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It’s been over a month since Stiles has settled back into classes and since Peter has started Courting him in earnest. The wolf followed him down that first weekend and helped Stiles get settled into his dorm room before the start of classes on Monday. He also showed Stiles the apartment that he rented and made sure that Stiles knew he was welcome there any time, whether or not Peter was around.
He could tell that Peter wanted to invite him just to move in there, to abandon the dorms entirely, but the wolf held his tongue instead. Allowing Stiles the freedom from expectations and to do as he pleases.
Not that Stiles hasn’t been in the apartment more than his dorm anyway. The only time he really goes back is to sleep before his classes in the morning. The apartment is nice, luxurious without being too pretentious. It very much fits in with Peter’s style and Stiles can't say he doesn’t like it, because he does. Very much so. It helps that the place always seems to be stocked with Stiles’ favorite foods and snacks, perfect study fuel for when he needs it.
Peter has been back down a couple of times each week to take Stiles out on dates, so far they have a standing dinner date every Wednesday evening since Stiles has a later start the next day and then they get together each weekend. It’s been wonderful, being wooed so thoroughly. Peter has also stuck to Stiles’ request to take things slowly and more often than not they spend time talking and getting to know one another more rather than taking a more physical route.
Peter has been very much the gentleman in this regard and Stiles is more pleased than he could even express. It makes him feel important, cared for and cherished. That the simple act of cuddling or holding hands or kissing one another is all that is needed to satisfy each other. Stiles is ridiculously happy with how things are going, and knows that the wait will make it all the more special. He never thought he’d want that, was so ready to shed his virginity back in high school, but this now, he can relate to the people who say that the first time should be with someone they love, that it should be important, should be special.
He can't help but continue to fall for Peter Hale. And with every adoring look that Peter gives him, he’s sure his wolf is feeling similarly.
But today isn’t about all that, today Stiles is feeling restless. Classes were rough and all Stiles wants is a reprieve from it all. He wants to play, to be free from responsibilities and shed his skin and clear his mind. He knows Peter isn’t due to arrive until tomorrow and now that classes are done for the day he’s free to do as he pleases.
And Stiles wants to indulge himself. Do something he hasn’t dared to do since he was little and his mom was still alive. The memory of it, even now, is still a little bittersweet, but he doesn’t let it deter him. Instead, he hops in his Jeep and takes off towards the shops to buy himself a few presents before going back to the apartment.
Less than an hour later and he’s gleefully ripping open the packages of his new purchases that he has strewn all over the bed. He tosses a few haphazardly on the floor and his excitement rises as they bounce, jingle and roll away on the carpet. Only a few items are left unopened, in his rush to buy what he wanted he had forgotten that he can't play with all of them by himself. One of his favorites, the one his mom always indulged him with, sits alone in a bag.
Now isn’t the time to allow years-old grief to overwhelm him. Now is the time for fun. For basking in his feline nature and letting loose.
Now is the time to play.
Stiles strips down quickly and shifts. Then he surveys his prey. He has a few of the staples; a couple of lattice balls with bells inside them, a faux leather mouse with a rattle and catnip, a few other lightweight mice with a moppy texture, and two mice with more catnip and feather tails.
Where to begin, where to begin.
Stiles wiggles and bounces on the ball first, delighting in the way it escapes him and rolls away quickly, bell tinkling as it moves. He gives into the chase, scurrying after it and batting it around with his paws. Only leaving it when it rolls under the dresser and he finds it immediately too inconvenient to retrieve it.
He switches focus, letting his nose guide him back to a catnip filled mouse and flicking it up in the air with his claws. Catching it again and chewing on it viciously. The action causes more of the scent to be released in the air and Stiles is in pheromone-induced ecstasy.
Practically bouncing off the walls he runs, chasing around with his toys. Batting them in the air, flicking them away from him only to hunt them back down again. Rolling the balls around quickly and using his sensitive hearing to locate them again based on the jingle alone. The lightweight mice go flying the easiest and cause him to hustle his hind legs to gain enough speed to get them back just to do it all over again.
When the high starts to wear off he’s back at another catnip laced toy for another fix. The majority of his toys, and himself, now escaping the confines of the bedroom and rocketing across the living room and dining area. The hardwood under his paws doing him no favors in the sprinting department. He slips and slides more than he retains traction but he couldn’t give a fuck less at this point. His heart rate is up, he’s panting for breath but he hasn’t felt this exhilarated in far too long.
After everything that has happened in his life, Stiles is distantly aware of how much he needed this now that he has it. He doesn’t feel like an animal trapped and abandoned in a cage. He feels free. Feels like himself again. It’s glorious.
He lets his mind drift, lets the feline instincts take over and just goes all out. He plays; running and chasing, pouncing on his unsuspecting prey, chewing and clawing to his endless delight.
He doesn't hear the door, doesn’t scent the person on the other side, too caught up in the hunt-chase-kill aspects of what he’s doing, riding high on his instincts.
The chuckled “hello sweetheart,” brings him up short.
The ball he was running after gets away from him as he slides along the slick waxed hardwood, trying to uselessly scramble to a stop. He gets his feet under him and scampers away, hightailing it back to the bedroom and shifting quickly so he can slam the door shut.
He’s out of breath and panting, naked and leaning with his back to the now closed door. He’s embarrassed and caught out. Stiles can't even think about what Peter saw, what the wolf saw him doing. It was so ridiculous and Peter must think him an idiot. A stupid kid.
Stiles hangs his head and tries to think of a way out of this. To explain. To… something. Anything.
He doesn’t get the chance though because he can hear Peter on the other side of the door, can scent his worry and concern even under the lingering amusement.
“Sweetheart, are you alright?” Peter calls out to him softly.
Stiles lifts his head only to allow it to thud back into the door.
He doesn’t know what to say.
“Can I come in?” Peter asks now.
Stiles shifts his stance, mumbles out a ‘just a second’ and pulls some sweatpants from the dresser to put on before he takes a seat on the bed.
The leftover plastic wrappings and bag from the pet store now just look incriminating. He hangs his head low and waits for the teasing, the laughter, the recrimination.
Peter enters the room slowly and takes a seat on Stiles’ other side, the bag and detritus between them.
He knows the wolf is gauging his emotions, taking in the scent of him, but Stiles can't do much more than wait it out. Peter is like this, likes to gather information before acting. Stiles just wishes he would get it over with. He can't imagine that Peter would want to continue Courting someone who acts so blatantly childish.
A warm hand gently tugs one of Stiles’ away from himself and holds it carefully. The crinkling of the plastic loud in the otherwise quiet of the room as Peter moves it more to the center of the bed so he can scoot closer to Stiles.
“Darling, I don’t know what is going on in your head right now, but I can imagine that whatever you are thinking, you are wrong. Will you talk to me instead? Tell me why you seem so embarrassed and resigned?” Peter asks firmly but softly.
“It’s so stupid,” Stiles whispers hoarsely.
“What is?” Peter prompts after a small extended silence.
“I just –” but Stiles can't get the words out over the lump that’s formed in his throat.
Peter’s thumb is rubbing back and forth soothingly along the back of Stiles’ hand as the wolf holds it. “Stiles, are you ashamed because I caught you playing?”
Stiles can't really come up with an answer aside from a dejected nod of his head.
“Oh you silly little thing,” Peter admonishes gently and then with an arm wrapped around Stiles’ waist he pulls him firmly to his side. Dropping a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head after Stiles goes limp and pliant, enjoying being cuddled up next to his wolf.
“I don’t know why you’re embarrassed by that. If you want to play you should play sweetheart.” Peter says after a moment.
“It’s childish and stupid and I shouldn’t want to do it. I’m sure Derek isn’t shifting to a wolf and bouncing around like a puppy.” Stiles explains sheepishly.
“No, I don’t imagine Derek is, though it might help him in losing that stick he has firmly shoved up his ass,” Peter replies wryly.
Stiles can't help the small chuckle that escapes at that.
“But you’re not Derek, little one, and I don’t think you wanting to play is stupid or childish. I think it’s just another reflection of you. And aside from your apparent mortification over it all because I found you, I know you were having fun. So what’s so bad about that?” Peter asks seriously.
“You don’t think I should be more responsible? That I should grow up?” Stiles asks quietly.
“No, darling, I don’t. I think you should do what you want and embrace who you are, and part of you is very feline in nature and that shouldn’t be locked away. I could scent your joy and excitement before I even got to the door. When something makes you that happy, you should never be ashamed of it.” Peter responds and kisses Stiles’ temple, lips lingering for a soft quiet moment.
“Oh,” Stiles breathes.
This was definitely not the conversation he had feared and almost worked himself into a panic over. And really, for as much as he’s been getting to know Peter, he should have known better. Peter is a marshmallow wrapped in a deadly, dangerous, arousing package. For all the fangs and claws he’s the ultimate softie when it comes to Stiles.
Sometimes Stiles is an insecure idiot.
“Would you like to play some more, or have I ruined the mood?” Peter asks.
Stiles tilts his head up and bites at his lower lip, the action does not go unnoticed by Peter, it never does, but there’s no heat to his gaze this time, just curiosity and mild concern.
Stiles sits upright and twists to snake a hand between them and pulls out the only unopened toy from the bag, bringing it back and resting it on his lap. He lets one of his claws descend and cuts away the ties keeping the toy fastened to a thin cardboard backing and slits open the plastic that encases the string and feathered end.
Peter watches him silently but Stiles can scent the growing curiosity, as well as the amazement that always seems to underline Peter’s scent when he sees Stiles using his abilities. Surprisingly, the wolf hasn’t asked yet for a detailed debriefing on all that Stiles can do and how it differs from werewolves and other shifters, but Stiles imagines that day will be coming. Peter is always thirsty for any bit of knowledge he can gain, they very much have that in common.
Stiles takes a breath and lets it out slowly, handing the wand over to Peter, “play with me?” The words coming out as a near whisper.
Peter takes the wand, shaking it out slightly as if testing it for a moment, “of course, sweetheart, I would be honored.”
And it should sound silly, the wording itself seems ridiculous to Stiles, but when he meets Peter’s eyes there is nothing but fondness and overwhelming sincerity.
Stiles falls a little more in love with him for that alone.
He gives Peter a quick kiss, just a small chaste thing, and then shifts fluidly as his hands push down the sweatpants from his hips. Stiles bounces out of the puddle of clothing and sits off to the side of Peter’s leg and very pointedly meows at his wolf.
Peter smiles and laughs a little at Stiles’ antics but gives him a fond, “okay little one,” and dangles the end of the toy nearest Stiles.
Stiles bats it away from his face and meows again, unimpressed by Peter’s lack of enthusiasm.
It doesn’t take Peter long to figure out how Stiles likes to play, using the wand and whipping the end of the toy this way and that, causing Stiles to run and flip in his attempts to capture the feathered end. After some time, they migrate from the bedroom, Peter making Stiles chase him and the toy as the wolf moves quickly around the living room, smiling and laughing loudly as he plays with Stiles.
Eventually, Stiles gets too worn out to play any longer, using the last of his energy to jump onto Peter’s leg and climb the wolf like a tree. Peter is too surprised and amused by the action to do much more than just hold Stiles to his chest once he makes it there.
Peter takes a seat on the sofa, reclining back and putting his feet up, petting down Stiles’ head and back as Stiles pants to catch his breath. Peter sneaks in a kiss or two to Stiles’ head and Stiles basks in the attention and affection. When Stiles gets his breathing back under control and his heart stops trying to beat out of his chest he realizes how exhausted he is. He’s happy and sated, purring out his contentment, as if Peter wasn’t already well aware.
He doesn't even remember drifting off to sleep.
Stiles wakes up pleasantly sore and warm and comfortable. Peter’s hand is running up and down his spine lazily and he knows that the blanket from the couch is covering them both. Before Stiles would be worried about losing his shift while he was sleeping, but he knows, deep down in his bones, that he’s safe with Peter. That seems to make all the difference in the world.
“Good nap darling?” Peter asks softly.
Stiles just hums in response and burrows closer to Peter, regardless of the fact he’s laying on top of the man.
“Let’s eat and then we can relax some more before we go to sleep, hmm?” Peter suggests.
“Mmm that sounds good,” Stiles agrees, stretching slightly and feeling Peter grip his hip firmly before going back to the lazy strokes along his back. “Thank you, Peter,” Stiles says quietly, craning his head up to look at Peter properly.
“Oh sweetheart, you don’t have to thank me. I was more than happy to indulge you,” Peter says and then a look crosses his face, something Stiles can't make out before it’s gone again and Peter is speaking, “I haven’t had that much fun in a long time. I should thank you for that instead,” Peter confesses before pressing a kiss to Stiles’ forehead.
It resolves something for Stiles, makes him bold, fearless, makes him feel free. “We’ll have to do it again then.”
Peter’s arms wrap around him tightly, hugging him to his chest, “Yeah, little one, we will.”