I drabbled! A pure impulse one.

Ashes to Ashes

Peter is like mountain ash. Deadly, poisonous, and when it’s living green, beautiful.

Stiles knows it. Can’t bring himself to care. Not with Peter’s fingers grinding deep into a place Stiles had never realized had so many possibilities for making him howl, making space for his cock, not when Peter’s instructions, lewd, explicit, are everything he’s been waiting to hear his whole fucking life.

He tastes blood where he’s bitten his lip, arches his ass just so, and grins with delight at Peter’s hiss of pleasure.

He’s no werewolf. He’ll take the risk.

It’ll only kill him if Peter leaves.
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