Chapter Text
The museum had always been a calming place for him, but not today. Peter extended and retracted his claws, watching them glint under the bright fluorescent lighting. He couldn't fully rescind them back into their sheathes, his talk with Talia still fresh in his mind. Her words keeping him in a perpetual state of anger and misery. She said he was too raw to ever be the pack alpha. He was too raw, but her emotionally charged daughter with the intelligence of a snail was perfectly suited to continue their packs legacy. Maybe if she ever learned to think properly.
He kneaded his claws against his leg, watching those around him circulate the gallery with a quiet fascination, a soft pensiveness. He wondered how much better pack life would be if any of his pack ever stopped to think. Not that it would ever occur to any of those idiots to-”
“Oof!” he winced as he suddenly received a warm, overly exuberant hug. The strangers' arms wrapped around him tight, forcing his own appendages down and trapping them at his side. The feeling of being hugged like this was foreign to him. A rush of cinnamon-scented pheromones hit his nostrils and made them flare. Squinting his eyes open he saw a pretty, brunette omega happily nuzzling against his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” he put as much dripping condescension into his tone as he could reasonably manage, but not a single finger of the boys' grip loosened. He snarled at the omega, giving him a look that clearly stated 'go away,' but the boy continued to persistently cling. The idea that this was just a case of mistaken identity was quickly disproved.
“Do not be alarmed; I am a cuddle therapist,” the omega said, continuing his shoulder nuzzles. His voice held all the authority of the police or an FBI Agent, not the cuddle therapist he claimed to be. Peter scoffed. Cuddly therapy was just an excuse for unmated alphas and omegas to go around throwing their musk and pheromones at anyone who looked twice in their direction. “My keen sense of observation tells me that you are in great distress,” he turned up his eyes, which were wide and brown, looking at him like the last puppy in the pet store.
“You know the whole 'don't be alarmed' thing is supposed to come before you do the thing that’s alarming,” he spat. He scooted back on the bench and wedged his knee up to separate them. It only served to give the omega leverage as he wormed closer and pressed their cheeks together, throwing his arms around Peters' neck. Normally, he would have been more than happy to have a willing omega pawing all over him, but this-
“My name is Stiles,” the omega announced, a little muffled from having their faces squished together. Peters lack of enthusiasm didn't seem to bother him the slightest.
“It's very nice to meet you, Stiles,” Peter gruffed. “Now could you get off?” Stiles appeared to contemplate his request while trying – rather poorly – to get underneath his arm. Peter pressed as far back against the bench as he could without falling off.
“That would be irresponsible of me. You're in distress. What if you decide to go on some alpha-rage rampage through the town?” Peter had never in his life considered punching an omega until this very moment. He glowered at the boy, who finally seemed to take a hint and backed off a little. Only a little. Their thighs were still touching but at least his arms had fallen away.
“I can assure you that won't happen.” He put his hands on Stiles' chest and moved him back another few inches. Surprisingly the omega obliged and put up no resistance to being moved. As Peter pulled his hands back he noticed they were no longer clawed. Then another wave of cinnamon scent hit his nose.
“Stop pumping your pheromones at me,” he warned with a sharp look.
The boy shrugged. “What's your name?”
“Peter. Do you always make a habit of rubbing yourself all over strangers?” He kept his gaze heavy and even with the unperturbed omega.
“Hey, at least I didn't piss on your shoes,” the omega grinned a wide, goofy type smile. Peter ignored the very slight lifting of his own lips.
“No, but seriously, you seem upset. Want to talk about it?” He drew his legs up to his knees and rested his head on them. They were still rather close together, sharing the bench, but it was better than having him practically in his lap. The scent of cinnamon that still lingered was bearable.
“No,” he said, with less heat in his voice. The omega nudged him with his head. He sighed. “Why do you care, Stiles?”
“Because I want to make you feel better,” he tilted his head to the side, and once more reminded Peter of a downtrodden puppy. A poorly trained, downtrodden puppy, but a puppy all the same.
“Why?” he furrowed his brow.
“Because it's what I do! I make big scary alphas like yourself feel all warm and snugly inside,” to emphasize the boy hugged himself and smiled in a way that made his eyes squint. At least he was cute, Peter could give him that much.
“Cuddle therapy is a joke,” he said with a roll of his eyes, and he meant it, too. “If I wanted an omega to get his scent all over me then I could just go out and get one. I'm certain that's not what I want.”
“That's the problem with alphas,” Stiles replied in a sing-song voice. “Sometimes you don't know that's what you want, and you're too stubborn to ask for it.” He didn't try to push Stiles head away when it rested on his shoulder again. He told himself it was because it wasn't worth the effort. “That's why I help.”
“Yes, because having a stranger come up and stick his scent all over me is exactly what I needed today.” He gave another roll of his eyes, but the omegas grin only widened.
“Oh, no? Then where'd your claws go, tough guy?” he was practically smirking now.
“Sneaky little bastard,” he muttered, looking once more to his fully human hands.
“So, are you going to accept my services now, or not?” Peter sighed, he couldn't even remember what his argument had been about. Something about family. In any case, it couldn't be too harmful to just indulge the omega for a little while, if it meant he'd go on his merry way.
“Fine,” he finally relented, lifting up his arm in defeat. The omega was quick to wiggle his way underneath it. Peter placed his hand against the strange omegas hip and pulled him closer, letting his head rest on top of the boys. If he was going to actually let this ridiculous scenario happen, he would let this ridiculous scenario happen the right way. The boy started to emit his pheromones with earnest this time. His warm, cinnamon scent wafted around them like a protective bubble. Peters' shoulders relaxed as he inhaled it. It was like taking a warm bath on the coldest day of the year. He closed his eyes and ran his hand up and down the omegas back. The omega purred, pleased.
“You aren't going to charge me for this, are you?” he asked suspiciously, squinting one eye open. “Because if so, I'd rather you give me the bill now.”
Stiles shook his head. “No. The first one's always free,” he opened his eyes and winked; they sparkled with a mischievous light. “But if you want to cuddle me again, I might charge you next time.” Peter snorted.
“Who says there's going to be a 'next time'?”
“There will be a next time,” Stiles hummed, knowingly. With that, the boy reached into his coat pocket and produced a small card that had his name, dynamic, and a cell number. “There's always a next time.” Peter looked at the card. He could have just refused it, or tore it in half, but instead he took the rectangular piece of paper and tucked it into his pocket. Because after all, Stiles was rather cute, and he did fit perfectly under his arm.
Maybe there was something to cuddle therapy after all. Or maybe there was just something to Stiles.