![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonlettuceTitle: Paints a Thousand Words
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: R
Word Count: 980
Summary: In which Peter does something in Chris' apartment
Additional Notes: Beta'ed by Temaris.
Paints a Thousand Words
Peter waits for a few minutes after Chris Argent leaves the building before he finally moves. He's been watching Argent for weeks, working out his schedule. (Peter had been tempted to leave a note for him at one point, to tell him to mix up his routine a bit. After all, this is Beacon Hills and you never knew who was watching you. But he'd decided if Argent hadn't figured that out by now, then he deserved everything he got.)
Every night Peter's been there, Argent leaves his apartment at about 8:00, to do a patrol of the town, getting back about an hour later. Peter glances at his watch. Which gives him about 53 minutes before Argent gets back.
Sliding his hands into the pockets of his jacket, Peter strolls across the street, nodding hello to the elderly woman currently trying to stop her Pomeranian from frantically barking at Peter. Slipping through the front door to Argent's building, Peter's up the stairs to the fourth floor in only a couple of minutes.
Glancing around, he pulls the key to Argent's apartment out of his jeans pocket, grinning as he slides it onto the lock and opens the door. (And the Argent girl really should take better care of where she leaves her keys. They could have fallen into the hands of someone much more unscrupulous than Peter.)
The last light of the day is spilling through the open drapes, casting a soft glow across the apartment. It's almost enough to make Peter curl up on the sofa and wait until Argent gets home. Almost.
Making his way through to Argent's bedroom, Peter kicks off his shoes. (Argent may make all of the dog jokes, but at least Peter's house trained.) Shrugging off his jacket, he drapes it over the back of the chair next to the window. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he lays it on the bedside table, before opening his jeans and shimmying them down, toeing off his socks as he steps out of them. The shirt goes over Peter's head to join his other clothes on the floor.
Peter's been half hard since he stepped through the door, the scent of Argent surrounding him, strong and musky and almost overwhelming in the hunter's bedroom.
Settling on to the bed, Peter closes his eyes for a brief moment, letting the scent wash over him. Letting the scent of gun oil and cordite and wolfsbane and Chris seep into his senses as his cock hardens further. He wraps his fingers around the hardness and strokes himself slowly, imagining what Argent would do if he was there.
Peter can almost feel the weight of the other man as he pins Peter to the bed, rough, almost teasing, touches pressing bruises into Peter's skin until spit-slick fingers push into his body.
Tightening his grip, Peter moans as he speeds up his movements, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock and spreading the precome over his flesh.
He moves his hand, grip tight and perfect, until he feels it building in the pit of his stomach. Feels it building, sharp and there, with thoughts of Argent driving into his body.
Pulling his hand away, Peter doesn't bite back the groan of disappointment that no one else is there to hear. He's tempted just to carry on, to wrap his fingers back around his cock and spill himself into Argent's bed.
But he doesn't. He doesn't, because he has a plan.
It's Argent's own fault that Peter's been pushed to this. Pushed to this by the brief touches and the glances that last beyond propriety, by the soft scent of want and desire that clings to Argent whenever he brushes past Peter. Before that, Peter had been quite happy to accept that his only relationship with Chris Argent was in his mind, was imagining the hunter pinning him down and fucking him through the mattress as his own fingers wrapped around his cock. But now there's the looking and the touching and driving Peter fucking insane.
Picking up his phone, Peter snaps a photo of Argent's bedroom. Scrolling through his list of contacts, his thumb hovers over Argent's name and Peter can't help but smirk to himself as he sends the photo.
Barely seconds pass before a chime echoes through the room, the 'new message' icon flashing on the phone's screen.
Argent's message is succinct, although Peter supposes there's not really anything he can read into the WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY APARTMENT, HALE? beyond what's there.
Holding his cock, Peter turns the camera onto himself. He's hard and flushed and the flash on the camera manages to pick up the shine of the precome on his fingers. And even though his dick is centre of the shot, there's enough of the comforter in the frame that Agent will know exactly where Peter is, will know that he's lying on Argent's bed, hard and waiting.
Quickly typing a few words, he sends the photo, along with his comment.
Ready to move onto the next stage of the game, Christopher?
The response comes almost instantly.
Don't move. Be there soon.
Peter grins, moving to put the phone down when it chimes again, another message from Argent on it.
Touch yourself. Don't come until I'm there.
Peter's grin widens as he drops his phone back onto the table. His cock is twitching with just the thought of all the things he's going to let Chris do to him.
He slowly jacks himself, the words from Chris' message running around his mind.
Touch himself? Whatever you say, Christopher.
Don't come until you get here? Peter tightens his grip, his teeth biting into his lower lip. Well, that all depends on if Chris takes his sweet time in getting back to the apartment. Either way, though, Peter can't wait.
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: R
Word Count: 980
Summary: In which Peter does something in Chris' apartment
Additional Notes: Beta'ed by Temaris.
Paints a Thousand Words
Peter waits for a few minutes after Chris Argent leaves the building before he finally moves. He's been watching Argent for weeks, working out his schedule. (Peter had been tempted to leave a note for him at one point, to tell him to mix up his routine a bit. After all, this is Beacon Hills and you never knew who was watching you. But he'd decided if Argent hadn't figured that out by now, then he deserved everything he got.)
Every night Peter's been there, Argent leaves his apartment at about 8:00, to do a patrol of the town, getting back about an hour later. Peter glances at his watch. Which gives him about 53 minutes before Argent gets back.
Sliding his hands into the pockets of his jacket, Peter strolls across the street, nodding hello to the elderly woman currently trying to stop her Pomeranian from frantically barking at Peter. Slipping through the front door to Argent's building, Peter's up the stairs to the fourth floor in only a couple of minutes.
Glancing around, he pulls the key to Argent's apartment out of his jeans pocket, grinning as he slides it onto the lock and opens the door. (And the Argent girl really should take better care of where she leaves her keys. They could have fallen into the hands of someone much more unscrupulous than Peter.)
The last light of the day is spilling through the open drapes, casting a soft glow across the apartment. It's almost enough to make Peter curl up on the sofa and wait until Argent gets home. Almost.
Making his way through to Argent's bedroom, Peter kicks off his shoes. (Argent may make all of the dog jokes, but at least Peter's house trained.) Shrugging off his jacket, he drapes it over the back of the chair next to the window. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he lays it on the bedside table, before opening his jeans and shimmying them down, toeing off his socks as he steps out of them. The shirt goes over Peter's head to join his other clothes on the floor.
Peter's been half hard since he stepped through the door, the scent of Argent surrounding him, strong and musky and almost overwhelming in the hunter's bedroom.
Settling on to the bed, Peter closes his eyes for a brief moment, letting the scent wash over him. Letting the scent of gun oil and cordite and wolfsbane and Chris seep into his senses as his cock hardens further. He wraps his fingers around the hardness and strokes himself slowly, imagining what Argent would do if he was there.
Peter can almost feel the weight of the other man as he pins Peter to the bed, rough, almost teasing, touches pressing bruises into Peter's skin until spit-slick fingers push into his body.
Tightening his grip, Peter moans as he speeds up his movements, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock and spreading the precome over his flesh.
He moves his hand, grip tight and perfect, until he feels it building in the pit of his stomach. Feels it building, sharp and there, with thoughts of Argent driving into his body.
Pulling his hand away, Peter doesn't bite back the groan of disappointment that no one else is there to hear. He's tempted just to carry on, to wrap his fingers back around his cock and spill himself into Argent's bed.
But he doesn't. He doesn't, because he has a plan.
It's Argent's own fault that Peter's been pushed to this. Pushed to this by the brief touches and the glances that last beyond propriety, by the soft scent of want and desire that clings to Argent whenever he brushes past Peter. Before that, Peter had been quite happy to accept that his only relationship with Chris Argent was in his mind, was imagining the hunter pinning him down and fucking him through the mattress as his own fingers wrapped around his cock. But now there's the looking and the touching and driving Peter fucking insane.
Picking up his phone, Peter snaps a photo of Argent's bedroom. Scrolling through his list of contacts, his thumb hovers over Argent's name and Peter can't help but smirk to himself as he sends the photo.
Barely seconds pass before a chime echoes through the room, the 'new message' icon flashing on the phone's screen.
Argent's message is succinct, although Peter supposes there's not really anything he can read into the WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY APARTMENT, HALE? beyond what's there.
Holding his cock, Peter turns the camera onto himself. He's hard and flushed and the flash on the camera manages to pick up the shine of the precome on his fingers. And even though his dick is centre of the shot, there's enough of the comforter in the frame that Agent will know exactly where Peter is, will know that he's lying on Argent's bed, hard and waiting.
Quickly typing a few words, he sends the photo, along with his comment.
Ready to move onto the next stage of the game, Christopher?
The response comes almost instantly.
Don't move. Be there soon.
Peter grins, moving to put the phone down when it chimes again, another message from Argent on it.
Touch yourself. Don't come until I'm there.
Peter's grin widens as he drops his phone back onto the table. His cock is twitching with just the thought of all the things he's going to let Chris do to him.
He slowly jacks himself, the words from Chris' message running around his mind.
Touch himself? Whatever you say, Christopher.
Don't come until you get here? Peter tightens his grip, his teeth biting into his lower lip. Well, that all depends on if Chris takes his sweet time in getting back to the apartment. Either way, though, Peter can't wait.
