Scott sheds his bathrobe at the door and waits on the edge of the bed. He’s antsier than he is before most shoots, and it isn’t just because of the corset fit just for him, the soft silk panties that are clinging to his ass or the the soft hair of his legs curling around the lace of his stockings. In his line of work, that’s a familiar feeling, just as familiar of the brush of makeup on his cheeks or the stickiness of the subtle lip glosses they love to slide along his lips. Scott doesn’t really mind all that much. The lip gloss tastes nice and makes his lips look even fuller than they are, and it translates well on film.
He isn’t even nervous just because this is one of his boyfriend’s shoots, a big one that Derek picked Scott specially for. Derek and Scott work together all the time. It’s how Scott met Derek, back when Derek was only a lowly photographer; it turned out that his flirting with Derek from behind the lens of a camera made for some pretty stellar shots, and when Derek kept requesting Scott back again and again, for shoots that were a lot more toned down and less risque, the jokes about their on-shoot chemistry amped up from even Jackson. By now, working with Derek comes second nature to Scott, and knowing that it’s Derek’s own campaign, that he’s in charge of creative direction, just reassures Scott. Scott wants to be able to help Derek and his career, and Scott has faith in Derek to make them all look good.
His nerves come into play not because of what the shoot is, or what it’s for, but because of who else is in it.
Derek picked Stiles just as deliberately as he picked Scott. Scott isn’t sure about all his reasons. There are lots of possible ones. Stiles has mainstream appeal, an image that doesn’t necessarily correlate to the kind of shoots Derek does. Stiles is one of those homegrown types, the model that got picked up in a mall in the Midwest and rocketed onto the scene. Everyone says he’s trying to go edgy right now, trying to rough up his image a little bit, but Scott doesn’t actually think that’s true. The evidence that everyone points to is the same kind of evidence everyone had when Scott “went rogue”.
A bunch of photoshoots with Derek.
His work is good, though he isn’t always easy to work with. Derek gets impatient with him sometimes, Scott can tell. Scott has sat in on some of his shoots before and watched Stiles. It’s hard to tell if Stiles is actually listening to a word the photographer is saying until they see the film, because when he’s waiting for the shot, he seems fidgety and inattentive, easily distracted. He spends a lot of time staring at Derek’s arms and chest, which Scott really can’t blame him for.
The film, though, is magic. Stiles’ whole body looks so long, and his eyes are intense, especially with mascara and framed with eyeshadow. Derek always makes sure to keep in Stiles’ moles through the minimal photoshopping process, just like he does with Scott’s, so there’s a canvas of skin dotted with marks Scott wants to trace with his mouth. Scott wants to trace most of Stiles with his mouth, his long fingers and the bulge in the lace panties Derek always puts him in.
Today, though, Scott is pretty sure Derek is actually trying to kill him.
Stiles has vivid pink panties that almost look red, stockings that match, and aren’t too different from Scott’s. He’s wearing eyeliner and matte lipstick, his lips looking so puffy that Scott wants to suck them into his mouth and mess up all the hard work of the makeup artists. Stiles is teetering on heels, and Scott almost laughs, because everyone knows it’s a miracle Stiles has never fallen flat on his face even in a do or die situation, on the runway. There’s nothing covering Stiles’ torso, leaving Stiles’ nipples pebbled and hard in the cool air of the room.
It’s what’s around Stiles neck, though, that Scott zeroes in on. There’s a collar fastened securely around Stiles’ neck, a warm brown, and Scott wants to reach out and touch it. He stifles the urge; he knows it’s not appropriate or professional, and Stiles would think it was pretty weird. Scott glances at Derek to see that his eyes are fixed on Stiles’ neck as well, and Scott recognize the look of pleasure and satisfaction all too well.
“Stiles, sit down on the bed before you twist your ankle,” Derek tells him, and there’s a quiet titter of laughter from the rest of the crew. Stiles walks over, towering over Scott before he finally sits down. Scott’s trying to be casual, but Stiles is biting at his lip, in spite of the lipstick, and he’s playing with the lace of his stockings. There’s too much of Stiles to take in, when he’s this close, and Scott is pretty sure his brain is going to short-circuit.
“Okay,” Derek says. “Now that we’re both ready, let’s get this started. I already briefed both of you on what I’m looking for, but remember. Sensual is what we’re going for, not high-fashion editorial awkward. Stiles blushes, but Derek doesn’t press the point.
Derek outlines things pretty quickly, and Scott figures they’re ready to proceed. Derek has one piece of advice before he takes a single shot, though, and this time Scott knows it’s directed at him.
“Don’t be afraid to touch each other.”
Derek calls it a wrap. Scott’s lipstick is smeared, Stiles’ long neck glistening. Scott may have left a hickey that makeup decided not to cover up. It was a good thing they were already planning on changing outfits at that point in the shoot, because the inside of Stiles’ thin lace panties were covered in precome, and although Scott secretly thinks his job is thinly veiled porn, that would’ve been a little bit too explicit even for this side of modeling. Scott pretty much died when Stiles actually moaned, and Derek had to wait a minute or two for both Scott and Stiles to stop blushing furiously red. Stiles ran his mouth, coming up with excuses, and it probably made things worse.
Scott gets dressed and heads back out to meet Derek. Usually, Derek will let him see the film that he took, either right there on set or when they get home, but Derek seems unusually secretive about it all. There have been a lot of things about this particular shoot that have been pretty secretive, for Derek, and Scott somehow doesn’t suspect that it’s just nerves on Derek’s part that are inspiring it.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was Stiles?” Scott asks on the car ride home, when Derek can’t hide. Derek gives it a solid effort; he keeps his eyes on the road, staring straight ahead. Eventually, though, he has to actually respond.
“You would’ve psyched yourself out,” Derek says. “I know how you get about Stiles.”
“What does that mean?” Scott asks. He doesn’t remember ever having this conversation with Derek. He and Derek don’t talk about Stiles at all, outside the context of modeling.
Derek pauses for a moment, then sighs. “I’ll show you when we get home, okay? You’ll know what I mean when you see it.”
When Derek pulls out the film and Scott sees from one picture to the next the way his face goes slack, the way his eyes gravitate towards Stiles as much as his body…
“Oh,” Scott says. “Does it always look like that?”
“Pretty much whenever you’re on set with him,” Derek confirms. “I only notice because I’m feeling it, too, I just don’t show it.”
“Do you think he notices?”
Derek shrugs. “It’s hard to tell what Stiles does or doesn’t notice. When I told him he’d be shooting with you, though, he didn’t seem to mind too much.”
“He didn’t seem to mind all that much once he was there,” Scott says, and Derek flips a few frames forward. It’s a completely unusable shot, but Scott understands why Derek pulled it up. Scott’s bottom lip is between his teeth, a sign that Derek knows better than anyone means Scott is turned on, and Stiles.
Stiles’ hands are on Scott’s abs, and he’s staring blatantly at Scott’s crotch.
“Yeah,” Derek says. “I don’t think he minded at all.”
When the photos finally hit the public, there’s a lot of buzz. It’s not long before New York Fashion Week, and Stiles gets a zillion questions about it. Derek already had a lot of name recognition, but Scott had been keeping a pretty low profile, for a while. It’s very hard to do that anymore; his agent passes along a lot of larger-profile shoots for Scott, and he gets a fair number of them, filling his schedule for further into the future than he’s used to.
He should’ve expected that with that would come seeing a different group of models on an everyday basis. It didn’t occur to him that hee might see Stiles around set, or even be shooting with him again so quickly. It’s a much tamer shoot than Derek’s, not even really on the sexy side of things at all. It’s a group shoot for a more commercial line of clothing than Scott’s used to. They position Scott and Stiles next to each other more often than not, and Scott knows it has to be intentional.
“Do you want to go grab something to eat?” Stiles asks when they’re done shooting, and it takes Scott a second to realize he’s talking to him. “Yelp says there’s a really great diner around the corner.”
“I’m not doing anything tonight,” Scott tells him, and Stiles grins.
“Guess you are now, then.”
Stiles talks when he eats, and it should probably be disgusting, but it’s almost fascinating. He seems equivalently enthusiastic about them, and considering the way he talks, like his words are tripping over themselves to get out, it’s not surprising that his food is gone quickly and he’s playing with the paper from his straw.
Stiles touches Scott a lot while they talk, seeming to do it without thinking. It makes Scott feel tingly, and he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know if it’s meant to make Scott react or if that’s just the way Stiles always is with people he’s only talked to a few times, mostly casually. It makes Scott wonder if Stiles is just always in people’s personal space, always overly familiar.
They talk about work some, but they get onto the topic of Derek pretty quickly. Stiles asks a lot of questions, all of them personal; how they met, how they started dating, how they balance work to have time for each other. Scott doesn’t get the chance to talk about Derek all that much, since most of their mutual friends have been around through all of it, and tease that they are a little bit bored of Derek and Scott’s mushiness.
“You should invite him next time,” Stiles says. Scott doesn’t know that there will be a next time, anytime soon. It wasn’t like this meeting was really intentional. Scott wonders if maybe Derek’s reading things all wrong, and if Stiles is actually interested in Derek, and he’s just hanging out with Scott to get to Derek. It wouldn’t be the first time it happened (or vice versa, for that matter, someone cozying up to Derek to get in with Scott). Scott would be sad, but he’d encourage Derek to go for it, if he wanted.
“Derek has my cell phone number, but I don’t think you do,” Stiles says at the end. Scott takes the hint and rattles off his number, feels his phone vibrate in his pocket as Stiles sends a text. “I might spam you with messages,” Stiles warns jokingly, and Scott smiles. Maybe even if Stiles isn’t actually into him, he’ll still want to be friends.
“You can text whenever you want, dude,” Scott tells him, and Stiles makes a point of messaging Scott six times before they leave the diner. It’s ridiculous, but Scott is pretty sure that’s kinda the norm, for Stiles, and he finds that he really doesn’t mind.
A big-name client reaches out to Derek, but their request this time is a little bit unusual.
“They actually want us to make out?” Scott asks, surprised.
“They want it to feel ‘real’,” Derek says. “No huge camera crew, natural lighting, not a set. Just you and Stiles. I already invited him over, we’re doing it at our place.”
“You want me to make out with Stiles in our bed?” Scott asks, even more surprised. Their guest bedroom is out of commission, for a little while, and there’s no way Derek would want to shoot in there.
“If you want to make out with Stiles in our bed,” Derek says. “I actually don’t mind, I know you’re into him. I have a feeling he’ll sign on when I tell him. But the lighting is best here, you know that.”
Derek is right. They set the date and make arrangements for makeup and wardrobe to come to Derek and Scott’s house. Scott and Stiles text before the photoshoot, carefully avoiding the topic until the night before. Scott’s already asleep when Stiles’ messages send, telling Scott he’s excited to work with him and Derek again, that he’s looking forward to the shoot.
Scott’s excited, too, but he’s more nervous, than anything.
It’s a small spread, and there’s no clothing change involved, so once wardrobe gets them ready, Derek ushers them and makeup on their way. By the time the shoot actually starts, the three of them are the only ones in the house.
“So I get to kiss him, now?” Stiles asks, and after a few quick shots, Derek finally gives the go ahead.
There’s a pause, a moment when Stiles presses closer, when Stiles’ eyes drop down to Scott’s lips. Scott can hear the flash of the camera, and it only intensifies the tension, instead of breaking it. Scott feels like he’s holding his breath, waiting for Stiles to make a move.
So he takes a risk, takes a breath, lets it out, and closes the gap. Stiles’ lips are thinner than Scott thought they’d be, but no less soft and pillowy. He can taste the wax of the lip balm they put on him, clear but strawberry kiwi-flavored, and the mint chewing gum that Stiles must’ve had in his mouth just before the shoot started. Scott knows he should be focusing on making the shot good, but it’s hard to prioritize when Stiles’ hand is cupping his face, when Stiles’ lips slot between his. Scott expects some of the awkwardness he’s seen from Stiles’ movements off set, but none of it is there. He can keep his eyes closed and melt into the kiss, can let his hands inch down to Stiles’ sides, can grip loosely and tug Stiles closer.
Stiles moans into Scott’s mouth, and Scott takes the hint. Stiles can’t get any closer with the way they’re positioned, but Scott wants to be pressed against Stiles as much as he can, every inch of him on every inch of Stiles. He straddles Stiles’ lap, nudges Stiles back onto the bed.
“The camera,” Derek says, cutting into the relative silence of the room, the only noises the slick, sucking noises of their mouths. Scott angles them so Derek can see everything, the way Scott’s fingers leave marks on Stiles’ skin, the way Scott’s lips are already puffy and red, the way Stiles’ pupils are already blown. If Scott had ever thought Stiles wasn’t into him, he knows he’s wrong now, Stiles squirming underneath him. Scott pins Stiles’ hips still and places a kiss on Stiles’ neck, right on the spot where Scott’s mark was before.
Scott isn’t actually sure when Derek wraps up and gets the shot he needs. He doesn’t interrupt them to tell them he has. Scott doesn’t realize Derek’s set the camera down until he feels a big, callused hand on his neck, trailing down his back.
“Do you two need help?” Derek asks. “You look a little worked up.”
Stiles moans, bucking up into Scott’s hands. Scott can’t blame him. Derek’s gaze is focused, and Scott knows that he’s serious. Work is done, and Derek is offering them both something, not only his sanction to expand this beyond something for a photoshoot, but to expand this to the three of them.
“Please,” Stiles says, and Derek and Scott lock eyes.
“I’ll pin his hands?” Scott offers, and Derek places a kiss at the base of his neck.
“Good boy,” Derek says, and Scott melts.
Stiles comes, and then he comes back. Derek and Scott start inviting him over more and more, and he invites them out to meet him, clothed and in a restaurant. There are discussions about feelings that are much more anticlimactic than Scott expected they might be. Each of them would’ve dodged the conversation on their own, but with the three of them there, there’s enough balance that it actually comes up when it needs to, before things get too awkward.
The sex is actually a lot of fun. Scott wasn’t quite sure how it was going to work, with all three of them leaning subby, but he’s used to switching for Derek pretty frequently, and it turns out that Stiles very comfortably switches for Scott.
Sometimes Scott brings his work into bed, the lip gloss that smudges when it clings to Derek’s skin, or Stiles’. The pretty underwear that hugs his ass, that Stiles refuses to take off, sometimes, telling Scott how pretty he looks as he jerks Scott off still wearing his sweet, pink underwear. The heels that make Scott feel almost as tall as Derek, even though his frame is smaller, less bulky. Luckily, Scott doesn’t need to be as bulky as Derek to get Derek down on his knees, to hold Derek down on his dick until Scott’s just about to come, then tugging Derek up to smear his come messy in Derek’s beard. Derek doesn’t get to come until Stiles is done eating him out, Derek’s eyes wet and his hands clenched tight, trying his best to be a good boy for Scott.
Other times, it’s just Scott himself, bare and naked and stripped raw, his face in the mattress and his body covered by Derek’s, filled up with Derek’s cock as Stiles tells him what to do. To come just one more time, so Stiles can see what a mess he makes of himself, so Derek can be pulled over the edge. Stiles kisses him after, leading with his lips to compensate for the fuzzy, happy fogginess Scott feels. It reminds Scott of the first time they kissed, and it’s one of his favorite things.
Scott and Stiles have to be careful about marks, because the world and their jobs exist outside the little realm of their rooms. But they can cover Derek in marks, and that’s good enough for both of them to know that he’s theirs, and they’re his, and they’re each other’s.
They get questions, when the spread hits the magazines, about Derek and Scott’s relationship, and whether it suffered because of the shoot.
“No,” Derek says, and Scott expects him to leave it at that. Derek isn’t always the biggest on dealing with press, or with answering too many questions about his work. Derek surprises him, though.
“Scott and I have a flexible relationship, and Stiles was very fun to work with.”
Stiles’ agent isn’t thrilled, but he’s the only one.