moonlettuce: (Misc: Legs sepia)
[personal profile] moonlettuce
Title: Staged
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,538
Summary: In which Chris follows Peter to a club and finds him jerking off for strangers


It wasn't exactly what Chris had been expecting to see when he'd walked into the club. (It had been his first time inside, but not his first time here. Because the previous times he followed Peter Hale here, he just sat in his truck, half expecting the security on the outside door to come over and ask him to leave.)

Part of him doesn't know what he'd been anticipating. After all, he knew what type of club this was when he walked in. Because there's only so many things security on the door, a discrete logo on the sign, and a steady stream of men in and out of a club could mean. So he'd paid the door fee, signed the waiver regarding the rules, and been waved inside by a twink obviously over the age but still young enough to be Chris' kid.

It's dark when he gets inside the club, although not so dark that he can't see. There are patches of light, spotlights shining down onto stages scattered around the room, all with people crowded around them.

Peter's on the stage in the corner, and Chris isn't surprised to see that he's got the most people around his stage.

Peter's on his knees, his head tilted back and his eyes closed. His jeans are unbuttoned, tugged open enough to free his cock. He's got his fingers wrapped around himself, stroking the hardness. It takes Chris a second to realise that Peter's stroking himself in time to the beat of the music thrumming through the club, low and steady.

The men around him are calling things out, telling him to go harder, faster, telling him he's a slut who needs it. Peter ignores them all, keeping his eyes closed and never once changing the rhythm of his stroking.

Chris knows he should leave. He came here, wondering exactly what it was Peter did on those evenings he left Beacon Hills, and now he knows. He knows that Peter comes to a club two towns over, knows that he displays himself in front of strangers and jerks himself off.

And now that he knows those things, he should turn around and drive back. He should tuck the information away in the corner of his mind, and never once think of how Peter looks. Of how there's a sheen of sweat on his skin that catches the light as it shines onto him. Of the way his thumb swipes over his cockhead to gather the precome there and slick it over himself. He knows he should, but he can't.

Stepping forward, he works his way through the crowd around Peter's stage, ignoring the mutters coming from some of the men he moves out of his way. Because he doesn't care about them. All he cares about is getting to that stage.

It almost feels like there's a cloud around the stage, the air thick with arousal. Some of the men have their hands in their trousers, and Chris can hear the sub vocal groans coming from them as they jerk themselves.

He waits until there's a lull in the noise, and it's not much, but it's enough. He only says a single word, slips in the Peter-- among the yeses and the babies and the harders.

Peter's eyes snap open, his gaze finding Chris' instantly. And Chris realises that Peter didn't even know he was there until he spoke. That Peter was so far inside his own head, that he missed the scent of a hunter standing less than six feet away from him. But more than that, Chris revels in the fact that all it took was one word to get Peter's attention. That all of these men around Peter have been catcalling him, trying to get him to look at them, and he's ignored them all until Chris.

Keeping his eyes on Chris, Peter starts to stroke himself again. Only this time it's different, the rhythm is off somehow. And it takes one beat, two, until Chris gets it, until Chris understands that Peter's not stroking himself in time with the music anymore, but is matching the beating of Chris' heart.

Drawing down the zipper on his jeans, Chris frees his cock. He's been half hard since he walked into the club and saw Peter, his cock filling out further with the way Peter's attention is on him. Licking his palm quickly, Chris wraps his fist around himself. He matches his strokes to Peter's, matches each beat and each breath.

Peter edges forward, never taking his hand off his cock or his eyes off Chris as he creeps forward on his knees. And Chris realises that, until this point, Peter's been out of reach of the men around the stage. That, even though some of them have been reaching out, none of them have been able to touch him.

But now Peter's closer to Chris, closer to the edge of the stage, some of these interlopers around them are daring to reach out further, daring to try to get their hands onto Peter. Chris doesn't realise he's growling until he sees the smirk on Peter's face, realises that the rumbling annoyance is coming from deep in his chest.

"Don't!" he snaps out at the guy next to him, at the one whose fingers are now almost brushing Peter's skin. The other man turns to glare at him, opening his mouth to say something before he closes it and looks away. And Chris doesn't know what the look on his face is, but so long as it keeps these bastards from touching Peter, he doesn't care.

Peter's smirk widens as he stops at the edge of the stage, directly in front of Chris. And maybe the rest of them understand now that there's something else going on, because none of them are trying to get their hands onto Peter, even though he's so close to them all.

Peter's eyes are shining bright in the lights, too blue as he jerks himself. Chris thinks everyone else is probably writing it off to the lights overhead, but he knows better, knows that Peter's wolf is close to the surface.

Even with the ambient noise around them, with the sound of skin against skin and the thickness of heavy breaths and low moans, he can still hear Peter, can hear the whine sitting low in Peter's throat.

"That's it, Peter." Chris can't help the murmur.

Peter's hand speeds up with Chris' words, and Chris is assaulted with images of Peter Hale on his knees. The thought of the wolf in front of him, the two of them the only ones there, with Peter on his knees and waiting for Chris to come on him, covering him in Chris' scent.

And Chris wants it. Even surrounded by a bunch of strangers, Chris wants it. He strokes his own cock quicker, and Peter's eyes follow the motion of his hand. Peter's tongue darts out to lap at his lower lip, and Chris thinks that his come should be on there, painting Peter's lips white.

"Come on, Peter," Chris says. "Come for me." Because he wants to see it. Wants to see Peter fall apart, to spill onto his fingers.

Peter's breath is getting higher, and Chris is totally focused on watching him, ignoring everyone else around them.

"Come on, pup."

Peter shudders as he comes, his cock jerking as he shoots white onto his fingers, drops splattering onto the floor of the stage. He slumps back as his cock softens, his fingers still wrapped around the length, holding himself.

Chris doesn't need to be a wolf to smell Peter's release, the scent of Peter working its way into Chris' senses. He steps forward, his legs nearly pressed against the stage. He jerks himself roughly, wrist twisting and fingers pressing in just the right way until he's coming. He aims at Peter, his come landing on Peter's thighs, striping across his hand and his cock, marking the wolf with hot drops of white.

Peter's cock twitches as Chris' come lands on him, and he opens the eyes that have drifted shut to hold Chris' gaze. His hand starts to move again, slowly rubbing Chris' come into his skin. And Chris knows exactly what Peter is doing, exactly what he's saying with his actions. He knows that Peter will walk out of here with Chris' scent across his clothes, across his skin. He knows that any other wolf who scents Peter in the next few hours will understand Chris' claim on him, on the claim that Peter has accepted.

Tucking his cock back into his jeans, Chris holds out his hand. And he knows that this is the moment, that anything else before this point could be put down to Peter being lost in the heat of the moment. But not this.

Peter keeps his eyes on Chris' outstretched hand as he puts his cock back into his jeans, fastens them, and straightens his clothes out. And Chris wonders if Peter's going to take his offer, going to put himself into a hunter's hands, or if he's going to leave Chris hanging.

For a moment, he wonders.

And then Peter smiles, and reaches out.


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May 2017

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