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Stiles grabbed the pheromone reduction soap to lather up his body, focusing his efforts on the areas where his scent concentrated the most: his neck, armpits, wrists, and, of course, around his cock. With his rut coming up in a little over a week, it took some elbow grease to ensure that no part of his scent remained (to his nose, at least).
Rinse and repeat.
He hated the prickling sense of vulnerability of this pre-meeting ritual, but with the hypersensitive omega werewolf noses in the park, it was better safe than sorry. All the alphas did the same. Such were the nuances of pack life that he hadn't understood -- hadn't even known existed -- before presenting.
The necessity of pack life with minimal pheromones meant that while Stiles often was familiar with and recognized the scents of those who shared his routine -- the barista that worked the morning shift at The Bean, the dentist, the amorous couple that lived in the apartment above him -- but not of those he was closest to.
He'd accidentally run into Isaac once while he was in pre-heat and Erica and Boyd weren't that meticulous at cleaning up before meetings (Stiles was fairly sure they got distracted in the shower), but Derek and Peter? They were so good at controlling their pheromones and using scent blockers that he had no idea.
It always struck Stiles as patently absurd -- Peter and he had even slept together, but since it was in the before times (pre-manifestation), he didn't (couldn't) sense anything.
Freshly twenty, desperate to lose his virginity, and on break from college, Stiles had used his fake to get into a bar only to find Peter Hale already there, smirking, and taking a sip from a tumbler of amber liquid. A crook of his fingers and a subtle inclination of his head was all it took for Stiles to cross the room.
"I'd ask what a nice, not-yet-twenty-one year old boy like yourself is ding here, but well... the horniness you quite frankly reek of speaks for itself."
Stiles' arousal had spiked at the word "boy" and the rest was a blur of flirting and sass that somehow culminated in frantic fucking in the foyer of Peter's then-apartment.
It was the first of a whirlwind of nights in which Stiles learned about pleasure, werewolf stamina, and that alpha werewolf dicks really were as large as porn advertised. Distance, time, and a lack of formality faded the relationship out of Stiles' life before it could blossom into more.
At twenty-two, he'd finally presented, waking up one day with morning wood with a distinct knot at the base.
He was not the omega he'd always expected to be. The omega everyone had expected him to be based on the merciless teasing he'd heard back in high school locker rooms. That was the final death knell for his hopes of every having more with Peter. At the time, it had felt like a small mercy that their "situationship" had already ended. The knot deflated on its own, but he'd curled up in bed and waited until his roommate left for classes to cry.
Stiles was an Alpha.
In the years since, his body grew to reflect his presentation -- adding bulk and three inches of height. Moreover, he'd graduated, survived a Spark apprenticeship, moved to an overpriced shoebox of a studio in New York and finally, returned to Beacon Hills.
And while he loved being close to his pack again (pre-pack rituals notwithstanding) and while he knew it was long over with Peter, every pack night made him wonder if things would have been different if he'd presented differently. Or not at all.
He forced his mind off the pack's alpha lest he need to scrub down again and finished his shower.
A layer of deodorant, dressing in he cleanest Batman t-shirt, red hoodie and jeans he could find, and a quick drive later, he was precisely two minutes late to the pack house.
The house was painted light yellow with dark green shutters and featured three stories with a wraparound porch. While large, Peter had spearheaded the construction to meet his exacting standards and with the current pack in mind.
The entire top floor belonged to him as alpha and included his bedroom, his office and a private library, which Stiles had been desperate to explore since he'd seen it on the floor plans. (Though he had yet to be invited.) Pack member rooms were on the second floor, but only Derek and Chris used their room regularly. And Stiles had it on good authority from a very annoyed Isaac that Boyd and Erica only used their room once to christen the bed loudly and enthusiastically. Stiles himself had only used his room for storage and the occasional research-break nap.
"Honey, I'm home!" he joked as he pushed open the door, ignoring the reprimanding looks on his friends' faces.
Chris was siting alone on the couch while Boyd and Erica were snuggled together on the armchair in the corner. She was perched on his lap to fit into the cramped space with a large knit throw was draped over their legs and hiding their hands. Stiles was pretty sure nothing was going on below the blanket, but he looked away just in case.
"You're late. And we both heard and smelled you for at least the past five minutes, but sure... go ahead and announce your presence," Isaac complained as he took a seat on the ottoman in the living room.
Stiles, being the mature mid-20s working professional he was, raised his arm to take a big whiff (of nothing) before sticking his tongue out in response. "Smells like the good old scentless soap you use, since I literally just showered before coming here. So even your super sniffer can't smell my pheromones. You, on the other hand? Even I can smell that sickly sweet omega stench. Which yikes."
"Your human nose is defective if you think..."
"Just sit down, Stiles. Knock it off and fucking grow up both of you," Eyebrows their usual expressively grumpy, Derek scowled at both of them as he came in the living room from the kitchen to join his mate on the couch.
The others hadn't been able to make it, but by the way Isaac was glued to his phone, he probably was texting the group chat live updates.
"The P in Peter clearly doesn't stand for punctuality," Stiles said, looking for signs of their alpha. Pack nights which were only couples and him were the worst. (And Isaac, but Stiles didn't count him because an alpha would have to be a saint to put up with him.)
"He said there were a couple books he needed from his collection and would be right back down. You just missed him when you arrived," Chris explained as he stretched his arm around the back of the couch, and consequently, around Derek.
Watching casual intimacy between the mated pair always made Stiles' heart ache, even though (or, likely because) neither Chris nor Derek were particularly expressive. Chris' fingers easily reached out to brush against Derek's mating bite, while Derek's hand laid on Chris' thigh. No one in the pack had expected such a non-traditional mating -- Derek had presented even later than Stiles and Chris had already been mated once before -- still, they worked well as a couple. Then again, they were Alpha and Omega. Mates.
Stiles tried not to fidget as they waited, unsure where to focus his attention especially after Isaac's snippy "what are you looking at? I know I'm the unmated omega here, but it's not going to happen." Stiles hadn't pretended to gag. He had. As Cher Horowitz, queen of Clueless, would say, "As if!"
For all his confused feelings about the pack alpha, Stiles breathed a sigh of relief when Peter finally appeared on the stairs, a stack of books in hand.
"Thank you all for coming. I know this isn't a particularly special or ceremonial occasion, but I have some important news to share." He swept into the room with his usual grace and took a seat in the armchair which had been left open for him like a throne. He made eye contact with every single member present, finishing with Chris and Derek and adding, "Or, rather, Derek and Chris have some news for everyone first."
Chris reached for Derek's hand and leaned forward. "As you may know, Derek and I have been hoping to expand our family, and, well... it's finally happening. We're pregnant."
Derek gave a rare smile, showing off his bunny teeth as he placed their joined hands over his stomach. "I'm pregnant. Chris is very-valued support, but will obviously not be undergoing the same trauma of giving birth. The baby is due in August of next year. It's still early stages, but with wolves, we figured we couldn't hide it for long."
"I knew it! Jackson owes me dinner," Erica crowed, whipping out her phone from under the throw.
Stiles' own phone started buzzing incessantly in his pocket from notifications. Word spread as fast as fingers could type.
"We're going to have a pup to spoil. I'm so excited to buy all the cute onesies. I just saw one at the mall that had little wolf paws. It was all I could do not to buy it."
"Congratulations, you two."
"How much do you want to bet the baby is going to inherit Derek's eyebrows?"
Chris held up his hand and everyone fell silent again. (Seriously -- why didn't that trick work when Stiles tried it?)
"That's not all -- we've found a spot we'd like for building our new house which is closer to my family. It's about an hour away and you’re all always welcome to come and visit, but we might not make pack meetings quite as frequently."
"Boooooo," said Lydia and Jackson in unison, both now attending via a Facetime call with Isaac.
"You won't get rid of us that easily," Stiles said. "When I lived in New York, you all visited so much that I barely had time to miss you. But an hour away? That's nothing." Stiles punctuated his statement with finger guns, which Derek pretended not to find funny, although Stiles could see his lips twitching. And he really was excited to have a niece or nephew running around.
Back when he'd though he too was an omega, Stiles had considered having children of his own. A past dream, now lost. But unclehood? He couldn't wait.
"I've also decided that I don't want to be Peter's heir anymore."
And with that final announcement, everyone turned back to stare at Peter.
As Peter's sole remaining family member, everyone had accepted that Derek was next in line for the alphahood, omega status or no.
If Derek was stepping down, then...
"Who will be the heir then?" Stiles asked the question they were all thinking.
"Traditionally, the Hale alpha spark has always passed to another Hale. I hoped someone could look into it -- I brought everything I thought could be relevant from my private library. Happy researching!" Peter dropped the hardcovers directly in front of Stiles. "So far, the best options I can see are making the baby the heir after he or she is born... or... having a child of my own."
No.
Please, no.
Stiles couldn't breathe.
Nausea roiled in his gut and he had to swallow down the bile that wormed its way up his throat.
Did Peter already have an omega in mind?
Could Stiles watch as he mated someone else?
Fell in love?
Had a child?
Years and distance hadn't been enough for Stiles to move on and he'd just moved back.
In the abstract, Stiles had always known Peter mating someone else was a possibility. But he'd been comforted by the lack of unmated omegas around them. (Isaac excluded, because... Isaac).
Isaac, who bless him -- pain the ass that he was, asked, "With who?"
"It's with whom," corrected Boyd.
Stiles wanted to scream, cry, utterly break down because who the fuck cared about grammar when the dreams he hadn't let himself have were smashed to smithereens. Every time he'd called for Peter in a rut-fueled haze flashed through his mind. He hadn't known just how much hope had been left, even after being tamped down over and over and over again through the years. And given he was in pre-rut, heated need already running through his body, he could feel the despair ever more acutely.
Someone else would call out for Peter while in heat and they wouldn't be subjected to damning silence in response.
"Thank you Erica for oh-so-kindly and not-quietly-enough pointing out that I'm a temperamental sneaky asshole who will only be suitably matched with another asshole. Your concern has been noted. That said, while nothing has been decided yet, I do have someone in mind," Peter said.
There was someone.
Looking down to try and hide the tears that were coming, Stiles glanced at the books Peter had left him. His eyes blurred the gilded title but the cover on top read, "On Alphahood and Succession -- Thaddeus Hale."
Stomach revolting again, his body curled in on himself, burrowing deeper into the chair.
He knew why Peter had singled him out for the task -- usually he loved reading through old Hale family works. Thrived on learning morsels of knowledge lost to time and hidden among pages to be rediscovered.
But this was cruel, even for Peter.
Red hot anger surged through him, loosening his control of his pheromones, broadcasting to the room the depth of his upset.
Pre-rut made it worse.
He wanted to fight.
To stalk over to Peter.
To stake his claim.
Instead, he ran.
Up off the couch, grabbing the hoodie he'd draped over the armrest, he ran.
Peter stopped him with a hand on his wrist right after he'd cleared the doorway, placing the books he'd abandoned in his arms.
Stiles wanted to drop them.
He didn't.
He also didn't look at Peter.
Even though he knew it was futile, he tried to pull his arm free from the werewolf's grasp, letting his magic prickle like electricity over his skin and shocking Peter where they touched.
Peter didn't flinch.
Didn't let go.
Two fingers on Peter's other hand pushed Stiles' chin up so they were eye-to-eye.
In the before times, Peter had several inches on him, but now they were equals in height. Similar in build. Alpha and alpha.
Earthy pheromones lightly washed over him, intermingling with his own in the brisk winter air. The scent full of the same undertones as the wines Peter favored, the glasses he had poured for the two of them in the intimate moments before clothes came off.
Not for the first time, Stiles wished his Spark let him read chemosignals because he didn't trust his reading of Peter's face, especially as his vision blurred. Why would Peter be nervous?
Stiles was the one who was hurting.
"Read the books. Then get back to me."
"Is that a request from our Alpha?"
"It's a request as your Alpha. Get home safe, Stiles."
And then the warmth of fingers on skin were gone and the door closed behind Peter.
Stiles breathed in the faint traces of Peter left in the air until all he could smell was himself, before finally trudging back to his Jeep.
The first night after the pack meeting, Stiles wallowed -- in an echo of the day he'd presented, he curled up in bed, letting the tears he'd held back flow freely into his pillow.
He wore the lone top he'd stolen from Peter years before -- a Stanford hoodie that now fit snuggly on his frame. Every time Stiles had worn it in front of Peter, Peter had not allowed him to take it off, even if he was wearing nothing else. (As often was the case.) He'd washed it so much the cuff on the sleeve had worn through and the cardinal red long since faded. When he'd first attempted to move on, he'd stashed it in the back of his closet at his dad's house.
He still wore the hoodie.
He hadn't moved on.
(Peter apparently had.)
He cried some more.
His pre-rut cranking up his appetite regardless of his fragile emotional state, he'd eaten an entire tub of McConnell's Golden State Vanilla.
Concerned texts from the pack pinged his phone, but Peter hadn't been among them.
Stiles let them all go unanswered, except for one message to Derek: "I'm ok. Resting at home."
The next day, his skin was crawling with heat and he knew his rut was coming sooner than expected.
"Is that a request as our Alpha?"
Irritable as soon as he'd woken up, seen the books laying innocently on his nightstand and remembered the so-called "request", he'd picked up the top one to chuck it against the wall in a tantrum.
The leather was so soft under his fingers, worn despite years of careful preservation. He lifted it to his nose for a whiff of aged paper.
He couldn't throw it.
His little researcher heart couldn't allow him to damage a book.
"On Alphahood and Succession."
As he couldn't place Thaddeus Hale in the family tree, good old Thad had to be either from before the mid-19th century or from a branch family.
Stiles flipped through the first few pages, trying to find some indication of a date.
1767.
Pre-Revolutionary War.
He inspected the next book in the stack. The title was only one character -- Γ. This one was much more recent, published in 1954.
Unsure where to start, a question dawned on him: Tradition was one thing, but why did Peter give the books to Stiles?
Having sex during a rut with an omega or female beta almost guaranteed conception. Sure, there were some magical methods that could increase the chances further, but human physiology had evolved to facilitate breeding.
Why research at all?
And why these books in particular?
The first book's title appeared relevant, but the second less so.
Γ.
Stiles grabbed his notebook, a pen, and settled against the headboard to read.
Biologists and sociologists have observed that the majority of humans can be classified as one of two common genders and three common secondary genders. For genders: male and female, for secondary genders: alpha, beta, and omega. While the presentation of primary genders is often (although not exclusively and not always correctly) observable from birth, secondary genders manifest later in life, usually between the ages of 13 and 25. A small subset of humans never manifest a secondary gender ("betas").
Given the proportions of these secondary genders in the human population and the biological benefits of such a mating, alphas usually mate with omegas. Through a bite on the scent glands, these pairings produce a unique connection between the mated pair. Benefits include increased fertility within the omega and increased virility in the alpha. Some anecdotal evidence even suggests that a particularly suited mated pair can sense the other and even recognize when the other is in danger, although studying this in a rigorous scientific manner has proven to be unfruitful.
With a mating, both humans undergo a transformation such that they only strongly respond to the other's pheromones, which sociologists suggest leads to a deeper bond between the two due to a lack of temptation from other potential mates.
An alpha or an omega mating with a beta does not show these same benefits as the beta cannot sense pheromones and undergoes no changes even if bitten.
Alpha/alpha pairings and omega/omega do exist, although the very nature of pheromones makes them very rare as pheromones are not designed to attract the same secondary gender. Many societies also discourage such pairings, either explicitly or implicitly. An omega couple might struggle to conceive, but are usually capable of reproducing. On the other hand, an alpha couple is virtually incapable of producing offspring, even if one partner is male and one female.
The reminder that Peter could never have an heir with him stung. He knew some alphas who slept with other alphas, but, even in the liberal enclave that was the Bay Area, he'd never met an alpha couple. Omega couples? A different story.
Stiles sighed as he turned the page. Everything so far was common knowledge to the readers, and he was yet to make a mark in his notebook.
These classifications of gender and secondary genders are not all-encompassing. Some humans aren't fully one gender or the other and some alphas/omegas may not have all the traits common to those secondary genders.
One such example, which has only been recorded a few times in history is what we will heretofore refer to as the gamma presentation. Very little is known about the gamma presentation, as records indicate that it has only occurred under a very specific set of circumstances: the mating of a magical being (such as a Spark) and a shapeshifter. We have found no records of matings between shifters and non-magical beings (or vice versa) having a similar effect.
The most comprehensive primary source on the subject is the diary of Solomon (Perkins) Hale, a Spark and the mate of Thaddeus Hale, a werewolf. Solomon had originally presented as an alpha, as had Thaddeus, but his body underwent changes (a secondary secondary presentation) upon their mating. These changes allowed Solomon to retain the characteristics typical of an alpha (a knot, experiencing ruts, etc) while gaining omega-like features (producing slick and the formation of a womb). In fact, Solomon gave birth to three healthy children, all of whom survived into adulthood and had offspring of their own.
Holy fucking shit.
Stiles re-read the last few paragraphs again. And again.
Then, he glanced back at the first book, the one by Thaddeus Hale, himself.
A Spark and a werewolf.
Stiles and Peter.
Stiles pulled the neck of the hoodie up to his nose and inhaled, even though he knew the only scents that remained were his own and Tide detergent. But if he imagined it, he could believe there was an undercurrent of loam.
It was so very Peter to be overly dramatic, to make a whole announcement about his intentions to have a child without giving any further details, just so he could save face if Stiles rejected him. Planning three steps ahead and for every possible point of failure was one of the most frustrating and lovable things about Peter.
"Is that a request from our Alpha?"
"It's a request as your Alpha."
No matter how many times he'd turned the words over and over in his head, he'd never noted the phrasing -- the offer of Peter himself.
His Alpha, if Stiles so chose.
And he did so choose -- he knew with every fiber of his being that he wanted to present as a gamma, even if he hadn't known it was an option until a few minutes before. He wanted to bear pups with his freckles and Peter's blue eyes. He wanted to be with Peter, as his mate and partner for whatever life would throw at them.
The vulnerable look on Peter's face when he'd stopped him from leaving flashed through Stiles' mind's eye.
While Stiles had been drowning himself in ice cream, Peter had been waiting.
Finding the sentence where he'd left off, Stiles decided Peter could continue to wait until he'd had time to read all the books he'd been given. Being thorough in research was a virtue (and it served Peter right for the absolute misery he'd put Stiles through.)
In total, it took him fifteen hours to get through all the material, and the sun had long since set. Stiles had pages and page of notes, a list of referenced books he wanted to get his hands on, and errant pen marks all over the side of his hand.
While he'd barely taken a break the entire time, only leaving bed to grab food and go to the bathroom, he wasn't tired in the least.
Stiles couldn't wait any longer.
He changed his underwear and pulled on a pair of pants, still wearing the stolen hoodie, before grabbing his keys and hopping in his car to make the journey to the pack house for the second time in two days.
The drive was restless -- the music from the radio flowing in one ear and out the other, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel not to the beat, but out of adrenaline and anxiety. He took every curve slightly too fast and the straight roads definitely too fast, grateful that neither his dad nor the deputies were patrolling along the route.
The door opened before Stiles had fully pulled up the driveway and Peter stepped out onto the porch.
Backlit as he stood in the entrance, Stiles couldn't see the details of his face, just the lines and curves of his figure -- the thick neck and muscled arms, the widened stance in which Peter favored his left leg, the normally-perfectly-coiffed hair mussed on top.
As soon as he parked and hopped out of the vehicle, Stiles said, "You could have just told me, like a normal person, that you wanted to continue things instead of trying to give my poor human heart heartbreak and a heart attack."
He took a couple steps forward but kept the distance between them, as though this was a standoff in a Western and not a relationship negotiation.
Those remaining yards between them forced Peter to raise his voice to be heard, "What was I supposed to say? Let me breed you like the Spark you are? Let me change how your body functions at a cellular level and maybe if you wanted, fuck a magical baby into you?"
Stiles heard the unasked question Peter had too much pride to say: "What if I asked and you said no?"
As though Stiles ever could have said no.
He was Peter's from the moment they met in that bar.
"Or... and hear me out here, Peter. You could have said, 'Stiles, I missed you and I know it's unconventional, but I don't care if you're an alpha. In fact, I've even got some pretty cool news on that front.'"
Peter walked down the steps of the porch towards Stiles and finally Stiles could see the quirk of his lips -- the smirk he'd hated when they'd first met and grown to love with time.
"Stiles, I don't give a fuck that you're an alpha," Peter parroted back. "I'd even go so far as to say I welcome it. I've been known to enjoy a knot or two before."
"Really?" Stiles squeaked, his voice cracking in the middle like it hadn't since he'd passed puberty.
So not the point.
"You want to knot Daddy's ass, boy?"
Fuck.
Fuck yes he did.
God, Peter was such a tease.
Was this the mature love confession he'd envisioned giving Peter? No.
But this was so much more on brand and yes, he really, really enjoyed the thought of having Peter above him, beneath him, inside him, around him.
Finally, Peter closed the remaining distance, grasping the back of Stiles' neck to pull him into a greedy kiss. Peter still tasted of the same minty toothpaste that Stiles remembered. He still enjoyed nipping at Stiles' lower lip before flicking out his tongue to demand entry. He still dominated the kiss.
But things had changed between them, and so had their kisses.
Stiles was more assertive in his own right, more sure of himself and what he wanted.
A little more pressure, a little more teeth, a lot more tongue.
The pheromones crackling in the air around them added a layer of complexity to the taste of Peter's mouth and Stiles quickly moved to brushing kisses on Peter's stubbled cheek and down his jaw to where the earthiness emanated from his scent gland.
Nuzzling into the warm neck and lapping at the skin to encourage more pheromones to leak, Stiles relished the vibration of a moan against his lips.
It was easier to talk when they weren't facing each other, when he could feel Peter's skittish heartbeat as he spoke. Someday his teeth would sink in and scar the flesh there, but for now butterfly kisses and gentle nips were enough.
"I tried to get over you."
"And I tried to let you go."
"You shouldn't have."
Peter pulled away at that, tugging sharply at Stiles' hair when he whined and resisted.
Their faces were inches apart and Stiles watched as the redness that had started to creep into Peter's eyes faded back into blue.
"Stiles, you... we weren't ready before. I'm glad you got to experience things without me -- studying, living in a different city, meeting other people. I only found out I could offer more than just me, more than an unmated alpha relationship last year."
"That would have been more than enough. You know, I had wanted to be an omega for you," Stiles whispered.
Peter chuckled. "You may be my sweet, darling, bratty boy, but I never expected you to present as an omega."
Stiles frowned, and Peter released his hold on Stiles' hair to caress his face.
"Don't frown, I mean it. I remember how often you basically used Alpha voice on the Sheriff to get him to eat better, or how you'd never back down from a fight when it came to protecting friends and pack. Not that omegas can't do that, but... the signs were there."
And maybe Peter had a point and those jerks who had made fun of him for being too small and weak on the lacrosse team in high school had just been (shocker!) insecure high schoolers.
Peter kissed him again, softer this time. More tenderly. Stiles melted into it.
"You know, I don't actually care if we never have a child. I equally don't care if you never become a gamma," Peter said when they pulled apart.
Stiles grinned -- they'd wasted so much time, and he was done wasting any more.
"We can wait on the baby, but I am honestly dying to know how much easier sex will be when I don't need to carry travel lube around for a quickie."
"Oh I see: the practicality of slick is all you're looking forward to."
Stiles kissed him again to muffle Peter's laughter.
"And maybe the relationship and the mating bits. I might be looking forward to that, too."