The look on Isaac's face resembles the one he displays while studying; it's not a bad one, but it's certainly out of place after lacrosse, in the showers, alone with Scott. It's both a little unsettling and pretty hot, even if the latter is solely a product of Isaac's grip around the base of Scott's cock.
The shower is still running—it hasn't even turned cold yet—and for that, Scott is grateful. It offers a comfort that he embraces, given the fact that everything else is strange and new and unexpected.
“You look a lot bigger from down here than you felt against my thigh.” Isaac's voice, a low murmur that mixes with the water gurgling down the drain, cuts into Scott's thoughts. “Not that this is a bad thing …” As Isaac darts his eyes up, this weirdly focused look of his makes way for one of his trademark lopsided smirks.
Before Scott can think of a comeback, Isaac runs his tongue over the tip of Scott’s cock. The brief promise of hot-wet-gorgeous leaves Scott aching for more, but instead of words, his vocal chords produce only a hoarse moan.
Isaac snickers. It's a good sound, a happy sound, unlike those that he uses to make at night when fear seizes his heart, and Scott grins. He wipes his hair from his eyes, only so the water can push it back down.
“What now? You just gonna look at me all day?”
“Patience is a virtue, you know?” Isaac flashes a hint of amber in Scott's direction, only for a second before his lashes flutter down.
The next moment, he starts stroking Scott's cock again, but where he seemed a little shy earlier, he's a lot more confident now. He settles for a steady up and down with just the right amount of pressure that has Scott throwing back his head and biting his lower lip—as if he knows how Scott likes it, and maybe he does. Maybe it doesn't matter if you're jacking yourself or someone else; Scott has no idea to what extent one relates to the other.
What matters is that the water makes every swift slide of hand slippery-smooth and better than Scott ever thought a simple handjob could be—or maybe his dry spell just lasted too long already because he shouldn't reach that point where he loses control over his breathing so fast, so easily.
He hears Isaac's name leave his mouth as a drawn-out moan, and, startled by how comfortable he feels with his Beta—with another guy—Scott looks down to meet a clouded gaze filled with dark desire. He trails his gaze further, over Isaac's slightly heaving chest and even further yet, to where the boy is stroking himself in a rhythm that matches the one on Scott. The water pearls down from Isaac's thighs, into his lap, where his hand smears it over his length along with precum—if that faint scent Scott manages to catch doesn't betray him—and the sight is such a turn-on that Scott is afraid he might come just from watching.
Just then, Isaac arches forward and closes his lips around Scott's cock with an ease that implies he might have done this before. He sucks down hard, eliciting a choked sound, and then he syncs his mouth and hand, establishes a slow rhythm; it's almost too slow, too casual, but with the way he presses his tongue against the underside of Scott's dick and runs it over the tip every time before sliding back down, Scott loses his mind all the same. Or maybe it's the soft humming sounds Isaac keeps making that elevate this after-school blowjob to something Scott would willingly pay for. Either way, he finds it hard to focus, impossible to bite back his own moans.
In the attempt to keep from coming, Scott’s mind fumbles for the least sexy subject and offers math, but it's not the great escape Scott sought. Looking down doesn't help much, either.
Isaac's eyes are closed. His features are soft, devoid of anything but pleasure. The water has glued his hair to his temples in wild curls. The slight blush on his cheeks matches the feeling of heat in Scott's own face, and Scott needs to touch him with ghosting fingertips; he’s afraid of destroying that beautiful image if he's too careless.
“I can't … I won't last.”
Isaac's lashes flutter, maybe under the weight of the water caught in them, maybe for a more exciting reason, until he manages to trap Scott's gaze. With a naughty sound, he slides his mouth off of Scott's cock to say, “It's okay.” He rubs his cheek against Scott's palm—“You don't have to hold back.”—and then he licks a lazy trail from the heel of Scott's hand up to the tip of his middle finger. His lips close around it, and as he sucks down, his teeth gently graze the skin.
He murmurs something Scott can't understand and his eyes dart to where his hand is still working his own erection with little effort as if it's merely an afterthought.
“Fuck.” Scott's other hand sneaks into Isaac's hair by its own volition, tilting his head back softly until Isaac's neck is strained and his throat bared. A purring sound leaves the Beta's lips. “Say that again.”
“I want to taste you,” Isaac repeats without hesitation. “I want to swallow every drop of your cum—”
“Oh my god!”
“—I wanna lick you clean and then right back up—”
Scott's hips jerk forward into Isaac's wet-hot-steady up and down on his length.
“—and then, you can do with me what you want. Whatever it is, Scott—but I need you to say it. I need you to tell me … that you want me.”
All of a sudden, it clicks. Not only why they're here or what Isaac just said, but so many different things fall into place. A warmth unrelated to arousal spreads through Scott.
“I do. I want you.” He means to add more, but Isaac smiles as if he's already satisfied with the answer. He arches forward again.
This time, it's even better somehow—hotter, sweeter—and Scott doesn't hold back his moans anymore, doesn't hold back at all. He meets Isaac's movements, careful not to dictate his rhythm. All it takes for his orgasm to build now is a few small, smooth thrusts accompanied by some more of those hums that resonate all through Scott to resurface loud and clear on his own lips.
He bites out a warning, releases Isaac's hair so that he doesn't feel obliged to keep going, but to Scott's delight, Isaac doesn't withdraw. If anything, he sucks down even harder and increases the pressure of his strokes until all his movements seem like one: a perfect, demanding invitation.
With a low, throaty moan, Scott comes, and, true to his word, Isaac swallows what he can without so much as faltering. Then, he sits back on his heels. His eyes sparkle as he licks his lips like a cat that got the cream.
A snicker rises in Scott, but he knows better than to let it out. Isaac might misinterpret it, and the last thing Scott wants right now is for him to think anything wrong. Therefore, he reaches out, rakes his fingers through Isaac's hair once again and then trails them down the side of his face. He cups Isaac's chin and nudges him to get up.
As soon as Isaac has scrambled to his feet, Scott pulls him into a kiss to steal every bit of himself he can find from those beautiful, devoted lips. Unaware of anything but taste and smell and heartbeat, they stand under the now cooling spray. The water mixes with their kisses, but that's all the better; it's as if it keeps their little bubble of bliss intact.
Only when Isaac moans into Scott's mouth and shifts to reach down between them does Scott remember that he hasn't come—although he could feel Isaac's erection against his thigh, he was simply too lost in the afterglow to parse it for what it was. He brushes Isaac's hand aside and replaces it with his own.
“It's okay,” Scott whispers between kisses and firm strokes. “I got you.” It is surprisingly easy to find just the right rhythm that has little whimpers falling from Isaac's lips. Scott swallows them all until Isaac breaks free to catch a breath.
“I can't …” he pants out. “Please, I need … more. I'm so close. Just …”
Without hesitation, Scott sinks to his knees. As he slowly licks up Isaac's length and the boy's hips jerk forward, his initial insecurity makes way for excitement. A stupid little grin tugs at the corners of his lips, and he rubs it against Isaac's thigh. From there, he moves to mouth at Isaac's balls, tentatively at first, more confident when he's rewarded with a breathless murmur of encouragement. When he sucks one of Isaac's balls right into his mouth, that murmur transforms into a beautifully obscene sound.
Before Scott can drag his lips back up to take Isaac in as deep as he might manage—a thought that connects right back to his own cock—his head is tilted back. He looks up to meet Isaac's wide open eyes, rimmed in amber again, and then Isaac comes all over his own abs and Scott's hand, and some of it splashes onto Scott's cheek and is gone with the water in another blink, just like the rest of it.
For a moment, Scott can do nothing but stare, captivated by the blissful look on Isaac's face and the fact that he's responsible for it. Not only does it make him oddly proud, but it kindles the fierce wish to repeat it, to recreate that look again and again, any way he can.
He doesn't move until he realizes that the water has turned cold; he notices the goosebumps forming on Isaac's skin.
Isaac turns off the shower as Scott gets to his feet. Together, they dip into embarrassing territory, as if waking from a dream to realize that the world has come out of cadence. It's not heavily awkward, not yet, but Scott knows it will be if they leave without a conclusion.
They don't speak, and they barely look at each other until they're dressed. When Isaac grabs his backpack and shoots him a questioning look, Scott acts on impulse. He closes the distance between them, places his hand on the nape of Isaac's neck, and angles up to kiss him. And as Isaac kisses him back, Scott knows they'll be okay.