Stiles smirked as he typed out on peter’s wall. Next in a million years did stiles see himself with peter. But ya know peter is really a big softie and they’ve been together awhile now. He typed on the wall. (PETER I HID YOUR BOOK SO NOW YOU ONLY HAVE ME TO PAY ATTENTION TO!!!!! XD)
What's so great about sleeping with Peter Hale everyone asks.
Well, they ask after they get over the whole “sleeping with Peter Hale” part. Sometimes that takes a while by itself.
What could be so great about fucking him that could possibly make it worth the trouble of being in his presence, listening to his mouth, further inflating his ego and potentially being a notch on his bed?
They have it all wrong. It's that damn ego exactly that makes fucking him worthwhile.
Peter Hale is a proud wolf.
Being so prideful means two things:
He won't sleep with someone inferior.
Anyone he does sleep with can't find him inferior either.
So seriously does he take this, it is physically impossible for him to have bad sex. If he isn't capable of fully devoting himself to being the best you've ever had, ever will have, then he just won't do it. Admirable, certainly pleasurable, but ultimately for the furthering of his own pride.
She doesn't mind so much. He does a good job. She has a good time. They make a huge mess. Every area they fuck in looks like a hurricane hit it; not just two people. It's like that when they argue too. They don't see anyone else, they forget where they are, what they're doing, none of that matters. All that matters is the person in front of them, challenging them, getting on their nerves, refusing to back down. Everything else is just in the goddamn way. Clothes go missing (the ones that aren't outright destroyed), pictures get knocked askew, if not off the wall entirely, blood gets drawn, bruises are formed, bites are given, scratches are made, hair gets pulled, names are cried out and, should they make it to the bed, they'll probably damage it, or the wall it's set against. There's nothing but destruction left behind when unstoppable force meets an immovable object. Which one is which depends on their moods.
The other question she gets a lot is Peter's faithfulness. She never questions it, never has. Concerns about staying faithful are for people who date. She doesn't date. And even if she did, you don't date Peter Hale. He never speaks of other women in her presence, not in that way. She doesn't ask. She doesn't have any other men to even speak of. Not that she would if she did; it's not in her nature. Exclusivity isn't something that comes up though. It's never occurred to her, to be honest. Most of her free time is spent in Peter's presence, whether awake or asleep. If he didn't want her around, he'd just throw her out. (Really throw her out, not just tell her to leave then roll his eyes when she refuses to do so.)
The part she doesn't say, though, is the way they actually fuck. It's rough, it's hard, it's unforgiving. It's not something she can just do with anyone, she imagines he can't either. But it's more than rough sex, it goes deeper than lust. It's want. He fucks her because he wants her. They get tangled up in their dislike of each other, their clear attraction, sexual tension, tempers, pride, stubbornness, desire.
She can't say she knows how he is with other women. She can only speak of the effect she seems to have on him. The way his sexual appetite becomes rather ravenous and he takes hours to devour her until neither one of them can move.
Specifically the way he clutches at her when he's hunting down his own pleasure. When he's sitting up and she's wrapped around him fully and his hand is in her hair crushing her to him, or clamping down on her shoulder so he can pull her down while he fucks up, and Peter's nowhere near as loud as she is, but next to her ear like that, he's a bomb going off and they go up together beautifully. They're only ever so volatile with each other.
The last question she gets has to do with her safety. The other two annoy her. That one just makes her laugh. If she were concerned about her safety, in any capacity, she wouldn't be a mercenary, let alone a mercenary that has sex with a once-crazed, once Alpha werewolf.
It isn't just the sex between them though. It starts out that way, naturally, the sex they have is really, really good. But it doesn't stay that way for long.
It's not to be confused with anything like true love, whatever that is. Peter isn't a Disney Prince of any kind, he isn't the type to profess undying love (or even relative like) nor is he the gaze-longingly-into-your-eyes type. And frankly, she wouldn't come anywhere near him if he was.
She has problems with intimacy, romance, “love” as she knows it.
For some people, like Chris Argent and Scott McCall, it's wonderful. Makes everything better. Or something.
For everyone else, it's the worst thing that ever happened to them. Leaves them gutted and wide open for everyone to see and poke at their entrails.
She doesn't want to end up like that. So she avoids people, she avoids touching, she avoids feelings, she avoids.
Peter, she doesn't have to avoid.
Peter won't try to fix her or correct the things he thinks aren't right. Change her behavior to fit more in line with the way society is or what he wants. There's no attempt to mold her into something he can use. He does think she's greedy. He does think she's a pest, mouthy, bossy, rude, uncivilized, all sorts of things. Yet he still allows her in his flat, in his bed, in his shower, in his kitchen, in his den. He knows that's just the way she is.
She won't do anything of the sort to him either. She thinks he's an ass with a very high opinion of himself, his clothing, his food, his furniture, his everything. He's condescending, pretentious, spiteful and self-centered. Yet she consents to wrapping herself in his scent, eats the food he provides (whether intentionally or unintentionally), sleeps in his bed (with or without him) and is rather notorious for stealing his body heat. She knows that's just the way he is.
Peter isn't in love with her. Isn't trying to make her fall in love with him. They will never fit together perfectly like love songs claim people do no matter how much they fuck or practically cohabitate.
Because of all that though, she doesn't have anything to fear.
Maybe once they were whole and smooth and without friction when they came in contact with others. Over the years, they've had cracks, they've been shattered. It's a wonder they're in such attractive shape now, frankly. It took a lot of work and pain to get all those sharp bits together into some reflection of who they used to be. It's not the same. They have jagged edges and can't be handled the same way everyone else can be handled. Such carelessness only leads to injury.
When they come together with others, potentially get too close, they can cut and slice and sever and leave nothing but scars in their wake.
But when they come together with each other, it's different. They're no beautiful, completed puzzle with a picturesque happy sunset ending. There are places where they fit, there are places where they don't. There are places where one overlaps the other and places where they're nothing but sharp points. There's more than a few places where one of them is missing a piece, some edge was broken off and there's only a void where something is supposed to go. Even with all that, enough comes together that the full picture they make isn't so obscure. There's at least an idea of what they're supposed to be.
It's there when they've fucked, and fucked, and fucked at length. When Peter's near infinite stamina is waning and all she can do is respond to him. When they're only loose definitions of 'Peter' and 'Braeden'. His touch is gentle (Peter is never gentle) and she interlocks their fingers (Braeden fears intimacy.) She bumps their noses, their foreheads together. He sleeps on top of or next to her; throws an arm around her so she doesn't move around the bed and wake him after the fact. They don't talk. They don't have to. They don't see the cracks in each other when they wake up. She knows she'll see blue. He knows he'll see brown.
