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I'll Bet You Say That To All The Models

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Stiles finds the copy of Neckz n Throats by accident. His roommate’s a slob, and Stiles is done with the mess, so he’s picking up the piles of crap that Isaac’s left lying around. He stares at the cover for a moment, confused.

Neckz n Throats the cover proclaims, and sure enough, the cover has a bare, extended throat. Stiles opens the magazine, curious, and finds page after page of the same. Some of the shots are of torsos stretched out and covered in lovebites, some of them are of a mouth on the skin of a neck. He doesn’t get it, till he does. This is werewolf porn.

“Gah!” he cries out, dropping the magazine. Isaac pokes his head around the door at the noise, and his eyes widen when he sees what Stiles is holding. Stiles points at him accusingly. “You better not have jerked off to that in the living room!” he squawks.

Isaac has the good grace to blush as he retrieves the magazine. “You wouldn’t get it – it’s a wolf thing,” he mumbles.

Stiles looks at the cover again. “I dunno – it’s kinda hot.” He does get it, sort of. Thinks about what tilting his head back like that must do to a Were, how it must rile them up. “Imagine someone biting down, how good it would feel…” He trails off, and sees Isaac looking at him consideringly.

“Stilinski, are you getting off on the thought of being the model?” he asks.

It’s Stiles’s turn to blush. “Hey, no kink shaming,” he mutters.

Isaac shakes his head. “No, it’s just, I know a guy. And they’re looking for people. You’d be perfect.” Stiles is about to refuse, when Isaac adds, “They pay a thousand a shoot.”

Stiles’s eyes go wide. He thinks about the repairs his jeep needs.

“Sign me the fuck up.”

 


 

The guy turns out to be Peter Hale, owner of Neckz, and he’s sex on legs, all muscles and charm and confidence. When Stiles meets him, Peter leans across the table and runs a single finger down Stiles’s throat, saying, “Well, well. Aren't you a pretty little thing?” Stiles swallows nervously and sees Peter’s eyes track the movement of his Adam’s apple. “You’re perfect,” Peter says quietly.

Stiles leans into the touch and murmurs, “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

Peter smiles widely. “Oh, I do like you, Stiles. I can see we’ll work well together. Isaac told you what’s involved?”

Stiles nods. “A thousand a shoot, nothing below the waist, right?”

“Correct. It’s double if you want to do a partnered session.”

Stiles thinks of his student debt. “Who’d I be partnered with?”

Peter’s eyes gleam hungrily. “That would be me. And if you let me mark you, I’ll pay you triple.”

Stiles’s’ brain stutters a little. “That’s – “

“Worth every cent.  Because you, sweet boy, are going to sell so many magazines for me,” Peter says, and Stiles can’t tell if it’s greed or lust that flits across Peter’s face. Maybe both. “You can take your time, think about it,” Peter offers, but Stiles shakes his head.

Getting paid to take his shirt off and be touched by a hot older man?  

“I’m in.”


 

It’s cold in the studio when Stiles strips off his shirt, and he shivers.

Peter says, ”I’ve kept it cool in here. We want to see some gooseflesh on that lovely skin.” He guides Stiles to a daybed and arranges him to his liking, before reaching down and popping Stiles’s fly, inching the zipper down a little. Stiles’s breath catches in his throat, but Peter doesn’t do anything else, just nods to himself. “Better,” he says, and signals the photographer.

They take a series of pictures of Stiles sprawled out, shirtless and barefoot, like a man waiting for his lover. A couple of times Peter steps forwards and adjusts his pose, tilting his head a little more or angling it differently, but otherwise he just watches. It’s the easiest money Stiles has ever made.

Finally, the cameraman stops shooting and nods.  Peter strips off his shirt, and holy shit, Stiles is not prepared for that. Peter’s ripped. He has a light dusting of chest hair, tanned skin, and muscles for days. Stiles knows he’s staring, but he can’t stop. Peter looks amused. “See something you like?”

“Jesus, I should be paying you,” Stiles blurts out.

Peter shakes his head. “Oh no, trust me. The pleasure’s all mine.”

Peter stands behind him, and Stiles tilts his head back. Peter’s breath is warm against his throat, making him shudder. Then Peter leans down and starts kissing his neck, and Stiles forgets that there’s a camera, forgets that he’s being paid for this, forgets everything but the feel of Peter’s mouth against his flesh as Peter places tiny soft kisses on his skin. Peter reaches a hand round and rolls one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, making Stiles whimper. “Beautiful. Can I mark these?” Peter asks quietly. 

Stiles nods, and then Peter’s guiding him to lay down again. He pins Stiles down against the bed, fastening his mouth onto the nub, sucking fiercely and making Stiles’s back arch. Peter’s relentless, torturing the flesh and then biting down, and when he pulls away Stiles’s nipple is bruised almost black. Through it all, the camera clicks and whirs, but neither of them pays it any mind. Peter takes a moment to blow across the abused flesh, and Stiles can’t help the moan that escapes him. Peter grins, and then he’s on him again, his whole body sprawled across him as he starts to suck a row of hickeys down Stiles’s throat.

The teeth on his neck feel exactly as good as Stiles imagined, and he’s a panting wreck. He can feel himself getting hard, but Peter doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, Stiles can feel an impressive bulge in Peter’s jeans as he rocks against him, both of them grinding against each other without conscious thought. The friction is delicious, and Stiles finds himself tilting his head back further and moaning.  Peter answers with a low growl, and Stiles thinks he might actually come in his pants from this, when –

“Peter! Keep the eyes under control! You’re ruining the shot!” barks the photographer.

Peter pulls his mouth away abruptly with a soft curse, much to Stiles’s dismay.  When he looks at Peter though, he sees that his eyes are glowing brilliant blue. Peter closes them for a few seconds and breathes deeply, and when he opens them again, they’re back to their normal gorgeous hue.

“Sorry,” he says, looking not at all sorry. “The wolf wants what it wants.”

“Well, maybe the wolf could want what it wants after we wrap up,” the photographer says drily.

Stiles’s cock is still half hard, but with Peter no longer pressed against him, it doesn’t take long for his erection to subside. When Peter asks, “Do you need a break, sweet boy, or shall we continue?” Stiles doesn’t hesitate.

“Keep going,” he says confidently.

Peter smiles and says, ”Let’s try something different.” They move over to a low divan, and Peter sits down and spreads his legs wide, “Come sit in my lap, sweet boy,” he invites.

Stiles straddles him, and Peter murmurs, “Just follow my lead.” He cups Stiles’s face with his hand and pulls him down for a kiss. Stiles pulls back, because taking his shirt off and letting Peter mark him is one thing, but kissing? Kissing is…intimate.

Peter arches a brow, and Stiles blurts out, “Sorry, I only kiss people I’m dating.”

“Is that so? Well in that case, can I ask you to dinner?” Peter says, his expression hopeful.

Stiles blinks, stunned for all of half a second, before he says, “I bet you say that to all the models.”

“He doesn’t,” the photographer chimes in. Stiles turns to face him, and the man continues to take pictures even as he says, “His lordship doesn’t date much, kid.”

Peter shoots the man a filthy look, but he continues, unperturbed. “Last time was six months ago. Two dates and it was all over, said his wolf didn’t like her. His wolf likes you, though. Never seen him start to shift during a shoot before. He must think you're something special. So say yes, and we can wrap this up, huh?”

“Why do I even hire you?” Peter grumbles. He looks thoroughly unsettled at having his secrets revealed.

Stiles, though, grins at the information. Peter’s hot for him, and so is his wolf. He leans in and whispers in Peter’s ear, “In that case, yes. Now kiss me.”

Peter’s expression transforms, and he pulls Stiles in for a gentle kiss, lips soft and warm. Stiles deepens it, tilting their heads a little, and he vaguely notes the clicking of the camera, but it’s distant, unimportant. Peter’s hands travel up and down his back, warm and reassuring, holding him close. When they break apart, Peter smiles at him, and it’s more genuine than anything Stiles has seen on his face so far.

“And we’re done.” the photographer announces.

Stiles is surprised – it doesn’t seem they’ve been there that long, but he’s stunned to see that three hours have passed. Peter slips one hand into the back of Stiles’s jeans and gives his ass a firm squeeze. “You did beautifully, sweet boy. Let me take you out to celebrate.”

“We're done?” Stiles looks down at his torso, one of his nipples bruised and puffy. “For what you’re paying me, I expected you’d want more than this.”

Peter wraps his arms around Stiles and pulls him close, pressing their bodies together, grinding subtly. Stiles can feel that he’s still hard. “Oh no, baby. The trick is to always leave them wanting. We’ll publish these, and by next month they’ll be desperate to see more of you.”

He leans in and scents Stiles deeply, not even trying to be subtle. “Of course, they’re not the only ones,” he purrs, as his hands travel down and splay across Stiles’s ass, holding him in place.

“That so?” Stiles asks, trying for nonchalance and missing by a country mile.

“Mmmm. Can’t wait to get you home, strip you naked, and kiss you all over,” Peter hums.

“Oh, for the love of god, Peter. I don’t need to listen to this,” The photographer groans.

Peter ignores him. “So, where shall we go for our first date?”

Stiles leans in and kisses Peter softly before he replies, “Your place, maybe?”