Disclaimer: Don't own Teen Wolf.

Summary: When the Sheriff found out about werewolves he took it in stride. It got worse when his son sneaked out in the middle of the night to visit his boyfriend. Only, he was convinced said boyfriend was Derek Hale. Not his supposed-to-be-dead uncle. AU from the beginning of the 3rd season (no Cora; Boyd and Erica are alive).

Warnings: Swearing (in my mind it's the Sheriff's stress relief), SLASH, yeah, don't forget slash (you don't like slash? go away.), yeah, some minor/major sex scenes depending on what you're into, sex toys, dirty talk, fluff and angst, major possessiveness, OOCness sometimes.

Also, I decided to try out more or less the same story from different perspectives. I mean, no one knows everything, right? (Unless you're Donna, and this is Suits, but we're so not in that fandom now).

Enjoy.

the Sheriff

"You've got to be kidding me," the Sheriff sighed and promptly seated himself on the nearest flat surface, which just happened to be a very fragile and, admittedly, huge cardboard box. The box creaked pathetically and sunk in, sucking the Sheriff in with it, making him end up sprawled on top of a huge cardboard mess.

Stiles made a sound between a huff and a laugh.

Derek whimpered and his eyes flashed red.

Sheriff Stilinski watched in silence as the wolf-like features disappeared from the face of his least-favourite exonerated murderer and blinked.

"I need to stock up on silver bullets," he deadpanned.

All in all, he took that whole werewolf thing in stride. Actually, for the first time in a couple of years everything seemed to make sense. Too much sense to tell the truth, and he once again wondered what happened to his life and since when did he believe that werewolves made his existence clearer and less complicated.

But they did. A lot of unexplainable stuff suddenly started making sense and, above all, his son's behaviour was finally transparent enough.

When Stiles started lying to him the Sheriff thought it was a phase. Like a teenage rebellion code named "keep your parent in the dark". Then, he thought it was drugs. Or, at least, Adderall overdose. Then, he blamed it on the company Stiles kept. After all, he was the Sheriff, there was no way Stiles could sneak around with Derek Hale of all people without him knowing. And Derek was definitely shady enough to be a part of a gang. Or something.

Yeah. It was something, all right, the Sheriff thought as he eyed the hickeys Stiles was poorly attempting to disguise with a turtleneck. Or, perhaps, bitemarks would be more accurate. And, since everybody in the pack was already paired up (Boyd and Reyes, Scott with both Lahey and the Argent girl) that left only Derek. If he was forced to name his biggest pain in the ass, the greatest source of his problems and emotional constipations in just two words they would be Derek fucking Hale, and who cares that these are three words? They appear to be almost synonymous anyway.

Back to the point.

Derek fucking Hale was fucking his fucking teenage son and that was not fucking okay, okay?

He was half-tempted to storm up to Chris Argent, confiscate all his wolfsbane bullets and shoot them up Hale's ass one after another with couple minutes healing periods so as to prolong the pleasure.

But, since Argent was out of town and he didn't have the patience anyway, he settled for tailing his son in the middle of the night to what he supposed was Hale's apartment downtown. On his way he entertained himself with plotting how to make this experience the most humiliating for both his son and his werewolf fucker.

Turns out, it was a werewolf fucker all right. Just not the one he had in mind with the whole "he's six years your junior speech", because this werewolf was Peter. Fucking. Hale. Definitely not six years Stiles' senior (more like twenty). Definitely lacking common sense and decency (judging by how he waited for Stiles on the parking lot just to allow him out of the car and press him against it face down, and go all fucking hoover on his neck. In broad... well... moonlight. Definitely not sane (his history, plus all of the aforementioned). And last he heard, definitely not alive anymore. Or, do zombie werewolves exist, too?

Maybe it was saying something about the Sheriff himself, or maybe he felt satiated with the whole recent drama, but as he watched Peter Hale turn his son back around and bruise a kiss into his mouth (Stiles responding with yanking Peter's head back by the hair on the nape of his neck and biting on the exposed flesh hard enough for the dribble of blood to trickle down behind Peter's v-neck) he felt the rage disappear, replaced with a sense of hopelessness and resignation.

In the end it came down not only to Stiles' stubbornness and his feelings. It was also about the weird balance of PeterandStiles. Like two sides of the same coin, however cliché it may be. Peter, the dark side, the stabilizer, the animal, the werewolf, the guardian, the loner, the lover. Stiles, the light, the youth, the human, the protected, the friend, the love.

Stiles

Watching his dad find out about werewolves was definitely not what he thought it would be.

For one, he didn't anticipate the calmness of the whole affair and the distinct lack of flying bullets and death threats. For two, there was no way to predict, before his morning meeting with Peter that is, the butt plug pushed deliciously snug into his ass and rubbing, ever so teasingly, against his prostate.

The thing about Peter is, that being with him is exhilarating. Both freeing and binding. Both laughter and tears, pleasure and pain. It's an addiction.

The thing about Stiles is that he loves contrast. He loves Peter's icy blue eyes and the smell of his cooking. He likes his sass, his possessiveness and distrustful nature. His sneak-cuddling and the fact that Stiles has learned to read him by now. More or less.

When his dad is distracted enough by the cardboard giving up under him Stiles cannot stop the sound that spills out of his mouth. The plug is now pressed firmly against that spot and Stiles squirms to get rid of the pressure. He's so going to kill Peter for it.

Fortunately Derek's wolfy senses are focused on his father and the big-reveal, so, yeah, back to reality Stiles, darling.

Stiles dismisses the murderous look his father gives Derek, because, hello, he's been mixed up with werewolves for a while now and his father does have a right to some retaliation.

Stiles lets his thoughts drift to Peter again. The older werewolf is magnificent, raw power and confidence and Stiles feels inspired. Obviously, he's thought about becoming a werewolf before, but fast healing and heightened senses never held as much of an appeal. Now, though. Now, things are different. Sometimes, he can feel Peter's hestiation when he wants to let the wolf out a bit more, push into him a bit harder, bite into him without restraint. And Stiles wants that. He wants that so much that it hurts.

It's probably stupid to wish for the lifetime of full moon changes only because of sex, but Stiles doesn't care. Sex is a big part of his life.

But Peter can't give him the bite anymore. The only one who could is Derek. And Stiles is going to have to pull out a whole Stilinski arsenal of convincing, because Derek Hale hates his guts.

When he sneaks out to see Peter that night, he can feel the steady beat of his own heart under his palm and wonders whether it will be different after he's bitten. He shakes the thoughts away seeing Peter in the parking lot, waiting for him. Before he even manages to thrust his keys into his pocket he's pushed against the jeep door and Peter's sucking a hickey onto his neck, his cock hard, rubbing against Stiles' ass. The head of Peter's cock presses lightly into the back of the plug through the fabric of their jeans. Stiles moans filthily.

"I could smell you from halfway down the street," Peter purrs into Stiles' ear, rubbing his nose against his hair, sniffing, "you smell like want, and need, and like you want nothing more than my hard cock in you, pounding you into the wall, or maybe right here, against your car, you'd like that, wouldn't you, smearing your come on the hood, holding back your orgasm until you'd feel me fill you up from the inside?"

"Yes, god, please, yes."

Peter yanks him by his shirt and turns him around, smashing his lips onto Stiles', swallowing his pleas for more. When Stiles comes up for air Peter regards him seriously for a second, all debauched and rumpled, his eyes flash blue and he mutters "mine".

"Yours." Stiles murmurs into Peter's neck, his fingers locking around his neck. Suddenly, he pulls on Peter's hair and exposes the slender column of Peter's throat. "Mine," he hisses, looking straight into Peters eyes and bites down hard between his neck and shoulder. He doesn't even care that it's the middle of a parking lot and anyone could see them because Peter yanks him back into a kiss licking the coppery taste out of Stiles' mouth.

They stumble into the elevator, with Stiles' back pressed against Peter's front.

"Count for me, Stiles." Peter whispers and pushes the button for the seventh floor. As soon as the door close and number one appears on the tiny screen, Peter grabs the end of the plug through the fabric of Stiles' jeans and pushes it further in.

"Holy fuck," Stiles gasps, the plug pressing firmly against his prostate, "o-one" he breathes out.

"Two," Peter corrects with the change of the number and slams the toy in even harder and Stiles whimpers, tears gathering in his eyes.

Needless to say, it's a long way to the seventh floor.

Derek

Derek hates himself. He hates himself for wanting and not having the courage to take but above all he hates himself for wanting, knowing that everyone around him dies, and wanting still.

Right now, however, he hates Peter. Peter, who is supposed to be his family, Peter who knows about how he feels for Stiles and Peter who has taken what he wanted for himself without a second glance in his direction.

He's not able to refuse Stiles. Not when asked upfront. So when Stiles asks him to be there for the big reveal, he naturally agrees. But when he steps foot into the house the smell of Stiles' arousal assaults his senses and for a second he has trouble breathing. It is not for him.

During the explanations there is a sudden spike in Stiles' desire and he whimpers pathetically echoing Stiles' own moan. He pretends it didn't happen.

The sheriff doesn't seem as suspicious about him being a werewolf as he is about being friends with his son, but he's not doing anything wrong, and he doesn't really care anymore. There is no point worrying about hypothetical accusations for hypothetical situations. He may be a masochist but not to that point.

In the evenings, when the pack scatters to their homes (Isaac staying with Scott more often than not) he pulls out his cock and strokes himself slowly, teasingly, thinking of warm brown eyes and young supple body. He has thousands of images in his mind by now, a range of smells and a small assortment of touches. He stops right before he comes, squeezes the base of his cock, takes several deep breaths and starts again. He can do it for all night long.

Each time in the morning he hates himself a bit more.

Peter

He's in love.

It's scary as fuck, scarier than being alone, because now he worries about someone other than himself.

But.

He knows that Stiles is his other half, however cheesy that sounds, and he will never let him go, not without a fight. And even then, it will better be a fight to the death, because he can't imagine living without him.

Holy shit.

He's truly, irrevocably fucked.

Add Derek to the equation and he's doubly fucked, because as much as he wants to be a part of his nephew's pack, there's a heavy silence between them now. He knows that Derek knows. Derek knows that he knows. And maybe he should be a little bit more selfless and tell Stiles that Derek is as much in love with him as Peter is, but he was never the good guy. He doesn't plan on changing now.

He will do whatever is necessary to keep Stiles happy and his at the same time. To protect him. He wishes things were different. He wishes Stiles had agreed to the bite when he still had the power to change him. Now, he can only bite him helplessly and lick the bitemarks soothingly, hoping they will be enough to stake his claim. And when they fade, repeat the process all over again.

Btw, I really like Derek. I don't like seeing him suffer. I have no idea what happened here. Something, like, took over my body and wrote this... aww... poor Derek. Sorry.