Chapter Text
1. Fuck
The first time it happened they were caught off guard and had to think fast.
Well… mainly Stiles had to think fast, Peter just wanted to get five more minutes of ‘beauty sleep’.
“Shit, fuck, shit, fuck, shit, fuckerdy shitshit,” Stiles looked at the text-message on his phone again, muttering some more ‘fucks’ before letting his head fall back down on the pillow.
“You are aware of the fact that chanting the national anthem of cuss-land doesn’t actually make this little ‘hic-up’ go away, right?” The man still half-asleep beside him mumbled into his pillow.
It wasn’t so much a question as it was a mere observation, and Stiles could feel a slight tension of panic rise in his chest.
“’Little hic-up’? Oh my god…” he moaned in despair while rubbing his hands across his face. “How can you be so utterly relaxed about this? This is so bad, this is so so… ‘Fuck’.”
“Say ‘fuck’ one more time and I’m going to feel inclined to demonstrate other ways of its usage. Again.”
“Oh fuck you,” Stiles barked back slightly frustrated.
“That would work too,” Peter hummed contently.
It had been a rough night. Actually, every night he spend with Peter could be considered a rough night, but they always made sure they both had enough time to recover from the bruises and scents of pain, come and musk to not be detected by any of the other werewolves.
They’d always drive in separate cars, meet up at a motel or hotel-room, and always leave at least a two-day space between a rendezvous and an encounter with one of the pack-members. It all worked out flawlessly. They’d been able to fuck each other senseless for months now and no-one suspected a thing.
The only thing Stiles hadn’t accounted for was this. Why the hell did they need another pack-meeting so soon after the last one anyway? Stiles knew his whole body was covered in bruises and rug-burns, and there was no way in hell he’d be able to remove Peter’s scent enough to not at least be detected in some way.
This sucked big time, and not in any of the preferred ways either.
He knew he could account for the smell of pain and bruising, as both Scott and Isaac had seen him take a few mayor blows during Lacrosse practice. So at least that’s one problem he can cross of the list of ‘fuck’.
The scent however, Peter’s scent, that was another story all together. Even with his human-nose he could smell that he reeked of Peter’s come, his fingers poignant with the smell of Peter’s musk. Peter loved his fingers, and Stiles knew just what to do to indulge to the man’s cravings, making the man beg beneath him.
“Okay, wait, let me think…”
+++
The meeting went great– well, apart from the fact that some new threat had entered the Beacon Hills area and Stiles had to start working on a spell to make sure no other drifters would get chopped up into little pieces…
But besides thát everything went hunky-dory.
As instructed, Peter had touched Stiles in plain sight the moment he got off the elevator, accounting for their mixed scent. And besides some remarks about Peter being more creepy than usual everybody had gone right back to business, no questions asked.
It had been a close call, though. Too close for Stiles’ liking.
He liked spending time with Peter. They actually connected perfectly kink-wise, and Stiles was definitely not about to give that up due to some prejudiced ‘friends’ ruining their… um… whatever it is they have.
It took him only 2 days to find a spell that can mask specific scents, and about two hours to make it his own.