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As a plate is set in front of him, Peter glances up from his tablet and the New York Times and gives Stiles a small smile, then looks down and is surprised.
It's not breakfast.
The plate holds a small, flat box tied with a blue ribbon.
"It's not my birthday." Glancing back up he finds Stiles hovering, a strange look on his face, and he can't figure it out.
"No...um...it's something I should have stopped being a bitch about years ago," Stiles mumbles.
"Papa, bad word," sings their six year old daughter from the other end of the table.
Peter cocks an eyebrow at her. "Alexandra, what have we said about shifting at the table?" Her wolf ears, fangs and eyes are prominent as she avidly eavesdrops on their quiet conversation.
"Sorry, daddy." Her look is only slightly chagrined as she shifts back to human and resumes shoveling cereal into her mouth.
"Not to mention eavesdropping with your wolfy ears," Stiles adds, and she looks much more apologetic because he rarely scolds the children.
Peter caresses his wrist to draw his attention back and Stiles sinks into the chair next to him, shivering slightly at the caress against the old scars. "What is this about?" he asks quietly.
"Ten years ago tonight, Peter," Stiles breathes.
Ten years ago Stiles was still sixteen and hated him and...oh...He glances back at his tablet, notes the date.
They remember their birthdays, the birthdays of their two children, the deaths of Stiles' mother, his previous Pack and mate, but they have no anniversary celebrations.
Their mating was nothing to celebrate. Peter was so drugged he still remembers only bits and pieces of that night, and he knows Stiles still bears not only the scars on his wrist from the claiming bite, but scars on his soul from an unwanted, forced mating.
Over the decade, with no real choice, no way to quit each other, they've made a life together. Peter's love for Stiles was easy. Stiles cares but he's never said the words back and the older man has learned to live with what he has. A sarcastic, funny, brilliant mate who eagerly adopted two orphaned wolves when he asked--Alexandra when she was only two months and Sam, their nearly three year old when he was was barely five days old--runs the house, and writes wild and fun children's books in his spare time. The Pack's mage and researcher, who has saved their collective asses more times than he can count.
A passionate lover who no longer holds anything back in bed.
So much has changed in the ten years, but their beginning was nothing to remember.
He opens his mouth to tell Stiles so, but Stiles cuts him off with a shake of his head. "I've always blamed you and that wasn't fair. You were drugged, helpless." He glances back at their kids who are engrossed in breakfast and Saturday morning cartoons on the television in the corner, then leans closer, whispering, "I accepted us a long time ago, but I've always held something back." Nudging the box with one finger, he urges, "Open it."
Slowly, Peter does so and the white box isn't jewelry or a pen, it's a key.
"Keys have played big roles in our lives. Real ones and metaphorical ones."
Taking it from the box, Peter fingers it, then looks up, curious. He wants to ask something light, like 'is this the key to your heart' but his own heart is beating too rapidly and he knows this is serious. "Where does it go, Stiles?"
"The one place in our house I've never let you see."
His room, his hideaway, where he practices his magic and writes his books and gets away from Peter when they're fighting, when he wants to hurt him by locking him out.
Peter's never tried to break down the door, never asked to be let in. There were times, especially early on, when Stiles would spend days in that room, ignoring his mate.
Punishing him.
His petulance is one of the few things that Peter doesn't find attractive about Stiles. His mate knows that and has always used it to his advantage. Over the years, especially since the children, it's happened less and less, as has Stiles locking himself away outside of work or study. Peter just assumed that he's become resigned to their relationship as he's grown up, but, maybe...
Hope chokes him, makes his heart spin out of control, and he reaches for Stiles' hand and Stiles lets him take the wrist instead. The connection tightens between them, the bond the younger man has tried to deny so hard for ten years flares hot and real.
If there's a tiny hint of sadness in Stiles' smile, mostly he looks content, and he leans forward and kisses Peter, then murmurs, "I want you to come in whenever you need to. I don't want to hide anymore," and kisses him again.
"I love you, Stiles." He says it softly, not expecting a response, because he's never gotten one.
Except...Stiles' smiles again and places one hand over Peter's rapidly beating heart. "I love you, too."
With a growl of delight, of shock, of complete adoration, Peter pulls him onto his lap and kisses him hungrily.
At the other end of the table, Alexandra yells, "Gross!" which makes Sam giggle and snort milk out his nose, and Stiles just wraps his arms around his mate and laughs into his neck.
Their relationship will never be perfect. It will always have the baggage of having begun so badly, but for the first time, Peter feels like they're truly mates. It's not just the bite and the bond pulling them together.
It's love.
End