Peter wriggled and bitched just long enough as it took for John to place a large, warm hand right on the small of his back and firmly slide it once all the way up to the nape of his neck, and then back down until it came to lie right on the wolf’s tailbone.

It was always like that. Peter wasn’t in the mood to play along with John’s rules unless he knew that he was going to be the sole focus. He was a narcissistic little thing and annoying the hell out of the Sheriff on most days, but sometimes it was almost… endearing.

Like right now when he was practically tasting in the air what was about to happen, head up and alert, hips wriggling in anticipation like a kid before Christmas.

John could only snort and shake his head, but he really had better things to do than tease Peter about being a self-loving bastard. Like enjoying the feast stretched out before him; the way his plush ass was fitting right into John’s hands, so perfect to squeeze and knead and pull apart to show off the pretty, little hole that was just about begging for a small kiss and a lick.

He could do this for hours – especially with the added benefit of Peter’s unashamed whining and begging. The way he pressed his face into his arms and his ass up against John’s mouth, begging for more tongue and teeth and maybe – just maybe – a few fingers to tickle him behind his balls where he liked it the most?

Peter was a creature of lust and John couldn’t deny that he loved experiencing him as a whole infuriating package.