Work Text:
Peter sat at the edge of the dancefloor, sipping a glass of wine and watching idly as the younger members of the pack attempted to dance without stepping on anyone’s feet or looking like flailing children. He and Derek had been trying to teach them, but no one had taken it seriously until they discovered dancing was an important part of multi-pack gatherings, and by then they had only a couple of weeks to learn.
Peter could have shown up every last one of them—and the other packs as well—but, of course, no one had asked him to dance. No one would. Scott had made it clear he considered Peter a necessary evil, and no one would associate with a wolf so snubbed by his own alpha.
Halfway through the evening, Stiles approached Peter. He paused there for a moment, as if waiting, and then set his own wine glass down on Peter’s table. “I owe you a dance.”
Despite himself, an eyebrow quirked up. Peter had won a dance with Stiles (“at the next opportunity”) in a bet months ago. This was the next opportunity, but he hadn’t really expected Stiles to pay up. No one honored promises to Peter unless they were also personally convenient. Dancing with Peter wasn’t convenient to Stiles, especially in a setting this public.
“I’m not sure that will send the message our dear Scott would prefer,” he says aloud.
“Scott has no idea what message that would send,” Stiles says dryly. He holds out a hand. “Come on, now. I don’t like owing you.”
Peter smirks, but he stands and takes Stiles’s hand. “Judging by the pack lessons, I should probably lead.”
Stiles takes up the leading position anyway. “I got extra lessons from Derek.”
He sweeps Peter into the first steps confidently, and Peter finds himself grateful that Stiles actually can lead, because he’s all too distracted.
Stiles had planned for this.
He hadn’t even taken the opportunity to turn the lessons into the fulfillment of his forfeit.
Peter smiles.