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Peter had taken Stiles out for dinner after the Pack's recent debacle dealing with a group of Pixies that had been trying to make a new home in the Preserve. Scott, of course, had been for the gentle 'talk them into leaving' option. Stiles had been all for the nuclear 'kill the nasty suckers' option. Peter, interestingly enough, had looked for options that didn't involve killing the entire group of Pixies.
Peter had quickly changed his mind when Scott didn't keep to his assigned task so the Pixies were able to lure Stiles into a trap. They then started gnawing on Stiles. Peter ruthlessly freed Stiles and then helped Stiles to eliminate the Pixies completely.
Scott reluctantly agreed their solution was -- probably -- the best after Peter graphically described the wounds Stiles had as well as what would have happened if they hadn't stopped the Pixies. Although Peter could hear Scott muttering something about 'monsters' under his breath.
As an apology for not believing Stiles in the first place, Peter offered to take Stiles out for dinner. The Italian restaurant they ended up in wasn't fancy but it was decidedly nicer than the diner the Pack frequently went to.
"They know you here," Stiles observed as yet another staff member waved as Peter and Stiles walked through the restaurant. They had a secluded u-shaped booth that gave them privacy for their meal. Peter sat a discreet few inches from Stiles. Stiles resisted moving closer.
"I like the food and either eat in or order take-out pretty regularly," Peter admitted.
"What do you like best, then?"
"Trust me and let me order?" Peter asked as the waitress came over to their table.
Stiles shrugged and closed the menu. "Sure!"
Peter and the waitress conversed in rapid Italian that Stiles had no hope of following. He listened to the musical language and enjoyed watching Peter use his hands as he talked. It made Peter soft, approachable... human. Lovable. Damn it. Stiles was already in over his head. He took a steadying breath and focused on keeping his heart steady.
"How many languages do you know?" Stiles asked after the waitress left.
"I'm fluent in Italian, French, and Spanish," Peter admitted. "I can read Latin, as you know, and can muddle through in several Slavic languages like Russian and Polish."
Stiles pointed a finger at him. "That's why you can say my name!"
Peter shrugged. "Good skill to have, sweetheart! And you're no slouch, yourself."
"Some of that has been desperation and pure luck," Stiles replied.
"You don't give yourself enough credit," Peter chided. "You've worked hard, not that your friends appreciate it."
"Well, we aren't here to talk about them!" Stiles said firmly.
Peter grinned and gamely changed the topic.
As they were sharing a decadent chocolate dessert with a great bottle of wine, the dime finally dropped.
"This is a date!" Stiles exclaimed.
Peter grinned. "Knew you were smart!"
Stiles looked down at the table and fiddled with his spoon. "Why now?"
"You needed a chance to get out of Beacon Hills, to see life outside of this hell hole," Peter admitted holding out a hand to Stiles. Stiles took it immediately. "The wolf in me wanted you from the first but, to be honest, I fought it. I wasn't in a place to be what you needed. And... the longer I waited, the harder it got. But seeing you hurt, again, I figured it was time."
"It's not going to be easy," Stiles said. He didn't have to say aloud that Scott would be furious.
Peter shrugged. "We do our own thing, then. I know you stay for your dad. Maybe he'll be open to... options."
"He might be," Stiles agreed. He finished his wine. "Take me home."
At Peter's sigh of dismay, Stiles added, "Your home."
"Ah!" Peter smiled.
As Stiles fell asleep in Peter's arms, he heard Peter murmur. "Il mio cuore. My heart..."