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On That Night Drive

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A four-day conference in New York City and Peter Hale is more than happy to return to his own home and his loving long-time boyfriend Stiles. The only issue is that his flight from New York City to LAX was cancelled and the next available flight would get in at 3am West Coast time.

After a quick phone call to Stiles, who assures Peter several times that yes, he will be awake enough to pick Peter up, and no, Peter does not need to call a car service for the two-hour drive, Peter selects and boards the new flight.

Stiles, who is on his third cup of kupimine-infused maca tea he brewed up to keep himself from falling asleep, circles the area again before spotting Peter walk through the airport’s automatic doors with his designer carry-on duffle and matching small suitcase in each hand.

He pulls up to the curb nearest him and there was no need to call for his attention as his boyfriend’s eyes hadn’t left his car since he exited the airport. He pops the trunk to the new black Cadillac SRX Peter had surprised him with for his birthday a few months ago and glances into the rear-view mirror view to watch Peter load in his bag.

Sensing eyes on him, Peter looks up and gives his boyfriend a wink, lips curling into a smirk at the sight of Stiles’ blush. Even after all these year, Peter could still cause his cheeks to pink.

After closing the trunk, Peter climbs into the passenger seat and leans over to give Stiles a kiss. Though the kiss was not as passionate and heat-filled as their normal kisses, the love they had for each other was still present, even with Stiles’ lethargy scenting the air. Peter pulls back an inch, inhaling the scent of his lover.

“I missed you.”

“Even though it’s only been four days and you said anything less than a week was too soon to miss someone?” Stiles teases, recalling an old conversation.

Rolling his eyes playfully, Peter starts to sit back but Stiles rushes forward and kisses him again, lips lingering as he pulls away.

“I missed you, too.”

Their reunion is cut by a car beeping at them from behind. Stiles pulls away from the curb, mumbling about how it was too early in the morning to be rude.

The ride back to Verona Bay is generally quiet, which is pretty rare for the two. Normally, Stiles would be chattering about both important and insignificant things that happened during his day and Peter would be filtering in his own sarcastic comments, offering support, intriguing responses, and/or sharing of his own moments of annoyance with the world.

Instead of conversation, the two enjoy the comfortable silence, the purr of the engine, and the few lights from other cars speeding by on the highway.

Since pulling away from the airport, Peter had his hand on the nape of Stiles neck, playing with the overgrown hair he refused to let the younger man cut, while Stiles right hand rested on Peter’s thigh. They had given into the natural temptation of needing to be grounded through touch over a year ago, which made moments like this more content.

The only time Stiles lifts his hand is to change the gear on the stick shift or to yawn, the latter occurring more frequently as the dark highway stretched on. The steady rubbing of Peter’s thumb didn’t help either. The effects of his magic-enhanced tea only works for so long and Peter’s slight purring—sorry, not a purr—is making things worse.

After the fourth yawn in the span of five minutes, Peter gives Stiles’ nape a little squeeze. The younger man blinks twice before glancing in his boyfriend’s direction to find him staring at him.

“Hmm?”

“Pull over. Let me drive for a while,” Peter offers.

“No, ‘m fine,” Stiles says, though the yawn lets out afterward negates his statement. “I just need more tea.”

He reaches for the now-cool thermos and bring it up to his lips only to find that it was empty…again.

“Fuck,” he swears. “I knew I should’ve quadruple-brewed.”

“You’re tired. It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m used to all-nighters at work while you and I both know you can barely function on less than six hours of sleep. You may be younger than me, but you’re no teenager. I can get us home a lot more safely than you can right now.” Peter says, a small smirk on his face.

Stiles huffs out a tired laugh and rolls his eyes. Stubbornly, though, he makes no move to pullover. Peter gives his neck another squeeze.

“Pullover, Stiles.”

With a resigned sigh that turned into a yawn, Stiles puts his blinker on, despite the empty highway, and pulls over onto the shoulder. The two pop their seatbelts and climb out. After the quick switch, they are back in the car and back on the road.

Stiles turns in his seat to lean back against the door and looks at Peter through his drooping eyes. Peter rests his free hand on Stiles knee. As if he could sense his stare, Peter speaks.

“Are you just going to stare at me for the rest of the ride?”

“Maybe,” Stiles replies, not at all embarrassed that Peter caught him staring.

Peter let outs a small chuckle, the crinkles around his eyes deepening as he smiles.

“Well, don’t let me interrupt.”

Stiles tries to keep his eyes open for the remainder of the drive back, but by the third time Peter glances over at him, he is fast asleep.