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ONE
It’s the height of summer and the heat is making Stiles lazy. His feet dangle off the McCall’s back porch, his summer reading abandoned by his head, and his phone balanced across the bridge of his nose. It buzzes suddenly and slips off his face, startling him. It’s a mass text from Lydia, reminding everyone about her party tonight. Stiles grumbles at the interruption and resumes his prone position.
He isn’t sure how much time passes. It might be five minutes, but then again it could also be an hour. Some indeterminate period of time later, Melissa’s voice says, “How long have you been out here, Stiles?”
He cracks one eye open. She’s standing above him, haloed by the sun, which is much higher than it was when he arrived. “Couple hours, I guess,” he says, sitting up.
She sighs. “Quit moping and come inside. I’ll make us some lunch.”
She lulls him into a false sense of security with quesadillas, and then pounces. “So, you’re sleeping with my son.”
Stiles splutters, and takes refuge in minor details. “Not technically.”
“I’m a nurse, Stiles. There’s more than one way to sleep with someone.”
Stiles gapes for a moment, frantically backpedaling through the accompanying mental images and then trying to think of a safe answer.
Melissa levels her most intense look at him. It’s the look she gives after incidences of illicit consumption of foodstuffs and destruction of property. Stiles hasn’t seen that one in a while. “I can see you grasping for an excuse, Stiles. Save it.”
Stiles drops his head. “Sorry,” he mutters.
“No need to be sorry. I know you’re being safe.” It isn’t a statement so much as a threat. “But do be aware that if you hurt either my son or Allison, I’ll use my very extensive knowledge of the human body to make sure you think twice about doing it again.”
Stiles gulps. That’s definitely a threat.
“The same goes for them, of course.”
“Thanks. I think.”
Melissa smiles and ruffles his hair as she clears her plate. He follows her to the sink and dutifully helps scrub melted cheese out of the pan.
“How long have you known?” he asks eventually.
“I’ve had my suspicions for a while, but finding you napping on my back porch while Scott and Allison are away was the final proof. You three aren’t as subtle as you think you are.”
“My dad only found out because I slipped up. And Chris Argent hasn’t figured it out yet,” Stiles defends.
“Yes, thank god for small miracles,” Melissa laughs.
Stiles laughs too, then says softly, “Thanks for being cool about this. I mean, we were pretty sure you would be, but...”
“Of course, kiddo.” She pulls him into a tight hug. Melissa’s hugs always say something and this one is no different. It says, you are growing up and away from me, but I'll always be here to protect you. He lets it go on for as long as he can.
“Right. Well I need to take a nap, and I bet you’ve got a big night ahead of you since Things Two and Three get back this afternoon, so scoot.”
Stiles scoots. He strolls home through the woods. There’s no hurry to get home. He’s dad’s still out; there’s been some non-supernatural trouble, so Stiles has been pretty much on his own for the past week. It sucks. He can’t wait for the party tonight. What’s the point of having two sexy significant others if they gallivant off on vacation together?
“Tonight, Stiles,” he mutters to himself. “You’ll be back together tonight.”
AND ONE
Scott groans awake and carefully frees himself from the tangle of sheets and limbs. There are less of them than he was expecting. He recounts in confusion and realizes that Stiles is missing. Scott finds him hunched over the toilet in Mrs. Martin’s spotless guest bathroom.
“Why did I ever like Lydia?” Stiles gripes, taking a cup of water from Scott. “She’s clearly evil.”
Lydia confirms this statement by appearing in the doorway with Allison. “Oh good, you’re up too. Boyd’s getting brunch. Come on.”
Stiles retches and looks up at Scott in despair. “Evil,” his eyes say, and Scott nods in agreement.
He manages to get Stiles upright enough for some toast and juice. Allison’s not much better off, and the two of them toast their toast triangles in solidarity. Lydia purses her lips at the crumbs that land on the table, but doesn’t say anything. Either her immunity increased her alcohol tolerance too or she just naturally has an amazing tolerance, because she looks totally fine.
The five of them settle in on the enormous couch in the Martin’s den. Boyd sits down at one end and Lydia leans against his massive shoulder. Allison curls up in the middle with her head in Lydia’s lap and her feet in Stiles’s. Scott squeezes in at the other end, between Stiles and the arm of the sofa. It’s Allison’s turn to pick the entertainment, and she settles on a “Project Runway” marathon before promptly going back to sleep. The rest of them slip into various states of vegetative before they even get to the runway portion of the show.
Stiles is doing the thing again. Scott wouldn’t have noticed, except that Stiles’s shoulder keeps bumping into his as his left fist slides repeatedly over his right palm. Scott puts a hand out, stilling Stiles for a little while, but Scott gets distracted by the TV and Stiles’s hands start moving again.
“You okay?” Scott asks softly, trying not to rouse the other people in the room.
“Fine,” Stiles shoots back with a soft chuckle. “Just a bit hungover.”
Scott frowns in sympathy. Because they’re enterprising teenaged werewolves, they’ve figured out a way to infuse alcohol with wolfsbane and get drunk, but they still don’t have to deal with hangovers. Scott always feels guilty about that.
“Can I help?”
“Naw man. It’s not that bad. I made my bed, time to lie in it, I guess.”
Scott chuckles. “You almost never make your bed.” He slings an arm around Stiles’s shoulders and tugs him closer in an attempt to keep him from moving.
It works for a few minutes, but then Stiles starts up again, this time rubbing his right fist into his left palm.
Scott tugs at Stiles’s frenetically moving hands, and takes the left one in both of his own. Stiles’s hands are longer, paler, and more slender than his, and he takes a few minutes just cataloging differences. Stiles is looking at him strangely, but hasn’t said anything yet.
When he starts tensing like he might pull away, Scott gets down to work. He holds Stiles’s hand palm up and starts to trace his bones, from his knobbly wrist, down his tapered fingers, and back, up and down each finger. He keeps up a firm pressure with his thumb and moves slowly, and by the time he flips Stiles’s hand over to do the same to the back, Stiles is slumped against him, eyes half-shut. He wordlessly offers his other hand, and Scott repeats the process.
“Feeling any better?” Scott murmurs, his thumb still rubbing absently over Stiles’s fingers where he has them cradled in his lap.
“Yeah,” Stiles whispers back, settling in to sleep. “Yeah.”
AND ONE
They go to Allison’s after Lydia kicks them out. Her dad won’t be back for a few days, and her bed’s the biggest. The room is lit by golden afternoon sunlight, and Allison strips slowly, enjoying the warmth on her skin. The sunbeams are replaced by Scott’s hands as he maneuvers her back towards the bed.
“My turn,” Stiles insists, tossing his shirts and pants away and taking Scott’s place.
Allison stretches out under him. She’s dimly aware of Scott undressing and kissing down Stiles’s spine. He’s tracing moles with his tongue if Stiles’s sudden starts and jolts are anything to go by. He tugs on the fabric of Stiles’s boxers with his teeth and Stiles jerks.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck. Would you - God, Scott. Will you fuck me?”
Scott’s eyes snap up to meet hers. “Don’t look at me,” she laughs. “I’m all for it, it’s up to you.”
Scott lifts Stiles so he’s sprawled out across both of them. They kiss for a while. Scott keeps bringing his hands towards Stiles’s ass and then veering away at the last minute to settle on his waist, or stroke down the line of Allison’s hips.
“You’re overthinking it,” Allison sighs as she sits up and pulls Stiles towards her.
She kisses him thoroughly; pries his mouth open and presses into him. She runs one finger along his spine, drifting lower and lower until it catches on the waistband of his boxers. He’s panting against her cheek, and when she moves her hand away he actually moans, hips twitching back into the contact.
“Scott’s turn,” she whispers, capturing his mouth again.
Her eyes have fallen shut, but she feels Scott pull Stiles’s underwear down, and he bites at her lips when Scott presses one finger inside. She cradles Stiles’s head against her shoulder, allowing him free range to bite and suck the tender skin there and also allowing herself an unrestricted view of the proceedings down the long curve of Stiles’s spine.
Allison remembers the first time she and Scott had sex - how desperate he’d been, but also how he’d insisted on going slow, on making sure everything was okay. He’s the same way now, and Stiles is almost sobbing by the time Scott reaches for a condom. The hickey over Allison’s collarbone is going to be impressive.
“Wait!” Stiles gasps as Scott starts to press inside, and he freezes. “Not like this,” Stiles clarifies, twisting around to cover Scott’s face in open-mouthed kisses. “I want to see you.”
“On top,” Allison says.
Scott lays down willingly and Stiles straddles his hips. He leans into a kiss, bringing their chests together. Both of their hips are working in little circles that rub their cocks against one another, and they’re letting out the most amazing growls and whimpers.
Allison isn’t usually content to take a backseat during sex, but she’s willing to make an exception tonight. Luckily, she doesn’t have to. Scott’s hand blindly finds her inner thigh and begins tracing patterns there, slipping closer and closer to her own fingers.
“Alright,” says Stiles, sitting up. “Okay.”
Scott and Allison both turn to watch as he slowly guides Scott’s cock into him. Allison’s torn between watching it disappear between Stiles’s legs and the expressions crossing his face. His lips are swollen and full from kissing, and his cheeks have bright patches of color on them. The color spreads down his chest too, under the dark trail of hair on his stomach, and along his flushed cock which is bobbing slightly as he begins to move. The sight is mesmerizing; Allison’s gaze flits from Stiles’s amazed face to Scott’s look of bliss to their hips rocking together to Stiles’s leaking cock.
Allison loses the order of things after that; it’s just an impression of moments. Sucking Stiles’s cock into her mouth. Watching bruises form and disappear as she works her way up Scott’s torso. Hips jerking in time with the rhythm Scott is rubbing over her clit. She comes first, Scott’s fingers inside her and her hand around Stiles’s cock. Stiles and Scott follow quickly after.
Stiles collapses off of Scott and face-plants into Allison's side. "Oh my God.”
Scott disposes of the condom and rolls over to press a kiss to Allison's neck.
“I like the homecoming sex,” Stiles says, voice muffled by her skin, “But you guys aren’t allowed to go away again.”
Scott laughs. “As you wish.”
Allison makes a mental note to tease him for quoting The Princess Bride in bed. Later.