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Stiles asks Scott three times if he loves him — and each time he says no.
-
The first time is the night they watch Erica being torn to pieces by Kali; after Stiles tries desperately to hold her entrails in, screaming for Derek until his throat is raw. It’s after they watch Boyd fall to his knees beside her body, howl after pained howl ripping their way out of his throat.
It’s after the Alpha pack is defeated and too much blood is spilled; after they’ve tallied the dead. They’re on their way back to the Hale house when Scott has to stop. He sits down at the base of a tree, his hands stained red, his clothes tattered, and shoes covered in blood.
Neither of them speak. Stiles climbs between Scott’s legs and wraps his own bloodstained hands around the other boy’s shirt. After a long moment of silence, he leans up and kisses Scott — short and sweet — before muttering, “Do you love me like Boyd loved Erica?”
Scott whispers, “No.”
-
The second time is the night after Erica’s funeral. It’s raining, pouring down in sheets, and the two of them are stretched out on Stiles’ bed with pieces of their suits thrown about. There’s a half empty bottle of Jack sitting between them and Stiles has his hand wrapped loosely around the neck.
It’s so quiet Scott can almost hear every single raindrop as it hits the roof, the windows, the Jeep in the driveway. He focuses on that rather than the breathing coming from beside him, and closes his eyes but all he sees is Erica. Bloodied, broken, dead.
“Scott,” Stiles says, his speech slurred thanks to the half bottle of whiskey he downed. Scott doesn’t say anything, just turns his head and opens his eyes, looking at the boy next to him. The broken, emotionally unstable, beautiful boy that he loves more than anything — but he’ll never admit it out loud.
Stiles’ lips are on his and they’re soft and warm and surprisingly sweet, tasting of whiskey, sugar, and something that’s purely Stiles. It takes a moment for Scott’s brain to catch up to what’s happening and he kisses back gingerly, not wanting to take advantage of Stiles.
Gorgeous, smart, beautiful — but drunk — Stiles.
When they pull away, he whispers, “Do you love me?”
Again, Scott answers, “No.”
-
The third — and final — time is after the morning Stiles announces that he’s going on vacation, that he can’t deal with the werewolf bullshit anymore, and that he needs a break from it. It’s after he packs all of his things, carefully stowing shirts and socks and jeans away into a suitcase, proclaiming that spending time in Washington with his aunt is a good idea.
Scott perches on the edge of the mattress, watching Stiles like he’s a hunter about to pounce on his prey, and his chest tightens. Stiles is going to be gone for two months, he says, but he’ll Skype and text every day.
“Who’s going to practice lacrosse with me?” Scott asks, giving the other boy a grin, though it doesn’t touch his eyes. He wants to be happy that Stiles is going away to get better, to forget, but he’s going to miss him more than anything.
A laugh bubbles up from Stiles’ throat and he throws his Captain America shirt at Scott’s head. “Isaac will practice with you,” he says.
The room grows silent after that and Scott helps Stiles carry his bags down, though he only has three, and they stand in the doorway. He has his hands shoved deep into his pockets, brown eyes locked on Stiles’ face, and he can feel how excited the other boy is.
When a black Town Car pulls into the driveway, Stiles turns to look at Scott, grinning broadly. “I’m going to miss you, dude,” he mutters.
“Yeah,” Scott answers, “me too.”
Stiles comes forward, wrapping his arms around Scott so tightly he’s actually impressed by the other boy’s strength, and he pulls back for a second before leaning in. Their lips brush together and Scott’s heart thumps hard behind his rib cage, his eyes fluttering shut.
Again, Stiles asks, “Do you love me?”
And Scott’s voice is thick when he whispers, “No.”
Despite being rejected, Stiles smiles and grabs his bags, toting them down the porch steps without taking Scott’s offer to help. He puts the bags into the trunk and looks at the other boy, smiling as he waves his hand, his eyes shining in the sunlight.
Stiles climbs into the car and he delves into a conversation with the woman driving who Scott recognizes as his aunt. He waves to both of them, watching as the car backs out of the driveway, and he waits until it’s gone to mumble, “I love you, Stiles.”
-
For two months, Scott pines for Stiles.
The daily texts, phone calls, and Skype sessions only add fuel to the already growing fire that Scott’s found himself drowning in. He wants Stiles home, wants to be able to tell him how he feels instead of denying it like he has been, and he wants to kiss Stiles — for real.
Sixty-two days pass before Stiles comes home and Scott is the first person to greet him when he pulls into the driveway. He helps the other boy take his things into the house and listens to Stiles tell him stories about being with his aunt, uncle, and cousins in Washington.
Once everything is taken inside, Scott grabs Stiles and kisses him.
“What was that for?” Stiles asks, touching his lips as if they’d been burned.
“Ask me again.”
Stiles blinks and mumbles, “Ask what?”
Without answering, Scott kisses Stiles again. This time it’s slow, full of passion and love and all of the things Scott hasn’t been able to show Stiles, and he eases the other boy down onto the edge of the mattress.
They’ve been through everything, Scott and Stiles have; including divorce, death, first dates, first relationships, more death and a lot more. Through everything, Stiles has always been there for Scott and he never realized that he’s loved the other boy for a while -- until now.
And Scott intends on making up for all the wasted time.
“Ask me,” Scott whispers, his brown eyes soft and locked on Stiles’, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He settles onto his knees between the other boy’s legs and snakes his hands up, undoing Stiles’ jeans.
A sharp huff of air rushes out of Stiles’ mouth and he asks, “What are you doing?”
“Something I should have done a long time ago,” is Scott’s answer and he smiles, his eyes lighting up and the corners crinkling. He tugs the zipper of Stiles’ jeans down and hooks his thumbs into the belt loops, tugging the denim down his legs slowly.
The fabric pools around Stiles’ ankles and he toes out of his shoes, kicking his pants away, spreading his legs for Scott. His heart is pounding, blood rushing into his ears as he looks down at his best friend, colour bleeding into his cheeks.
Once the other boy is in just his boxers, Scott leans in to kiss the inside of his thigh, moving down to his knee. He nips right there, on the skin above the bend of Stiles’ leg, and sucks on a mark, running his hands up to hook under the waistband of Stiles’ boxers.
“Scott what — ” Stiles starts but his words are cut off by a moan when he feels a hand slip along his lap.
Shivering, Scott looks up at Stiles through his lashes and leans up, pushing the hem of his shirt along his stomach before pressing a kiss to a spot above his boxers. “Just relax,” he says.
“Okay.”
They laugh together and Scott moves a hand to find Stiles’, their fingers lacing together for a moment. It’s nice, Scott thinks, that they can sit there with their hands clasped and Stiles in his boxers without it being weird.
But Scott knows that it would never be weird, even if he wasn’t in love with Stiles. Being weird together isn’t something that happens to them; it is impossible for Scott to feel weird around Stiles — and he knows the other boy feels the same.
“I love you,” Scott whispers and the second those words are out of his mouth, a huge weight lifts off of his shoulders. He feel like he can breathe a little easier and like he isn’t carrying this huge secret around with him forever.
Scott McCall no longer has to deny the fact that he is hopelessly in love with Stiles Stilinski. Nor does he want to; he wants the whole world to know, wants to scream it from the rooftops and shot at the top of his lungs.
A gasp fills the space between them and Stiles murmurs, “You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” is the answer and Scott laughs, leaning up on his knees as he lifts a hand, cupping Stiles’ cheek. He pulls the other boy down and kisses him, nice and slow, pressing the tip of his tongue against Stiles’ lips, tracing the lower one. Stiles tastes like sugar (like always), Red Bull, chocolate, and like himself, the combination making Scott rumble in approval.
They ease apart a moment later and Stiles smiles. “I love you too,” he says and hearing those four words come out of that mouth makes Scott’s stomach flip, his heart thumping harder than before. “How long have you loved me?” Stiles asks in a quiet voice.
“For a long time.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because…” Scott sighs and rubs his thumb along Stiles’ cheekbone gently, looking down at his mouth — that perfect, warm, goddamn amazing mouth that Scott could kiss for hours at a time. “Because things were bad and it didn’t seem like a good time to say I loved you. I had a hard time thinking about anything other than…”
Stiles swallows and puts a finger on Scott’s lips to silence him. “I know,” he murmurs and smiles sadly as he drops his hand, resting it on the side of Scott’s neck. “I had the same problem — but you were always there, keeping me sane.”
“I’m sorry,” Scott whispers, gulping. “I do love you, Stiles, and I’m sorry that I kept denying that fact for so long.”
“Then shut up and show me you love me.”
“Bossy.” Grinning, Scott leans up and kisses Stiles once more, licking into the other boy’s mouth as he cups the back of his head. He tangles his fingers in Stiles’ longer hair, gripping it gently,
A shudder passes through their bodies at the same time, like they’re on the same wavelength and share the same nerve system, and Stiles opens his mouth wider, moaning. He drags a hand through Scott’s hair, pressing his tongue back against the other’s, letting out a surprised noise when Scott tangles them together.
When Stiles needs to breathe, he pulls back an gasps, scratching Scott’s scalp lightly, dragging his nails down the nape of his neck.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“Suck your cock,” Scott says, like it’s nothing, and Stiles chokes on the air in his throat, his eyes going wide. “Hey, wait, no — calm down.”
Stiles coughs several times and nods his head. “M’good,” he mumbles.
“Good. Damn, I don’t want you to die before I get to blow you.”
“Can you — could you not talk about sucking my cock and, like, do it already? Or else I am going to die choking on my own spit,” Stiles says.
A laugh rumbles in Scott’s chest and he hooks his fingers under the waistband of Stiles’ boxers again, tugging them down his legs. He gets the fabric down, throwing it off to the side before moving his hands along the inside of Stiles’ thighs.
Once his hands are high enough, Scott wraps one around Stiles’ already half-hard cock and strokes him slowly. He smiles when he hears a sharp intake of breath above him and licks his lips, spreading Stiles’ thighs as he leans down to kiss the inside of one of them.
“S - Scott,” Stiles whispers, his hand settled on the back of Scott’s head.
“Hmm?”
“That - ah - feels good.”
Scott laughs and nods, mumbling against Stiles’ skin, “S’supposed to.”
The hand on Stiles’ cock keeps stroking and Scott twists his wrist on every upstroke, brushing the pad of his thumb along the head. He slides it back down, holding onto the base as he moves up, looking at Stiles as he flicks his tongue against the slit.
Stiles grips Scott’s hair tightly and throws his head back on a moan, feeling the other boy’s lips seal around the head of his cock. He resists the urge to buck up, to fuck into that wonderful wet heat, and swallows thickly, his free hand pressed between Scott’s shoulders.
Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath through his nose, Scott opens his mouth and relaxes his throat. He may have asked Danny for blowjob tips (“for science,” Scott said when Danny asked what he needed to know how to give head for) and may have practiced on several bananas before even thinking about doing this to Stiles.
So, without hesitation, Scott takes all of Stiles’ cock into his mouth in one swallow and only gags a little bit — mostly out of surprise than anything else. He drops one hand down and cups Stiles’ balls, rolling them between his fingers, gently squeezing them.
“Fuck!” Stiles gasps, tightening his grip on Scott’s hair. He screws his eyes shut and takes a deep, shuddering breath as he pushes his hips forward, against Scott’s mouth. “Oh. Oh, shit, Scott..”
Scott hums around Stiles’ shaft and swallows before pulling off, hollowing his cheeks like he saw in a few videos he watched for research. Yeah, okay, he had a lot of time on his hands and had been more than curious about how guy-on-guy blowjobs worked. (Here’s a hint: there just like girl-on-guy blowjobs — just with more dick and less boobs!)
When he pulls off completely, Scott strokes up Stiles’ length and teases the head with his tongue, moving it along the slit and underneath the crown. The noises it pulls from Stiles’ throat make the werewolf shiver and he swallows, rolling the other boy’s balls between his fingers once more.
“Scott, I’m — oh, I’m going to come soon, fuck.” Stiles’ voice is quiet and breathless when he speaks, rising a little on the last word.
Chuckling, Scott pulls off and looks up at Stiles. “Then come,” he says, his voice sure and steady before he dives back down, taking Stiles into his mouth once more.
This time, he doubles his efforts. He can smell Stiles’ arousal building, growing stronger than before, and it’s a heady, dizzying smell that has Scott feeling lightheaded — but he loves it. Honestly fucking loves it and he could suck Stiles’ cock all day and be happy.
So, to make Stiles’ orgasm come faster, Scott sucks his cock harder than before, his cheeks sunken in. He flicks his tongue against the head, running it along the slit, before diving back down and swallowing around Stiles’ cock.
The noises coming from above him grow louder. Curses and broken words and Scott’s name fall from Stiles’ lips in between gasps and moans, the bed springs squeaking as he thrusts his hips forward. He fucks into Scott’s mouth slowly, cupping the back of his head with both hands, and his scent grows stronger.
“Fuck, ohfuckohfuck,” Stiles moans, breathing hard. “Ohmygod, Oh - my - god - Scott.”
Scott laughs around Stiles’ cock and sucks harder, slipping his fingers behind the other boy’s balls, pressing them against his perineum. He just barely rubs the skin in a slow circle and has Stiles bucking forward, nearly screaming.
When Stiles comes, he says Scott’s name over and over like a goddamn prayer, his fingers tightening in the other boy’s hair. His hips rock forward and his body trembles, breath coming out shaky as he comes down Scott’s throat.
And Scott swallows the best he can, coughing as he pulls off, getting some come on his lips. He laughs and licks them, cleaning the head of Stiles’ cock off before pulling his hands back, resting them on his best friend’s thighs.
“Shit…” Stiles sighs, licking his lips quickly. His face is flushed and his mouth is parted, lips slightly red and swollen.
“You good?”
Stiles nods his head and looks down at Scott, moaning. “Fuck. Yeah, I’m good,” he mumbles and leans over to kiss the other boy, moaning again when he tastes himself on Scott’s lips.
Humming, Scott stands up and presses Stiles back onto the mattress, hovering over him without breaking the kiss. He runs his hand underneath the hem of Stiles’ shirt, splaying it against his lower abdomen, rubbing it slowly.
A hand moves to the front of Scott’s jeans and he pushes it away, pinning it on the bed above Stiles’ head, shaking his own. “No,” he whispers as he pulls away, brushing their noses together.
“You don’t want me to help you?” Stiles asks and Scott shakes his head, smiling. “Why not?”
“Because this was about you,” he answers and moves to grab Stiles’ boxers off the floor, tossing them onto the mattress. Scott toes out of his shoes and kicks them away, undoing his jeans before shoving them down and off.
Stiles watches him and pulls his boxers on, sighing. “So,” he says, licking his lips slowly, watching as Scott lays beside him. “You love me?”
“Yeah, I do.” Scott smiles and kisses Stiles’ lips. “And I missed you.”
“I know,” Stiles replies, laughing quietly.
Growling quietly, Scott snaps his teeth at Stiles playfully and laughs, tugging the blanket over their bodies. He wraps his arms around the other boy and holds him close, kissing across his face, mouth, and down his neck, nuzzling against it gently.
The two of them lay together and for the first time in months, Scott isn’t thinking about everything they’ve been through. He takes in Stiles’ scent and focuses on that, on the sound of his heart, and the way he feels in his arms. Eventually, Scott dozes off with Stiles in his arms and his dreams are full of happy things, the future and a life with Stiles, instead of blood and horror.