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With the metallic tang of blood tainting his lips, Peter kisses Stiles.
It’s an all-consuming kiss: lips bruising, tongues entwining and breathing ragged.
It’s an ugly kiss: saliva pooling at the corner of Stiles’ lips, catching a tint of red before sliding down his chin.
It’s a life-changing kiss, bracketed by the tendrils of dawn reaching into the sky and pulling out orange, blue and pink hues. As night becomes day, this kiss is the inflection point where before becomes now and now becomes after.
Stiles groans into Peter’s mouth, letting his lover swallow every gasp and every moan. His heart pounding away in his chest and echoing in his ears blocks out any sound that isn’t them, and he wonders if it is even more deafening for Peter’s keen senses.
It is.
The confirmation ricochets in his brain, in the same silky smooth tone that Peter favors, as though he’d spoken aloud.
But their lips hadn’t parted for words.
How?
Stiles thinks the word only for a second before he suddenly can see fragments of memories that aren’t his — of stories told long ago about near-death experiences, mates, and bonds that transcend even the understanding of the supernatural.
It’s not the first time they’ve nearly died side-by-side, but it’s the first since they’d started their unlabeled relationship of stolen moments. And somehow those months of late night research sessions turned sexploratory sleepovers was enough to snap fate into place.
You’re mine. Everyone will know you’re mine, Peter proclaims, as though he hadn’t been the one to sneak out in the wee hours of the morning. As though he hadn’t been the one to hand over balms to make the well-earned hickeys and bruises disappear. As though he hadn’t insisted that they shower thoroughly after sex to slough off the scent of their combined pleasure as though it were dirt.
Stiles had wanted more, but every indication had been that Peter hadn’t wanted the same.
I did. I was biding my time, but I did. I do.
It’s too much.
Stiles breaks away from the kiss, opening his eyes, and letting their surroundings come into focus again — the rustle of leaves as the wind blows through the trees, the tinkle of the zipper on the cuff of Derek’s leather jacket as he plays with it absentmindedly, and a groan of pain from another member of the pack (Isaac, perhaps?)
Still, it’s too quiet for an area with five werewolves, one banshee, one hunter, and one kitsune.
“What the fuck?” Scott finally explodes, breaking the silence. He takes a step forward, red eyes flashing, but Derek’s arm shoots out to hold him back.
“Surprise?” Stiles jokes weakly, but the only person who laughs is Peter, who is wrapping his arms around him like that’s something they do outside of bed.
“You’re mates,” Derek says, his voice awed and Stiles remembers that just as he’d seen in Peter’s mind, Derek must have also sat through all those stories as a child. “You’re glowing.”
Stiles looks down at his body, only to realize it isn’t a metaphorical glow like the one attributed to pregnant women. This is a medieval-religious-painting-level golden glow that coats him and Peter in a layer of shimmering brightness.
It’s been years since he’s felt so out-of-depth with the supernatural.
He tries to touch the shimmers by running his hand up his arm, but all he can feel is the usual warmth of his skin and the small bumps of wounds long since scarred.
“What do you mean by mates?” Scott asks, but some of the fight has left him.
Peter nuzzles Stiles’ hair, and Stiles doesn’t have to turn his face to see the smirk he knows resides on those kiss-swollen lips. He can feel the amusement and possessiveness through their bond.
“We’re together for life,” Peter says simply.
It feels like Stiles has just jumped from a friends-with-benefits (acquaintances-with-benefits?) situation into a marriage, but he can’t find it in himself to complain. Not when he can see how deep the layers of Peter’s mind goes — the schemes he has in progress, and the ones still yet to come to fruition, and yet this… he… isn’t one of them.
They really are fated.
Scott manages to break free of Derek’s grasp and lunges towards Peter, but Stiles pushes himself in front of his mate just in time for his best friend to stop before damage can be done.
“Since when?” Scott’s eyes are on Stiles as though pleading for him to say that this is all a ruse and not a betrayal of their friendship.
It takes several panicked breaths before Stiles can answer.
He aims for casual.
It’s not casual.
“Since we became mates? Mere minutes. Since we started seeing each other? A few months, give or take. It wasn’t anything serious at first. I didn’t think you needed or wanted to know.”
“And you never told us? Any of us? We’re your pack! You never told me.”
“Did you really want to hear about how I fucked Stiles on the same couch where you two play videogames on Saturdays? Because we have. And I have more lovely memories, I’d be more than happy to share,” Peter offers.
Scott recoils. “Well no, but..”
Mentally Peter adds, Or maybe he wants to know how good I look spread on your thick cock.
Seriously, Peter?
He started it. The childish retort makes Stiles laugh.
“I’m happy for you,” Kira states, cutting through the tension between her packmates.
“Me too, even if you two will be insufferable, ” Derek agrees. “I still can’t believe I’m seeing a mating bond form in front of me. They’re so rare, the only pair I knew were my grandparents.”
Scott isn’t the only one who remains silent, but he’s the one who hurts the most even if Stiles can’t really blame him.
They used to share everything — details about every crush, every hookup, every…
I’m a little insulted you didn’t tell our so-called True Alpha about me, the best thing that ever happened to you.
How do you know I never told him about some not-so-random guy with a lingerie fetish?
I can see into your mind, sweetheart. And it’s not a fetish. My ass just looks fucking fantastic in red lace.
“I change my mind, I don’t want to know. Any chance you can turn the glowing thing off? It’s getting brighter and hurting my eyes.”
Peter turns to Scott’s interruption, half-shifts and snarls, “Leave.”
Peter, don’t be rude — they’re still our pack, even if half of them aren’t taking this situation all that well. Although.. why exactly are we glowing?
It’s an unfinished bond. And unless you have an exhibitionist streak I didn’t know about, you should be glad I asked them to go, because I’m not going to wait any longer to fuck you.
Here?
Here. Unless you want to keep glowing and going around looking like the child of a human and a lightbulb.
Peter pulls Stiles more fully into his chest, dipping his head to nose at Stiles’ neck before nipping at the sensitive skin.
Oh.
Stiles turns to kiss Peter squarely on the mouth again, too impatient to wait for the rest of the pack to clear out.
It’s all-consuming.
It’s ugly.
It’s life-changing.
It’s the start of another kiss.
And another.