Chris and Stiles drive to a nearly resort and Peter follows. Once they get to the cabin where they’re staying, they settle on the couch and they do actually have a conversation like the adults they are. Stiles and Chris make it clear that they both want this to happen, and they're both willing for Peter to fuck them. Whether he wants to be on the receiving end, so to speak, is entirely up to him. Peter genuinely thought it would just be Stiles who was the one getting fucked, and is intrigued at the thought of Chris pressed face-first into the mattress under him. His cock perks up at the very idea. But he wants to know what he’s signing up for before he agrees.
“Are we talking a one-night stand here, or something more?” he asks. He isn’t averse to it being a one-time thing, but he’d like to know in advance.
Stiles and Chris exchange a look before Stiles says, “Ideally we'd like more, but for now we thought we’d kinda…see if it works for all of us, and take it from there?”
Chris speaks up then. “We have the cabin booked for the long weekend, we won’t be disturbed.”
Peter smirks at that. “Bed big enough for three?”
“Yeah. California king. We were already planning to ask you to join us.” Chris treats Peter to an absolutely filthy grin, one that makes Peter want to drop to his knees then and there, and he knows what his response will be. The worst that can happen is that they’ll have mediocre sex and call it a day. Somehow though, Peter doubts it will be anything short of amazing – he’s involved, after all.
It’s definitely not mediocre.
“Just so you know, I had plans for this weekend. But instead, here I am practically kidnapped by you two.” Peter’s voice is slightly muffled, his face pressed against Chris’s shoulder where he’s snugged up behind him.
Stiles snorts from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed watching them. “I mean, feel free to leave if you’re not having a good time.”
“I didn’t say that. And besides, I can’t exactly go anywhere right now – there’s the little matter of this.” Peter’s hips roll forward and his knot presses deeper into Chris, who moans from either pleasure or pain, Peter’s not sure. He suspect’s it’s both.
“Peter, that’s not little,” Chris hisses out.
Peter kisses the back of Chris’s neck. “Too much for you, sweetheart?”
Chris shakes his head. “It’s good. It’s just so fucking big.” Peter smirks and wraps a slick hand around Chris’s cock, stroking him slowly, making Chris shudder and gasp.
They’ve been here all weekend, and the three of them have all gotten together in all the ways, shared hand jobs and blow jobs, kissed and been kissed, fucked and been fucked, and it’s been good, great even, but this morning, things had been taken to a whole new level when Chris had whispered in Peter’s ear, “So, am I ever gonna get to take your knot?”
Peter was never going to say no to that.
Stiles had tapped out immediately but he’s more than happy to watch, has spent the last little while teasing himself as he stares raptly at where Peter has Chris split wide on his cock, occasionally leaning in to run a finger around the taut stretched rim. It never fails to make Chris shiver and moan, and Peter can’t help but grind in deeper. The low groan that it pulls from Chris is music to his ears, and he settles in for a long, enjoyable ride.
He keeps stroking Chris’s hard, leaking cock, firm regular pulls on the rigid flesh that make Chris tighten and clench around him when he runs a thumb over the head just right, and Stiles whispers, “Fuck, that’s hot.”
Peter doesn’t respond, busy pumping his seed into Chris’s ass, his knot pulsing and throbbing under the stimulation. He’s still riding the initial wave of bliss, the thrill of getting to do this, of Chris offering.
It’s different, knotting. It’s not the sharp burst of urgent pleasure that’s over quickly like regular sex, no. It’s a low, simmering heat in his blood that builds and builds, making his whole body thrum with need, and when he finally does knot, it’s a long, slow, sweet pleasure that overwhelms him, dragging him headfirst into ecstasy and holding him there for the entire time that his balls throb with his release, till by the end of it he’s sex-drunk and stupid, barely able to speak.
For now though, he’s coherent enough to lay kisses at the base of Chris’s neck and whisper filth to him. “So good for me, taking this so well, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You’ll look so pretty after, all raw and open and wet. Maybe your boyfriend will want a turn. He’ll be able to slide right into my mess, won’t even need to stretch you. Would you like that?”
Stiles and Chris groan in unison, and then Stiles is moving up the bed, settling behind Peter, muttering “Oh fuck, I gotta –“ before reaching between Peter’s legs and taking Peter’s balls in his hand, squeezing gently. Peter whines, trembling at the extra sensations sparking his nerve endings. He’s buried deep in pulsing warmth, his knot throbbing, and now there are nimble fingers teasing and tugging at him in the best ways.
A series of tiny whimpers is dragged from him, and when Stiles sets his teeth at the back of Peter’s neck and nips at the soft skin there, Peter can’t help the way his hips lurch forward, driving him impossibly deeper into Chris. He feels the huff of hot air as Stiles pants against his neck, feels Stiles’s hard length pressing against his back.
Stiles hasn’t spoken, but Peter knows what he’s asking. He closes his eyes for a moment, breathing deep before easing his top leg forward, making room. “Go on, then,” and is that him, that broken pleading voice? He’d meant it to come out as sultry, inviting, not desperate and raw. He must be more fucked-out than he thought.
Stiles uses both hands to spread Peter’s ass wide, slips a finger in, then two. Peter’s still slick and stretched from earlier, and barely any time passes before he’s ready. Stiles eases in gently and sets up a slow rhythm, matching his movements to the way Peter’s hips are still rolling forwards into Chris.
It’s almost too much.
Peter’s whole body is ablaze, knot throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and all he can do is give in to the rush, caught between the two hot bodies surrounding him, fucking back onto Stiles’s length and then grinding forwards into Chris’s lush heat. Peter might actually die from sheer pleasure. Well, he thinks dimly, there are worse ways to go.
He’s still working Chris’s cock, hand moving faster now as Peter gets caught up in the dual sensations of fucking and getting fucked, and Chris curses as he comes without warning, spilling hot and sticky over Peter’s fingers. It makes him tighten up deliciously, and Peter’s knot responds, another burst of come pulled out of him. His knot starts to soften, and he knows he’ll be done soon. For a moment he mourns that this ever has to end, but the regret is fleeting. He knows he’ll be doing this again, that this won’t be a one-time hook-up.
Peter’s not giving this up, not for anything.
He must doze, slip into that post-knot daze, because he barely feels it when Stiles gives one last solid thrust and comes, and he only starts to come back to himself at the feel of soft hands on his skin, rolling him onto his front, and then there's a warm cloth cleaning him up. His knot’s slipped out of Chris at some stage, and when he opens his eyes Chris is laying flat on his back, eyes wide and mouth open, arms above his head, wearing the stunned expression of someone who’s seen the face of God.
Stiles is the one wiping him down, then. Peter turns his head and is met with bright eyes and an upturned mouth. “So pretty,” Peter mumbles, still hazy with pleasure and exhaustion.
Stiles beams. “Glad you think so.” He puts the washcloth aside, props himself on one elbow and just stares at Peter, running a finger down his jaw. Peter’s eyes slip closed, and as he drifts he thinks vaguely of the plans he originally had for this weekend. He was going to put in a token appearance at the pack gathering, mainly to annoy McCall by existing, and then he was going to spend the rest of the weekend working on his taxes.
This is better.