[Fic] carry the river to the mountaintops (Teen Wolf)
- Fandom: Teen Wolf
- Pairing: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
- Tags: AU, Apocalypse, Established Relationship
- Word-Count: 625
- Status: Complete
- First Published: 2023-11-12
- Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf and make no profit from this—it is solely a hobby for fun, with no financial compensation.
Summary:
"Aww," Stiles says once they're comfortable, wiggling his eyebrows, "You've missed me."
Notes:
Ren's Flufftober 2023: 1 - Sunrise on a Broken World
Work Text:
Peter trucks in mud and snow into the house, the warm glow of the fire spilling out into the hallway through the open doorway, and he makes doubly certain to lock the entrance down tight beside him. His shoes and socks are both lost causes, and he dumps them into the box put out just for this, the sound of Stiles' voice echoing through the cottage. He can hear, vaguely, the sound of bubbling water and footsteps moving, smell lavender and vanilla in the air.
Putting away his equipment in the storage room, Peter sheds the last of his snow-covered clothing as he turns into the kitchen, asking, "Did you leave the fire unattended?" in the most disappointed tone he can muster.
Stiles, as expected, flinches and mutters "Shoot," under his breath, spinning on his heel. Then he frowns, thoughts catching up with him, "It's not unattended, it's my fire," and Peter huffs a laugh, crossing the small distance. Outside, night has fallen and abject darkness has covered the city like a choking blanket, but the starlight is a mesmerizing view and the scent of home surrounds him.
"You're back," Stiles finally notes, grabbing Peter's shirt. He tugs on it, squinting at him, trying to spot any injuries. But Peter is Peter Hale, and he does not get injured by mere dead bodies jacked up on magic and nothing more. He is fine, and he murmurs so into Stiles hair as he hugs the younger man.
Stiles allows it for a moment, then he blinks and comes awake. "Shit, shit, did you get everything?"
"Obviously," Peter drawls. He follows Stiles to the entrance, where Stiles inspects every bag, but Peter isn't lying and now that he's home, now that he can assure himself of Stiles' safety with his own two eyes, he relaxes. Crosses his arms over his chest, leans on the wall while he allows Stiles to investigate to his heart's content. It's not that Stiles' doubt his skill, Peter knows, it's simply a desire to know with his eyes own that everything is as it should be.
Peter can relate to that.
Stiles stands, brushing his hands on his pants. "Thanks, Peter," he says, smiling up at him, and Peter exhales. He nods, snagging Stiles's hand and dragging him to the living room where the fire is still flickering in the fireplace and he can see the stars out the windows. Stiles comes easily to the ancient couch and allows himself to be manhandled into a cuddle session, Peter pulling a ratty blanket up to their chins.
"Aww," Stiles says once they're comfortable, wiggling his eyebrows, "You've missed me."
"Yeah," Peter says, not even trying to hide it. It's been weeks on the road, weeks of being surrounded by strangers and enemies and forcing himself to not think about Stiles and their little cottage, because it does no one any good to be distracted. Weeks.
So yeah. He's missed Stiles.
Stiles huffs. "You've turned soft, old man," he grouches, pinching Peter's arm. Peter merely holds onto him tighter in response, closing his eyes and surrounding himself with Stiles; the sound of his breathing, of his heartbeat, his pulse skittering in Peter's ears, and the scent that is distinctly Stiles.
Relaxing, Peter rasps, "So what if I have?"
Stiles looks up at him, smirks. "It's fine," he says, pressing up and pecking Peter on the cheek. "I missed you, too."
Peter rolls his eyes. In the blazing fire Stiles' eyes look gold, the shadows dancing over the contours of his face, and Peter shuts his eyes again, draws Stiles in close, surrounds himself in his warmth. Outside, the wind gently sweeps through the trees, stirs the leaves, and stars blink ever down upon them.