Teen Wolf One-shot stories

Matka taught me 2

"Chciałbym cię za to zabić...ale upokorzenie będzie musiało wystarczyć." Stiles spat in a Slavic language, presumably Polish.
And Peter, well Peter was having a very questionable reaction considering Stiles was barely legal. Sweet Jesus he'd even bottom for this boy.

Stiles gazed down at Jackson's trembling form and whispered low and serious, still emotional enough his accent remained a little more European, "don't you forget again Jackass. Ya?"
"Yeah." Jackson whimpered, clutching his broken hand as his nose bled into the dirt. Peter tried not to purr his appreciation.

The deadly teen pulled away, losing all the hard edges of a moment ago. Arguably that mask was far more terrifying than his previously unknown combat skills, as was the way he slipped back into a pure Californian accent like there'd never been anything before, sheepish grin making Peter's wolf relax disturbingly easily. The shift from threat to harmless should not be so convincing in a boy of eighteen.

"Sorry guys, lost my temper a bit." Stiles scratched his neck, embarrassment in every micro movement.
"A bit." Echoed Derek. Peter wanted to snort at the pale look on his nephew's face. He deserved this.
Stiles gained back a bit of his dangerous aura at the hint of disapproval, small but enough to have everyone's hackles raised again. "He brought up my Matka."
Peter never thought a mother's boy would have him weak kneed but here he was, and he was sincerely glad said mother was no longer around to give any shovel talks.

"You've had training." Mumbled Allison, and wasn't it pure pleasure seeing the huntress surprised, even scared. She wasn't her family, but Peter was enough of a bastard to not be ashamed of enjoying her fear anyway.
Stiles shrugged like it was nothing. "Matka was Polish Special Ops. She trained me well. I didn't practise much after she died, most people forget and I got rid of the trophies...but I got back into practise after your grandpa used me as a punching bag."
"Fair." Managed Allison.

After what now?
Peter glanced around and yeah, everyone else seemed to know that at some point Gerard Argent had gotten a hold of his Stiles, and he was the only one out the loop. That was a role reversal, and he did not like it. He wanted to growl, demand answers, but he reined it in. He could press for answers later.

Whilst he was distracted, Stiles had raised an eyebrow at Derek. "Still think I need to see how hard it is?"
Derek raised his hands, and Peter was amused to spy his proud nephew barring his neck slightly in submission, "not at all. Be nice if you joined in though? I feel you could teach me and Peter some things."
Something malicious and gleeful grew in Stiles' expression as he turned his gaze on Peter. "Oh, I think that would be my pleasure."

Oh, oh shit. Peter was sincerely grateful his current crouched position hid his tented crotch from view.
The others no doubt saw Stiles' expression and words as intent on revenge, for Peter's 'crimes'.
But Peter knew Stiles better than that, and the look on his face was a form of bedroom eyes that made Peter want to present him kills and build a fucking den for them.

The line between sarcasm and actual flirting was one he and Stiles danced on regularly. Flushed with adrenaline and with Jackson's blood on the soles of his converse, Stiles seemed to have found some courage to cross that line.
He kept it as subtext though, subtext that flew over most of the pack's heads it seemed.
But, as said in one of Stiles' stupid series he liked forcing the pack to watch, 'you can't spell subtext, without  s e x'.

"The pleasure would be all mine sweetheart. I love a boy who plays dirty."
Stiles' lips quirked.
He came at Peter the next moment, all fluid motions, and almost angelic grace.
Peter was so in awe he very nearly went the same way as Jackson. He wasn't too prideful not to acknowledge he probably would have done had Stiles really wanted him too. Peter had supernatural speed and strength, but Stiles' reflexes and experience made his physical advantages negligible. It made a change, he was used to being the weaker, smarter fighter in a match up, not the strong but slow oaf. But Stiles slid between his legs and used him like a damn jungle gym, leading him around the clearing like this was a bull fight.

Peter just about found his rhythm in the fight, relaxing into it a little, when Stiles threw a key change his way. Whether it was deliberate or not...oh who did Peter think he was kidding, the little shit knew exactly what he was doing.

One moment Peter thought he saw an opening and was lunging for it, the next moment surprising muscular thighs were wrapped around his head and his brain functions ground to a halt.
Stiles spun them artfully until they landed, Peter on his back with Stiles practically straddling his face, grinning triumphant. His knees were either side of Peter's head and he settled back to sit lightly on Peter's chest.

Peter was over thirty damn it. And he was fucking suave.
Stiles was theoretically a virgin.
He should be in control, and he shouldn't be the one a husked sentence off an orgasm.
He licked his lips, the action feeling embarrassingly mechanical as he scrambled for his metaphorical footing. "Why Stiles, how forward of you." He purred, making no move to shove the other off him and not bothering to acknowledge observing pack members.
Stiles raised an eyebrow, gazing down at him with those whiskey eyes and appearing fucking delectable in the fading light.
"Such a silver tongue." Said the teen. "Can you do more with it than flirt?"
"Sit a little higher up sweetheart and I'll show you."

Derek coughed and they both sent him a glare.
His nephew was marginally cowed by them but they didn't break his resolve to kill the mood. "Your...demonstration has been educational Stiles, but either take that elsewhere or break it up."
Peter looked at Stiles, and Stiles looked back, before raising one eyebrow in challenge.
Peter brought his hands up to Stiles' lower back, and got to his feet in one smooth motion, Stiles still straddling his shoulders. The teen's pupils blew wide at the show of strength and Peter filed that away for future reference, before carrying his boy through the dumbfounded rabble they called pack to where his car was parked.
He opened the passenger door but couldn't resist luring Stiles into a fierce kiss before dispositing him inside.
It was everything Peter had imagined it would be, and more.