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moonlettuceTitle: Turn Me Over
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,298
Summary: In which Peter gets into Chris' body, but not in the way he'd imagined it
Additional Notes: Beta'ed by Temaris.
Based on a prompt from inouken: A Chris/Peter masturbation prompt, eh? How about bodyswap fic? Peter jerking off in Chris' body or vice versa or both. Or throw a twist in there and have it be a bodyshare fic instead, then it can be masturbation and a handjob in one.
Turn Me Over
One of these days, Peter thinks while looking in the mirror, he's just going to take young Mr Stilinski by the throat and shake him until his brains fall out. Yes, the boy is brilliant and has a mind that Peter can absolutely appreciate, but he's so damned undisciplined, so damned willing to dive in and to hell with the consequences.
Which leads to Peter's current predicament.
It wasn't meant to do that-- Stiles had said.
I'll find a way to reverse it-- Stiles had said.
Oh god, please don't kill me-- Stiles had said.
Although Peter hadn't been sure if that last one had been aimed at him or Chris, who had been showing an impressive amount of control for someone who had just been thrown into the body of a werewolf.
Only Stiles could set out to develop a protection spell and end up with a body swap one instead. And Peter has to admit, he's had a lot of thoughts about getting Chris Argent inside him, but this hadn't been exactly what he was thinking.
Both he and Chris had been banned from leaving the loft by Derek, not wanting Chris out there with wolf abilities he wouldn't necessarily be able to restrain under duress and just not wanting Peter out there at all.
(Peter thought this was very unfair, and it wasn't like he'd been planning to immediately track down Allison and spend some time telling her that, yes, her habit of dating werewolves was absolutely understandable, and how did she feel about possibly having Peter as a step-parent. And then there may have been thoughts about a trip to the Sheriff's station, and handing over all of Chris' weapons as part of an amnesty and change of heart in owning such atrocious killing machines. And maybe he would have spent some time rearranging all of Chris' cupboards. That one had no reason behind it beyond it would have been hilarious to watch Chris try to find anything. So, actually, in hindsight, maybe not letting him leave was a good idea.)
Even though the two of them had been banned from leaving, they'd also been banished from the main room. Apparently, Chris in Peter's body could still do an impressive bout of threatening looming, and after the seventh comment from Peter about should they really be trusting Stiles with this considering he was the one who cause the swap in the first place, Derek had sent them both to the bedrooms. (Channelling Talia in both tone and action as Derek's hand had shot out and he'd pointed them up the stairs with a growled out "Go!")
Chris had gone up first, and Peter found himself thinking that he'd really made a good choice when he'd bought those jeans as they framed his ass perfectly. And it was kind of strange watching his own body, but watching it move like Chris, like a hunter.
Peter had gone into Derek's room (the one he decided to use after admitting that there were perfectly good bedrooms upstairs and, no, there was no actual reason for having the bed next to the kitchen area other than it made staggering out of bed for breakfast quicker than it would normally be), and Chris into the spare (the one that Stiles claims he stays in occasionally when it gets to be too late to go back home, and that Peter knows hasn't been slept in for months).
But Derek's bookshelves are boring and the only ones he'd be interested in reading he already has. Which is why he finds himself in front of the mirror attached to one of wardrobes (and, really, Derek? three wardrobes?), lifting a hand to trace his fingertips over Chris Argent's face looking back at him.
And Chris is a good looking man, Peter's not embarrassed to admit that he thinks that. Yes, he's a hunter and therefore shouldn't really be the first choice of romantic partner for a werewolf, but Peter has seen his fingers when he reloads those guns of his, has seen how he handles his weapons with such acute precision that Peter can't help but think of how they'd handle Peter's body.
Shrugging out of the leather jacket and pulling off the t-shirt, Peter throws them over to the bed. Chris' body is toned, and Peter licks his lower lip as he runs fingers over his chest. He flicks at a nipple, and it turns out Chris' nipples are far less sensitive than Peter's are. (Peter once came just from his partner at the time sucking at his nipples and rolling them between his fingers.) Still, though, it doesn't stop Peter from thinking about pinning Chris down, about straddling him and spending hours just laving Chris nipples with his tongue, until he's begging Peter to swallow him down.
There are scars scattered across Chris' skin, and it feels strange to Peter that his body should have such permanent reminders of failure. The three lines across Chris' side are werewolf claws, Peter would recognise those anywhere. He's pretty sure the slightly jagged scar across his left shoulder is a knife, which suggests either Chris has had some interesting fights with someone human, or he's been playing with supernatural creatures that don't come with their own claws.
Burn mark. Bullet wound. More claw marks. Peter catalogues each of the marks as he goes, each of them giving a little more insight into Chris' life. Catalogues them until he reaches the dark trail of hair leading down and dipping below the waistband of the jeans Chris is wearing. (They're cheap but sturdy, and Peter is kind of horrified that the outcome of Stiles' little side trip into stupidity means that he now knows what it feels like to wear WalMart clothes.)
Peter knows he shouldn't, knows that there are a hundred reasons he shouldn't flick open those jeans. It's not his body (even if he's currently inhabiting it), anyone could just walk in (although being found with his fingers around Chris Argent's junk wouldn't be the worst position someone's found him in), Chris could have a ridiculously small penis thereby disappointing Peter for life (he doesn't, Peter can already feel it against his thigh). All of the reasons swim around Peter's head, but they all fall prey to the overriding thought in his mind. That he's wanted to get his hands on Chris Argent's dick for years, and nothing is going to stop him now he has the opportunity. (And, yes, he would have preferred that Chris was actually in his body while Peter had his fingers wrapped around him, but you can't get everything.)
Snapping open the buttons on the jeans, Peter hooks his fingers into them, pushing the denim and the tight boxers Chris had put on that morning down in one go.
Chris' cock is already half hard, and Peter wastes no time in wrapping his fingers around the flesh he's now attached to. Chris is cut, so it's a different sensation for Peter, who isn't. There's no foreskin to slide over and Peter wonders how much of a difference it makes to jerking off. He slowly runs his fingers over the length of Chris' cock, feeling himself harden further. He sweeps his thumb over the head, gathering the bead of precome that's there and slicking it over himself. He can't stop the gasp as his fingertips slide over the underside of the crown. Peter's not at all sensitive there, but it feels like fireworks for Chris. He does it again and again, until Chris' cock is fully stiff in his hand.
The sharp friction of skin against slight too dry skin has Peter pulling his hand away and licking across his palm, before taking himself back in hand. There's a flush to Chris' skin, and Peter grins at the thought that he's put it there.
He wonders what Chris would say if he knew Peter was doing this, what he'd say if he saw Peter's fingers wrapped around his cock. (Even if they're not really Peter's fingers. Even if they're Chris' own, just not being controlled by him.) He thinks about himself, standing behind Chris, his arms reaching around Chris' side and steadily jerking him off. Steadily moving over Chris' flesh and telling Chris to keep his eyes on the mirror, to keep his eyes on both of them.
Peter twists his hand in a motion he knows is guaranteed to get him close, growling quietly when it doesn't have the same effect on Chris. He can feel something low in his belly, but it's like it's just out of reach, like Peter doesn't know exactly how to get there.
Speeding up his movements, he keeps his eyes locked on the mirror, on the high flush over Chris' cheeks, on the way his thighs flex each time Peter rubs his thumb over the head of Chris' cock. He thinks of himself, on his knees and ready to swallow Chris down, thinks of Chris pulling back, out of his mouth, of Chris' come stripping, hot and white, over his face.
It jack-knifes through Peter, hard and sudden, and he can feel Chris' cock throbbing in his hand, can feel it pulsing out ropes of come, as the room spins and the floor suddenly comes up to meet him in a dizzying rush.
Peter groans as his opens his eyes, sitting upright as he realises the groan sounds like him again. His fingers move to his face, running over his cheeks, and yes, it's definitely him. He's all Peter Hale again. All goatee and wolf claws and come splattered across his stomach. And it looks like Chris had the same idea he had.
There's a box of tissues on the bedside cabinet, and if Stiles ever does stay in this room, Peter doesn't want to think about what they're there for. Reaching out, he grabs one and quickly wipes the come off his skin. It's nowhere near good enough to evade werewolf senses, but he hopes his nephew will be intelligent enough to keep his mouth shut. After all, there's a first time for everything.
His shirt is on the floor, and he rolls off the bed, fastening his jeans and grabbing the shirt before pulling it on. He can hear movement outside of the room, can hear Chris walking out of Derek's bedroom.
Heading out of the spare room, Peter follows Chris down the stairs, neither of them saying anything before Stiles looks up at them, grinning.
"I found it, and it's really easy to fix. Okay, it's kinda easy to fix. Although, I guess it depends on your view of easy. But I'm sure neither of you will have an issue. Well, I know Peter won't have an issue, and I'm pretty sure you won't either, Mr Argent."
Chris holds up a hand. "Stiles, it's fine. It's worn off. Whatever you did, it must only last for a few hours."
Stiles eyes them both, before glancing at Derek, who takes the most unsubtle sniff Peter has ever seen and nods in Stiles' direction.
"Really?" Stiles sounds surprised, and part of Peter can almost feel the weight of the stare Derek is giving him.
"Yes, really, Stiles," Chris says. "Why is that a problem."
Stiles' gaze darts between the two of them. "It's not. Not a problem. Absolutely no problemo at all."
"Stiles!" Chris is rubbing a hand over his eyes and Peter wants to join him.
"You needed to jerk off at the same time while thinking about each other, and not in an 'I want to kill him' kind of way but in a 'Sexy fun times' kind of way," Stiles blurts out, looking like he wants to clamp a hand over his own mouth with each passing word.
Peter looks at Chris. He'd assumed the hunter had been curious. Had jerked off in Peter's body because it was a unique opportunity and, hell, who wouldn't want to jerk Peter off. But if the reason they swapped back was because they were both thinking about the other when they were doing it? Well, then, that opened up a whole new world of possibilities.
Chris isn't looking at him. Chris very pointedly isn't looking at him. Chris is busy looking around the loft trying to find out, Peter assumes, where Derek had moved his bag to.
Peter reaches out, resting a hand on Chris' arm. "So," he says lightly, "if Stiles is right--"
"I'm right!" Stiles interrupts indignantly.
Peter ignores him. "If Stiles is right, then I think it's time we had a chat." And for chat, what Peter actually means is filthy, hot, dirty sex across a lot of surfaces.
Chris turns slowly to look at him. "A chat?" The words are careful, deliberate, like he heard exactly what Peter hadn't said.
Peter nods. "A chat."
Long moments pass before a small smirk runs across Chris' lips. "I think you're right," he says.
Well, of course Peter's right. He's Peter.
"Come to mine later, around six or so," Chris says, like there's no chance Peter will refuse, like Peter will be there at 6:00pm on the dot.
Peter nods as Chris moves away, finally finding his bag and striding over to it. He grabs it off the floor before heading out of the loft, pausing at the door and turning back to face Peter.
"Oh, and Peter, be prepared to stay the night. I think this 'chat' of ours may go on for some time."
Peter grins at Chris' words, grins as Chris leaves the loft and he's left with Derek and Stiles staring at him like they're trying to work out exactly what just happened.
Go on for some time? Oh, Peter's counting on it.
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,298
Summary: In which Peter gets into Chris' body, but not in the way he'd imagined it
Additional Notes: Beta'ed by Temaris.
Based on a prompt from inouken: A Chris/Peter masturbation prompt, eh? How about bodyswap fic? Peter jerking off in Chris' body or vice versa or both. Or throw a twist in there and have it be a bodyshare fic instead, then it can be masturbation and a handjob in one.
Turn Me Over
One of these days, Peter thinks while looking in the mirror, he's just going to take young Mr Stilinski by the throat and shake him until his brains fall out. Yes, the boy is brilliant and has a mind that Peter can absolutely appreciate, but he's so damned undisciplined, so damned willing to dive in and to hell with the consequences.
Which leads to Peter's current predicament.
It wasn't meant to do that-- Stiles had said.
I'll find a way to reverse it-- Stiles had said.
Oh god, please don't kill me-- Stiles had said.
Although Peter hadn't been sure if that last one had been aimed at him or Chris, who had been showing an impressive amount of control for someone who had just been thrown into the body of a werewolf.
Only Stiles could set out to develop a protection spell and end up with a body swap one instead. And Peter has to admit, he's had a lot of thoughts about getting Chris Argent inside him, but this hadn't been exactly what he was thinking.
Both he and Chris had been banned from leaving the loft by Derek, not wanting Chris out there with wolf abilities he wouldn't necessarily be able to restrain under duress and just not wanting Peter out there at all.
(Peter thought this was very unfair, and it wasn't like he'd been planning to immediately track down Allison and spend some time telling her that, yes, her habit of dating werewolves was absolutely understandable, and how did she feel about possibly having Peter as a step-parent. And then there may have been thoughts about a trip to the Sheriff's station, and handing over all of Chris' weapons as part of an amnesty and change of heart in owning such atrocious killing machines. And maybe he would have spent some time rearranging all of Chris' cupboards. That one had no reason behind it beyond it would have been hilarious to watch Chris try to find anything. So, actually, in hindsight, maybe not letting him leave was a good idea.)
Even though the two of them had been banned from leaving, they'd also been banished from the main room. Apparently, Chris in Peter's body could still do an impressive bout of threatening looming, and after the seventh comment from Peter about should they really be trusting Stiles with this considering he was the one who cause the swap in the first place, Derek had sent them both to the bedrooms. (Channelling Talia in both tone and action as Derek's hand had shot out and he'd pointed them up the stairs with a growled out "Go!")
Chris had gone up first, and Peter found himself thinking that he'd really made a good choice when he'd bought those jeans as they framed his ass perfectly. And it was kind of strange watching his own body, but watching it move like Chris, like a hunter.
Peter had gone into Derek's room (the one he decided to use after admitting that there were perfectly good bedrooms upstairs and, no, there was no actual reason for having the bed next to the kitchen area other than it made staggering out of bed for breakfast quicker than it would normally be), and Chris into the spare (the one that Stiles claims he stays in occasionally when it gets to be too late to go back home, and that Peter knows hasn't been slept in for months).
But Derek's bookshelves are boring and the only ones he'd be interested in reading he already has. Which is why he finds himself in front of the mirror attached to one of wardrobes (and, really, Derek? three wardrobes?), lifting a hand to trace his fingertips over Chris Argent's face looking back at him.
And Chris is a good looking man, Peter's not embarrassed to admit that he thinks that. Yes, he's a hunter and therefore shouldn't really be the first choice of romantic partner for a werewolf, but Peter has seen his fingers when he reloads those guns of his, has seen how he handles his weapons with such acute precision that Peter can't help but think of how they'd handle Peter's body.
Shrugging out of the leather jacket and pulling off the t-shirt, Peter throws them over to the bed. Chris' body is toned, and Peter licks his lower lip as he runs fingers over his chest. He flicks at a nipple, and it turns out Chris' nipples are far less sensitive than Peter's are. (Peter once came just from his partner at the time sucking at his nipples and rolling them between his fingers.) Still, though, it doesn't stop Peter from thinking about pinning Chris down, about straddling him and spending hours just laving Chris nipples with his tongue, until he's begging Peter to swallow him down.
There are scars scattered across Chris' skin, and it feels strange to Peter that his body should have such permanent reminders of failure. The three lines across Chris' side are werewolf claws, Peter would recognise those anywhere. He's pretty sure the slightly jagged scar across his left shoulder is a knife, which suggests either Chris has had some interesting fights with someone human, or he's been playing with supernatural creatures that don't come with their own claws.
Burn mark. Bullet wound. More claw marks. Peter catalogues each of the marks as he goes, each of them giving a little more insight into Chris' life. Catalogues them until he reaches the dark trail of hair leading down and dipping below the waistband of the jeans Chris is wearing. (They're cheap but sturdy, and Peter is kind of horrified that the outcome of Stiles' little side trip into stupidity means that he now knows what it feels like to wear WalMart clothes.)
Peter knows he shouldn't, knows that there are a hundred reasons he shouldn't flick open those jeans. It's not his body (even if he's currently inhabiting it), anyone could just walk in (although being found with his fingers around Chris Argent's junk wouldn't be the worst position someone's found him in), Chris could have a ridiculously small penis thereby disappointing Peter for life (he doesn't, Peter can already feel it against his thigh). All of the reasons swim around Peter's head, but they all fall prey to the overriding thought in his mind. That he's wanted to get his hands on Chris Argent's dick for years, and nothing is going to stop him now he has the opportunity. (And, yes, he would have preferred that Chris was actually in his body while Peter had his fingers wrapped around him, but you can't get everything.)
Snapping open the buttons on the jeans, Peter hooks his fingers into them, pushing the denim and the tight boxers Chris had put on that morning down in one go.
Chris' cock is already half hard, and Peter wastes no time in wrapping his fingers around the flesh he's now attached to. Chris is cut, so it's a different sensation for Peter, who isn't. There's no foreskin to slide over and Peter wonders how much of a difference it makes to jerking off. He slowly runs his fingers over the length of Chris' cock, feeling himself harden further. He sweeps his thumb over the head, gathering the bead of precome that's there and slicking it over himself. He can't stop the gasp as his fingertips slide over the underside of the crown. Peter's not at all sensitive there, but it feels like fireworks for Chris. He does it again and again, until Chris' cock is fully stiff in his hand.
The sharp friction of skin against slight too dry skin has Peter pulling his hand away and licking across his palm, before taking himself back in hand. There's a flush to Chris' skin, and Peter grins at the thought that he's put it there.
He wonders what Chris would say if he knew Peter was doing this, what he'd say if he saw Peter's fingers wrapped around his cock. (Even if they're not really Peter's fingers. Even if they're Chris' own, just not being controlled by him.) He thinks about himself, standing behind Chris, his arms reaching around Chris' side and steadily jerking him off. Steadily moving over Chris' flesh and telling Chris to keep his eyes on the mirror, to keep his eyes on both of them.
Peter twists his hand in a motion he knows is guaranteed to get him close, growling quietly when it doesn't have the same effect on Chris. He can feel something low in his belly, but it's like it's just out of reach, like Peter doesn't know exactly how to get there.
Speeding up his movements, he keeps his eyes locked on the mirror, on the high flush over Chris' cheeks, on the way his thighs flex each time Peter rubs his thumb over the head of Chris' cock. He thinks of himself, on his knees and ready to swallow Chris down, thinks of Chris pulling back, out of his mouth, of Chris' come stripping, hot and white, over his face.
It jack-knifes through Peter, hard and sudden, and he can feel Chris' cock throbbing in his hand, can feel it pulsing out ropes of come, as the room spins and the floor suddenly comes up to meet him in a dizzying rush.
Peter groans as his opens his eyes, sitting upright as he realises the groan sounds like him again. His fingers move to his face, running over his cheeks, and yes, it's definitely him. He's all Peter Hale again. All goatee and wolf claws and come splattered across his stomach. And it looks like Chris had the same idea he had.
There's a box of tissues on the bedside cabinet, and if Stiles ever does stay in this room, Peter doesn't want to think about what they're there for. Reaching out, he grabs one and quickly wipes the come off his skin. It's nowhere near good enough to evade werewolf senses, but he hopes his nephew will be intelligent enough to keep his mouth shut. After all, there's a first time for everything.
His shirt is on the floor, and he rolls off the bed, fastening his jeans and grabbing the shirt before pulling it on. He can hear movement outside of the room, can hear Chris walking out of Derek's bedroom.
Heading out of the spare room, Peter follows Chris down the stairs, neither of them saying anything before Stiles looks up at them, grinning.
"I found it, and it's really easy to fix. Okay, it's kinda easy to fix. Although, I guess it depends on your view of easy. But I'm sure neither of you will have an issue. Well, I know Peter won't have an issue, and I'm pretty sure you won't either, Mr Argent."
Chris holds up a hand. "Stiles, it's fine. It's worn off. Whatever you did, it must only last for a few hours."
Stiles eyes them both, before glancing at Derek, who takes the most unsubtle sniff Peter has ever seen and nods in Stiles' direction.
"Really?" Stiles sounds surprised, and part of Peter can almost feel the weight of the stare Derek is giving him.
"Yes, really, Stiles," Chris says. "Why is that a problem."
Stiles' gaze darts between the two of them. "It's not. Not a problem. Absolutely no problemo at all."
"Stiles!" Chris is rubbing a hand over his eyes and Peter wants to join him.
"You needed to jerk off at the same time while thinking about each other, and not in an 'I want to kill him' kind of way but in a 'Sexy fun times' kind of way," Stiles blurts out, looking like he wants to clamp a hand over his own mouth with each passing word.
Peter looks at Chris. He'd assumed the hunter had been curious. Had jerked off in Peter's body because it was a unique opportunity and, hell, who wouldn't want to jerk Peter off. But if the reason they swapped back was because they were both thinking about the other when they were doing it? Well, then, that opened up a whole new world of possibilities.
Chris isn't looking at him. Chris very pointedly isn't looking at him. Chris is busy looking around the loft trying to find out, Peter assumes, where Derek had moved his bag to.
Peter reaches out, resting a hand on Chris' arm. "So," he says lightly, "if Stiles is right--"
"I'm right!" Stiles interrupts indignantly.
Peter ignores him. "If Stiles is right, then I think it's time we had a chat." And for chat, what Peter actually means is filthy, hot, dirty sex across a lot of surfaces.
Chris turns slowly to look at him. "A chat?" The words are careful, deliberate, like he heard exactly what Peter hadn't said.
Peter nods. "A chat."
Long moments pass before a small smirk runs across Chris' lips. "I think you're right," he says.
Well, of course Peter's right. He's Peter.
"Come to mine later, around six or so," Chris says, like there's no chance Peter will refuse, like Peter will be there at 6:00pm on the dot.
Peter nods as Chris moves away, finally finding his bag and striding over to it. He grabs it off the floor before heading out of the loft, pausing at the door and turning back to face Peter.
"Oh, and Peter, be prepared to stay the night. I think this 'chat' of ours may go on for some time."
Peter grins at Chris' words, grins as Chris leaves the loft and he's left with Derek and Stiles staring at him like they're trying to work out exactly what just happened.
Go on for some time? Oh, Peter's counting on it.
