Table For Three

Dinner & A Show

Stiles walks out of the backdoor with a small skip in his step. He unbuttons his shirt and pulls out his phone. Looking down both ends of the empty alley, he types out another text to Scott.

Going 2 get laid. Suck ittttttt

He smirks as he slides his phone back into his pocket. What's the point in being an asshole chef if he doesn't actually act like an asshole?

At least that's how he reassures himself as he ghosts his best friend for some dick. Some great dick—but a dick all the same.

Stiles slowly wanders down the alley toward the employee parking lot.

He doesn't spot Peter.

Leaning against the wall, he waits for another five minutes before sighing. Stiles runs a hand through his hair—jeez, he needs a cut—and berates himself for thinking that Peter wanted another round, that maybe the man wanted something more than just another round.

Shit.

He blows out a loud breath and kicks off of the wall, walking towards his jeep with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes fixed forlornly on his feet.

"What's got your pretty face so upset, darling?"

Stiles chokes back a scream, scrambling backward at the sound of the disembodied voice.

He can see the back of his jeep parked at the end of the lot.

There's a figure leaning against the passenger door.

"Jesus tap-dancing Christ, Peter!" He's got one hand over his heart and the other gripping the can of pepper spray that's attached to his keys. "You can't just loiter in dark parking lots and say creepy one-liners—you're, you're fucking lucky I didn't mace your motherfucking face!" Stiles' racing heart slows as he takes in deep breaths.

Peter's face comes into view as he steps forward out of the shadows. "My apologies. I was simply waiting for you. When I saw you approaching, you looked quite distraught." His brow furrows. "Are you okay?"

Stiles huffs. "Yeah, I just—I'm fine." He walks into Peter's space, looking cautiously into the man's blue gaze. "Did you still want to—"

And then Stiles sees it.

Sees him.

Another figure emerges from the dark, rounding the hood of Stiles' jeep and coming to a stop next to where he and Peter are standing.

"Chris," Stiles breathes.

He backs away from Peter instinctively. "What...?"

Chris gives him a slow smile, his eyes glittering with a satisfied warmth. "Judging by the look on your face, I take it Peter failed to mention that I would be waiting for you, too?"

They both turn to look at Peter as the man shrugs, unrepentant. "I thought it would be a nice surprise."

Stiles backs a few steps away from both of them. "You two...," he looks between Chris and Peter. "So, you two know about...," Stiles smacks his hands together sharply a few times, and then mimes between him and each man. They both look at each other, amused.

"Yes, Stiles," Chris says, "we both knew about," he mimics Stiles' crazy gestures, "as soon as you introduced yourself as our waiter." He glances at Peter. "Peter and I have known each other for years. You could say that we...have similar tastes in male partners."

Stiles' eyes widen.

"We've cruised the same haunts for a long time now," Peter interjects. "And after so many years, you come to notice certain things about a man." He coughs out a laugh. "Like when Christopher dribbled water out of his mouth when he was checking out your ass every time you walked away from our table. The man is not subtle." Peter steps closer to Stiles. "That you can trust."