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This thing has been unnamed between them for so long that Scott pulls away and says, “are you sure?”
Stiles stops scrabbling at his henley for a moment, eyes concentrating in on Scott’s face. His lips are pink and glistening, and Scott thinks, I did that.
“I keep going over all the things I’ve never done, all the things I’ve never gotten to experience, and I want, I want,” Stiles says, burying his head into Scott’s neck, sucking at the skin there like he knows that will win him the argument.
Scott hears the unsaid ’to not die a virgin’. They’ve had this talk a few times over the years, since he was bitten, since Stiles insisted he wouldn’t leave his side. Stiles saying that he knows it’s totally arbitrary, that he’s spent years fretting over losing nothing more than a concept, but he can’t help but feel inadequate for it anyway. Scott’s not hurt by it, that this is what it is, though he thinks maybe he should be. Maybe he shouldn’t be taking whatever he can get. Maybe he should be waiting for more.
But they almost died today, he nearly lost Stiles, and he’s past waiting. He’ll take shaky motives over never knowing what it feels like to see Stiles come apart due to his touches, his lips, his affection.
“This isn’t going to be frantic,” Scott says, quietly, firmly. “If we’re doing this, we’re gonna take our time.”
Stiles stops, looks at him, presses his lips tight together and nods. They’ve spent so much of the last few months running, often in complete terror, that having this moment seems vital. Scott wants to linger in it, remember every small detail. He doesn’t know how much time they’ll have after today. It was a narrow escape that nearly cost them everything and the Alphas will regroup. Two years fighting them has taught him that.
Scott pulls his henley up and off. He’s been shirtless in front of Stiles countless times, but this is still strange, a huge step in a direction he’s unsure of. Judging by Stiles’ expression, he’s not the only one feeling that. Stiles’ eyes flicker and he drags a hand down Scott’s torso, brushes his thumb over the spot his abs reflexively tense. The touch is so soft it tickles, but there’s nothing really innocent about it. It’s like a problem he knows the answer to but can’t put into words, the name of a song he can’t recall. This tiny little annoyance that’s actually more thrilling for the challenge of it. He pushes into it, settling a hand on the back of Stiles’ neck.
Stiles’ fingers travel back up, blunt nails scratching lightly against his skin. Stiles bites his lip, looking like he thinks he perhaps shouldn’t be enjoying this. Scott seeks to reassure him that he should with a kiss.
This kiss is every bit as consuming as the first. Stiles may not have had as much practice as he has, but he’s a fast learner and he seems to have the best kind of instinct in how to tilt his head, when to open his lips wider. He’s hyper-focused, all his nervous energy condensed into this one thing. He licks over Scott’s teeth and sucks gently on his tongue, and Scott moans into it, because it’s so good. It’s perfect to just lose himself in the way Stiles’ lips brush against his, the sound of their steadily increasing heartbeats.
He uses his free hand to tug at the hem of Stiles’ shirt, wanting to feel all his warm skin against him. They break apart for a second. As soon as Stiles’ shirt is off, Scott’s planning on returning straight to the kiss, but then he sees the mottled bruise across his ribcage, the scrape along his side, and he stops, frowns. He doesn’t know how he could have forgotten that Stiles’ injuries would stay painted across him as a constant reminder for the weeks to come. He strokes over the darkening skin, caressing. Stiles had ignored his demand he stay out of the battle by luring one of the Alphas after him with taunts and mocking laughter. In the end, it’s probably what led to them still being alive. With only one Alpha actively engaged in the fight, Scott was able to gain the upper hand. But the image of Stiles being thrown into the air won’t leave him, and even though Isaac regained consciousness and surged up out of nowhere to catch him before he could come crashing back to the ground, Scott can’t stop his throat from seizing up. He collapses to his knees and mouths at the mark on Stiles’ body that shows him to be both an idiot and the bravest person he knows.
Stiles’ hands stroke through his hair, not really playing, it’s too directed for that, but Scott likes it. Likes the way Stiles rakes his fingers forward and back as he lays his own hand over the bruise and concentrates. He watches as his veins go black for a second and a stinging spike surges up his arm, only to dissipate as it reaches his chest.
“Hey,” Stiles says, “it wasn’t hurting that badly. I’m a big boy. I can take some pain, y’know.”
Scott stares up at him. “You shouldn’t have to.”
The look in Stiles’ eyes is unbearably fond. It makes something tug at Scott’s insides and he thinks he’d do anything to always have Stiles look at him like that.
He noses at Stiles’ stomach, enjoying his answering moan.
“We should shower,” he says, pulling away reluctantly.
Stiles’ mouth is open in indignation. “Dude, am I that rank? You could’ve said something sooner.”
“No. You’re, like, astounding. I could probably wallow in your scent forever. But it’s been the longest day and I have things I want to do with my mouth that soap would make me feel more comfortable about.”
“Oh my God.” Stiles lets out this little huffing sigh, half-laugh and half-exclamation. “Together? Your shower’s barely big enough for one of us, let alone both.”
“You go first.”
Stiles grabs one of the towels hanging from his door and looks back at Scott with a reproachful kind of frown, and yeah, Scott knows he’s being a mood killer, but he wants Stiles’ first time to be the best it can be. Stiles leaves. Scott digs into his dresser and pulls out lube and condoms. Places them on the bed in a fan that looks way too much like a shop display.
The shower starts up and Scott listens intently for a while, regretting his decision to stay here and wait. He thinks maybe he should have offered to help and pointed out that they didn’t both need to be in the shower cubicle at the same time. Stiles was already turned on when he left, so Scott imagines what he looks like, rivulets of water running down his body and over his cock, hard and flushed. He visualizes water droplets clinging to his thighs and calves, sliding behind his knees. Scott wills himself not to jerk off before they even really start, but he thinks about how it would increase his stamina. He has a feeling Stiles would see it as some kind of betrayal, though, so he holds off.
When Stiles comes back into the room with the towel tucked around his hips, Scott can’t stop staring. And neither can Stiles. Except Stiles isn’t staring at Scott, his eyes are on the bed.
“That is a lot of condoms.”
Scott scrubs a hand at the back of his head. “Uh, yeah.”
“Do we need them all? Or even at all? I thought werewolves didn’t get diseases?”
“We don’t.”
“And I can’t get pregnant,” Stiles says, spreading his hands out wide. His towel drops half an inch, showing the indentations of his hips. The very touchable looking indentations of his hips that Scott also wants to lick.
“It makes cleaning up easier,” Scott says with a shrug.
“I kind of want the mess,” Stiles says, faltering, “but if this makes you feel more relaxed, by all means ---”
“No!” Scott rushes to say. He crosses his arms, more for something to do than any other reason. “You have no idea how much I want… that. But, yeah, I just thought you wouldn’t. I’m gonna go shower.”
He darts forward and places a kiss at the corner of Stiles’ lips. Stiles turns into it, but his concentration’s still on the bed. It’s sort of consoling that they’re both this nervous.
He’s methodical as he washes down. He doesn’t rush, but he doesn’t delay either. He uses one of his mom’s bath gels because it has a mild scent and he doesn’t want to overwhelm his senses. He wants to be able to smell Stiles under the odor of Axe and he figures that’ll be harder if he’s covered in Axe too. He dries off as quickly as he can, wraps his towel around his hips like Stiles had. When he walks back to his room, Stiles is sitting on the edge of the bed, towel in place, playing with the bottle of lube. The condoms are piled on Scott’s computer desk.
Scott goes to sit next to Stiles, heart rocketing in his chest. They turn to face one another, Scott with his knee bent, the gap in his towel widening.
“So. This is awkward,” Stiles says, words colliding hurriedly. “How do we stop this from being this awkward?”
“Maybe if you stopped calling it awkward?” Scott replies with a smile that widens into a grin when Stiles narrows his eyes at him. “Just. Oh God, let me kiss you?”
Stiles smiles shyly back and they lean into each other’s space. He’s never seen Stiles act shy toward him before. It’s the strangest thing yet. Scott puts one hand on Stiles’ broad shoulder and the other against his jaw. He loves the feel of Stiles’ damp skin beneath his palms, the way it rapidly changes from cool to heated. He wants to map him, slide his fingers against all of the places he’s never touched before. He drags the hand that was on Stiles’ shoulder down and teases at his towel, pulling it apart. Pauses in the middle of a kiss to look down and watch every inch revealed.
“You want this, don’t you,” Stiles says. It doesn’t sound like a question, but it still sounds uncertain. “This isn’t some kind of noble self-sacrifice.”
“I want you,” Scott confirms. “Will that make this too weird?”
“Fuck no,” Stiles exhales, pushing Scott’s own towel out of the way, to the ground, and gazing at him with wide eyes.
Scott’s hard and he’s feeling pretty edgy, so all of his muscles have tensed and he looks more defined than he is. They stop for a second and simply look at each other, hands still. Stiles is also hard and flushed a deep pink, just like Scott thought he’d be. His cock is long and leans slightly to the left. He’s perfectly proportioned and as Scott watches him, his cock flexes and slides wetly against his happy trail. Scott groans at that, a deep sound that comes involuntarily from the back of his throat, and Stiles tugs him forward just as he leans back, until Scott’s sprawling on top of him.
He shifts position, bracketing Stiles with his forearms, kisses a trail from his jaw down his neck. He’s slow, so slow, as he kisses every single one of Stiles’ moles and beauty marks. Stiles shudders beneath him, rolling his whole body up when Scott sucks his left nipple. Scott does all the things he’s thought about doing, all the things he’s wanted to do since he started thinking about Stiles this way. He’s maybe spent more hours on it than he strictly should have given the nature of their friendship. It’s all about the reactions, and he isn’t disappointed. Stiles makes the most amazing sounds as Scott kisses, licks and sucks. One of his hands curls tight into his hair and pulls, the other flails against the sheets. Precome smears between their bodies, wet and tantalizing.
“What’s the plan here?” Stiles asks after several minutes, voice gratifyingly shaky.
“I was thinking I could fuck you first, and then after about an hour of recovery time you could fuck me,” Scott says, squinting up at Stiles.
Stiles’ eyes are darkened and half-closed and he takes a deep and obvious breath at that, like he has to calm down, bring himself back from the edge. Scott can smell his arousal intensify; it mixes with all the other perfect Stiles smells --- his underlying natural odor, which is unique and settling and always reminds Scott of safety, his borrowed Axe shower gel, and the ever-clinging anticipation he’s had for a couple years now.
“And this is why you’re my best friend. If I ever disparage your thinking again, can you remind me of this? I promise I’ll immediately shut up.”
“You never shut up,” Scott says with a mischievous poke to Stiles’ uninjured side. “And I wouldn’t want you to,” he adds, sucking Stiles’ right nipple and humming when Stiles tugs harder at his hair.
Scott wriggles down lower on the bed, smiling into the tender arch of Stiles’ thigh as his pulse increases and his mouth waters. Stiles has spread his long legs wider, flattened his feet against the mattress. This brings his hips up and gives Scott the access he craves. He holds the base of Stiles’ cock tight as he gives an experimental lick over his balls. He nuzzles there for a little longer, then licks up the underside of Stiles’ cock, pulling his foreskin back and collecting precome on the tip of his tongue. Stiles’ whole body goes rigid and he gives the breathiest shout Scott’s ever heard. It’s not even a word or a phrase, just a strange hushed sound that he wants to hear again and again.
He grabs the pillow from his side of the bed and helps Stiles slide it under his lower back. Stiles goes with the action, confusedly compliant and Scott’s eyes rake over him once more, enjoying the pink flush of his skin and the definition of his muscles. Stiles’ gaze finds his and he smiles, lazily, a picture of joy and elation. Scott’s glad he didn’t wait any longer for this. It might not mean the exact same thing to Stiles as it does to him, but it’s good regardless.
He sinks down into the vee of Stiles’ legs and starts to pepper him with kisses and licks again, but this time with a particular goal in mind. Stiles makes a choked off, startled grunt when Scott begins to lick over his hole with broad, teasing stripes. Scott hasn’t done this before, but he follows his instincts, and considering Stiles is clutching at the sheets and panting loudly, he thinks he might be doing things right. His enthusiasm is overtaking his lack of actual skill and Stiles relaxes and loosens as Scott licks at him.
He’s a little surprised by how much he loves rimming Stiles. It was what he decided he wanted to do early on, but he didn’t expect to be so turned on by Stiles’ shocky tremors and unrestrained, breathy groans. There’s something addictive about the way Stiles flexes and clenches against the swipe of his tongue, how his muscles twitch and shiver. Scott spreads his cheeks wider with his thumbs and licks deeper, addicted to the constant, swift thump of Stiles’ heartbeat pounding through his ears and stilted, involuntary snaps of his hips.
He opens the lube eventually, when Stiles starts to whimper and arch up every time Scott fucks his tongue into him. He coats his fingers liberally and starts to open Stiles up further, rubbing his cheek against Stiles’ leg. Stiles initially tenses, but then loosens more as Scott persists.
“You doing okay?” he murmurs. Stiles hasn’t used real multiple-syllable words for a very long time.
“If by you you’re referring to this boneless tower of jell-o and by okay you mean dead from euphoria, then yes,” Stiles says, voice strained and deeper than usual.
There’s a roughness to his voice that has Scott pinching himself so he doesn’t come before he can even manage one thrust inside. He crooks the fingers of his other hand within Stiles. He figures he hits Stiles’ prostate when he suddenly jerks and wheezes, left knee falling down to the side. Scott angles to stroke him there again before adding more lube and gently pushing in another finger. He doesn’t want to hurt him in any way, doesn’t want this to be an experience Stiles will ever look back on as pained and harrowing. He wants this to be one great moment in a sea of war and destruction.
He’s mesmerized by the sight of his fingers slipping in and out of Stiles, by the hitches and stutters in Stiles’ breathing. He’s so hard he’s aching now, own breath tight in his chest. Stiles is so open and pliant, body ready and waiting. Scott crawls up into a kneeling position, strokes lube all over his cock. He rubs the head at Stiles’ hole, nudging the rim repeatedly, until Stiles is rocking down onto him.
“C’mon Scott, c’mon, please?”
He wasn’t delaying deliberately, but it’s the persuasion he needs. He finally thrusts into Stiles, inch by inch. Stiles isn’t at all passive, fingers gripping into the sheets and hips working so that Scott’s quicker than he’d like. It’s impossible not to surge forward that little bit harder when Stiles is looking up at him with wide eyes and a bitten lower lip, undulating his back so that he’s taking more of Scott with every tiny push. Stiles hooks his hands under his thighs and pulls himself back further, changing the angle just that little bit so it’s smoother and takes no effort at all for Scott to drive deeper with each lunge.
Stiles is so tight and slick inside, it’s incredible. This may not be Scott’s first time, but it’s momentous anyway, getting to feel Stiles clench and flutter around him. If he wasn’t so close to coming, he thinks he could do this forever, watch himself slide into Stiles rhythmically, choked up because the pressure is intense.
Some of Stiles’ hair is sticking to his forehead, there’s a pool of sweat collecting in the dip of his chest, and he alternates between grunting and huffing out dazed-sounding gasps. Scott’s finding it hard to find the balance between forceful and brutal, has to hold himself back, and the contradiction between what he wants and what he needs makes him stop, pull out slowly, only to shove back in again when Stiles moans at his loss.
“Yeah, fuck yeah, I’m not breakable,” Stiles says with a whine, but he is, he is, and Scott’s not going to risk it, so he slows again, rolling his hips to grind into Stiles unremittingly.
This is easier, he’s more in control, and it’s hot and perfect. Stiles clasps down on him intermittently, all of his muscles tensing at once. Scott cants his hips and rolls from side to side, watching avidly as Stiles throws his head back and scrunches his eyes tight.
Stiles lets go of his right leg, stripping his cock with the curl of his hand. He makes a noise of protest when Scott takes hold of his wrist and places his hand back on his leg, but laughs shakily and exhales something that might be a ‘yes’ when Scott slides his own fingers on him instead. Stiles’ cock is amazing in the palm of his hand; hard and soft and hot all at once. Scott brushes his thumb over the head and presses gently into his slit, strokes quicker and quicker when Stiles starts to mutter incomprehensibly.
He twists his hand to the right when Stiles digs so hard into his thighs his knuckles go white, and then Stiles is coming in jets across his abdomen, all of his muscles going taut. Ropes of come spurt over Scott’s hand and his own body, glistening like an invitation. Scott wants to lick him clean, use his tongue and his lips to bring him back to full hardness, but he knows that would be cruel. Stiles is already whimpering from the hand continuing to jack him slowly, the cock driving within him.
Scott lets go of his cock and concentrates on thrusting quickly enough he’ll come without causing Stiles any undue discomfort. It’s shamefully easy to do. It takes no time at all before he’s positioning Stiles’ legs just where he wants them so he can surge in for a final time and come, hard. He wants to simply collapse onto Stiles, but he has the presence of mind enough to move in such a way he doesn’t crush Stiles’ leg as he tips to the side. He moves up the bed and wraps one arm around Stiles’ chest, burying his face into the crook of his arm. Stiles smells wonderful, a heady scent of sex and sweat that has Scott moaning unconsciously.
It takes a minute, more, for Scott to regain enough energy to really look at Stiles, and he thinks that was a wise decision when he does, because all of his instincts tell him he wants to fuck Stiles again. Stiles is wrecked in the best way, come pooling on his stomach and dripping out of his hole, legs kicked wide. His lower lip is even pinker than usual, made tender by his own biting. His cheeks are flushed and his forehead is dripping with perspiration. But his eyes are what capture most of Scott’s attention. His eyelashes sweep over his cheeks and then he glances at Scott with a fond, warm look, and Scott is gone. He’s entranced, completely incapable of doing more than stare.
“You’re the best,” Stiles says, throatily. Scott’s heart skips just from the sound of it.
“I try,” he manages, grinning giddily.
Stiles reels him in with a hand to his shoulder, ruffles his hair. Scott thinks it’s supposed to come across as a reprimand, but it really doesn’t.
“You know, I don’t think I can handle this being a one-time deal,” Stiles says softly, questioningly. He’s guarded in the way he only gets when he has something to hide and that usually means nothing good, but Scott doesn’t think that’s the case here.
He peers up at him, lungs squeezing in his chest. “Me either. I don’t think I ever could.” He swallows against his fear, knowing that this is the time for truth.
Stiles gazes at him intensely and it’s forever overwhelming to have all his focus and concentration. “Thank you.”
There aren’t enough words that Scott can respond with, so he nods, tightens his arm against Stiles, and revels in the moment.