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Peter’s fingers glide effortlessly over the piano keys, playing a slow but happy tune. His eyes are closed as he imagines figures dancing to the melody—as they did when he played in his old family home. He sees Laura clapping her hands with glee, Talia’s proud smile, and small faces staring up at him with childlike awe, gasping as his fingers run faster and faster over the keys.
Everything was simpler then, and Peter used to find himself wishing he could go back, be surrounded by his family, even just for one more day. Not so much now. Things have changed, he’s changed, and if given the chance, he’s not sure he’d take it.
The man he is now would never fit into the life he once had.
A familiar scent drifts in from behind him, enchanting him away from his thoughts. Bare feet pad against the floor in almost silent steps, and Peter smiles at that, eyelashes fluttering open as Stiles's fingers trail featherlight over his shoulder. The boy comes to stand in front of him, leaning against the edge of the piano, watching intently.
“I didn’t know you could play,” he says when Peter’s fingers stop on the last key. “I was starting to believe the piano was just for decoration.”
Peter’s lips curve with amusement, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “I used to play a lot but lost interest for a while—the memories it brought me were too painful,” he admits. “This is the first time I’ve played in years.”
Stiles reaches for Peter’s hand, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry.”
He doesn't pry, but judging by the pity sparkling in those doe eyes, he wants to comfort Peter. He’s sweet, his boy, and so much more than Peter could’ve ever hoped for in a mate. He’s not sure what he did to deserve someone like Stiles, but now that he has him, he'll never let him go.
“Come here,” Peter beckons, gesturing for Stiles to move between his legs. He grabs the boy’s hips, guiding him to sit on the piano. The keys smash tunelessly under him.
Stiles releases a sharp breath, his pulse quickening as Peter’s hands roam up his thighs, spreading them apart. “Peter—”
“Shhh,” he whispers as he hooks the boy’s long legs over his shoulders. He kisses his way down from Stiles’s chest, lower and lower, relishing in how each muscle trembles under his lips. He stops at the trail of hair below his navel and rests his forehead against Stiles's belly, exhaling deeply—his own body shivering with it. “You have no idea what you mean to me.”
The words are hardly more than a breath, but Stiles's heart skips, and nimble fingers cup Peter’s jaw, lifting his gaze. Stiles's smile is soft, completely adoring, and had Peter not already been so sure, this is the moment he’d have realized he loves this boy with every last piece of his heart.
“I think I do.”