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Stiles hadn’t meant to become a sugar daddy. He also hadn’t meant to land himself in the past, but he’d had contingency plans for that (with different addendums depending on which time period/moment he landed into). Sugar daddying though? He hadn’t even envisioned himself becoming rich enough for that to be a possibility.
Of all the adjustment he’d made to his original plans when he landed in the past about a decade before the Hale fire though, it was getting money that was far easier in a timeline where he had no identity than Stiles had anticipated. He’d never taken up bounty hunting in his original timeline, but now that he was in the past and at an age he used to think he’d never be able to reach (35 and still living, ha, take that every single creature that ever tried to kill him), he decided that if he was gonna kill dangerous people, he might as well get paid for it.
With a full body twist and a sharp movement of the hand, the neck within Stiles’s grip gave a resounding crack that still fascinated the man more than it should, the body attached to it going limp shortly after. It never ceased to awaken that dark fascination within him when he killed. He used to pretend it had been awakened in the aftermath of the Nogitsune, but he’d stopped lying to himself as the years went by.
“You truly do gain some insight with age,” he murmured as he felt the body disappear into dark shadowy particles into the ether. One less homicidal rapist in the world, for all that this one was fully human and thus woefully unprepared for Stiles’s full arsenal.
He did make sure to redirect his abilities to keep the eyes and tongue intact as the body came apart. Experience had taught him that they were the most efficient human body parts when it came to magic and he never knew when he’d need some more.
Stiles stashed the remains in his trusty warded bag and tried to fight back the nostalgia that usually showed up when he thought about the past. There’d be no money coming from this hit, but it was a welcome distraction from wanting to look up what was happening back in Beacon Hills.
He was pulled out of his musings by an alarm on his phone and cursed as the blinking numbers indicated that he was about to be late to his date, especially if he wanted time to change his clothes. It took him a few minutes to make it to his house (yes, an actual house, he couldn't believe it either), and it was just in time, for Stiles's phone rang just as he pulled the door closed behind him and chucked his shirt off.
"Hi sweetheart, how are you!" Stiles answered with a cheer that was in no way faked. There was only one person who’d call him after all.
Peter Milton was the date in question, and try as he might, Stiles couldn’t help but be reminded of Peter Hale when he looked at the college student. He'd stumbled upon Peter by chance a few months ago and they’d hit it off immediately, what with Peter’s sardonic wit and Stiles’s own fascination with the younger man. A college student, cut off from the family funds and home until he submitted to the family head’s will, and working three dangerous jobs for money. How could Stiles do anything but swoop in to help?
“Currently feeling neglected, because even though my daddy has paid my tuition and rent, he hasn’t shown his face in the last two weeks and I haven’t even received a gift for his absence,” Peter’s voice answered immediately.
And there it was, that carefully unaffected tone that covered up a demanding personality. If it hadn’t been about for the student’s complete cluelessness about supernatural matters and the different name, he would’ve been a dead ringer for creepy (sexy) uncle Peter.
“Wow, I feel used,” Stiles chuckled in answer. Tucking his phone against his shoulder, he quickly found a dress shirt to wear and buttoned it up as he spoke. “What would you do if I became destitute tomorrow, do you only care about my money?”
A pointed silence was his answer, during which Stiles struggled not to giggle. Then, a sigh followed.
“Of course I don’t only care about your money. I also care about your dick, but alas you won’t put out.” Another forlorn sigh sounded through the phone and Stiles just knew Peter had thrown his hand over his eyes like an ingénue from a romance novel. “What’s the point of having a sugar baby if you don’t even taste any of the sugar?”
Stiles just about choked on his saliva, and yet couldn’t feel the same levity Peter’s tone had. After all, he still caught himself thinking about Peter Hale when he was faced with Peter Milton. He still couldn’t help but remember his teenage attraction when this young Peter licked his lips after a satisfying meal or looked at Stiles with heat in his gaze. It wouldn’t be fair for Stiles to begin a carnal relationship like this if he was imagining another in the student’s place.
“Well you’ll have to be patient and wait a few minutes before you see me, baby.”
A wistful smile graced Stiles’s lips as he left his place, and it remained when Peter said his goodbyes before hanging up. Strange as it might be, it was nice to have one part of his life that would remain ordinary and carefree.
Stiles really should have known not to challenge karma. He’d been about to reach their meeting place right on time when he heard a familiar voice shout and changed directions before he could consciously think about it. He’d recognize Peter’s voice anywhere, and blue lightning danced between his fingers as he ran into the darkened alleyway the sounds were coming from.
A single glance at Peter’s startled expression and Stiles flashed forward, his magic putting up a concealment ward behind him as he swung his arm and watched a mix of shadows and lightning arch toward the shifted werewolf attacking Peter. It was over far too quickly and Stiles felt the power tingle on his tongue as he struggled to regain his breath after such a rush.
Stiles’s eyes were fixed on Peter’s own as the dying werewolf between them struggled within his grip, hands sticky with the still wet blood gushing from the wounds. He didn’t know what he expected to see within that gaze, perhaps horror or denial. Instead, he found a hungry gaze staring back, and it remained on his even as Stiles’s hands twisted sharply with a spark of lightning and the body began disintegrating slowly into strands of shadows.
The tension was taut between them, only accentuated by the fact that there wasn’t a bleeding body between the two anymore to act as a distraction. And yet, Stiles was loath to break the silence only disturbed by the sound of their panting breaths.
He eventually had to however. “Peter, I-“
He only barely perceived the shift in Peter’s posture before the other man pounced on him. The quickness of the action left no time for Stiles to dodge, yet he still braced himself for what was sure to be a painful impact. Instead, a pair of lips crashed into his own, quickly joined by a hand grasping the back of Stiles’s head and another at the small of his back to press them closer together.
Stiles eagerly answered the kiss, bringing his hands up to Peter’s cheeks, heedless of the blood he was probably smearing over the skin. In that moment, he couldn’t remember why he’d ever kept himself from kissing Peter, identity issues and power imbalance notwithstanding. None of the excuses he’d made before seemed to resurface, as his head was simply blank, everything in him focused on the feel of Peter’s lips and teeth over his own.
They eventually pulled away from each other and Stiles let his hand retreat from Peter’s cheek, still sticky with blood. He was unable to look away from Peter even then, entranced by his hungry gaze and the lips that were either red from his own blood resurfacing or Stiles’s still stained hands.
Stiles found himself at loss for words, and he stared bemusedly at Peter’s smirk while he tried to find them. “So… I guess you’re not freaked out by the-” He made a wide hand motion encompassing everything around them. “Everything?”
Peter’s smirk widened so much that Stiles actually thought his face was going to split open for a second.
“I’m Peter fucking Hale,” Peter said, and Stiles could all too clearly imagine the DOES NOT COMPUTE error signs popping around his face. So it hadn’t been longing for his past that led him to notice resemblances between Peter Milton and Peter Hale. It still didn’t compute though.
“What- But- Peter Milton??”
Instead of answering, Peter (Hale, and he knew about the supernatural that asshole!) pulled Stiles closer again and kissed him quiet.