balls inside. And it feels good, better than he'd thought it would when Chris had first mentioned wanting to see Peter in them.
There's a mirror on the inside of Chris' wardrobe, and Peter opens the door to look at himself, to look at the delicate lacework currently curving over his hip, at the line of the satin currently broken by the bulge of his cock. They're cut just under his hip, the kind of boyshorts he sees on the mannequins in the window of the lingerie shop downtown. The dark red of the lace blends into the bright red satin, blends into the careful stitching edged in black.
He runs a fingertip over the satin, feeling his cock twitching under the touch. He wants to slide his hand inside, to jerk himself off until he's coming, to watch the red grow darker as his come seeps into the fabric. But he won't. Not yet. Because this is for Chris. This is Chris' desire, to see Peter wearing these, to sweep fingers over the lace as he pulls them to one side to slide inside of Peter's body.
Peter closes his eyes as he hears Chris' voice in his head, hears the "Want to see you wearing them--" and the "Please, Peter, for me--". Closes his eyes as he remembers the feel of Chris' fingers pressing inside as he spoke, remembers Chris' hand around his cock as Chris murmured into his ear.
The feel of his cock twitching has Peter opening his eyes, has him pressing his palm down against his cock as he tells himself not to jerk off. He picks one of Chris' shirts out of the wardrobe before he closes it, slipping it off the hanger and putting it on, the scent of Chris still ingrained in it, even under the gentle smell of the laundry detergent.
Peter's jeans are over the chair in the corner, along with his own shirt. He tugs the denim over his legs, buttoning them over his not entirely soft cock. His boots and jacket are in the hall, and then he's ready for the pack meeting Scott called everyone to.
It only takes fifteen minutes to drive to the McCall house, and Chris' truck is already there when Peter parks. Melissa lets him in, motioning to the where the rest of the pack are all in the living room. There are no seats left, so Peter stands behind one of the couches, next to where Chris is already standing.
The meeting isn't about anything bad, the thoughts Peter had been having about witches and darachs and rogue alphas on the drive over put to rest with Scott's comments about a neighbouring pack having contacted him about the renewing the alliance they had with the Hale pack.
Peter's the only one who remembers the treaties, the only one who has the knowledge of how they work from a pack perspective, Derek and Cora having been too young, or not even born, when many of them were agreed. He's just in the middle of explaining to Scott that it's a good idea to continue the alliance, and that the Michaels pack weren't the kind looking to expand their territory, when he feels Chris' hand on his back. It stays there as Peter speaks, the warmth from Chris' hand coming through his shirt and settling into Peter's skin.
When Peter's finished, when the attention is focused on Scott, Peter feels Chris' hand move, sliding under Peter's shirt to rest directly against his back. Chris is still for a moment, and then his hand moves lower, fingers dipping into the back of Peter's jeans, fingertips running around the soft lace trim edging the top of the panties.
He glances at Chris, but Chris is keeping his eyes on Scott, isn't looking at Peter as his fingers wander, squeezing Peter's ass, before soothing over it with soft strokes. Isn't looking at Peter as he moves his hand back out of Peter's jeans, as his fingertips trail over Peter's skin in what seems like random designs.
The meeting wraps up quickly after the decision is made to accept the hand of friendship the Michaels pack is extending. Peter has no desire to stay for the impromptu movie night the younger pack members are organising, has little doubt they would want him there, anyway. Chris follows him to the door, both of them nodding their goodbyes to Melissa and John as they leave.
Peter's barely set foot off the drive before Chris' hand is around his wrist, pulling Peter towards him and backing him up against the truck. His hand drops to Peter's crotch, pressing down.
"I can't believe you're wearing them." Chris' eyes are wide, and Peter can smell the arousal, can smell that Chris is on his way to hard.
Words catch in Peter's throat, unable to make it past the dryness in his mouth. You wanted me to-- and I wore them for you-- all carry too much weight behind them, too much truth that Peter is willing to bend for Chris. Instead, he darts forward, catching Chris' lips with his own.
Chris moans into the kiss, moans into Peter's mouth, pulling away after long moments.
There's a whine that Peter will deny comes from him, and he leans towards Chris, chasing the kiss.
Chris turns away, lifting a hand and rubbing his thumb over Peter's bottom lip. "I'm about two seconds from fucking you over the truck," he warns.
Peter looks at him as he sucks Chris' thumb into his mouth. A part of him wants it, wants Chris to bend him over and fuck him, to slide inside where the pack will be able to hear it, to smell it. Wants Chris to stake his claim in front of everyone. Wants them to see it, instead of just knowing it.
"Peter--"
The air is heavy with Chris' scent, heavy with want underlaid with gunpowder and aconite and the cologne Allison bought for Chris' birthday last year. Heavy with both of their scents, joined and mingling in a way that makes Peter's wolf howl. He flicks his tongue over the pad of Chris' thumb, growling softly when Chris pulls it from his mouth.
Chris ignores the growl. "Get in your car and drive to mine or, I swear to god, I'm going to fuck you right here."
And as much as Peter wants it, as much as he wants to be bent over and split open on Chris' dick, he's also sure that John would end up arresting them for public indecency.
Moving away from the truck, Peter takes a step towards his car, takes a step only to be pulled back by Chris' hand wrapping around his arm.
Chris keeps his fingers wrapped around Peter's arm, keeps it there as his other hand slips down the back of Peter's jeans. His fingers run over the satin hugging the top of Peter's ass. "Can't wait to fuck you in these, Peter."
"Then you'd better let me go, Christopher." Even if Peter wants to push back into Chris' hand, even if he wants Chris' hand to slide lower.
Chris pulls his hand back, turning and heading towards his truck, stopping once he reaches it to glance back at Peter.
Peter keeps his eyes on Chris as the hunter finally gets into his truck, keeps his eyes on him as the vehicle rumbles to life, pulling out and past Peter.
The drive back to Chris' seems longer than the time it took to get to the McCall house originally, almost like every red light is taunting him.
Chris' truck is already parked in its space by the time Peter pulls into the parking lot for the apartment block, but there's no sight of Chris.
Peter's in the building and up the stairs in minutes, pushing open the unlocked door to Chris' apartment. He wants to comment about Chris leaving the door open, about how anyone could have wandered in and didn't Chris realise how stupid that was in Beacon Hills, but he can't speak.
He can't speak because Chris is already there, pressing him against the wall and kicking the door shut with his foot.
"I'd hoped you'd wear them," Chris says, his hand already at Peter's jeans, flicking open the buttons. "Been wanting to see you in these for a long time."
He pulls at Peter, manhandling him into the living room. Peter lets him. Lets him, because he loves to feel Chris' hands on him, rough and heavy, with the scars and calluses that brush over Peter's skin. Lets him, because Peter's been half-hard since outside the McCall house and he wants.
Chris manoeuvres them over to behind the couch, spinning Peter so he's facing it, a hand between Peter's shoulder blades as he pushes him gently down. And Peter goes. Bent over a couch with a hunter behind him, with Chris' crotch pressed against Peter's ass, hardness evident even through the layers between them.
Chris steps back and then there are fingers at his waist, carefully tugging his jeans down over his ass, carefully leaving the panties in place.
"Fuck, Peter--" Chris' voice is little more than a breath as Peter feels fingertips at his hip, tracing over the lacework covering his skin. "I wanna buy you a dozen pairs like this. Want to see you in them every day."
Chris' arousal is flooding the air, thick and heavy and almost tangible. It's making Peter hard, driving straight to his cock.
"Chris--" Peter's voice trails off. Trails off because he's not sure what the words should be. Stuck on fuck me--, on take me--, on own me--, on love me--. Stuck on "Please--"
Chris edges the panties down over Peter's ass, leaving them just below his cheeks. His hands are warm on Peter's skin as they move to his hips, fingertips trailing over Peter until they rest on his thighs. There's movement and the sound of Chris' knees hitting the carpet, of Chris kneeling behind him. Chris' hands move to cup his ass, spreading him open. And Peter can feel the breath across his asshole, can feel Chris leaning forward until--
"Fuck--"
Peter jerks as Chris licks him, tongue wet over Peter's ass. He bites his lower lip, fangs going through flesh as Chris licks again, tongue sweeping over him. He can feel Chris' tongue against him, swirling around his entrance and he wants Chris inside, wants Chris to open him up.
"Chris, please--"
The sound of Peter begging hasn't even died in the air before Chris' tongue is lapping into him, curled and perfect and cajoling Peter's body open. And Peter feels himself loosening, feels himself opening to let Chris in.
Chris' tongue slips in, just a bit, just enough for Peter to know he's there. But it's not enough, and he needs Chris inside him.
"Chris, please, just fuck me--"
Then Chris' tongue is gone and Peter can't stop the sob of loss that wells up in him. He hears Chris standing, hears the rustling of clothes and the rasp of Chris' zipper. And then Chris is against him, hot and heavy, with his cock pressing against Peter's ass.
And Peter wants it, wants Chris in him, fucking him. He pushes back, shuddering gasp forced out of him as the head of Chris' cock slips into him on spit and precome.
"Jesus, Peter--"
He can feel Chris shaking, can feel him holding back. Chris' hand is next to him, gripping the back of the couch, knuckles white. Peter lifts a hand, uncurling it from the grip he's got on one of the cushions, and rests it on Chris', tangling their fingers together.
"Can I? Peter, can I?"
Peter nods, because the answer is yes. Because the answer for Chris is always yes. And then Chris is moving, sliding into him in one inexorable thrust, sliding into him until he's flush against Peter's ass. Chris doesn't stop, pulling out and pushing back in, like he's got no choice but to fuck Peter, like it's the only thing that matters.
Peter's hard against the satin covering his cock, precome making it wet, sticking the fabric to him. And he thinks he should slide a hand down, thinks about taking his cock in his fingers, but then Chris shifts, changes the angle he's fucking into Peter, and it jolts through him. Pleasure, white hot and sharp, hammering through him with each of Chris' thrusts.
He tightens his grip on Chris' hand, because he can feel it building in him, low and sharp. Feel it building in his belly, balls tightening each time Chris moves. One thrust, two, and Peter feels himself falling, feels it sweep through him in a dizzying rush. He yells Chris' name as he comes, emptying himself into the panties, soaking them in his come.
Chris grunts behind him, fucking Peter through the aftershocks, fucking him through Peter's body clenching down on his cock. And then Chris' hips stutter, pushing into Peter and holding himself deep inside as he comes. And Peter can feel it, can feel Chris' cock twitching inside him as the hunter comes, marking Peter as his in the most basic way possible.
Chris drops onto Peter's back, panting steadily into Peter's shoulder. He can feel Chris softening inside him, feels Chris' cock slip out of him with a pang of loss. Chris' fingers squeeze his, warm and grounding, as his thumb runs over the side of Peter's hand soothingly.
The come is cooling in his panties, starting to turn sticky and uncomfortable, and Peter thinks he should nudge Chris into moving, should get them both into a shower before it worsens. But then Chris' lips are at his neck, murmuring words into his skin, murmuring love you-- and Peter-- and stay--. And Peter thinks moving can wait, at least for a little while.
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,393
Summary: In which Peter wears red panties and Chris approves. A lot.
Additional Notes: Beta'ed by Temaris
Forget the World
The panties are waiting for Peter when he gets out of the shower, bright red against the dark blue of Chris' comforter. He picks them up, the satin and lace soft against his fingers as he remembers Chris' words, remembers "Please, Peter--"
He steps into them, sliding them over his legs and ass, tucking his cock and balls inside. And it feels good, better than he'd thought it would when Chris had first mentioned wanting to see Peter in them.
There's a mirror on the inside of Chris' wardrobe, and Peter opens the door to look at himself, to look at the delicate lacework currently curving over his hip, at the line of the satin currently broken by the bulge of his cock. They're cut just under his hip, the kind of boyshorts he sees on the mannequins in the window of the lingerie shop downtown. The dark red of the lace blends into the bright red satin, blends into the careful stitching edged in black.
He runs a fingertip over the satin, feeling his cock twitching under the touch. He wants to slide his hand inside, to jerk himself off until he's coming, to watch the red grow darker as his come seeps into the fabric. But he won't. Not yet. Because this is for Chris. This is Chris' desire, to see Peter wearing these, to sweep fingers over the lace as he pulls them to one side to slide inside of Peter's body.
Peter closes his eyes as he hears Chris' voice in his head, hears the "Want to see you wearing them--" and the "Please, Peter, for me--". Closes his eyes as he remembers the feel of Chris' fingers pressing inside as he spoke, remembers Chris' hand around his cock as Chris murmured into his ear.
The feel of his cock twitching has Peter opening his eyes, has him pressing his palm down against his cock as he tells himself not to jerk off. He picks one of Chris' shirts out of the wardrobe before he closes it, slipping it off the hanger and putting it on, the scent of Chris still ingrained in it, even under the gentle smell of the laundry detergent.
Peter's jeans are over the chair in the corner, along with his own shirt. He tugs the denim over his legs, buttoning them over his not entirely soft cock. His boots and jacket are in the hall, and then he's ready for the pack meeting Scott called everyone to.
It only takes fifteen minutes to drive to the McCall house, and Chris' truck is already there when Peter parks. Melissa lets him in, motioning to the where the rest of the pack are all in the living room. There are no seats left, so Peter stands behind one of the couches, next to where Chris is already standing.
The meeting isn't about anything bad, the thoughts Peter had been having about witches and darachs and rogue alphas on the drive over put to rest with Scott's comments about a neighbouring pack having contacted him about the renewing the alliance they had with the Hale pack.
Peter's the only one who remembers the treaties, the only one who has the knowledge of how they work from a pack perspective, Derek and Cora having been too young, or not even born, when many of them were agreed. He's just in the middle of explaining to Scott that it's a good idea to continue the alliance, and that the Michaels pack weren't the kind looking to expand their territory, when he feels Chris' hand on his back. It stays there as Peter speaks, the warmth from Chris' hand coming through his shirt and settling into Peter's skin.
When Peter's finished, when the attention is focused on Scott, Peter feels Chris' hand move, sliding under Peter's shirt to rest directly against his back. Chris is still for a moment, and then his hand moves lower, fingers dipping into the back of Peter's jeans, fingertips running around the soft lace trim edging the top of the panties.
He glances at Chris, but Chris is keeping his eyes on Scott, isn't looking at Peter as his fingers wander, squeezing Peter's ass, before soothing over it with soft strokes. Isn't looking at Peter as he moves his hand back out of Peter's jeans, as his fingertips trail over Peter's skin in what seems like random designs.
The meeting wraps up quickly after the decision is made to accept the hand of friendship the Michaels pack is extending. Peter has no desire to stay for the impromptu movie night the younger pack members are organising, has little doubt they would want him there, anyway. Chris follows him to the door, both of them nodding their goodbyes to Melissa and John as they leave.
Peter's barely set foot off the drive before Chris' hand is around his wrist, pulling Peter towards him and backing him up against the truck. His hand drops to Peter's crotch, pressing down.
"I can't believe you're wearing them." Chris' eyes are wide, and Peter can smell the arousal, can smell that Chris is on his way to hard.
Words catch in Peter's throat, unable to make it past the dryness in his mouth. You wanted me to-- and I wore them for you-- all carry too much weight behind them, too much truth that Peter is willing to bend for Chris. Instead, he darts forward, catching Chris' lips with his own.
Chris moans into the kiss, moans into Peter's mouth, pulling away after long moments.
There's a whine that Peter will deny comes from him, and he leans towards Chris, chasing the kiss.
Chris turns away, lifting a hand and rubbing his thumb over Peter's bottom lip. "I'm about two seconds from fucking you over the truck," he warns.
Peter looks at him as he sucks Chris' thumb into his mouth. A part of him wants it, wants Chris to bend him over and fuck him, to slide inside where the pack will be able to hear it, to smell it. Wants Chris to stake his claim in front of everyone. Wants them to see it, instead of just knowing it.
"Peter--"
The air is heavy with Chris' scent, heavy with want underlaid with gunpowder and aconite and the cologne Allison bought for Chris' birthday last year. Heavy with both of their scents, joined and mingling in a way that makes Peter's wolf howl. He flicks his tongue over the pad of Chris' thumb, growling softly when Chris pulls it from his mouth.
Chris ignores the growl. "Get in your car and drive to mine or, I swear to god, I'm going to fuck you right here."
And as much as Peter wants it, as much as he wants to be bent over and split open on Chris' dick, he's also sure that John would end up arresting them for public indecency.
Moving away from the truck, Peter takes a step towards his car, takes a step only to be pulled back by Chris' hand wrapping around his arm.
Chris keeps his fingers wrapped around Peter's arm, keeps it there as his other hand slips down the back of Peter's jeans. His fingers run over the satin hugging the top of Peter's ass. "Can't wait to fuck you in these, Peter."
"Then you'd better let me go, Christopher." Even if Peter wants to push back into Chris' hand, even if he wants Chris' hand to slide lower.
Chris pulls his hand back, turning and heading towards his truck, stopping once he reaches it to glance back at Peter.
Peter keeps his eyes on Chris as the hunter finally gets into his truck, keeps his eyes on him as the vehicle rumbles to life, pulling out and past Peter.
The drive back to Chris' seems longer than the time it took to get to the McCall house originally, almost like every red light is taunting him.
Chris' truck is already parked in its space by the time Peter pulls into the parking lot for the apartment block, but there's no sight of Chris.
Peter's in the building and up the stairs in minutes, pushing open the unlocked door to Chris' apartment. He wants to comment about Chris leaving the door open, about how anyone could have wandered in and didn't Chris realise how stupid that was in Beacon Hills, but he can't speak.
He can't speak because Chris is already there, pressing him against the wall and kicking the door shut with his foot.
"I'd hoped you'd wear them," Chris says, his hand already at Peter's jeans, flicking open the buttons. "Been wanting to see you in these for a long time."
He pulls at Peter, manhandling him into the living room. Peter lets him. Lets him, because he loves to feel Chris' hands on him, rough and heavy, with the scars and calluses that brush over Peter's skin. Lets him, because Peter's been half-hard since outside the McCall house and he wants.
Chris manoeuvres them over to behind the couch, spinning Peter so he's facing it, a hand between Peter's shoulder blades as he pushes him gently down. And Peter goes. Bent over a couch with a hunter behind him, with Chris' crotch pressed against Peter's ass, hardness evident even through the layers between them.
Chris steps back and then there are fingers at his waist, carefully tugging his jeans down over his ass, carefully leaving the panties in place.
"Fuck, Peter--" Chris' voice is little more than a breath as Peter feels fingertips at his hip, tracing over the lacework covering his skin. "I wanna buy you a dozen pairs like this. Want to see you in them every day."
Chris' arousal is flooding the air, thick and heavy and almost tangible. It's making Peter hard, driving straight to his cock.
"Chris--" Peter's voice trails off. Trails off because he's not sure what the words should be. Stuck on fuck me--, on take me--, on own me--, on love me--. Stuck on "Please--"
Chris edges the panties down over Peter's ass, leaving them just below his cheeks. His hands are warm on Peter's skin as they move to his hips, fingertips trailing over Peter until they rest on his thighs. There's movement and the sound of Chris' knees hitting the carpet, of Chris kneeling behind him. Chris' hands move to cup his ass, spreading him open. And Peter can feel the breath across his asshole, can feel Chris leaning forward until--
"Fuck--"
Peter jerks as Chris licks him, tongue wet over Peter's ass. He bites his lower lip, fangs going through flesh as Chris licks again, tongue sweeping over him. He can feel Chris' tongue against him, swirling around his entrance and he wants Chris inside, wants Chris to open him up.
"Chris, please--"
The sound of Peter begging hasn't even died in the air before Chris' tongue is lapping into him, curled and perfect and cajoling Peter's body open. And Peter feels himself loosening, feels himself opening to let Chris in.
Chris' tongue slips in, just a bit, just enough for Peter to know he's there. But it's not enough, and he needs Chris inside him.
"Chris, please, just fuck me--"
Then Chris' tongue is gone and Peter can't stop the sob of loss that wells up in him. He hears Chris standing, hears the rustling of clothes and the rasp of Chris' zipper. And then Chris is against him, hot and heavy, with his cock pressing against Peter's ass.
And Peter wants it, wants Chris in him, fucking him. He pushes back, shuddering gasp forced out of him as the head of Chris' cock slips into him on spit and precome.
"Jesus, Peter--"
He can feel Chris shaking, can feel him holding back. Chris' hand is next to him, gripping the back of the couch, knuckles white. Peter lifts a hand, uncurling it from the grip he's got on one of the cushions, and rests it on Chris', tangling their fingers together.
"Can I? Peter, can I?"
Peter nods, because the answer is yes. Because the answer for Chris is always yes. And then Chris is moving, sliding into him in one inexorable thrust, sliding into him until he's flush against Peter's ass. Chris doesn't stop, pulling out and pushing back in, like he's got no choice but to fuck Peter, like it's the only thing that matters.
Peter's hard against the satin covering his cock, precome making it wet, sticking the fabric to him. And he thinks he should slide a hand down, thinks about taking his cock in his fingers, but then Chris shifts, changes the angle he's fucking into Peter, and it jolts through him. Pleasure, white hot and sharp, hammering through him with each of Chris' thrusts.
He tightens his grip on Chris' hand, because he can feel it building in him, low and sharp. Feel it building in his belly, balls tightening each time Chris moves. One thrust, two, and Peter feels himself falling, feels it sweep through him in a dizzying rush. He yells Chris' name as he comes, emptying himself into the panties, soaking them in his come.
Chris grunts behind him, fucking Peter through the aftershocks, fucking him through Peter's body clenching down on his cock. And then Chris' hips stutter, pushing into Peter and holding himself deep inside as he comes. And Peter can feel it, can feel Chris' cock twitching inside him as the hunter comes, marking Peter as his in the most basic way possible.
Chris drops onto Peter's back, panting steadily into Peter's shoulder. He can feel Chris softening inside him, feels Chris' cock slip out of him with a pang of loss. Chris' fingers squeeze his, warm and grounding, as his thumb runs over the side of Peter's hand soothingly.
The come is cooling in his panties, starting to turn sticky and uncomfortable, and Peter thinks he should nudge Chris into moving, should get them both into a shower before it worsens. But then Chris' lips are at his neck, murmuring words into his skin, murmuring love you-- and Peter-- and stay--. And Peter thinks moving can wait, at least for a little while.