This boy will be the death of his. Of course Peter would never admit it aloud. He pretends to be bored and uninterested as he sits at the bar counter at The Jungle and sips his cosmopolitan. Stiles nagged and coaxed and whined and finally managed to drag him here for - as he had a nerve to phrase it - a date. Peter doesn't do dates. He hates the very concept. However when Stiles bites on his lower lip and looks up at him with those pleading Bamby-eyes, he can't resist. So here he is, on his own, because they have agreed to come separately for some absurd reason Stiles has invented. Peter has almost finished his cocktail and his irritation grows with every minute he has to wait in this horrible second-rated place.
Irritation vanishes the moment Stiles finally arrives. He looks... wanton. Too tight jeans, v-neck shirt that Peter very much approves of, his hair look wet and deliberately ruffled up. God, he even used an eyeliner.
"Can I buy you a drink, beauty?", Peter says starting to like the turn the evening takes.
"Oh, I don't know - my possessive asshole of a boyfriend is somewhere nearby, cannot even imagine what he will do to me if he sees us together"
"Oh, I have an idea or two, all dirty as hell"
"Sounds great. Wanna dance?", and Stiles grabs Peter's hand and drags him on the dancefloor. Peter follows him without protest, pressing himself into the teen's back with his whole boy and placing both hands on his hips. Stiles bites on his lower lip and arches back to put his hands on Peter's neck. They move slowly, sensually, Peter's hardening dick rubbing on Stiles' perfect round ass.
"Looks like you have a problem I could help you with, sir", Stiles murmurs throwing back his head on Peter's shoulder.
"I wouldn't call it a problem, little one", Peter rocks up his hips upwards pressing Stiles tighter with his hands.
Peter assumes that now they can call it a night and finish all this date-business and just go to his apartment to fuck already. But no - to Peter's delight Stiles is leading him to the restroom. His own little slut. So inventive.
Peter tries not to smirk too smugly as Stiles pushes him into a vacant cubicle and kneels hastily before him.
"You know it's a terrible cliche, right?", Peter asks unzipping his jeans to free his attention-demanding cock. He strokes Stiles' plushy lips with the head already leaking pre-come and twitches as Stiles darts his tongue in one quick and sharp movement to lick the drop on its' tip.
"Yesss", Stiles hisses for once too turned-on to banter and wastes no more time to swallow Peter deep down his throat.
The older man's moan was definitely heard over the music on the dance-floor. He throws back his head and clenches his teeth.
"Do that again. Your tongue... oh my gooood, yesss".
Peter has to steady himself on the wall behind him with both hands.
"Love it when you beg. Come on, Peter, ask nicely", Stiles pulls back and looks up with a brattish smirk.
Oh motherfucker. Trying to reverse roles, aren't you?
"Don't delude yourself, baby boy. You are the one on the knees here"
"Yeah? And who is in control, hm?", and Stiles drags his tongue in a long line from his balls up to the tip in tantalazingly slow motion.
"Owwwwww, hell yessss. You are, you are, brat. Do it again, please. Want your mouth all over my dick", Peter gives up.
"Knew it was in you all the time. The want to submit", Stiles is all smug now, mouth still an inch away from his cock.
"Sweetheart, shut up and occupy your sinful mouth otherwise or I will make you", Peter says and puts his hands into Stiles raffled hair.
"Bring it on, sonofabi....nomnom", Stiles almost chokes as Peters pulls his mouth onto his dick and thrusts in in a not-too-gentle manner.
"Much better", Peter smirks as he proceeds with his rather cruel thrusts. It takes a few moments for Stiles to adjust, but well-accustomed with Peter's kinks by now as he is, he knows precisely what to do. He rises his eyes to Peter batting his eyelashes as he starts moving on his own to match the older man's frictions while swirling his tongue in wild spirals. He knows very well that it can make Peter come in no time, not sure if it's his tongue pressure or the helpless look on his face (all submissive, pliant and willing) that does it to Peter. He comes buckets with an almost unhuman howl and Stiles takes proud in being able to swallow it to the last drop. He is almost sure that once they re-emerge from the restroom half of the club guests gonna applaud them.
"Do you want me to return the favour?", Peter asks because he is a gentleman.
"Not here, we must take pity on your old knees. How about you take me home and fuck me senseless against the entrance door?"
As they head out of The Jungle, Stiles cannot hide a self-satisfied smile. It takes a lot of effort to keep a sophisticated man like Peter on the leash. Club blow-job certainly was a food idea. Perhaps next time he should try groping in Derek's loft during pack night?
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