"Oh come on dude," Scott gripes as Stiles leans against him, all dead weight forcing Scott to hold him up, "you were the one who kept us up all night and you were the one who wanted pizza."
Stiles slinks his arms around Scott beneath his jacket, hooking his thumbs in Scott's belt loops as he snuggles his (freaking cold) nose against Scott's neck and mumbles.
"Ws'good pizza. Famous."
"'Cause there wasn't any closer than fifty blocks away?"
Stiles just snorts and burrows closer, and Scott can feel his sleepy smirk when Stiles mouths absently at his pulse, sending an interested shiver down his spine.
The train lurches as it rounds a corner and Scott flails a little, barely managing to grab onto an overhead bar in time to keep him and Stiles both from landing on the person sitting next to them. He still bangs his elbow on the metal door between the cars.
"You asshole, I am not holding you up for the next half hour." Scott pinches Stiles' side where he's holding him up but all it does it make Stiles cling tighter and slip one hand up higher, then back down, skin to skin this time under his boxers. Scott hisses. "Stiles!"
Laughing softly, Stiles runs his nose up Scott's neck to nibble at his ear. With purpose.
Scott sighs. Everything is a challenge. He should have known better.
When Stiles speaks next his voice is low, a carefully modulated tone he's come to use when he only wants the wolves to pick it up, and even then he's only audible at fairly close range. Scott's used to hearing it when they're out fighting crazy shit in the woods, or when Stiles just can't hold back his sarcastic commentary in class.
"It's your fault I was up, heh, so late last night."
Apparently it's also good for illicit conversations on public transit. Who knew?
Scott flushes at the implication but there's no way he can back down now. Stiles would never let him hear the end of it. And, well, he is a little smug about it, he can admit.
"It was your bet, Stiles." Scott readjusts his grip on Stiles, letting him go just long enough to loop his arm back around his waist under his hoodie this time. It's a lot easier to curl his fingers under Stiles' shirt that way. "Don't be a sore loser."
"Fine, how's this for a rematch? I bet I can make you come before we have to get off the train, and before I do."
"You... Now? Here!?!"
"What about it, Scotty? It's rush hour, everyone's in their own little world. Or do you think you can't stay quiet?"
"Yes. No— Wait, shit. That's not what I meant! This is a horrible idea."
They round another corner and as the car sways again, Stiles tightens his grip around Scott and rolls his hips right into Scott's. He's already half hard and it's so unfair because it does things to Scott that are far better followed through in a bed or a couch or the Jeep, or even a deserted classroom.
Not on the NYC subway, and Stiles knows that, which has got to be like 97% of the reason he's doing it. Scott is going to kill him. Later.
When he's not mouthing at Scott's ear and still murmuring in that damn voice.
"I can hear that whine, you know, that one you make when you start getting so frustrated you can't stand it."
Scott chokes, trying to cut off the sounds he hadn't realized he was even making. Stiles huffs a warm laugh.
"Don't stop on my account. Then again," Stiles says conversationally, "if you think about it, even with a pretty low werewolf to human ratio, a city the size of New York's gotta have a pretty significant werewolf slash supernatural population. Sure, the humans can't hear either of us over the sound of everything, but I bet there's at least a few people on the train who could listen in if they figured out what was going on. Because I know they'd want to, Scotty. An alpha, a true alpha, taken down by a little ol' human like yours truly? And as much as I fucking love what you sound like when we're at home, I gotta say, this is really doing it for me."
Okay, yeah, Scott's had nearly a lifetime to acclimate to Stiles blurting out whatever he's thinking, but this kind of intent is a whole new game, one that has him gripping the overhead bar white-knuckled.
"Do you think they'll be able to smell it? How turned on you are? I can feel you, love feeling you like this, love how you can't hide anything from me. If I let you go everyone in this whole car could see how hard you are just from listening to me," Stiles says, dragging his thumb down Scott's spine, "but I'm going to keep you to myself, at least until I make you come for me, then everyone will know you're mine."
It's so casual, so sure, the way Stiles lays his claim, and Scott shudders at the implications of it. He shoves his face against Stiles' neck, nosing his way between his scarf and jawline to try to muffle sounds he's given up trying to stop making.
"You're so easy for me, Scott, you're already shaking."
Stiles' voice veers even further into smug and the pressure against Scott's dick is nearing unbearable. At least, that's what he's thinking until Stiles starts rubbing against him, shallow little movements perfectly timed with the sway of the train car so as not to draw undue attention.
"Stiles... I can't...," Scott whines, digging blunt teeth into the delicate skin at Stiles' neck to keep from crying out.
Stiles groans and after a few moments Scott realizes he's gasping softly at his ear with every twitch of his hips, and there's something about it, about the way Stiles isn't as unaffected as he's pretending to be that just. Fuck, Scott wants to lay him out but he can't, not for another half hour at least, but at least now he's sure he's not the only one on the verge of breaking.
He doesn't speak for a while, just keeps making those devastating little movements, but when he does that low voice is tinged with a breathiness that belies his earlier smooth confidence.
"God, Scott, I want— Why'd you have to wear such a short jacket?" Stiles pouts, fingers teasingly dipping down the back of Scott's boxers much further than they should be in public, never mind that Scott's backed up against solid metal. "Mm, if it was just a little bit longer I'd finger you right here but... thinking about doing it anyways, though. I know how much you love it when I open you up... how you always love it when I give it to you dry at first even if you're too afraid of hurting me to admit you like it rough, just a little."
Scott trembles at the onslaught, claws poking through Stiles' shirt where he's fisting it in a desperate attempt to stay upright, salt on his tongue and Stiles' pulse beating fast and steady under his lips.
"When we get home," Scott says, feeling a little helpless in the face of Stiles' unfiltered want, "show me, okay?"
"I can take it, dude. I can take anything from you... I know you've got the control for all of it."
It takes all of the control Scott has left to keep his fangs and face in check at the thought, the potential of it, and maybe a sweet bit of payback for how Stiles has him standing in a subway car surrounded by dozens of people and yet still on the verge of coming with just his voice and the hot, hard line of his cock against his own, trapped in too-tight jeans.
Somewhere in there he wonders how close they are to their stop. He gave up paying attention to the station arrivals and departures somewhere around Stiles nibbling on his ear, but now he really wants Stiles some place he can get his hands on him, in him, fuck, and not just taunting him into desperation.
"Come on, Scotty, we're close, you're close, I know it...," Stiles says, so very right, and Scott knows there's no way on earth he's going to be able to stay silent for much longer. He's already shamelessly meeting Stiles thrusts, firecracker heat sparkling along his spine gathering low in anticipation.
Scott's just on the wrong side of desperate when he jerks Stiles close and holds him there with more force than is strictly necessary, seeking his mouth not so much for a kiss as for the connection, whining into an open mouthed press of lips and tongues as he comes, the rest of the world a staticky blur far beyond his periphery.
It takes a minute for him to remember where exactly they're at, Stiles gentling the kiss into something sweeter, something a little more publicly appropriate as Scott lets go of the (now dented) hand bar to get both arms around Stiles and catch his breath.
Stiles breaks off the kiss with a knowing smirk. "I win."
Scott tilts his head, then squirms as the train turns a corner and he realizes just how wet his boxers are now. Still, the discomfort isn't nearly enough to distract him from the overwhelming scent of Stiles' arousal and the feeling of him pressed along his front.
"I'm not really complaining, dude," Scott shrugs, looking to the side. Then, a bright grin flits across his face before he leans in to whisper in Stiles' ear. "Plus, you're the one that's going to have to walk out of here with a boner."
"Wait, what?!" Stiles jerks back.
"S'our stop." Scott nods toward the door as the train pulls into the next station, pretty sure the look on Stiles' face right now is more than worth the rest of the train ride.
Laughing, Scott grabs Stiles' hand and yanks him out the door, ignoring the handful of odd and occasionally knowing looks thrown their way in favor of Stiles' overdramatic "Nooooo!"
"That's okay," he says, cheerfully mirroring Stiles' earlier smirk, "it's only a few blocks walk and then we have a demonstration scheduled, right?"