#explicit-ish

[stain-is-the-name]

When I find a song somewhat explicit and decide to exploit the lyrics to make an illustration out of it with my OC

[awyeahitssam]

Stiles wants to mark Peter. WARNING: NSFW

Peter finally looks up. His eyes widen a bit, pupil dilating as they lock in on Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles smiles back, brazenly licking his painted red lips.

“What’s this?” Peter may have been able to keep his voice smooth as ever, but his tense shoulders, the strain in his face, made his reaction obvious.

“As much as I love it when you leave me bruised and aching, you’re not the only one who wants to leave marks, babe.”

Peter made a low sound in the back of his throat. Stiles grins wickedly, reaching forward to lace a hand through his hair. It’s loose, curling without the product that usually holds it. Peter knows he loves it like this, loves how soft he looks out of his Armani armor.

“You gonna let me mark you up?”

Peter groaned, tipping his head to the side in offering.

“So good for me,” Stiles murmured appreciatively, smearing his lips over the skin. Getting it nice and red, then going back over it, licking, sucking, biting. Peter can't bruise for him, but Stiles still enjoys the way it makes him twitch and groan, makes him grip into his tee-shirt almost desperately.

“Love the noises you make,” Stiles tells him, pulling the hem of his Henley up. Peter raises his arms obligingly, letting Stiles strip him. “But I’m sure you already know that, Peter. You can smell it on me. Smell how much I want you, how you can make me leak without even doing anything.”

“Stiles,” Peter said breathily.

Stiles smiled at him. He loved when Peter got like this, soft and compliant, letting Stiles do what he wanted without reeling him in, without growling and kissing and demanding more.

He loved it when Peter let him take care of him.

“I’m going to mark you all over,” Stiles said lightly. “And then I’m going to open you up and mark you inside, too. Make you smell like me. Make you all mine.”

“Jesus Christ,” Peter exhaled, shivering when Stiles’ fingers traced down his sternum, tugging teasingly at his waistband. “You’re a menace.”

“Says the man always walking around commando,” Stiles returned mildly, running a finger over the head of Peter’s erection. It comes away damp, and Stiles hums, catching Peter’s eyes before sucking it into his mouth.

Peter’s breath hitched, eyes stuck on the sight of Stiles sucking his pre-come off a long, slim forefinger. Stiles pulled out with a pop, running the digit over his red lips, smudging the color. “You taste delicious, Peter.”

Peter growled, grabbing Stiles’ hips and urging them down to grind against his own. Stiles laughter was bright and humid across his neck, wet fingers pressing down between them, aiming past Peter’s hardness to cup his ass.

“So impatient, babe. So needy.”

“Shut up,” Peter gasped out, hitching his hips. One way ground him against Stiles’ pelvis, while the other pressed clever fingers against his hole. He just needed these pants off, and then he could have some genuine contact.

“It’s cute how you think I’m going to listen when you aren’t even asking nicely.”

Peter groaned. He could feel his ears and cheeks heating up in a rare flush he knew Stiles wouldn’t write off for exertion. Damn it.

But Stiles had a mouth on him. The things he said got to Peter, always did.

Normally, though, Stiles was only coaxing Peter on. Trying to make him fuck him harder, or come quicker, or growl deep enough that it shook their joined bodies. Which wasn’t to say that Peter didn’t adore when Stiles got like this, because Alpha or not sometimes he got the urge to be dominated.

And Stiles was so damn good at it. Certainly the best Alpha Peter had ever had.