So, thing is, getting magic right is pretty hard. Or not really, not if you truly study it and get your focus right but since Stiles has always had a bit of a thing about focusing and studying is fun when it’s fun but when it’s not, it just sucks. Except when it doesn’t. Look, it’s complicated, okay?
Anyway, he’s been cooped up in the renovated Hale house for days now, trying to get a proper hold on this new, pretty cool spell that would allow him to spread out a protective circle up to three miles wide just with a snap of his fingers. And while the snapping itself isn’t that difficult, it’s the part where he needs to kind of project himself above the scene to get the lay of the land, so to speak, that’s proving itself challenging. It’s almost like there’s this pull that threatens to yank him away and he’s still to figure out how to tether himself here so that his soul doesn’t get sucked to fucking Narnia or something because he’d rather not. He likes his life in Beacon Hills, thank you very much. After a bit of cleaning (*cough*) it’s proven to be a surprisingly nice place to live in. You know, after Derek got all zen with his inner wolf and Peter decided that murder wasn’t that much fun after all and Stiles’ dad had yelled at him a bit (a lot) for trying to take care of things on his own and almost dying because of it. Several times.
So, yeah. Beacon Hills is home. And the new Hale house is…kind of a home too. And he’d like to keep his home safe.
”Is it still fighting you?”
Stiles doesn’t bother turning around. He sensed Peter the moment he returned from wherever he’s been the whole morning and also, he knows Peter isn’t a threat to him. He’s not sure what Peter is but a threat? Nope.
”Yeah,” he grumbles while scowling at the book on the table. ”It’s so annoying because I’m so close and—” He lets out a growl and rubs a hand through his hair. ”I’ve tried so hard and so long and—”
”In the end, it doesn’t even matter?” Peter deadpans.
Stiles turns slowly around. ”No,” he says flatly. ”You did not just quote Linkin Park to me.”
Peter, the asshole, just raises a brow. Stiles snorts.
”Why don’t you try one more time?” Peter says. There’s this glint in his eye, the kind he gets when he wants to fuck Stiles over and gloat about it later. It’s way too hot.
”Fine,” he sighs, then wiggles his fingers and rolls his shoulders. ”Okay.”
He sinks into the spell, breathes in the old power of the Hale lands, and lets himself float. And then there’s that pull again, reaching out for him. It feels almost like claws or a stretched-out bungee cord (not that he’s ever been but it’s the sentiment that counts, right?) and he braces himself because it’s going to suck, again, and there’s nothing—
And suddenly, he’s back in himself. Or not himself himself in his body but to the projection of himself hovering above the Hale house and it feels natural and easy and the pull is gone completely. In its place is a steady feel of something—someone—grounding him, a steady wall he can lean on while he stretches out his senses and snaps.
The protective spell flashes in a bright, silvery circle around him and then it starts to expand and sink down until it touches the ground. For a moment, Stiles thinks he can see the afterimage of a glowing dome above the Hale house, and then it’s gone, and everything looks exactly the same as always.
He blinks and he’s back in his body.
For a moment, he just stares at the kitchen wall, and then he whoops. ”I did it! I fucking did it!”
”Yes, you did,” Peter says and whoa, he’s standing pretty close. Way too close. With his hand on Stiles’ right shoulder.
”You,” Stiles says and turns around.
Peter cocks his head and gives him an innocent look.
”You grounded me, didn’t you.”
”Thought it would be worth a shot,” Peter says with a light shrug.
Stiles narrows his eyes and shakes his head. ”Nu-uh. You don’t tend to do things unless you know they’ll work.”
Peter says nothing, just looks at him. There’s that certain glint in his eye still but there’s something else, too. He isn’t nearly as confident as he’d like Stiles to think—no, he seems almost uncertain. So, if he knew he could anchor Stiles and help him with the spell, then what is he uncertain of—
Wait.
Anchor.
Stiles is an idiot.
”You could’ve just asked me out, you know?” He says. ”I mean, I appreciate the effort but—”
”I wanted to make sure you understood,” Peter says. ”For such a smart kid, you’re sometimes incredibly slow.”
”I’m 20,” Stiles says.
”And I’ve wanted you since the moment we met,” Peter says dryly.
”Not creepy at all,” Stiles mutters.
”Back then, I was a bit…”
”Crazy?”
Peter gives him a flat look. ”I was going to say unhinged.”
”Like I said, crazy.”
”In my defense—”
”Nope,” Stiles says. ”We’re not going there. You were fucked up back then. Derek was fucked up. Things were a mess. If you want to hash it out, go to therapy.”
”I do. Go to therapy, I mean.”
”Good for you!” Stiles says and pats him on the chest. Mmm, nice chest.
”Not that I’m opposed to you petting my chest,” Peter says, amused, ”But I’d like to kiss you. If you don’t mind.”
”No, I don’t think I do mind—”
Okay, wow, Peter is a damn good kisser and Stiles is definitely going to need some practice to get on his level. He tilts his head back a bit and Peter rewards him with a low growl that Stiles feels through his chest and then Peter’s hands grab him from under his thighs and what is he supposed to do other than wrap his legs around him? And the hands, those big hands with the tiniest bit of a claw in each finger, grab his ass now and press closer and Stiles is feeling light-headed either from the sheer hotness of it all or perhaps because he forgot to breathe and—
”Peter, for fuck’s sake, we eat here!” Derek yells from somewhere that’s way too close. ”Get the fuck out of my kitchen!”
”Rude,” Stiles pants and grins at the frustrated snarl their dearest alpha lets out as he slams out of the room.
”Speaking of eating,” Peter says mildly, ”my bed is bigger than yours. And it’s closer.”
Stiles bats his lashes. ”My goodness,” he breathes out. ”Whatever are you going to do to me, you big, bad wolf?”
Peter’s clawed hands clench and he yanks Stiles close, and he doesn’t even hesitate as he turns and starts to march toward the stairs. Stiles’s yelp melts into a delighted giggle and he sneaks a kiss on that chiseled, unreasonably attractive jaw.
There’s a good chance he’s going to perish from either horniness or (more likely) being fucked within the inch of his life but if that happens—boy, what a way to go!