Wild Creatures

Part 7

The corset stays because of course the corset stays. Stiles is laid out on the bed, Peter hovering over him with an expression that conveys that Peter isn't sure where to start. He settles for trailing his claws over Stiles' skin in delicate, barely there touches. He traces the lines of the corset, tugging on the ribbons to make Stiles gasp.

"Sit up," Peter says, leaning back. Stiles does so, letting Peter turn him around. Peter unties the ribbons, carefully rethreading them through the eyelets. This is no longer about an aesthetic choice. The corset had been fitted but not tight, in case Stiles wanted to run around in it. "I'm going to lace this properly, if at any point it feels like too much and you can't breathe, we stop."

Stiles nods, arousal simmering in his gut at the thought of how Peter's going to look at him in this.

"Breathe in deep for me darling. Now hold it. That's good."

Peter pulls on the ribbons, making encouraging noises as the corset tightens around Stiles. It feels like being held. Like being wanted. Peter kisses the nape of Stiles neck.

"The red looks so beautiful on you."

Stiles turns, capturing Peter's mouth in a sloppy kiss. Peter refines it, guiding Stiles enthusiasm into something hungry and wonderful. Stiles' hands slide up Peter's sides, resting at Peter's broad shoulders. He just wants to touch, is consumed by a desire to be touched. Peter takes that desire readily and like a mirror reflects it back to him.

Peter retrieves some oil from a nearby draw. Stiles watches, mouth parted, as Peter's claws retract. Slicking up his fingers, Peter guides Stiles into a suitable position with his other hand. Stiles has never been watched this way, like he's something desirable, something sacred.

"I'm going to open you up," Peter says, voice practically a growl. "Make a space for myself inside you. I'm going to tear you apart and put you back together, make you scream."

"Do it," Stiles demands, grabbing Peter's hand and pulling it towards his hole. Peter grins, pressing one of his fingers inside. Stiles takes a deep breath, eyelids fluttering as Peter starts to stretch him. Peter sucks bruises into Stiles' neck, a galaxy of clear intent, as a method of distraction.

Another finger and Stiles back arches, as much as it can within the silken confines of the corset. Peter presses against a bundle of nerves, his pupils expanding as he catalogues Stiles reactions. Stiles cock is dripping; he whines with need as Peter repeatedly presses against his prostate.

"Please, please." Stiles is breathless with want. His hands grasp at Peter's shoulders, nails digging in.

"Soon darling, don't want to break you."

Stiles wants to be broken. Wants to be torn apart and put back together by Peter's hands. He grabs blindly for Peter's horns, using them to steer Peter's head closer for a kiss. Peter draws in a sharp breath.

"Sensitive?" Stiles asks, running his thumb along the soft velvet sheen of the horns.

"A little," Peter admits. He presses a kiss to Stiles slack mouth. "It feels good though, your hands on me."

Peter fingers Stiles for a little while longer before removing his fingers completely. Stiles makes a needy sound at the loss. Peter nuzzles at the underside of Stiles' chin.

"It's alright darling, be patient a little longer."

They change positions, Peter arranging himself so that he's underneath. Stiles is held above Peter's cock, together they guide it into him, slow and steady. Stiles exhales heavily at the feeling of being so full. Peter's hands are at his waist, petting at the skin. It's like Peter's everywhere, inside and out. Stiles reaches for Peter's horns, holding them tightly and running his fingers over the sensitive parts. Peter growls.