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moonlettuceTitle: (If you look to your left, you can see) Rome's still burning
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,214
Summary: In which Chris and Peter are soulmates, and it'll never work out
Additional Notes: Based on this prompt: soulmate au where you can't lie to your soulmate
(If you look to your left, you can see) Rome's still burning
They've known what they are to each other since the first time they met. Ever since that night in the preserve, when Peter was crouched next to a tree, heart pounding so loud he was sure the hunters tracking him could hear it.
There's the sound of leaves crunching and footsteps getting closer and Peter's wishing that he hadn't just walked out after the argument with Talia. But what's done is done, and there's no way the hunter isn't going to see him, so Peter's only chance is attacking and hoping the hunter's too surprised to stop Peter from running.
Only, it doesn't happen the way Peter plans it in his head.
Attack and run. Attack and run. The mantra's running through his mind with each step he hears the hunter take, and just when they're close enough, just when Peter's about to leap, he meets sharp eyes and the breath feels like it's being dragged from his body.
No. Absolutely not. This cannot be happening. Not here. Not now. Not a fucking hunter.
And Peter knows he should leave, should turn and run while the hunter's still staring at him, surprise written on his face. But his feet won't move, won't let him flee, and the hunter's coming closer.
"Who are you?" His voice is low, rough, and it sends shivers of want down Peter's spine.
"Peter Hale." And Peter can't ever hope to deny it now, not with the proof of his own name hanging in the air, not when he felt the pull to answer. Not when the automatic retort of Fuck you-- had died on his lips to be replaced by an inexorable truth.
"Chris Argent."
Peter almost laughs at the absurdity of it. Because not only is fate cracked enough to give him a hunter as a soulmate, but it gives him a fucking Argent.
But Peter doesn't get the chance to express his disgust, not when someone else is calling for Argent, asking if he managed to flush the wolf out.
Argent doesn't take his eyes off Peter as he answers, as he shouts back that there's nothing there and the wolf must have gotten away from them.
There's grumbling at Argent's response, grumbling that's getting louder with each passing second, and no amount of words from Argent will get them out of this if the other hunters see them together. Argent must be thinking the same thing, because he's looking at Peter, his hand reaching out to wrap around Peter's wrist.
"Meet me here tomorrow night."
There are a hundred reasons why Peter should say no, why he should turn around and walk away and bury deep inside himself the fact that the other half of his soul is from a family that has spent centuries slaughtering his kind.
And maybe what he's thinking is showing on his face, because Argent's grip on his wrist tightens slightly.
"Please."
Argent waits until Peter nods before he releases his grip, before he steps back and walks away, shouting at the other hunter that if the wolf hadn't already gone then the amount of noise the idiot was making would have given their position away.
And then Peter is alone. The sound of voices and footsteps retreating, leaving nothing but the pounding of Peter's heart to fill the silence.
~
Peter tells himself he's not going to meet Argent. Tells himself that right up until the moment he's walking into the clearing to see the hunter leaning against a tree.
"I wasn't sure if you were going to come."
"I nearly didn't." Even though it wasn't a question, even though Peter didn't feel like he had to answer it.
The silence that follows is heavy, awkward, and it's nothing like the joyous coming together that meeting your soulmate is usually portrayed to be. They should be happy, celebrating. They should be going to their families and telling them that they met the other half of themselves. They should be talking about who they are and why they're so perfect for each other, and how they're going to spend the rest of their lives in blissful fucking joy. And, yet, all Peter can think is--
"Are you going to use this to strike at my pack?"
"No! Jesus, no." Argent actually looks horrified at the thought, and at least Peter knows he's not lying, can't lie. And then he glances away. "But--"
Peter snorts. Because there's always a but. There's been a but ever since his father died and the mantle of alpha passed to his sister. Passed to a sister that treats him more like one of her unruly children than her actual brother.
"My father--"
Argent doesn't finish the sentence, he doesn't need to. Peter's well aware of Gerard Argent, of his opinions that all wolves need to be put down.
"We can't tell anyone," Argent finally finishes with.
"No, really, hunter. And I was so looking forward to taking you home and introducing you to my alpha." Because what the hell did Argent think Peter was going to do? What did he think either of them were going to do?
Argent looks at him, and Peter can't tell if the quiet that follows his outburst is annoyed or surprised. And Peter's expecting Argent to just walk away, to turn around and leave now that he's said his piece about keeping quiet, like that wasn't something Peter had been planning on anyway. What he's not expecting is the huffed out laugh and the hand that scrubs over Argent's face.
"Someone up there must be having a hell of a laugh right now." Resignation laces Argent's tone.
"Tell me about it," Peter comments, all too aware of how very fucked up their situation is right now.
"And you know the stupid thing," Argent continues. "Even with this, with who we are, fate, nature, biology, whoever the fuck made this shit up, still thinks we're perfect for each other." He glances away briefly, before his eyes meet Peter's, longing written in the look. "You're my soulmate, Peter Hale, and every part of me is yearning to find out more. And that's what terrifies me the most."
Peter doesn't break the gaze, doesn't look away from Argent, as he steps closer, holding out his hand. "Peter Hale. I'm a Scorpio, I hate algebra, love basketball, and I've been told I'm a sarcastic asshole more than once. Pleased to meet you," he says carefully.
Argent's fingers wrap around his, solid and sure. "Chris Argent. I'm whatever covers the beginning of April, I can speak four languages fluently, more of a hockey fan." He pauses and smirks. "And I've always been kind of attracted to sarcastic assholes."
Peter matches his smirk, the warmth from Argent's hand, from Chris' hand, spreading through him.
And Peter knows he is lost.
~
They meet every couple of days after that first time, even though they know they shouldn't, even though they know they're borrowing trouble. But it's like an open wound that neither of them can keep from picking at.
Because it's not like this can ever go anywhere, not like they'll ever get to declare it to the world. They both know exactly what Gerard would do if he found out Chris' soulmate was a wolf. Knows exactly what Chris' father's actions would be if he had access to a member of the Hale pack who couldn't lie to Chris.
And Peter knows how far Talia would be prepared to go to protect her family. Knows that his sister would sacrifice Peter's happiness on the altar of Chris' body if it meant removing a way for Gerard to strike at them.
But they still meet, sitting so close they can feel the other's body heat, as they talk in low tones about everything that crosses their minds.
It happens when the summer is drawing to a close. When the sun sinks lower and the leaves start to blanket the ground in shades of orange.
"We're moving." The words are out of Chris' mouth as soon as he sees Peter.
Part of Peter isn't surprised, has been half expecting it since he and Chris met. Hunter families aren't like wolf packs. They go where the hunt is, and Talia has been very careful to make sure Gerard hasn't had any reason to act against them without bringing the scorn of the hunter community down on him for breaking their Code.
"When?" Because Peter wants to know how much time they have. How much time before he has to bury the fact that he ever knew Chris, that he met his soulmate, deep down inside him.
"Couple weeks. There are a few things Gerard needs to sort out before we go."
There aren't many more words spoken that night, the two of them leaning against each other as the sky darkens.
It's just as they're getting ready to leave each other that Peter gives voice to the thought running through his head.
"Do you ever wish--" We could just leave this place. That we weren't who we are. That we'd never actually met, never known what it is we're losing.
"Yeah."
Chris' voice is soft, and Peter doesn't know which unspoken question he's answering.
~
There's a shift once they know Chris is leaving. A shift that makes everything seem so much more real.
And it's Chris that mentions it first, about them spending the night together. But once he does, Peter can't think about anything else, his mind fixed on them having that one night, just that one.
Because if they're going to lose this, if they're going to ignore that they ever met, ignore that they ever knew what they could have had, then they want something, even if it's just a single night, to see them through the rest of their lives.
And when they start planning, when they start talking about hotels and dates and how they're actually going to do this, Peter can't help but think that he's read books like this. Laura has a stash of romance novels that Peter may have started reading once when he was bored. He's seen plots like this. Two people, trying to ignore their bond, but being drawn together anyway. The books make it seem so romantic, all about love and destiny overcoming anything.
But it's not like that for him and Chris. There's too much potential for blood and hate and death between them. Peter knows full well there are no happy endings possible, not in this story. (A few weeks after Chris is gone, Peter sees Laura reading one of her books and sighing about how romantic it all is. About how she hopes, when she meets her soulmate, that they love her enough to fight against their family for her, and wouldn't that be wonderful, Peter? He leaves without answering, taking to the preserve and running until he's so tired he can't feel any more. No one asks him where he's been when he comes back two days later.)
~
Chris picks Peter up on the outskirts of the town, and Peter throws his bag in the back before sliding into Chris' passenger seat. He'd told Talia he was staying with a friend for the night, that they needed to work on something for school. He knows she won't check.
They drive two towns over, pulling into the hotel they decided on. It's fancier than either of them have stayed in before, Chris more used to roadside motels and Peter only ever having been away with the school, but they didn't want their one night to be in a shitty motel with a broken neon sign and beds that Peter could smell the previous occupants on. So they pooled their resources, worked out what they could afford and went for it.
The receptionist smiles at them when she hands over the key card to the room they have, and Peter wonders what she sees. Wonders if she sees two people sneaking away from their families, or maybe the first flush of a bond begging to be consummated.
Or maybe she sees the ringing knell of a relationship that was never going to stand a chance, a dim parody of the revered joy so many magazines and TV shows claim the bond to be. Maybe she sees exactly what Peter does when he looks in a mirror.
Chris takes the card off her, and part of Peter still can't believe Chris checked them in using their actual names, even if he understands it.
"I want someone to know," Chris had said. "Even if all they do is write our names together in a hotel reception book. Even if no one else ever sees it, I still want someone to know."
It feels awkward when they get into the room, the silence thick and oppressive, until Peter finally just fists his fingers in Chris' shirt and pulls him to him.
They move towards the bed, their lips never leaving each other, laughing into the kiss when they drop onto the mattress and bounce slightly.
They kiss for so long it feels like hours, Chris' lips on Peter's neck as his hand slides under Peter's shirt to rest against the warm skin of his stomach.
"Have you done this before?" Chris asks, when he pulls back.
And even if Peter could have lied to Chris, he wouldn't, not about this. "No." Because all he's ever felt is his own hand wrapped around himself, his own fingers sliding into his body when he wondered what it would feel like. "Have you?"
Chris nods. "Yeah."
It's the answer Peter expects. Chris is older than him by a few years, and Peter doesn't think it would have been possible for someone who looked like Chris to go through college without getting some experience. "I guess I'm in your hands, then."
Chris presses another kiss to Peter's lips before rolling off the bed and heading over to the bag he dropped next to the door. Peter watches him crouch down, opening the duffle before pulling out a paper bag.
"I made a quick stop before I picked you up," Chris says as he walks back to the bed, pulling out lube and a box of condoms. He puts them on the bedside table, before crumpling the bag in his hand and throwing it over to the trash bin.
Sitting up, Peter reaches out for the condoms and hands them to Chris. "We don't need these." Because wolves can't catch or carry anything, and it's not like there's a risk of him getting pregnant. And he wants to feel Chris. If this is the only night they get, then Peter wants it all.
"Are you sure?" Chris asks, taking the condoms off him.
Peter nods. "Yes. Unless you want--"
"No," Chris cuts him off. "God, Peter, the thought of-- of marking you up on the inside. I want it. But your pack--"
"Probably won't even notice," Peter admits. And if they do, all they know is that Peter slept with someone. They'll know he spread his legs, but they won't know who for. "And I want to feel you, Chris. I want to feel everything."
Chris' smile lights up his entire face as he tosses the condoms over his shoulder, not bothering to look where they land. "I want you naked, Hale, right now."
Peter smirks at the softly spoken order, tugging his shirt over his head and dropping it onto the floor. He kicks his boots off, lying back on the bed to wiggle out of his jeans, tugging them and his boxers off together.
Chris is already naked by the time Peter's jeans join the rest of the clothes scattered on the floor.
Peter pushes himself onto his elbows, grinning as Chris climbs on the bed and straddles Peter's thighs. Reaching out, Peter runs a finger along the jagged scar on Chris' side.
"Wendigo," Chris tells him.
"And these?" Peter trails his fingertips across the three parallel scars crossing Chris' bicep.
"Feral wolf," comes the answer.
"And this?" Peter asks, his hand moving to the puckered mark on Chris' thigh.
"An idiot who couldn't shoot straight."
And it's strange, seeing Chris' history mapped out on his body so viscerally. Peter's used to seeing injuries heal, watching skin knit back together without a mark left. Seeing the scars drives home that Chris is human, mortal. Breakable in a way that wolves aren't.
"Peter?"
He looks up at Chris, at the worried look on his face that has no place here, not tonight. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Peter smirks up at Chris and reaches out, his fingers almost dancing down the length of Chris' hardening cock. "And this? What caused this?"
The look on Chris' face tells Peter that he knows Peter's avoiding answering the question that Chris never actually asked, tells Peter that Chris is going to let him. "That? That was caused by a sarcastic wolf with the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."
"Sounds pretty," Peter comments lightly. "Maybe you should be with him, instead of here with me."
Chris huffs a laugh. "No, I think I'm exactly where I need to be."
Leaning down, Chris catches Peter's lips with his own, lapping at Peter's lower lip until Peter opens his mouth, until Chris' tongue slips inside.
Peter hisses into Chris' mouth as fingers wrap around his cock, jacking him slowly.
Pulling back slightly, Chris lifts his hand away from Peter's dick, smiling at the soft whine Peter gives at the loss of contact. "I wanna be in you," he murmurs, the words a breath over Peter's lips.
"How do you want me?" Peter asks, his voice low, not willing to break the spell of silence that seems to have surrounded them.
Chris shifts, getting off Peter as he grabs the lube off the bedside table. "It'll be easier for you on your side," he says, nudging Peter gently to roll over.
Peter can feel Chris' body heat behind him as he presses close. He hears the snap of the tube opening, and the chemical smell of--
"Strawberry, Chris? Really?"
Chris smiles into Peter's shoulder. "Shut up, it was the first one I grabbed." There's rustling behind Peter, and then, "You ready?" he asks, rubbing a slick finger over Peter's asshole.
Peter nods, nods and then gasps as Chris' finger slides in. And it feels different, having someone else do this. Because Peter's had his own fingers inside him, pressing in and stretching himself ever since they decided they were doing this, ever since Peter decided he wanted Chris in him.
"More. Please."
And whatever Chris hears in Peter's voice, has him pushing a second finger in, twisting and moving inside Peter in a way that makes Peter's breath stutter.
Chris' lips are against Peter's shoulder, smattering kisses over his skin.
The fingers move inside Peter for long minutes, until Peter is writhing, his cock hard and dripping precome. Until the only words out of his mouth are Yes-- and Now-- and Chris-- and Please--.
And then they're gone, pulled carefully from Peter's body. There's the sound of Chris slicking himself up and then there's something pressing at Peter's entrance, heavier, hotter, more insistent than Chris' fingers.
Peter can't stop the whine that comes from him as Chris pushes into him, as his body is opened around a cock for the first time. And, oh god, Chris is inside him. Pressing in deeper, until his body is flush with Peter's.
Chris' hand is on Peter's hip, rubbing soothing circles into his skin as Chris murmurs into Peter's shoulder. Murmurs "You're okay--" and "So good--" and "Peter--"
Chris holds himself still, doesn't move until Peter nods. And then he's pulling back, pulling back until just the head of his cock is in Peter. "Peter?"
And it takes a moment for Peter to process Chris' voice, to process that he's waiting for Peter. "Yes," he says, reaching back to grab the hand still on his hip, tangling their fingers together. "Please." Because Peter wants it, wants to feel Chris fucking him, cleaving into him. He wants to feel the beat running through Chris' body thundering into his own.
Chris groans as he moves into Peter, a steady glide in and out of Peter's body. The only noises in the room are sharp gasps and heavy moans and the sound of skin against skin. The sound of Yes-- and More-- and Faster--
Moving their joined hands to Peter's dick, Chris wraps their fingers around the hardness. "Show me how you touch yourself, Peter." The words are little more than panted out breaths.
Guiding Chris' fingers, Peter moves his hand, stripping his cock in the same tempo Chris is moving into him. Slow and careful, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock and slicking the precome gathered there over his skin, over their fingers. He speeds up when Chris does, when the driving thrusts into his body get faster and harder.
And Peter can feel it building in him, can feel the ball of heat sitting in his belly, can feel it pushed further outward with each time Chris moves into him, with each groaned out murmur of his name. He tightens the fingers on his cock, twisting his wrist slightly in just the right way.
"Chris--" Peter stutters out the name, unable to get more out, the words stuck in his throat.
"Come on, Peter," Chris urges, taking the speed their joined hands are moving over Peter' cock up another notch.
Peter's balls tighten and he can feel it, sitting just out of reach, sharp and there and, oh god--
Peter yells as Chris shifts slightly, changing the angle of this thrust. Yells, as a nail gently scrapes down the length of his cock. And pleasure flashes through him, hot and bright, as he comes, ropes of white covering their fingers and landing on the sheet under them.
Chris is still driving into him, fucking into Peter as he shakes around him. And all it takes is once, twice, before Chris' teeth bite into Peter's shoulder, before the shout is muffled in Peter's skin and he can feel Chris coming inside him, can feel Chris marking him as his.
Peter's breath is still slowing when Chris' softening cock slips out of him, and he hisses at the loss, hisses at the feeling of being left open and empty.
Chris' forehead is against Peter's back, and he can feel Chris' breath ghosting over him, a welcome warmth against his cooling sweat-slicked skin.
"Chris--"
And Peter thinks there should be other words, but he's not sure what they are. Not sure how to give voice to what's currently inside him, to the satiation that's currently warring with the knowledge that they'll never have this again.
But maybe he doesn't need to. Maybe Chris doesn't need to hear the words, because, "I know, Peter. I know."
They're still for long moments, and then Chris shifts, moving back for a brief few seconds, and then there's a softness running over Peter's skin, between his legs.
The t-shirt that Chris must have grabbed off the floor to clean them up gets thrown over to land near Chris' bag.
Chris' fingers are back on Peter's hip, tracing careful patterns. And Peter thinks he recognises letters in there, but his mind isn't together enough to string them into words.
Peter shuffles backwards, pressing into Chris' chest. His eyes feel heavy, and maybe he's one of those people who falls asleep after sex, or maybe everything that's happened, everything that's going to happen, is finally catching up to him.
There's a soft laugh, and Chris' fingers trail through his hair. "Go to sleep, Peter. I'll be here when you wake up."
And it's only when the darkness of sleep is washing over him that Peter hears it, hears the I love you-- that Chris whispers against his skin.
~
In the morning, they edge around each other, but don't actually touch. And Peter wonders if Chris is feeling the same way he is right now. Careful. Brittle. Like if they touch just once more, then they'll never be able to let the other go.
The drive back to Beacon Hills is silent, and Chris stops at the same place he picked Peter up from.
Peter's hand is on the car door, ready to open it, when Chris reaches out, when Chris wraps his fingers around Peter's wrist. Peter looks down at the fingers clenched tight around him, looks at the fingers that slid inside him so carefully last night, that opened him up so perfectly.
"Take care of yourself, Peter."
Peter hears the words for what they are. Hears them for always and mine and I want, hears them for be safe and I wish and goodbye.
"You too, Christopher."
And then Chris' fingers are gone, and Peter is getting out of the car, his bag at his feet.
He watches as Chris drives off, watches until he can't see the car any more. And then Peter picks up his bag and starts the walk home.
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,214
Summary: In which Chris and Peter are soulmates, and it'll never work out
Additional Notes: Based on this prompt: soulmate au where you can't lie to your soulmate
(If you look to your left, you can see) Rome's still burning
They've known what they are to each other since the first time they met. Ever since that night in the preserve, when Peter was crouched next to a tree, heart pounding so loud he was sure the hunters tracking him could hear it.
There's the sound of leaves crunching and footsteps getting closer and Peter's wishing that he hadn't just walked out after the argument with Talia. But what's done is done, and there's no way the hunter isn't going to see him, so Peter's only chance is attacking and hoping the hunter's too surprised to stop Peter from running.
Only, it doesn't happen the way Peter plans it in his head.
Attack and run. Attack and run. The mantra's running through his mind with each step he hears the hunter take, and just when they're close enough, just when Peter's about to leap, he meets sharp eyes and the breath feels like it's being dragged from his body.
No. Absolutely not. This cannot be happening. Not here. Not now. Not a fucking hunter.
And Peter knows he should leave, should turn and run while the hunter's still staring at him, surprise written on his face. But his feet won't move, won't let him flee, and the hunter's coming closer.
"Who are you?" His voice is low, rough, and it sends shivers of want down Peter's spine.
"Peter Hale." And Peter can't ever hope to deny it now, not with the proof of his own name hanging in the air, not when he felt the pull to answer. Not when the automatic retort of Fuck you-- had died on his lips to be replaced by an inexorable truth.
"Chris Argent."
Peter almost laughs at the absurdity of it. Because not only is fate cracked enough to give him a hunter as a soulmate, but it gives him a fucking Argent.
But Peter doesn't get the chance to express his disgust, not when someone else is calling for Argent, asking if he managed to flush the wolf out.
Argent doesn't take his eyes off Peter as he answers, as he shouts back that there's nothing there and the wolf must have gotten away from them.
There's grumbling at Argent's response, grumbling that's getting louder with each passing second, and no amount of words from Argent will get them out of this if the other hunters see them together. Argent must be thinking the same thing, because he's looking at Peter, his hand reaching out to wrap around Peter's wrist.
"Meet me here tomorrow night."
There are a hundred reasons why Peter should say no, why he should turn around and walk away and bury deep inside himself the fact that the other half of his soul is from a family that has spent centuries slaughtering his kind.
And maybe what he's thinking is showing on his face, because Argent's grip on his wrist tightens slightly.
"Please."
Argent waits until Peter nods before he releases his grip, before he steps back and walks away, shouting at the other hunter that if the wolf hadn't already gone then the amount of noise the idiot was making would have given their position away.
And then Peter is alone. The sound of voices and footsteps retreating, leaving nothing but the pounding of Peter's heart to fill the silence.
~
Peter tells himself he's not going to meet Argent. Tells himself that right up until the moment he's walking into the clearing to see the hunter leaning against a tree.
"I wasn't sure if you were going to come."
"I nearly didn't." Even though it wasn't a question, even though Peter didn't feel like he had to answer it.
The silence that follows is heavy, awkward, and it's nothing like the joyous coming together that meeting your soulmate is usually portrayed to be. They should be happy, celebrating. They should be going to their families and telling them that they met the other half of themselves. They should be talking about who they are and why they're so perfect for each other, and how they're going to spend the rest of their lives in blissful fucking joy. And, yet, all Peter can think is--
"Are you going to use this to strike at my pack?"
"No! Jesus, no." Argent actually looks horrified at the thought, and at least Peter knows he's not lying, can't lie. And then he glances away. "But--"
Peter snorts. Because there's always a but. There's been a but ever since his father died and the mantle of alpha passed to his sister. Passed to a sister that treats him more like one of her unruly children than her actual brother.
"My father--"
Argent doesn't finish the sentence, he doesn't need to. Peter's well aware of Gerard Argent, of his opinions that all wolves need to be put down.
"We can't tell anyone," Argent finally finishes with.
"No, really, hunter. And I was so looking forward to taking you home and introducing you to my alpha." Because what the hell did Argent think Peter was going to do? What did he think either of them were going to do?
Argent looks at him, and Peter can't tell if the quiet that follows his outburst is annoyed or surprised. And Peter's expecting Argent to just walk away, to turn around and leave now that he's said his piece about keeping quiet, like that wasn't something Peter had been planning on anyway. What he's not expecting is the huffed out laugh and the hand that scrubs over Argent's face.
"Someone up there must be having a hell of a laugh right now." Resignation laces Argent's tone.
"Tell me about it," Peter comments, all too aware of how very fucked up their situation is right now.
"And you know the stupid thing," Argent continues. "Even with this, with who we are, fate, nature, biology, whoever the fuck made this shit up, still thinks we're perfect for each other." He glances away briefly, before his eyes meet Peter's, longing written in the look. "You're my soulmate, Peter Hale, and every part of me is yearning to find out more. And that's what terrifies me the most."
Peter doesn't break the gaze, doesn't look away from Argent, as he steps closer, holding out his hand. "Peter Hale. I'm a Scorpio, I hate algebra, love basketball, and I've been told I'm a sarcastic asshole more than once. Pleased to meet you," he says carefully.
Argent's fingers wrap around his, solid and sure. "Chris Argent. I'm whatever covers the beginning of April, I can speak four languages fluently, more of a hockey fan." He pauses and smirks. "And I've always been kind of attracted to sarcastic assholes."
Peter matches his smirk, the warmth from Argent's hand, from Chris' hand, spreading through him.
And Peter knows he is lost.
~
They meet every couple of days after that first time, even though they know they shouldn't, even though they know they're borrowing trouble. But it's like an open wound that neither of them can keep from picking at.
Because it's not like this can ever go anywhere, not like they'll ever get to declare it to the world. They both know exactly what Gerard would do if he found out Chris' soulmate was a wolf. Knows exactly what Chris' father's actions would be if he had access to a member of the Hale pack who couldn't lie to Chris.
And Peter knows how far Talia would be prepared to go to protect her family. Knows that his sister would sacrifice Peter's happiness on the altar of Chris' body if it meant removing a way for Gerard to strike at them.
But they still meet, sitting so close they can feel the other's body heat, as they talk in low tones about everything that crosses their minds.
It happens when the summer is drawing to a close. When the sun sinks lower and the leaves start to blanket the ground in shades of orange.
"We're moving." The words are out of Chris' mouth as soon as he sees Peter.
Part of Peter isn't surprised, has been half expecting it since he and Chris met. Hunter families aren't like wolf packs. They go where the hunt is, and Talia has been very careful to make sure Gerard hasn't had any reason to act against them without bringing the scorn of the hunter community down on him for breaking their Code.
"When?" Because Peter wants to know how much time they have. How much time before he has to bury the fact that he ever knew Chris, that he met his soulmate, deep down inside him.
"Couple weeks. There are a few things Gerard needs to sort out before we go."
There aren't many more words spoken that night, the two of them leaning against each other as the sky darkens.
It's just as they're getting ready to leave each other that Peter gives voice to the thought running through his head.
"Do you ever wish--" We could just leave this place. That we weren't who we are. That we'd never actually met, never known what it is we're losing.
"Yeah."
Chris' voice is soft, and Peter doesn't know which unspoken question he's answering.
~
There's a shift once they know Chris is leaving. A shift that makes everything seem so much more real.
And it's Chris that mentions it first, about them spending the night together. But once he does, Peter can't think about anything else, his mind fixed on them having that one night, just that one.
Because if they're going to lose this, if they're going to ignore that they ever met, ignore that they ever knew what they could have had, then they want something, even if it's just a single night, to see them through the rest of their lives.
And when they start planning, when they start talking about hotels and dates and how they're actually going to do this, Peter can't help but think that he's read books like this. Laura has a stash of romance novels that Peter may have started reading once when he was bored. He's seen plots like this. Two people, trying to ignore their bond, but being drawn together anyway. The books make it seem so romantic, all about love and destiny overcoming anything.
But it's not like that for him and Chris. There's too much potential for blood and hate and death between them. Peter knows full well there are no happy endings possible, not in this story. (A few weeks after Chris is gone, Peter sees Laura reading one of her books and sighing about how romantic it all is. About how she hopes, when she meets her soulmate, that they love her enough to fight against their family for her, and wouldn't that be wonderful, Peter? He leaves without answering, taking to the preserve and running until he's so tired he can't feel any more. No one asks him where he's been when he comes back two days later.)
~
Chris picks Peter up on the outskirts of the town, and Peter throws his bag in the back before sliding into Chris' passenger seat. He'd told Talia he was staying with a friend for the night, that they needed to work on something for school. He knows she won't check.
They drive two towns over, pulling into the hotel they decided on. It's fancier than either of them have stayed in before, Chris more used to roadside motels and Peter only ever having been away with the school, but they didn't want their one night to be in a shitty motel with a broken neon sign and beds that Peter could smell the previous occupants on. So they pooled their resources, worked out what they could afford and went for it.
The receptionist smiles at them when she hands over the key card to the room they have, and Peter wonders what she sees. Wonders if she sees two people sneaking away from their families, or maybe the first flush of a bond begging to be consummated.
Or maybe she sees the ringing knell of a relationship that was never going to stand a chance, a dim parody of the revered joy so many magazines and TV shows claim the bond to be. Maybe she sees exactly what Peter does when he looks in a mirror.
Chris takes the card off her, and part of Peter still can't believe Chris checked them in using their actual names, even if he understands it.
"I want someone to know," Chris had said. "Even if all they do is write our names together in a hotel reception book. Even if no one else ever sees it, I still want someone to know."
It feels awkward when they get into the room, the silence thick and oppressive, until Peter finally just fists his fingers in Chris' shirt and pulls him to him.
They move towards the bed, their lips never leaving each other, laughing into the kiss when they drop onto the mattress and bounce slightly.
They kiss for so long it feels like hours, Chris' lips on Peter's neck as his hand slides under Peter's shirt to rest against the warm skin of his stomach.
"Have you done this before?" Chris asks, when he pulls back.
And even if Peter could have lied to Chris, he wouldn't, not about this. "No." Because all he's ever felt is his own hand wrapped around himself, his own fingers sliding into his body when he wondered what it would feel like. "Have you?"
Chris nods. "Yeah."
It's the answer Peter expects. Chris is older than him by a few years, and Peter doesn't think it would have been possible for someone who looked like Chris to go through college without getting some experience. "I guess I'm in your hands, then."
Chris presses another kiss to Peter's lips before rolling off the bed and heading over to the bag he dropped next to the door. Peter watches him crouch down, opening the duffle before pulling out a paper bag.
"I made a quick stop before I picked you up," Chris says as he walks back to the bed, pulling out lube and a box of condoms. He puts them on the bedside table, before crumpling the bag in his hand and throwing it over to the trash bin.
Sitting up, Peter reaches out for the condoms and hands them to Chris. "We don't need these." Because wolves can't catch or carry anything, and it's not like there's a risk of him getting pregnant. And he wants to feel Chris. If this is the only night they get, then Peter wants it all.
"Are you sure?" Chris asks, taking the condoms off him.
Peter nods. "Yes. Unless you want--"
"No," Chris cuts him off. "God, Peter, the thought of-- of marking you up on the inside. I want it. But your pack--"
"Probably won't even notice," Peter admits. And if they do, all they know is that Peter slept with someone. They'll know he spread his legs, but they won't know who for. "And I want to feel you, Chris. I want to feel everything."
Chris' smile lights up his entire face as he tosses the condoms over his shoulder, not bothering to look where they land. "I want you naked, Hale, right now."
Peter smirks at the softly spoken order, tugging his shirt over his head and dropping it onto the floor. He kicks his boots off, lying back on the bed to wiggle out of his jeans, tugging them and his boxers off together.
Chris is already naked by the time Peter's jeans join the rest of the clothes scattered on the floor.
Peter pushes himself onto his elbows, grinning as Chris climbs on the bed and straddles Peter's thighs. Reaching out, Peter runs a finger along the jagged scar on Chris' side.
"Wendigo," Chris tells him.
"And these?" Peter trails his fingertips across the three parallel scars crossing Chris' bicep.
"Feral wolf," comes the answer.
"And this?" Peter asks, his hand moving to the puckered mark on Chris' thigh.
"An idiot who couldn't shoot straight."
And it's strange, seeing Chris' history mapped out on his body so viscerally. Peter's used to seeing injuries heal, watching skin knit back together without a mark left. Seeing the scars drives home that Chris is human, mortal. Breakable in a way that wolves aren't.
"Peter?"
He looks up at Chris, at the worried look on his face that has no place here, not tonight. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Peter smirks up at Chris and reaches out, his fingers almost dancing down the length of Chris' hardening cock. "And this? What caused this?"
The look on Chris' face tells Peter that he knows Peter's avoiding answering the question that Chris never actually asked, tells Peter that Chris is going to let him. "That? That was caused by a sarcastic wolf with the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."
"Sounds pretty," Peter comments lightly. "Maybe you should be with him, instead of here with me."
Chris huffs a laugh. "No, I think I'm exactly where I need to be."
Leaning down, Chris catches Peter's lips with his own, lapping at Peter's lower lip until Peter opens his mouth, until Chris' tongue slips inside.
Peter hisses into Chris' mouth as fingers wrap around his cock, jacking him slowly.
Pulling back slightly, Chris lifts his hand away from Peter's dick, smiling at the soft whine Peter gives at the loss of contact. "I wanna be in you," he murmurs, the words a breath over Peter's lips.
"How do you want me?" Peter asks, his voice low, not willing to break the spell of silence that seems to have surrounded them.
Chris shifts, getting off Peter as he grabs the lube off the bedside table. "It'll be easier for you on your side," he says, nudging Peter gently to roll over.
Peter can feel Chris' body heat behind him as he presses close. He hears the snap of the tube opening, and the chemical smell of--
"Strawberry, Chris? Really?"
Chris smiles into Peter's shoulder. "Shut up, it was the first one I grabbed." There's rustling behind Peter, and then, "You ready?" he asks, rubbing a slick finger over Peter's asshole.
Peter nods, nods and then gasps as Chris' finger slides in. And it feels different, having someone else do this. Because Peter's had his own fingers inside him, pressing in and stretching himself ever since they decided they were doing this, ever since Peter decided he wanted Chris in him.
"More. Please."
And whatever Chris hears in Peter's voice, has him pushing a second finger in, twisting and moving inside Peter in a way that makes Peter's breath stutter.
Chris' lips are against Peter's shoulder, smattering kisses over his skin.
The fingers move inside Peter for long minutes, until Peter is writhing, his cock hard and dripping precome. Until the only words out of his mouth are Yes-- and Now-- and Chris-- and Please--.
And then they're gone, pulled carefully from Peter's body. There's the sound of Chris slicking himself up and then there's something pressing at Peter's entrance, heavier, hotter, more insistent than Chris' fingers.
Peter can't stop the whine that comes from him as Chris pushes into him, as his body is opened around a cock for the first time. And, oh god, Chris is inside him. Pressing in deeper, until his body is flush with Peter's.
Chris' hand is on Peter's hip, rubbing soothing circles into his skin as Chris murmurs into Peter's shoulder. Murmurs "You're okay--" and "So good--" and "Peter--"
Chris holds himself still, doesn't move until Peter nods. And then he's pulling back, pulling back until just the head of his cock is in Peter. "Peter?"
And it takes a moment for Peter to process Chris' voice, to process that he's waiting for Peter. "Yes," he says, reaching back to grab the hand still on his hip, tangling their fingers together. "Please." Because Peter wants it, wants to feel Chris fucking him, cleaving into him. He wants to feel the beat running through Chris' body thundering into his own.
Chris groans as he moves into Peter, a steady glide in and out of Peter's body. The only noises in the room are sharp gasps and heavy moans and the sound of skin against skin. The sound of Yes-- and More-- and Faster--
Moving their joined hands to Peter's dick, Chris wraps their fingers around the hardness. "Show me how you touch yourself, Peter." The words are little more than panted out breaths.
Guiding Chris' fingers, Peter moves his hand, stripping his cock in the same tempo Chris is moving into him. Slow and careful, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock and slicking the precome gathered there over his skin, over their fingers. He speeds up when Chris does, when the driving thrusts into his body get faster and harder.
And Peter can feel it building in him, can feel the ball of heat sitting in his belly, can feel it pushed further outward with each time Chris moves into him, with each groaned out murmur of his name. He tightens the fingers on his cock, twisting his wrist slightly in just the right way.
"Chris--" Peter stutters out the name, unable to get more out, the words stuck in his throat.
"Come on, Peter," Chris urges, taking the speed their joined hands are moving over Peter' cock up another notch.
Peter's balls tighten and he can feel it, sitting just out of reach, sharp and there and, oh god--
Peter yells as Chris shifts slightly, changing the angle of this thrust. Yells, as a nail gently scrapes down the length of his cock. And pleasure flashes through him, hot and bright, as he comes, ropes of white covering their fingers and landing on the sheet under them.
Chris is still driving into him, fucking into Peter as he shakes around him. And all it takes is once, twice, before Chris' teeth bite into Peter's shoulder, before the shout is muffled in Peter's skin and he can feel Chris coming inside him, can feel Chris marking him as his.
Peter's breath is still slowing when Chris' softening cock slips out of him, and he hisses at the loss, hisses at the feeling of being left open and empty.
Chris' forehead is against Peter's back, and he can feel Chris' breath ghosting over him, a welcome warmth against his cooling sweat-slicked skin.
"Chris--"
And Peter thinks there should be other words, but he's not sure what they are. Not sure how to give voice to what's currently inside him, to the satiation that's currently warring with the knowledge that they'll never have this again.
But maybe he doesn't need to. Maybe Chris doesn't need to hear the words, because, "I know, Peter. I know."
They're still for long moments, and then Chris shifts, moving back for a brief few seconds, and then there's a softness running over Peter's skin, between his legs.
The t-shirt that Chris must have grabbed off the floor to clean them up gets thrown over to land near Chris' bag.
Chris' fingers are back on Peter's hip, tracing careful patterns. And Peter thinks he recognises letters in there, but his mind isn't together enough to string them into words.
Peter shuffles backwards, pressing into Chris' chest. His eyes feel heavy, and maybe he's one of those people who falls asleep after sex, or maybe everything that's happened, everything that's going to happen, is finally catching up to him.
There's a soft laugh, and Chris' fingers trail through his hair. "Go to sleep, Peter. I'll be here when you wake up."
And it's only when the darkness of sleep is washing over him that Peter hears it, hears the I love you-- that Chris whispers against his skin.
~
In the morning, they edge around each other, but don't actually touch. And Peter wonders if Chris is feeling the same way he is right now. Careful. Brittle. Like if they touch just once more, then they'll never be able to let the other go.
The drive back to Beacon Hills is silent, and Chris stops at the same place he picked Peter up from.
Peter's hand is on the car door, ready to open it, when Chris reaches out, when Chris wraps his fingers around Peter's wrist. Peter looks down at the fingers clenched tight around him, looks at the fingers that slid inside him so carefully last night, that opened him up so perfectly.
"Take care of yourself, Peter."
Peter hears the words for what they are. Hears them for always and mine and I want, hears them for be safe and I wish and goodbye.
"You too, Christopher."
And then Chris' fingers are gone, and Peter is getting out of the car, his bag at his feet.
He watches as Chris drives off, watches until he can't see the car any more. And then Peter picks up his bag and starts the walk home.
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