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The first time they fuck it’s the culmination of nine months of pining, an adrenaline rush due to a near-death experience, and one intense night of mutual masturbation. So it’s over in a few pathetically short minutes and it isn’t a letdown, but it definitely doesn’t make Stiles feel complete. He worries that this is all they’ll have – one awkward fumble that they’ll joke about when they’re over seventy and asked to recount the countless dumb mistakes they’ve made.

But Scott interlaces their fingers over breakfast the next day and he realizes he’s sold them both short. He’s also forgotten that Scott’s one of the most determined and studious people he’s ever met. That night, Scott arrives in his room after Stiles has showered, very obviously only wearing sweats and a tank top beyond his shoes, his own hair curling damply over his forehead.

Scott is slow and methodical in how he takes Stiles apart, whispering assurances against his skin. He licks him open bit by incremental bit, adding his fingers when Stiles is loose-limbed and gently gnawing on his own arm to stop from wailing loud enough to be heard within a 3 block radius.

“This feel okay?” Scott asks, voice thick like he’s finding it hard to speak.

“It’s so good,” Stiles replies, more slur than actual words. “Don’t change a thing.”

And Scott doesn’t. He finger-fucks Stiles through two orgasms, and shakes into pieces when Stiles settles between his legs and gives him the world’s sloppiest blowjob as compensation.

Stiles drags Scott into bed, kicking his messy comforter to the ground, and grabbing a blanket from his closet.

“So this is what we do now?” he asks, feeling sore in all the best ways, and a couple of painful emotional ones too.

“Yeah, if you want,” Scott murmurs back, already half asleep.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, knowing it doesn’t adequately convey just how much he wants Scott, how being like this settles something within him he didn’t even realize was loose. “If you want.”

“All right. We’ll keep doing this for as long as we want, then.”

Stiles isn’t going to say that he thinks for him that means forever.

*

The next day they shower together. Stiles takes a lovingly long time washing Scott’s hair and lathering up his back. Scott swivels in the spray and they kiss for the first time, and even though there’s water beating all around them, their bodies slip and slide, and Stiles’ moan echoes embarrassingly loudly against the tiles, it isn’t awkward at all.

Scott’s cock hardens against Stiles’ leg, so he takes it in hand and brings him off as he kisses the salt from his lips, and though they’re not conventional first kisses, they’re the best.

Scott leans against the wall after he comes and his smile is impish and sweet.

“I want you to come all over my face,” he says, casually, like he’s asking Stiles to make him coffee with two sugars. Stiles has to squeeze the base of his dick so he doesn’t shoot off prematurely.

“I can do that,” Stiles replies, attempting to sound just as unaffected, but failing miserably.

Scott wraps a hand around his wrist as he jacks off, and it’s that, that gentle pressure, that has Stiles coming so hard his balls tingle. Scott closes his eyes just in time. Stiles’ come drips over Scott’s forehead, down the length of his nose, and Scott swirls it around with his fingers before he leans into the spray of the shower again to wash it away.

Stiles’ dad is already at work, so when they emerge from the shower, Stiles gives Scott a pair of boxers and slides on his own, and they spend the day in their underwear, mostly making out.

*

The first time Stiles slides into Scott’s tight heat, they’re face to face. Scott had been all set on forearms and knees, his ass framed by his lacrosse jockstrap, because he’s obviously either read Stiles’ mind or looked through his browsing history. He’d dipped down and widened his legs, and his ass had been right there, perfect. But Stiles wants to catalog Scott’s reactions, wants to see his expression to check he’s not causing harm, so he’d helped him slide the jockstrap off, gotten his pillows ready, and made space between Scott’s legs.

It’s the right choice. There’s nothing like seeing Scott’s eyelids flutter as he slides in for the first time, inch by inch, and bottoms out with one firm final push. Scott’s mouth is open the entire time, his tongue sweeping out periodically against his lower lip. His eyes go glassy, red-limned and veiled by his lashes. He gives a lazy smile to Stiles after Stiles reaches forward and kisses him. Grins when he starts milking Stiles’ cock with rhythmic clenches, like he’s trying to draw out Stiles’ come. Groans with his head thrown back when Stiles adjusts angle and begins sliding against his prostate with every thrust in and drag out.

“Like that, right there,” Scott sighs, one hand fisted in the pillow behind his head and the other holding up his left leg. “A little slower?”

Stiles follows his suggestions and yeah, it’s infinitely better. Before too long Scott’s come all over his chest and the squeeze against Stiles’ cock has his thrusts going jagged and reckless. He buries his head against Scott’s neck when he finally jets off, licks at his warm skin.

*

Stiles is a little worried they’ll stop being them now that they’re also this, because whenever he’s within a ten yard proximity to Scott he just wants to strip him off and worship him from head to toe.

But they chat in the lulls between sex, and start going out more together like they used to, and spend time with the pack without engaging in deliberately gross PDA, and have all the same old discussions. It’s like they’re them but with a couple of extra features.

The members of their pack either don’t notice, or don’t care.

So, yes, Stiles frequently thinks about when and how he can next see Scott’s o-face, and he absolutely spends minutes of his time undressing him with his eyes, but he also enjoys his company when they’re fully clothed. He likes making Scott smile, and listening to his opinions about the shows they watch, and losing countless games of Mario Kart. He likes going out for burgers and ice cream, taking Scott ice skating and teaching him how not to fall on his ass, and watching movies in the back row of the local indie cinema. He likes just being with Scott, knowing that Scott has seen him at his best and his worst, and still wants to be with him. He wakes up every morning feeling content, whether wrapped up in Scott’s arms or not.

*

“Who’s Clark?” Scott asks a couple of weeks later. They’re studying together before they have to go back to school. Scott’s influence is so great that he can get Stiles engrossed in learning, which is proof positive he has an unwieldy power over him. There’s an odd quality to Scott’s voice, like it’s hollow, and Stiles glances up from his reading.

“Huh?”

“Clark. Saw the name on your list, next to ‘2 dicks’. I didn’t mean to pry, but you left it on your bedside table, so…”

The list. His list of things he wants to try with Scott before he’s back in Washington. The list that was not meant for eyes other than his own because it’s frankly intimidatingly long.

“Oh! Clark isn’t a person. It’s my favorite dildo. I named it Clark because, you know … Dick.”

Scott’s frown changes, becomes incredulous rather than serious. “I thought you were gonna say Superman.”

“Too obvious.”

“Okay good. Right. Fine.”

“Were you… Was that jealousy?”

“Little bit. I didn’t like the idea of not being enough to satisfy you.”

“Scotty, no. It’s not like that. You’re incredible. It’s just. I’ve always been curious and you’re the first person I’ve thought I could trust with it.”

“Yeah?” Scott asks and he sounds genuinely surprised. Stiles doesn’t understand how, but it’s clear that Scott’s been laboring under the misapprehension that this is some kind of experiment for Stiles and nothing more.

“Of course.” Stiles shuts his book, puts it aside. “You know I love you, right? That I’m in love with you.”

Scott blinks at him, and Stiles prepares himself for rejection – even though he has a feeling it will contain a ‘yet’ and a ‘maybe soon’. What they have is good and Stiles can’t see Scott throwing that away easily. Except Scott surges forward, cradles his jaw softly and kisses him like he never wants to stop.

“I didn’t know that,” Scott says after a few minutes. “I thought it was just me.”

Stiles kisses him again, tender as he can. “I gotta do a better job of showing and telling you.”

They fuck, slow and gentle, Stiles edging Scott until he has tears in his eyes, and it’s something Stiles is going to remember forever. The sounds Scott makes when Stiles brings him to the edge, but doesn’t let him topple. The feel of his skin beneath Stiles’ hands. The sweet taste of his kisses.

*

It’s a week before Stiles has to hop on a plane when Scott opens Stiles up enough he’s taking his cock and three fingers. It’s a stretch he almost can’t believe, but Scott’s been so careful and considerate. There’s lube dripping over Stiles’ balls and into the bedding beneath him, his chest is tight and his muscles are loose.

“Still good?” Scott checks, and Stiles slurs out a yes. He’s come once already, crying out from stimulation.

Scott edges the dildo against his rim and Stiles is too far gone to even think about tensing up, he takes it with no problems, feeling perfectly, blissfully full of Scott.

“God, you’re doing so good, Mieczyslaw,” Scott says, sounding awed. Stiles twitches as Scott uses his name, on the verge of another release. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’m gonna come my brains out,” Stiles says.

It isn’t his most romantic moment, but it makes Scott laugh and the vibration and slight tremor of the dildo and Scott’s dick is all it takes for Stiles to shoot off again, hard enough he collapses against the bed.

Scott’s dislodged, but doesn’t seem to mind. Stiles tries to catch his breath as he feels hot stripes of Scott's come hit the small of his back. Scott lies down on the bed next to him, drags his hand through Stiles’ hair.

“Want me to describe how you looked?” Scott asks.

“When I can come again,” Stiles mumbles. “If you do it now, I might combust.” He eases onto his side and pulls Scott into an embrace, kisses his forehead. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It was very enjoyable for me too.”

“Is that your delicate way of saying you wanna pound down like that again?”

Scott rubs his nose against Stiles’ cheek. “I’m counting down the minutes until I can fuck you full, yeah,” he whispers, low, into Stiles’ ear.

Stiles is aching, feels loose and open like he never has before, and his dick still twitches in attention.

“Now probably isn’t the best time to tell you, but I wrote my own list,” Scott says in between long, drugging kisses.

“We’re gonna rack up a lot of frequent flyer miles.”

“Most of mine were exhibition-style, easily achieved via video.”

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. No one appreciates what a brilliant strategist you are.”

Scott snorts a laugh and they sleep, tangled up in each other.

*

The first time they fuck while they’re miles apart, Stiles has tears in his eyes because he wants to pull Scott close, nestle his nose against his skin and breathe him in. He wants to fall asleep to the sound of Scott’s heart beat and wake up sticky-warm.

Even though Scott’s remarkable stripping out of his old high school lacrosse uniform, and Stiles has to pinch himself to stretch this out, it doesn’t feel like enough.

He thinks about pretending it’s over-stimulation, but he watches Scott’s awkward, ragged movements during clean-up, and can’t help but tell the truth. When he’s with Scott, he doesn’t want to wear a mask of indifference, he wants to be honest.

“I miss you,” Stiles says. “All the time, I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Scott says. “But this’ll work for now.”

*

The next time they fuck in the same room, Stiles has transferred to UC Davis. It’s the culmination of three months of a long-distance relationship, weeks spent conniving and convincing, and an intense night of love declarations and confessions.

So it’s over in a few pathetically short minutes and it isn’t graceful or elegant, but it makes Stiles feel complete.