Only He saw

Werau

Walking cautiously down the darkened stairs, Stiles runs trembling fingers down the toughened railing, stalling the conversations greeting him at the bottom of the stairs. Peter shadows him, a reassuring length hovering over his shoulder.

"It's okay, Stiles..." The Were rumbles from behind him, willing the boy to believe in his pack, his father...and him...his mate.

Stiles breathing sounds harsh in the immediate silence, laboured pants wracking his stooped frame. Peter stops, foot paused on the stair above him, stilling and gently gripping the boy's shoulders.

"It is...you are...they love you Stiles, and whatever you do, you can't disappoint them!" He chuckles, and his smile turns fond but slips off when he registers Stiles' harsh frown.

Before he realises his actions, Peter launches forward, his head bent awkwardly as he leans down the stairs, his lips joined Stiles'.

"Finally..." His wolf seems to say. "Finally! We're with our mate!"

The teen's eyes widen, and his body stills, unresponsive to Peter, who stiffens, feeling the boys reluctance. His heartbeat rises, the pulse hammering as he steps back, rearing back onto the step above them. He starts to apologise profusely, shaking his head, berating himself, his wolf howling mournfully.

"Shit, I'm sorry Stiles...I shouldn't have done that, shit I've ruined everything..." His voice shifts to a growl, and he glares at his shoes, oblivious to Stiles shock. The boy flails, reaching out to the Were.

"No...no, Peter it's...you didn't ruin things! You didn't ruin anything!" His voice is uncomfortable, and his jaw clenches and unclenches, a sign of his prominent agitation.

"Thanks..." Peter snorts a bitter, embarrassed noise.

"If anyone ruined anything...it's me...." Stiles mumbles, his cheeks aflame. Peter stares, bewildered. "I don't...I don't do...kissing..." He fiddles with his sleeve, reaching to comb nervous fingers through his growing, unkempt hair. "Or...anything else...like that..." His eyes are downcast, and his voice has dropped so low that Peter struggles to hear it. "Or....sex...." Stiles' fists clench loosely, and he frowns, troubled. Peter's face is carefully blank, not betraying his shock.

Stiles looks up suddenly, pleading eyes seeking out the Weres. "I still like you, Peter...I really do...I want to go on dates with you...and cuddle you...and spend all my time with you picking fights about the smallest, mundane things..." His voice turns wistful, and a small, soft smile adorns his pained face.

Peter huffs out a small laugh, Stiles staring, startled. He bends down, slower, this time, wrapping his arms around the boy's waist. Feeling the shocked breath of air hit his neck, Peter buries his head in Stiles' shoulder. Tentatively, Stiles returns the embrace, his injured arms framing Peters. The Were finally pulls away, looking Stiles square in the face.

"You are...the best thing about my existence, Stiles." Stiles blushes, his blotchy cheeks turning pink. "And that isn't going to change because of that...you're asexual, right?" Stiles nods, blinking uncertainly. Peter smiles assuringly. "That's okay, pretty damn awesome, even. My point is...I want you, Stiles..." The boy stands still, misinterpreting the words. Peter hurries to continue. "I want your voice, your crazy obsession with Star Wars..." Stiles laughs wetly, snuggling into the other man's embrace. "I would love to spend every single day with you, and the rest of our pack."

Stiles grin, small and quivering, Peter's words overwhelming him. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt, then looks him in the eye. Slowly placing hesitant hands on the Weres cheeks, he leans forward, ignoring Peters confused face. His eyes flutter closed, and he lightly kisses him, a short, sweet exchange, leaving a warm, soft feeling in Peters mind.