authors note: heyyy chapter five has been increasingly had to write! so it might not be up for awhile, even if chapter six is already down eheh ^_^" but im glad to see so many ppl think my writing is good! woah!
!RAPE AND NON-CON WARNING! I AM IN NO WAY EXCUSING OR CONDONING RAPE!

"Long sleeves?" Peter asked as he pushed Stiles against his own bedroom door and pulled at the collar of the shirt to bite at his collar bone. "What's wrong, don't like the little gifts I give you?" Peter grabbed at Stiles' hands and kissed at the bruises around his pale wrists from the night before.

Stiles still couldn't look Peter in the eyes so he settled for fluttering them closed at every opportunity. "C-can't… Can't have people… asking questions…" Stiles sighed between every drag of Peter's teeth across his skin.

"Good boy," Peter praised, smiling into Stiles' neck before sucking another bruise at the sensitive flesh there.

Stiles was wiping at the come on his chin with his discarded shirt when he was suddenly shoved forward onto his bed.

"W-what the fuck, Peter?" Stiles demanded, pushing himself up on his hands and glaring over his shoulder. Peter stalked forward, pressing himself against Stiles and biting at is pallid shoulder blades.

"This is a new game, Stiles."

Stiles bit his lip. "I-I don't know, Peter. I don't… I'm not sure I like these 'new games' so much…"

Peter huffed a laugh against the back of Stiles' neck and laved at it greedily.

"You can pretend it's my darling little nephew all you want, Stiles. As long as I finish, you could cry out the name of a Star Trek character for all I care."

"Um… okay?" Stiles wasn't sure how to take Peter's statement, but instead arched into the sensation as Peter dragged his tongue down his back.

Peter's hand found its way down Stiles' jeans and into his boxers, and used the boy's pre-come as lube to jack his cock while he rocked his own hard-on against Stile's ass.

Stiles' arms shook as he tried to hold himself up and he spread his legs wider when Peter's free hand cupped his ass and squeezed, eliciting a choked-out moan. Stiles couldn't tell if he was fucking into Peter's hand or grinding his ass against Peter's dick, and eventually stopped trying to differentiate the two sensations.

Peter nipped at Stiles' exposed back, but yanked his hand from the front of the boy's jeans so quickly that Stiles whimpered and cantered at the loss.

Peter shushed him and licked a quick line between his shoulder blades. "Not yet, Stiles."

Suddenly, Stiles' pants were around his ankles and Peter shoved him so he was sprawled forward across his bed and again kept his arms locked above his head.

"P-Peter!" Stiles gasped. "Wh—no, I don't—"

The beta simply smiled and grazed a single clawed finger across Stiles' back.

"Shush, now, Stiles, this won't take long."

"What? Peter, stop—I—I don't want to—"

Stiles cried out before taking the blanket between his teeth and screaming into the cotton as tears streaked down his face.

A single, sharp claw dug into the soft flesh of Stile's shoulders and slowly dragged down, making Stiles' eyes screw shut and his legs tremble.

Peter repeated the action for what felt like hours and Stiles had screamed his throat ragged, his cries had long tapered out into hoarse whimpers and his sweat and tears made his blanket damp. The beta swiped a hand across his work slowly and tenderly, smiling at the hiss of breath Stiles took inward and the smear of blood he'd left in its wake.

Stiles' eyes widened when he felt a blood-slick finger pressed against his entrance and he looked to Peter, silently pleading no no no before he was breached and he let out a pitiful wheeze.

Peter finger fucked him slowly, pushing his index in and out with laborious movements that, no matter how long they lasted, were too intrusive and obstructive for Stiles.

Still, Peter pressed on, he eventually worked in a second finger and grinded his erection against Stiles' hip.

"God, Stiles, you feel so tight and warm. I can't wait to get my dick in there and fuck you properly."

Stiles closed his eyes and tried to picture Derek behind him, even when Peter bent over him and pressed into the wounds so hard it caused him to see stars, he kept his eyes wrenched closed and Derek's name on the tip of his tongue.

Peter hooked his fingers in a way the made Stiles jump and wheeze when he tried to whimper. And again, his body betrayed his mind as his dick swelled painfully against the mattress.

"You liked that?" Peter chuckled and slowly curled his fingers again. Stiles whined and tried to get friction on his cock by fucking into the mattress, as he willed silently for Peter not to speak so he could pretend it was Derek who whispered filthily in his ear as he got finger fucked.

Peter laughed and set into a faster pace, until his hips were knocking erratically into Stiles' and he came for a second time that night with a litany of curses across Stiles' ass and lower back.

Stiles rocked back onto Peter's fingers, and rotated his hips in hopes of getting that sweet spot again and came with a hoarse and ragged would-be shout of Derek into his sheets.

Peter pulled his fingers from Stiles' aching hole too quickly and it made him gasp and shutter.

"God, you're so wonderful." Peter sighed, kissing a flurry against Stile's shoulders and pressing a palm across Stiles' bloody back. Stile hissed between his teeth but couldn't find any strength in him to fight Peter.

So, the beta dressed quickly while he took occasional, hungry gazes at Stiles' exhausted form as it lay in a heap on his bed, with labored breathes and tear stained cheeks that couldn't bear to turn his way.

Stiles woke up to a splitting head ache, sore throat, and the inability to move without hissing in pain.

But despite the agony, he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower, where he washed down the drain all his blood, come, and tears.

Derek was furious, he couldn't stand to see the smug grin on his uncle's face when he came into the loft the previous night, he could smell the sex on him. He could smell Stiles and his satisfaction and—blood?

He sniffed again.

Yes, that was it.

Derek didn't realize he was growling until Peter stopped in his tracks, without a smile.

"What the fuck did you do to him?" Derek growled and shifted without a conscious decision.

"Nothing he didn't want."

Derek howled at the sound of dishonesty in Peter's pulse rate and threw himself at his uncle, his fangs clamped down around the first hint of exposed flesh and his claws latched into his skin with animalistic ferocity.

"Liar," he ground out. "What did you do to him?"

Peter's eyes were wide but his mouth split into another wretched grin.

"Why don't you ask him?"

Derek slashed at Peter's face and stomach before he hauled himself back to his feet and ran out of the loft.

The air was stale and heavy, with too much moisture to breathe comfortably, but Derek ran through it. He had no set path or actual plan of where he was going, and so he eventually found himself in the woods.

"Derek!"

He whipped around the sound of his name in time to see Scott skid to a halt behind him.

"Derek," Scott huffed, obviously winded. "We need to talk."

Derek bristled. "About what?"

"Stiles."

Scott stepped back as Derek clenched his clawed fists, and blood dripped from between his fingers when he inevitably sliced open his palms.

"So you know?" Scott asked, hopeful.

"No," Derek growled. "I don't know a goddamn thing."

Scott guffawed. "Are you really going to be like that, Derek? If you know what's going on between them, please explain it to me!"

"Ask Stiles, he's your friend."

"And Peter's your uncle!" Scott bellowed. "And Stiles won't tell me anything! I just—I'm so confused!"

Derek narrowed his eyes at Scott, curious but wary.

"Please, Derek," Scott continued. "If you know anything, tell me. And talk to Stiles. He's being a dick but he's still my best friend and I'm worried."

Derek crossed his arms and ignored the blood he was smearing on his biceps.

"Why would he tell me anything?" Derek asked quietly.

"I don't know. I don't know!" Scott ran a hand through his hair. "But you have to help him if I can't, Derek. Please? He smells like shame and fear and—and blood, hell, his whole room smells like it."

Derek stepped back, aghast and angry all over again. A growl was forming deep in his chest that he wasn't sure he had the strength to hold back the more Scott spoke.

"Okay." Derek said as calmly as he could muster. "Okay. I'll try to help him."

Scott's face fell into an expression of gratitude, all tearful eyes and quivering lip. "Oh, thank god. Thank you so much, Derek."

Derek shook his head and sprinted past Scott, now certain of where he was going.