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moonlettuceTitle: While you're looking up at me
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,844
Summary: In which Chris finds Peter in his office and Peter ends up on his knees...
Additional Notes: Inspired by this prompt on Tumblr from screaming-towards-apotheosis: Ooh, first time Peter shows up in Chris's office? Invited or not? :P
While you're looking up at me
Chris' gun is in his hand as soon as he sees the light coming from underneath the door to his study. Allison had texted him earlier to say she was spending the night at Lydia's, and he certainly hadn't left the light on when he'd left the apartment that afternoon.
Chris is silent as he makes his way over to the study door, his free hand reaching out for the door handle as his fingers tighten around his gun in anticipation before he--
"You might as well just come in, Christopher. I promise not to jump out of the dark and eat you."
The voice is only slightly muffled by the wood of the door, and Chris sends a brief thought heavenward as he opens it, wondering which deity he's managed to piss off this time.
Peter is leaning against Chris' desk, absently thumbing through the pages of one of the old hunter bestiaries that had been, last time Chris had seen it, in the cabinet in the corner.
"That was locked," Chris comments, putting his gun on one of the side tables before walking over to pluck the book out of Peter's hands.
"Just when it was getting interesting. Although, admittedly, that was a little more than I've ever wanted to know about a wendigo's anatomy."
Chris ignores the words, ignores Peter, as he puts the book back, sliding it into the gap on the middle shelf, and closing the cabinet doors. He runs a fingertip over the soft scratches around the lock. "Locked, Peter." He catches the end of smirk that slides off Peter's face as Chris turns to look at him.
Peter just shrugs. "As though that's ever stopped me before."
Running a hand over his eyes, Chris bites back a sigh. "Why are you here, Peter?" Because if can find out what Peter wants, then he can get him out of the apartment.
"Nothing on cable and the library was closed," Peter answers lightly. "And, besides, when it comes to things to do in Beacon Hills, you're quite high on my list of entertainment."
Great. Chris can almost feel the headache starting to form.
"And, I admit, I was curious in seeing the Lesser Spotted Argent in its natural habitat." Peter waves a hand around. "It's nice. Cosy." He pauses. "Although, you really should have more fruit and vegetables in the kitchen, after all, vitamin--"
"Peter!" Because the last thing Chris needs tonight is Peter Hale disparaging his diet.
"Yes?"
And how the fuck does someone who has the blood of several people on his hands manage to sound like he's just walked out of church? Even if Chris thinks that putting Peter in a church would most likely result in less penitence and more him blowing the priest in one of the confessionals.
"Leave." Because there's a bottle of scotch and left over pizza from the night before both calling his name.
But Peter doesn't move. Doesn't do anything except look at Chris and smile.
"Come on, Chris. I know you haven't wanted me around here because of Allison, but I happen to know that she's spending the night at the delightful Ms Martin's house." His fingers are running across the desk, touching everything, even though he hasn't taken his eyes off Chris. "I wonder what they'll do on their little sleepover," Peter continues. "Paint their nails, talk about boys? Discuss the best way to lock an entire family in a house and set fire to them--"
Peter grins at him, and Chris is tempted just to walk out of the room and pour himself a drink. It's been a long day and he's in no mood to deal with Peter when he's like this, light tone edged with harsh bitterness.
He's just about to tell Peter that he can see himself out, that Chris has a date with some alcohol and a hot shower, when he realises Peter isn't looking at him any more.
Chris follows Peter's gaze downwards, and Peter's stopped caressing the desk to wrap his fingers around the letter opener sitting next to Chris' notebook.
"Hmm, silver." Peter's comment is light, as he traces the intricate design on the handle with his fingertips. "You know, it's funny how all the legends say that werewolves should avoid silver. I never had a problem with handling it myself."
"Stop it, Peter." Because Chris is done, and Peter can find someone else to play with tonight.
But Peter just looks up at Chris' words. He pins Chris' gaze with his own, and Chris isn't sure if the bright blue is a reflection of the light, or if Peter isn't as in control of his wolf as he normally is. "Make me."
With those words Chris knows exactly why Peter is there. Has the memory of an alley behind a bar and a wolf on his knees. One too many drinks on Chris' tab had meant that he'd taken Peter up on his offer, instead of leaving him in the bar. Partly because he'd not had his cock sucked since Victoria, and partly because he'd wanted to put Peter Hale on his knees long before the other man had ever slid onto the empty stool beside him.
And it had grown from there. Grown from what Chris had thought would be a one off act, never to be spoken of again, to Peter on his knees in the preserve, to him laid out under Chris in the motel on the edge of town. It had grown to Peter, bent over and spread open for a hunter, and begging for Chris to do something, anything.
So, yeah, Chris knows why Peter is there. And even though he tells himself that this is a bad idea, that bringing this into his home is the worst thing he could do right now, Chris doesn't really care. Not enough to stop.
Closing the distance between them in three quick steps, Chris reaches out and runs his fingers through Peter's hair, his nails scratching lightly over Peter's scalp.
The almost purr that comes from Peter's chest deepens as Chris tightens his grip, pulling Peter's head back slightly as he starts to lower his arm, guiding Peter downwards.
There's resistance at first, enough of a pause that Chris gets the message. That Peter is going to his knees on his terms, because he wants it, not just because Chris asked it. And then Peter's moving, dropping to his knees in front of Chris.
He grins as he looks up at Chris, insolence and arrogance written in every line of his face, and Chris tightens his grip on Peter's hair further. Tightens it past the point it should be painful, but Peter just blinks slowly as a shudder runs through him.
"Well?" Chris says. Because this is what Peter came for, and if Chris isn't getting his shower, scotch and pizza, then he's sure as hell getting Peter Hale's lips around his cock.
A beat passes before Peter's hands reach out for Chris' belt, agile fingers opening it easily before they move on to flicking open the buttons on Chris' jeans.
Chris is half-hard behind the denim. Has been ever since Peter got to his knees and the blood in Chris' body started directing itself towards his cock at the sight. A solitary claw scrapes over Chris' hip as Peter tugs Chris' jeans to half way down his thighs, leaving his black cotton boxers the only barrier between them.
Chris can't stop the low moan that rises in him as Peter leans forward and mouths at him through the cotton. But it's not enough, it's too muffled. Chris wants Peter's lips on him, not his shorts.
"Peter--" The name is more of a groan than a word, but it gets Chris what he needs.
Fingers hook into Chris' boxers, pulling them over Chris' hard cock with a care Peter never seems to use elsewhere, and drawing them down to rest on Chris' jeans.
His fingers have eased their grip, and he finds himself sliding them through Peter's hair, lighter than he's ever been with any other wolf before.
Then again, this never used to be the norm whenever he had a wolf on their knees. But things change, and between what's happened with Kate and Victoria and, as much as he hates to admit it, Peter, Chris isn't exactly the man he was a few years ago.
The sharp bite of claws into his thigh brings Chris' attention back to Peter, smug look of satisfaction on his face. "It's not polite to let your attention wander, Christopher. A man could take it the wrong way." The automatic retort of Peter not exactly being a man dies on his lips as Peter moves suddenly, leaning forward and swallowing Chris down.
And, jesus, Chris knows wolves run hot, but it still makes him jerk. He knows it intimately from having Peter in exactly this position more times than is really sane, considering the history between them. It still doesn't stop Chris from moaning every time Peter takes him in, every time Peter opens his lips and sucks him down. Doesn't stop Peter's name from dropping from Chris' mouth as he's enveloped in wet heat, teeth and tongue and lips working at him expertly. And part of Chris wants to know where Peter learned this, wants to know who taught a wolf how to be on his knees. But the rest of him doesn't care, too fucking happy that Peter is so damn good at sucking cock to give a damn where he learned the skill.
Claws drag across Chris' thigh, light and teasing, as Peter pulls back slightly, until only the head of Chris' cock is in his mouth. Chris feels Peter grin around him before the combination of a single claw scraping over his balls and Peter's tongue flicking over his cockhead has words rushing from his lips. Both of his hands are on Peter's head, fingers tangled in dark strands of hair, as yes and fuck and Peter and mine fill the air.
Peter is moving steadily, swallowing Chris down before dragging his lips back over Chris' cock. It's too much and it's not enough, and Peter's mouth is a cavern of heat surrounding Chris. He's moving almost languidly over Chris, and the next time he takes Chris into the root, Chris feels the smirk rather than sees it. There's the smirk and a beat and then Peter hums, just fucking hums, and the vibration slams through Chris' body. It starts in his cock and spreads like wildfire, and Chris can feel it in his stomach, coiling low and dangerous and possessive.
Chris is on the verge of coming when enough of the synapses fire in his brain and he yanks Peter's head back. And there's a moment when he thinks he's too late, that it's not going to stop and he's going to paint Peter's face with white, but his cock just twitches, still connected to Peter's lips by a single line of saliva.
Peter's mouth is red, swollen, and Chris thinks for a moment that he should just drag Peter back to his cock, feed it to the wolf until he comes. But that's not what Chris wants, not tonight.
Wrapping his fingers around Peter's upper arms, Chris pulls, urging the other man up and watching as Peter stands, a graceful arch to his spine as he gets to his feet.
There's a question in Peter's eyes, but Chris doesn't answer with words. He leans forward and catches Peter's lips with his own, pressing a harsh kiss to Peter's mouth and nipping at his lower lip before pulling back.
Chris doesn't look at his desk as he reaches a hand out, sweeping it across the surface and pushing whatever he touches to the side. There's a clatter as something tumbles to the floor, and it might be one of the books Chris had near the edge of the desk, but it doesn't sound like anything shattered, so Chris ignores it.
Spinning Peter around, Chris places a hand between his shoulders, pressing until Peter is over the desk. And something pulses inside him with the knowledge that Peter is allowing this. That he's allowing Chris, allowing a hunter, to bend him over, and that Peter is just taking it.
Chris takes a deep breath as his hands reach around to the front of Peter's jeans, fumbling with opening them until Peter knocks him away to do it himself. The sound of the zipper opening is still in the air when Chris tugs Peter's jeans down over his ass, dragging his shorts with them, and leaving Peter exposed.
Kicking Peter's legs as far apart as the jeans around his thighs will allow, Chris dips his fingers down to Peter's ass, fingertips skimming over Peter's asshole.
"Left pocket," Peter grinds out, as Chris' fingers move over him, pressing against his hole on each pass but not pushing inside.
Reaching into the pocket of Peter's jeans, Chris' fingers wrap around a tube. It's partly used, about half empty, and Chris wonders if this is the one Peter uses when he's alone. Wonders if Peter slicks his cock to make the glide of his fingers smoother, or if he buries them inside himself in a parody of getting fucked.
Flicking the tube open with his thumb, Chris pulls his other hand away from Peter's ass, squeezing the clear gel onto his fingers.
"Never figured you for a boy scout, Peter," he comments, "Or was it just that you weren't planning on leaving until you'd gotten fucked?"
"I guess I just-- fuck--"
Chris grins at the curse that drops from Peter's lips as he pushes two fingers into Peter's body, slick and smooth and quick. And although there's something to be said for fucking Peter on nothing more than spit and precome, something to be said about the burn and the friction and the way Peter whines under him, Chris isn't in the mood to take his time tonight. Wants to slam into Peter, hard and quick. Wants the wolf writhing under him until Chris comes, marking Peter indelibly as his.
Chris twists his fingers in Peter's body as he squeezes more lube directly onto his cock, hissing as the cool gel hits heated skin. There's a small whimper of loss as Chris pulls his fingers out of Peter's body, and Chris drops the tube to the floor so he can run his hand over Peter's hip soothingly, even though he doubts if Peter even realises the noise came from him.
Using the still-slick fingers he pulled from Peter's body, Chris spreads the lube over his cock, teeth biting into his lower lip as each touch makes his cock jump.
Peter's looking back at him, eyes wide with a faint ring of blue around the black, and it makes something flare in Chris, heavy and wanting.
His fingers circling the base of his dick, Chris guides his cock to rest against Peter's asshole, holding himself there until Peter growls at him, pushing himself back.
"C'mon, Argent." There's a break in the words, a pause as Peter's breath stutters slightly.
But Chris doesn't move. Even though every part of him is screaming to push, to take, to break Peter open around him, he holds himself still. Holds himself still until--
"Please--"
Chris bottoms out in one thrust, the hand that's not currently wrapped around Peter's hip pressing down at the base of his spine as Peter arches, pressing down until Chris is all the way inside, his skin flush with Peter's ass.
The pants coming from Peter are harsh and guttural and Chris wants to hear more of them. Wants to hear Peter beg and plead and fall apart under him. His fingers trail up Peter's back, leaving small smears of lube across his shirt that Peter will no doubt bitch about later. His hand wraps around the back of Peter's neck briefly, squeezing once, before his fingers move into Peter's hair, gripping tightly as he pulls Peter's head back, exposing the graceful line of his throat.
"What are you waiting for, Christopher?" The words are nearly a growl.
"Nothing," Chris responds, dropping his grip on Peter's hair as he pulls out and slams back into Peter's body.
The pace Chris sets is almost brutal, the slap of skin against skin ringing through the room. Peter is shaking under him, yes and harder and more and Chris dropping from his lips, like the words are being forced out of his body each time Chris moves into him.
Peter's fingers are scraping across the desk, his claws leaving shallow grooves in the wood.
"Chris--"
The name is both a plea and a demand, and Peter growls when Chris ignores it. Because Chris knows what Peter wants, knows that the angle Chris is fucking into Peter right now isn't enough for the other man. But he also knows exactly why Peter came to him tonight. So, when one of Peter's hands moves, pulls away from the desk to wrap around his own straining flesh, Chris stops him. Stops him by grabbing Peter's wrists, pinning them to the desk, as he continues to drive into Peter's body.
There are a hundred ways Peter could break Chris' grip. Peter may be under him now, but he's still a wolf, still has strength and power and claws, and myriad ways to be out and across to the other side of the room in an instant. Chris pauses, hips pressed tight against Peter's body, and he can feel the tension in Peter. Feels it for long seconds, before Peter breathes out, his head dropping as he pushes back into Chris' thrust.
"That's it, Peter," Chris murmurs. "Give it up for me." He starts to move again, shifting his stance slightly and angling his hips. And it take a couple of tries, but then Peter jerks under him, hissing out a yes--
The sound of rough breathing fills the air, hoarse groans from both of them that weave together in the silence. Peter is still muttering under his breath, driving Chris on to faster and sharper thrusts with each please-- and more-- that comes from him.
Peter's pushing back into Chris, an almost frantic desperation to his movements. Chris can feel the coiled need burning through Peter, can feel the tense want as Peter tugs at the grip Chris still has on his wrists. But Chris doesn't let go, just tightens his grip, his nails digging into the soft skin on the inside of Peter's wrists.
Chris leans down, nipping once at the back of Peter's neck. "Come on, Peter." The words are mouthed against Peter's skin, against skin and sweat and desire.
And all it takes is another thrust, two, before Peter is howling, clenching hard around Chris' cock as he comes.
Peter is shaking under him, hips stuttering as he comes against air, and Chris knows he won't last long. Not when Peter is rippling around him, coming apart in Chris' grip. He drives into Peter's body, flesh sliding against flesh, until he feels it burning low in his belly. It sits there, heavy and wanting, and pushing him to fuck into Peter faster.
"C'ris--"
His name is a broken groan from Peter's lips, and it pushes Chris over the edge. The pleasure flashes through him in a white hot shock as he explodes into Peter's body. Chris' head drops, his forehead resting against Peter's sweat-damp shirt as his cock jerks inside Peter, emptying himself into the other man in a dizzying rush.
The seconds bleed into each other and Chris isn't sure how much time passes until his softened cock finally slips out of Peter's body. The loss prompts a noise from Peter, low and laced with disappointment, and Chris carefully unwraps his fingers from one of Peter's wrists to slide his hand under Peter's shirt, his fingertips drawing idle patterns on the skin they find.
Minutes pass, the almost inaudible tick of the clock on the wall and the sound of soft breathing the only things breaking the silence.
"I should go," Peter says eventually, making no actual attempt to move.
Chris doesn't answer him, just continues to draw patterns across Peter's skin. Random shapes and symbols and at least one word that means he's fucked if Peter speaks archaic Latin and recognised the letters Chris was tracing onto his back.
"Chris." Peter huffs slightly, wriggling under him until Chris moves.
Chris grimaces as he pushes himself away from Peter, away from the desk. His skin feels tacky with drying sweat, and his shirt's sticking to him in at least one place. His dick's a mess of come and lube as he tucks himself back into his shorts, and fastens the top button on his jeans just to keep them up. It's not exactly comfortable, but he'll tolerate it until he gets to the shower.
Peter's already fastened his own jeans when Chris looks at him, leaning his hip against the desk. He's running his fingers through his hair in what, Chris assumes, is an attempt to not look like he's just been fucked senseless. Chris is tempted to tell him it's not working.
Peter glances towards the door. "I should--"
Chris cuts him off. "Stay."
Peter looks at him, eyes narrowing. Because this isn't what happens, this isn't what they do. But it's late and Chris is tired, and maybe it's time they changed the game.
Slowly, Chris reaches out, wrapping his fingers around Peter's wrist, an echo of earlier.
"Stay, Peter," Chris says again.
Peter glances down, his gaze resting on where Chris' fingers are holding him for long moments, before he looks back up and meets Chris' eyes.
There's a moment where Chris thinks Peter is going to refuse, to pull his wrist out of Chris' grasp and be gone. But then he nods, his tongue darting out to lick at his lower lip. He nods, and Chris feels something in him relax.
"Shower first," Chris decides. And then food and bed. Possibly not in that order.
"Why, Argent," Peter comments lightly, "are you trying to get me clean just so you can dirty me up again?"
Chris huffs a laugh. "Maybe I am." Maybe he just wants to blow Peter in the shower, to see exactly how much werewolf stamina can hold up to.
"I don't have any clothes here. I'll have to borrow a shirt, unless you're expecting me to go half-naked." Peter's tone says he'd be fine with either option, but the feeling from earlier flares again in Chris at the thought of Peter wearing his clothes. Flares hot and possessive and bright.
"I'm sure I can find you something," Chris answers, trying to keep the undercurrent of mineminemine out of his voice. The look Peter gives him tells him he wasn't exactly successful.
"In that case, Christopher, I'm in your hands."
And Chris just smiles, rubbing his thumb over Peter's wrist before leading him towards the bedroom.
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,844
Summary: In which Chris finds Peter in his office and Peter ends up on his knees...
Additional Notes: Inspired by this prompt on Tumblr from screaming-towards-apotheosis: Ooh, first time Peter shows up in Chris's office? Invited or not? :P
While you're looking up at me
Chris' gun is in his hand as soon as he sees the light coming from underneath the door to his study. Allison had texted him earlier to say she was spending the night at Lydia's, and he certainly hadn't left the light on when he'd left the apartment that afternoon.
Chris is silent as he makes his way over to the study door, his free hand reaching out for the door handle as his fingers tighten around his gun in anticipation before he--
"You might as well just come in, Christopher. I promise not to jump out of the dark and eat you."
The voice is only slightly muffled by the wood of the door, and Chris sends a brief thought heavenward as he opens it, wondering which deity he's managed to piss off this time.
Peter is leaning against Chris' desk, absently thumbing through the pages of one of the old hunter bestiaries that had been, last time Chris had seen it, in the cabinet in the corner.
"That was locked," Chris comments, putting his gun on one of the side tables before walking over to pluck the book out of Peter's hands.
"Just when it was getting interesting. Although, admittedly, that was a little more than I've ever wanted to know about a wendigo's anatomy."
Chris ignores the words, ignores Peter, as he puts the book back, sliding it into the gap on the middle shelf, and closing the cabinet doors. He runs a fingertip over the soft scratches around the lock. "Locked, Peter." He catches the end of smirk that slides off Peter's face as Chris turns to look at him.
Peter just shrugs. "As though that's ever stopped me before."
Running a hand over his eyes, Chris bites back a sigh. "Why are you here, Peter?" Because if can find out what Peter wants, then he can get him out of the apartment.
"Nothing on cable and the library was closed," Peter answers lightly. "And, besides, when it comes to things to do in Beacon Hills, you're quite high on my list of entertainment."
Great. Chris can almost feel the headache starting to form.
"And, I admit, I was curious in seeing the Lesser Spotted Argent in its natural habitat." Peter waves a hand around. "It's nice. Cosy." He pauses. "Although, you really should have more fruit and vegetables in the kitchen, after all, vitamin--"
"Peter!" Because the last thing Chris needs tonight is Peter Hale disparaging his diet.
"Yes?"
And how the fuck does someone who has the blood of several people on his hands manage to sound like he's just walked out of church? Even if Chris thinks that putting Peter in a church would most likely result in less penitence and more him blowing the priest in one of the confessionals.
"Leave." Because there's a bottle of scotch and left over pizza from the night before both calling his name.
But Peter doesn't move. Doesn't do anything except look at Chris and smile.
"Come on, Chris. I know you haven't wanted me around here because of Allison, but I happen to know that she's spending the night at the delightful Ms Martin's house." His fingers are running across the desk, touching everything, even though he hasn't taken his eyes off Chris. "I wonder what they'll do on their little sleepover," Peter continues. "Paint their nails, talk about boys? Discuss the best way to lock an entire family in a house and set fire to them--"
Peter grins at him, and Chris is tempted just to walk out of the room and pour himself a drink. It's been a long day and he's in no mood to deal with Peter when he's like this, light tone edged with harsh bitterness.
He's just about to tell Peter that he can see himself out, that Chris has a date with some alcohol and a hot shower, when he realises Peter isn't looking at him any more.
Chris follows Peter's gaze downwards, and Peter's stopped caressing the desk to wrap his fingers around the letter opener sitting next to Chris' notebook.
"Hmm, silver." Peter's comment is light, as he traces the intricate design on the handle with his fingertips. "You know, it's funny how all the legends say that werewolves should avoid silver. I never had a problem with handling it myself."
"Stop it, Peter." Because Chris is done, and Peter can find someone else to play with tonight.
But Peter just looks up at Chris' words. He pins Chris' gaze with his own, and Chris isn't sure if the bright blue is a reflection of the light, or if Peter isn't as in control of his wolf as he normally is. "Make me."
With those words Chris knows exactly why Peter is there. Has the memory of an alley behind a bar and a wolf on his knees. One too many drinks on Chris' tab had meant that he'd taken Peter up on his offer, instead of leaving him in the bar. Partly because he'd not had his cock sucked since Victoria, and partly because he'd wanted to put Peter Hale on his knees long before the other man had ever slid onto the empty stool beside him.
And it had grown from there. Grown from what Chris had thought would be a one off act, never to be spoken of again, to Peter on his knees in the preserve, to him laid out under Chris in the motel on the edge of town. It had grown to Peter, bent over and spread open for a hunter, and begging for Chris to do something, anything.
So, yeah, Chris knows why Peter is there. And even though he tells himself that this is a bad idea, that bringing this into his home is the worst thing he could do right now, Chris doesn't really care. Not enough to stop.
Closing the distance between them in three quick steps, Chris reaches out and runs his fingers through Peter's hair, his nails scratching lightly over Peter's scalp.
The almost purr that comes from Peter's chest deepens as Chris tightens his grip, pulling Peter's head back slightly as he starts to lower his arm, guiding Peter downwards.
There's resistance at first, enough of a pause that Chris gets the message. That Peter is going to his knees on his terms, because he wants it, not just because Chris asked it. And then Peter's moving, dropping to his knees in front of Chris.
He grins as he looks up at Chris, insolence and arrogance written in every line of his face, and Chris tightens his grip on Peter's hair further. Tightens it past the point it should be painful, but Peter just blinks slowly as a shudder runs through him.
"Well?" Chris says. Because this is what Peter came for, and if Chris isn't getting his shower, scotch and pizza, then he's sure as hell getting Peter Hale's lips around his cock.
A beat passes before Peter's hands reach out for Chris' belt, agile fingers opening it easily before they move on to flicking open the buttons on Chris' jeans.
Chris is half-hard behind the denim. Has been ever since Peter got to his knees and the blood in Chris' body started directing itself towards his cock at the sight. A solitary claw scrapes over Chris' hip as Peter tugs Chris' jeans to half way down his thighs, leaving his black cotton boxers the only barrier between them.
Chris can't stop the low moan that rises in him as Peter leans forward and mouths at him through the cotton. But it's not enough, it's too muffled. Chris wants Peter's lips on him, not his shorts.
"Peter--" The name is more of a groan than a word, but it gets Chris what he needs.
Fingers hook into Chris' boxers, pulling them over Chris' hard cock with a care Peter never seems to use elsewhere, and drawing them down to rest on Chris' jeans.
His fingers have eased their grip, and he finds himself sliding them through Peter's hair, lighter than he's ever been with any other wolf before.
Then again, this never used to be the norm whenever he had a wolf on their knees. But things change, and between what's happened with Kate and Victoria and, as much as he hates to admit it, Peter, Chris isn't exactly the man he was a few years ago.
The sharp bite of claws into his thigh brings Chris' attention back to Peter, smug look of satisfaction on his face. "It's not polite to let your attention wander, Christopher. A man could take it the wrong way." The automatic retort of Peter not exactly being a man dies on his lips as Peter moves suddenly, leaning forward and swallowing Chris down.
And, jesus, Chris knows wolves run hot, but it still makes him jerk. He knows it intimately from having Peter in exactly this position more times than is really sane, considering the history between them. It still doesn't stop Chris from moaning every time Peter takes him in, every time Peter opens his lips and sucks him down. Doesn't stop Peter's name from dropping from Chris' mouth as he's enveloped in wet heat, teeth and tongue and lips working at him expertly. And part of Chris wants to know where Peter learned this, wants to know who taught a wolf how to be on his knees. But the rest of him doesn't care, too fucking happy that Peter is so damn good at sucking cock to give a damn where he learned the skill.
Claws drag across Chris' thigh, light and teasing, as Peter pulls back slightly, until only the head of Chris' cock is in his mouth. Chris feels Peter grin around him before the combination of a single claw scraping over his balls and Peter's tongue flicking over his cockhead has words rushing from his lips. Both of his hands are on Peter's head, fingers tangled in dark strands of hair, as yes and fuck and Peter and mine fill the air.
Peter is moving steadily, swallowing Chris down before dragging his lips back over Chris' cock. It's too much and it's not enough, and Peter's mouth is a cavern of heat surrounding Chris. He's moving almost languidly over Chris, and the next time he takes Chris into the root, Chris feels the smirk rather than sees it. There's the smirk and a beat and then Peter hums, just fucking hums, and the vibration slams through Chris' body. It starts in his cock and spreads like wildfire, and Chris can feel it in his stomach, coiling low and dangerous and possessive.
Chris is on the verge of coming when enough of the synapses fire in his brain and he yanks Peter's head back. And there's a moment when he thinks he's too late, that it's not going to stop and he's going to paint Peter's face with white, but his cock just twitches, still connected to Peter's lips by a single line of saliva.
Peter's mouth is red, swollen, and Chris thinks for a moment that he should just drag Peter back to his cock, feed it to the wolf until he comes. But that's not what Chris wants, not tonight.
Wrapping his fingers around Peter's upper arms, Chris pulls, urging the other man up and watching as Peter stands, a graceful arch to his spine as he gets to his feet.
There's a question in Peter's eyes, but Chris doesn't answer with words. He leans forward and catches Peter's lips with his own, pressing a harsh kiss to Peter's mouth and nipping at his lower lip before pulling back.
Chris doesn't look at his desk as he reaches a hand out, sweeping it across the surface and pushing whatever he touches to the side. There's a clatter as something tumbles to the floor, and it might be one of the books Chris had near the edge of the desk, but it doesn't sound like anything shattered, so Chris ignores it.
Spinning Peter around, Chris places a hand between his shoulders, pressing until Peter is over the desk. And something pulses inside him with the knowledge that Peter is allowing this. That he's allowing Chris, allowing a hunter, to bend him over, and that Peter is just taking it.
Chris takes a deep breath as his hands reach around to the front of Peter's jeans, fumbling with opening them until Peter knocks him away to do it himself. The sound of the zipper opening is still in the air when Chris tugs Peter's jeans down over his ass, dragging his shorts with them, and leaving Peter exposed.
Kicking Peter's legs as far apart as the jeans around his thighs will allow, Chris dips his fingers down to Peter's ass, fingertips skimming over Peter's asshole.
"Left pocket," Peter grinds out, as Chris' fingers move over him, pressing against his hole on each pass but not pushing inside.
Reaching into the pocket of Peter's jeans, Chris' fingers wrap around a tube. It's partly used, about half empty, and Chris wonders if this is the one Peter uses when he's alone. Wonders if Peter slicks his cock to make the glide of his fingers smoother, or if he buries them inside himself in a parody of getting fucked.
Flicking the tube open with his thumb, Chris pulls his other hand away from Peter's ass, squeezing the clear gel onto his fingers.
"Never figured you for a boy scout, Peter," he comments, "Or was it just that you weren't planning on leaving until you'd gotten fucked?"
"I guess I just-- fuck--"
Chris grins at the curse that drops from Peter's lips as he pushes two fingers into Peter's body, slick and smooth and quick. And although there's something to be said for fucking Peter on nothing more than spit and precome, something to be said about the burn and the friction and the way Peter whines under him, Chris isn't in the mood to take his time tonight. Wants to slam into Peter, hard and quick. Wants the wolf writhing under him until Chris comes, marking Peter indelibly as his.
Chris twists his fingers in Peter's body as he squeezes more lube directly onto his cock, hissing as the cool gel hits heated skin. There's a small whimper of loss as Chris pulls his fingers out of Peter's body, and Chris drops the tube to the floor so he can run his hand over Peter's hip soothingly, even though he doubts if Peter even realises the noise came from him.
Using the still-slick fingers he pulled from Peter's body, Chris spreads the lube over his cock, teeth biting into his lower lip as each touch makes his cock jump.
Peter's looking back at him, eyes wide with a faint ring of blue around the black, and it makes something flare in Chris, heavy and wanting.
His fingers circling the base of his dick, Chris guides his cock to rest against Peter's asshole, holding himself there until Peter growls at him, pushing himself back.
"C'mon, Argent." There's a break in the words, a pause as Peter's breath stutters slightly.
But Chris doesn't move. Even though every part of him is screaming to push, to take, to break Peter open around him, he holds himself still. Holds himself still until--
"Please--"
Chris bottoms out in one thrust, the hand that's not currently wrapped around Peter's hip pressing down at the base of his spine as Peter arches, pressing down until Chris is all the way inside, his skin flush with Peter's ass.
The pants coming from Peter are harsh and guttural and Chris wants to hear more of them. Wants to hear Peter beg and plead and fall apart under him. His fingers trail up Peter's back, leaving small smears of lube across his shirt that Peter will no doubt bitch about later. His hand wraps around the back of Peter's neck briefly, squeezing once, before his fingers move into Peter's hair, gripping tightly as he pulls Peter's head back, exposing the graceful line of his throat.
"What are you waiting for, Christopher?" The words are nearly a growl.
"Nothing," Chris responds, dropping his grip on Peter's hair as he pulls out and slams back into Peter's body.
The pace Chris sets is almost brutal, the slap of skin against skin ringing through the room. Peter is shaking under him, yes and harder and more and Chris dropping from his lips, like the words are being forced out of his body each time Chris moves into him.
Peter's fingers are scraping across the desk, his claws leaving shallow grooves in the wood.
"Chris--"
The name is both a plea and a demand, and Peter growls when Chris ignores it. Because Chris knows what Peter wants, knows that the angle Chris is fucking into Peter right now isn't enough for the other man. But he also knows exactly why Peter came to him tonight. So, when one of Peter's hands moves, pulls away from the desk to wrap around his own straining flesh, Chris stops him. Stops him by grabbing Peter's wrists, pinning them to the desk, as he continues to drive into Peter's body.
There are a hundred ways Peter could break Chris' grip. Peter may be under him now, but he's still a wolf, still has strength and power and claws, and myriad ways to be out and across to the other side of the room in an instant. Chris pauses, hips pressed tight against Peter's body, and he can feel the tension in Peter. Feels it for long seconds, before Peter breathes out, his head dropping as he pushes back into Chris' thrust.
"That's it, Peter," Chris murmurs. "Give it up for me." He starts to move again, shifting his stance slightly and angling his hips. And it take a couple of tries, but then Peter jerks under him, hissing out a yes--
The sound of rough breathing fills the air, hoarse groans from both of them that weave together in the silence. Peter is still muttering under his breath, driving Chris on to faster and sharper thrusts with each please-- and more-- that comes from him.
Peter's pushing back into Chris, an almost frantic desperation to his movements. Chris can feel the coiled need burning through Peter, can feel the tense want as Peter tugs at the grip Chris still has on his wrists. But Chris doesn't let go, just tightens his grip, his nails digging into the soft skin on the inside of Peter's wrists.
Chris leans down, nipping once at the back of Peter's neck. "Come on, Peter." The words are mouthed against Peter's skin, against skin and sweat and desire.
And all it takes is another thrust, two, before Peter is howling, clenching hard around Chris' cock as he comes.
Peter is shaking under him, hips stuttering as he comes against air, and Chris knows he won't last long. Not when Peter is rippling around him, coming apart in Chris' grip. He drives into Peter's body, flesh sliding against flesh, until he feels it burning low in his belly. It sits there, heavy and wanting, and pushing him to fuck into Peter faster.
"C'ris--"
His name is a broken groan from Peter's lips, and it pushes Chris over the edge. The pleasure flashes through him in a white hot shock as he explodes into Peter's body. Chris' head drops, his forehead resting against Peter's sweat-damp shirt as his cock jerks inside Peter, emptying himself into the other man in a dizzying rush.
The seconds bleed into each other and Chris isn't sure how much time passes until his softened cock finally slips out of Peter's body. The loss prompts a noise from Peter, low and laced with disappointment, and Chris carefully unwraps his fingers from one of Peter's wrists to slide his hand under Peter's shirt, his fingertips drawing idle patterns on the skin they find.
Minutes pass, the almost inaudible tick of the clock on the wall and the sound of soft breathing the only things breaking the silence.
"I should go," Peter says eventually, making no actual attempt to move.
Chris doesn't answer him, just continues to draw patterns across Peter's skin. Random shapes and symbols and at least one word that means he's fucked if Peter speaks archaic Latin and recognised the letters Chris was tracing onto his back.
"Chris." Peter huffs slightly, wriggling under him until Chris moves.
Chris grimaces as he pushes himself away from Peter, away from the desk. His skin feels tacky with drying sweat, and his shirt's sticking to him in at least one place. His dick's a mess of come and lube as he tucks himself back into his shorts, and fastens the top button on his jeans just to keep them up. It's not exactly comfortable, but he'll tolerate it until he gets to the shower.
Peter's already fastened his own jeans when Chris looks at him, leaning his hip against the desk. He's running his fingers through his hair in what, Chris assumes, is an attempt to not look like he's just been fucked senseless. Chris is tempted to tell him it's not working.
Peter glances towards the door. "I should--"
Chris cuts him off. "Stay."
Peter looks at him, eyes narrowing. Because this isn't what happens, this isn't what they do. But it's late and Chris is tired, and maybe it's time they changed the game.
Slowly, Chris reaches out, wrapping his fingers around Peter's wrist, an echo of earlier.
"Stay, Peter," Chris says again.
Peter glances down, his gaze resting on where Chris' fingers are holding him for long moments, before he looks back up and meets Chris' eyes.
There's a moment where Chris thinks Peter is going to refuse, to pull his wrist out of Chris' grasp and be gone. But then he nods, his tongue darting out to lick at his lower lip. He nods, and Chris feels something in him relax.
"Shower first," Chris decides. And then food and bed. Possibly not in that order.
"Why, Argent," Peter comments lightly, "are you trying to get me clean just so you can dirty me up again?"
Chris huffs a laugh. "Maybe I am." Maybe he just wants to blow Peter in the shower, to see exactly how much werewolf stamina can hold up to.
"I don't have any clothes here. I'll have to borrow a shirt, unless you're expecting me to go half-naked." Peter's tone says he'd be fine with either option, but the feeling from earlier flares again in Chris at the thought of Peter wearing his clothes. Flares hot and possessive and bright.
"I'm sure I can find you something," Chris answers, trying to keep the undercurrent of mineminemine out of his voice. The look Peter gives him tells him he wasn't exactly successful.
"In that case, Christopher, I'm in your hands."
And Chris just smiles, rubbing his thumb over Peter's wrist before leading him towards the bedroom.
