
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/888461.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Scott_McCall/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Scott_McCall_(Teen_Wolf), Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Post_Episode_s03e03:_Fireflies, First_Time, virgin!stiles
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-18 Words: 3998
****** Cookies and Wet Cat ******
by autoschediastic
Summary
     Stiles has seen Scott at his craziest, and while this doesn’t look
     like that brand of crazy, Scott is still in the middle of taking his
     clothes off.
Notes
     @ponderosa121 and @ViewontheWorld are my heroes.
"I'm sleeping over," says Scott as he climbs into the Jeep.
"Not gonna get much sleep, buddy," Stiles says, grim. He cranks the key and
lets his forehead thunk against the wheel. "Freaking virgin sacrifices."
Scott's busy squinting out the window at the busy parking lot. Half his face is
in shadow, dire and pensive. It’s not a look Stiles is used to seeing on him,
and can’t decide exactly how to feel about it. "Your dad's gonna be late,
right?"
Stiles grunts and picks himself up. His dad working late is nothing new, but
since all this werewolf shit started going down, it's become pretty
commonplace. And now it's virgins, what the hell. First it’s moon-crazy
werewolves, then grudge-murdering lizards, next up: puritanical unicorns.
"Hey, Scott," Stiles says conversationally as he pulls into the street, "you
don't have a new thing for virgins you might've maybe forgotten to mention?
Y'know, it's cool, life's been kinda crazy. But now would be a good time to
confide in your best friend." Stiles lets it hang there, and from the
passenger's side comes a long, disgruntled silence. "I'm going to take that as
a no." He risks a sideways glance. "It is a no, right?"
"Yes it's a no!"
"Okay, okay! I was just checking, geez." Stiles taps a couple fingers against
the wheel. He checks the rearview, the time on the dash, then sneaks another
glance Scott's way. "I mean, you did say you could smell all kinds of things.
Like emotions. Sexual frustration has got to be pretty fragrant. Like locker-
room fragrant. Eau de jockstrap."
Scott groans. "I can't smell virginity, Stiles, come on."
"Right, yeah, of course," Stiles says. "That would be stupid.” He shoulder-
checks the turning lane before sliding into it, because obviously some
werewolf-related disaster had to kill his side mirror, and mumbles, “Or maybe
it would smell like cookies and wet cat, gross but tasty.”
"Really stupid," says Scott.
"Because defining 'virginity' has all sorts of--"
"Yes."
"And it's not like we've gotta spend the rest of the night figuring out
whatever archaic and arcane definition of virginity some possibly supernatural
serial killer is using to off kids, right?"
More disgruntled silence. When Stiles glances over this time, Scott's staring
at him with wide eyes. "Fuck," says Scott.
"Yeah," Stiles agrees. "Fuck."
                                       *
They spend the rest of the drive in thick, stewy silence. Scott's slumped
sideways in his seat, elbow propped on the door and chin in hand as he stares
moodily into the street. The light of passing streetlamps glinting off his eyes
is less creepy and more comforting now, like a reminder that if there's
anything out there in the dark, he'll see it long before Stiles. Stiles should
be running through the catalogue of weird shit that's taken up residence in his
brain over the past year, because that would be a lot more helpful than the
steady mantra of shit, shit, shit he's got going on.
He pulls into the drive beside the dark house and cuts the engine. "Alright.
Let's do this."
Scott rouses slowly, like he's been half asleep, blinking a couple times before
opening the door and stumbling out onto the damp grass. Stiles grabs his
backpack from behind the seat and goes to join Scott on the front stoop, keys
jangling. All-nighters with his dad out were so much cooler when it was a Mario
Kart marathon on the menu.
"Want a drink or something?" Stiles asks, fumbling for the light switch once
they're inside.
"Maybe later," Scott says. He scrubs a hand through his hair and squares his
slumped shoulders. "Let's just go upstairs."
"Atta boy," says Stiles, hooking an arm briefly around Scott's neck. "You work
that go-getter attitude."
"Shut up," Scott grumbles, but he's smiling. A little lopsided, sure, but it's
a smile. In these trying times, Stiles is gonna take what he can get.
"Alright," Stiles crows, slapping Scott's shoulder and bounding up the stairs
two at a time to get his blood pumping. He flicks on all the lights as he goes,
because one thing he has learned for sure is that pouring over the Bestiary is
not a pastime that benefits from mood lighting. In his room, he flings his
backpack into the corner and himself into his chair. "I figure we should start
with the basics," he says, slapping the spacebar a couple times to wake up his
laptop before spinning around to face Scott as he comes through the doorway.
"Right," Scott agrees, and strips off his shirt. "I think a couple handjobs'll
do it, but just in case, do you wanna, uh, well." He pauses to tug at his belt.
"I guess there's no such thing as a bad blowjob, but--” He stops with his fly
half-open. Stiles has seen Scott at his craziest, and while this doesn’t look
like that brand of crazy, Scott is still in the middle of taking his clothes
off. “Stiles?"
"You," Stiles says, slowly, because he's really very sure Scott doesn't mean
what Scott thinks he means, "you-- What?"
Scott's eyebrows scrunch together. "Are you sure you wanna do it in the chair?"
"Do what in the chair?"
"You know," says Scott, and does something dirty and impressive with his fist.
“Oh no. No, no, no.” Stiles folds his arms across his chest. "Nope."
This time, Scott's eyebrows make for his hairline. "Nope?"
Stiles nods. "Nope."
"But you're a virgin!" Scott shouts, loud enough to make Stiles wince. All
things considered, the neighbours probably already suspected, but they didn't
need to know. "You're a virgin, Stiles, and it could get you killed."
"Probably," Stiles agrees. He's certainly felt so on a number of occasions.
"And you said--"
Stiles leans forward, head cocked to the side. "I said?"
"You said that we weren't gonna, you know, sleep," Scott says, waving a hand in
the air, "and it was gonna take all night to figure it out, and, and..." He
trails off and drops his hand. "You weren’t propositioning me?" he asks, his
voice lilting uncertainly.
Stiles stares. Scott has got to lay off the word-a-day calendar. "Like a
hooker?"
"Well, I don't know!"
"Obviously you did know, because you had a plan! A plan, Scott. That you didn't
tell me about!" Stiles clambers out of his chair and paces around it,
muttering, "The one time, the one time you have a plan, you don't tell me, and
it's about freaking blowjobs."
"Handjobs," Scott corrects weakly. Stiles slumps over the back of the chair,
one hand slapped to his forehead, and Scott shrugs. "I was gonna go first?"
"Go first, huh?" Stiles levels a finger square at Scott's chest. "Your cherry
is beyond popped, buddy." To help illustrate, Stiles twirls his finger at
Scott's half-open zipper and swoops around to point out the window. "Long gone,
left the building, goodbye."
"Look," Scott says, in exactly the same tone of voice that he uses when he
says, yet again, that no, they're not killing anybody, so stop suggesting it,
"are you going to let me blow you or not?"
"That," says Stiles, finger stuck in mid-air, "is not what I expected you to
say."
"Because it makes sense, okay? You're my best friend, and the only reason you
got tangled up in everything was because of me, and I know you need to research
and figure things out and you're really good at that, but this time there's a
way to make sure you're not in danger while you do it."
One hand on his hip, the other scratching at the back of his neck, Stiles says,
"So you're gonna do me."
"Yes," Scott says firmly. "I mean, if that's okay with you."
"Sure," Stiles drawls, "why not, what's a little oral sex between friends," not
at all serious, which Scott should know by now, except Scott breaks out into a
hugely relieved smile and says, "Great, you should get on the bed," and shucks
his jeans and shorts like it's no big deal.
Scott's junk is not actually a new thing to Stiles. Scott's junk when he has
intentions about it is, and it gives Stiles a moment's pause, kinda like huh.
Kinda like getting on the bed might not be such a bad idea, even with the
possible life-saving connotations aside. The only thing he’s gonna lose here is
his v-card.
Stiles sits on the edge of the bed and scoots back, belatedly realising that if
he wanted to take his clothes off, he should've maybe done that while he was
still standing. Scott's always been a little allergic to his clothes, even
before the whole werewolf thing, and following Scott's lead right now puts way
too much emphasis on the out-of-his-depth feeling Stiles already has knocking
around his chest. It's not like full nudity is required for a blowjob, anyway.
He's seriously considering a friendly compromise by taking off his shirt when
Scott gets on his knees on the bed, straddling Stiles's legs, and says, "Move
up a little more, okay? Closer to the headboard."
Stiles eyeballs the distance between his face and Scott's junk. Scott's
definitely got some wood happening, which is flattering, sure, but also a lot
more nerve-wracking than Stiles thinks is fair. This wasn't even his idea. "You
are going first, right?"
"Yep," Scott says, and just kneels there, radiating a particularly annoying
sort of calm while he waits for Stiles to wriggle up against the pillows and
settle gingerly down. Then Scott reaches for Stiles's fly, and Stiles has a
wisecrack about foreplay he's ready to fire off except he ends up struggling
not to choke on his own spit as Scott unzips his jeans. Scott hesitates with
his fingers on the waistband of Stiles's boxers. "D'you wanna pull it out?"
"Yeah," Stiles wheezes, and goes for it, sticking his hand in and tugging his
cock out like Scott can't hear how hard his heart is beating, "no problem."
"Cool," Scott says, and Stiles wants to ask what, what's cool here, that he's a
total loser who gets hard at just the mention of blowjobs? That his cock is
suddenly in Scott's face? Cool is not the word Stiles would choose. A sudden
and unexpected turn of events, that's what this is.
Obviously, word choice is not something Scott's hung up about. Scott's not
displaying a hell of a lot of hang-ups about anything at all here, not with the
way he flops down on his belly, arms hooked over Stiles's thighs, and his mouth
open like he's just going to do it. Stiles chomps down on his lip and holds
really, really still.
"It is cool, right?" Scott asks, peering up at him.
Stiles nods tightly and tries out a squeaky, "Sure." When Scott just keeps
looking at him, intent and way too earnest, Stiles lets out an explosive
breath. "I mean, your gung-ho attitude towards cocksucking is a little
surprising and frankly something I think you should've told me about before
now, but oh, oh, okay, that's your tongue, oh my god."
Not just Scott's tongue, but his lips, his whole mouth, wet and hot and
unbelievable. The fact that Scott's a werewolf is so, so much easier to believe
right now than the fact that he's sucking Stiles's cock.
And he's smiling when he lets it slip free, slyly pleased as he catches it in
his hand before it slaps against Stiles's belly.
Stiles swallows a couple of times, trying to keep his voice from trembling like
his thighs when Scott starts smoothly jacking him, like it doesn't matter to
Scott one bit that it's Stiles's cock and not his own he's got his hand on.
"Who knew impending doom was all it would take for you to finally agree to fool
around with me."
Scott's easy strokes falter as he jerks back. "I would've," he stammers out,
"you never asked!"
"My twelfth birthday?" Stiles prompts. "After Emily wouldn't kiss me at Spin
the Bottle?"
"We were kids," Scott says, scowling. "How was I supposed to know?"
"That time we caught Danny and his boyfriend making out behind the school and I
asked if you wanted to find out what that kind of kissing was like?" Warming up
to the topic, Stiles licks the tip of an imaginary pen and starts down the list
of Opportunities Missed Because Scott's Dumb. "After you scored your first ever
lacrosse goal and I asked if you wanted to score again? When we got drunk at
one of Lydia's parties and ended up locked in the closet and you were freaking
out and I offered to help take your mind off it? At the--"
"I thought you were kidding!"
"I was kidding, but only after you blew me off!"
"Okay, okay!" Scott yells, half-laughing, like he'd maybe already figured that
out but he still wasn't too sure. "I'm sorry. Am I off the hook if I swallow?"
"Gah," Stiles gurgles, all the smug satisfaction he'd built up falling right
off his face and onto Scott's. He grabs up two tight fistfuls of rumpled
bedsheets and concentrates really, really hard on not losing it all over
Scott's broad grin.
"You good?" Scott asks after about a minute of nothing but Stiles's frantic
breaths. "I'm pretty sure it's not gonna count if you come now."
"Were-- Are-- Did you-- No, no," Stiles says, sinking down and slapping a hand
over his eyes. "Don't tell me. Just."
"Just..." Scott gives the head of Stiles's cock an inquisitive and slightly
apologetic flick with his tongue. How Scott is suddenly able to convey emotion
via lick is something Stiles is going to have to look up when he's not busy
experiencing it first-hand. "Keep going?"
Half his bottom lip caught between his teeth, Stiles nods.
He's got this vague notion, half-formed beneath the oh my god that takes over
his brain when he tries to really think about what's happening to him right
now, that if he can't see it, he won't blow his load in Scott's face right off
the bat. When Scott goes down on him, honest-to-fucking-god down, sucking the
whole way and doing this thing with his tongue that Stiles tries to feel bad
for suspecting he learned from Allison, whatever tiny sliver of Stiles's grey
matter that hasn't already turned to total mush divebombs right out the window,
along with all hope of surviving tonight with his dignity intact. He goes off
exactly like the desperate horny teenager he is, hips jackknifed off the bed
and his knee banging into Scott's shoulder, shout barely muffled by the meat of
his arm.
The only thing not being able to see helps with is he's got a whole seventeen
seconds before he's faced with Scott's stupid smug smile. Except, when he
finally manages to pick his head up to mumble thanks or sorry or just plain
whoa, he hasn't decided yet, it registers that his jeans are somewhere down
around his ankles and Scott's face is in his crotch. And Scott's breathing is
really, really deep, slow and tightly controlled.
"Uh." Stiles reaches out cautiously, his hand hovering a few inches above
Scott's bowed head. If Scott wolfs out with Stiles's junk in his face, they're
both gonna be scarred for life. "Buddy? You okay there?"
Scott drags in another thick, shuddery breath. Stiles can't help shivering when
he lets it out again, hot against wet skin, and Scott laughs.
He laughs.
"You suck," Stiles says, without thinking, then huffs and rolls his eyes as
Scott laughs harder. He struggles around a bit, managing to get his pants off
one leg and dislodging Scott for a brief satisfying second before Scott
faceplants back in his crotch. "Virgin, okay, cut me some slack."
"Sure," Scott drawls. The word tickles Stiles's freaking balls, making his leg
jump, and then his leg jumps again as Scott's pointy nose pokes him in the
crook of his thigh. Scott inhales again, quick and shallow this time.
"Are you-- You're sniffing me," says Stiles.
Scott murmurs an absent-minded, "Yeah," and keeps snuffling away, adding a
little lick here and another there and nibbling--nibbling--when Stiles can't
contain a squeak. Scott's hands slipping under Stiles's thighs earns him a
slightly choked gurgle, because that seriously tickles at the same time that it
really, really doesn't, and Stiles is thinking about all the strange places on
the human body that don't normally get touched, even by best friend werewolves
with personal space issues, when Scott shoves his legs up and holy shit,
Stiles’s knees are in his face and he had no idea his body could do that.
"Wait," Scott says, muffled by the cheek of Stiles's freaking ass, "don't move,
I just," and he trails off, his tongue too busy for words.
"That's, uh," Stiles stutters, "one of those, um, those places, and uh oh my
god." He struggles up onto one elbow, because his shorts are in the way caught
around his knees and this he needs to see, and it doesn't matter if it kills
him because just feeling it is gonna kill him anyway--so much for Scott's life-
saving efforts, but man, what a way to go--and Scott growls, his grip on
Stiles's thigh tightening to keep his legs up. The part of Stiles that prevents
him from shutting his mouth when he's digging himself deeper is absolutely to
blame for the way Stiles half-heartedly tries tugging his leg out of Scott's
hold, just to see what Scott'll do.
What Scott does is yank him back into place about three times as hard as
necessary, growl, "Stay still," under his breath, and shove his face right back
in Stiles's ass.
"Oh my god," Stiles gasps, since running his mouth is way easier than letting
his entire consciousness fill up with the weird pressure of Scott's tongue
dragging slow and steady and with a definite goal up between the cheeks of his
ass, "oh my god, you are, you're making me your bitch, aren't you? Is that
what's happening here? Is this even about saving my life anymore oh my fucking
god don't stop, okay, don't."
Scott lets out a satisfied grunt and licks again, hard enough that Stiles can
feel his body open up a bit under the pressure. He can't help squirming away a
little, surprised enough when Scott lets him that he settles right back down.
Sorta. With his head spinning, and his insides all twisted up with confused
pleasure because it's strange and hot and he just came, okay, like thirty
seconds ago, it's tough. It's usually tough when all those things aren't
happening to him. His mouth is running off without him this time, spouting all
sorts of trash that, when he tunes in, makes his face flame. He never, ever
even considered it a slight possibility that one day he would be calling his
best friend's tongue his new favourite magic trick.
When his brain chugs its way around to where the hell did Scott even learn
this, he snaps his mouth shut so hard his teeth clack. Grinding them together
hurts like hell but he’s got to stop thinking about exes. Also the extremely
filthy mental image he’s got going on about Allison getting involved here. He’d
be ashamed of himself if he weren't so busy trying to figure out viable limb
placement.
"Don't," Scott growls, sending Stiles into a panicked flail as he tries to sit
up, babble apologies, and also figure out when mind-reading became a werewolf
superpower. "Your dad’s not home, it’s okay to be noisy.”
"Oh," Stiles says, first in relief, and then again, longer and much more drawn
out as Scott's meaning sinks slowly in. A lot like how Scott's tongue is
sinking in. Which is something he's seen in porn, sure, who hasn't, but a flat
image on a computer screen, 1080p or not, isn't nearly enough to prepare anyone
for how it really feels.
Stiles is pretty sure he does a good job, though. As long as 'good job' is
defined as losing his mind. By the time Scott gets up on his knees, Stiles is
ready. So, so ready. He grabs onto the backs of his knees, stares hard at
Scott's cock, at Scott's hand wrapped around it, and can't quite imagine what
it'll feel like. But his body is hard-fucking-wired for this, he can feel that
no problem, and he is ready.
"Stiles," Scott groans, staring right back at him, wild-eyed and flushed.
"It's good, it's great," Stiles says, "it's super great, buddy, you just, you
go for it, okay? Just, fucking, just do it, right now, c'mon, come on--"
Scott drops down over him, one hand splayed on rumpled sheets and the other
working fast on his cock. There's enough time for Stiles to think condom!, a
second to rethink it--duh, werewolf, not an STD--before Scott hunches over,
groans, and comes all over Stiles's ass and junk and bed.
After, Stiles says, "Huh."
Scott slumps over in a lazy, undignified heap, one of Stiles's legs caught
beneath him. He gives it a friendly pat and pants out, "Right?"
Stiles screws his mouth up to one side. His other leg is stuck awkwardly in
midair and trying to get it down is fraught with danger, mostly because of the
way his underwear is twisted around his knees. Scott lets out a few disgruntled
noises as Stiles wriggles around. "This is your fault," Stiles tells him.
Scott lifts a clawed hand. Stiles freezes.
"Stiles," Scott sighs, and rolls to the side, freeing Stiles's leg. He tugs
Stiles's underwear down and off with the rest of Stiles's clothes and gives the
heap a careless toss into the corner.
"What?" Stiles demands. "You're the one who brought the claws to bed."
"They're attached to me!"
"Yeah, well, I thought you were gonna, y'know." Curling his fingers into puny
human claws, Stiles makes a vague slashing motion.
"Uh," Scott says, and darts a guilty glance sideways.
"You totally thought about it," Stiles crows triumphantly. "You were gonna rip
my clothes off! I try very hard not to reinforce the teenaged male stereotype
and prefer undies without holes in them, thank you."
"Stiles--"
"Hey, don't worry. I don't blame you. I am one hot piece of Stilinski." He
gives Scott's bare, sweaty shoulder a comforting knuckle punch, which, with all
the post-coital nudity going on, feels a lot different than when he does so in
the locker room after a game. He leaves his hand there, fingers curled lightly
against warm skin. "Also, did you see how freaking bendy I am? I am impressive,
buddy. You just got so lucky."
"I totally did," Scott says, completely sincere.
"Yeah, you did," Stiles agrees, and ignores the blush trying to take over his
face. He gingerly pokes at the copious amounts of jizz all over his junk.
"Definitely not a virgin anymore."
Scooting a little closer, Scott rests his cheek on Stiles's chest, watching as
Stiles tries to wipe the mess off his fingers onto his t-shirt. Sex alone is
just not this messy. "Well, if there's any doubt, we could always. You know."
Stiles chomps down on the tender inside of his cheek to keep from blurting that
he was absolutely ready to go there. That's an ego boost the giant dopey grin
on Scott's face doesn't need. "Oh, sure," he says instead. "Now you're ready to
sex me up like HBO."
"That's me," Scott says, and drops an arm around Stiles's waist like he's
settling in for a good, long cuddle, "always ready to take one for the team."
Stiles gapes.
"Or two, or three, a couple dozen, whatever," Scott adds, with a casual shrug.
"You're lucky my legs are jelly right now, that's all I'm saying," Stiles
mutters.
Scott lifts his head, his grin huge and delighted. "Really?"
"Oh god," Stiles groans, and drops his arm over his face.
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