Work Text:
Between Peter's dramatic swoopy duster and Stiles' three-shirt and sneaks ensemble, they were already looking mismatched in Elvis' chapel in Vegas.
Stiles dons the cheapest wedding veil that Peter has ever had the misfortune to lay his eyes on.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" snaps Peter.
The white headband itself looks like twisted styrofoam. Peter's fine vision is honed onto the uneven seam where the fabric joins the headband. Not that there's much fabric. The bottom of the veil doesn't dip past Stiles' neck when it's flipped back.
The effect is trés tacky. Stiles looks like he skipped out of a fitting room at Aeropostale and then shoplifted from Claire's.
"Did you order that from Wish?" Peter sniffs disdainfully.
"It's from the gift shop. We didn't exactly stop at any boutiques on the way."
"I don't know about this, Stiles."
"You wanna marry all this…." Stiles gestures at himself and puts one grubby sneaker forward with his hip jauntily angled. "....or not?"
Stiles' tone of voice veers toward "what a joke", but he's not blinking when he stares at Peter, waiting on the answer. Peter's ears detect how Stiles doesn't dare exhale until he himself confirms or denies.
"I will marry you, you idiot," Peter grits out, holding back a growl. Stiles' doubt is what sets his teeth on edge.
Peter aims to correct his young lover's uncertainty. He sets his hands on Stiles' waist and asserts his strong grip, tilting his head in such a way that their noses brush.
"The minute you say 'I do', I'm tossing you over my shoulder and taking you to the nearest honeymoon suite of my choosing. Wherein I plan to rip apart your juvenile apparel. Starting with your silly veil."
Stiles' lip catches between his teeth. His eyes are glazed over with lust. Peter's irritation changes to wanton heat when Peter gets the heady scent which rolls off of Stiles, the change in Stiles' breathing, the uptick of his pulse, and how he's positively stirred up from Peter threatening drastic action in close quarters.
"I'm on board, sexypants. Just save the veil for last. I wanna know if the headband can hang on the whole night," says Stiles. His lashes flutter as he blinks very slowly.
Peter gets a flash of what Stiles would look like, sucking married dick. He's a wet boy, especially where his mouth is concerned. Stiles would flush totally pink, the veins in his forehead more pronounced when Peter grabs his hair and thrusts. That pink face choking on Peter's cock would contrast the white of his veil and Stiles' dark hair.
"I look forward to leaving your veil in tatters on the floor, reduced to shreds… much like your virtue," says Peter.
"Sweeeet. Let's get this show on the road, sexy. Can't leave our boy Elvis hanging," says Stiles.
Stiles looks absolutely radiant as he winks and aims finger guns at the Rock n Roll King officiating their ceremony. He flips his veil, preening like a supermodel swinging their hair.
Peter gets to concentrate only on Stiles' face when they exchange vows. Otherwise, the stupid veil would sour the moment that should be the happiest day of their lives.
FIN.