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It was the hottest day of the year.
Beacon Hills doesn't usually get the worst of the country's heat waves, but this week broke records. Temperatures were in the triple digits; the hospital had more heat-stroke cases in one day than they had all year; advertisement signs in town were taken down and replaced with ones which urged their unsuspecting audience to hydrate and cool down; ice cream trucks were sent out in droves and gave out ice water as a health-conscious freebee; even delivery services like UPS and FedEx were sending out apology messages explaining that they weren't going to run mail because of recent weather-related safety concerns.
It was
hot
.
Peter didn't like the heat. He liked comfort, and one can always dress warm in cold weather and even be quite stylish doing so, but there's only so much you can do to stay cool. Werewolves already naturally ran warm. And while they could technically operate with an internal temperature much higher than a human, it still wasn't pleasant.
Peter gets
moody
when he's too hot.
And so, that day, with the pack all sitting around breathing in his space, heating up the loft a fraction of a degree too much, after one too many comments from Erica about how it was unfair that men could walk around shirtless but women still had to wear clothes across their chest, Peter suddenly stood from his chair, halting conversation for one startled moment, and he left them all and headed to town.
It's not that he disagreed with her. He was all for a bra-less world. The more naked skin, the better, he thought, as a conscious member of society. But there was only so much teenage angst and irritation he could take.
Especially when, the entire time, Stiles had been toying with the hem of his shirt as if he were only moments away from taking it off. The few times he'd fanned it from his skin and revealed a portion of his torso, wafting a thick tangle of scent his way had Peter sweating for more reasons than just the temperature.
So yes, Peter was moody when he was too hot. And he was in the mood to convince Stiles to bare his skin to him and let him lick away the salty sweat that dripped down his neck.
Fuck.
The mall wasn't usually Peter's favorite place in the world, but it was a good way to get away, into the anonymity of the crowd. There were many shops, and he did enjoy shopping. Fashion was always a fascination of his, even as he actively suppressed his affection for soft fabrics, flashy styles and alluring colors. Besides, the mall was always air conditioned to a perfect sixty-eight degrees.
He wandered about for about an hour before he walked past a poster advertising a slip-n-slide. He didn't think very much of it, until he doubled back and bought it for the pack.
It was hardly an altruistic act.
After all, Stiles loved that shirt of his.
He'd never let it get ruined.
Peter sat back with a self-satisfied grin, watching the pack throw themselves across the slip-n-slide, cheering loudly, having fun,
not bothering Peter
. And beside them all, Stiles stood back, biting his lip, fingers toying at the hem of his shirt. Sweat dripped down the boy's brow, and he fiddled with his shirt more, becoming braver, lifting the shirt just enough that Peter caught sight of a sliver of skin above the hem of his swim shorts.
That's when the two of them met eyes.
Peter had been caught, and he was absolutely not the type to shy away, so they stared at each other, and he watched Stiles' throat bob.
And then, finally, Stiles threw his shirt off.
The boy seemed to watch Peter for his reaction, and while the older wolf may not be able to say he has any idea what goes on in that pretty little head of his, Stiles seemed satisfied by Peter's wolfish smirk, and ran for the pack, throwing himself between them to take his turn.
Peter smiled to himself, and allowed himself to watch the show. Wide chest, toned stomach, thin hips, skin that just begged to be licked. This was surely better than television.
Once the pack had had their fun and began packing up, Stiles wandered over to Peter, staring down at the man, who looked back up at him with fond curiosity. "You're a freak," the boy told Peter, heedlessly. "But... Thanks."
"Whatever for?" Peter purred, tilting his head, eyeing the boy unabashedly.
"The water slide, for one," Stiles said, gesturing behind him. "But also..." The boy frowned and fiddled with the shirt in his hands. Then looked back at Peter with a sort of conviction. "Here." Stiles threw his shirt at him, and Peter caught it easily, glancing at it curiously. "I guess you can have that. If you promise not to eye-fuck me so blatantly next time."
Oh
, where has this sexual confidence been all this time? Was that all it took for Stiles to realize he's a catch? A day of being admired? "I'm afraid I couldn't keep that promise, darling," Peter told him. "If no one has yet to tell you that you are absolutely
ravishing
, then let me be the first. Baggy clothes unbecome you."
Stiles rose a brow and gave him a tilted frown. "Right... Well. Like I said. Thanks... for... for being the first."
Another smirk crept onto Peter's lips. "I'll be your first of many, whenever you're ready, dear."
"Yeah, maybe when I lose every sense of hatred I have for you," Stiles said to him, still frowning, but Peter smelled the desire on his skin. Bare skin, that Peter desperately wanted to mark up.
"
Do
you truly hate me, Stiles?"
"Yes."
The boy's heart didn't stutter quite as obviously as Peter would've preferred, but he was nothing if not adaptable, and he hummed appreciatively. "Do you think I could ever convince you to change your mind?"
"Absolutely not." This time, the boy's heart stuttered
quite
obviously, and Peter smirked. Much to his surprise, Stiles smirked knowingly right back with a shrug. "Keep flattering me. We'll see where you get."
Stiles walked away, and the wolf just about swooned.
He brought the shirt to his nose and inhaled, and his eyes fluttered shut. When he opened his eyes again, Stiles had looked over his shoulder to watch him, and sent him an incredulous look. "Freak," the boy said, but it was more fond than anything else.
Peter wouldn't mind being called a freak. As long as, one day, he was
Stiles'
freak.
And if Stiles needed someone to convince him to be confident in his own body, then he'll be the first to eye-fuck him into a blush every time.
That's
a promise Peter can easily keep.