Blood Runs Cold

Chapter Twenty One

So, Stiles still wasn't entirely convinced that Peter wouldn't do something awful to every supernatural — and regular — person in town. Doing shitty things ran through Peter's veins like blood. But the newfound knowledge that Peter actually cared about him trumped everything else. Like, that had to at least provide some sort of counterbalance to his innate urge to murder baristas for getting his order wrong, right?

"Stop thinking, the smell of your anxiety is distracting," Peter muttered against his lips. "It's also quite the insult to my charms."

Stiles couldn't hold back the slightly hysterical laugh. "Your charms?" As far as he was aware, the only charm points Peter had were in the looks department. Here he was, ready to fuck around with the man, and he still wasn't entirely sure why. Peter wasn't nice, it was impossible to tell his real feelings, and he has an innate ability to make people angry.

"Oh yes, I can be incredibly charming. Who wouldn't fall for the suave stranger who could sweet talk you into giving away crucial details on a case before you even realized what you were doing?" Peter pulled back with a flash of white teeth. "You wouldn't believe how many moles I managed to find and how much evidence I uncovered back in the day on sheer charm alone."

"Unfortunately for you, the charm disappears after people have a chance to get to know you."

Peter's grin widened and he let out a loud laugh. "You say that but you're exactly where I want you now, aren't you?"

Stiles fought back the flush that threatened to creep up on his face. "I think that speaks more to my bad decision making more than anything." He paused, waiting for Peter to say something sharp in return. But when nothing came, he said, "So are we having sex yet or...?"

Once again, Peter laughed. Shaking his head and backing away, he said, "Somebody's eager, aren't you?"

"You just backed me into a wall and made out with me. Plus I'm only eighteen, I can't be held responsible for any libido related problems," Stiles protested.

Peter quirked a brow. "I'll keep that in mind. But, unfortunately for you and your eighteen year old libido related problems." Ok, Stiles absolutely regretted wording it like that now that Peter said the words aloud. "I just shifted through memories of agonizing, traumatic pain in your mind and — I'm not sure about you — that's not the sort of thing that gets me in the mood."

"So then what are we going to do then?" Stiles asked with a slight frown. "If you give me time to actually process what's happening, I'm pretty sure I'll be running away."

"I'll take that into consideration," he said as he turned around and started to walk back towards the couch. "Sit down, Stiles." He motioned with a hand for Stiles to join him and turned the TV on.

"Is this seriously turned to the news, how fucking old are you?" Stiles lost his train of thought when his focus drifted to the sudden lights and sounds of the television.

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

Stiles raised his eyebrows and flopped down on the couch. "If anyone should feel morally conflicted about this, it's you. I'm not the old man who wants to sleep with a barely legal adult." Stiles paused and then continued, "But I guess morality hasn't ever been your strong suit."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I was planning on finding something to watch on Netflix but if I'm such an old man I might as well just put my dentures up and go to bed." Despite his words, he messed around with the remote to swap the TV from cable over to Netflix. Stiles flopped down on the couch as Peter started flicking through listings.

"Can we watch a slasher?" He asked, hands drumming on his knees.

"Halloween was two months ago, Stiles."