Warnings: Pursuance of a minor. Peter/Stiles (one-sided). Unwelcoming personal-space invasion.

Chapter 1

Stiles was terrified. Like, knee-knocking, shit-your-pants terrified. Peter freaking Hale was prowling towards him, all feral and deadly and I'm-an-Alpha-werewolf-so-beware, and he was going to kill Stiles, slowly and painfully. He was going to rip Stiles' throat out with his teeth and watch as Stiles choked on his own blood. He was going to-

Shove his tongue down Stiles' throat.

Stiles squawked around the mouth that was suddenly all up in his personal space, invading and demanding and all consuming. For a minute he just took it, in complete and total, somehow-I'm-not-dead-yet shock, but then he realized that Peter Hale was raping his mouth with his tongue, and Stiles hands flew up to push and scratch at Peter so that he could escape whatever totally screwed up alternate reality he'd fallen into.

But Peter was bigger and stronger and an alpha werewolf, so he simply removed his hands from Stiles' face (and when had they even gotten there?) and grabbed onto his wrists as if Stiles was a harmless kitten. The kiss was still happening for reasons that were unclear to Stiles, so he did the best thing he could think of and bit down viciously on the foreign tongue attempting to get acquainted with his tonsils. That got Peter's attention, even though Stiles doubted it actually hurt him.

Peter sighed and extracted his limbs (and tongue) enough that he wasn't actually touching Stiles anymore, but he didn't step back, and Stiles was struck with the desire to throw himself across the room to get away, but Peter's claws and fangs were still very close to Stiles' neck, so he refrained.

"What in the ever loving hell was that?" Stiles demanded, except he hadn't meant to say anything, but his mouth and his brain had a very poor relationship that included zero communication.

"That," Peter said, and he sounded so disappointed, like he'd actually expected Stiles to be completely fine with that little impromptu make-out session, to be thrilled that Peter wanted to swap saliva with him, to want more, "was an offer." His breathing was actually labored, heavy. A werewolf who could run a marathon without batting an eye, and one kiss with Stiles has him fucking panting. Stiles was going to throw up.

"No. No way. This cannot even possibly be real life right now. You have got to be kidding me right now, you fang-bearing, serial-killing- You do realize I'm-" Stiles needed a plan. A plan. A plan. - He needed time. "What in hell's name would lead you to make that kind of offer to me?"

Peter's eyes closed, and he look blissful. About Stiles. Blissful about Stiles. "Let me count the ways," he murmured, and he was quoting poetry. Peter Hale was quoting poetry at Stiles, and Stiles would never be surprised by anything else, as long as he might live. "I suppose telling you your body drives me mad isn't quite the answer you're looking for here?"

Stiles had to swallow a squawk. "You're tongue kind of had that part covered."

Peter sighed again, and his hand lifted to Stiles' neck, almost like it was involuntary, stroking softly (no claws in sight yet). Stiles' skin was crawling, but he didn't move. "Your mind, then. You're still young and ignorant, this is true, but you understand so much more than those other imbeciles, my nephew included-" and the thought of Derek had Stiles wishing so hard that Derek would just jump out of the woodwork and bring this crazy sideshow to a halt, but he knew that wouldn't happen. Stiles was on his own "-but you. Just imagine it: With my knowledge and access, you're eye for research could finally be utilized. I could find you the right books, take you to the right places. It would be beautiful."

The way Peter's voice sounded, the yearning. It made Stiles terrified for a brief instant that an issue would arise, one Stiles was not equipped to handle, but a glance downward showed him that Little Peter was behaving for now.

"And you're resourceful. What you've done with Scott- Can you imagine what he would have done without you? It really is such a pity that I bit Scott instead of you that night. You would make such a good werewolf. I can see it in you. You'd take to it, the way you take to everything."

This line of conversation was veering into sincerely screwed territory, so Stiles decided he needed to derail that train A.S.A.P. "Hey," he said, snapping his fingers, and Peter's eyes flew open, flashing red as they tracked the sharp movement of Stiles' hands and quickly flashed to Stiles' lips before settling on his eyes. "Stay on topic. You were talking about why me, not what could be. Focus."

Peter let a small smile play on his lips, a smile that would haunt Stiles' nightmares for years. "Focus. Coming from you, that is something." The smile grew. "Of course, that energy. It pulls you, and anyone lucky enough to be around you, in, wraps them up. It's perfect for a pack, really. Enchanting." Peter's eyes were hazy, like he was looking at something just past Stiles. "And, of course, you're loyalty-"

And Peter cut himself off with a hiss, eyes slamming closed, because apparently talking about Stiles' loyalty was just too damn much for him to handle without losing control. If that wasn't completely fucked up-

Peter's hands were on his waist now, clinging, and his claws were out, but they hadn't cut him yet. Stiles needed to diffuse the situation, like, immediately.

"How about you remove your claws from my very tender-" probably a bad word-choice on Stiles' part if Peter's groan was anything to go by "-human sides." It took him a moment, but Peter eventually did what he asked. "And, um, it might be easier for you, just a thought, if you take a few steps away? You know, if my proximity is making you go all haywire."

Peter breathed in through his nose, and Stiles' had the most unnerving feeling that Peter was scenting him. "You're right, of course, you wonderfully clever boy," Peter said, complying with Stiles' suggestion. It probably said something that Peter was calling him "boy" after just having confessed his deep lusting for Stiles. Creepy pedo-werewolf.

"And maybe now we should both just - leave. Get out of here and not speak of this ever again." Can't blame a guy for trying.

"Not quite that clever, Stiles."

Swallowing, Stiles pretended not to notice that Peter's eyes tracked the movement of his throat. "Look, I gave you what you wanted."

"Oh, Stiles." Suddenly Peter looked more dangerous than ever, and he was edging closer to Stiles again. "You have not even remotely given me what I want."

"Uh," was Stiles' oh-so-intelligent reply.

Peter's hand shot out, fast as lightening, and grabbed Stiles's wrist. When he spoke, his voice was fast and desperate. "Join me, Stiles. Join my pack, as my mate. I can give you everything you desire. Safety, for Scott, for your father? Done. You'll have access to all my resources, anything you want. You'll never feel unprepared again.

"Think of it, of you and me together. We would be unstoppable, Stiles. You could have the world at your fingertips. I know you've thought about it, about what it would be like to be stronger, faster, like Scott, and you would be so much more than Scott." Peter's fervency was starting to cool a little, words slowing with his breathing, as he lifted Stiles' wrist to his lips and inhaled like he was a drowning man receiving his first breath of fresh air. "Just one word, Stiles. One word, and it could all be yours."

Stiles looked at Peter, looked at his mouth, hovering just over Stiles' wrist, waiting. He meant to sound firm when he spoke, but he knew his nerves would undercut that. "No." Peter stiffened at that. "No," he managed, stronger that time. "My answer is no, Peter. I don't want the bite, I don't want your offer, and I don't want you." On his final words he snatched his wrist back, but he didn't move away yet. Once again, claws and fangs and neck.

Peter recovered eventually. "You're lying, Stiles. At the very least about the bite." He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "You're still young, you don't realize yet- Well, as you wish, I won't force something on you that you don't want, I've learned not to since Scott. I'll let you go, for now." Peter's eyes flashed. "But this isn't over, Stiles. Not even close."

And those final three words echoed in the air after Peter vanished, after Stiles' legs gave out from under him, after his heart finally started pumping at a normal pace. Not even close.