Peter's Wicked Intentions (Teen Wolf) (Patreon)

This was a story commission for one of the top tier patrons - hope you all enjoy!

Peter feels strong hands grabbing at his shoulders at the same time a familiar voice echoes the name “Stiles!” around his head. It takes the former alpha wolf all of a few seconds to realize that something is very, very wrong - or potentially very right. Slowly prying his eyes open, Peter has his suspicions confirmed when he finds his nephew Derek looking down at him with such concern etched on his face that was only ever reserved for one person. He was looking at Peter with the same tenderness he used when looking at his darling Stiles Stilinski, the hapless human he had pined over for years, and that meant that somehow Peter Hale had found himself into Stiles Stilinski’s body. What a wonderful Wednesday it was turning out to be!

“Stiles, can you hear me?” Derek’s voice was so laced with concern that it almost mae Peter’s stomach turn. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen such vulnerability from his young nephew - not since he’d been a teenager and the tragic events with Paige, at least. How he could get away with looking at Stiles like that without anybody else figuring else that he was wildly in love with the gangly teenager Peter wasn’t sure but he seemed to be the only one with a working pair of eyes. He knew his nephew well, even if Derek didn’t want to believe as such, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Derek turned all gooey inside when he was around Stiles. So sickening.

“I’m… Stiles?” Peter asked experimentally, taking quick note of the voice he spoke in. Yup, definitely the annoying dweeb. “I’m Stiles,” he said more firmly, shuffling to push himself up onto his elbows. “I must have hit my head.” It would work as an alibi for why he’d been so uncertain of his supposed name and keep him covered, if only for a little while. “What happened?”

Derek’s hand twitched and Peter suspected that his nephew was fighting the urge to reach out and grab his hand or caress his face or something similarly romantic and gross. If Stiles couldn’t see just how head over heels Derek was for him then he was a bigger idiot than Peter had ever actually given him credit for. “You got jumped by… well, something. Scott’s still trying to work it out,” his nephew explained, an added gruff tone to his voice as he tried to emotionally distance himself from the young man he was clearly longing to cradle in his arms.

“Where’s Peter?” came the older man’s next question, although a quick glance around the area confirmed that his own body was some eight or so feet away, still out cold. It was bizarre seeing himself from an outsider’s perspective but he had to admit that he looked rather gorgeous, even knocked out. It was no wonder the ladies - and some of the men, particularly when he hung out at Jungle Bar - were all over him. “Oh. Is he… okay?” As much as Peter was already starting to have ideas about all the fun he could have in Stiles’ body he very much wanted his own body to be okay. He’d like to go back to something that was still in one piece, after all.

“He’ll be fine.” This time Derek’s sour tone clearly wasn’t just for display. It almost made Peter laugh just how much the mere mention of his name or reminder of his existence caused Derek’s sappy mood to plummet like a stone in the ocean. Then again given the number of times he’d tried to murder Derek and his band of idiotic teenagers it really shouldn’t have much surprise. Still, Peter was allowed to get a smug sense of satisfaction from it. “Just out cold. Besides, he’s got a wolf in him, he’ll heal quickly. You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

Peter chuckled softly, pushing himself further up into a seated position. “I’ll live, Derek. Just a little sore,” he responded. Truthfully Peter was actually rather bothered by how sore he felt - he’d forgotten what it was like to be a human, especially one with such a lithe body. Was there even an ounce of fat on this kid? He wouldn’t have suspected Derek to be into the skinny and awkward ones but apparently he didn’t know his nephew as well as he thought he did. “Help me up, Sourwolf?” he asked, Stiles’ nickname for Derek rolling off his tongue with ease. The corners of Derek’s lips twitched as he fought back a smile and he grabbed Peter by the back of his shirt, hoisting him to his feet with little grace. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Derek hissed in response. Peter rolled his eyes and grinned. If there was one role that he could play with ease then it was ‘annoying’. Even in his own body he pulled it off like a master and always had, although he had to admit that Stiles took the crown in comparison. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” Derek took hold on Peter’s arm and began pulling him along but the older man struggled against the grip, prompting his nephew to stop. “What?”

“We’re not just going to leave Peter, are we?” Peter didn’t much like the idea of leaving his real body lying around to get stolen or damaged in his absence. “He’s your uncle, Derek! That’s gotta mean something, right?” Apparently Stiles’ sudden defense of the man who had tried to kill them all multiple time raised suspicions with Derek and he quirked a questioning eyebrow. Peter mentally cursed himself for pushing the matter with a lack of subtlety. “Or, you know, I’m totally cool with leaving him. Whatever.” There, that was much more like Stiles.

After some huffing, Derek left Peter to walk by himself and returned to lift Peter’s body - the body that the real Stiles presumably now occupied - up in a fireman’s carry and took charge in the walk to Deaton’s veterinary clinic. Peter remained quiet once they’d reached the location, allowing Derek to converse with Deaton and Scott about the situation he’d found them in. In the meantime he found himself inspecting his original body, still out cold with little clues as to who was currently occupying it, if anyone at all. When Deaton and Scott turned their questions to Peter, incorrectly assuming him to be Stiles, he leaned back on the ‘hitting his head’ excuse and was promptly let off easily. 

They continued to talk for a while longer and Peter found himself getting rather bored. Eventually deciding that he had officially had enough, he placed a hand on the small of Derek’s back and leaned in closer to his ear in order to whisper, “Take me home?” The request caught Derek by surprise and Peter felt his nephew’s body stiffen up under his touch. He was surprisingly sensitive and that was knowledge that Peter was planning to use to his advantage in the near future.

Unsurprisingly Derek complied with his request and despite earning an odd look from Scott, Peter was able to escape with his nephew in tow without much fuss. The journey started in silence but Peter could feel the intensity of the other’s eyes burning into the side of his skull as they rode in the car. Finally he spoke up, hardly able to bear the silence for a moment longer. “Derek, you’re going the wrong way.”

Derek pulled the car to a stop. “No I’m not,” he replied shortly, lips curling into a frown.

“I want to go to yours,” Peter retorted, easily channeling Stiles’ usual argumentative state. “I hit my head, right? I could be concussed and I need someone to watch me.”

“But your dad--”

Right, the Sheriff. Peter hadn’t considered him yet and he’d most certainly be able to identify that his ‘son’ wasn’t quite right. “Doesn’t need to worry about me any more than he already does,” Peter interjected, covering his back with what he believed to be a perfectly solid excuse. “Come on, Derek. Just… not my place. Yours.” He attempted to project a vulnerable smile with bright big eyes and it seemed to do the trick, Derek letting out a huff and then changing direction to head towards his loft instead.

Peter’s heart was beating like crazy during the drive back to the loft as his mind raced. He had Stiles’ body to do with as he pleased for the time being and most importantly, had Derek totally alone. He’d always had a sweet spot for his nephew, even if that love definitely was not shared. Thankfully he was now in the position to do something about it and in the long run maybe even help his frigid nephew loosen up a little. His plans were morally wrong and he knew but when had that ever stopped him before?

Once they were alone in the loft, Peter immediately made his way towards Derek’s bedroom. “Hey, where are you going?” the other called out to him. Peter stopped on the spiral staircase, turned back and gave a charismatic smirk in the other’s direction.

“Your bed.” The simple phrase was laced with innuendo and Peter could swear that he saw a faint pink flush through Derek’s cheeks before his eternal sour mood pushed it out. Why does he have to be such a grouch about everything? Really Peter was doing everyone a favour by trying to help pull Derek out of his shell some more.

“And where am I gonna sleep?” Derek retorted, oh-so-cluelessly.

“Uh, next to me? We can cuddle.” Peter threw the suggestion out as if it was nothing, turning and disappearing up to the bedroom. He quickly stripped out of his clothes, leaving only Stiles’ tight-fitting boxer briefs on and then collapsed onto the bed. Truthfully the events of the day had exhausted him but he most certainly had enough energy left for what he was planning to do with his nephew.

It took a good ten minutes longer for Derek to finally appear in the bedroom and Peter rolled over, showing off the tent he had worked up in his boxers. “About damn time, sourwolf,” he groaned, gazing lustily up at the other man. “I thought I’d have to take care of this all by myself!”

Derek remained frozen in place for a moment, eyes bulging and mouth agape. “Stiles-- what the hell are you doing?”

Peter moved a hand down into his boxers, stroking his fingers along the surprisingly long and thick shaft. “We both want this, Derek. Don’t kid yourself, this has been a long time coming,” he encouraged the other, moans of pleasure breaking through his words. “Today got me all hot and horny and-- fuck, I need you in me right now. You’d do that for me, wouldn’t you, Derek?” Peter knew he was pushing his luck but he was the type to aggravate someone until they agreed to do it his way and there was nobody he was better at aggravating than his darling nephew.

Then, with the ferocity that Peter had come to expect from Derek, his nephew tore off his shirt and surged forward. Pressing his weight down on top of the individual he believed to be Stiles, Derek captured the other’s lips in a hungry kiss and rocked his own bulge down against the smaller man’s hips. He was finally giving in and taking what he’d wanted for so long - he just didn’t know that his uncle was getting precisely what he wanted from the situation too!