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"Woo!" Erica shouted from the back seat, punching the roof of the jeep. Stiles hissed and looked over his shoulder to glare at her.
"I will turn this car around right now, Erica! Quit abusing my car!"
"Quit being a buzz-kill, grandpa. I'm just so excited!" She punched the roof again and Stiles gritted his teeth and sighed. "I've never been skiing before! I mean, personally I think snowboarding looks cooler but you know, I understand that you boys prefer the easier sport."
"Are we really going to have to sit through another hour of her," Scott whined. Erica made some kind of indignant noise and slapped his shoulder.
"Can we turn on the AC or something?" Isaac whined. Stiles rolled his eyes and Scott twisted around from beside Stiles in the passenger seat and gestured at him.
"Just take off your dumb jacket," Scott told him.
"The zipper's stuck! And I really like this jacket. I don't want to rip it before we even get to the slopes."
"Then why'd you put it on?" Erica snarked at him.
"Why did you bring high heels?!" Isaac screeched at her. "That's so-so impractical!"
"So is wearing a winter jacket in a 70-degree car!"
"STILES!" Isaac shouted. "I changed my mind! I want to ride with Jackson and Lydia!!"
"It's too late," Stiles sighed. "You lost the rock-paper-scissors game fair and square."
"I'd even take the Hales' car at this point! A-and what the hell is fair about using my 'peripheral muscle movements' to predict what sign I'm going to play?!"
Erica scoffed. "Maybe you should learn to do the same, instead of insisting it's a dumb thing to learn."
The entire car erupted into loud, screeching, shouting arguments and Stiles' head pounded. He contemplated driving his car right off the mountain, but then figured he'd be the only one that would die, considering all of his friends are loud-mouthed, obnoxious, moronic werewolves.
In his rear view mirror, he saw Jackson's car, and directly ahead, he saw the Hales'. He would've suffered less abuse in Jackson's car, if only because Jackson and Lydia have been at each other's throats all week so they wouldn't be bothered to waste their energy on him, and he sure as hell would've suffered less noise in the Hales' car, boredom be damned.
"Why did I have to drive?!" Stiles shouted over everyone's loud arguing. Surprisingly, it was enough to halt the noise. "Huh?! I mean, Scott, you have a nice ass car. Why did you guys want to take my shitty-ass, death-wobbling Jeep?"
There was a pregnant pause, and then Erica mumbled, "Well, because if you drove then we didn't have to be sober."
Stiles whipped his head around to stare at them and they all yelped when the car jerked. "Are you guys smoking back there?!"
"No, no, no," Erica chuckled nervously. "No, uh, Lydia lended us some spiked alcohol."
"Oh, my god!" Stiles scoffed. "So you're all wasted."
"Nah, just a little tipsy," Scott offered with a shrug.
"Here, you want some?" Isaac asked, offering up a canister that they had told Stiles was full of Lemonade.
"Wow. Wow. I-I can't- I hate all of you," Stiles declared and continued to try to focus on driving while the others first tried sucking up to Stiles, then got into another argument about who was sucking up the most.
He didn't really mind at all. He'd guilt them enough later they might buy his dinner and his ski pass, so all in all, not so bad.
Though he wouldn't have minded riding with someone else if it meant less shouting.
"Can we start at the kiddie slopes," asked Scott.
"Oh please, don't tell me you're scared of the real slopes," Erica replied. "I bet I'll be lapping you and you'll still be trying to get around a tree."
"I wouldn't mind getting back into the groove on an easier slope," Isaac said. "But you don't learn shit on the kiddie slopes. It's better to just jump right into it. That's how I learned."
"And by jump right into it you mean fall. A lot," Scott said.
"Yep, pretty much," said Isaac.
Stiles shuffled behind the three of them toward the patio of the large, stained wood, log-cabin-esque lodge, skis, boots and jacket under his arms while he fumbled with his phone to let his dad know they made it to the ski slopes safely and without any bloodshed. It's a god damn miracle.
He hung behind as the three of them went into the lodge to check in and get their passes. He set his skis and boots down on a patio table and began getting bundled up. It was much colder here on Azure Mountain. Which wasn't really a mountain, but he applauded the optimism.
He really hopes the 2.5 hour drive was worth it. Otherwise, he's making everyone reshuffle their assigned car positions, because he's not making that drive again sober if this trip ends up a colossal waste of time and money. And the only person that can drive his Jeep is, unfortunately, Peter, considering he's the only other person in this entire group that can drive an old, worn out, temperamental manual shit-box without killing it. Which is just sad. And problematic since Stiles doesn't trust Peter farther than he can throw him. Which is to say not at all.
Stiles sighed heavily, and the resulting cloud of condensation that left his mouth looked suspiciously like the last remaining wisp of his withering soul.
"How was your drive," Lydia asked Stiles as she walked up beside him to set her stuff down and bundle up like Stiles was doing. She looked tired, and her face was a little red and puffy, like she'd been crying. Stiles frowned in worry and his eyes immediately cut over to where Jackson was slamming his car door shut.
"Um... It was fine. How was yours?"
"We broke up again." She rolled her eyes and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "For good this time."
"Right, like the last two times?" Stiles was losing patience for this Jackson deal. Lydia knows he's an asshole who will never love her, and yet she just keeps going back to him. And what's with her choosing to have him as her 'boyfriend talk' friend instead of Erica, or Isaac, or fucking Derek. Why him? It makes absolutely no sense to him. Girls (read: Lydia) continue to confuse and inflict emotional pain for seemingly no rational reason.
Lydia sighed. "Yeah, I know. I don't know why I keep thinking we can make it work. He's just... You know..." She fluttered her eyelashes and smiled off into the distance. "Sometimes he can be so... sweet." She looked over her shoulder at him and Stiles mimed vomiting when he saw fucking hearts in her eyes all over again.
"Geez, Lydia! What the hell is wrong with you??" She looked at him with wide, appalled eyes, but Stiles was becoming immune to her expressions that would otherwise inflict guilt or fear. "There are other people out there that would die to be with you, and you keep choosing the dumb, self-centered, narcissistic bastard that can't make you happy enough to go two-and-a-half hours in a car without breaking up? What is wrong with you to keep going back to that?! Do you enjoy being abused? Did you not get enough of that from all the other supernatural monsters of the earth? Or do you think you don't deserve to be treated like you're worth more than a quick fuck and the occasional eye candy when he bothers to invite you anywhere?"
Lydia stood there in stunned silence for enough seconds for Stiles to brew in the shit that he had surrounded himself with. These were all things that he's been wanting to shout in her face for months, and he knew it would suck when he did it. But maybe he could've chosen a different time?
Psh, like what? Ten more weeks from now when they're breaking up for the fifth time? Or ten more months from now when they're getting a divorce because somehow they decided getting married was a viable option? Or ten years from now when they have a kid with abandonment issues because its father can't stick around long enough to be able to bond with his own damn kid?
"You can be a real asshole sometimes, Stiles, you know that?" She grabbed her stuff and stomped toward the doors to join the others.
Stiles laughed. "Oh? I'm the asshole? Not the one who just made you cry?"
"I wasn't crying, I was angry! The tears are unwarranted and I hate them as much as I hate you!!" she shouted before the door closed behind her.
Stiles slumped onto the picnic table and put his face in his hands. "What the fuck," he sighed.
"She's on her period," Jackson snapped as he passed him. "Just my luck."
"Damn it, Jackson!" Stiles shouted back, standing up to get in his face, high on some kind of fear-defying adrenaline from all the arguing. "Maybe if you weren't such an asshole all the time and thought about more than just yourself, you might be able to convince a girl that you're not the scum-of-the-earth lizard-brained monster you are! But I highly doubt it since that'll only happen when hell freezes over and I don't see any shivering hell hounds running around here!"
Jackson's face twisted in confused disturbance. "That was so dumb I don't even understand what kind of analogy you were trying to make."
"The analogy was obvious! You're just too STUPID to get it!"
Jackson rolled his eyes and walked into the lodge, completely undisturbed by Stiles' waste of words.
"Wow." Stiles heard Peter's voice from behind him and groaned loudly, dropping back down onto the bench. He shook his head and continued bundling up. Peter and Derek (sans jackets and snow pants because they can't be bothered to even pretend they're not werewolves with supernatural body heat) walked up the stairs onto the patio, carrying snowboards and staring at Stiles. "It looks like we missed out on all the 'fun'." Peter chuckled. "Remember when you called our car the 'lame-o-mobile'?" Stiles sighed. "I don't know, Derek, I feel like we got the sweet end of the deal, as we didn't have to endure any of the pack's emotional upheaval."
"Oh yeah, because you guys are the poster-boys of emotional stability."
"Which one of us has the stress-induced headache?" Peter shot, and Stiles glared. Peter and Derek bumped fists as they passed by.
"Since when did you guys start doing that?"
"Since when did you become the buzz-kill of the group?" Peter shot over his shoulder. Derek stopped at the door, holding it open, giving Stiles an apologetic look.
"I asked Lydia not to give everyone alcohol," Derek mumbled as Stiles grabbed his skis and shuffled over to him as he tried to shove his foot the rest of the way into his ski boots.
"What? Everyone? Even-"
"Everyone." Derek sighed. "Ignore what Peter said - it was not a peaceful drive. If I wasn't the one driving, I'd be two bottles in just trying to deal with... that." He gestured to Peter, who was now already hitting on the girl at the check-in desk.
Stiles chuckled. "Well, that makes me feel a bit better."
As Stiles passed by Derek, the Alpha set his hand on Stiles' neck, right below the base of his skull. Stiles' eyes became heavy and he let out a sigh as the headache vanished. "Not easy being the pack mom, huh?"
"Hey Derek?"
"Mmm?"
"Thank you... And also, shut up."
Derek chuckled and bumped Stiles' shoulder. They walked to the desk and got their passes.
Much to Stiles' dismay, Peter had managed to convince the girl at the desk to give everyone a discount on their tickets. His tactics may be a little morally ambiguous, but damn do they produce results.
"Lets go, lets go, lets go!!" Erica cheered, pulling Scott along by the hand.
"Okay, but we're starting easy right?" Scott asked nervously, eyeing the skiers that were tearing down the tall, steep slow at insane speeds. Even Stiles was a little daunted, and heights never bothered him.
"Yeah, of course! We'll start off at one of the easy slopes and work our way up!" Erica led the group to the ski lifts.
"What's the hardest slope?" Peter mumbled to Derek, who was glaring down at a map of the slopes. Stiles walked beside him, and looked over at the messy entanglement of colored lines.
"I don't... I don't know, this thing's so..." Derek grumbled and glared at the paper harder.
"This one is the hardest one," Stiles mumbled, pointing to a red line. "Those are the easier ones. And that one's the... 'trick' slope? I guess it has ramps and shit or something."
Peter glanced at Stiles, then nodded. "Joining us?" Peter asked Stiles as Derek folded back up his map.
Stiles laughed. "Ha! Yeah, no, being a completely beginner, I'm probably gonna stick with the easier slopes. You guys might heal a broken bone or two if you somehow tumbled, but I'd probably break my neck and die. And I'm not going out because of falling on a snowy hill."
"Does that mean you've considered ways to die that you'd consider acceptable?" Peter asked creepily. Stiles made a face and Derek sighed.
He waved them off and followed Scott, Erica and Isaac. "Have fun taunting death."
"Baby, that's my favorite past time," Peter said with a grin. And this time, joining the face of discomfort was a decidedly tingly feeling that trickled down his spine in the most delicious way. Peter had called him 'baby', and it went straight to his dick. Geez, get a grip.
Stiles stepped into his skis along with the others and slid over to the ski lift. He stood next to Isaac as they waited for their chair to come.
"This is gonna suck," Stiles grumbled as their chair came up.
"Nah, just lean back when the chair reaches-"
"No, I mean skiing."
The chair bumped into the backs of Stiles' legs and he almost fell, but Isaac caught his arm and helped him into the seat, and off they went up the mountain.
"You guys can just heal of you fall and get hurt," Stiles grumbled. "I can't."
"Yeah, well... I hate to remind you that you are part of the majority here, but look at all of those humans skiing and falling and being completely fine. Not one of them werewolves, but each one of them totally alive and having fun." He gestured to the dozens of people below them. Some skiing like masters. Others falling every ten yards and struggling to get back up. "So, I'm sure you'll find a way to survive this horrible vacation trip." Stiles hummed.
"You know, Isaac. You're right." He looked at him with a smile. "You werewolves are incredibly spoiled."
"Hell yeah, we are," Isaac snorted. "Dude, did you know our refractory period is like, non-existent anymore?"
Stiles sighed and rubbed his face. "Unfortunately, yes. Scott really enjoyed telling me all about how his sex life has improved, all the time."
Isaac shrugged with a shameless grin. There was a short pause, then he looked over at Stiles with prying eyes. "So hey, I noticed you and Lydia got in an argument. You know, I really think she might actually like you-"
"No," Stiles cut him off, holding up his hand. "No, thanks but I'm not... I'm... I'm done with... that."
"Hey man," Isaac held up his hands in surrender. "I understand, I just know that you kind of have a thing for her-"
"Had. Had a thing for her." He shook his head and looked off ahead where Lydia rode on her own chair alone, and noticed Jackson was no where to be seen. Good riddance. "I don't know if I just got to know her too well, or if the entire thing was all a fluke crush and I never actually had any real feelings for her, but..." A silence stretched on, and he looked over to see Isaac looking at him meaningfully, eyes wide and expression open. "I don't..." Stiles flailed his hands. "Like, look. I'd go up against Jackson for her in a heartbeat. Which wasn't even something I would've ever done when we were all in school, so obviously I care more about her, right? But the more I..." Stiles sighed and threw his head back. "I don't know man."
"Do you love her?"
"I..." Stiles frowned, then nodded. "Yes, I love her. I love her like I love Scott. I love her like I love you guys. But I'm not- I don't think I'm in love with her."
Isaac nodded. "I get it. She was some beautiful creature you couldn't have."
Stiles made a face. "If you want to make it sound weird, sure..."
"But now you have her. And you realized it wasn't what you needed."
Stiles' face got even facier and he looked over at Isaac. "Why are we talking about this?"
Isaac shrugged. "Maybe it just kinda seems like you're constantly... moody lately."
"M-moody?! I wouldn't call it moody-"
"Nah, we all definitely agreed on the word moody but for you I'll settle for 'upset'."
"Maybe I'm upset lately because all of my friends are assholes!"
Isaac shrugged again. "Yeah maybe." They reached the top of the slopes and Isaac slid off the chair easily while Stiles scrambled, and then fell flat on his face. "Or maybe it's because you miss loving someone."
"Geez, thanks Doctor Phil!!" Stiles shouted at the asshole as he headed for the slopes without so much as a helping hand. "I don't see you having any better luck finding love!!"
"That's because you haven't seen my chat history!" Isaac hollered over his shoulder.
"Gross, Isaac!!"
"Hey, do you need help up?" asked a woman with an Alpine Mountain Employee shirt as she came out of a observation booth.
Stiles grunted as he rolled onto his side and tried to get his feet underneath him. "No, I'm fine."
"There's people coming up the lift, you'll want to get out of the way," she said, taking another step toward him. Stiles looked over his shoulder to see who was coming, and saw Derek and Peter.
"No, I'm good right here. With any luck they'll trample me and put me out of my misery."
Peter was already smirking as he and Derek slid off the chair and joined Stiles. Derek reached down a hand and helped Stiles to his feet.
"I thought you guys were going to the harder slopes," Stiles said, dusting the snow off of his jacket and face.
"We're gonna start off easy. Make sure the pack doesn't break a bone and then magically heal it in front of a medic," said Derek.
Stiles shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, that would probably be bad."
"We also had to keep an eye on our resident human," Derek added.
"Thanks," Stiles said, rolling his eyes and heading toward a slope labeled, 'EASY'. Derek and Peter both used the foot that wasn't strapped into the board to push themselves along. Stiles eyed them. "You know, snowboards seem incredibly impractical."
"Part of the appeal," Peter replied. "Besides, I hate carrying things." He gestured to the ski poles in Stiles' hands. Stiles agreed honestly, but he wasn't about to admit that.
Stiles slid ahead and the Hales hung back behind him. He slowly went down the slope along the far edge, away from the people flying past him. Some people even caught air over the small hills along the slope. He saw Isaac and Erica further down, helping Scott to his feet. Lydia was making her way down at a steady rate, using proper techniques that she probably spent way too long researching. And, looking over his shoulder, Stiles saw the Hales just slowly making their way down behind him, talking to each other out of his range of hearing.
This continued, and it was so gruesomely boring and tedious trying not to fall, gain too much speed, or get sucked into any existing ruts or piles of snow that Stiles had half a mind to just fall down and never get back up.
About halfway down the slope, Isaac came skidding to a halt right beside him. He'd lapped him already! Damn it.
"Here, I picked this up in the Lodge." Isaac handed him a small, pocket-sized bottle of liquor. "No one ever recommends skiing sober."
"What- Dude, I'm not gonna drink, I gotta drive us home after this."
"Don't worry, it sounds like everyone wants to go bowling, then play pool, then table hockey after this. And apparently the lodges have hot tubs." He bounced his brows. "Hot tubs. Anyway. You'll have plenty of time to sober up. But if you want to ski?" He reached out and opened the bottle for him. "Drink."
Against all better judgement, Stiles drank it. Then took the second one Isaac handed him.
"If this goes horribly, I'm blaming you," Stiles said.
Isaac nodded. "Understandable." He grinned, then winked and flew off down the slope.
Stiles turned around to comment to the Hales about how weird Isaac was or something, but the two of them were engrossed in their own conversation. Stiles sighed, and continued on.
Just as the alcohol was starting to set in, he finally reached the bottom of the hill just as Scott, Erica and Lydia reached the bottom of their second lap.
"WOOOOOOO!!!!" Erica shouted obnoxiously as she bee-lined it for the ski lift with Scott.
"Come on!" Isaac said, pulling Stiles along as he tripped out of his skis and ran after them. Derek and Peter followed them.
They reached the top again, and this time, Stiles tried to just give in and trust his body to know what to do. Now he had pack mentality and peer pressure to push him to just 'jump into it'. They all started going down, Erica in the lead, Scott and Isaac near Stiles, and the Hales slowly taking their time behind them.
"Hey, I think we're good," Stiles said to the Hales. "You guys can, you know, go ahead, and stop loitering behind us like weirdos."
"We don't mind-" Derek started.
"Oh, please, Derek. You can be overprotective on your own time," Peter said. He made a gesture that Stiles didn't understand, and Derek rolled his eyes. The Hales pushed past them and rocketed ahead. Stiles rolled his eyes, but then couldn't help but stare as they 'shredded' the side of the mountain like pros. They weaved back and forth, and for a moment it looked like they were playing chicken to see who would ram into the other. Then they both swerved over to the series of small bumps that most people can only get a foot or two of air on, and they fucking soared through the sky with all the speed that they'd gathered. Derek did a back flip and landed it, and Peter did this weird, awesome twisting rolling flip and even once landed, he did some complicated tricks that Stiles couldn't even keep track of.
Damn.
Eight minutes later, they went flying past the group again, this time definitely trying to make the other wipe out.
It looked like they were having a blast.
Isaac pulled off ahead and did a few jumps over the small ramps. Lydia started doing a comfortable weave back and forth, and it looked peaceful. Scott stopped falling every ten seconds and was keeping up with Isaac and Erica, and, just as Erica started to get a bit too confident, she wiped out bad. Stiles met up with her and helped her up. She groaned and grabbed her shoulder, and after an awful cracking, popping noise, she let out a sigh of relief, then kept going, with a bit more caution this time.
Stiles was left behind, and it did bother him a little bit. He tried to take his time to figure this shit out. Lets see, lean left, lean right, twist feet, lean back. But he still couldn't go at any significant speed without falling. Mainly, he was able to catch himself before he went all the way to the ground, but a few times he did wipe out bad, and it hurt. He was getting cold, and frustrated. His hip hurt, his arm was bruised, and he was tired.
Three slow, miserable laps later, it was starting to get close to sundown, and Stiles was absolutely done with this shit. Watching his 'friends' leave him in the dust to have fun shredding the mountain, each time getting better at it while Stiles couldn't seem to make any progress what-so-ever, was beating down his self-confidence fiercely. Even the Hales had disappeared after the second lap, presumably to go to the trick slope.
This time, Stiles found someone's map on the ground and took the lift to the easiest slope on the mountain - a long, steady decline without people tearing down it like crazy, or trying to catch air on the random mounds that acted like ramps for the skilled, and falling hazards for the newbies. Immediately, this slope was easier, but because it had no mounds that rose upward, he found it impossible to stop moving once he accidentally got going to fast without purposefully falling down.
He had just decided that once he got to the bottom of this slope, he'd take of his fucking skis, go inside the Lodge, and warm up in front of the fire with some good ol' hot chocolate when Peter came skidding to a stop next to him so fast a wave of snow came shooting from underneath his board.
"Wow," Stiles commented, digging his ski poles in and turning so he couldn't accidentally start sliding down the slope. "Having fun?" he teased dryly.
"I never have 'fun'." Peter took out a flask from his pocket. "This helps, though." He smirked and took a swig. "What about you? You seem positively miserable."
Stiles shook his head. "I just don't enjoy falling."
"Who does? That's why, in most sports, the trick is not to fall."
"Yeah, that's super helpful, thanks." Stiles turned back towards the hill and started moving, hopeful to get this weird interaction over with. All interactions with Peter are weird, and they don't get any less weird as time goes on, he's learned.
Peter kept up right beside him and watched him with peering eyes. "Bend your knees," he said, nodding towards his legs. "Draw your legs together and lean instead of twist."
Stiles huffed and looked over at the asshole. "Peter, why are you here? Weren't you with Derek on the trick slope?"
Peter rose a brow, possibly at Stiles' tone, which only served to make Stiles more frustrated. "I was. But I could smell your idiotic self-pittying frustration all the way from the ski-lift and figured you could use some guidance."
"Yeah, well, this self-pittying idiot doesn't need your guidance, so fuck right off."
Peter looked away and shook his head with a scoff. "They were right. Moody is the right word."
Stiles' head snapped over at him and he glared. He turned to stop his skis, but only fell onto his elbows hard. He groaned in anger and ignored Peter's offered hand. "That's great, I just love being talked about behind my back-"
"Listen to me," Peter said, rolling his eyes and picking Stiles up by the forearm. He unstrapped one of his feet and used it to keep himself still while he reached down to grab the ski poles Stiles had dropped, holding Stiles still from sliding down the slope by his arm. "I'll hang onto you, and we're going to do this properly, okay? And if, after we reach the bottom, you don't feel like I've helped you..." He shrugged and looked Stiles in the eyes, with an expression of emotion Stiles hadn't seen on his face before. "I'll fuck right off."
Stiles sighed, and grumbled, and bitched and cussed, but he recognized that he wasn't getting anywhere on his own, and considering how shitty this day has gone, it really couldn't get much worse, could it?
So, he swallowed down some choice words and let Peter teach him.
And he was beginning to realize that Peter was... was kind of a good teacher.
"Don't look right at your feet. You look at where you want to go, and if you're looking at the ground right in front of you, that's where you're going to end up."
"Direct your skis in a 'V' shape. This will help you slow down. Now twisting your feet will help you turn as you're slowing-- Okay, maybe don't turn towards me. There's several dozen yards on the other side of you. Look at all that room. Utilize that."
"I'm hanging on to you- I'm not going to let you fall, so stop being a wimp. I'll fall before you fall, just trust me and do it! Okay, now turnnnn. Good, if you go too fast, remember to turn and lean."
Just near the end of the slope, Peter got Stiles to pick up some speed, promised not to let go of him, and just as Stiles felt like he was going a little too fast and was worried he'd fall, he reached back for Peter's arm, but it wasn't there!
"Peter!!" Stiles shrieked, and the dick came sliding up next to him, keeping pace with him.
"You're doing good, just keep doing what you're doing," Peter said encouragingly. Stiles whined and bit his lip. They were going way too fast. Oh god, if he were to fall right now- "Look at the slope, not your feet. Turn right... Turn left... Snow-plow, turn... Pick up some speed..."
For the entire last stretch of the slope, Stiles did it all on his own. And when they reached the bottom and slowed down to a stop, Stiles laughed. He laughed giddily and smiled at Peter.
Peter smiled back. "Ready to try the whole thing for real?"
Stiles nodded. "Yeah, fine. Alright, you won. You were right." Peter chuckled and gestured for Stiles to follow him to the ski lift. "Hey..." Stiles put his hand on Peter's arm tentatively. "Thanks."
Peter looked over at him and set his hand on his shoulder, and after the last thirty minutes of relying on Peter's hand on him, the touch didn't phase him one bit. Even though, before this day, if Peter had touched him, Stiles would've flinched.
"Thanks for being an easy student. It took ages to teach Derek."
They got in place for the ski lift chair, and up they went. Then, it was just them, together, alone, in silence.
Stiles looked over at Peter, and frowned when he suddenly realized he was looking at him in an entirely different way, now. Suddenly, Peter was socially acceptable, slightly more trustworthy, and... a little more human.
Peter looked over and met Stiles' eyes, and wow... Since when did his eyes seem like gemstones under the glow of the moon instead of the cold, hard ice of the deepest reaches of the sea?
Peter's soft, slow breaths left from his nose in thick wisps of condensation, trailing behind them towards the sunset currently peeking through the snow clouds on the horizon.
Damn. He shouldn't have had that second drink.
"Um," Stiles choked out, swallowing thickly. "So uh... You taught Derek how to ski?"
Peter took a moment to respond, and blinked several times before he did, looking away. He opened his mouth, then his brows jerked downward as he leaned forward a little. Stiles followed his gaze, and saw nothing but a thick white fog blocking the horizon opposite the sunset.
"What do you see?" Stiles asked. He shook his head and frowned as he peered around. "I don't see anything."
"Exactly," Peter said, his voice dampened with defeat.
Suddenly, the ski lift jerked to a halt and all of the lights turned off. Stiles gasped and grabbed onto the chair with all his might, and his wide eyes immediately looked down at the 30 foot drop below. "Oh my god. Why?!" He looked up at Peter, and then at the thick fog which-... was it getting closer? "Oh my god, don't tell me that's a blizzard."
A loud alarm began blaring from various points along the ski lift.
"Come on, don't they have back-up generators to power the ski lifts?!"
"They do," Peter said, unhooking his other foot from his snowboard. "But by the time they get those turned on for each lift, and by the time the slow ass things actually reach the top, we'll be inside the blizzard."
Stiles looked over at the 'fog', which was instead an impenetrable hell of freezing cold snow that would blind them for less than 5 feet ahead of them. And then they'd be relying on their spacial memory to find the way back into shelter.
"I told him!" Stiles said. "I told Derek, god damn it! Lake Effect! He said I was just being paranoid, he said it wouldn't cause any significant weather-- If it wasn't significant, why would they give it a name?!"
"Relax," Peter said. "Give me your skis."
Stiles didn't question him. Mainly because he fucking hated these things anyway and also, there's a fucking blizzard coming, and he's only ever seen blizzards on TV but it seems like every time there's a blizzard there are a lot of casualties. Oh god, he's going to die from freezing to death in a blizzard. It won't even be skiing that kills him! Oh, god, come on!
Stiles yanked his last ski off a bit too hard and lost his balance. He choked on a scream as he felt himself tip off the edge of the seat, but Peter grabbed him and pulled him firmly to the very back of the seat.
"Breathe, Stiles!" Peter snapped, and he was right, Stiles had completely stopped breathing!
"You breathe!" he shouted back once he had inhaled again. "I'm breathing! I'm breathing perfectly fine, because we're stranded thirty feet in the air with a blizzard closing in and I don't wanna die, Peter, not like this! I wanna die by getting eaten by a dragon, or drowning while fighting an evil water nymph or something. I don't want to die in some mundane, boring way. I want extravagance and a supernatural element! I want to die in a way no one has ever died before! And lots of people die in blizzards! There's nothing special about dying in a blizzard!"
"What about getting strangled by an annoyed werewolf," Peter grumbled with a short glare. Although he truly did almost look scared. "Trust me, okay? We'll be fine." He gestured to the ground beneath him. "I'm going to jump down, and you're going to jump down after me, and I'm going to catch you."
"WHAT?!?!"
"And then we're going to strap back on our skis and snowboard and get the fuck off this mountain."
Stiles stared at him with an open mouth.
"Breathe."
Stiles inhaled and nodded, rubbing his face, his heart trying to pound its way out of his chest.
Peter tucked the skis and snowboard under his arm and glanced over at Stiles. "I thought you weren't scared of heights."
"I'm not! I am, however, scared of jumping from them!"
"Well then, what a great moment for personal growth."
With that, Peter slid off of the chair and dropped all the way down to the ground. He landed on his feet with nothing more than a grunt (damn werewolves), set the skis and snowboard beside him, and then looked back up at Stiles with his arms out. "Any time, now!" he shouted.
Stiles inched toward the edge of the seat, and then wheezed. "I can't!" Stiles shouted back, knuckles white on the chair.
"You really think I'm going to let you get hurt?!" Peter shouted. "I was willing to give up the last two hours of my vacation to help you ski! You really think I'm going to let something happen to you now?!
"Oh, so says the psychopathic murderer!!!"
"Stiles, when have I ever hurt you?!"
Stiles faltered. And he thought about it. Even during Peter's psychopathic years, he hadn't hurt Stiles once. Derek has hurt Stiles more than Peter has. And in the past two years, as Peter has become less and less murderous-psychopathic and more and more semi-stable-functioning-psychopathic, he's even manipulated Stiles less than Scott does.
He looked back up at the sky, and noticed that the trees on the top of the mountain were shrouded in white. It was getting too close, and the wind was starting to pick up.
"Fuck!"
"Trust me!"
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
Stiles looked down at Peter, at his outstretched arms and his frightened, concerned expression, and shook his head. The scariest part about all of this, is that he trusted Peter 100%. The scariest part was that he realized that at some point between his shitty car ride, and this awful moment of terror, he had suddenly decided that Peter was a friend, and not just a reluctant acquaintance of the pack. Even after all the shit he's done, and all the lives he's hurt, and all the people he's killed, Stiles trusts him to keep him safe above everyone else in the pack. If it were Scott down there, or Erica, or maybe even Derek, Stiles would rather risk his chances on the ski lift than trust them to catch him and keep him unharmed, and then subsequently not just leave his ass on the mountain to freeze to death as they high-tail it to safety.
And that was scary, because what does that then say about himself, if he trusts this psychopath more than he trusts his friends to drink lemonade instead of spiked alcohol, or choose his car because they like him rather than so that they didn't have to be sober, or date a decent person instead of keep going back to the same old asshole only to scream in his own face that they hate him for pointing it out?
What does it say that, looking back on all of their interactions, Peter is the only one who has never hurt him, accidentally or intentionally, physically or emotionally, out of all of his friends?
What does it say that Stiles is starting to like him - that Peter is already becoming his favorite, in only the few hours he's had to interact with him outside of necessity or business? Just a few moments of genuine conversation and human emotion, and they seem undeniably compatible.
I can't believe I trust him, Stiles thought, I... I trust him...
So, Stiles pushed off of the chair and fell, and he closed his eyes, and during the fall, he re-thought his entire fucking life. All of the interactions he's ever had with Peter, all of the moments he seemed like a decent person, and all the moments it seemed that an apathetic mask had dropped and he showed some actual emotion, only to turn around and hide it. How had he not noticed it all before?
He yelped when his descent came to a stop, and opened his eyes to stare up into Peter's blue eyes, strained with stress, only to soften with a sigh of relief.
Peter's arms were warm.
"Was that so terrible?" Peter tutted, and Stiles rolled his eyes. Peter set him on his feet and they quickly got strapped back into their respective snow-equipment. "Now, we don't have time to do this the easy way, so-"
"Yeah yeah, lets get this shit-show on the road," Stiles interrupted. It seems falling from a great height made the prospect of sliding down the side of a mountain at great speeds much less daunting. Plus, he was still in slight panic mode, so his body was in charge right now anyway. Now that he wasn't present enough to over-think everything, he could trust his limbs to make the adjustments they needed to.
Perhaps that's why being inebriated helps people ski better, now that he thinks about it.
"Try to keep up!" Stiles shouted, and Peter scoffed from right behind him.
"You don't want to turn this into a race, dear," Peter told him as he came up beside him, adjusting as Stiles turned back and forth so that they were moving in perfect synchrony. "I'll leave your pretty little ass in the proverbial dust without any remorse."
"I highly doubt that," Stiles shouted over the noise of the wind giving the trees hell all around them. Then he paused and looked over at him. "Wait, did you just say I have a 'pretty little ass'?"
Peter paused for a moment, and Stiles noticed it as one of those rare moments someone catches Peter on a lie, a mask, but a smirk then grew on his lips. "Maybe not when you wear those puffy snow-pants."
Stiles' mouth parted. Was he being for real? Was this just another one of his acts, or was this real? And if it was real, was this flirting? Were they flirting on the way down a mountain in a frantic attempt to outrun a blizzard?
Wait, is Peter flirting with him?!!?
"Yeah, sure, and leave it to you to go skiing in freezing temperatures in a v-neck and tight ass snow pants that leave nothing to the imagination."
Peter glanced down at his own shirt and pants, then back at Stiles with a glint in his eyes. "Do you frequently imagine what's underneath my clothing?"
Stiles choked on his spit and slipped, falling to the ground and skidding to a stop in an ungraceful heap. As the sound of the snow grinding against his clothing stopped, he could hear Peter laughing from farther below the slope. Stiles groaned as he pushed himself up, and awkwardly maneuvered his way to his feet. Peter, stopped a few yards down, stood with his mouth parted in a full-faced smile. He looked happy, and it was an emotion Stiles had never seen on the man before. Peter had said earlier than he never has 'fun', but right now, he looked like he was.
Stiles wanted to be the reason Peter looked like that all the time.
And that's not good. Because that means something that Stiles is not ready to admit.
"Okay, all teasing aside," Peter said as Stiles caught back up to him, still chuckling. "We should really hurry up."
Stiles turned to look over his shoulder. "Oh, fuck." The blizzard was now just a few dozen yards behind them, and gaining horrifically fast. "Oh, fuck! Oh god, I don't want to die! I still haven't seen any bands in person, or gone to the Grand Canyon, or skydiving or-"
"Let's go, dear! You can have an existential crisis later!" Peter grabbed Stiles' hand and pulled him to go faster down the mountain. The freezing wind whipped at their clothing and Stiles grimaced at the sharp pain biting at his nose, ears, fingers, and toes.
The snow flew in front of their faces, and just when it started getting difficult to see, they made it to the bottom. They quickly unstrapped from their skis and snowboard and ran for the Lodge.
They ran into the doors and once the heat blasted his face, Stiles dropped his skis and leaned over to take a few much-needed breaths. Peter picked up his skis and stood next to him, as a large group of people met them at the door, cheering for their safe arrival. Someone offered Stiles a hot cup of coffee, someone else threw a blanket over his shoulders. They were acting as if they had just won the fucking Olympics or something. Stiles looked over at Peter, who rolled his eyes and sighed, hanging his head like Stiles was, trying to calm down.
"Sir, can I get you anything?" asked a pretty woman with a sultry smile, to whom Peter turned away from in order to set his hand on Stiles' shoulder and walk with him through the crowd.
"Some space would be much appreciated," he said to everyone. They dispersed, and Peter and Stiles walked farther into the Lodge, where, to the left, was a large fireplace with several love seats and lounge chairs placed around it in a wide semi-circle.
"I'm gonna warm the fuck up," Stiles said to Peter, pulling off his gloves and looking down at his red, stiff, pained fingers.
"Hot chocolate?" Peter asked him, side-eyeing the fire in a quick, aborted glance as he set their skis and snowboard down against a love seat.
"Oh, god, yes. With the tiny marshmallows! Like, a lot of them." Peter headed for the bar. "Like, I want a little bit of hot chocolate with my marshmallows! Peter!"
Peter waved him off from over his shoulder and Stiles snorted and tore off his jacket, stepped out of his soaked snow pants, and pulled off his wet shoes. He sat down on the love seat and stretched his feet towards the heat of the fire.
He pulled out his phone and frowned when he saw he had no bars. He tried calling Derek, but got nothing but a dial tone before the call dropped. He tried calling Scott, Dad, Derek again, tried texting Erica, tried Snapchatting Lydia. Nothing. He couldn't get onto Google or Youtube or Netflix or anything. He groaned and tossed his phone onto the seat beside him.
In one of the lounge chairs beside him, a woman sat down and gave him a smile. "That, uh, was quite the spectacle."
"Huh?" Stiles asked intelligently.
"Well, the guy at the lift started turning everyone back when they heard about the storm. And it wasn't until he was inside informing everyone about what Google was saying about the storm," she rolled her eyes and glanced over at a young kid with flushed cheeks getting chewed out by an older man, both wearing Azure Mountain Employee shirts, "when he realized he left the lift running. Then we all looked out when the power cut and you guys were up there."
Stiles nodded with pursed lips. "Yep. Sounds about right."
She laughed nervously. "I mean, yeah, sorry. You were there, of course you know what happened." She pushed her long hair back and Stiles tried to hide his surprise when he realized, she might be flirting with him, too!
Damn, something about big, puffy pants and jackets must work for him.
"I'm Tosh."
"Stiles." Stiles reached out a hand and she met it in a soft handshake.
"So, um, I was wondering if maybe you'd want to get some drinks? Or dinner?"
Stiles couldn't quite hide his surprise this time. "Oh, wow." Holy shit, he's being asked out! "Uh, well, I'm flattered, but, uh..." Stiles' eyes cut over toward where Peter was talking to the man tending the bar as he prepared Stiles' hot chocolate. He couldn't help but notice those tight snow pants that Peter wore. Couldn't help but notice the tight shirt he wore. Couldn't help but notice the width of his back, and the curve of his ass.
And he couldn't help but realize that he hadn't been having any fun on this trip until he was spending the trip with Peter. And he realized... he didn't want to spend it with anyone else. Not even a nice girl way out of his league who, for some reason, wanted to go on a date with him.
Tosh looked over at Peter, and then back at Stiles, who was still stuck staring at him.
"Oh," she said.
Stiles looked back at her, and she looked disappointed. "Oh, no, well, I-"
"No, it's okay. It really doesn't bother me; my brother's gay."
"Wh- No!" Stiles paused, and frowned. And then realized. He's turning down a date with a cute girl to be with Peter. "Oh..."
She laughed and bit her lip. "Well, this is embarrassing. Sorry for barking up the wrong tree and all." She laughed again and Stiles gaped, at a loss for words. "I'll uh, see you around, I guess." She stood up and Stiles stuttered for any words at all. "You guys seem really in sync. You make a cute couple." She winked. "Very progressive."
"Wh-wh-wh -- wait, I-"
But she was already walking away.
"What the fuck?" Stiles whispered to himself. He stared down at the floor as his mind swirled with confusing thoughts that had never occurred to him before. Images of Isaac in the showers at school, Derek shirtless washing his car, every scene of Thor from any Marvel movie... and Peter. Peter just standing there with his head slightly tilted, those cold eyes and their uncomfortable intensity. Peter throwing Jackson to the ground with all the brutality that prick deserves, snarling in his face while his muscles shine in sweat and a little bit of blood. Peter, teaching Stiles to ski with gentle hands and understanding words, ending up teaching him to trust, as well. And Peter, standing above corpses and sighing as if he had just finished taking an annoying test instead of ending the lives of the people who have hurt Stiles with his own blood-covered hands.
Stiles' eyes went wide and he frowned at himself.
There's something seriously wrong with me, he thought to himself. But couldn't deny the sudden half-chub in his pants.
He thought about Lydia, and how, the more he got to know her, the less he liked her. Whereas, the more he got to know Peter, the more he realized... he really, really likes him.
Stiles... Stiles might be gay...
"Cell towers are down." Stiles jumped at Peter's voice, and accepted a mug of hot chocolate that was placed in his hands. "Derek and the pack are probably on the other side of the mountain where the other slope is. One of them would've howled if any of them were in trouble." Peter sat down next to Stiles. "At least, that's what Derek was supposed to have trained them to do," he added in a mumble. He sighed softly through his nose and stared out of the windows at the white-out. He looked suddenly tired. Or, maybe defeated?
Stiles bit his lip, and was completely floored that the body heat wafting from Peter sitting a foot away from him was somehow warmer than the heat from the fire. That just wasn't fair.
He looked over at the werewolf beside him and tried to remind himself that he hates this guy, because he is the entire reason Stiles' life has become overrun by werewolves and monsters and death and pain. Tried to remind himself that this maniac tried to kill everyone! And did succeed with some! Tried to remind himself that, at one point, he ended Peter's life, and only felt a little bit bad about it!
But, looking at him now, Stiles can't feel any of that anger. He can't place any of that blame. Looking at him now, Stiles no longer sees the monster he's always blamed for everything bad that happened to him and his friends. Looking at him, he sees a good man, who has experienced pain Stiles wouldn't even wish on his worse enemy, who cares about him, who spends the time out of his own vacation to help Stiles enjoy some of his. He sees a guy he might actually enjoy getting to know better.
Peter turned his head and met Stiles' eyes, and his brows weren't drawn down into a guarded anger, his lips weren't pressed into a hard line, his eyes weren't sharp like daggers. He looked open. Soft. He looked... vulnerable.
And then, his pretty blue eyes flickered between Stiles', and fell to his lips. Stiles' swallowed and his lips parted in surprise, confusion, and excitement, as his heart began to race. Peter's eyes bounced between his parted lips and the movement of his throat as he swallowed, as if he couldn't tell which he wanted to look at more. And then he looked back into Stiles' eyes.
Stiles was no longer cold.
He looked at Peter's own lips, drawn to how soft they looked, and how sweet they had moved as Peter talked him through skiing, just inches away from him as he held Stiles from falling. How close they were right now. How easy it would be to lean in and just... kiss...
They were closer now than they were before. One of them had leaned in, and Stiles couldn't tell which, but Peter was definitely closer now, and his lips were parting ever so slightly, and his eyes were becoming hooded. His warm hand slid onto Stiles' thigh, coaxing a noise Stiles' mouth, and Peter leaned even closer-
"Excuse me?"
Stiles jerked, and Peter removed his hand from his leg, leaning back. They stared into each other's eyes, and there was so much heat there. Heat that had nothing to do with the fire nearby.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt." Stiles looked over. The older man that had been talking to the kid that got Stiles and Peter stranded on the ski lift stood with his hands clasped in front of him and a professional smile on his lips. On his shirt, Stiles could now see the words, Seth Metesh, Management. "I would like to sincerely apologize for the danger that the two of you were placed in, due to a gross oversight of a newer employee of ours-"
Peter took a tense breath, stood and took a step towards the man, and the man took half a step back, his words cutting off with a click of his teeth. Peter's eyes narrowed, and the familiar look of murder flashed across his face. "Apologize?" Stiles' eyes widened and he stood up, reaching out to set his hand on Peter's arm. His heart was still pounding from the hot, confusing situation from just moments earlier, but now it was pounding all anew.
Peter's lip lifted and his voice came out on the edge of a very real snarl. "If I hadn't been there, Stiles would've died today. He'd be gone. I could've lost him and all you want to do is apologize?!"
Stiles' mouth dropped open, and he stared at the side of Peter's very angry face. The man's chest heaved with strained breaths, like it was taking everything to hold himself back. This? This was real emotion. This wasn't an act. And that means there is very real danger on the horizon if he doesn't calm Peter down right fucking now. Last time Peter looked angry like this, there was bloodshed all over the floor, walls and ceiling.
Stiles wanted to dwell on the fact that he was the reason he was this upset. Peter was this upset because he could've lost Stiles. That's pretty flattering, Stiles thought, but also figured now wasn't the best time for that.
"But, you were there, and we're both fine," Stiles added quietly, squeezing Peter's arm. And as he said it, he realized there were no other noises to drown out his quiet words. Glancing around, he saw all eyes on Peter. Apparently his snarl was enough to catch the attention of every single person in the Lodge.
Peter took a deep breath, and Stiles felt the deep rumble of a sub-sonic growl as he let it out.
"Peter," Stiles said, stepping closer and wrapping both hands around his arm. Peter looked over at him and he looked truly pained. Stiles gave him a reassuring smile, and raised his brows, nodding towards all the people watching. A couple people had their phones out, fucking recording this. What a bunch of nosy assholes. "I'm fine. No one is hurt and everything is okay. And there are people watching, so let's keep it that way, yeah?"
Peter's pained look morphed into a bone-chilling glare as he looked back at the manager. "You're lucky he's okay. Otherwise, suing this place for all that it has would be my most forgiving option."
The man, Seth, looked pale. He cleared his throat and stumbled over his words as he rushed to say, "I-I- Well I'm- We are all so very glad you two are unharmed, and um, on-on-on behalf of Azure Mountain, we'd like to offer the two of you our best bottle of wine to apologize for the unacceptable and, frankly, horrific oversight-"
Peter looked back at Stiles. His hand came up and set on top of Stiles', and his shoulders relaxed beneath Stiles' hands as he sighed. "It's fine," he said, sounding even more tired than he looked. "Not necessary. We don't drink wine."
"Okay, well obviously we can't go home in a fucking blizzard, so how much does it cost for a room here for the night?" Stiles and Peter both overheard an upset woman ask the front desk down the hallway.
Apparently the man heard her too, because he glanced down the hall, then back at Stiles and Peter with a nervous smile. "What about our premium suite for the night? On us." He rearranged his clasped hands and shifted on his feet nervously. Peter looked back at Stiles, just looking at him. The softness in his eyes returned. "Truly, we just want you to know we are so very grievously sorry for-"
Peter looked back at the man. "The room, for as long as the blizzard persists, and a bottle of liquor will suffice," Peter decided.
"Yes! Yes, absolutely. I'll show you to your room right away - I'm sure you'll love it; it has a mini-bar and..."
As the manager continued to ramble around how great the room was, Stiles and Peter grabbed their things. Stiles shoved his jacket, pants and boots under one arm so he had the other one free to grab Peter again if he needed to, but as soon as he turned back around toward Peter, he took Stiles' clothes, tucked them under the arm that also held the skis and snowboard, and handed him his hot chocolate instead. Stiles smiled at him and Seth led them through the Lodge.
Stiles set his hand on Peter's shoulder when he shot the kid that had left the lift running a dangerous glare as they passed. He didn't remove his hand, and Peter didn't seem to mind.
"The high ceilings alone make it feel like a mansion," Seth continued as they walked up some stairs. "And the view from the balcony is just stunning." They came up to a large desk. "Just a moment and I'll get your room keys." Seth walked up to the desk, leaving Stiles and Peter alone with some privacy for the moment.
Stiles looked over at Peter, biting his lip. "So. Was all of that just an act to get a nice room... or did you mean it?"
Peter looked at him through his lashes, and god he was beautiful. "I may have lost control of my anger for a moment-"
"Lost control? No, when you lose control, you black out and kill people. You didn't lose control, you just forgot to make it look like you don't care." He shook his head. "Do you care, Peter? Because if you really don't, and none of that was real, I need to know right now."
"Of course I care, Stiles," Peter sighed. "I care when you get hurt, and I would care if you died." Stiles frowned. "I enjoy your company. Always have."
"Really? Because it never seemed like it."
"Please, if I had ever shown any inclination of wishing to be around you more, you would push me away. You already do everything you can not to get paired with me when researching or going on-"
"Because you always act like a psychopathic maniac!"
Seth came back over to them, and Stiles and Peter both huffed. "Here we go!" he said. In a tense silence, they followed Seth up one more flight of stairs, and then to the only door that greeted them on the third floor. "Here we are!" he opened the door and they followed him in. Stiles side-glared Peter. "This room goes for $800 a night, did you know that? Ooh, and did I mention the adjustable atmospheric lights-"
"I don't know how to be normal anymore, Stiles!" Peter snapped suddenly. "All the things I did, how am I supposed to go back to who I was? The pack wouldn't accept me if I stopped acting like I'm still crazy! This is how they want me, broken and at the edge of the pack so that they don't have to forgive me! Can't you see that?!"
Stiles scoffed and threw his hand in the air. "I don't know, maybe if you stop acting, and just-" He stopped, and narrowed his eyes at Peter. "Wait. What do you mean?" Peter glared. "'Acting' like you're 'still crazy'? Are you seriously suggesting you're not crazy anymore?" Stiles scoffed, but Peter's expression didn't waver.
"I've been working with Deaton. Healing my humanity or whatever the fuck he calls it. I... I've gotten my emotions back." Peter's voice turned soft. "I feel again." He sighed. "And it has been hard to act like I haven't." He gestured to Stiles. "I have been having fun during this trip. It is fun annoying Derek. And it's been fun being with you. And when the lift stopped and it was either jump or get caught in the blizzard, I realized if I hadn't been there... and I realized I couldn't handle if something happened to you." He rubbed his face. "I like you. And I don't want to lose you."
"Well..." Stiles bit his lip and rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn't believe most of the words Peter was saying, but couldn't deny that he seemed more genuine than he's ever seemed before. "That's..."
"I like you, Stiles. You're brilliant and stronger than anyone ever gives you credit for, and you're..." He sighed and looked Stiles up and down, "absolutely beautiful. And this idiot," Peter shot a glare at Seth, who was standing back, staring at them at a loss, "interrupted before I could-..." Peter growled and dropped the stuff in his arms and came closer to Stiles, set his hands on either side of his face, and kissed him.
Stiles gasped, closed his eyes and reveled in the feeling of Peter's lips on his. He set his hand on Peter's chest, and wanted to wrap the other around his neck but he was still holding the damn mug-
Peter took the mug from Stiles' hand and stepped back. Stiles gasped as their lips separated and watched Peter set the mug on an end-table, and then push Seth out the door, snatch the keys from his hand, and shut the door in his face. Stiles laughed, giddy and turned on and so damn confused but fuck, he was all in for it.
"Just to be clear," Stiles said, standing awkwardly still because he still somehow wasn't sure if he could initiate anything, despite the fact that Peter just kissed him, and that's just a testament to how fucking low his self-confidence is. "You... you're not crazy? You're like, fully healed? You know, mentally?"
Peter rolled his eyes. "No, I said I got my emotions back, I didn't magically heal the trauma of going rabid."
"So like, you're still seconds away from homicide at any moment, and manipulative to the point of complete moral ambiguity?" Peter's mouth tilted in a way that told Stiles, yes. Stiles shook his head and stepped toward Peter. "Because I'm totally fine with that."
Peter rose a brow. "You've got some problems, dear." He stepped closer.
Stiles looped his arms around Peter's neck, and Peter wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him against him. "Oh yeah. Big time."
Peter hummed and leaned in, pulling Stiles into a delicious, wet, hot kiss. Stiles moaned when he could feel Peter's erection against his own.
"Let's see about that minibar, yeah?" Peter purred against Stiles' lips. Stiles grinned and looked over at the glass shelves lined with small sample-bottles of various alcoholic drinks.
"I'm more interested in the bed," Stiles said back, grinning. Peter groaned and lifted Stiles up onto his hips. He walked through the room and Stiles moaned when Peter set him down on the bed and crowded over him, grinding their erections together in the process.
"Best vacation ever," Stiles breathed as Peter mouthed at his neck.
"Baby, I'll make this the best night of your entire life," Peter said huskily before nipping at the skin of his throat.
"Shut up and get those stupid snow pants off!"
The blizzard let up the next morning and Peter and Stiles made their way to meet up with the rest of the pack at the Lodge on the other side of the mountain. They were all frowning at each other and looked disheveled and sore, like they'd all slept on the floor and been in several arguments. Stiles heard Erica say, "Worst vacation ever," and Scott and Isaac called her an awful roommate.
As soon as Stiles and Peter got within smelling distance of them, the entire pack froze and their eyes went wide. Stiles grinned and bit his lip while Peter wrapped his arm around Stiles' waist and smirked.
"Best. Vacation. Ever," Stiles said, grinning. "Unfortunately, I've been drinking, so it looks like someone else is going to have to drive me home this time."
"Oh, dear, I would be more than willing to... give you a ride," Peter replied, just as they'd rehearsed.
"Well, then it's settled." Stiles gestured at Isaac, Erica and Scott. "Looks like you guys get to ride with Jackson after all."
"Come on, dear, let's get a head start so we can grab our second breakfast on the way," said Peter, and the entire pack made gagging noises as the two of them walked toward the cars.
Yep. Best vacation ever.
Behind them, the pack looked at each other. The silence stretched on for a long moment.
"I mean," Isaac mumbled, shrugging. "At least he won't be so moody anymore."
The pack hummed in agreement, and their comments on Stiles' moodiness of late overlapped, slowly trailing off after a few moments. Erica looked left, then right, and then started sprinting for the parking lot, shouting, "I call shotgun with Derek!!"
"No! I called dibs, damn it!!" Isaac hollered, running after her. More shouts rung out, and shuffling behind the group of shouting and pushing teenagers, Derek sighed and opened his flask.
"Oh no," he drawled as he drank the entire thing. "I'm drunk. I wonder who's going to drive us home. Can't be me, because that would be irresponsible." He smirked to himself and watched his pack fight for the passenger seat.
They all stared at him when he pushed them out of the way and took their spot. They saw his flask, and then immediately started fighting for who got to drive his Camaro.
Derek leaned back his seat and grinned. It might not have been the best vacation, but one thing he knows for sure is that the next one is going to be the beach. The pack can have the entire ocean to bicker and argue and Derek can take a nap in the sun while Peter and Stiles find a private place to have sex, and everyone can leave him the fuck alone.
Now that sounds like the best vacation ever.