Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1959921.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Scott_McCall/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Scott_McCall, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe, Teen_Wolf_AU, season_1_AU, Sciles, Friends_to_Lovers,
      Porn, handjobs, Sex
  Series:
      Part 1 of Jock_Strap
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-07-15 Words: 8898
****** Coffee Break ******
by TruebornAlpha
Summary
     Scott and Stiles didn't meet until high school, Scott the asthmatic
     outcast and Stiles the popular jock who was best friend to Jackson
     Whittemore. Scott doesn't trust the intentions of his rival's best
     friend, but Stiles has his eyes set on the prize.
Notes
     This work was inspired by Loz's amazing AU here and here. We just
     couldn't resist playing in her world! What would it be like if Stiles
     didn't grow up with the boy who taught him how to be kind and Scott
     didn't have anyone who believed in him so hard he learned to believe
     in himself?
See the end of the work for more notes
Art by the amazing Rouvere
Scott fiddled with the hem of his jacket, trying to make it look like he wasn’t
fidgeting at all as he kept sneaking furtive glances over at Stiles. It wasn’t
surprising the guy had a car, he was one of the most popular kids in school,
what was surprising was that he had this car. For someone who hung out all the
time with Jackson and his flashy porche, the boxy little jeep seemed almost
endearing.
He couldn’t figure Stiles out. Anyone who was friends with Jackson was the
enemy, at least according to Erica, and this was his best friend. Being that
close to the source of all douchedome should have rubbed off, who else would be
able to stand Whittemore? Instead, Stiles was almost nice in that weird pushing
the line kind of way. At least he wasn’t outright cruel and never really helped
Jackson slam him into lockers and make his life miserable.  He didn’t have the
right to be so hot either. Isaac said it was because pretty people flocked
together and that must have been true. It was the only reason that explained
how anyone could spend time with Jackson without taking a bat to the face.
This was all the worst decision. Kira was the only one who thought he should go
for it, but she liked pushing him out of his comfort zone and watching him
flail, claiming it was good for him. The rest of his friends didn’t trust this
at all, Jackson’s best friend didn’t just suddenly want to hang out without
strings attached. This was going to end up with him stripped to his boxers and
humiliated on Youtube, but even knowing that, Scott still climbed into the jeep
and sat quietly, putting himself at risk for…for something. Maybe something.
Never in a million years something but still, looking over at Stiles and
smiling to himself, he decided this was the best kind of mistake. “So where are
we going that you haven’t been banned from?”
___
When Stiles told McCall that they’d be studying, the biggest worry he had was
that McCall would bring books. Forty-five minutes after their supposed meeting
time, two large root beers and a nervous tick that looked too much like a snarl
later, Stiles was willing to concede that he had bigger problems to deal with.
He’d gotten dressed for this. He’d buffed his Jeep (or gotten it buffed, same
thing). He’d found the one diner that served little umbrellas in their
milkshakes. It was the stupid sort of thing he thought McCall would appreciate,
and maybe, Stiles could appreciate it, too.
Self-righteous anger was more difficult to maintain before the age of
cellphones. Stiles had stared at a stubbornly blank screen for so long, he
hadn’t noticed the ice in his drink melt.
There was always the chance that McCall had gotten lost or ran into an
emergency, or something else equally - reasonable. Except McCall was the
reasonable sort of boy who’d have sent word. Stiles decided to not be.
Which was how he had gotten McCall bundled into the front seat of his Jeep,
floppy haired and vaguely confused, and he regretted having so much sugar in
his system when he could have had something sweeter. With dry disinterest and
more nonchalance than he really felt, Stiles pointed out, “If you showed up
earlier, you’d already know.”
___
Scott pressed his lips together thoughtfully, unaware of how his face scrunched
when he thought too hard. He rolled one shoulder, never one to hide his
feelings even if it made him seem so very uncool. Kira would be laughing at
him, but Scott never felt like he needed to hide it. “I didn’t really feel like
being a target.” He admitted, voice even and completely casual. “I got enough
of that at my old school when I was living with my Dad. I was kind of hoping to
start over again here or at least not get it quite as bad.” The implication
hung in the air, Jackson’s constant harassment spoke for itself. Please be
worth the risk.
He wanted to ask why someone like Stiles would waste his time with Whittemore.
Stiles was brilliant and funny, always sarcastic and oh so confident in ways
that made the tips of his ears turn red and force him to awkwardly flee
whenever they were trapped in the same room together. He’d said Jackson had
been the only one who’d been able to stand him, Scott couldn’t imagine why
anyone wouldn’t think he was wonderful.
Okay, maybe that was a little too embarrassing. The boy forced his fingers to
be still, releasing their nervous plucking at his jacket sleeve. “I am sorry I
kept you waiting. I was half sure you wouldn’t have shown up anyway.”
___
Stiles took his eyes off the road for a full ten seconds, and really, if they
were in a PSA, they’d be dead already. It was just incredibly difficult to look
away from McCall - a lot of the time. Stiles considered just how all right he
would have been to drag McCall from his home, had the need arisen. He dropped
his hand on McCall’s thigh, instead of going for the gear shift, so transparent
that Scott could shine a light through him.
But this was an experiment. There were still variables Stiles needed to
collect. One of them happened to be the velocity at which blood rushed to
McCall’s face, given any sort of stressor.
"Whatever, you’re making it up to me. Pie’s on you," he countered, squeezing
just so. What Stiles couldn’t control was the way his voice dropped into a
shamed sort of murmur, not the apology McCall maybe deserved, but Stiles didn’t
do apologies. Another important variable would be - how many jackets did Stiles
have to destroy before McCall could only wear denim? (His estimate was 5. It
was a well-educated guess).
"And when I say yes, I mean it." 
And when he had to shift gears, he regretted it.
___
The answer was 0.3 seconds. Brown skin flushed even darker and Scott swallowed
hard, suddenly aware of how loud his heart seemed to beat in his ears. He tried
to remain relaxed, like the touch hadn’t sent him spiraling in hand flapping,
feet stomping, hysterical fanboying on the inside and desperately praying his
body didn’t betray him. There wouldn’t be anything worse than an awkward boner
right now. Maybe if all the blood stayed in his face, he wouldn’t have to worry
about anything else.
“Y-yeah. Pie. That’s fair.” He only stuttered the once and Scott counted that a
win. Somewhere, Kira would be fist pumping at the sky. “So I’m learning. I’m
sorry I doubted you, you’re definitely not as much of a total jerk as I was
afraid of.” Okay, somewhere Kira would be facepalming, Scott too blunt to pull
off any successful type of flirting.
When Stiles shifted his hand, Scott was sure the imprint left behind was
burning a hole right through his jeans. There had to be some kind of permanent
mark left behind, he could feel the weight and the warmth lingering on his
skin. He chided himself, trying not to be quite so shamefully obvious about all
of this. It could still be a trick, though that touch made it all almost worth
it. If this really was some kind of trap set up by Jackson to humiliate him,
Scott wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it through. Alone, he could take that
assbutt but if Stiles was the one who tricked him…”Are we driving all the way
to New York to find a place you haven’t been kicked out of?”
___
Holy shit holy shit abort mission ABORT MISSION-
Stiles mind fizzled unhelpfully as McCall’s tongue rolled over his l’s and his
hands fluttered, and Stiles was going to press that into the backseat of his
Jeep before the night was through. That was a promise. 
"This is not you proving you aren’t a jerkface, dude," Stiles scoffed loudly,
and pushed a little too hard on the accelerator. He made a show of eyeing
McCall up and down, and it wasn’t much of a show. His gaze lingered on McCall’s
collars, like he hadn’t noticed them a million times before, like he hadn’t
thought of what they’d feel like beneath his lips and  teeth. Stiles didn’t
know how they weren’t already in a ditch. "Unless you’re planning on walking."
But he pulled into a Ma’s Diner, flashing neon sign proudly proclaiming that it
needed to be replaced as its N failed to light. It looked like it had seen
better days, and could barely fit in four booths. Still, its chairs were bright
red and checkered tiles were spotless. Stiles parked in the front and dragged
Scott into the booth closest to the jukebox.
It was a happy coincidences that it was the smallest one. It was the product of
a cold and calculating mind that Scott wouldn’t be able to move without bumping
his knees against Stiles’.
"Most places I’m infamous. I’m always on my best behavior here."
___
Scott muffled a squawk, laughing as the jeep shuddered and accelerated
dangerously. All of this was dangerous, a risk that was so uncharacteristic of
Scott McCall. He always pressed up against the line, edging his toes as close
as possible so he could peer over but never took the leap. It was ingrained in
him to be careful, told since he was little how he never measured up. Too dumb
to be one of the smart kids, too fragile with broken lungs to run, too eager to
make friends as a kid that had him labeled the “weird one” before he’d finished
the first grade. Eventually he stopped trying to win them over, burying himself
in comics and fantasy novels, happier to live in quiet daydreams. It wasn’t
until he started at Beacon Hills High that he’d fallen in with his clique, more
of an accident than anything. Boyd had recognized an outcast and had come to
sit with him at lunch without explanation, the rest following suit until they
adopted him into their clan of misfits.
This was well beyond any of his experiences and it was all Scott could do to
keep himself from giggling nervously. He bit down hard on his bottom lip as he
slid into the booth, trying not to think about Stiles’s leg between his knees
or the confident smirk. “This place makes you behave? Wow, they must have one
hell of a milkshake or something if you’re willing to rein it in.” Scott
teased, trying to keep the heat from creeping back into his face. “Unless
they’ve got a douche discount?”
___
Stiles stared at McCall’s red red mouth so long he almost missed that. It hit
him like a smack, jumping a laugh out of him. McCall’s face did that thing
where it made his dimples show, and Stiles had thought about how his smile
would look around his dick more times than he could count.
"Like they’d need an excuse to throw food at Jackson," he snickered, kicking
McCall under the table, and it was an appraised action, but it also wasn’t.
Scott McCall had a sharp mind and sharper tongue hidden under layers of fluffy
curls. He called Jackson a dick to his face, something too many guys on the
lacrosse team were too afraid to do to Stiles’ endless amusement, but he also
said things like, ‘I didn’t really feel like being a target.’
"Look Scott, I’m educating you here." He scoffed, all pompous self-assurance
and slanted smirks. Then he winked, and part of Stiles kind of wished Scott
would punch him for it. "The chocolate peanut butter pie? It’ll change your
life. And you’re gonna pick a milkshake so I can roll you home without
complaints, got it?"
___
"Pie and a milkshake?" Scott smirked, kicking Stiles right back. "I see your
plan. This is all some kind of thing to make me so fat I can’t play lacrosse
anymore, isn’t it? I know exactly what you’re doing." He sat back against the
tacky cushion of the booth, dark eyes gleaming with the promise of mischief. He
was restrained, his nature barely containing his urge to push everything as far
as it would go just to see what would happen. Stiles was just the kind of
trouble he wanted to get into.
"Life changing, huh? I guess I can’t say no to that. It’s kind of a lot of hype
to live up to, you better hope you’re right." It was impossible not to stare at
the pattern of freckles that dusted his skin while they were sitting so close.
His friends already teased that Scott had them all mapped out and memorized,
his furtive glances less subtle than he believed. There were more, tracing down
his back and across his chest, he’d seen them in the locker room when he most
definitely did not try to look no matter what Jackson had said. It was an
accident, he actively tried to avoid Stiles and Jackson at practice, nothing
good ever came from attracting the Captain’s attention. The eyes were even
worse and Scott couldn’t look at them too long without feeling like he was
drowning.
"You can’t go chocolate pie and chocolate milkshake, that’s just asking for
trouble. It’s strawberry for me, dude. Kinda my favorite anyways. You know…just
putting it out there that this whole thing doesn’t really feel very after
school study session to me. Not that I’m complaining, but aren’t there usually
books and stuff?"
___
Strawberry. Stiles made a mental note of that while running through a
convenient image reel in his mind that contained nothing but memories of how
McCall looked when he was putting things in his mouth. It was arranged by how
low McCall’s ridiculous Henley’s hung. Stiles liked to think he had gotten more
subtle since Lydia, but this was a whole new level of worrisome.
"You’ve been studying the wrong way for years, man. I am teaching life," Stiles
argued. This close he could wonder what happened to the doe-eyed boy who
answered Ms. Blake’s questions in mumbles, and could get quietly intense in
Social Studies. He didn’t disappear, he just, he got - more. There was an
intelligence behind that gaze that Stiles wanted to push. He wondered if they’d
still be there when he had McCall on his back. 
Also, he was probably setting himself up for a course in ‘the pitfalls of
eating too quickly,’ but that was part of life, too.
Snorting, Stiles added, “Besides, you sabotage yourself out there. I’ve never
actually seen you standing on field.”
___
 “Ah, life. Yeah, I don’t know anything about that, clearly.” Scott couldn’t
help but roll his eyes, wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He
wasn’t completely hopeless, just 95.7% hopeless. There was always the rare
occasions when he didn’t come off as a complete dork, though that tended to
happen more by accident instead of when he tried.
The lacrosse comment had him squirming, slightly uncomfortable. He’d practiced
all summer by himself trying to get better, psyching himself up to make first
line. There wasn’t much else to do except play video games or read and his mom
always tried to throw him outside for at least a few hours to make sure he
didn’t turn into a hermit. Scott always figured that even with his asthma,
there might be a chance he could make it if he just tried hard enough. Belief
didn’t seem to pay off when he spent all his time with his butt warming the
bench, but he’d tried and he’d keep trying. He didn’t even like lacrosse
anymore, the only reason he joined was that he thought it might finally be a
way for him to make friends. What a joke that turned out to be. Now, he was
just too stubborn to quit, pushing back for his right to stay the harder people
like Jackson tried to make him give up.
“I’ll get there, don’t worry.” He said, rolling his lip between his teeth.
“I’ve been putting in a lot of time practicing, I’ll play one of these games. I
just have to convince coach.”
___
Stiles had seen Scott wear his heart on his sleeve, and once he had, he’d never
stopped looking for it. He couldn’t stop the way his eyes widened as he tried
to fit as much of his foot in his mouth as he possibly could, and that was new.
With Jackson, it was a constant competition to say the worst thing possible in
any given situation, a war that showed no sign of ending. 
"Hey no I didn’t mean-" That you sounded like a dying hyena, Roscoe’s had
better days, like we should have an ambulance on speed dial. Stiles bit down on
his tongue and had to fight to stop himself from reaching out and wiping the
gleam off Scott’s lips. The waitress saved him from certain defeat. Stiles
cleared his throat and plowed through their order. Strawberry, he remembered.
and looked at Scott’s mouth.
It seemed an age before Stiles could risk opening his mouth again. This was
what sheepishness felt like. “We could practice some time, if you like. If
you’re not doing anything.”
And that veered too close to babbling for his liking. Stiles thought about the
sort of people he usually approached for dates. They were few and far between,
but he wouldn’t have taken any here. 
___
The boy tipped his head, studying Stiles quietly as if trying to decide if the
offer was genuine. He didn’t mean to be so suspicious, but how many times did
your amazingly awesome not-so-secret crush invite you to a little one on one
practice? Experience had taught him that this was a bad decision, but he’d
already taken a risk and nothing terrible had happened yet.
He was still too trusting, too willing to see the good in people. That went
double for people who made him stumble over his own feet just by looking at
him. His whole face lit up, beaming at the other boy and so freaking proud of
himself that he hadn’t started bouncing. “You’re gonna give me some pointers,
Stiles? Okay, you’re on. I’d love to get some extra practice in and it sounds
like fun.” Scott wanted to tease, but he wasn’t sure how far he was allowed to
go or what lines he shouldn’t cross. He settled instead for turning that smile
on the waitress as she set the milkshakes in front of them, making sure to
thank her.
“To life lessons?” He quirked an eyebrow and saluted with his milkshake. “This
all better be as good as you said, you’ve got my hopes up now.”
___
Stiles wouldn’t have minded seeing Scott bounce. The guy just seemed so damn
earnest. Stiles expected some sort of Earnest Fairy to come out of the sky and
smack him on the head for not matching Scott’s level. And yet it had him
preening, posture just a little straighter, grin a few watts too high. He was a
few seconds away from patting himself on the back. Good save. Inviting Scott to
throw a ball around a few times was an achievement. It felt like a bullet of
cotton candy had crashed through his teeth, and Stiles kind of loved sugar. 
He thanked the waitress when she put down their drinks and tried not to think
about the way Scott beamed like she’d solved world hunger. They were milkshakes
for fuck’s sake, milkshakes and a really good pie, but still. He kicked Scott
under the table, a little more carefully than last time and let his leg rest
where it lay. The position was less than comfortable, and not at all natural,
but he had legs long enough to fake it. 
"This’ll teach you to doubt me," Stiles scoffed, radiating certainty as he
raised his glass in answer.
He didn’t care if Scott wasn’t talking about milkshakes anymore. That was a
promise. As he pulled his drink closer to chew the end of his straw, he paused.
Stiles wanted to see what Scott looked like when he tried something new.
By the end of the night, Stiles had come to the considerable, if not altogether
unsurprising realization that making Scott McCall smile had become a thing.
Somewhere along the line he’d stopped being McCall and started being Scott, and
that was okay, because Scott’s laugh was brighter anyway. 
Roscoe sputtered to a halt when they finally parked in front of the McCall
household. Stiles had nearly fallen asleep more times than he cared to count on
the road, but now, his heart did uncomfortable blackflippy things that had him
tapping too fast on his steering wheel.
"So - Thursday?" He asked, like he didn’t remember the exact time and day
they’d set aside for lacrosse practice. 
___
Was this a date? Was practice a date? Were they dating? …how the hell did
people actually date other people?Scott smiled, calm and parrying back each
sarcastic snarky comment while he quietly fell apart inside. Dating was one of
those things that happened to other people, it got passed along like an STD
among the popular crowd but seemed to skip right over him. Scott felt like this
was something he should know, it was supposed to be obvious if you were going
out. Was it always this complicated? This really should come with a rule book.
“Yeah, Thursday. I can’t wait, you’ve got to show me all your best moves,
dude.” Scott leaned closer, arm brushing against Stiles and suddenly hyperaware
of the way they touched and how easy it would be to just close the distance and
kiss him. He could do it, it wouldn’t be that hard and when was he ever going
to get a better chance. He had wanted a risk, now was his chance to finally
take it. Scott got right up to the line, toes edged up to that boundary and
ready to jump…but faltering at the last minute like always. “I-I’ll see you
then?”
Ugh, really smooth, Scott. Freaking loser.
___
At one point in the evening, Stiles had been severely tempted to challenge
Scott to a curly fry eating contest. That was not date material. That was
not anything material. Except he’d wanted to, and he’d wanted to press Scott
into the booth’s stupidly bright red upholstery and see how dark he could get
his cheeks. 
Stiles didn’t know what to make of that. So he backed up as quickly as he
could, and went back to a more harmless, but tried and true method of - this.
It didn’t stop him from wanting to do things to Scott’s mouth. It didn’t stop
one of those things from being ‘stuff curly fries in it.’ That wasn’t a
euphemism. Stiles didn’t know what that meant.
He knew what Scott meant, though, when he turned towards him. He knew enough to
find how Scott hadn’t touched his seat belt endearing, how it wasn’t a
practiced move. It left something twisting in his gut that Stiles didn’t want
to identify, but when Scott stuttered, Stiles wouldn’t let him leave.
He cupped Scott’s cheek, and traced the skin under his eyes. It wasn’t a
warning. It was certainty that Stiles was going to get everything he wanted.
He kissed Scott gently, barely more than a brush of lips, just enough to learn
what he felt like this close. Then he leaned out of his seat with the click of
a latch, carefully pushing Scott into his chair, but his touch never deepened. 
"Yeah… Thursday."
Everything beneath his skin itched for more.
___
Oh. Scott was almost positive that his heart was going to beat right out of his
ribs when Stiles cupped his face but there wasn’t time to have a meltdown when
the other boy was leaning in so close and was kissing him and…oh.
If this is what kissing was really like, he sort of loved it. The touch of lips
was feather light and he wanted so much more. He wasn’t sure if it heat was
from Stiles’s breath between them and the closeness of his body or the sudden
rush of blood beneath his own skin that left him feeling fevered. This wasn’t
happening, there was no way in hell this was actually happening. People like
Stiles Stilinski didn’t just… they didn’t even notice people like him, let
alone kiss them! He was one of the most popular kids in school, he hung around
with Jackson and Lydia who ran the Beacon Hills High social hierarchy with a
teenaged iron fist. The beautiful people herded together, they weren’t supposed
to notice people like him or worse, they did notice and Scott would spend the
next few days nursing bruised shoulders from being shoved into lockers.
It was the unspoken rule of high school. The cliques didn’t mix, everyone knew
their place.
Scott was so ready to finally break the rules, all he needed was someone who
could push him. He ran hesitant fingers through the back of Stiles’s hair
(finally! Just like he’d imagined it) and pressed closer for another kiss,
still chaste for all its bubbling enthusiasm. Thursday seemed like ages away.
___
And Scott surged forward, so Stiles had to kiss him again. Really, it was all
Scott’s fault. He kissed him once, twice, three times, close-mouthed and sweet,
sweeter than the milkshakes they’d guzzled down, and it drove Stiles crazy. He
thought about taking Scott apart with his tongue and lips, thought about how
much rougher he could be, and couldn’t stop the shivers that sped down his
spine. 
 He traced his knuckles down Scott’s cheek, dragging them over his throat until
his fingers could curl behind the other boy’s nape. Stiles urged him closer
still, and he’d dreams that started just like this. Blunt nails dragged across
Scott’s neck.
"Ever kissed anyone before?" He asked, a stab of shame to build sympathy.
Stiles refused to think about who taught him that. He leaned closer so his
cheek could brush against Scott’s. He was so warm. Stiles wanted to taste him
everywhere.
___
Scott debated his answer, distracted by how close Stiles was and the feel of
his cheek. It wasn’t for his pride, he didn’t care what people thought about
him and his inexperience, but he suddenly found himself wondering if Stiles
would care. Would it put him off to know that all of Scott’s romantic
experience had to do with that one time he played Persona 4?
Honesty won out and he breathed a quiet “no” against Stiles’s skin. He could
practically see Kira in the back of his mind shaking her head at how hopeless
he was.  He was keenly aware of how he twisted his fingers into the shoulder of
Stiles’s shirt and brave enough to press his mouth against the other boy’s
neck.
“I-I should go.” Scott stuttered, making no motion to free himself from the
seatbelt and escape. There was something about Stiles that made him want to
crowd right to the edge and leap without hesitation just to impress him. It was
strange to care so much about what someone else thought about him.Convince me
not to leave.
___
A sense of proprietary glee washed over Stiles’ senses, something vicious and
greedy and not at all ashamed. He watched the way the other’s boy flushed,
still feeling the warmth of his mouth against his skin. Scott had given
permission by not pushing him away, and all Stiles wanted to do was claim. His
hands ran down Scott’s chest, ghost down the spaces inside his jacket and
ghosting their way back up. 
No.
It seemed like every fiber in his being rallied in protest. Stiles’ grip
tightened. He couldn’t take his eyes off Scott’s, darker than night and stunned
wide. Scott was already halfway his, and he wasn’t the sort to give up his
toys. 
"You should," he whispered, and dragged his fingers over Scott’s pulse. Stiles
kissed him like he wanted to tear him apart, demanding entrance with a wicked
tongue and insistent lips. He licked over Scott’s teeth, tasted sugar on his
tongue. It was over too soon. Stiles wanted to map out every inch of him, drag
out every sound Scott could make.
This was a good a place to start as any.
He unbuckled Scott’s seat belt for him.
___
Scott was sure there must be electricity running though his nerves, everything
sparked at the barest touch of Stiles’s hands down his chest. Hand him a couple
of wires and he could have powered all of Beacon Hills. He was breathing too
hard, lips parted to try and catch his breath like he’d been sprinting and it
was a mistake that Stiles exploited… such a mistake.
The boy couldn’t stop himself from moaning into Stiles’s mouth, so far past
being embarrassed. This was really friggin happening, stuff like this didn’t
happen! He had always assumed he was going to die a virgin and he was not going
to accept that. His mouth went dry as Stiles reached over him to unbuckle the
seat belt, licking his lips and surprised he could still taste the other boy.
He wanted more and leaned in to steal another kiss, experimentally swiping his
tongue along the top of Stiles’s mouth.
For fuck’s sake, stop hesitating! He took a running leap and vaulted himself
straight into trouble. “My mom works nights at the hospital a lot.” Scott said,
wincing at how strained his voice sounded. Calm down, play it cool. “So if you
wanted to, like… come in for a bit? That would be okay with me.”
___
Stiles was quickly learning that underestimating Scott McCall was a bad idea.
It felt like the ground had shifted after him, and Stiles could only focus on
how he hadn’t planned for this to happen. And how he really, really wanted to
say fuck-it-all and see how Scott looked spread out on his bed. He wanted to
see if he could make Scott’s voice sound a lot worse.
"Yeah-? Oh yeah. Yeah that sounds good." He blurted, stumbling over his own
words, and normally he saw these things coming. Normally he knew exactly why
they would. There were better things to do than dwell. He tugged Scott by front
of his jacket and kissed him until Stiles saw stars.
If Scott had an asthma attack now, Stiles would punch something.
When he got out of the Jeep, his knees buckled. Walking in a straight line was
a lot harder than he’d expected.
___
He was dying and loving every second of the torture. Scott kissed him back,
following his lead and trying to learn all those little tricks Stiles could do
with his mouth that sent shivers down his spine and stole the air from his
lungs. It was a little uncoordinated, a little sloppy, but with his enthusiasm,
Scott was a quick learner.
Wow.
The boy was grinning, nervous and excited and trying so hard not to let Stiles
see the flailing loser on the inside. It was Stiles, Stiles! The guy he’d been
secretly and not-so-secretly crushing on since he’d moved back in with his mom
and started at BH High School. The one his friends kept teasing him about when
it was a little too obvious he was staring at the other boy’s mouth or trying
so hard not to make changing in the locker room awkward. Jackson might have
been right calling him a creep but he really had been trying! You weren’t
supposed to crush on the bully’s best friend, but it was so hard when Stiles
would throw his head back and laugh and Scott wanted to be the one who could
make him lose it like that.
Scott fumbled with the door, mentally swearing at his clumsy fingers as he
finally managed to get the door open. He groped for the light switch, then gave
up and groped for Stiles instead.
___
The more Stiles saw of Scott the more he wanted, and he hadn’t seen anywhere
near enough. With after practice showers that seemed like a fucking crime.
Stiles was going to make up for it, in every way he knew how, if he had a say
in this. 
Scott smiled, and Stiles didn’t know if he wanted to buy him a puppy or bend
him over his Jeep and take him with half their clothes still on. It was very
confusing.
"Nice house. Very- house…" Stiles didn’t get much more out, some halfhearted
attempt at small talk knocked on its back and buried six feet underground
because oh this was how they were playing. This was exactly how they were
playing, and Stiles hadn’t been this excited since Serenity was announced.
Scott was on him, and there was more excitement. All at once, he spun them
around, pinning Scott to the door. He dragged Scott’s hand down, guiding it
over his hips and waist to settle on the clasp of his jeans before kissing him,
long and low and sweet, guiding his tongue with teasing flicks. 
He wanted that light switch. He wanted to see Scott fall apart.
"You’re really really hot," he blurted out, and genuinely thought that was
smooth.
___
He hit the door with a soft grunt and a nervous flutter in his stomach. Scott
surrendered under Stiles’s mouth, the willing student and so very eager to
follow his lead. His hands hesitated, fingers curled around the clasp of
Stiles’s pants until he suddenly laughed. “You think I’m hot? Dude, you’re… I-
I… seriously?”
There was nothing hidden about the way Scott looked up at him, eyes bright in
the shadows. The fear and adoration was clear, a terrified sort of reverence
like he wasn’t sure if this was a dream or a trick but he wanted, he wanted so
much that he was willing to risk everything. There was a sudden burst of
confidence at knowing the amazing Stiles Stilinski thought he was hot (holy
fuck!) and he unbuttoned the other boy’s pants with a smirk.
Scott ran his hands over Stiles’s crotch, breath catching to feel him hard
wondering what it would feel like to have someone else’s dick in his hands or
what he could actually taste like and oh my god. He tamped down on a hysterical
giggle he could feel threatening to escape, sliding his hand inside and pulling
Stiles’s cock free. “Please.” He didn’t mean to say it, the word forcing its
way free as a sigh. 
___
Lights flooded the room and Stiles couldn’t regret. He kind of loved it.
Scott looked like the sweetest sort of wicked, and Stiles didn’t know what to
do. His breath caught in his throat, his head spinning with desire. He slipped
a leg between Scott’s pushing them even closer and forcing the other boy to
spread. Oh God, he wanted to do this at least twice.
Scott’s palm almost felt too hot, and Stiles shoved him into the wall and
kissed him like he wanted him to break. He bucked his hips, thrusting against
his partner’s hand. He was supposed to have a speech here. A ‘We can take it
slow’ sort of thing that was nothing more than pretty bullshit. ‘We can wait,’
and ‘We’re just friends’ fell in with that, too.
He tugged at Scott’s jeans, undoing them with deft fingers and sliding them
down his hips, barely pulling away so they could drop to his knees. He pressed
them together, slotting into place and using every inch of his height to his
advantage. He wouldn’t stop kissing Scott. He wouldn’t give him a chance to
breathe, fingers curling eagerly around his thick shaft, coaxing him to
attention.
"Get your hand wet," he whispered, tugging Scott’s ear between his teeth. "Use
your mouth."
Stiles was going to wreck him. 
___
Breathing was overrated, all he wanted to do was focus on the way Stiles’s
tongue played with his mouth. Even with the sudden light, his eyes were dark
and dilated. Was this moving too fast? It wasn’t like being a virgin meant
anything except that he was embarrassingly aware of how short this might last
if he didn’t rein it in. They always said the first time was terrible, but how
could it be terrible with Stiles’s hand wrapped so perfectly tight against his
cock that he couldn’t stop the jerking thrusts against him.
Scott hissed softly at the feel of teeth, entire body breaking out in
goosebumps. Glancing down, he wondering just how he could better use his mouth,
but he didn’t want to lose the friction that was rapidly eroding any ability to
string his thoughts together. He spat on his hand, stroking it back over
Stiles’s cock and surprised at how different it felt than his own. The weight
was different, the slight curve to it, the trace of veins and the way slick
precum dribbled across back backs of his knuckles. He stopped, bringing his
hand back up to his lips to lick the precum from his skin, just to know what
Stiles tasted like. Everything was new and Scott was fascinated.
It was like an experiment. He knew that he liked his grip firm and that he
twisted around the sensitive head just so, trying to see if Stiles’s liked it
too. Was it too fast? Too slow? Did he need more fricti- “Aah!” Scott’s brain
buzzed and he rutted against the other boy. Whatever this was, this was the
thing he liked now.
___
Stiles barely gave Scott room to move, pinning him so thoroughly against the
door like he was afraid he’d disappear. A ragged exhale shook his bones, and
that wasn’t fair. That was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, and Stiles wasn’t
supposed to be this far gone. This was supposed to be a kink in his system,
maybe two, maybe five, maybe he wanted to tie Scott to his bed and never let
him up but Jesus. This wasn’t fair. Scott felt so good.
He moaned, long and low, claiming kiss after kiss. He lapped down every sound,
every whimper, sucking Scott’s tongue into his mouth. He grabbed a fist full of
Scott’s hair, forcing his head up, demanding more access. He dragged his teeth
over his partner’s soft soft mouth, leaving him wet and raw.
"Stay," he pressed into Scott’s skin, licking a wet stripe down his neck. He
sucked dark skin between his lips, tasting sweat before biting hard enough to
bruise. Everyone was going to know what Scott had been doing the next day, and
there was a whole list Stiles wanted to fuck through.
He guided Scott’s hand clumsily, too busy mapping out the crevices of his
throat, and why did Scott still have clothes on why was he still wearing his
stupidly stupidly hot jacket God?! Stiles lined up against him, Scott’s cock
throbbing against his own as he fisted them together, stroking and thrusting
and it was good so good so hot scream Scott please-
Stiles teeth bit down, hard enough to break skin as he came. He panted hard
against Scott’s skin, stroking out every last drop of cum. He covered them both
with it, phenomenally indifferent to the mess he was making. His head thudded
heavily on the door when he was done, but he could still whisper, “You wanna
clean me up, Scotty?”
If Scott had limits, Stiles kind of wanted to wreck them all.
___
“F-fuuuck.” Scott dimly thought he was saying something, but the words were
lost in Stiles’s mouth.  His body bucked and writhed, gasping as his head was
yanked back and he never thought being rough would feel so good. Stay. If Scott
had a choice, being fucked to death against the front door seemed like a pretty
awesome way to go.
He moaned as bruises were written across his skin, sure that his legs would
have given way if it wasn’t for Stiles’s weight pinning him in place. One hand
groped for purchase, curling around the back of the other boy’s neck to pull
him closer. His red and swollen mouth panted against Stiles’s ear and he
thrusted hard into that tight grip. There was no pretense of a rhythm, just a
desperate rutting against his friend’s (was this friendship?) cock and lost in
how good it felt, how perfectly they fit together, how he needed more, was
begging, pleading for it.
Pain spiked through his nerves as bliss raced through him, the mix leaving him
screaming as he came, spilling thick between them. He couldn’t remember ever
coming so hard. He liked to consider himself something of an expert on the
subject, a lonely kid definitely had enough practice but holy hell… Scott went
limp, sticky cum smeared hands clinging to Stiles’s shirt as he tried to keep
breathing. His heart was beating too fast, his lungs constricting as he edged
into an attack, but he tried to will his body not to betray him. Not now! Could
he be any more freaking embarrassing?
This counted as losing your virginity even if they hadn’t actually stripped or
made it to a bed or even the couch, right? Scott was going to count it
regardless.
Stiles spoke and it was like Scott had to learn how to breathe all over again.
“Y-yeah.” He laughed, wheezing harder than he meant to. “Yes. God, yes. You
can’t go home like this.”
___
"That’s not- Um."
That’s not fair. That’s not what he meant. That even anywhere close to what he
meant. That’s not fair. 
Stiles didn’t know how that was endearing, but it was. It had no right to be.
It was. Scott looked like Stiles was something shiny and new, and Stiles was a
sucker for shameless adoration. Scott also looked like he’d stepped right out
of a porno, so that didn’t hurt things at all. Stiles kissed him, and smiled
the entire time, holding on too tightly and smearing cum against Scott’s bare
thighs. It was easy to pull him close. Stiles didn’t think about how easy. It
just worked. 
Scott was so responsive and eager and loud, and Stiles wanted to do it again,
holy shit. Stiles wanted to do that now.
"You gotta bedroom, dude? We can actually make it there this time," Stiles
said, grinning shamelessly, happy to take full responsibility of everything.
Then he noticed something wasn’t quite right. Then he noticed the way Scott
heaved. "Scott?"
He didn’t even have the chance to tuck himself in. All at once, Stiles was
ushering them into the house, kicking off his pants as he went. It was either
that or trip over them. He all but shoved Scott into his couch, wondering just
for a moment, how similar this was to a panic attack. 
"Where’s your inhaler?" He demanded, tone sharpened with more concern than he
should have been feeling. What he should have been feeling was post-orgasm
awesome and the shape of Scott’s mouth. He hovered over the other teen, looking
around the room for a large blinking sign that proclaimed: Inhalers.
___
“I-it’s okay.” He huffed, trying to reassure Stiles but not able to catch his
breath enough to speak. It wasn’t a full blown attack, his chest was tight, but
he could still breathe. Scott gestured towards his backpack, laugh turning into
a coughing fit as he fumbled with the zippers. Could this be any more
embarrassing? So much for trying to impress Stiles, he could feel his cheeks
burn from more than lack of oxygen. One quick hump up against the wall and he
was scrabbling for his inhaler.
Scott wiped his hands on his shirt, shaking the inhaler and taking a hit. He
could feel the easing in his lungs immediately, leaning back against the couch
and slowly exhaling. Asthma attack and half naked, not even the normal half.
This was kind of a nightmare, he was almost positive he’d had this dream
before. He took a slow breath, testing his control and was pleased that he
didn’t start coughing again.
“Hey…” Scott smiled up at the other boy. “See? Not a big deal, I’m used to it.
Don’t worry about me.” He reached out, snagging Stiles by the front of his
shirt and tugging him closer until he had to straddle him on the couch. He
really should have been more worried, but the look on Stiles’s face had him
laughing at how ridiculous everything was. What a way to lose your virginity to
the hottest guy on the lacrosse team, this was what he got for trying to be
sexy. He should just learn to accept the fact he was an awkward dork in every
part of his life. When he told his friends, he’d have to leave out this part
and maybe add in some exploding narwhals and robots attacking. “I like to live
dangerously?”
___
If he had to drive to the hospital without pants, Stiles was going to be
seriously, seriously pissed off. Or so he liked to think. More than likely,
he’d panic and run a bunch of red lights. He already did that without an
emergency to motivate him. Scott was red in the face, but he could still smile
so brightly, and fuck this shit, Stiles was going to start packing inhalers
with his condoms. “You loser!”
He covered Scott’s body with his own, all but tackling him to the couch to kiss
him on his mouth. Stiles pulled away a second later, face twisted in
disapproval as he tried to lick away the taste of medicine. His shoulders shook
as he laughed, and never let it be said that Stiles was not resourceful. He
kissed his way down Scott’s jaw, revisiting the bruises he’d left across his
throat, and doing a manful job of not giggling.
“Most people chase lions, you animal,” he snickered, making his way back up
Scott’s face, careful to work around his pretty lips, but his hands wouldn’t
stop fluttering over his partner’s frame. He was nervous. He couldn’t help it.
He was good(ish) at handling his medical issues. Other people’s problems were
just that – other people’s problems.
He couldn’t stop fawning over Scott, his shirt clinging to his back
uncomfortably and one of his legs falling asleep where he’d dropped, in his
haste to make sure he wasn’t going to kill the other teen. “Oh God I almost
fucked you to death, dude.”
___
“Yeah you did.” Scott didn’t sound upset, more amused by his brush with
disaster than anything with just the tiniest bit of cockiness at the thought.
“It would have been kind of an epic way to go. You could put that on your sex
resume, who is gonna say no to a guy that literally fucked someone to death?
That’s quite a lot of responsibility you’re packing in your shorts, you have to
be really careful with it.” If he was going to be a loser, then he’d be a full
on loser. There wasn’t much worse than having an asthma attack from sex, why
bother trying to act cool now.
Scott gave a quiet groan at the feel of Stiles’s mouth dragging across his
skin, running his own hands underneath his shirt and up the nobs of his spine.
There was muscle there, Stiles did his best to hide it, but Scott had noticed.
He noticed everything when it came to Stiles. Maybe he tried to hide it because
he was friends with Jackson who was such an exhibitionist when it came to his
body. The Captain liked showing off and he liked when people watched him, but
Scott liked the feel of these muscles moving under soft pale skin better.
“He was right, you know. Kind of.” Scott admitted quietly. “Not totally, I
wasn’t creeping all that much. I swear I was trying not to, but it’s hard not
to notice the hottest guy in school.” Be brave. He slid his hands down, cupping
Stiles’s ass with a grin and wiggling his hips as well as he could in this
position.  “Lions are boring, I like things that are riskier.”
___
Holy shit, McCall had a mouth on him, and Stiles could appreciate it even more
now that he’d spent so much time mapping out every inch of it. Stiles laughed
until he snorted, caught up in a whirlwind of Oh-shit-there-goes-sexy, but it
didn’t matter because he was doing something right. He could usually tell when
he made people like him. Being around Jackson and Danny so much had taught him
well. With Scott, though, he was half-convinced that the doe-eyed boy had been
dropped in the head.
That was perfectly fine because Stiles would kiss him anyway. 
"I’m armed and dangerous," Stiles grinned, lifting an arm to flex
exaggeratedly, snickering like the loser Scott so obviously was. Stiles really
liked kissing him though. He’d hoped the taste of asthma meds would deter that,
but they hadn’t yet. He should have been a lot more worried than he was.
Then Scott opened his mouth, and Stiles’ world slowly crashed because damn,
this kid had it bad.
"Scott," he started, tasting the way the name rolled off his tongue. He stroked
up and down the boy’s thigh, pulling him closer. This was bad, probably. Stiles
knew Scott liked him, but the kid was making little heartfelt speeches and
smiling like Stiles cared more than he did. Stiles didn’t. He really didn’t. He
just wanted something, and this was where he should’ve said, it was fun but
that was it.
"You really gotta get out of your clothes. At least lions are naked."
___
Scott rolled his eyes and grinned. “Yeah, you’re definitely packing, dude. I’m
super impressed, I’ll bet you can bench press your weight, right?” He was
totally complimenting him, no trace of sarcasm or snark. Nope. He’d never do
such a thing. He also totally didn’t want to run his tongue across those
muscles either or see how they looked tense and sweaty and…
“Cats aren’t really my thing, though the naked part I can do.” He reached
behind his head, pulling his shirt off and flinging it across the room. All
that extra practice over the summer had paid off. He might be an uncoordinated
asthmatic, but he’d pushed himself as hard as he could until he found actual
muscle. His mother worried, especially when he hooked a chin-up bar in his
bathroom doorway, but he was going to play this season and was willing to put
in the work. All part of the plan when his Dad left for San Francisco and he
moved back in with his mom. A new start, a new chance to be something better in
high school. He wasn’t going to be a loser anymore, okay, he wasn’t going to
be justa loser anymore.
His body was aching to respond with all the eager lust of a teenager and Scott
was so far from caring that he was going to ruin his couch or have to explain
any of this to his mom. This was the best worst idea he’d ever had. “I don’t
have, um, I don’t have any… you know, protection.”
___
Stiles would have protested over just who was packing except he was too busy
whistling, “Holy crap, McCall, where’ve you been hiding?”
He was pretty sure Scott answered. Scott’s answer might have even been
important, but everything else seemed to pale in comparison when Stiles had the
option to shimmy low to paint wet stripes across the other boy’s chest with his
tongue. He kissed over toned abs, teeth grazing just over Scott’s belly button.
"Lions got nothing on this.” He beamed up at Scott, his warning falling on
careless ears. It was hard to be bothered, when Stiles was too busy trying to
get hard. 
"Oh…" Stiles murmured, rubbing a cheek against Scott’s hip bone, long legs
tucked under himself clumsily as he peppered tanned skin with kisses, and it
was nice here, right between Scott’s legs, so close to so many things he wanted
to taste. Stiles licked his lips. “That’s cool. I can get creative.”
He took Scott apart inch by inch. He tore him down, then put him back together.
It was becoming Stiles’ favorite thing in the world. Scott was so responsive,
so eager, loud and shameless and Stiles loved to make him scream. They had the
night. Stiles brought Scott off again and again, with his fingers and tongue,
and at one point, the blunt side of a hair brush. They got to the bedroom
eventually, with legs that felt boneless and after a halfhearted attempt at
cleaning up. Stiles left only once to move his jeep out of the driveway to
somewhere less blatantly obvious, wearing nothing but Scott’s old pajamas.
In the morning, he would wake, tucked into a bed meant for one with half his
limbs aching in protest, but being late for school had never been so worth it.
End Notes
     This is an ongoing collaborative work/RP!
     You can find Tmautog's awesome fics on tumblr and keep up with this
     story here
     You can read Rune/TruebornAlpha Here and find her on tumblr at
     Runicscribbles
     Art by the amazing Rouvere
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!