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Peter is strapped to the bench that usually sits at the foot of the bed, now pulled out to the centre of the room. He’s positioned ass up, head down, three of Stiles’ fingers buried inside him. Chris is sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him, head level with Peter’s, the picture of calm and collected. Even Stiles thinks it’s hot, and that’s not what he’s supposed to be focused on.

He looks down at where his fingers disappear into Peter, that soft, wet heat that’s so inviting. Peter is pliant under Stiles’ hands, body full of surrender, but Stiles can still feel that edge in him that’s asking for more. They all know they’re not even nearly done yet.

Stiles pulls his fingers out, placing his pinky alongside his other gathered fingers, considering it for a moment.

“He can take it,” Chris says, watching as Stiles considers what that stretch might feel like inside himself. “Cub, I know you’re used to not needing your words, but I think maybe Stiles needs to hear you say it.”

“I can take it,” Peter says, voice ragged.

Stiles presses the four fingers against Peter’s slicked up, stretched out hole, rubbing them around his sensitive ring. “You can take what?”

Chris looks up at him with a raised eyebrow and a smirk as Peter strains against his bonds, desperate to fuck back against Stiles’ fingers. Chris looks like he’s proud of him for working Peter up like that, and the silent praise makes Stiles glow.

“I can take your fist,” Peter grits out.

Stiles pushes his fingers in, getting up to the second knuckle before there’s any real resistance. Peter moans, grateful and needy at once, as Stiles rocks his hand back and forth, allowing him to slip deeper. He hits the resistance of his final knuckle, the hard bones pressing against Peter’s hole, and Peter whines, lifting his head to arch his neck, just about the only movement that he can make, bound the way he is.

“He’s got long fingers, right?” Chris says, his voice low right by Peter’s ear as he pets his hair. “I bet you can feel him deep already.”

As he keeps working his fingers in and out, Stiles imagines how different this would feel if it was Chris’ hand. His fingers are thicker than Stiles’, Peter’s hole would be stretched bigger around them, but Stiles is touching different places inside, going deeper than Chris. This is still the warm up though, he reminds himself. There’s so much more to go and Stiles figures at that point it’s probably a pretty even playing field. He doesn’t think he could tell one fist from another when it was inside him.

The thought makes him bite down on his lip, reality settling in. A fist. He watches his own hand slip in until the knuckles again, twisting his wrist one way and then the other, moving so fluidly on the lube.

“You can push past,” Chris says. “A little pressure, those knuckles will slip right in.”

Stiles considers it, wanting so badly to see Peter take that, to feel it, but he’s just going to get caught on his thumb a moment later. That seems like an unsatisfactory conclusion, for both of them. If he’s pushing in deeper, he wants to be able to go all the way.

Chris holds up his own hand, mimicking the position of Stiles’ inside Peter, but then he tucks his thumb in as well, rotating it to show it off. It looks so big it makes Stiles a little breathless just imagining feeling that inside him.

“Work it in like that,” Chris tells him. “He’s ready for it.”

Stiles nods his head, pulling his hand out a little too quick and making Peter whine. He grabs the lube, one that apparently is excellent for fisting, they seem to have a bottle for all occasions. It is thicker than he’s used to and it seems to be lasting, but Stiles figures you can’t be too sure, pouring some over his hand. He pulls his fingers into the position Chris modelled, pressing the tips against Peter’s hole.

He gets back down to the knuckles pretty easily but then it really doesn’t seem like it’s going to fit. He rocks back and forth, adding a little pressure, feeling the resistance even though he can tell it’s nothing conscious on Peter’s part, he’s lax beneath him, a picture of surrender. Stiles rubs a hand down his spine, listening to him keen as he pushes forward again, careful but insistent.

When it finally happens, his knuckles breaching Peter’s hole, he finds himself slipping in without being able to control it, sucked up to his wrist. He stares, looking at Peter stretched so wide around him, barely hearing Peter’s moan for the one that escapes his own lips. The feel of it, Peter’s insides literally around him, so smooth and soft and wet and good. It’s overwhelming to him, making his eyes fill with tears, meeting Chris’ gaze over Peter’s body, and Chris just nods at him like he gets it, even though Stiles is pretty sure there aren’t words for this.

“You’re doing such a good job, Cub,” Chris whispers close to his ear, eyes still on Stiles. “You’re making him feel incredible.”

Peter makes a little noise in response, Stiles leaning over him, his hand shifting inside Peter without design as he places kisses down his spine, his other hand rubbing over Peter’s shoulders.

“You feel so good,” he says against Peter’s flesh. “You’re so good. You’re such a good boy.”

He starts to move his hand, drawing it back to the knuckles and then letting it slip back in again, feeling something hot roll through him. Peter shudders beneath him, his hands curling into fists, but Stiles can tell it’s not discomfort. His body is so open and responsive to Stiles, giving and taking everything. This is pure pleasure, even the bit that maybe hurts.

He moves his hand back again, watching as Chris soothes fingers over one of Peter’s tightly closed hands, easing it open and holding onto it, whispering something into his ear that Stiles can’t hear. Peter nods his head and keens, his ass clenching momentarily around Stiles’ wrist, but Stiles can tell that it’s still nothing but want. There’s not a single atom of hesitation in the whole of Peter’s body.

Stiles watches him, molten and needy beneath him, and he feels a surge of pride. He did this. He’s making Peter feel these inescapable things. And he’ll keep feeling them all of tomorrow. Maybe Stiles will hang out with him when Chris goes to work. Maybe he’ll finger him while they watch TV, making him writhe at the too much not enough feeling of it. He already knows that’s something Peter can never get enough of.

It makes him feel so powerful to be able to do that to him, to be handed it, allowed it, invited to play with him in that way. He was beginning to think no one would ever trust or respect him enough to give him that. He knows he’s a long way from being the kind of dominant that Chris is, so sure and commanding, but he doesn’t have to be Chris. He just needs to be Stiles. They like what he has to offer, and they always work with what sometimes feel like his indecisive whims. Right from the start though they made it clear that he didn’t have to choose. Nothing has ever felt as freeing as that.

“You’re so perfect,” he says breathily.

“Thank you,” Peter responds, full of sincerity.

Stiles smiles wide, turning his attention to working his hand deeper, wondering if he can really get enough give in the tight space to curl his fingers into a fist. He’s sure as hell not going to give up until he’s tried.