Archive of Our Own

Chris sighs, mostly in relief but somewhat in disappointment, as he steps into the entryway of his dark, quiet house. He’s been abroad for almost a week, seeing to some supplier issues in France. Stiles has been neck-deep in mid-term papers and tests, otherwise the hunter would have suggested he, Stiles, and Peter travel together. It would have made the trip a little more bearable. Chris could have just taken Peter, but he’d felt a strong unease at the thought of leaving their younger partner alone. Stiles can handle himself, no question, but knowing that their wolf has been close to the younger man had set Chris’s mind at ease.

And Peter has called every day with video chat to show just how well he’s been taking care of their boy.

Chris was hoping they’d be here tonight, but he’s back two days earlier than he said he would be. Stiles is probably enjoying a decent night’s sleep after a week of grueling schoolwork, and Peter is probably—

The hunter frowns as his cellphone vibrates in his pocket, and he pulls it out to find Peter’s name on the screen. He answers with a wry grin. “Hello, Peter.”

“Welcome home, Christopher,” the wolf responds with an amused chuckle. “How was your flight?”

Chris huffs and shakes his head. “How did you know I was back?”

“That’s for me to know,” Peter says lightly.

The hunter sighs and shakes his head. He should be more concerned that the man is able to access that information. But it’s Peter, so it’s not entirely surprising. “Are you with Stiles?” He leans down and undoes the laces of his boots, toeing them off and setting them on the mat beside the door.

“I have been all day. Just stepped out for a bit. He’s been riled up, so I thought I’d give him some alone time.”

Chris snorts as he starts up the stairs, the thought of falling into his own bed making his shoulders drop in relief. “He’s really pushed himself with his class schedule this semester.”

“And he hasn’t let his grades slip once,” Peter says proudly. “Heading to bed, then?”

“Yeah.” Chris rubs a hand down his face and scrubs at the stubble on his chin. “Slept a little on the plane, but travel always takes it out of me.”

“Mm, jet lag is a bitch, isn’t it?” Peter chuckles. “Well, I hope you aren’t too exhausted, Christopher. I’ve left you a gift. It’s in your bedroom.”

Chris stops in his tracks at the top of the stairs, frowning at his bedroom door at the end of the hall. It’s cracked open, a soft light filtering through. He always makes sure to turn off lights and close the doors of every room before he travels. “What did you do, Peter?”

“Unwrap it, if you’d like. Or take advantage while it’s wrapped, your choice. Enjoy.” There’s a soft beep as Peter hangs up, and Chris glares at his phone as if it is the cryptic werewolf himself.

“Fucker,” he mutters, taking steady strides towards the door. He isn’t worried, persay. Peter wouldn’t leave him anything other than something irritating or eyeroll-inducing. He’d decorated Chris’s entire bedroom in Hello Kitty paraphernalia once. Annoying, but Stiles had found it utterly hilarious. And the young man had worn pink lingerie around the house the rest of the week until Chris finally took it all down.

He stops outside the door, listening intently, and his eyebrows draw together at the sounds he hears. Shifting fabric, muffled whimpers, heavy breathing, a low, quiet humming. Chris places his hand on the knob and cautiously opens the door, freezing in the doorframe at the sight that greets him.

The soft light is from the lamp on the far nightstand, dimmed as low as it will go and barely highlighting the figure spread-eagled in the center of the king-sized bed. As Chris opens the door a bit further, the hinges squeak, drawing the figure’s attention, and the hunter’s knees nearly go weak at the sight of the ball gag in their mouth.

“‘Riled up,’ huh?” Chris mutters with a huff, entering the room fully and ignoring the whimpers and choked sounds that make his dick harden in his jeans as he heads to the nightstand closest to the door and sets his phone down after silencing it. The only person who would need to get ahold of him now is Peter, and he obviously knows where he is if something comes up. “Peter says he’s been with you all day,” he says casually, walking around the bed to stand at the end and taking in the full view of the young man. “That true, baby?”

Stiles desperately tugs on the restraints keeping him spread out on display. Dark hickies are bruised into the skin of his thighs and groin, his abdomen and ribs, his collarbone and neck. His right nipple is red and swollen, the blunt teeth marks circling it already purpling. Precum leaks from his dark, swollen cock, smearing across his belly as he bucks his hips in search of friction. There’s a cock ring nestled snuggly around the base of the young man’s dick, keeping release just out of reach. It seems like it’s the only part of him that Peter didn’t put his mouth and hands on.

The young man’s chest heaves as he pants around the gag, spit and cum smeared on his chin and down his neck. There’s cum spattered across his inner thighs and dribbling around the plug gently vibrating inside him—the source of the humming the hunter had heard from outside the door.

Chris hears the vibrations suddenly jump in intensity, and Stiles arches and cries out weakly, voice torn and wrecked from screaming, tears spilling down raw cheeks. It goes for a good ten seconds before gentling again, and Stiles collapses to the bed in a shivering, sobbing mess. He makes a garbled noise behind the gag that Chris thinks might be his name, and the man shudders and closes his eyes, grabbing himself through the denim to keep himself from coming in his jeans like a fucking teenager.

With a steadying breath, he leans down, bracing himself on the bed as he removes his socks and nothing else before crawling up between Stiles’s legs and staring down at him on his hands and knees.

“I’m gonna take care of you, baby,” he whispers, leaning forward and kissing the tears from Stiles’s cheeks, rubbing the stubble of his beard along his jaw and through the mess on his chin. “I promise. Just be patient a little longer. Peter left you so pretty for me. I want to take my time with you.” He makes his way down Stiles’s body, cataloging every mark, every drop of sweat and cum on the young man. When he gets to Stiles’s hips, he frowns slightly at the finger-shaped bruises, the small pricks made by the tips of claws. “Peter was a bit rough, wasn’t he?” He traces the bruises with his fingers and leans forward to press a kiss to the spot.

The plug inside the young man gives a violent jolt, and Stiles screams as he attempts to buck his hips. Chris holds him down by his thighs, feeling the vibrations of the plug as if they’re under Stiles’s very skin. It lasts a good fifteen seconds this time before cutting off and reverting back to a low hum. Peter must have set it on a random timer. Stiles collapses and shakes and cries, breathing through his nose harshly as his body rides the shock of the over-stimulation.

“Jesus,” Chris breathes, pressing his forehead to Stiles’s hip and rubbing his stubble into the crease where his thigh and groin meet. Stiles squirms beneath him, crying out weakly as he tries to escape the sensations. Chris gets up on his hands and knees again, shifting on the bed until he’s stretched out on the young man’s left side, head propped in his hand as he watches Stiles’s gaze lose focus staring at the ceiling.

Chris strokes the young man’s cheek and curls one finger into the strap of the ball gag, tugging gently to pull Stiles’s head to the side so he has to look at him. “Shame to keep all those noises behind this.” He strokes the ball with the pad of his thumb, circling the stretch of Stiles’s lips around it. “If I take it out, you have to promise to beg, baby. Scream for me, choke on my name. Okay?”

Stiles nods desperately, tears escaping down the sides of his temples and into his hairline. Chris eases his fingers beneath the young man’s neck and raises his head enough to undo the velcro of the gag behind his head. As soon as he has it removed and set aside, Stiles takes great, heaving gasps of air, working the soreness of his jaw.

“Chris,” he manages, the name wet and desperate on his tongue. Stiles swallows with a whimper, breathing becoming erratic. “Chris, please!”

“Shh, baby. Listen. Stiles, listen to me,” the hunter demands, making sure he has the young man’s attention before he speaks again. “Do you remember your safe word?”

Stiles searches the man’s face for a moment before his eyebrows furrow, and he nods quickly.

“Answer me out loud, baby. Do you remember your safe word?” Chris asks the question again, firm and slow, studying Stiles’s face for recognition and understanding.

Stiles nods again, this time gasping before saying, “Yes. Yes, I remember my safe word.”

“Clever boy,” Chris praises, running a hand through the young man’s sweaty hair, making him close his eyes and shiver as he tilts his head into the touch. “Do you want to use your safe word, Stiles?”

Stiles’s eyes snap open, and he stares back at Chris with a wide, unknowing gaze. He parts trembling lips, drawing in a short breath. The plug inside him gives a sharp jolt, and a scream bubbles up his throat as tremors of pain-pleasure-pain wrack his over-stimulated body. Chris pulls Stiles’s head to his shoulder, holding him there with a firm grip on the nape of his neck until the vibrations gentle again and Stiles can do nothing more than cry and shake and gasp.

“Answer me, Stiles,” Chris says into the shell of his ear, and Stiles looses a desperate shiver of a noise.

He catches his breath, pulling back from Chris’s shoulder until he can see the man, searching his hard gaze for several moments before swallowing thickly and gritting his teeth. “No,” he grinds out. “No, I don’t want to use it.”

Chris’s gaze softens, and he smiles lightly at the young man, brushing tears from hot cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “Good boy,” he whispers, leaning forward and placing a kiss on Stiles’s brow. “So good for me, baby. So beautiful like this. Can’t wait to get inside you, make you scream for me.”

Stiles closes his eyes tightly and tries to move closer to the man. “Please. PleasePleasePlease.”

“Please what, baby? What do you need?”

“I…I…” Stiles shakes his head minutely, thoughts unable to form with the sensations storming his body.

“You need me to tell you?” Chris asks quietly, and Stiles breathes out in relief, nodding and sucking in a wet breath.

“Yes,” he begs, gasping as Chris lays a hand palm-flat on his sternum. He shivers from the warmth of it, goosebumps rising on his bare, chilled skin. “Yes, please. Please, Chris, please.”

“Okay, baby. I know what you need. Shh, I’ll handle it for you.” Chris’s hand slowly starts to move down the young man’s body, scraping the nail of his thumb against a peaked, swollen nipple. Stiles jolts and keens, his abdominal muscles trembling as the older man glides his fingers through precum, smearing it into his skin as he goes lower. The tips of his fingers brush the ring at the base of Stiles’s throbbing cock. “This looks painful, baby. How long did Peter have you in my bed? Panting and begging to come?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles admits, shaking as Chris’s fingers glide through the cum on the insides of his thighs.

“Looks like he came plenty, hm?” Chris rumbles into his ear, craning his neck to look down at the mess between the young man’s legs. He kneads the firm flesh of Stiles’s thigh, tugging slightly so that the young man is forced to spread his legs and bare himself. “How many times did he come in you, baby? All this cum, it had to at least be three.”

“F-Four,” Stiles stutters, trying and failing to close his legs with a whimper as Chris squeezes and rolls his aching balls in his hand, a finger dipping to circle the plug inside him. “He—ah!—He ate me out after the first time.” He swallows thickly, grimacing at the taste of stale cum. “And he came down my throat before he put the gag in.”

“Mm, so you’re just bursting with him, aren’t you? All full up and leaking so beautifully.” Chris nips at the skin of Stiles’s throat, and the young man bares it to him instinctively. “But you want more, don’t you, baby? You like being full, being messy. You like leaking for days.”

“Yes,” Stiles hisses as Chris’s fingertips grip the plug stretched snugly in his hole, easing it out a few inches before stopping.

“I’ll give you what you need. But first…” Chris shoves the plug back into Stiles roughly, making the young man arch and cry out. “I think one more round with this lovely toy Peter left for you.”

“Wait. Please. Chris!” Stiles arches again as the older man pulls the plug nearly all the way out and thrusts it back in harshly. “No. No, I can’t. It’s…It’s been going for hours. Please, Chris! I ca—ah!”

Chris starts an unrelenting rhythm with the plug, thrusting hard and quick into the younger man. “Hours, baby? You can handle just a little longer, then, can’t you?”

Stiles arches and cries and begs for several more minutes, Chris urged on by the noises until finally the plug begins to vibrate at its highest level. Chris thrusts it in deep, holding it still and watching Stiles’s head fall back with a scream as his back arches as far as the restraints will allow him to. The hunter moans as Stiles cries and squirms, kicking out and twisting in the restraints roughly enough to make the headboard creak.

When the vibrations gentle again, Stiles collapses in a quivering, sobbing heap, limbs lax against the silk restraints. Chris slowly pulls the plug from inside the young man, finding the power button and shutting it off before setting it on the nightstand.

“So good, baby. You did so good for me. You’re almost done. Just a little longer.”

Stiles shakes and whimpers helplessly, the noise making Chris’s heart ache. Maybe Peter had left him like this a little too long.

“Stiles, can you look at me?” the hunter asks gently, and Stiles lets his head loll to the side. His eyes are glazed over, and Chris can see he’s fighting to focus on him. The young man’s ability to fall into subspace is unlike any Chris has encountered before. He’s certain it’s due to Stiles’s ADHD and his tendency to dissociate. There have been times where it’s almost frightening how long he loses himself in his own head. He says he likes it, that it’s a reprieve from the chaos of his thoughts. But Chris and Peter still don’t let him float for too long, if they can help it. “Are you with me, sweet boy?”

Stiles manages a jerky nod, licking his lips and swallowing as he blinks slowly. “Thirsty,” he rasps.

Chris turns his head. There are a few water bottles on the nightstand. Two of them are empty, and two of them still have condensation on them. Peter must have pulled them from the fridge right before he left. The hunter grabs one and unscrews the cap, contemplating Stiles’s dazed expression for a moment before taking a long pull from the bottle and holding the water in his mouth. He leans down, pressing his lips to Stiles’s and gently letting the water trickle into the younger man’s mouth.

Stiles coughs lightly at first but swallows until Chris’s mouth is empty. “More?” the older man asks, and Stiles nods with a bit more clarity, able to take little sips from the bottle. Chris pulls it away when it’s half gone, replacing the cap and putting it back on the nightstand, then stretches out beside the young man again and strokes his face as he goes lax and just breathes for a while.

“Need you, Chris,” Stiles murmurs, and the older man hums. “I missed you so much. Thought about you.”

“Yeah?” Chris asks, running his fingers through Stiles’s hair soothingly. “What did you think about?”

“How good you make me feel,” Stiles sighs, shifting his hips slightly and grimacing as he clenches around emptiness. “How much I like it when we’re like this, quiet and talking. Peter doesn’t like being quiet.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Chris agrees with a gentle chuckle. “But you like being loud for him, don’t you?”

Stiles moans and shifts again, gasping as he arches restlessly. “I like screaming for him. And you. I like when you’re inside me, fucking me so deep. Chris. Please.” His breaths start to come faster, his body squirming and beginning to tremble again.

Chris takes his face in his hands and shushes him with a chaste kiss. “Do you trust me, baby?” he murmurs against the young man’s lips.

Stiles’s features soften, his body relaxing into the mattress as he turns his head further into Chris’s hands. He searches the man’s eyes as he draws in a deep, slow breath and releases it with a shudder. A gentle smile takes his lips, and he nods.

“I do,” he whispers, sniffling and tugging on the restraints lightly, like he’s forgotten they were there, like he and Chris exist together in this place and nothing else.

Nothing else.

“I do, Chris,” Stiles says again.

The hunter is struck, suddenly, by the absolute faith in the young man’s tone, the sure look in his undazed honey eyes. “Jesus, Stiles,” Chris rasps, running the pad of his thumb along Stiles’s cheekbone back and forth, over and over, as he studies every perfect piece of his boy, “do you know how beautiful you are?”

Stiles’s smile widens, a blush coloring his face as his eyes shine happily. “You make me feel beautiful. You and Peter. I feel so good when I’m with you, like I don’t need to hide any part of myself.”

Chris strokes the young man’s hair and tries not to let the ache in his chest make his smile falter. He wishes Stiles felt that way outside of the bedroom. The older men do their best to feed his self-confidence, worshiping every inch of skin they can get their hands and mouths and teeth and tongues on. And Stiles believes them, for a short while anyway, wrapped in the safety of warm arms and silk sheets.Peter, egotistical prick that he is, doesn’t understand it. But Chris, having grown up beneath his father’s boot and critical, unimpressed sneer, knows that it is going to take time for Stiles to see himself the way they see him.

And time is all they have now.

“You never need to hide yourself from us, baby. You’re perfect, so perfect for us.” He leans forward, capturing the young man’s lips and swallowing the whimpers and moans that Stiles makes as he kisses him. He coaxes the young man’s tongue into his own mouth, sucking on it gently and licking into the warm heat over and over until they both break the kiss, gasping for air. “Gonna get what we need, okay? I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Have to get these clothes off so I can feel you. Okay, baby?” He runs his hands up and down Stiles’s chest and sides reassuringly, waiting until the young man nods before slowly starting to roll towards the edge of the bed.

Stiles makes a small noise, leaning towards him and clenching his jaw as the restraints keep him in place. Chris stands from the bed, grabbing the open, near-empty bottle of lube from on top of the nightstand with a sigh. It had been brand new, unopened before he left. At least he knows Peter used plenty of lube as he fucked the young man again and again and again.

The thought makes Chris groan, and he palms himself through his jeans again. There’s still enough for the hunter to give Stiles what he needs. What they both need. He turns and locks with Stiles’s desperate gaze, watching the young man thrust his hips up in search of friction. Chris makes short work of getting undressed—there’s no need to tease when they’re both already so riled—then walks around the bed to stand at the end. He lets a hand wander up one of the restraints holding Stiles’s left ankle.

“Think you can be good for me if I let you out of these?” he asks, voice low and tone warning.

Stiles nods emphatically. “So good,” he promises, and Chris doesn’t believe him for a second. But he smiles and climbs onto the bed, carefully loosening the ankle cuffs to slip Stiles’s feet free and checking the red marks left behind for any raw skin or cuts. Satisfied that the redness is superficial and will more than likely be gone by morning, Chris moves up Stiles’s body, grunting as the sight of the dark hickies Peter left go straight to his cock. He gives in and leans forward, pressing the flat of his tongue against a particularly large one on Stiles’s side, just beneath his rib cage where he’s especially sensitive. The heat of the mark makes Chris moan as he laves at it, over and over, holding the young man’s hips as he squirms.

“I want to add my own marks to you so bad, baby,” Chris whispers into the bruised skin, and Stiles whines and writhes beneath his hands. “Another time. You’ve been so good, Stiles. I want to show you what being good for us means.”

“Please,” Stiles rasps, throwing his head back as Chris continues upward and wraps his lips around the swollen, peaked nipple that Peter had bitten earlier, perhaps a bit harder than Chris thought as the tip of his tongue explores the grooves of blunt teeth with just a hint of fang.Maybe he’ll add his own teeth marks to the other nipple while he’s pounding away inside him. The thought makes him groan, and he kisses a trail up Stiles’s throat, sucking at a spot just beneath his jaw. Without looking, he lets his fingers trail up the young man’s arm, undoing the restraint cuff around Stiles’s left wrist and chuckling as fingers immediately tangle into his hair. He undoes the other cuff, and Stiles wraps that arm around Chris’s shoulders, tugging him in close and trying to buck his hips up into him. He manages just the slightest bit of friction and cries out, the hand in the hunter’s hair tightening painfully.

Chris pushes on one of Stiles’s hips with just a bit of force, keeping him pinned to the mattress. “Said you’d be good,” he murmurs, nipping at a hickie just under the young man’s jaw.

“I will! I will, I—ah! Chris! I need—fuck! I need—” Stiles chokes on a frustrated noise as he shakes from trying to keep still, and Chris shushes him with a gentle squeeze of his hip.

“I know, baby. I know what you need. You’ve been so patient. Just let me get inside you, okay? Let me split you open, fuck you nice and deep. You want that? You want me to let you come on my cock, baby?”

“Yes!” Stiles cries out, eyes shining with need. “Yes! Chris, please! Let me…L-Let me come!”

Chris wastes no time snatching the lube bottle from the bed, tipping it and letting a good amount coat his fingers before he reaches down between Stiles’s legs and eases two inside the young man. Stiles throws his head back and spreads his thighs, releasing a desperate keen as he tries to shift the fingers deeper. The hunter thrusts them methodically, scissoring and twisting until Stiles is shaking and making small, needy noises while circling his hips. But the deeper Chris pushes, the more he notices something.

“So tight, Stiles,” he says with a frown, slowing the movement of his fingers just a fraction. “Did Peter stretch you enough?”

Stiles nods, eyes closed. “Uh-huh. He did.”

“Stiles. Eyes on me,” Chris says firmly, watching Stiles’s dazed eyes open and search for a moment before centering on him. “Are you sure? Peter didn’t take you before you were ready?”

Stiles nods. “I’m sure. I…” He bites his bottom lip and shifts slightly in Chris’s hold. “I begged him for it. I wanted…I wanted to feel it. He didn’t hurt me, Chris. He wouldn’t.”

Chris isn’t completely satisfied with the answer. He’ll be having a conversation with Peter later about allowing those kinds of decisions when Stiles is ‘dumb with sex-brain,’ as the young man puts it. Prep isn’t something they compromise on, especially with Stiles.

“Okay, baby, okay,” he soothes, seeing worry and uncertainty start to creep into the young man’s eyes. “Relax. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m gonna open you nice and slow. Close your eyes, concentrate on my fingers.” Chris does take it slow, mainly to check the young man for any internal damage, but partly to keep the slow, steady tease.

Stiles is panting and trembling by the time Chris adds a third finger, his mouth falling open and his back arching as Chris stretches his fingers outward, dragging them along the walls of his insides. “Chris, oh fuck! Do that! Do that again! Please!” Chris does, again and again, and Stiles arches and writhes beneath him, meeting his movements with a seamless rhythm. If Peter hadn’t already kept their boy waiting so long for release, Chris might consider doing this for the rest of the night, bringing Stiles to the edge of pleasure and pulling him back at the last second. Over. And over. And over. He’s edged the young man before, kept him just on the brink of release for hours on nothing but the hunter’s fingers. Peter is far too impatient for things like this.

But Stiles…

Oh, Stiles…

His body is so responsive, so sensitive, so pliant and willing and needy. He wants the things that Chris wants. And he wants the things that Peter wants. He molds to their needs and weaves so effortlessly between them that sometimes Chris wonders how the fuck he and Peter worked before drawing Stiles into their lives. Into their bed.

“Ready for me, baby?” Chris asks softly. Stiles’s response is a whimper and a tug of the man’s shoulders that pulls him into a heated kiss.

Chris reluctantly leans back, pulling his fingers out of the younger man and shushing his noise of protest. He slicks what’s left of the lube on his cock before he slides back off the bed, grabbing Stiles’s legs and pulling him until his ass is barely hanging off the edge. Their bed is tall, by design of course, the perfect height for fucking into someone while standing. As the hunter lines the head of his cock up with Stiles’s wet, fluttering entrance, he takes in the sight of him, marked up and panting and shaking and so fucking hard. He has no doubt that the second that cock ring is removed, Stiles will come long and rough. He wants to wait until he’s close, until he’s painting the young man’s insides with his own cum.

The thought makes his hips rut, and he groans as the head of his cock presses against the tight ring of muscle, slipping inside as he pushes forward. He breathes deeply, inching his way into the young man and gritting his teeth as Stiles clenches around him and shifts his hips to draw him in deeper.

“Stop squirming, baby. I want to take my time, make you feel me. Stay still. Be good for me, okay?”

Stiles releases a punched-out noise, obviously unhappy with the order. But he stops moving, letting Chris split him inch by agonizing inch, mouth falling open as he makes loud, lewd noises.

Chris watches in awe, watches his cock bury in his boy, watches Stiles shudder and keen, fingers gripping the sheets beneath him in white-knuckled fists. He wants to slam into him, hear pain and pleasure in his screams. But he also wants this moment, this slow drag of skin on skin. Stiles is still so tight. Too tight. Too hot. Too slick. Too good.

God, Stiles feels good.

Chris bottoms out with a shuddered breath, leaning forward and resting his forehead on Stiles’s chest as he breathes and lets the sensations of the young man clenching and shaking drag him into a haze of bliss. He could stay like this for hours—he has, in fact, done just that before. No one takes him quite so perfectly. Peter’s cock has some length but is mostly girth, meant for breeding, and on the few occasions that Chris has been fucked by him, he felt like he was being plowed into by a damn freight train. Not wholly unpleasant, but Stiles seems to enjoy it more than the hunter does. Chris is mainly length, and in the past, he’s had difficulty finding partners who were willing to take all of him. Peter can and will, though he’s admitted that his wolf craves a knot when he’s being fucked, and the lack of it generally makes taking cock less pleasant for him.

But Stiles…

Oh, Stiles…

The first time Chris had fucked him, buried himself in to the hilt, Stiles had looked at him like he was a missing piece he hadn’t known he needed. The way he’d wrapped his legs around the older man’s middle and begged him to go deeper, as if he wasn’t already pressed as deeply as he could be.It had been achingly perfect, the young man moving in time with him, meeting every thrust with a push of his hips and beautiful, needy noises.

God, Chris loves the noises he makes.

“Chris,” Stiles says, tone quiet and strained. “I’m gonna be really upset if you fall asleep before you fuck me. Again.” He tacks on the last part with a hint of amusement and a lot of frustration.

Chris chuckles and presses a kiss to the young man’s heaving chest. “Sorry, baby. Lost myself for a minute.” The temptation to curl up around the young man and doze off while he’s hard and twitching inside sweet, slick heat is almost too much. But with a groan and a sigh of resignation, he lifts himself up, tugging at Stiles’s hips to change the angle. “Ready?”

Stiles nods quickly. “Yes. God, yes. Please, Chris!”

Chris pulls his hips back until the tip of his cock is tugging on the young man’s entrance, then he slams forward with a throaty moan. Stiles cries out and lifts his hips, searching for more delicious friction. “Harder,” he begs the man.

Chris presses himself against the mess of lube and cum on Stiles’s thighs, reaches beneath the younger man to knead his ass. He pulls out again, nearly all the way, and slams back into the tight heat with a choked noise, the young man arching and shouting his name. “Fuck, so good, Stiles. You feel so good, fucking perfect.” He starts thrusting into the spark in a quick rhythm, groaning as Stiles clenches around him and pushes his hips up to meet him.

The noise of slapping skin, the sticky sound of cum and lube, their heavy panting and Stiles’s absolutely filthy noises make heat coil low in Chris’s belly. He knew he wasn’t going to last long, not with how beautifully Stiles was laid out for him. But he tries his best to hold back, to keep this moment for just a little longer. The flush in Stiles’s cheeks, the dark lust in his amber eyes, the starkness of the marks against his pale, mole-pocked skin.

“Fucking beautiful, baby. Look at you. Jesus, I could stare at you for hours, split on my cock and begging for me like this.”

Stiles arches, and Chris leans forward, taking the young man’s unmarked nipple into his mouth and sucking hard and loud. Stiles shouts and buries his fingers into the hunter’s hair, tugging to keep him in place. Chris alternates between biting and sucking the peaked nub, swirling his tongue around it. He can feel his pleasure building, his hips stuttering in their rhythm. Reaching down, he releases the cock ring from from the young man and strokes him quickly in a tight grip.

Stiles screams as he comes, clenching around Chris as his body nearly seizes with the sensation of finally being allowed release. Chris bites down hard around Stiles’s nipple, pounding into the young man a few more times before he’s coming hard with a groan. He pants and thrusts through his orgasm, collapsing against the younger man as pleasure shivers through him. It takes several moments for Chris to come back to himself, and he manages to push up to his elbows to check on the younger man.

Stiles’s eyes are closed, his heavy limbs sprawled and his chest heaving just a bit but his breaths slowly starting to even out. It’s common for the young man to lose consciousness after sex—especially after the kind of sex he’d had with Peter beforehand. Chris remembers the first time Stiles had passed out after a particularly rough round with them both, the panic that had twisted his gut as he’d desperately tried to rouse the young man. Peter had carefully pushed the man aside with a roll of his eyes, gently massaging Stiles’s arms and legs and neck and shoulders until the young man came to with a content sigh.

Chris does that now, carefully pulling out of the younger man, dragging his dead weight up the bed until he’s sprawled in the center of the mattress again,then kneeling over him as he gently kneads the muscles in his arms, his shoulders, his hips, his thighs. When he gets to Stiles’s calves, the young man stirs with a hum, raising his arm and nearly smacking himself in the face as he rubs at his eyes. They open just a bit, searching slowly until his gaze lands on Chris.

“Hey, baby,” the older man says softly, running his hands up the length of Stiles’s body until he’s settled between his legs, propped up on his elbows so he can watch the young man for any signs of discomfort. “How do you feel?”

Stiles stretches his arms above his head with a groan and goes boneless beneath the man. “Tired,” he murmurs, his eyes slipping closed again.

Chris chuckles and runs the backs of his fingers across the young man’s cheekbone. “Think I can help you shower before you fall asleep?”

Stiles’s eyebrows knit as he frowns and wraps heavy arms around Chris’s shoulders, tugging until he’s laying flush against him. “Wanna stay here like this. You’re warm.”

Chris presses a kiss to Stiles’s temple. “Warm and covered in cum, baby,” he says with a sigh. “It won’t feel good in the morning. Come on, we’ll be quick. I promise, you’ll feel much better.”

Stiles gives another noise of protest but lets Chris pull away and help him up from the bed. Stiles’s legs give out almost immediately as he stands, and Chris has to hold him up while he finds his footing. “Stupid jelly legs,” the young man mutters as he’s led to the bathroom. Chris keeps him steady as he uses the toilet, then sits him on the shower seat while he turns on the water and lets it run until steam is billowing around them, helping him under the spray and washing him as quickly and efficiently as he can.

“Feel good?” Chris asks against the shell of his ear, wrapping his arms around the young man’s middle and swaying them back and forth. Stiles leans into him and nods with a yawn. “Let’s dry off and get back into bed.” He shuts off the shower and ushers Stiles out, smiling faintly at the noise of protest as cold air hits them both. Chris grabs the largest, fluffiest towel they own, drying the young man first. He gets a tired chuckle from him as he ruffles the towel over the spark’s hair, pulling him into a gentle kiss before quickly drying himself and leading Stiles out of the bathroom.

Peter is sitting on the edge of the bed, fresh sheets stretched pristinely over the mattress and the restraints neatly tucked away. He stands with a smug look on his face, gaze traveling up and down Stiles’s body as he holds out a fresh glass of ice water. “My, my, darling. Don’t you look devine,” he purrs.

Chris takes the glass and holds it while Stiles drinks his fill, finishing off what the young man doesn’t drink and handing the glass back to Peter, who places it on the nightstand and turns down the comforter for them. The hunter helps Stiles into the bed then settles in next to him, wrapping his arms around the young man as he curls into his chest and sighs.

“’S’nice,” Stiles mutters before drifting off. Chris strokes his hair for a few moments before his gaze snaps to Peter’s, the man still standing at the side of the bed.

He reaches out, and Peter climbs onto the bed, crawling towards him and leaning over the young man, intent on stealing a kiss from the hunter. Chris threads his fingers through the hair at the nape of Peter’s neck, pulling him forward until their lips are barely a breath apart, then tugging harshly to keep the man where he is.

“Peter, he wasn’t prepped enough,” the hunter growls, glaring into the man’s bright, serious gaze.

Peter’s jaw tightens, the smug look suddenly absent from his face. “Is he hurt?”

Chris bares his teeth and makes a low, threatening noise. “Not from what I can tell. But don’t you ever fucking take him without stretching him fully. I don’t care what he begs for, there is no negotiating when it comes to him. He could have been hurt.”

“I understand.”

Chris tugs on the man’s hair again harshly. “Do you?”

Stiles makes a soft noise, drawing their attention. “Mm sorry, Peter,” he murmurs quietly from Chris’s chest, eyes barely at half-mast as he looks up at the man.

Peter sighs and bows his head to hide his face in the young man’s neck. “You have nothing to be sorry for, my love. I should be the one apologizing.”

“Yes, you should,” Chris says pointedly, giving the man an expectant look when Peter shifts to look up at him.

Peter huffs, swallowing again before pressing his lips to the shell of Stiles’s ear and rumbling softly. “I’m sorry, sweet boy. I got carried away. Just the sight of you, marked up and begging so sweetly…”

“Peter,” Chris warns, pulling the young man against him more tightly.

“It won’t happen again,” Peter promises on a breath, kissing a gentle trail down the young man’s neck and across his shoulder. “You put your trust in me, and I took advantage of that. You deserve better.”

Stiles sighs contentedly, humming and turning his head towards the wolf with a small smile. “Kiss me and I’ll forgive you.”

Peter obliges happily, pressing his mouth to the young man’s with a soft moan and attempting to deepen it by slipping his tongue past Stiles’s lips. Chris is quick to shove at the wolf’s chest, breaking them apart and raising a finger at the agitated growl from Peter.

“He’s done for the night,” he says sternly. “You’ve done enough, Peter.”

“Damn straight,” Stiles murmurs, burrowing back into Chris’s side and yawning. His breathing evens out in moments, and Chris runs a hand through the young man’s hair to soothe him further into sleep.

The hunter fixes Peter with a frown, rolling his eyes as the man pouts back at him. He glances at the nightstand and sighs in resignation. “He needs more water. And something that will be easy to feed him when he wakes up again.” He raises an eyebrow. “And then I’ll consider letting you join us. For sleep.” He tacks on the last part unless the offer gives the man any other ideas about what joining them means.

Peter smirks and leans in close to the man, hovering over him with their lips barely brushing. “Yes, dear,” he says quietly, reaching out and grabbing the empty glass from the nightstand before sliding back off the bed and disappearing out the bedroom door.

Chris lets his head fall back against the pillow, his eyes closing exhaustedly as he continues to run his fingers through Stiles’s hair.

“You’re gonna let him cuddle with us, right?” Stiles whispers sleepily.

Chris huffs and presses a kiss into the young man’s hair. “Yeah, baby. I just want him to know how serious this could have been. He needs to be more careful with you.”

Stiles yawns widely, his words distorted by the action. “He wouldn’t hurt me, Chris.”

“I know. Not intentionally. But he’s a werewolf. He forgets human limits sometimes,” Chris explains carefully.

“I’m tough,” Stiles rasps, head bouncing on the man’s chest as Chris chuckles tiredly. “I can handle him.”

“I know you can. But I wouldn’t be able to handle you getting hurt.” Chris watches Peter enter the room with a glass of ice water and a plate of finger foods, setting them on the nightstand before crawling into the bed. “And neither would he.”

“Couple of saps,” Stiles murmurs, sighing at the feeling of Peter pressing up along his back and carding fingers into his hair beside Chris’s.

“Only for you, sweet thing,” Peter says, kissing the back of his neck and nuzzling it. “Go to sleep, love.”

“Mm, love you,” Stiles hums softly before he’s slipping into sleep, pressed between his men who know what he needs, and who he trusts absolutely. Unquestioningly.

“Love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you, too, baby.”

BONUS SCENE:

Goddess bless the ability for magical healing. Anyone else would have been bed-ridden, or at the very least limping like they’d been fucked five times in the last twenty-four hours. But Stiles bounds down the stairs like a kid at Christmas, sleep pants slung low on his hips as he stretches his arms above his head and yawns with a content sigh. His fingers slide idly over the marks on his abdomen as he turns the corner into the kitchen, smiling when he finds Peter at the stove making breakfast.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Peter purrs without looking away from the stovetop, sliding a perfectly folded veggie omelet onto a nearby plate. “How did you sleep?”

Stiles presses himself to Peter’s back, sliding his arms around the man’s middle and holding tightly as he kisses his shoulder a few times. He rests his cheek against warm skin and sighs as Peter covers the young man’s arms with his own and rumbles low in his chest. “Really good,” Stiles says, reluctantly releasing the man and turning to hop up and sit on a free space of counter. Peter eyes the marks on his chest and abdomen, several looks warring on his face. “Haven’t slept that well since before midterms. Should have you tie me to the bed and wear me out more often.”

The young man grins and stretches his arms above his head again to put himself on display for the wolf. Peter growls and slides into the space between Stiles’s legs, burying his face in the young man’s neck and pulling him close so their hips collide at the edge of the counter. Stiles gasps and wraps his legs around the man’s middle, dropping his arms and digging his fingernails into the man’s biceps.

“I was rough with you,” Peter rasps, the words quiet enough that Stiles almost misses them over the pounding of his own heart.

“Yeah, fuck, it was so good, Peter.”

Peter raises his head, and the look of guilt on his face makes the young man’s stomach twist. “Stiles,” the wolf says softly, and the name is a whine in his throat, “I am sorry. About yesterday. I pushed too far, and you could have been hurt because of it.”

Stiles sighs and runs his fingers through Peter’s hair, resting his hands on either side of his wolf’s remorseful face. He wonders how long the older man lay awake mulling over Chris’s words from last night. “Peter, listen to me,” he says, quietly and firmly. “Chris is protective because he’s seen what werewolves are capable of. He knows you would never hurt me. But you,” and he pokes the man’s chest, “know that I don’t take any shit from either of you. I’ve used my safe word with both of you before. I’m not afraid to use it, and I’ve never felt the need to push myself because I think you want it.”

Stiles remembers the night he’d used his safe word for the first time. He’d been so scared, so guilty. But it had been too much. He’d felt like he would shake out of his skin if they didn’t stop. And they did stop, immediately. It had taken soothing words and gentle coaxing to bring him back from the edge of a panic attack. But they’d talked through it, had a serious discussion about what had triggered the young man. They made sure he knew that they weren’t angry at him for using his safe word—in fact they were relieved that they hadn’t pushed him too far. And since then, Chris and Peter have been overly attentive about checking in with him before, during, and especially after sex.

“You and Chris have always respected my boundaries. You make me feel like I’m part of this relationship and not some fucking twink-kink.” Stiles smirks and waggles his eyebrows. “It’s incredibly sexy, and I’m fully aware of how lucky I am to have two amazing men in my life that know what I need.”

Peter studies the young man’s face for several moments before leaning forward and kissing him gently, running his hands up and down Stiles’s sides. He pulls back and breathes against the young man’s lips, “I know what you need, sweetheart.”

Stiles moans and shifts his hips against Peter’s, feeling both their interests start to harden in their sleep pants. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm,” Peter hums, kissing a trail along Stiles’s jaw until his lips are pressed to the shell of his ear. “Pancakes,” he whispers, and Stiles grins, pecking the man’s mouth with a quick kiss.

“How did you know?”

“You said it yourself, my love.” Peter leans back with a genuine smile. “I know what you need.”

Peter and Stiles eat at the breakfast bar, legs tangled as they talk quietly about the young man’s studies after Fall break and the wolf’s latest antique acquisitions until Chris lumbers groggily into the kitchen. He’s barely awake, but Peter hands him a mug of coffee and makes him a plate of food while Stiles steers him to the dining room table and sits in the chair beside him, whispering all the things he’d enjoyed about the night before into Chris’s ear as the man attempts to eat without choking on his food.

When he’s finished, Stiles slips below the table, tugging at the waistband of Chris’s boxer briefs until they’re around his ankles and easing the man’s legs apart enough for him to fit between. He rubs at the hunter’s thighs, licking a long stripe up the underside of his cock with the flat of his tongue before wrapping his lips around the head and suckling it gently.

Chris’s hand slides into Stiles’s hair, gripping but not forcing. He grunts as he shifts in the chair, moves himself closer to the edge so the young man doesn’t have to bend his neck at an uncomfortable angle to swallow him. Peter puts his chin on Chris’s shoulder, stringing his fingers into Stiles’s hair beside the hunter’s and tugging the young man forward onto Chris’s cock.

“Look at him take you, Christopher,” Peter says softly, guiding Stiles up and down the man’s length and making him take more and more until his lips are snuggly wrapped around the base. The wolf’s fingers tighten, holding him there and watching Stiles swallow again and again.

“Peter,” Chris pants warningly, grunting as Stiles hollows his cheeks and sucks loudly.

“Mm, his mouth was made for you, wasn’t it? He swallows you so well, like he belongs there between your legs,” Peter continues, tracing the young man’s stretched lips before pressing on Stiles’s chin until he releases the hunter’s cock with a wet suck and a gasping moan. He tries to lean back in, take the head into his mouth, but Peter holds him firmly under his jaw, keeping him in place. “Hold him here, Christopher. Watch as I make a mess of our boy for you.”

Chris slides his fingers along Peter’s taking hold of Stiles’s jaw as Peter pulls away and starts to stroke the hunter’s cock in a tight fist. Stiles opens his mouth wide, tongue trying to catch the head of the man’s dick. Peter quickens his pace, and Chris’s breaths come fast as the pit of his stomach tightens, watching Stiles’s waiting mouth as the young man stares up at him through his eyelashes.

“He’s so good for us,” Peter growls in the hunter’s ear. “So perfect. Have you ever seen anyone so beautiful, so willing?” Chris moans as his pleasure builds, arching as he tumbles towards the edge. “Come for him, Christopher.”

He does, watching as cum shoots onto Stiles’s tongue, his lips, his cheeks, his chin. The hunter shakes and breathes harshly as Peter strokes him through his orgasm, as Stiles licks the last of the cum from the slit of his cock and swirls his tongue on his lips, spreading the mess around his mouth.

Chris tightens his hold on Stiles’s jaw, using his fingertips to press into the hinge to keep the younger man from closing his mouth. “Don’t swallow,” he orders, and Stiles lets his jaw go slack, sticking his tongue out just a bit. Cum and spit slip from his mouth, coating his chin and Chris’s wrist. “Come up here, baby.” Peter moves, and the hunter scoots his chair back to give Stiles enough room to crawl up into his lap. Stiles whimpers as Chris stares at him for a long minute, unable to do anything more than drool into the man’s hand. “You look so good like this. Peter made such a sweet mess of you, didn’t he?” Stiles moans. “Do you want to feed him my cum?”

Stiles nods quickly, waiting until Chris turns the young man’s head towards Peter and holds him like an offering. A low rumble vibrates in Peter’s chest as he leans forward, studying Stiles’s face like a work of art. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, and Stiles gasps as the man captures his mouth in a brutal kiss, sucking the young man’s tongue into his mouth and swallowing cum from it with a groan. He devours him, licks into his mouth until Stiles is certain the man intends to eat him from the inside out.

The spark makes keening, needy noises as Chris holds him still, keeps him from pushing into Peter’s space. He can only have what the wolf gives him, what the hunter allows him to take. He feels himself relax bit by bit, letting his men give him what he needs. “Good boy,” Chris whispers in his ear, and Stiles’s eyes close, letting the sensations swallow him. “Should we let Peter fuck you, baby? You wanna ride him while I watch you split yourself on his cock?”

Stiles moans with desire and disappointment as Peter pulls back enough to let him answer. “Yes! Please!” he begs breathlessly, eyes barely able to focus on the man. “Need you, Peter. Need you inside me. So much.” Stiles squirms in Chris’s lap, making a startled noise as Peter twists the chair so that Chris is facing him and Stiles’s back is to him. The wolf sits in a chair opposite them and runs his hands up Stiles’s sides, making him shiver and scratch at Chris’s shoulders and arms. And then he’s being lifted and set into Peter’s lap, the man’s erection pressed into his ass through both their sleep pants.

“Do you want Christopher to open you up, sweetheart?” Peter says against the shell of his ear, and Stiles locks eyes with the hunter, mouth hanging opening as he breathes heavily. “Work you with his fingers until you’re writhing and begging for my cock?”

Stiles groans and lets his head fall back on Peter’s shoulder. “He’ll take hours, Peter. I can’t wait that long.”

Chris chuckles and reaches forward, running the pad of his thumb over one of Stiles’s peaked nipples and smirking as he jolts from the sensation. “I won’t take hours, baby. I promise. But I am gonna take my time, make sure you’re slick and aching before Peter takes you. I want you nice and open for him.” He leans forward and brushes his lips against the sensitive bud, blowing a soft stream of air on it. “What if I let Peter help, hm? Do you want both our fingers inside you? Fighting over which one of us gets to find that sweet spot?”

“F-Fuck,” Stiles stutters desperately, his body shuddering at the thought. “Both of you! Please! I need you.” He lifts his hips as Chris dips his fingers into the waistband of his pants, slowly dragging them down long, pale legs. The bruises and bite marks from the night before are faded, leaving plenty of unmarred skin for fresh markings.

Peter grips Stiles beneath his thighs and spreads his legs, hooking the young man’s knees over the arms of the chair and releasing one leg to wrap an arm around the spark’s middle to hold him firmly against his chest. “Greedy boy. Need two men to fill you up, sweetheart? Desperate to feel both of us pressing inside you until you feel like bursting?”

Stiles reaches up and strings his fingers into the hair at Peter’s nape, tugging as he writhes in his hold. “Only you and Chris,” he pants, turning his head enough to look at Peter almost cross-eyed. “Made for you both. Fuck! I only want you. Please, only ever you.”

Peter ducks his head and bites at the juncture between Stiles’s neck and shoulder with blunt human teeth, and the young man arches in his hold, head falling back. “You have us, beautiful boy. We’re yours for as long as you want us.”

Stiles raises his head and sets a dark, lust-filled gaze on Chris as Peter reaches into his pocket and hands the hunter a small bottle of lube. “Forever,” Stiles begs, groaning as Chris pops the lid. “Keep me forever.”

Chris cards his fingers into Stiles’s hair and pulls him into a gentle kiss, waiting until Stiles’s breathing evens out before pulling back and smiling. “Forever,” he repeats like a promise. They’ve had the conversation before. Stiles joined Chris and Peter when they were nearly broken. They didn’t know where their relationship was headed, and the young spark somehow slipped in without any resistance and rekindled what they’d needed to feel whole again. Stiles is the flame that fused them together. And as much as Chris and Peter want him to stay forever, they know that if the young man were to find someone else, a perfect match to meet every need and more, they would let him go.

There would be claw marks on every inch of his skin where they desperately tried to hold on. But they would release him.

Chris coats two fingers with lube and reaches down between Stiles’s legs, cupping the young man’s balls in his palm as he circles his entrance slowly. Stiles tries to jerk his hips forward, thrust himself onto the fingers, but Peter keeps a tight hold around him, and the spark whines his frustration.

“Eager boy,” Peter tsks into the young man’s ear. “Should I distract you while Christopher takes his time?” He nips a trail along Stiles’s neck, sucking a mark into the juncture between his neck and shoulder. He raises the hand not wrapped around Stiles’s middle, brushing a thumb over the young man’s nipple again and again, pinching and twisting it as Stiles writhes in his hold.

“Fuck!” Stiles cries out, whimpering at the onslaught of sensations. Chris still hasn’t done more than circle his entrance with slick fingers, dipping his fingertips in teasingly and pulling them back out. “Please! Please, Chris! So empty. I need to be full. Please!”

Peter hums and licks at the dark mark he’s sucked into Stiles’s skin. “He does beg so sweetly, Christopher. Maybe you should stop teasing our boy.”

Chris makes a contemplative noise. “But look at him, Peter. So pretty when he trembles like this. And the sounds he makes…” Chris slides his fingertips just inside the young man’s rim and scissors them slowly, smiling as Stiles drops his head back on Peter’s shoulder and looses a soft, needy noise. “Beautiful.” Chris gently thrusts his fingers in to the second knuckle, twisting and scissoring as the young man moans and clenches around them. “Still so open from last night, baby.”

Stiles arches as Chris thrusts his fingers fully into him, crying out as the hunter finds his prostate and rubs at it with not near enough pressure. The sound of the lube cap popping open again makes him raise his head, watching as Chris squirts a good amount on Peter’s waiting fingers. The wolf wastes no time, lowering his hand and thrusting one finger into the young man beside Chris’s harsh enough to make Stiles arch and cry out.

“Peter,” Chris hisses, grabbing at the man’s wrist and squeezing tightly in warning. Trembling fingers glide over the hunter’s hand, and the older man sets a questioning look of concern on the spark.

“I’m okay,” Stiles sighs, smiling sweetly as he pries Chris’s hand from Peter’s with no real strength, just intention. He strings their fingers together and leans forward enough to draw the man into a heated kiss, whimpering as their fingers shift inside him. He presses his forehead to the hunter’s. “Chris, I’m not made of glass. You and Peter could never hurt me.” He leans back and levels the man with a genuine, open look. “I trust you both to know what I need. And what I can handle.” His fingers tighten around Chris’s. “I need you to trust that I’ll tell you when it’s too much.”

Chris closes his eyes and sighs heavily, dropping his head to the young man’s shoulder and breathing in the warm scent of his skin. “You promise?”

Stiles rests his cheek against Chris’s head, stroking his hair and humming quietly. “Promise.”

Chris huffs and leans back, forcing himself to look into Peter’s impassive gaze. The wolf doesn’t look angry or insulted, though Chris wouldn’t blame him if he did. The hunter releases Stiles’s hand and reaches out, drawing Peter to him in a kiss that the wolf opens to immediately. It’s tongues and teeth and groans and sighs, Stiles pressed warmly between them—where he belongs, where he’s safe.

“I’m sorry,” Chris breathes against Peter’s lips when they break the kiss, stroking a hand down the man’s cheek and neck as he rubs his scent into warm, smooth skin. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

Peter searches the man’s eyes for several seconds before donning his patented smirk. “Apology accepted, Christopher. But I do believe our boy needs our attention again.” He presses the finger already inside Stiles deeper, and the young man groans, clenching tightly.

“Not complaining,” Stiles says contentedly, moaning as Peter takes his finger out and presses his lips to the young man’s ear.

“Then we’re obviously doing something wrong, aren’t we?” he murmurs. And then both of his fingers are pushed into Stiles harshly, making the spark gasp and jolt in his hold.

“Fuck! Oh, fuck! More! Pleasepleaseplease! More! Harder!” Stiles begs, writhing and bucking and reveling in the burn and stretch.

Chris and Peter’s fingers tangle inside him, moving like separate entities. They thrust into him separately, then together. They scissor and stretch and rub at his insides until he’s lost in the feeling of them, until he barely hears “So good for us, baby” and “Perfect, sweetheart” and “Look how well you take us” and “Made for this, darling” over the sounds of his own keening cries for more harder yes please need need need—

“What do you need, sweet boy?” Peter breathes into his ear, and Stiles shudders.

“Need you to fill me,” Stiles pants desperately, floating in an ether of sensations and sounds. “Need you to fuck me. Need your cum in me.” He turns his head and buries it in Peter’s neck, moaning at the slick sound of the fingers moving inside him. “Take me, Peter. I need you.”

He feels the man’s rumble against his back, whimpers as the fingers slide out of him, sighs as he’s shushed and lifted by two sets of hands that knead the soreness from the muscles in his hips and thighs, gasps as something slick and warm and big presses against his entrance.

“Ready, baby?” Chris asks, and Stiles nods, moaning as Peter’s uncut head stretches his rim and slips inside him. He’s filled inch by aching inch of the wolf’s throbbing cock, slow and slick. The heat of him burns the young man’s insides like a raging fire. He pants and groans and keens until their hips finally come together, and he breathes heavily as he clenches around the man, making a choked noise and gripping Peter’s thighs as he sits and trembles.

“Peter,” Stiles gasps desperately, squirming in the man’s lap and moaning as the wolf tightens his grip on the young man’s hips to keep him still.

“Tell Christopher how I feel inside you, sweetheart,” Peter says gently, rutting into him once.

Stiles cries out, gaze swiveling dazedly until he finds Chris’s bright, hungry eyes. “Big. Fuck! L-Like he’s rearranging my guts.”

Chris hums and strokes a hand through Stiles’s hair. “What else, baby? Tell me more.”

“Warm,” the young man says, tone trembling on the word. “Like his cum. Fuck! Chris, I-I need his cum inside me! Please!”

“Shh,” Chris hushes him. “One more thing, Stiles. Tell me one more thing, and then Peter will give you what you need.”

Stiles takes quick, shallow breaths as he forces himself to think through a pleasure-laced haze, finally settling on the word, “Mine.” Peter rumbles in agreement. “He feels like he was made for me. He fits me, fucks me, burrows inside me like he belongs there.” Stiles clenches around Peter and whimpers, giving Chris a beautifully desperate look. “He belongs in me. Just like you.”

Chris brushes sweaty bangs from Stiles’s forehead, sighing as he traces the spark’s spit-and-cum-slick lips. “Give him what he needs, Peter,” he says, watching relief soften the young man’s features.

“Gladly,” Peter growls, raising Stiles’s hips and tugging him back onto his cock with the loud slap of skin on skin.

Stiles barely has time to gasp before the wolf has set a brutal, harsh pace, fucking into him with long, steady strokes. “Fuck! Yes! Oh, fuck! Yes!” The young man babbles words of encouragement and pleasure, head ducking low as Peter grunts and takes from him. Chris carefully takes Stiles’s hands, pulling him forward until the young man’s fingers are digging into the hunter’s thighs and changing the angle of Peter’s thrusts. Stiles cries out, the wolf’s cock brushing against his prostate with every push into his body.

“Stiles, look at me,” Chris says, placing a hand under the young man’s chin and raising it until a lust-filled honey gaze meets his own. “Do you need something in your mouth, baby?”

Stiles nods quickly, mouth falling open just a bit wider as he makes punched-out noises with every bounce on Peter’s cock. Chris reaches up and slides two fingers along the flat of the young man’s tongue, groaning as Stiles closes his lips around them and sucks them in to the bottom knuckle. He swirls his tongue around them, flicking the tip between them and making obscene sucking sounds as he leans forward, trying to draw them in deeper.

“So good for us, Stiles. So sweet. You look beautiful spread on Peter like that, like you were made for it.” Chris pulls his fingers out just a bit and pushes them back into the wet heat of the young man’s mouth. “You wish this was my cock, baby? Want it back in your mouth again so soon?”

Stiles nods and whimpers, his fingernails digging into Chris’s thighs. Peter looses a deep rumble, claws pricking at the young man’s hips as he drags him back on his cock harder, deeper. Stiles cries around the fingers in his mouth as his wolf thrusts harshly right into the bundle of nerves inside him that make his vision go white and his whole body jolt with pleasure. He starts to push on Chris’s thighs, fucking back onto the man as he pounds into him.

“Do you want me to make you come on my cock, sweet boy, or do you want some help from Christopher?” Peter asks between heavy breaths.

Stiles whimpers, and Chris slowly slides his fingers out of the young man’s mouth, drool stringing between his fingertips and Stiles’s swollen lips. “Come on your cock,” Stiles answers, lowering his head and clenching around the man as he drives into him deeply. “You didn’t let me last night.”

Peter chuckles. “Good boy. Now, eyes on Christopher. I want him to see how you come apart with me inside you.”

Stiles raises his head and does his best to focus on the hunter. The young man’s pupils are blown so wide that his eyes look black, and the haze in his vision is a tell-tale sign that he’s floating through the pleasure. Chris runs his hands through the spark’s hair, down his neck, over his shoulders and chest as he offers quiet words of encouragement. The needy noises Stiles makes start getting louder and higher in pitch.

“Absolutely stunning, baby,” the hunter whispers, sliding his fingers under the young man’s jaw and gripping firmly as Peter glides one hand up and wraps his fingers around Stiles’s throat. “Look how gone you are on Peter’s cock, letting him make a mess of you.” Slurred words tumble from Stiles’s tongue. They aren’t English. Maybe Latin. Or Polish. Both men chuckle at his lack of coherency, and Chris leans forward. “What if I stretched you wide and slid in next to Peter, hm? Fucked you open on the two of us?” Stiles chokes at the mental image, mouth falling open as he whines with want. “Are you close, sweet boy?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Stiles comes with a shout as Peter gives several harsh thrusts straight to his prostate, grunting as the young man tightens around him. He grabs Stiles around the middle, pulling him to his chest and fucking up into him a few more times before he’s coming inside the young man. His hips give a few aborted thrusts as his wolf tries to push his seed as deep as it will go, then they both collapse against one another in the chair, trying to catch their breath. Peter absently runs his hand through the cum on Stiles’s thighs, a mixture of them both, and rubs it into the young man’s skin.

“Beautiful,” Peter murmurs, turning Stiles’s head to capture his mouth in a deep, lazy kiss. Stiles leans his head back on Peter’s shoulder, shifting on the man as his legs begin to ache. He’s halfway to dozing when there’s a warm hand on his cheek.

“Shower,” Chris says, quiet but firm, and Stiles moans as Peter lifts him up, slipping out of him as he sets him on his feet. The young man stumbles a bit as his legs try to regain feeling, and he makes a small noise of surprise as he’s scooped up into strong arms.

He frowns at the wolf’s knowing smirk. “You’re not allowed to gloat about giving me jelly legs,” he says, smacking Peter’s chest weakly and sighing as the man starts to carry him upstairs.

“Yes, dear,” Peter murmurs into his hair, Chris following his men with amusement and contentment and love.

And love.