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Allison should question it more, she really should. But it makes a weird sort of sense. Of course Stiles Stilinski has a cloak. Of course he does. It’s a nice one too; huge, and deep green, and a comfortable weight around her. Part of the reason she’s letting it slide is because it’s so damn cozy.
Scott had rolled his eyes when Stiles had shown up for their trek through the woods wearing it instead of his usual coat and hoodie combo. Isaac and Jackson had given him grief about it, and Derek had just stared at the thing as if it had personally insulted him. Stiles shrugged. “Whatever, man. This thing is so freaking warm. We’ll see who’s laughing when you all’ve frozen your werewolf asses off.”
It’s hours later, she, Stiles, and Scott have been separated from the others for most of that time, they’re currently trapped in what she is hospitably calling a cave by a were-cougar, and Allison is pretty sure that Stiles’s cloak is the only thing keeping them from freezing to death.
They’re all three huddled together with the cloak wrapped around them as an extra barrier against the cold. Stiles has an arm tucked around both their waists and their hipbones knock together when he wriggles into a more comfortable position.
“You know,” he says, with a ridiculous eyebrow waggle, “I hear skin-to-skin contact is supposed to help in situations like this.”
Scott shoves him with his shoulder. “Like we could actually get our clothes off without leaving the cloak. Not gonna happen dude.”
Stiles opens his mouth to offer a no doubt inappropriate suggestion, so Allison shuts him up the easiest way she can think of - with a kiss.
Making out is a surprisingly effective way of staying warm, she discovers. Her lips are no longer in danger of turning blue and she can tuck her hands against warm skin. Stiles is an enthusiastic kisser; all soft lips and warm mouth. His hands are decidedly not warm. She jumps when they slip under her sweater.
“Sorry, sorry,” he murmurs, trying to go back to the kissing, but Allison is tugging Scott closer and his hands are warm enough that she only pouts a little when he kisses Stiles first.
Ten minutes ago, Allison would have said it was impossible for the three of them to get any closer, but she was - happily - wrong. They can’t get undressed, but that’s no reason why there can’t be any skin contact. She reaches for the button on Stiles’s jeans, but he gently pushes her hands away, kissing the confused frown off her face.
“As much as I really, really appreciate the sentiment. I do not even want to contemplate the dangers of getting an erection in extreme cold - all that blood rushing away from your vital organs…if I die because of sex, I’d like it to be a bit more dignified. Or at least warmer.”
Allison laughs and leans forward onto both of her boys. “When we’re warm again,” she insists, “and no longer being chased by a were-cougar. We’re going to find a bed that holds all three of us, and continue this.”
“Yes ma’am,” says Scott, kissing her hair.
“I don’t know,” Stiles drawls, “I’m kind of diggin’ this ambiance.”
Allison is glad that Scott is there to elbow Stiles for her; she is too comfortable to move.
---
Stiles is looking at a bed. A bed that’s in a girl’s bedroom. A bed, in a girl’s bedroom, with no parents at home. A bed, in a girl’s bedroom, no parents at home, and - and this is his favorite part - he’s not dreaming.
So here Stiles is, wide awake and unsupervised, looking at Allison’s bed, and all he really wants to do is collapse onto it and sleep for a day or two.
Scott and Allison are all relaxed smiles and languid touches, and that’s easy for them. This isn’t their first time here. And not just “here” literally, but “here” in the sense of what he’s pretty sure is going to happen soon. What he really, really hopes happens. Although maybe not until after he’s had some sleep, or just freaked out a bit.
Scott flops onto the bed with the same familiarity that he has with his own bed, or with Stiles’s. Allison sighs and rolls her eyes. “Come on, Stiles. You get first shot at the bathroom since our favorite werewolf is being lazy.”
“I don’t know,” Stiles considers. “Boyd did rescue us from that were-cougar. I think he’s my favorite werewolf now.”
Stiles is pretty sure that Scott says, “Worst friend ever,” but it’s hard to tell since Scott is speaking into one of Allison’s pillows.
Allison hands him a pair of plaid pajama pants that he recognizes as Scott’s and a t-shirt from the “Argent Family Reunion 2010.” She drops a similar bundle on top of Scott’s head before pointing out the way to the bathroom.
Stiles changes and brushes his teeth. He’s just gearing up for a good freak out, when Scott bursts through the door.
“No time for a breakdown; I need the bathroom.”
Stiles splutters, indignant. “Dude! I could have been naked!”
“And?” Scott asks, with a cheeky eyebrow raise.
Stiles punches him, which does absolutely no good, but makes him feel better.
Allison’s bedroom is empty, and Stiles slips in cautiously, eyeing the bed suspiciously. Is there protocol for this situation? A guide book maybe, or an eHow?
“Don’t worry. It’s not going to bite. Scott might though.”
Stiles totally flails and it’s only through pure luck that he manages not to brain Allison who has crept up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“You two are going to kill me,” he complains even as he leans his weight against her. “Between Scott’s werewolfiness and your mad hunting skills, I’m dead.”
“Ah, but what a way to go.” Allison presses a kiss to the nape of his neck, and squeezes him tightly.
“Why are we going anywhere, when there’s a perfectly good bed right here?” Scott asks, his arms wrapping around both Allison and Stiles.
And yeah, okay, Stiles might be on the edge of a freak out about the sex that may or may not happen soon, but he likes this. He likes when it’s just the three of them. He’s good at the three of them.
Stiles stretches out on his stomach on one side of the bed. Before he can get comfortable, Scott shoves him towards the center, and then flops down mostly on top of him. He can barely find breath to complain, but he manages. “Dude, what the hell? You’re a terrible blanket.”
“But you’re a good pillow. Except for the talking. Shut up, Pillow.”
“I’ll shut you up,” Stiles threatens, and tries to attack, but Scott keeps him securely pinned. “Freakin’ werewolf,” Stiles grumbles.
Scott makes a contented noise and snuggles closer; an arm and a leg thrown over him in a comfortingly proprietary manner. He buries his head in the curve of Stiles’s neck and inhales deeply.
“You smell good,” he murmurs, already falling asleep. “Safe. I like when you smell safe.”
Allison has gone around to the other side, and, after pulling her comforter over the three of them, wedges herself under his arm.
She kisses the tip of his nose and murmurs, “Good night, Stiles.”
He falls asleep quickly, cozy and content.
---
Stiles wakes up slowly. He’s warm and more comfortable than he’s been in ages. Except for all the hair in his face.
His first thought is, “Great. Am I going to have to learn how to counteract a hair growth curse?” But then he realizes it’s Allison’s. Which means the arm clamped around his waist must belong to Scott. He’s guessing the erection belongs to Scott too. He’s not entirely unfamiliar with Scott’s dick, but there’s a big (ahahahaha) difference between locker room showers and this. Especially when Stiles realizes he’s basically riding Scott’s thigh.
Allison stretches and snuggles further into Stiles’s chest. Her eyes drift open.
“Mmm, good morning.”
She brushes their noses together - a request for a kiss, which Stiles is all too happy to give her.
“Morning,” he murmurs back.
“Is Scott up?”
“Parts of him.”
She laughs, and Stiles has to kiss her again.
“We shouldn’t leave him out of the fun,” Allison says between slow, indulgent kisses.
“You snooze, you lose,” he quips, but he pokes an elbow into Scott’s ribs.
Scott grumbles into the back of his neck. “I was having a good dream.”
“I bet I can offer you a better reality,” Stiles says with a roll of his hips.
And yep, that’s Scott’s dick, only a few layers of fabric away from his ass. Stiles distantly thinks that he ought to be embarrassed by the whimpering sound he makes, but he mostly doesn’t care.
Scott is tugging Allison across Stiles for a good morning kiss. Stiles’s face ends up against her collarbone and he can’t resist biting and sucking at the skin there.
Allison laughs breathlessly. “Make sure you don’t leave a mark, Stiles. My boyfriend’s a werewolf and he gets really jealous.”
Scott growls playfully and sticks his tongue out at Stiles. Stiles bites at Allison again, eyes locked with Scott, who groans and launches himself at Stiles’s lips.
Allison slides back onto the bed, her fingers dragging along Stiles’s side and down over his hip. His breathing goes shallow and he arches towards her, grinding along Scott’s thigh as he does. Scott groans and grabs at Stiles’s hips while his teeth go to his neck to suck a bruise there to match Allison’s.
Stiles is so distracted that he doesn’t even notice Allison’s fingers moving until they’re in his boxers. Those damn ninja hunting skills again. Not that he’s complaining. Allison moves her legs so she’s straddling Scott’s thigh too and presses close so her hand is trapped between their bodies.
Stiles slips a hand up her shirt, pushing the fabric away to reveal pale skin and gorgeous breasts. He doesn’t get much of a look before she’s kissing him again, and his eyes slip closed to let the sensations wash over him. He worries for a second that he might be dreaming and has to open his eyes again; has to see.
Allison looks almost angelic in the morning sunlight; her dark hair in disarray around her slightly flushed face. He kisses her again, almost reverential, and turns towards Scott. Scott whom he has known forever and now knows a little better. He kisses the dimple that appears when Scott grins at him.
Scott brushes his thumb over his bottom lip, and Stiles sucks it into his mouth.
Scott’s eyes flash gold and Stiles blurts, “Dear god, that’s hot.”
“Right?” asks Allison, nuzzling at his jawline.
Her hand wraps around his dick and strokes and he sucks in a breath.
“Your heartbeat’s a little erratic, Stiles. Do you want to take a break?” Scott asks, laughter in his eyes.
“Fuck no.”
“What do you want, Stiles?” Allison whispers into his ear.
“I want-” Stiles groans and throws his head back. “I want everything. And an extra set of hands. Seriously, there is all this skin I am not touching right now and I hate it.”
Allison laughs and turns his head to kiss him. Scott puts his broad palm over Stiles’s long fingers and gently pushes them down Allison’s stomach to follow the curve of her hip and go lower still. She makes a soft sound of enjoyment as Stiles’s index finger slides tentatively into her.
All three of them just fall into place; limbs locked together like they were meant to be that way. There’s an ease that Stiles wasn’t expecting. Their motions are slow and still a bit sleepy, but they’re building a steady rhythm, and Stiles can feel the familiar pull of orgasm.
Scott tangles his fingers with Stiles’s, and crooks them just so, and Allison gasps like the air has been punched out of her. As she tightens around Stiles’s fingers, her hand tightens on his cock, tugging him over the edge with her. Scott growls and Stiles feels a burst of warmth against his spine. When Scott opens his eyes they’re a warm, rich gold.
“Dude,” Stiles exhales, “that was awesome.”
Stiles would be content to lie there for the rest of his life, but Allison makes them get up and change. Then once they’re up, Stiles decides that he wants celebratory pancakes.
Allison has apparently never used her kitchen because she doesn’t know where anything is, so Stiles ends up mixing the batter in a casserole dish. As he’s ladling out the first batch, Scott laughs.
“Hey Stiles. Remember in middle school when you bet me a hundred dollars that no one would sleep with either of us until at least college?”
Stiles grimaces, Allison giggles, and Scott grins.
“Pay up, buddy!”