Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/652257.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Scott_McCall/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Scott_McCall, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Mutual_Masturbation, Pre-Canon
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-01-24 Words: 3047
****** Summer Fever ******
by dizzzylu
Summary
     What's a little mutual masturbation among friends?
Notes
     Written for round two of stop_drop_howl, for the prompt grass stains.
     I warn for underage, but I would like to clarify that both boys are
     underage here, around 12 or 13. I've always wanted to write some pre-
     series Scott/Stiles, with them messing around and trying to figure
     things out, and this prompt proved to be the perfect opportunity. I
     hope you enjoy it! BIG thank you to akadougal for the speedy beta!
     ♥♥♥
As they approach the end of their seventh grade year, Scott and Stiles make a
pact: no more spending the summer lazing around in the shade, playing with
their Gameboys or daydreaming about how life will be as the big dogs on campus.
This summer is the summer they intend to get serious about lacrosse, so that
their transition from eighth to ninth grade -- from peewee lacrosse to the
junior varsity team -- is as effortless as possible.
They vow to run two miles every morning, to stop by the playground and use the
park's jungle gym to build up their arms and shoulders, to practice with their
equipment every day, rain or shine.
The reality of the situation is a little less enthusiastic.
To be fair, Stiles didn't plan for it to be the hottest summer on record for
the state of California. And he does have all that delicate pale skin to take
care of.
But on those rare days when the temperature manages to dip below eighty, Stiles
has Scott up bright and early; running, eating a square meal, dragging himself
back and forth across the monkey bars.
Stiles does it all, too, though he doesn't quite yet have the shoulder strength
Scott does. Then again, Scott has a hard time keeping up with Stiles on their
runs, so it all evens out.
At least they're evenly matched when it comes to lacrosse skills. Meaning
neither one of them have any, but it's still fun to try, especially after they
found an isolated clearing not far from the park, but not too deep into the
preserve. It's nowhere near where the older kids go to park and make out, and
it's too far into the woods for the little kids to come screaming through,
which makes it pretty much the perfect place to practice, according to Stiles.
Of course, this is the first cool-ish day in a few weeks, and the beauty of it
distracts both Scott and Stiles enough that they peel off their shirts and
throw themselves to the ground, flat on their backs, arms and legs spread wide,
while they watch white puffy clouds roll by. They're too old to see anything in
the shapes (or at least talk about what they see), but not stupid enough to not
appreciate the clear blue sky and the warm sun on their skin.
"This ain't makin' hay," Stiles says eventually, landing a backhanded slap on
Scott's chest. Scott curls up like a pill bug, but he's grinning, and bounces
up to his feet before Stiles gets there himself.
They start off with the exciting stuff first, one of them playing attackman
while the other covers defense. After a while, they switch, so that they both
get the chance to play all positions. Midfielder is a little hard to practice,
without an actual midfield to be mindful of, but they manage okay by
themselves.
It's only in the goalie position that things get boring. Both of them know how
to shoot the ball, but neither one of them is very good at defending the goal.
More often than not, they pack up for the day without either one of them having
saved a goal. It's always good to be versatile, but Stiles is also man enough
to concede that he sucks as a goalie and probably won't be trying out for that
position any time soon.
Today is no different. At least not for Stiles. Scott feints left and right,
zigs when Stiles expects him to zag, throws high when Stiles expects it to go
low. Basically, Stiles misses all of Scott's attempts, though one does tip the
end of the crosse, which is...well, no. That's not anything. Not even Stiles
can make that into something special.
He takes heart in Scott being no better. Stiles isn't as nimble as Scott, with
his limbs that want to go every which way all at the same time, but he thinks
he does okay for himself. Of course, that's the moment the ball lands in
Scott's net. Something even Scott is shocked silent about. Until, suddenly, he
explodes with a whoop, jumping off the ground to pump his fist in the air. His
crosse hits the ground a second later and then he's gunning for Stiles, arms
open wide.
They both hit the grass with an oomph, Stiles' a little louder with Scott's
extra weight behind it, but he doesn't care. Scott is laughing and smiling so
wide and Stiles can't help but be happy for him. He knows what a major
accomplishment it is to stop a goal, and he'd be doing the same thing in
Scott's place.
The pride doesn't last long, however, because the last thing Stiles wants is to
give Scott a big head, so the hugging and crowing soon turns to grunting and
wrestling, both of their sticks abandoned while they roll around in the grass.
Stiles goes for the dick move right away, tweaking one of Scott's nipples until
he yelps, but Scott gets him back by finding Stiles' super sensitive tickle
spot and goes for broke.
"What's done cannot be undone!" Stiles roars, hands sinking into Scott's
ridiculous hair, and he wraps his legs around Scott's waist to roll them,
throwing off Scott's sense of direction. With his floppy hair in his face,
Scott can't tell which way is up, and Stiles isn't inclined to enlighten him
just yet.
Scott figures it out anyway and bucks his hips, which tips Stiles over and his
hands flail out. Somehow, Scott manages to grab Stiles' wrists and pull, until
he's up on his knees, straddling Stiles' pelvis, and shouts in triumph.
"Pinned you!" Scott declares, chest sweaty and heaving. His wide grin is
blinding in the sun and his hair's a mess, but his grip isn't all that tight
and Stiles could break it if he wanted to, but he'd have to twist his hips a
little to unseat Scott, and that would draw attention to the very interesting
party happening in his pants.
Stiles might be twelve (almost thirteen), but he is not an idiot. When he first
started waking up to sticky pants, the internet was the first place he hit.
Though he did find some things that have probably scarred him for life, he was
more than a little relieved to find out that his night emissions are normal.
For a kid with a name like Stiles', every little bit of normal is a huge
relief.
Though this -- his dick hardening under Scott's warm, familiar weight? Stiles
isn't sure if this is entirely normal. And his uncertainty must show on his
face.
"You okay, dude?" Scott asks, fingers loosening a little. He leans forward,
pressing into Stiles' groin more, and Stiles has to hold back a groan by biting
his lip, because wow does that feel really awesome.
"I'm good," Stiles grits out. "You're just heavy, that's all." He gusts out a
breath and tries to push himself up a little, away from Scott, without drawing
attention to himself. "You've been eating at Della's too much, huh?" His laugh
sounds awkward and Scott's smile dims a degree.
"Yeah, I guess." Scott lets go of Stiles' wrists and sits back on his heels,
teeth digging at his lower lip. He looks like he wants to say something, with
his eyes all screwed up and his jaw clenched. Stiles is grateful for the
breathing room, but hates seeing that look on Stiles' face.
"What's up, buddy?" he says, giving Scott a healthy smack on his thigh. Stiles
looks down to where his hand feels sticky and notices light smears of blood and
heavier grass stains all over Scott's bare knees. At least it's not their
shorts this time. Stiles' mom already has enough trouble to deal with, with all
her doctors’ visits.
Scott's weight shifts under Stiles' touch, drawing Stiles' gaze up and over,
where he spots a very telling bulge in Scott's shorts. Stiles' eyebrows shoot
up involuntarily and, a second later, Scott echoes the move with his feet,
letting go of Stiles with an abrupt shove. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbles, hunching
over on himself.
"Dude, it's cool," Stiles says with a vague wave of his hand. "That's what
happens when you're a boy." He says it with more bravado than he feels; he,
too, was trying to hide his stiffy not two minutes ago, but mutual hard-ons
doesn't seem so bad, once he thinks about it. It cuts his embarrassment by
half, at least.
"I know, but still." Scott drops to the ground next to Stiles, leaving about a
foot of space between them, and plants his elbows on his knees. It does what
it's supposed to -- block Stiles from seeing Scott's woody -- but what
surprises Stiles most is how much he wants to see it. He's only ever seen his
own, after all, and he wonders how Scott's would be different. It's a science
thing, Stiles is pretty sure.
"If it helps, I've got one, too." Stiles waves a hand at his own crotch, and is
pleasantly surprised when Scott not only looks, but stares a little. For a few
moments, anyway. It makes Stiles' face flush and his dick jump. Scott's eyes
widen in return, but he tears them away a second later.
"Dude, c'mon," Stiles says, bumping his shoulder into Scott's. "Don't tell me
you've never played with yourself before."
"Well yeah," Scott says, but he deepens his hunch, which is Scott-speak for 'I
have no idea what you're talking about, but I don't want you to know I don't
know what you're talking about''. "'Course I have. Just--" He side-eyes Stiles
and tilts away from his curious gaze. "I've never gotten hard around you. It's
weird."
"No it isn't!" Stiles insists, laying one hand on Scott's shoulder. It's an
instinctive,comforting move, but Scott doesn't flinch away, which Stiles takes
as a good sign. "I read all about this, okay? Look, we're teenage boys, filled
with raging hormones. And we were wrestling around all over the ground. It's
the perfect recipe for a boner. I swear!"
Scott nods and his expression lightens, but he still seems unsure, and Stiles
is surprised to find his hand still on Scott's shoulder, thumb sweeping a small
arch through the sweat there. It draws Stiles' attention to Scott's back, the
way it's rising and falling, like Scott just went through a dozen suicides. His
mouth is open, too, wet and soft-looking, but his eyes are closed, lashes
casting thick, dark shadows on his cheeks.
"Hey," Stiles prods, quieter, his thumb stilling. "Did-- do you like it?"
Scott swallows, hard, and gives Stiles a short, curt nod.
"Okay," Stiles breathes out, hand smoothing down Scott's bare back. "Okay."
"But Stiles, I've never--" Scott bobs his head around, trying to convey what he
wants without actually having to say it.
"You've never...done it?" Stiles prompts, and Scott nods again, looking so sad
and pitifully young, Stiles almost wants to give him a hug. Sure, he's out of
his depth here, unsure what to do. But he tells himself he's with Scott, and if
Scott is involved, it will never not be awesome, so he screws up his courage
and asks the hard question: "Do you want to watch?"
Scott gasps softly, and he freezes, but doesn't look away. Stiles would take
that as an answer, but part of him needs to hear the word, too.
"Do you?" he asks again, edging closer. The thumb of his free hand toys with
the waistband of his shorts, strumming it like a guitar string.
Scott's eyes go wide, then, and he whips his head around. "Here?!" he hisses,
suddenly hunched all over himself again, as if he's been watched this whole
time.
Stiles laughs out loud, startled into a smile. "Scott, we've been playing out
here by ourselves for a month. How many times has anybody come out here?"
"None," Scott says, a little mullish, and straightens up, hand still covering
his hard-on.
"Exactly! So, just let me--" Stiles fumbles around on his knees, hand pressing
against his dick while he angles his back toward where they usually burst into
the clearing. He assumes it's where anybody else would come from, if they were
so inclined, and hides the worst of damage.
"There," Stiles pants, shimmying out of his shorts. "Now the worst thing
anybody will see is my bare ass. Satisfied?" Scott doesn't look it, really, but
Stiles is too preoccupied with palming the wet spot on his underwear to care.
"Ready?" he asks, eyes bouncing between his crotch and Scott's face.
Stiles doesn't draw it out; his dick isn't much to look at, yet. Short, and
kind of slim, but the skin flushes bright red and the tip gets shiny, so it's
all good. And, anyway, Stiles will grow into it, he's sure. He's heard what
they say about big hands, after all.
He gasps at the first touch, his fingers warm and rough over sensitive skin.
The conversation with Scott had made Stiles flag a little, but his dick is
fully hard, now, sliding back and forth within the circle of his fingers.
Stiles has done this at least a dozen times by now, catalogued all the
different ways this could go -- how a simple change in speed can back things
off immediately, or how his thumb circling the slit sets him off without
warning. So he can take his time here, a little bit. Watch Scott's face while
Stiles works his cock. It's no big deal, just Scott.
Except Scott is really kind of into it, his gaze hot and heavy, like a physical
thing that settles low in Stiles' gut. Stiles doesn't mean to make this a show,
but he doesn't want to go off in under five minutes, either, so he plays with
his balls a little, too; spits in his hand and rolls them around in his palm.
It doesn't really do much for him, but Scott watches like it's a revelation,
tongue poking out of his mouth while his hand strokes a broken rhythm over his
dick.
"You can take it out," Stiles gasps, hand twisting of it's own volition. He
isn't going to lie to himself; he wants to compare dick size with Scott. He
thinks it's probably a boy thing, wanting to compare himself with other boys,
but doesn't have the courage to ask his mom or dad if that's normal, either.
Scott's slow about getting up on his knees, and only pushes his shorts and
underwear down enough to tuck the waistbands underneath his balls. It really
highlights his cock, though, dark-skinned and flushed a rosy pink.
"Go ahead," Stiles rasps around a thick swallow. "Touch yourself." His own hand
has slowed so that he can give Scott the attention he deserves.
Scott is unsure at first, keeps his hand loose around himself for a few
strokes, but then he groans and his fingers convulse, and he moans again,
deeper, hips pushing into the movement. Stiles grins as the first pearly bead
of precome appears.
"It's good, isn't it?" Stiles breathes, tipping forward into Scott's space.
Scott echoes the movement, free hand reaching out for Stiles' arm. The touch is
electric, little sparks of pleasure zinging along Stiles' arm and down to his
fingers. His cock throbs in his grip, once, and then he comes, shooting white
and sticky all over the his thighs and the grass. Stiles gasps through it,
shocked by the rush.
Scott mumbles a surprised sound, jaw dropping open, and he adds his own mess to
the mix, jerking himself off in a ragged rhythm. Stiles tries to guide him by
example, stroking his own dick in short even movements, but Scott's eyes are
squeezed shut and the corners of his mouth twitch, like he's fighting between
breath and laughter. It's kind of adorable, in the way that Scott is always
adorable, and Stiles finds himself pressing a kiss there, to see if he can
taste Scott's happiness. Scott, doesn't seem to mind, at least; sighs out a
quiet "oh" and gives Stiles a shy smile.
After that, they collapse onto their sides, dicks limp and over-sensitive.
Scott looks like he's glowing, his smile so wide and his nose all scrunched up.
His chest is all sweaty still, pumping up and down as Scott drags in great
gulps of air and floats down from his high. Stiles knows the feeling well and
envies Scott that first time come-down.
They're both quiet for long minutes, both finally flopping on their backs to
stare up at the sky. Stiles reaches up to scratch at his belly and remembers
his hand is still a mess. The grass goes a long way in cleaning it off, but he
has to use his shorts to get in between his fingers. Good thing he's learned
how to do laundry by now.
Stiles feels like he dozes off after awhile, lulled into contentment by his
orgasm and the sunshine and the low buzz of summer insects. Scott lies at
Stiles' side, a warm, comforting presence that helps Stiles stay still and
calm.
Eventually, though, it is Stiles who speaks first, sitting up first on his
elbows, then higher, gaze falling automatically to Scott still hanging out of
his shorts. "We should get dressed, man. Mom expects me back soon." He rises to
his feet with a groan, still sore from Scott tackling him, and pulls his shorts
and underwear back on, then offers Scott a hand up after he's done writhing
around on the ground in an effort to get his own clothes in place.
Scott looks a little bewildered, still, casting his eyes about for his shirt
and his crosse. Stiles huffs a laugh and points him in the right direction.
Scott beams at him, wide and honest, and jogs over, tugging the shirt over his
messy mop of hair. Stiles doesn't bother pointing out how it's inside-out.
"See you tomorrow?" Scott asks, easy like it always is between them. In that
moment, Stiles has never wanted to hug him more, to thank him for being such an
awesome bro.
He settles for a fistbump instead and nods. "What else would we do?"
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