#chrispeter

there’s a place in the dark where the animals go 

“Great.  So we go along to this place, scout out a bit—” Stiles begins, but Chris interrupts.

“It’s not just a club, it’s a sex club.  A sex club specifically for supernatural creatures,” he says.  He’s watching Peter intently from his position across the room.  “It’s dangerous,” he adds, directly to him.

Peter flashes him a sarcastic, beatific smile.  “I have a safeword,” he says pleasantly.

The Wind Has Come | E | Petopher | Ch2/2

Chris/Peter is my number one guilty pleasure ship tbh

Also this contains mentions of Stalia and Allydia

***

Allison’s plan had been to spend the night at Lydia’s. It had been going fine - great, even, and Lydia’s hand had just been sliding under the waistband of Allison’s skirt when Malia had shown up, asking Lydia for advice on her relationship, which Allison had taken as her cue to leave. It’s not that she didn’t like Malia, she had told Lydia the last time this had happened. It’s just that Malia had a tendency to overshare, and Allison had learned far more about her and Stiles’ sex life in the last six months than she’d ever had any desire to know.

She got home a little before nine, wondering if it was too late to convince her dad to order Chinese. They hadn’t really had time to talk lately, what with Allison taking every chance she could get to hang out with Lydia ever since their sleepovers had started involving kisses at two in the morning and soft hands slipping under pajamas, and Chris being strange and distant for a reason that Allison hadn’t managed to figure out yet. Maybe, she thought, tonight would be the night she could get it out of him.

She opened the door with a faint smile on her face, shut it quietly behind her, and was just about to shout to her father that she was home when she heard a quiet groan. Eyes still not adjusted to the darkness of the living room, she reached behind her for the light switch with one hand, and into her pocket for her pocket knife with the other.

The moment she flipped on the light, she wished that she hadn’t. 

Allison had seen some weird things in her seventeen years on earth. She’d seen people grow hair where they shouldn’t, their ears elongating and their eyes glowing gold. She’d seen Jackson as a homicidal lizard monster, possessed by the creepy guy who used to crush on her. She’d seen Stiles Stilinski get - and somehow manage to keep - a girlfriend, but none of those things could have possibly prepared her for this.

Her father was seated on the couch, a shirtless Peter Hale straddling his lap, the two of them kissing fiercely.

Allison let out a little shriek, and both men looked up in shock, just as she flipped the light back off again.

There was silence for a moment before Peter spoke, and even though Allison couldn’t see him, she could hear his smile in his voice. “Well this is awkward.”

There was a shuffling noise, and Allison could vaguely make out the outline of her father pushing Peter off of his lap in the dim light shining in through the curtains from the street light outside. “Allison, I wanted to tell you, I just-”

“Didn’t think I’d approve of you sleeping with a murderous werewolf when you didn’t even approve of Isaac?”

“This seems like a family matter,” said Peter, getting to his feet and moving towards the door. “So I’ll just be-”

Allison took a step back so she was directly between Peter and the door, and turned the light back on, relieved to see that he had, at least, put his shirt back on. “I don’t think so. Both of you sit down.”

ahhhh sorry, that is one of those pairings I have like. 0% affection for.

I could get behind some mind game hate-fuckery, I guess. probably after Allison dies. Peter shows up with at Chris’s apartment intent on pulling open some old wounds and pouring salt on the fresh ones, talking about family and how much it hurts to lose them. there’s a touch of genuine sympathy in it, of course - the best lies have a grain of truth, the worst insult is a backhanded compliment that slides under your skin - and it isn’t like Peter doesn’t love his family, when its convenient. It’s enough to really burn Chris, really, that Peter is the first person to say this to Chris; a werewolf, a killer, his sister’s killer, the personification of every single thing Chris is supposed to hate. and he shows up at Chris’s apartment with a bottle of scotch and a terrible gleam in his eye. 

who understands more than I do? who knows more about losing family? who understands what it means to look at your hands and see all that red

Chris breaks the ash line at the door and gets Peter a glass. they break it, later, and the bottle that holds the rest of the scotch, and a chair, but Chris slips into a sleep so deep its almost unconsciousness, and when he wakes up he doesn’t think about Allison for a minute or two.