Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/652953.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Scott_McCall/Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Ficlet, Porn, No_Dialogue, Character_Study, Introspection, Drama, Smut,
      Friendship, Bromance, Friends_With_Benefits, Drunkenness, Drunk_Sex,
      Underage_Sex, Secrets, Angst
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-01-24 Words: 420
****** Cease to See ******
by Saucery
Summary
     "What we are familiar with, we cease to see." - Anais Nin.
===============================================================================
 
They're never going to talk about this.
That's what Stiles thinks, even as they stumble in and Scott presses him to the
door, eyes a molten gold, because Scott doesn't have to hide himself, with
Stiles. Doesn't have to hide anything.
But they'll hide this from each other, pretend that it never happened, and
Stiles kisses Scott in spite of knowing that, because of knowing that, because
their friendship will be the same.
They're drunk, and they're heartbroken - Scott, because he lost Allison, and
Stiles, because he never had Lydia - and this is okay, this has got to be okay,
because they're the only ones they have.
It's quick and dirty, Scott's dick hot in Stiles's hand with Scott gasping into
Stiles's shoulder. Scott shoots first, his grip faltering around Stiles's cock,
and Stiles ribs him about premature ejaculation until Scott shoves him harder
against the door and kisses him, slick and filthy and wet, kisses him through
Stiles's orgasm, as well.
They're never going to talk about this.
Stiles hasn't been in love with Scott for years, which is why he can even do
this, now, without falling apart afterward; he has Lydia to thank for that, for
saving him, even now, even though she isn't here. Unrequited love is sort of
what Stiles does. At least he doesn't have to do it with his best friend,
anymore. That would suck.
As they stagger to the bed, working off each others' shirts, slipping drunk,
clumsy, curious hands over each other's chests and abs, Stiles's breath doesn't
stutter more than it should, and his mouth parts easily for Scott's tongue, no
hesitation about it, no fear of getting hurt. Scott, hard once again, straddles
Stiles and brings them both off via ragged humping that rubs their dicks
together until they come - and then they kiss some more, and hump some more,
and finally fall asleep, covered in drying spunk.
It'll be sticky, the next morning, and gross, but Stiles doesn't give a damn.
He feels full, for a while, feels warm, with Scott in his arms, his best friend
and his brother, nothing less, nothing more. His shelter in a storm, clichéd as
that sounds. Body familiar through years of tussling and ragging on each other,
but sleek and taut with new muscle, beautiful in a way Stiles can appreciate,
objectively, aesthetically, without getting bent out of shape about it. Without
making more of this than it actually is.
They're never going to talk about this.
And that's okay.
 
===============================================================================
 
                                     fin.
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