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Stiles slept, curled into himself, arms tight around his waist and chest, as if protecting himself. The sheet was tangled around his hips, barely covering him, and Peter wanted to pull it down, clean his mate with his tongue, wake him and fuck him all over again.
Instead, wearing only a pair of pants, he sat in a chair next to the bed and waited for him to wake up.
After they had made the unconscious boy more comfortable on the bed, Derek had left the apartment to find his Pack and tell them of the changes. They now had a mated pair which made the Pack as a whole stronger, more stable.
Even though Peter was certain Stiles would wake up cursing him and then fight him every step of the way.
He was also pretty certain that the young man knew that was futile. That werewolf mate bonds were for life, felt by both partners, even by humans. Stiles' heart, his body, would want Peter, need the wolf, crave his touch. It was a powerful thing and had nothing to do with consent or caring.
Yes, Stiles would fight him as best he could, and Peter didn't want to force him, didn't want their relationship to be tainted even more than it already was from the non-consensual mating bite he'd inflicted.
So, he'd be patient. After all, he'd planned to wait for Stiles to grow up, at least reach the legal age of eighteen, before even approaching him as anything more than a friend and fellow pack mate. He could let Stiles come to him.
And he would. Even if Peter didn't pull on it, the bond would draw Stiles to him and his bed.
Inside him, his wolf grumbled in discontent. Having had him once, having claimed him, with the bite on the nape of his neck still oozing a bit of tangy blood, it wanted the boy again, now.
Peter's cock stirred and he pressed the heel of his hand to it, frowning at himself. He was more human than wolf. Sane again without the wolfsbane affecting him, he'd prove that by letting Stiles sleep.
And he'd prove it again by letting him go when he awoke.
No matter how much that thought made his heart ache with longing and loss.
Still, he wasn't a stupid man. Stiles was underage. His father was the Sheriff. Most importantly, John Stilinski had no idea that werewolves were real. Even if he could accept that, he'd never accept Peter as Stiles' mate, not, at least until they could reveal the bond without the threat of arrest due to Stiles' age..
So, they'd wait. They'd be together in secret.
Peter, who'd had a mate, who'd spent every day of their bond with her, every night in her arms, even the night she'd birthed their cub, wasn't certain how he'd survive being apart from Stiles for any length of time during the nearly ten months until he turned eighteen.
The wolf growled again, not happy, and Peter sighed. Tiredly he rubbed his other hand over his eyes and stretched a bit in the chair. These dark thoughts weren't helping his growing exhaustion. The hour long flight through the woods from Hunters, the arrow laced with wolfsbane aphrodisiac piercing his shoulder, the two hours it took to get to Derek's as he grew more and more feverish with need, followed by the frantic sex and the bite, had worn him out. The bed looked so inviting.
But, before he could rise to crawl in beside his mate, the wait was over.
Stiles blinked open bleary, confused eyes, that instantly cleared to hard amber when they lit on him.
End