Work Text:
Peter first sees him with his hands slamming a senior's head into a row of lockers.
There are whispers - threats, Peter picks out from all the commotion - made against the stupefied senior's ear while the boy holds him down with strong forearms against his throat, and the word "sister" has Peter's eyes roaming curiously over to the girl standing on the sideline with an amused quirk to her lips. The boy still has the senior pinned to the metal when their eyes come into contact and they linger on each other as the arms finally let go of the trembling senior. Peter watches the siblings make their way down the hallway, the stares of their schoolmates following their steps, and that marks the fateful day Peter Hale falls irrevocably in love.
"Who the hell are you?"
Peter extends a hand towards the fair-haired boy as courtesy dictates, and he retracts it, too, after a few seconds of it just lingering in the open air. He gives a mental shrug - rudeness is a character flaw Peter can forgive.
"Peter Hale, captain of the basketball team," He says in the face of the other boy's vexed expression, calling forth a charming smile that always has the girls fawning in school. "I'm sorry, but I think I missed your name."
"That's cause I never gave it to you."
Peter hums, eyes trailing to the same girl from before who's eyeing Peter up and down with a glare so intense it makes him want to shiver in distaste. Still, he redirects his focus and turns a blinding smile to the girl's brother who seems much more fascinating anyway.
"Ah, see, I wouldn't object to you giving a lot of things to me." Peter makes sure to flash his teeth this time, shooting for the fine line between predatory and seductive.
"Like a punch to the jaw?" The boy deadpans and Peter feels his grin stretch across his face. "For denting my car."
"It's still intact, don't worry," Peter pats the hood under himself for emphasis, "Nice ride, by the way."
The boy motions for his sister to get into the passenger seat, and once she's (thankfully) no longer sizing Peter up with her maniac look, he has the time to admire the muscles in her brother's folded arms (and he ogles them openly, too, lest his intentions be misunderstood). The look he receives in response has a subtle shiver running down the werewolf's body, and Peter slides off the hood just to be that bit closer.
"You know, I already told you my name. It would be rude not to share yours."
Peter keeps smiling even as the boy's eyes narrow, and he uses the other's scrutinizing attention to deliberately bite his lip, feeling triumphant when the boy's gaze flickers down for a moment.
"Your flat ass was on my car. I think we can move past social pleasantries."
The boy shoulders past him and opens the door on the driver's side, still in hearing shot of Peter's "So you looked at my ass!" comment as he settles behind the wheel. They make eye contact through the windshield, and Peter doesn't bother to hide his smirk.
"There's gonna be a game this Friday. You should come!" Peter shouts as the motor starts and almost stumbles over the curb when the car - instead of backing out of the parking lot like expected - jumps forward with its bumper knocking straight into Peter's leg. He stares after the vehicle with an open mouth, and when the car swerves to the side, the window is rolled down the tiniest bit.
"I don't like basketball!"
And with that final word, the siblings drive away, making Peter's heart soar for the rest of the day.
"If I haven't made it obvious, I don't need an escort."
Chris is in a bad mood, and Peter knows that because it usually takes more than his mere presence to have those cloudy creases appear above the familiar pair of steel-blue eyes. As he sinks into the chair opposite Chris, he wonders if it has anything to do with the other boy's dad. He hasn't met the man yet, but after overhearing one conversation on the phone, Peter is convinced that there are people out there who just sound like they could use a good ol' kicking to the balls. Or you know, a bit of full-body tackle from a bus.
"Were you raised by wolves?" Peter teases, ignoring Chris's grim expression because the other boy is simply not aware of how ironic that joke is. "First, you don't introduce yourself, and now you're disturbing people in the library. You're not painting a very alluring picture of yourself, Christopher."
"And yet it never manages to get rid of you."
Peter smirks despite the other boy seemingly being immune to it and leans forward in his chair.
"I think you should be grateful. I haven't noticed many people lining up to be friends with you."
"It hasn't crossed your mind that maybe that's exactly what I want?" Chris arches an eyebrow that appears at least slightly less tense than before. Clearly, Peter has a good effect on him. "Plus you're not my friend. You're more like a puppy, following me around like you're waiting for me to adopt you."
"Would it help if I wiggled my ass?" Peter grins, and although Chris purposefully does an eye-roll at that, his lips tug up shyly at the corners.
"I haven't seen you at the game." Peter chats faux casual, looking at the notes Chris is apparently trying to revise.
"I told you. I don't like basketball."
"You also told me you don't like me, but I know for a fact that it was a lie," Peter points out, smug grin in place.
"And how would you know that?"
Peter is tempted to tell the truth right now and he's not sure why. Probably because it would definitely put an end to Chris's steadfast denial, plus Peter would get great joy out of proving the other boy wrong. As it is, he has to settle for a half-truth.
"You have a tell," Peter says, mentally patting his back when Chris's eyes stray to the side for a second as if he's contemplating what the tell might be. "By the way, if you keep this up, friends won't be the only ones you won't have trouble warding off."
"What do you mean?" Chris asks, steel blue mixing with a mist of confusion, "You will finally fuck off?"
Peter gives him a mock smile that's closer to a grimace before relaxing back into his chair. "You can't get a ticket for the first class flight of scholarships if the only thing you do is study."
Chris shakes his head dismissively. "I don't need one."
"But you want to get into a good college."
The boy narrows his eyes as if it isn't the easiest thing in the world to read him. Seriously, Chris is the most boring person Peter hangs out with, and he's honestly questioning his sanity for that decision at least daily.
"You study more than any other person I know."
"Great, I bring up our average IQ by a minimum of 70."
It's Peter's turn to roll his eyes then. "You never hang out with anyone and you're not a member of any clubs. How are you planning to get into college and finally escape from your family if there's nothing that would be interesting about you?"
Chris's eyes widen for a second and Peter really has no patience for his little mental freakout right now about why Peter knows so much about his ambitions. The werewolf has a hunch that supersenses would just not fly with Chris.
"So what? I should join the basketball team?" Chris finally snaps, although his words lack passion.
"Or the cheerleaders. I heard they are recruiting." Peter smirks as he throws Chris a side glance, not even surprised by the long-suffering sigh he gets in return. It seems like Chris's default reaction to him.
"Sweating is not my thing."
"Neither is conversing, but I talk to you." Peter retorts and barely manages to dodge Chris's kick under the table.
"Where's the last club you would be found dead in?" Chris asks him after a minute of fencing with their feet.
"The chess club." Peter immediately answers, still distracted by how elevated his heart rate is from such a simple play fight. It's the first time Chris has been anything but annoyed or serious around him, and it throws Peter for a bit of a loop.
"Alright, that's good enough."
"What?" Peter frowns, trying to catch up to the conversation and snorting when he does. "Can you even play chess?"
"Does it matter?"
And for the cheeky smile Chris gives him, Peter's heartbeat doubles in secret.
"You can get my extra sandwich if you drive me home from practice this afternoon."
Chris's irises do a full circle as he snatches the sandwich from Peter's hand.
"You act like you don't make these extra sandwiches specifically for me."
Peter sits down at the table, not even arguing the point while he gets out his own pre-packed lunch. He's usually tasked with making small sandwiches for Laura so it really doesn't make a difference if he makes one more while he's at it. That's what he tells himself, anyway.
"You still have to give me a ride."
"Why exactly?"
"Cause I'm your friend?" Peter shoots a condescending look to compete with Chris's judgemental eyebrows, "Friendship Code. Rule No 7."
"Friendship Code?"
"Yeah. For example, by being my friend, you agree to do same-sex experimentation only with me." Peter tells him confidently and counts it as a win when Chris shoots a grin back.
"And which rule is that exactly?"
"Rule 69."
Chris almost laughs at that, the sound barely stopping at his bitten lips, and Peter spends a moment just watching the sun reflect in Chris's sea-bond eyes that whirl with juvenile mirth. They are almost as blue as the sky today.
They eventually finish their lunch with a few more minutes to waste until class.
"Wanna play chess?" Chris asks while already retrieving his board like the loser he is.
"You still think you can beat me?"
"I will. One day," Chris insists as he sets up the board, "I still can't believe you made me believe you don't know how to play chess. Or that you forced me to egg the principal's house."
"Hey, you agreed to the bet," Peter points out, "And I never denied the first one."
"Whatever. Just tell me when to pick you up later."
"We should be studying."
Chris's mumble is half-hearted at best. His complaints have been slowly dying out ever since Peter began sucking bruise after bruise into his neck, and the way his hands became comfortable with their position in Peter's back pockets is telling of how far his thoughts actually are from anything school-related.
"First priority: to satiate your boyfriend," Peter breathes sensually into Chris's ear, hips buckling forward and nearly knocking over the bookshelf his boyfriend has been pushed up against, "And I'm currently starving."
Chris's increasingly louder moans are music to Peter's ears and he wishes he could listen to them all day long, have Chris spread out underneath him and at his mercy while he pours his love over every inch of his boyfriend's sinful body. The imagery is too good for Peter not to rake his teeth over Chirs's Adam's apple, his groan fading into a quiet chuckle when Chris immediately slams their hips together for more ample friction. Peter is just about to pull the zipper of his boyfriend's jeans down and maybe progress their relationship to the next step (finally with Chris equally on board with the idea) when an animalistic growl from the hallways interrupts their frantic grinding.
They both freeze at the wall-shaking volume of it and Peter instantly regrets agreeing to Chris's earlier suggestion of the library being a perfect venue for their late-night rendezvous. Even past the litany of curses in his mind, Peter's ears pick up on the approaching footsteps before someone busts through the library's door, unlabored breaths filling the otherwise empty place as a kid around their age almost collapses to the table right next to the aisle they are hiding in. Chris's hand is covering his mouth but Peter knows that it won't do much once the kid's senses pick up on their rabbitting heartbeats. True to his predictions, glowing yellow eyes are turned towards them in the next second, the colour even more vibrant in the full moon's light as it breaks through the windows and casts the room in a silvery haze. Peter's eyes flash back on their own accord.
"Stay behind," Chris instructs while towering as a shield between Peter and the stranger like the protective idiot that he is.
Before Peter could shout "fuck that" and jump in front of his boyfriend (supernatural family secret be damned), Chris is already kneeling down on the ground and getting something small like a whistle out of his backpack. An ear-piercing screech emits from the device next as Chris blows into it, and Peter soon has his hands over his ears while the unknown kid recoils at the inaudibly high sound. Fortunately, Chris isn't watching Peter. His focus is concentrated entirely on the kid as he tosses the transmitter in the stranger's direction who instinctively jumps back a few feet and curls up with a low whine on the floor. Peter can barely react before Chris is pulling him out of the library, not letting go of his hand until they reach the parking lot where they both slump over with heaving chests.
"What...?"
Peter looks at Chris and his rigid stature as he straightens, thinks time might freeze for a few seconds as his boyfriend grips his shoulders tight and stares into his eyes with frightening severity.
"Don't panic but... that was a werewolf. And I'm a hunter."
Well, fuck.
The moan his boyfriend lets out when Peter shifts his hip upwards is outrageously wanton so he makes it a point to do it again.
They are finally in a bed - Chris's bed, nonetheless, covered in the boy's earthy scent which is all kinds of tempting - with their hands clasped together and shirts discarded, sloppily making out in a way that challenges Peter's studiously-practiced restraint even with the moon barely shining at its waning crescent.
Peter thinks their position couldn't get any better but Chris proves him wrong by bringing his hands up above his head and holding Peter down with a strength that could in no way outpower a werewolf, but still keeps Peter in place steady enough for it to be sexy. Peter struggles playfully, trying to free at least one of his hands so that he can touch his boyfriend properly when he feels the ring slip off his finger and he turns around so fast that he accidentally elbows Chris in the stomach.
The cry of pain behind him goes ignored. Peter has tunnel vision as he searches the sheets in a frenzy, his eyes soon spotting the piece of jewellery stuck between the mattress and the bedframe and he slips the ring back on with relief rushing out of his lungs in one big sigh.
"Sorry," He says to a nonplussed Chris while he resettles on his back, "Family heirloom."
Chris lets it go, thankfully, after much coaxing from Peter's tongue against his mouth, but Peter's nerves do not relax for the rest of the afternoon.
Peter took the ring from the Hale vault after pestering the information out of his sister with growing suspicious on her side. Talia hasn't told him off yet - and that is alarming on its own - but she must know that he took it, especially after having caught Peter slipping it on one day right before exiting the Hale house.
The ring is special - forged during a lunar eclipse with the pure blood of a virgin (and why do so many spells require virgins, anyway?). Peter has no idea why his family would own such a magical object, but what matters to him is that the jewellery possesses the same power as the eclipse normally would over a werewolf, with the only curtailment being a limitation to the ring's radius that only affects the wearer. It is simple magic, all in all, rendering Peter human whenever he wears it.
Some would think that it goes against Peter's very nature, to give up a significant part of himself for some teenage crush. And Peter himself was surprised by the discovery of just how far he would go to be with Chris, even if it means denying his true identity and putting up a pretence in front of his boyfriend. Many relationships have been built on lies, the werewolf justifies to himself late at night, and Peter is not above a little sacrifice for his own.
After all, Chris might be a nice guy, but even he could never learn to love an "animal" like him. Peter is a lot of things, but definitely not delusional.
"We could run away."
The Moon is high in the sky, casting Chris in an ethereal beauty, and Peter rolls to his side just to admire him.
"And where would we go?" He asks, smile almost as wide as Chris's. It's been harder these days.
"How do you feel about France?"
Peter lets out a breath of amusement, although he doesn't object to the idea. He lets Chris pull him down until his head is lying comfortably over the hunter's chest, the steady thrum of Chris's heart washing over him protectively and making him forget the illusion that their love balances on with wobbling feet.
"Sounds magnifique," Peter whispers softly, tears gathering in his eyes when Chris plants a kiss on the top of his head.
The Moon is high and taunting in the sky, and Peter thumbs the ring on his finger as he mourns the love he's yet to lose.
"You're doing this for a boy?! A hunter, on top of that?!"
Talia's condescending voice paired with her incredulous look is nothing short of disappointed, and while Peter would usually rise to the bait to argue with his sister, today has him shrinking into his cushions with knees pulled up to his chest and holding one of Chris's shirt with a white-knuckled grip.
"Is that all? Cause you can fuck off then."
It lacks heat, and even on a regular day, his words wouldn't deter Talia from sharing what she thinks with the world.
"This will end badly."
There is a barely audible growl when Peter snaps back: "Don't you think I know that?"
Peter has thought about it so many times. No matter if he was alone or wrapped inside Chris's arms, the inevitable lingered in front of his face as if to mock him for his romantic delusions. Peter understands risk and reward, and he's decided that he would give everything up for Chris, whether Talia approves or not.
"So why?"
Peter's mind jolts back into reality and he inhales the scent of his anchor with desperate need. "I love him."
It's quiet, not that Talia would have any trouble hearing him. Sure enough, her voice - pitying and concerned - crosses the distance between them and she steps closer with a nigh silent exhale: "Oh Pete."
He doesn't push her off when she lies down beside him, and while they do not exchange any further words, her silent comfort is still appreciated.
"Keep pressure on it!"
To be fair, Chris is probably panicking more than Peter and he isn't even the one bleeding out on the woodland soil. His voice sounds more terrified than ever - and his heartbeat wasn't this erratic when faced with the murderous wendigo a few minutes ago - and his fear is making him snappier than usual, which subsequently makes Peter feel irritated on top of all the pain he's currently experiencing.
"I'm doing just that," Peter hisses as more blood gushes out of him, and damn, he has just bought this shirt!
Peter has to chalk it up to his bad luck which seems to strike him with unprecedented force this day. They originally came to the preserve to spend some time together without the usual prying eyes - Peter still blames Chris's sister who is an A-class nosy bitch - but of course, their date wouldn't have been complete without a wendigo just appearing out of nowhere to hunt them down for sport and pleasure. Peter's first instinct was obviously to shelter Chris from the attacker, and he fell to the ground after a single swipe of those claws (how embarrassing!) just as they heard the sounds of arrows dashing through the air. The hunters ran off after the wendigo - their timing couldn't suck less - with Chris's father trusting his son to drive Peter safely to the nearest hospital, and wasn't that just the worst of luck for the werewolf?
Chris has been trying to haul him up, but the problem is that Peter is losing blood way faster than he should be, and he doubts they would make it to the hospital in time (not that Peter ever planned to go there in the first place).
"It's gonna be fine, everything's gonna be fine," Chris repeats as if the words could miraculously stitch Peter's torso back together, and while the werewolf can't smell his chemosignals under the present circumstances, he can still note every hint of emotion playing out on Chris's pale countenance.
"There you go," Chris breathes out shakily as he wraps his jacket tightly over Peter's wound, "I'm gonna carry you to the car now, okay?"
"There's no use, Christopher."
Apparently, those are the magic words to transform Chris into a beast of fury. (And where was that when Peter needed it during angry sex?)
"Come on, Pete, you can't do this to me," Chris berates with shaking hands that are already covered in blood, "I still haven't defeated you in chess."
"That's 'cause I'm smarter than you," Peter smiles, even as his vision is starting to blur at the edges.
Peter knows he can stop all of this, put an end to the misery.
But removing the ring would mean losing Chris, and that kind of agony is worse than bleeding to death. He just doesn't want to see the disgust on Chris's face - that would be a horrible thing to witness right before his heart gets pierced through by an arrow.
"This is my fault."
Peter barely hears the words being whispered, but it leaves him unable to look away from the glistening blue hues of Chris's eyes. Peter knows at that moment that the way Chris cradles his face and sobs into his hair is the most vulnerable anyone has ever seen the boy. It's a testament to his feelings (please, let it be true), and Peter mutters a prayer to the Moon as the ring hits the forest ground with finality.
Peter doesn't dare to breathe as his skin begins to knit itself back together, and it doesn't take long for Chris to notice his silence. There is a sharp intake of breath against his ear, and Peter hates every second of the way his boyfriend leans back cautiously as if to prepare himself for the sight of a corpse in his lover's place. When Chris sits back on his heels and chances a glance up, his red-rimmed eyes reflect shock and pure relief and confusion all in one look that Peter knows will soon give way to raging hatred.
He still smiles, though, and something shifts in Chris's look at the ease with which Peter peels away the bloodied jacket. Now that Chris has stopped crying, it's Peter's turn to grieve as he whispers a delicate "sorry" into the rift between them. Chris's face hardens at the word, and his hands feel suddenly ice cold as they reach for Peter's shirt and they tug the garment up to reveal smooth skin under the already-dried blood.
Even with his werewolf senses regained, Peter can't tell the feelings swirling inside Chris as the hunter looks him dead in the eye, and that scares him more than the prospect of dying ever did.
"Surprise."
Chris stumbles to his feet like he's been punched in the face. Peter sighs - resigned and exhausted - as he pulls himself up to a standing position.
"You're a werewolf." It's a simple statement, devoid of emotion. Peter smiles through the clench of his heart.
"That's me."
"But how-?"
Peter seizes the ring from the ground and it catches the Moon's light through the crown of the trees. "Ring forged with the power of the lunar eclipse. Takes away all power from the creatures of the night."
Chris regards the ring for a few seconds and it's the most aggravating moment in Peter's life.
"I'm sorry I haven't told you," Peter says, deciding that he must make his last words meaningful and honest, "I haven't hurt anyone ever, I swear. And I... I didn't know you were a hunter, not until that day in the library. And then you told me your last name and I knew you would hate me for what I am, and I... I guess I didn't want to lose you."
Chris looks solid like a statue through the entirety of the lamest reveal speech in history and Peter realizes it doesn't matter anymore.
"I couldn't tell you because I was already in love with you."
Chris turns around so fast, Peter is sure he's about to storm away. He watches with a racing heart and shallow breaths, counting every second of his life that he hopes will be spared.
"None of that matters." The gravity of Chris's words shatters Peter's heart right then and there, and the werewolf nods with the hopelessness of a dead man. He should run, he knows that, but his feet will never carry him away from Chris. His wolf will never leave Chris's side willingly, and that is as real as the impossibility of their future.
"It doesn't matter," Chris repeats as he spins back around with an intensity in his eyes that is equal parts scary and soft. His lips tug into a smile, terrified and hesitant. "It doesn't matter because I'm in love with you, too."
Peter waits for a second. He waits for Chris to take it all back, to bring his world to ruins and force Peter to his knees and crush every hope that the werewolf might have tentatively blossoming in his mended chest. But Chris doesn't do any of that. When the hunter reaches out with one hand, eyes telling of nothing but love, Peter moves on instinct and tackles Chris to the ground with open arms already waiting for him.
This kiss is different. It's deep, intimate and disrupted with sporadic laughs of joy that they muffle against each other's tear-soaked lips. It's sweet and promising, but above all, it makes Peter believe that they might have a chance after all.