Bedtime Stories (слэш)

"It's — growing pains. This is me getting stronger. I have evidence. I won a spar. The score is 60-1 or something but I won one. So. There."
"... I suppose some congratulations are in order?" Peter says, half-mocking drawl.
Stiles flips him off. Makes pathetic noises when all of his muscles protest at once.
A fingertip grazes his and — "Wow," Stiles breathes, dazed, as his pain begins drifting away on a cotton candy cloud of childish-shiver ecstasy. "Don't stop. Do not ever stop."
"That's quite a request. And quite a unique position to be requesting it from."
Stiles lifts his head up - with miraculous ease - and glares at the middle-finger currently cosying up to Peter's black-veined pointer. He feels dangerously close to pouting. He doesn't want to lose the werewolf-mojo, but Peter is kind of right.
Peter heaves a sigh before Stiles can come up with something probably stupid and says, "Would you like a massage, Stiles?"
[And maybe this is where their love story started, or maybe it started with breaking and entering and a few pranks, or maybe it started when they first locked eyes on one another. However it started — here's how it goes.]