Talia tells Peter that if he doesn't find a mate himself, she has candidates for a match.
“You’re such a drama queen, Peter. You’re my favorite brother and ideally, I’d like you to find true love, to find your true mate and raise a family and be happy forever. But at this point, you need to find someone you can tolerate to be mated with, who tolerates you and benefits the pack.”
There’s not much reason to talk. Sometimes, if he’s quiet enough he thinks his dad forgets him. If he’s quiet enough, and he hopes, Dad will walk right by. Those are good days.
“Special,” Peter calls him at the bar, and that only makes Stiles roll his eyes and order another drink on the werewolf’s tab.
“Beautiful,” gets Peter closer to what he’s after, and then there is the litany of endearments that all end with “boy” which had never really done it for Stiles before with other men, but there’s something about Peter: his sharp smirk, his knowing eyes, his careful stubble of a beard that just works for his face. Something about the way he says it that has Stiles licking into his mouth and talking about grabbing a cab.
“Mine,” he calls Stiles after that and whoa, yeah, that does it for him, too. Like a lot.
The first time Stiles wore the shirt, Peter almost chocked on his own spit. It wasn’t his most graceful moment, he will admit that, but seriously. That shirt was especially made to torment Peter and going by the way Stiles smirked at him, he damn well knew it.
Bite me it said, and Peter wanted to claw it clean off Stiles.
Stiles' day starts with a no-show barista, and a few too many fancy drink requests. Two werewolves swoop in to take it in a completely different direction.