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Walking into the loft was far from a surreal experience. It was familiar, something he'd done countless times during high school that now he thought nothing of it. He was just excited - excited to see his pack and his friends after eight months of being away. Because while the others had, he hadn’t came back once. Instead he planned out how he graduate the fastest and decided to fast track his degree, choosing for less visits and instead coming home an entire year early. He took a rushed course over winter holidays and used both reading weeks to desperately stay on top of his too-packed schedule. He was taking a double course load and it was slowly but surely killing him.
But being home now made up for it. He’d spent the entire last afternoon and night with his father, catching up with the Sheriff. He had felt settled in a way he had yet too since leaving for school, being home and being held by his dad. His dad who didn’t say one thing about his new ‘look’ nor said one bad thing about the tattoos he was suddenly covered in, instead asked about what they meant. Explaining his magic to his father had been fun, if not incredibly challenging. It was hard for someone without magic to really, truly understand.
So here he was, his second day back in Beacon Hills and late for the packs get together. He couldn't be upset he and his father were up until five this morning talking, and he figured the pack would excuse the lateness when he told them. It wasn't until he actually entered the loft that he realized not seeing the pack may have been a mistake. He definitely didn’t look much like he used too and he was already preparing himself for the barrage of questions he was going to receive.
He had changed at college, blossomed into something new . And not only with his magic, which he had evolved - his spark shining brightly in his chest, his arms and torso littered with runes and tattoos to enhance his power. He was strong, one of the strongest magic users he’d met in terms of raw power. His spark shone soft and bright inside him, pale moonlight. It could be sharp and violent, lightening as it urged to burn . It was wild , and it had been free when he first came into it. He was just lucky he’d found his first teacher before he blew himself - or the city - up.
He was stronger now, yes, but it was because he was sure of who he was. It didn’t take him as long as it probably could have - his self discovery. It was probably because he was as into research as he was and he had never been one to lie to himself. He was honest in his own mind, had been since those few months when his mind hadn’t just been his. So he did research, hours and hours of it before settling on something that felt right. The makeup and more feminine clothing hadn’t came in until he met Rick, a super cool pal who introduced him to the wonders of makeup and beauty gurus. And it was nice to know that he wasn’t alone, that he could actually learn what he was doing from other boys . It was inspiring.
He still hadn’t worn makeup out of the house for a while, though. He wanted to be good , needed to be before he let anyone else see him. The first time he wore makeup he kept it light, dewy and soft, lips clear gloss. And he looked good, fuck he looked great , especially after Rick had taken him shopping.
His wardrobe was a now mix of this new Stiles and the old, blending together the two. The outfit he had picked out for the day was a good example of that. His black converse were still a staple for him, though the laces were hardly white at this point. He was still wearing his usual plaid - though this particular overshirt was a simple grayscale and hung loosely on his frame, and beneath it he wore a white, cropped baseball-t that said ‘daddy’ in silvery italic lettering. His jeans were new too, a faded black that fit tight, ripped slightly at the knee.
What was probably the most shocking - other than the strip of midriff he was shamelessly showing off (hell he’d worked for his v-lines) - was his face. His face that was completely done up in makeup. He was contoured and highlighted and highlighted more. His lips were a dark purple gloss, the same shade being reflected in the crease of his eye look. His lids were painted with a bright silver glitter, peeking out behind the two pairs of lashes he had stacked on.
Stiles sort of wished the pack had at least seen him before now, since they were all outright staring. And it wasn't as though Stiles wasn't used to staring, because he was . He lived his life like this - a bisexual, gender-nonconforming man who wore makeup and feminine clothing- and it was common for people to watch him. He was fine with it when it came from faceless strangers on the street, hell he loved it when it young kids came up and asked him questions. But this wasn't the same. This was his pack, and despite how little they’d spoken to him they were still his family, and for that he wasn't sure if he'd be able to handle a negative comment from them.
Although, it didn't seem as though there were going to be any comments, since they were all still staring at him, the pack littered around the room. Scott was gaping at him, mouth hung open and his eyes wide where he stood next to Kira, her face soft and open. Lydia was staring at him as well, but hers was critical, as though judging his blending abilities - which were flawless - from across the room. Both Jackson and Isaac were sneering, no doubt something horrible waiting to be said. Erica, sitting in Boyd’s lap on the couch, looked appraising.
Stiles eyes stuck on Peter though. The man was leaning against a support beam, his stance faux casual, his body all tense lines. He had put on a bit of bulk since Stiles had last been back, his arms thicker than they had been before, his chest wider. They had spoken, quite regularly since Stiles had left for college so the boy knew about Peter working out with Derek in an attempt to bond. His beard was now just that, full and thick around his jaw, matching chest hair just peeking out from under the low v of his shirt. Though what Stiles was really focused on were the man's eyes, electric blue and bright where they tracked up Stiles form.
“Preferred pronouns, sweetheart?” The man said around a mouthful of fangs, though there was nothing sharp about his voice. It was soft, almost tentative in a way Stiles wasn’t used to Peter sounding. It went with the beard, Stiles thought to himself.
“Uh, he and him are fine.” Stiles all but stuttered out, glancing shyly at the man. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. Peter standing didn’t help, nor did him all but stalking towards Stiles. Yes, Stiles was honest enough with himself to admit that he’d always been attracted to the older man, but this Peter? This Peter was doing all sorts of things to Stiles’ body.
“Is that a request?” The man asked, suddenly in front of Stiles. His thumb grazed the text of Stiles’ shirt, swiping up to softly rub over the boy's nipple through the cotton. Stiles looked down at his shirt dumbly, the warmth from Peter’s body making his brain feel slow. When he finally read what it said he let out a giggle, flush bright red on his neck even as he nodded, again shyly looking from under his lashes at the man before him.
“May I scent you?” Stiles nodded again, momentarily thrown off by Peter’s politeness. Sure the man hadn’t really done anything wrong since he had came back to life but he had still been a creepy, sarcastic asshole most of the time. The fact that he know had crinkles around his eyes made something low in Stiles’ belly heat up even though he knows he shouldn't find laugh lines so damn attractive.
The hours a week they’d spent talking may have also helped. At first, it had been Stiles asking questions for his Mythology courses - Peter being a well of knowledge - and it had quickly became fun, almost flirty banter. And then it took another turn, becoming real conversation. Peter talked about life before the fire, his degree in Law and his fights with Talia - how trivial everything seemed now that it was all gone. Stiles in turn talked about his mother, the absence of his father for so many years. They knew each other, but Stiles could normally ignore the low grade arousal that sprung up whenever he thought of Peter if the man was hours away.
Now? With Peter stepping even closer - the hand previously rubbing his chest falling and wrapping around the boy's waist, slipping under the flannel to press against the bare skin of Stiles’ lower back - Stiles entire body felt like it was heating up. The air in the loft felt charged, especially so when Peter brought his face even closer, letting his chin rub against the top of Stiles’ head, his stubble warm and thick as it brushed past the boy's ears. It tickled when Peter settled into the crock of Stiles neck, warm breath making Stiles shiver.
Peter continued with his actions, rubbing his scent into the boy's skin, his rough facial hair pinkening the skin. He dragged the flat of his palm up Stiles back, leaving another layer of his scent behind, all but purring when the boy leaned back into the hold, resting his weight into Peter’s embrace. Stiles sighed, his own magic flaring bright in his chest in delight, softly caressing the man in front of him. It was akin to scenting, though only those who could see magic would know what Stiles had done. He’d left his own mark on the man, his own magical signature sticking to the wolf like Peter’s scent to him.
The man pulled back with a content sounding growl, the noise a soft rumble against Stiles’ skin. The boy was blushing, almost thankful his makeup would be covering it, though he knew his ears and neck must have been bright red with arousal. God, he could only imagine his scent right now, what it must be giving away. He blinked his eyes open slowly, only realizing they were glowing bright with his magic when Peter inhaled sharply, a delighted smirk spreading over his face.
“My, my, how college has changed you,” Peter commented, his voice light and approving as if he hadn’t already known about Stiles’ improvement with his magic.
Before Stiles had a chance to answer he was being slammed into by an armful of blonde werewolf, Erica giggling as she wrapped herself tight around the boy. Arms and legs holding herself up, heedless of Stiles’ support. Stiles for his part stumbled a half step before regaining his balance, holding her firmly around the waist. She just laughed more, rubbing her face into the other side of his neck - most likely because Peter had yet to stop emitting a low growl, one Stiles wasn’t even sure the wolf knew he was making.
Stiles just laughed again, his eyes burning hot with tears, twirling Erica before letting her down, smiling gently at the girl, “I missed you,” He said, voice raw.
They’d been through too much together to not be close. After spending those hours in the basement, increasingly terrified as he realized that no one was coming for him , he had raced his way back, shouldering past Chris to release Erica and Boyd. Their bond had been close after that, only being able to relate to one another. The rest of the pack had drifted by them, in those first few weeks when Erica wouldn’t go anywhere alone and Stiles began carrying guns and knives on his person. Boyd talked even less, refusing to leave either alone for very long.
For months the couple had invaded Stiles’ bedroom - and not in the way the Sheriff thought - and it had essentially forced Stiles to out the supernatural. Just the thought of being too far from each other was terrifying, and one they refused to play at. So they became a strong unit, their bond only strengthening when Stiles saved them from their Alpha pack at the risk of his life. That had been when the first little sparklings of his spark began to show through, magic passed down from his mother awakening for the first time. There was no that he was going to let anyone hurt what was his .
And if he started to feel pack bonds that day, well he never actually said anything - specially because there were only two. He could feel Erica and Boyd, warm and strong inside his chest, bright next to his spark, even if he hardly knew what it was back then. When senior year happened and Stiles finally was Stiles again, the nogitsune gone, gone , gone Stiles continued to only feel the two pack bonds - and alright maybe there was a small, fleeting, fledgling of a bond he refused to admit to - he kept it to himself. He didn’t want to think about why he couldn't feel Scott or even Derek. Didn’t want to think about why his best friend wasn’t a part of his pack, even though Peter Hale was.
So he didn’t. He finished his senior year and left for college, his fledgling bond forming into something solid and strong during the months of conversation between him and eldest Hale. And he knew Peter felt it too, knew Peter spent hours a day ‘playing’ with the bond. He would send Stiles feelings, little platitudes that almost felt like emoticons. It was cute, and Stiles played right back. Now they could almost send thoughts, and the boy was determined to figure out how to do so these next four months.
Being surrounded by these three, by his pack felt all sorts of right. He had to laugh at it too, send his pure joy along the pack bonds inside of him and he rejoiced when he felt similar feelings sent back. He pulled Boyd into the hug, ran a hand down the man's bald head to spread around his scent, taking Erica’s wrist in hand to do the same. He doesn’t worry about Peter, since the man is worming his way close behind him, pressing himself chest to back.
He knows the sorts of conversations he’s about to have. Knows he’ll half to explain and defend his identity, explain why his eyelids are silver and why he’s wearing a girls shirt. He doesn’t want to, doesn’t owe it to anyone. Though as Boyd crows even closer, the four of them alone in their own little bubble - if just for a moment - he figures it won’t be so bad. As long as he gets to spend the next for months with these three, with his / pack , he’ll be fine.