They smell like the shore, the water, blood and mermaids. And victory. And Peter and his wolf is ready to take their mate as the night's last hunt.

He let's Stiles take off their shirts, welcoming the warm skin against his. Peter also could get Stiles' jeans open, and his impatient fingers are already inside, squeezing the boy through his pants.

"I'm not gonna fuck you, Stiles. I'm going to make you mine. I'm going to remind you you're pack." Peter speaks, giving a squeeze with every word of his.

Then he goes and drags Stiles' jeans off, along with his dirty shoes and socks. The sight and the smell of need makes his own pants tight, but soon he will have what he wants. What they both want.

"You've never been more beautiful, Stiles."