
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/975527.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Scott_McCall/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Scott_McCall, Stiles_Stilinski, Melissa_McCall
  Additional Tags:
      Established_Relationship, Sloppy_Makeouts, Blowjobs, Rimming, Sex_in_the
      Jeep, Sex_in_the_woods, What_the_Heckie_is_a_True_Alpha, Does_Anyone_Even
      Understand_Werewolf_Rules, nope_-_Freeform, Especially_not_Jeff_Davis
      tbh, good_thing_his_opinions_Do_Not_Matter, Bottom_Scott, Barebacking,
      Frottage
  Series:
      Part 2 of Hindsight_is_20/20
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-09-21 Completed: 2013-10-27 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 5689
****** Fault Line ******
by captainkoirk
Summary
     What Stiles has with Scott isn't waiting because it just isn't. Scott
     is a constant just under Stiles' skin, in his veins and his bones and
     between his ribs always. Everything is moving forward in this endless
     cycle of them- worn grooves in each other's psyches and uncharted
     territory between them- and even if they can't always just be because
     they've taken it upon themselves to be the ones that stave, Stiles
     can't categorize it as impatience and waiting because those things
     jump back from the forefront on your mind, sometimes often, sometimes
     not, because they are events. Scott isn't something that happens.
     "I'm in love with you." Stiles says, grin cracking across his face.
     It's a fault line, sharp with how Scott's rearranged him inside out,
     and Stiles doesn't want it any other way.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Stiles can be patient when it counts. Not always, not even most times, hardly
sometimes, but there are a few key moments when need outweighs want and things
can click into place. He chalks it up to the abstract intelligence of insomnia,
nights spent with chaos brewing behind his temporal lobe as he resists the urge
to speed-read, soaking in everything he needs to know on a dimmed laptop screen
because it's about survival, now.
 
Scott is something else.
 
Stiles has divided so much of his life into waiting and wanting and having and
losing and now, with hindsight at 20/20, it seems like a waste and a luxury,
because nothing is either or,anymore.
 
What Stiles has with Scott isn't waiting because it just isn't. Scott is a
constant just under Stiles' skin, in his veins and his bones and between his
ribs always.Everything is moving forward in this endless cycle of them-worn
grooves in each other's psyches and uncharted territory between them- and even
if they can't always just be because they've taken it upon themselves to be the
ones that stave,Stiles can't categorize it as impatience and waiting because
those things jump back from the forefront on your mind, sometimes often,
sometimes not, because they are events.Scott isn't something that happens.
 
There is wanting, of course. There is having that Stiles is crazed with and
stillcannot wrap his head around- when Scott kisses him like it's the most
natural thing in the world- and it makes him lightheaded, living for something
that he isn't borrowing or stealing or pining after.
 
Stiles does not think about loss because he cannot think beyond it, and not
being able to look forward goes against every rule he's branded into his head
with trial and error and error and error.
 
(It's happened before, the kind of losing that made the ground beneath Stiles'
feet simply no longer exist, and Stiles cannot remember the exact lilt and
pattern of Mom's voice, not anymore, but Scott was there then and he is now,
and-)
 
They're lying in Scott's bed, and the folds of the sheets stiffened with sweat
and wrinkled- crushed- by body mass and the two of them writhing. The mattress
sags, a little, burdened with the sheer weight of their I-love-yousand their
nights and mornings; simple friendship and mutually shared childhoods and The
Now and Forever because there's nothing beyond This.
 
Scott stretches in the glow of Friday evening, and the weakening sunlight
accommodates him, fitting into his dips and soft edges. They're not touching,
in their aftermath, because sometimes it's still so inevitably consuming, how
much they're entrenched in each other, and if there isn't some kind of small,
bearable separation they'll just fuse; them as a unit has always been Stiles'
eternal constant and driving force, and now it's the trigger and the bullet and
the reason, the rays of varying social bonds- best friend, brother, lover- all
wrapped up into something unquantifiable that somehow manages to be the least
dangerous thing in Stiles' life.
 
They're still not touching, when Scott brackets Stiles' body between his knees
and hands and leans in not quite close enough. Stiles doesn't shift his hips
up, doesn't arch his back, and Scott's smile is so, so clear when everything
else is still hazy- a scrunched-up look through a post-coital kaleidoscope.
 
"I'm gonna shower." Scott says, lifting himself up and off, and the bed frame
groans in protest when Stiles is too fucked-out to even consider trying.
 
Stiles doesn't hook his ankle around Scott's leg, then, because it's like a
dare and a spell, when they're not touching, like they're seeing how long they
can before someone gives in, like it's something that's suspended that they'll
break.
 
"Mhm. I'll come with."
 
Scott inclines his head, biting his lip. "Could you wait here? Or do you really
wanna shower?"
 
Stiles raises an eyebrow, waiting on it, because Scott is careful with requests
and reasoning, and Scott's looking at him like he's got a plan that he's
waiting to share with his partner in crime.
 
"I want my clean with your, uhm, your dirty-" Scott starts, and Stiles fills in
the gaps, because that's how they work.
 
"You want- I smell like us when we fuck, and you-wow. Contrast. Juxtaposition.
Go, go, gogogo,shower, make it fast."
 
Scott grins, and it's slow and thick with the clarity of how they geteach
other, inside and out and all around, and he doesn't quite run to the bathroom,
but he's close.
 
(Stiles had been wary of using the word 'fuck', before; it felt like too little
too fast, like it couldn't contain what he and Scott, were, are, will be. But
then Stiles had Scott on his back, and Scott had said oh, fuck me harder,
please, Stiles, Stiles, Stiles-)
 
Stiles curls into the mattress, and he's smiling, and he doesn't know when he
started. It's Friday evening, the weekend spanning forward in front of them
with near-limitless possibilities. They have homework, and the war isn't over
(Stiles isn't sure it could ever be over), but there's a lull, and Stiles knows
everything is pretty fucked up, but there's this- them.
 
So Stiles let's his smile split his face, because he never thought wanting and
having could coexist quite this way, because they've been independent from each
other maybe not mostly, but often.
 
But now, it's Friday evening, and he's wrapped up in Scott's bed, lying where
the mattress is still warm and dented from Scott's body, and he can hear the
spray of the shower and Scott scrubbing his skin. Stiles drifts a little,
ignoring the stickiness of his own skin and the gut-deep gurgle of his
anticipation, his I-love-yousheavy like honey under his tongue. He's waiting,
but he's not impatient, for all that he wants.
 
Scott hovers by the bed when he comes back, and his skin isn't red from the
steam and the scrubbing, but when Stiles rolls onto his side and tugs the towel
from his hips, the spell breaks, and Scott is crawling over him, wet skin and
dark eyes.
 
Scott splays a hand on the swell of Stiles' thigh, and heavy lids and heat
behind his whole form, and all Stiles can focus on is his hand- pushing just-
 
Scott slinks up his chest with the uptick of Stiles' heart, and he kisses him
with brutal single-mindedness, losing the dare. Stiles pulls his hands down
Scott's back, and he doesn't use his nails, but the slow drag is enough.
 
Scott sinks against him, slick skin cold on Stiles' sleep-warm body, breathing
in with his mouth wide open under Stiles' jaw. Stiles rolls his hips up, and
Scott licks a wet, broad stripe up the column of his neck.
 
"Is this what you-" Stiles asks, the red scroll of Scott's tongue exploring the
dip of his clavicles, and when Scott smiles sharp against his collarbone, teeth
nicking, Stiles sees stars.
 
It's frantically slow, Scott curving his palms over Stiles' hips, dragging him
down the bed, face and mouth pushing against the planes of Stiles' body,
tasting him- them-on Stiles' skin. Stiles pulls his fingers through Scott's wet
hair, doesn't quite whine, but Scott can feel it bubbling under his sternum,
curls back and kisses the tip of Stiles' cock.
 
Stiles starts, then, Scott's fingers pressing his hips down, and Scott doesn't
even tease-
 
Scott's been stymied into single-mindedness by the smell of the two of them on
Stiles' skin, and his tongue doesn't stutter when Stiles tips his hips up,
heels against the footboard.
 
"I-" Stiles starts, and he doesn't even know what he's asking, but Scott's
already hiking his hips up like he doesn't weigh a thing, and that's-
 
(Stiles is never sure what turns him on more- when Scott manhandles him, taking
him with his wolf just under his skin, or when Stiles calls the shots, all that
raw force still under Stiles' hands.)
 
Scott's got his face buried in the dark hair under Stiles' navel, getting as
close as he can, rutting against the mattress with abandon. Stiles grabs at
what he can- the hair at the base of Scott's neck, the sheets about his head,
his nerves,reality-
 
Stiles tries not to fuck Scott's mouth (Scott had asked Stiles to fuck him
harder,so prettily- in actual seriousness, and Stiles' brain had short
circuited). He really does. But Scott's pulling the pads of his fingers down
Stiles' hipbones, like he's encouraginghim- and his eyes are definitely
encouraging, while his mouth is otherwise occupied, lips stretched out over,
oh-
 
Stiles tries. He really does.
 
Trying ends up with him squirming under Scott's hands, bucking into the slick
heat of Scott's mouth, stumbling over half-formed words; promises, pleas, I-
love-yous,Scott's name- it's a punched-up, brain-scrambled narrative that skips
and loops through Stiles' bone marrow. 
 
Scott stops suddenly, with obscene wet noise that Stiles has locked in the back
of his head. He smiles, the small bright thing he does when he's particularly
pleased with himself, and Stiles, for his part, doesn't growl or whimper or tug
or threaten. He gasps at the loss, high in the back of his throat, sounding
more desperate than he'd allow with anyone- anyone-else, but this is Scott, and
they've been falling together since Stiles has been cataloguing.
 
Scott kisses the inside of Stiles' thigh with teeth, and Stiles is dizzy with
thinking about how that's going to bruise, hands pushing up against the slats
of Stiles' ribcage. He's pinning Stiles down and keeping him afloat, and when
he splays a hand over the back of Stiles' thigh, tongue dragging over-
 
Stiles contorts,fingers spasming and back bending sharp in the middle- and how
is this Stiles' life,Scott's tongue in his ass on a casual Friday evening?
 
There's heat coiling tight under Stiles' belly, and there's no air left in his
lungs. When he comes, he feels Scott meltagainst him, getting off on Stiles
getting off, and it makes Stiles' head spin.
 
Scott licks the come off Stiles belly, hands petting- cool against Stiles'
skin- and Stiles can't quite form words yet, can't quite get his mouth to work
right, but Scott kisses him sweet like a thanks, and Stiles squeezes the back
of his neck.
 
They lie with Scott sprawled over Stiles' chest, breath curling into the dip
under Stiles' sternum, hearing trained on Stiles' heartbeat. Scott's heavy on
his body, fitting against his lines and hollows, and that's them-two halves,
spanning back and forth on a Friday evening.
 
"I started counting you as my first kiss." Stiles says, and he's not sure
where- why-that comes from, and it hangs over the silence like an old
sweatshirt. Scott looks up under his lashes, chin resting between one of the
slats of Stiles' ribs, and Stiles wonders if they'll ever stop staring at each
other like they're starstruck.
 
"I-" Scott starts, and the tips of his ears are red, and Stiles kisses him like
he remembers he must have, clunky and nervous with his lips chapped from the
wind and sun. Scott's hands are light on his shoulders, like they must have
been, and there's electricity where their mouths are catching.
 
Stiles sits up, and he's careful, trying to draw on something hazy he spent so
much time ignoring, and this is like another spell. Everything feels like
untested deja vu, addictive in its simplicity, and Stiles doesn't dwell on
thoughts of time.
 
They're not going anywhere, with kisses like these- just parts of each other
that they get to figure out, now. They stop, hands on waists and shoulders,
tongues tucked into their own mouths, and Scott smiles like he can't believe
any of it; kisses Stiles on the curve of his nose like Stiles is learning he's
wont to do. Stiles wrinkles his nose on reflex, because it makes Scott laugh.
 
"I'm in love with you." Scott says, and it's easy like stating a fact, but it's
not recitation or repetition, and Stiles wants to wrap himself in it- can,
essentially, if Scott's arms strong around his body are anything to go by.
 
"I'm in love with you." Stiles says, grin cracking across his face. It's a
fault line, sharp with how Scott's rearranged him inside out, and Stiles
doesn't want it any other way.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     hello!!!
     i am
     busy
     often
     but i am glad y'all are enjoying this and i will try to write things
     often!!!
"What time's it?" Scott asks, sometime later, when they're lying on top of the
sheets, not quite touching.
 
Stiles tips his head back, bringing the neon numbers of his alarm clock into
focus. "Like, seven-ish?"
 
Scott rolls over, plucking his singlet off the standing lamp (Stiles had
stripped him as soon as they were alone, Isaac had bolted after ditching his
backpack, rolling his eyes all they way out the door). Stiles watches, on his
side with his arm tucked under his head. Scott bends, rummaging for his jeans
and boxer briefs on the floor, and Stiles watches smooth skin stretching over
vertebrae. There are no scars. 
 
(There's one, on the crest of Scott's left hipbone. They've never talked about
it, but Stiles has touched it with Scott's eyes on him-)
 
"Wanna bring my mom dinner at work?" Scott pulls on Stiles' flannel, and even
unbuttoned, it's too tight around his biceps and shoulders and across his back,
and Stiles smiles into the crook of his elbow.
 
"Yeah, I can drive us."
 
"You're the best, dude. Wanna, like, drive… somewhere, after? You wanna drive
somewhere afterwards?"
 
"Yeah."
 
They're on the hood of the jeep, deep in the preserve. It's a clear night, and
Stiles can see the stars behind the clean silhouettes of the tall, spindly
pines. He can see his breath in the air, too. The moon is a perfect half.
Scott's tucked flush behind him, even if Stiles is the taller one, and he's
warm against Stiles' back. Stiles is wearing Scott's hoodie, since Scott
appropriated Stiles' flannel. It's a little short in the sleeves, but it smells
like Scott's shampoo, and it's soft from his body.
 
"So. You're, like, a True Alpha. Does it feel any different?"
 
Scott hooks his chin over Stiles' shoulder, sighing. "Yeah. It's kind of
scary."
 
Stiles tips his head back, keeping his eyes to the sky. Scott's hands are
folded in the pockets of his- Scott's- hoodie, flat over Stiles' hips. "Like,
how do you mean?" Stiles asks, voice a little small. Sometimes, he feels
helpless. There are too many things that he doesn't understand, too many things
that scare him.
 
"It feels like there's an actual wolf in me. It wasn't like that before." Scott
says, and he's shifted, his face pressed against Stiles' neck.
 
"What does that feel like?" Stiles asks, and it's quiet and low, and he's
facing the sky, but his eyes are squeezed shut. Scott's hands are solid through
the fabric of the hoodie, and Stiles pushes into them, just a little.
 
"Sometimes I'll try to reach for something, and if I'm in a really... emotional
state, I'll almost drop it. Because I don't know my hands anymore. It's like
the wolf parts are lined up with my parts, just under my skin."
 
"What do you do?"
 
"I think about you." Scott says, into Stiles' skin.
 
"What- what does thatfeel like?" Stiles asks, and he's already breathless.
 
"It makes the wolf small again. And it's warm in my chest, like it's sleeping
there." Scott presses a palm over Stiles' chest, pushing the swell of his lower
lip up Stiles' neck, and when Stiles arches his back, he holds him still.
 
Stiles isn't worried about being loud, out here in the woods, when Scott's got
his teeth and tongue on the column of Stiles' neck and his hands under Stiles'
shirt. He grips Scott's thighs, squirms under his hands, and there's a stream
of desperate nonsense coming from his mouth.
 
"Can you- mark up my neck, make everyone know I'm yours? Please, I know I can't
give you any, but I like it when-"
 
Scott pulls back, then, and Stiles whines,contorting against Scott's chest.
 
"Remember when we were talking about- uh, Alpha stuff?"
 
"Uh, Alpha stuff? As in five minutes ago?" Stiles asks, and drops his head back
on Scott's shoulder.
 
Scott blushes, rubbing the back of his neck, and sounds sheepish when he talks.
"So, I have a theory I think we should test out."
 
"Please tell me we can test it out in the backseat, dude. Preferably naked."
 
"Oh,do we have-"
 
"Glove compartment." Stiles singsongs, kind of hysterical with how Scott's
hands are absentmindedly tracing his ribs.
 
Scott smiles then, and it's almost a shy thing, lit up from inside and tinted
by the moon. Stiles twists around and plants one on him them, messy as he tries
not to slide down the hood of the car.
 
"What do you want?" Scott asks, and their teeth catch when he pulls Stiles
closer.
 
"You, always-" Stiles gasps, and Scott curls his fingers under Stiles' chin,
curls his tongue over Stiles' mouth.
 
"So, my theory," Scott starts, hand pressed to the small of Stiles' back as
Stiles straddles him. "I think I can control, when I, uhm- I think you can give
me hickies."
 
"I- you-How? Scott-"
 
"Alphas have more control over healing, so I guess that means-"
 
"That is a super fucking sound theory. Backseat. Now. Now, now, nownownow-"
 
Scott lifts Stiles so easily,holding him up and nudging against his mouth as
Stiles wraps his legs around Scott's waist. It's a cold night, with the dry
leaves crunching underfoot, but they're sharing one breathing space, and Stiles
grins when Scott stumbles a little, after Stiles pushes his hands into Scott's
back pockets. They're in each other's lungs under a half-cut moon, and Stiles
is wanting and having, all at once.
 
Stiles crawls up Scott's body, flat on the backseat, all elbows and knees as he
struggles to ditch his hoodie. Scott tips his hips up, scooting out of his
jeans, and Stiles' flannel is so tightacross his shoulders. There's reverence
in the way Stiles peels off Scott's clothes; slowly, his brows knit like this
body is a new complexity, but it isn't (but it is).
 
It's taciturn, how they strip and curve into each other; Scott baring his neck
and belly, Stiles unsure where he should start (he was almost wanting something
he didn't think he could have, and now it's almost waiting, except it's never
waiting,where Scott is concerned).
 
He bites just under Scott's jaw, and Scott arches into him like he's spring-
loaded. Stiles slots against him, and Scott's encouraging him with a hand still
warm on the small of his back and loud, loudsounds.
 
It's red.
 
It's red, where Stiles bit Scott, and the skin is a little raised. Stiles
licks, then, laving his tongue over the red (red) mark, and Scott moans and
twists under him. Stiles' body is tight with want, and Scott's hands are gentle
and capable where Stiles is all dazed roughness.
 
"I need-" Scott stumbles, a hand flat on the swell of Stiles' ass, and the
necessity of them makes Stiles kiss him hard (kiss him red, lips swollen).
 
"You need?" Stiles asks, grinding his hips down, and there's possibility-they
could do absolutely anything. Stiles would let Scott do absolutely anything to
him, and it should be scary, but it isn't.
 
"Just, keep- keep doing, uhm, more-"
 
Stiles nips at the base of Scott's throat, and his teeth make the skin red
(red) and blotchy. "So this means that tomorrow, there'll be-" Stiles whispers,
and he can't keep the awe from crawling through his vocal chords.
 
Scott nods, short and small, and his pupils are blown out, but Stiles wonders
if he might see red there, if he asked.
 
"What does your Wolf need? Is it the same, sometimes?"
 
"When it's you." Scott chokes out, writhing under Stiles' mouth fused to his
collarbone.
 
Stiles sits back, narrows his eyes, and he feels dizzy with how much he wants,
how much he has.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Stiles sits back because he needs to breathe, deep in his cell structure.
Everything is dark with edges inside the Jeep, all shadow and contour, but the
clean lines of Scott's body are soft invitations. Stiles reaches out with his
fingers, hovering over the mark on Scott's hip.
 
"Can I- here? I mean, leave a hickey?" Stiles' voice is small, now, even if
there's no one else around for a mile. It's small because this is something
they don't talk about, even if it's just between them, still.
 
There's moonlight slanting through the car window, and Stiles stays still when
Scott's pupils eat up the colour in his eyes and his legs shake.
 
"God, yes- Stiles-"
 
Scott slips his name in like he's begging, and when Stiles curls his fingers
over the pale scar under the pale moon, Scott tips into it, whining in the back
of his throat. There are implications, and then there are implications.
 
This is a bite scar, thebite scar. Maybe it's why the sun still rises in Beacon
Hills, with Scott McCall around to save the day. Maybe it's why the nights feel
so dense, like weights settling on their chests. It's the maybe-catalyst of
everything Stiles wishes he hadn't wished for, and everything he didn't even
dare tryto thinking about.
 
This was Peter's trapdoor into Scott's head, the loose floorboard leading under
Scott's skin. Stiles wants to make it his with tongue and teeth, let a purple
stain spread like an antidote. 
 
Stiles curls his spine as slow as he dares, soothing his hands up Scott's
sides. Stiles' skittering cycle of internal narration demands ceremony in the
face of screaming symbolism, and Stiles indulges himself because he knows he's
allowed, now.
 
When Stiles goes for something, he reallydoes. Enthusiasm holding together the
seams of theoretical understanding. He laves his tongue from the dip to the
crest of Scott's hipbone like he's scraping off the dirt of the forest floor
(one fall evening, and the leaves had crunched underfoot, and there had been
red eyes behind the trees and a dead girl neatly in half, like the moon heavy
over the Jeep right now-)
 
Scott bends up at the hips (a half), and Stiles nicks him with his teeth
because it makes him twist through his whole body, toes curling and heart
hammering under Stiles' hands, and that's all it takes to bring Stiles back.
 
"Stiles-" Scott draws out the lone syllable through his teeth, and he spreads
his legs as much as the backseat will allow, legs bent and flush creeping up
his ears under the pale light of the moon. And just like that, it's a dare and
the breaking of the spell, and Stiles is fusing his mouth over the old and new
raised skin, white and red and his,now.
 
"You're mine, right?" Stiles whispers against Scott's skin, dragging a hand up
Scott's cock. "That was from- when, it, you, now we're-"
 
Scott shifts them so easily,hands scrabbling at Stiles' shoulders as he pulls
Stiles onto his lap, half-sitting. "Yours, anything, Stiles-"
 
Stiles has one hand on Scott's dick and the other tight in Scott's hair, and
Scott's eyes are glazed over and his lips are slack, and Stiles knows they're
not gonna make it to the lube and condoms tucked away in the glove compartment.
 
Scott kisses him all soft and adoring, and it's obscene and downright unfair,
how he can kiss like that with Stiles squirming in his lap.
 
There are still old teeth marks on Scott's skin, but Stiles sees red- his red,
and he pushes his thumb against the almost-bruise and rocks forward, looking
for the right angle.
 
"Just like this?" Scott smiles, a broad hand splayed in the small of Stiles'
back, and Stiles is all mixed up, between settling back into the calluses of
Scott's palm or rutting against him with abandon. Scott solves it, though;
pushing Stiles flush against him with one capable hand, and Stiles is
completely lost in the reverence of Scott's mouth on his and the obvious-
 
"Are we ever gonna figure out how to- just, we never make it to... sorry, I-
" Stiles gasps into Scott's mouth, Scott's tongue curling over his lower lip.
 
"Hey, it doesn't- Stiles, this is-" Scott tips his head back, breathes in.
"It's not an event,it's, we-"
 
Everything sort of clicks, then, because Stiles doesn't apply his own thought
processes to himself, but he'll hang on to anything Scott's telling him. Stiles
gets his mouth on Scott's clavicles then, and he's kind of fucking obsessed
with those clavicles, and he's really fucking turned on, like, dials-falling-
off turned all the way on.
 
"-everything, alright? It's you and me, so don't worry about-"
 
Stiles kisses him, then, because he doesn't know what to say, and Scott cradles
Stiles' skull like he's something valuable. Stiles has a hand braced on the
cool glass of the car window, and his eyes are closed because when he sees
Scott looking at him, he feels too much.
 
Scott's kissing back, though, worshipping Stiles' mouth with unabashed, white
eagerness and rolling his hips up brain-meltingly slow. When he drags the base
of his palm over Stiles' cock, Stiles snaps his eyes open, and Scott's eyes are
looking right back, like two glasses of root beer warmed by the afternoon sun,
and Stiles is a little scared by the blooming feeling in his chest.
 
Stiles buries his face in the crook of Scott's shoulder, exploring with his
teeth and tongue, because he's new to mapping theseparts of Scott with
theseparts of himself, because he wants and he has, and it's dizzyingly amazing
and just shy of terrifying. Scott jumps a little when Stiles worries at the
soft skin just above his collarbone, tipping his head back with a soft thud
against the glass.
 
"Just like this." Scott keens high in the back of his throat, hand on Stiles'
back keeping him in place, and hand on Stiles' dick pulling him to the edge.
 
"Anything, right?" Stiles breathes, small and shallow, eyes on the clench of
Scott's jaw when he nods. "I- wanted to fuck you in my car because you're mine,
but when we start with each other, I can't just-"
 
"Stiles,h-holy god-"
 
"I can't stop with you. You have your hands on me and you're looking up at me
and you loveme, and I love you and I haveyou."
 
"I'm yours. You know that, right?"
 
"I-" Stiles starts, and he doesn't finish because there's a squirmy feeling
deep in his gut and red on Scott's neck and Scott's touch on his cock.
 
Stiles comes with his teeth on Scott's lower lip, contorting in Scott's lap.
It's delicious how Scott snaps raw noise into Stiles' mouth, lewd and muffled
with Stiles' tongue.
 
It doesn't take long for Scott to follow, Stiles curved over him with his mouth
open wider than it needs to be, breath fogging up the window behind Scott's
clear, clear eyes. Scott comes with a broad hand spasming on Stiles' back and
his breath hot on Stiles' neck.
 
It's a little later, when they're lying in the back seat with Stiles tucked
under Scott's chin, that Stiles starts feeling nervous about things he would
usually talk to Scott about. So, he tries.
 
"What if I screw this up?"
 
"What do you mean?" Scott asks, earnest for all that his voice is thick with
with a daze. Something flutters in Stiles' chest, knowing that he put it there,
but-
 
"Just, like, us."
 
"You're not going to screw it up, Stiles."
 
"I screw up a lot of things."
 
"I don't think so. Besides, it's us." Scott says, emphasis on them- and it's
that simples, sometimes. It's them. It's always been them. Something loosens in
Stiles' chest, and when he goes in for a kiss, he can't stop his mouth from
smiling against Scott's.
 
"Christ, Scott."
 
"What?"
 
"You." Stiles says, and he runs a finger down Scott's nose, going cross-eyed
trying to focus. "I'm still gonna try to fuck you. Just give me, like, ten
minutes."
 
Scott laughs, then, and it's contagious like the goddamn plague. Stiles settles
into Scott's chest, matching his breathing to Scott's heartbeat and Scott's
fingers in his hair.
 
It takes Stiles seven minutes of drifting behind his eyelids to follow through,
scrambling between the seats and fumbling in the glove compartment. Scott
smooths a hand up the back of Stiles' thigh, and Stiles has to stop and
breathe, with what Scott says next.
 
"If you're comfortable with it, we don't have to use a condom. I'd like to
feel, uhm."
 
"Jesus, Scott-" Stiles breathes, and it's as far as he gets before he's
awkwardly shoving his way into the backseat, pushing a hand between Scott's
thighs and nipping at his mouth. "- of course, I want- Scott. Jesus Christ."
 
Scott's smiling all demure, even as he's tipping his head back and spreading
his legs, and Stiles can never get over how broad his chest and shoulders are,
still soft for all the power under Scott's skin. Stiles gets right between his
thighs, all single-mindedness and seeing stars, and he's three fingers deep
into Scott before he registers the garble peeling off his tongue; how it's
making Scott writhe.
 
"So good for me, Scott, gonna make you come, lick you clean, god, I love you,
love how you're mine, how you know who you belong to-"
 
"-Stiles-"
 
"-anything, Scott, just tell me."
 
"Just," and Scott smiles, then, completely shameless with how Stiles is making
him fall apart, and Stiles has been lost for a long, long time. "fuck me,
please. I like it when you talk."
 
Stiles gives Scott a sloppy, two fingered salute, and it's ridiculous, how they
exist with each other like they always have, even when Stiles has his fingers
slicked and crooked in Scott's ass. Life can take you strange places, Stiles
concludes, with what little of his brain isn't occupied with ScottScottScott.
 
They readjust, Scott complying when Stiles tugs at his hips, pressing a palm
against the car door and pushing his body further down the seat, wrapping his
legs around Stiles' waist and grinning sharp when Stiles hikes one limb over
his shoulder.
 
"I want you." He says, with red on his neck, and Stiles kisses him like he
wants to crawl inside his mouth and stay and stay and stay.
 
It's more than a little awkward, with Scott's heels bracing against the
confines of the vehicle and the back of his head hitting the car door, but his
eyes are wild like a goddamn creature of the night, and it makes Stiles
delirious with how Scott bares his neck for him. Stiles gets his mouth and
hands all over that soft skin, grinding his hips forward as slow as he can
bear, soaking in how Scott's throat vibrates under his tongue, pouring over
choked-off moans and Stiles' name.
 
Stiles wants this to last, because this is way, wayup there on fantasy
fulfillment, but that's kind of why he worried it won't, but Stiles doesn't
dohalf-assed. So he bits his lips and focuses on keeping rhythm, index finger
pushing into his (his) bruise on Scott's hip, shallow thrusts making Scott
beg,and being this possessive over a personprobably isn't healthy, but.
 
"Please touch me, Stiles, Stiles,please, pleasepleasepleaseplease-"
 
And Stiles does, because he knows he could never deny Scott anything, anything
at all. He kisses Scott so, so gently while he jacks him off, and he imagines
how his car must smell like them, how heady it must be for Scott.
 
"Does it smell like us, in here?"
 
"Y-yeah."
 
"God."
 
It doesn't take much longer, after that. Scott's pupils are blown out, and
Stiles feels dizzy with how drawn in they make him, and he buries his face in
Scott's shoulder when he comes, knowing Scott can hear him when he tells him he
loves him, thinks about his come running down Scott's thighs.
 
Scott makes a noise somewhere between a snarl and a sob when Stiles pulls out,
but he stays still, and Stiles licks him from the base of his spine to his
balls, and Scott shouts,caught in the stale air of the car with his heels
digging into the upholstery and his come all over Stiles' hand.
 
Stiles laves it off his fingers with his eyes on Scott, and his taste is all
mixed up with Scott's, and he doesn't know how he's fallen so deep into someone
else, even if Scott has hardly qualified as else, for a long, long time.
 
"I'm kind of fucking obsessed with you, you know?" Stiles says, and his voice
falters a little, but Scott pushes himself up on his elbows and licks his come
off the corner of his mouth, so.
 
"Yeah. Me too, though. About you."
 
Stiles ducks his head and smiles, and Scott curls his tongue over his chin and
tells him he loves him, and Stiles wonders if that will ever not make his heart
jump up in his throat. The search for their respective underwear and pants is
punctuated by shy smiles and wandering hands, and when Scott struggles to pull
his jeans on in the back seat, Stiles pushes the pad of his tongue up Scott's
happy trail all slow, and they get a little sidetracked.
 
"Can we do my bike next?" Scott asks, and his hair's all stuck up, and he's
wearing Stiles' boxers under his jeans, and Stiles wants and has, all at once,
and he's never, nevergetting over how good it feels.
 
"God, yeah."
Scott rubs his neck and smiles all demure like he didn't just have Stiles' dick
up his ass, and Stiles thinks about the marks that'll be there tomorrow, and
the one on his hip, and how it'll show when he lifts his arms, and how it'll
be Stiles', and Stiles is racking up a pretty long list of things he'll never
get over.
Chapter End Notes
     dea (lunarcaustic@ao3, tofixtheshadows@tumblr) and lydia
     (scottinpanties@tumblr) are wicked enablers and dea was like "but
     what if scott used his healing powers for hickey purposes" and i was
     like "wow haha thanks my life is over"
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