Chapter Text
Peter tried not to scowl at the fresh-faced kid who’d just come through the door of his tattoo shop. He was alone for the night, and he’d been looking forward to a quiet evening working on a new piece for a client who’d recently inherited her alpha title. Dressed in a puffy coat and examining the flash wall, this guy looked like he was probably a college student looking to get his girlfriend’s name tattooed on his ass—or crossed out. He usually let Erica deal with those customers. But, as she liked to tell him, glowering didn’t pay the rent, so he plastered a smile on and went to make nice.
“Can I help you?” The kid jumped a little, and Peter couldn’t help but smirk. He wasn’t above using his werewolf stealth for his own amusement.
“Yeah, hi, I’m Stiles,” he said, pulling off a glove with his teeth and offering his hand to Peter. “Are you…” he looked down at something scrawled on his wrist, “…Peter?”
“Peter Hale, artist and proprietor, that’s me,” he said agreeably, giving Stiles’ hand a perfunctory shake. “What can I help you with?”
“Well, Moira sent me, she said you were the guy to see about—wait, Peter Hale?” The kid’s face lit up in a blinding grin, and Peter tensed. He didn’t have a lot of positive experiences with people recognizing his name. “Any relation to Laura and Derek Hale?”
He didn’t bother trying not scowl this time. “You’re a friend of theirs?” he growled.
Stiles put up his hands, eyes wide. “Whoa, no, not really. I mean, I’m from Beacon Hills, and my bro’s a werewolf, so I know of them. I’ve never met Laura, though, and the last time I saw Derek he threatened to rip my throat out with his teeth.”
Peter relaxed a little. “That’s practically his way of saying hello. Yes, Laura and Derek are my niece and nephew, but as you may have guessed, we’re…estranged.”
“Totally cool, man, I know how that goes. I haven’t talked to my dad in over a year—he doesn’t approve of all this magic stuff.” Stiles began to shed his coat. The layers of plaid he was wearing underneath weren’t much of an improvement.
“So, you’re a student of Moira Harper’s?”
“Yup,” the kid confirmed, popping the ‘p.’ “Emissary-in-training Stiles Stilinski, that’s me.”
‘Stiles’ had to be a nickname, but that was common among magic users. True names were too powerful to throw around carelessly.
“And you’re here for…?” Peter prompted. He was starting to doubt this guy was playing with a full deck.
“Oh! Right!” Stiles fished around in his pockets for a minute before pulling out a folded, rumpled piece of paper. “I need to get my first-level initiation tattoo, and Moira says you’re the guy to see about all things magical and inky.”
Accepting the paper gingerly, Peter studied the drawing and the list of ingredients underneath it for the ink. First-level tattoos were meant to be a depiction of the caster’s inner spirit; his lip curled in amusement to see that Stiles’ was a fox which appeared to be chasing its own tail. He’d only met the boy five minutes ago and he could already see how fitting that was. “This shouldn’t be a problem. It’ll take me about a day to prepare the ink. Do you want to make an appointment now?”
Stiles trailed after him to the counter, where Peter flipped open the appointment book. “Yeah, okay. Do you have any openings on Saturday?”
“Saturday’s not good unless you want to come in after closing. It’s one of our busier days, and I’ll need to be able to concentrate.”
Stiles nodded. “That’s not a problem for me if it’s okay with you. I’m kind of a night owl anyway. What time do you close?”
“Ten o’clock. You can come in around ten-thirty. The rest of the staff should be cleaned up by then.” Peter scribbled Stiles’ name in the margin at the end of Saturday’s appointments. He didn’t mind the late hour—magical tattoos were his specialty, and they paid a lot better than flash. At least Stiles’ tattoo didn’t need to be done during a specific planetary alignment. He’d done a tattoo for a centaur once that had to be completed in fifteen minutes before the planets moved out of position.
“Great, thank you!” Stiles flashed him another blinding smile and started pulling his layers back on. “See you Saturday!”
The door jingled as the boy ventured back into the sharp bite of the New York winter. Peter locked the door behind him and set about gathering ingredients, quietly humming to himself.
He was vaguely surprised when Stiles showed up at 10:30 on the dot that Saturday. He’d seemed like the habitually tardy type. Although if he was a magic-user, he’d probably had to train himself out of that. Erica and Isaac were still cleaning up their stations when he came through the door in a swirl of snow, bundled up like the Abominable Snowman.
“Holy shit it’s cold out there,” he exclaimed, and immediately started shedding layers all over one of the waiting-room chairs. “I was not built for this kind of weather. There’s nothing between the cold and my bones.” He gestured to his torso, now bare except for a t-shirt. Sweeping his eyes over the boy appreciatively, Peter had to disagree with that self-assessment. He was definitely on the lanky side, but his lean muscles were clearly defined; he might not be a work-out aficionado, but he kept in shape. A runner, maybe?
Peter was distracted from his speculation by Erica’s wolf-whistle. She vaulted over the low door separating the storefront from the tattoo stations and stuck out her hand. “You must be Stiles,” she purred, leaning forward to show off her cleavage. “I saw your name in the appointment book. How selfish of Peter to keep you all to himself.”
“Yeah, well, it’s my initiation tattoo, so…” He took her hand automatically, clearly bemused.
“Oooh, a mage.” Erica’s smile grew wider. Stiles looked like he was thinking of making a run for it. He cast a desperate glance over at Peter.
Desperate is a good look on him, Peter thought as he came around the counter and wedged himself between his customer and his overly enthusiastic employee.
“Yes, Erica, he’s a mage, and he’s here for a magical tattoo, which is why he is booked with me.” He injected a slight snarl into the last word, and briefly flashed his eyes red. Her eyes flashed gold in return, and she stuck her tongue out at her Alpha as she flounced back to her station.
“C’mon Isaac, let’s leave ol’ stick-in-the-mud here and go find our own fun,” she teased, gathering her things and hustling the quieter beta out the door. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she called as the door swung shut on her laughter.
“That’s not much of a limitation,” Peter snorted under his breath, locking up behind her.
Stiles chuckled, still looking a little dazed. “So are all the artists here your betas?”
“Yes,” Peter confirmed, leading the way to his station, which was partitioned off at the back of the shop. “Those were Erica and Isaac, both tattoo artists, and then there’s also Boyd, who does piercings. His last appointment was at three, so I let him go early. Erica’s a bit of a handful, but Isaac and Boyd are relatively well-behaved.”
“Yeah, she seems like the type to keep you on your toes.” He cast a nervous glance over his shoulder as if afraid she’d suddenly reappear.
Peter busied himself getting out the supplies for Stiles’ tattoo. The ink had been fairly simple to mix, and turned out to be a dark purple. Not that it mattered; once the design was inked onto the mage’s skin, his magic would color and animate it. Most magical tattoos were inert unless they were being used, but an initiation tattoo would always reflect the mental and emotional state of the bearer.
“Have a seat there and take off your shirt.” He gestured to the tattooing chair absently as he finished prepping the needle. When he turned around, Stiles was sitting on the edge of the chair, still wearing his shirt and twisting the hem in his hands.
Peter sighed. “This your first tattoo?”
The boy’s face flushed, and he averted his gaze. “No, umm…” He shoved up his sleeve to reveal a small wolf’s paw on his upper arm. “It’s just… You’re a werewolf!” he blurted suddenly.
The alpha raised an eyebrow. “Yes. I thought we covered that when you booked your appointment?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t really think it through then, and…” He raised his gaze to meet Peter’s shyly. “I just have this sort of…reaction? To pain? And I thought it wouldn’t be a problem, cuz, you know, my pants will be on, but you’re a werewolf so you can smell stuff like that and wow this is awkward, maybe I should just go.” He started to lever himself off the chair, and Peter stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder and an amused smirk.
“Stiles, are you trying to warn me that you might get aroused while I’m tattooing you?”
Stiles gave him a profoundly embarrassed nod.
“Well, I can assure you,” Peter purred, hooking a finger under the boy’s chin and tilting it up to meet his gaze, “that’s not a problem for me unless it’s a problem for you.”
“It’s so not a problem for me,” Stiles breathed, tongue flicking out to wet his lips.
“Well then.” He gestured to the boy’s t-shirt again. “Shall we get started?”
“Oh, right!” He lifted the shirt up and carefully over his…nipple rings. Peter groaned. Oh, this was going to be the best kind of torture.
Stiles gave him a twisted grin. “Told you I have a thing for pain.”
Barely stopping himself from just reaching out to touch, Peter managed to ask, “May I?” At Stiles’ answering nod, he ran a finger over one of the rings and then gave it a light tug. The moan and sharp spike in arousal he got in response was dizzying.
“As good as that feels,” Stiles panted. “Maybe we should get the tattoo done first?”
“Right. Absolutely.” Shaking his head to clear it, Peter set to work prepping an area on Stiles’ chest, just above his heart, and applying the transfer to his skin. He could feel the boy’s pulse through his skin, fast but steady.
Both of them were clearly exerting all their self-control as the tattoo progressed. Peter had to pause a couple of times to breathe through his mouth and steel himself against the thick scent of arousal coming from his client. He was impressed by Stiles' utter stillness; he clearly had excellent control for someone only at their first level of training.
By the time he finished and blotted away the excess ink and blood, they were both panting. He held up a mirror so that Stiles could see the little fox flood with color — flame orange and creamy white, with sharp black eyes — and begin to twitch its tail.
Stiles surged up to kiss him, deep and fierce with intent. He let the tide of lust flood his senses for a few moments before pushing the boy reluctantly away long enough to bandage the fresh tattoo with shaky hands. As soon as he was done, Stiles swung sideways on the chair and pulled Peter between the V of his legs. He gave the kiss his full attention this time, resting his hands on Stiles’ hips. The boy’s long, clever-looking fingers clutched at his back, and he groaned at the thought of what they could do to him.
Finally they broke apart, only a few inches separating them as Stiles panted, “Bed?”
“Upstairs,” he growled, already tugging the boy along by his belt loops. They stumbled blindly up the narrow stairs to Peter’s apartment, taking turns pushing each other against the walls to make out more. By the time they made it to the bedroom, Peter was so hard he felt dizzy. He led Stiles into the room, then swung him around and walked him backwards until he tumbled onto the bed.
Peter took a moment to appreciate the view laid out beneath him. The boy's creamy skin was flushed, constellations of moles dotting it, begging to be touched. Stiles licked his lips and raised an eyebrow challengingly. “Planning to do something other than look?”
Peter growled and surged downwards onto the bed, snaking a hand in between them to unbutton both their pants. Somehow they managed to wriggle out of them without really moving apart. Kneeling above him, he straddled Stiles’ hips as he pulled off his own shirt. Stiles ran his hands over Peter’s chest appreciatively, fondling his chest hair for a moment before slowly trailing downward and wrapping them around the werewolf’s hard, heavy cock. He stroked it a few times, his fingers every bit as talented as Peter had hoped, then gathered a drop of pre-come on a fingertip. Holding Peter’s gaze, he brought the finger to his plush lips and sucked.
A wave of arousal hit him so hard he threw his head back and moaned. “You are such a tease,” he complained, sliding down Stiles’ body and taking one of his nipple rings in his mouth. The boy drew in a series of sharp, panting breaths as Peter rolled the cool metal around with his tongue. His hips jerked up involuntarily, trying to find friction against Peter’s body.
“God, Peter,” he said roughly. “That feels so good…”
Peter tugged on the other ring with his free hand, at the same time biting lightly at the nipple in his mouth. Stiles gave a loud cry, his body curving upwards like a bow. “Yes! Peter, god YES.”
In one smooth motion, Peter moved down the bed and engulfed Stiles’ whole cock with his mouth. He reveled in the sharp, musky taste as he bobbed and sucked, giving alternate tugs to the boy’s nipple rings at the same time. Stiles did an admirable job of holding his hips still, even as he babbled an endless stream of yes and Peter and oh my god, please don’t stop. It seemed only a few minutes before he was coming down Peter’s throat on a long moan.
Licking his lips with a smug grin, he levered himself up to survey his handiwork. Stiles was melted into the bed, his eyes half-lidded, breathing raggedly.
“So gorgeous,” Peter rumbled. “So beautiful for me, Stiles. Perfect boy.” He dropped kisses down Stiles’ face and chest, smoothing his hands down the boy’s sides as he came down from his orgasm.
“Peter,” Stiles whispered, watching him with dark eyes.
“Yes?”
“Fuck me, please.”
Peter felt his eyes flash, and barely restrained his claws from popping out. “My pleasure,” he growled. He snagged his lube from the bedside table and set about prepping the boy thoroughly. As relaxed as he was, he could probably have gone without—especially with his pain kink—but Peter wanted to give him time to recover enough to come with Peter’s cock inside him. He said as much when Stiles whined plaintively.
“Holy crap, Peter, yeah. I want that. Fuck.” He started thrusting himself back on Peter’s fingers, moaning shamelessly.
“Mmmm, such a beautiful little slut for me. Makes me want to keep you here in my bed, all fucked out for days. Naked and gorgeous, begging to be taken.” He leaned down to drop a kiss on Stiles’ parted mouth and withdrew his fingers slowly, savoring the long moan Stiles gave at their loss.
“C’mon, Peter, please,” he whimpered, hitching his legs up and giving a little wriggle. “Been wanting this since I walked into your shop.”
Deciding his lover had probably suffered enough, despite how beautiful he looked all desperate and wrung-out, Peter slid home in one smooth, tortuously slow stroke.
“Yeeeeessss,” Stiles hissed, holding his legs open as wide as he could, encouraging Peter to go as deep as possible. “God, Peter, you feel so good inside me. God, fuck me, please.”
He was happy to oblige, setting a quick pace of rough thrusts. After a few small changes of position, he found the right angle to reduce Stiles’ commentary to a series of oh oh ohs. He wrapped a hand, still slightly slick with lube, around the boy’s cock, determined to make him come again even as felt his own orgasm rapidly approaching.
“Come on, come for me, Stiles. You’re so gorgeous, so perfect for me. Want to see you come.” Peter was breathless, his blood singing as he tumbled closer to the edge. Finally Stiles came with a shout, his hips bucking beneath Peter, who thrust a few more times and joined him.
They collapsed together, taking a few moments to catch their breath before Peter went to get a washcloth to clean them up. Afterwards, Stiles turned and snuggled into him, nosing his chest hair sleepily.
“Mind if I stay?” he murmured. “Not really keen on going back out into that snow.”
“Of course.” Peter tucked the comforter around them and Stiles cuddled up closer. He listened to the boy’s breathing even out into sleep, feeling warmer and more content than he had in years.