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Stiles didn’t invite Lydia and Allison over to gawk at the guy who was doing construction on his dad’s old house. Really, he didn’t. He had asked them over for their input on paint colors and furniture. The guy who was redecorating the house (who Stiles did not have a thing for, at all, thank you very much) wanted their opinions and as much as he would’ve loved to bother his step-mother at work, he was good without. So he called in the next best thing.
Lydia watched him with just her eyes while he walked past the kitchen’s open wall that led to the living room. The dining room table that was usually littered with cases and files was now littered with blueprints and notes that Derek, the construction guy, was usually swatting Stiles away from. He passed the doorway again and Stiles shook his head, squinting his eyes, disbelieving. He was almost certain he knew Lydia and Allison were staring and was just doing it for the attention.
“Guys? C’mon. Paint colors,” Stiles pointed out, shoving the swatches of colors at them. Allison leaned back in her chair a little and Stiles didn’t need to be looking to know she was staring at his ass. Lydia fluttered her lashes and smiled coyly. He wasn’t even looking and he was getting looks Stiles couldn’t pay Lydia to look at him with in high school. “Hey! I’ll tell Jackson and Scott.”
“Eh…” Lydia replied, waving a dismissive hand. Allison at least stopped leaning and looked at him.
“I’m not worried about Scott. Where did you get him and how much does he cost?” Allison asked, putting her elbows on the table, leaning over her coffee. Stiles rolled his eyes.
“He’s a construction worker, not a stripper,” he said plainly. Allison frowned, taking her arms back and sitting up straight. “And since when do you and Scott need construction work done? You live in an apartment!” Stiles reminded her. Allison shrugged.
“Does he do plumbing?”
“He can work on my plumbing,” Lydia replied, sounding knowing and sassy. Stiles leveled her with a look, one she was still not looking at. Allison snorted and swatted at her friend’s arm. Lydia whipped her head around to look at them. “What?” She asked.
“What what? I asked you to help. Help!” Stiles exclaimed, pointing to the colors. Lydia rolled her eyes and looked at the swatches, Allison leaning over to look at them with her. “Mel wants to go blue in the kitchen,” he told them and Lydia lifted an eyebrow. “You have a problem with that?” He asked. Lydia sighed and set the paint samples down only for Allison to pick them up.
“I love Melissa, I do. But, I think if she wants to go blue, she’s gonna have to go periwinkle. Black and stainless steel with blue?”
“I said blue, not navy,” Stiles reiterated, his brow crinkling. “What about that baby blue,” Stiles said, reaching over for the sample, getting his hand slapped away for his troubles. “Hey!”
“Maybe. What about the living room?” Allison asked and Stiles shrugged. They looked at each other and then at the paint samples again. “What is he doing to the living room again?”
“He said he’s gonna open it up and add a porch out the side, for like barbeques and stuff. Dad doesn’t really care about the colors to be honest,” he admitted, lifting his mug for a sip. Lydia hummed again and then let her eyes stray to the living room, smiling a little when Derek walked past with a measuring tape and leaned over the table.
“I think he should go earthy tones, like browns and stuff. Lydia?” Allison asked and Lydia blinked once, slowly, before turning her head back. “Browns for the living room?”
“I think that would look nice,” she agreed. “Now what’s this about the re-decorating team?” Lydia asked, putting her elbows on the table in her chin in her hands. Stiles picked up his cup, covering his mouth. “I heard from a little birdy that Hale Construction has a contract with this adorable little team, Pack Interior. What’s this about the blue-eyed, pale-skinned, greek God of a decorator that you’re obsessed with?” Lydia inquired, looking far too knowing for her own good.
“I never said those things, and I’m not obsessed,” Stiles retorted, putting his mug back down. “He’s nice to look at,” Stiles admitted quietly, picking his mug back up to distract himself. Allison threaded her fingers together and put them under her chin with a bright smile on her face that special way that she did.
“That’s so cute,” Allison cooed, getting a glare in response.
“It’s not different from how you look at Derek,” Stiles reminded them. Lydia scoffed and Allison’s smile lessen but didn’t disappear in the slightest, only giving him a pointed look.
“It is because we’re committed. Lydia and Jackson may be the most on-off relationship Beacon Hills has ever seen, but they’re together. Scott and I are happy, so Derek is really just kind of pretty to look at. You and this decorator, you could actually ask him out and no one will stop you,” Allison explained and Stiles rolled his eyes.
“I’m not going to ask him out. I’m good with pining,” he shrugged off, getting a gentle shove in his shoulder in response.
-
There was a gentle knock on his door and Stiles lifted his head, calling for them to come in. Isaac Lahey carefully shuffled in halfway and smiled a little hesitantly.
“Hey, your dad told me to talk to you. It’s about the furniture? Could you… come down?” He asked.
“Uhm… sure,” Stiles agreed. He put his notebook on his eternally cluttered desk and set his guitar in its stand. Following after the shuffling decorator, he found himself being lead all the way down the stairs and outside to a large truck. Isaac paused at the back end, sighing heavily and then pointing inside.
Stiles stepped around the corner and saw a large couch. It was black and blocky and leather. It was very modern, with a low back and sleek, sharp corners but not at all what his father had told Isaac he desired for the living area. The couch that was currently sitting in the living room was overly fluffy and large and brown with stains dotting the cushions. They’d had it since Stiles was a child and they figured it was time to get a new one. This was not what they meant.
“Well, uh, Isaac, I hate to ruin your creative image for our house, but we’re kind of folky and small town. A little less, city high rise,” he said carefully and Isaac sighed again, rubbing his hand over his face.
“I know, I know. You’re not ruining anything, but I might be ruining your day,” Isaac finally confessed. Stiles looked confused, tilting his head a little bit. “You know how I told you and your family I was going to order a few pieces of furniture before Derek starts?” Stiles nodded dumbly. “Well, Derek is now midway through demo and the furniture just got here. Also Erica ordered the wrong furniture and it’s gonna take another five weeks to get the right stuff, so… I’m sorry,” Isaac said, looking strung out and worried.
“Dude, it’s fine,” Stiles told him, smiling at him. Isaac lifted his eyes to Stiles face, still looking concerned. “You are literally working with the least concerned family in all of the state of California. I’m glad you guys even made an effort to get to Beacon Hills, I don’t care that stuff is gonna be late, and I’m sure my dad and Mel won’t either. We’ll just use our old stuff until it gets in,” Stiles brushed off but Isaac still looked unsure.
“You’re sure that it’s fine. I mean, I can get a rush on it- there’s no promises, but I don’t want to make this break any stress for you-” Isaac cut himself off, blushing.
“Man, being home is nowhere near a stress. Isaac, seriously, it’s gonna be fine. I’m a little worried about your stress, like you’re gonna give yourself a stroke if you keep this up. Just… order the right stuff and we’ll deal with it when it comes in,” Stiles assured him. He put a hand on Isaac’s arm, smiling gently. “I’m not gonna fuck with you just because someone messed up an order.”
“I… thanks,” Isaac said. Stiles dropped his hand and put them both in his hoodie pockets. Isaac looked him up and down, still surprised that this guy was Stiles, that same guy who performed ballads and rocking punk anthems while on tour. Stiles was still smiling a little and Isaac averted his eyes.
“I’m gonna head back up. Don’t… just call me if you need anything,” Stiles suggested, clapping a hand on his shoulder for a moment before turning and heading back into the house. Isaac watched him go and then scrubbed his hands over his face then up and into his hair before stepping back into the house himself.
Stiles plopped himself back down on the floor beside his desk, dropping his guitar in his lap and groping around his desk to find his moleskin where he kept all his songs. There was still a pen sitting next to the desk and he picked it up to pen more of his song.
Shadowed lines reflected in blue eyes…
“Motherfuck,” Stiles swore and dropped his pen, plucking at the strings of his guitar.
Your teeth against my neck
If I asked you to let go, would you say no?
Would you know that’s all I ever asked for?
-
Isaac stabbed at his keyboard for a long time, Erica swiveling in her chair next to him to glare at him. He was pointedly ignoring her eyes for the too-bright screen of his computer. If he looked up, he knew what Erica would say and he didn’t need to be talking about his feelings today.
“Isaac,” Erica said but Isaac continued to stare at the furniture order. There was the sound of plastic wheels on hardwood flooring and then a body against his arm. “Isaac,” she hissed, much, much closer to him than before. He grit his teeth and he knew Boyd was probably watching on with an amused smirk from his own desk.
“If you don’t answer her, she’s just gonna get worse,” Boyd reminded him and Isaac turned to look at him over the opposite shoulder than the one Erica was pressed against. Erica poked at his arm and Isaac rolled his eyes, pushing away and then spinning in his chair to look at her. She batted her lashes at him, but Isaac was good with frowning at her. “Isaac,” Boyd warned but Isaac wasn’t listening to either of them.
“I don’t want to talk about my feelings,” he announced to the room. “We have a late furniture misorder and a list of items that the Stilinski-McCalls want to keep in their house, plus paint, we don’t have the time for my feelings,” he decided, getting a pouty frown from Erica. “No,” he finished, pointing an accusing finger and giving her a hard look.
“You can’t put your feelings on the backburner forever, Isaac,” Erica reminded him. “I get that you’re married to the work and Pack Interior is your baby, but maybe you should consider sharing it. Also, maybe if you got laid, you wouldn’t be so stressed out,” Erica pointed out, unhelpfully in Isaac’s opinion.
“Don’t be a dick,” Isaac retorted. Boyd snorted. “What?” Isaac asked, swinging around to look at him.
“You’re one to talk,” Boyd replied. “Since we took this job you’ve been a nightmare. You’re so dead set on avoiding the fact that you actually like Stiles that you’ve become a bitter old man in the space of a month. Maybe if you actually just considered that you have feelings,” Boyd pointed out, stressing out the last word, “you might be less of a pain.”
“And you know, not for nothing, but maybe instead of pining for the cute musician whose parents’ house you’re redecorating, you could actually be sleeping with the cute musician whose parents’ house you’re redecorating?” Erica offered. Isaac pursed his lips, but even Boyd was nodding at him. “Don’t you see the important and exciting difference there?” She said, sounding more and more excited about it with every word. “I don’t think I could forgive you if you let this chance pass by. I might have to quit,” she continued, still looking completely serious. Isaac snorting, cracking a smile.
“You would never,” Isaac reminded her. “You love being able to spend other people’s money too much. Also, you love making things look pretty. That’s why you’re in this business,” he stated. Erica shrugged, pushing away to go back to her computer.
“We’re just saying, you could date him. That could be a thing, a really good thing,” Boyd offered up with a little shrug of his shoulders. He lowered his head back to his notebook, closing the conversation. Isaac pressed his lips together and went back to his own computer, trying to get the furniture order right.
Isaac and Derek pulled up to the Stilinski-McCall's early the next day and let themselves in like they had been instructed to do. They had even told the sheriff that wasn’t how things usually went but he had insisted and Stiles had all but put keys in their hands when they tried to explain.
(“Who is this area is really going to question it? It’s the Sheriff’s house! Surely no one is going to think we’re being robbed,” Stiles had said.)
Derek went for the kitchen where there was still hot coffee but Isaac walked around the kitchen and into the living room, just glancing around the living space. His mind was constantly thinking of how to spruce the place up once Derek had finished with construction that he had never really looked around. It was nice, homey. Nothing his own home had been, this one being warm and lived in with books on tables and clothes on the backs of chairs.
Stepping around the edge of the couch, he actually started when he realized there was a person on it. Everyone was normally gone by the time they’d showed up, out or Stiles was asleep in his room, but it seemed he had crashed on the couch last night.
Isaac paused because he isn’t sure how to handle seeing Stiles, Stiles Stilinski, the Stiles from his breakthrough album, Bisexual Is More Than a Fad, the one who croons soft ballads from the radio but rocks out on a guitar on stage, the one who was Isaac’s embarrassing crush for the first year of college, asleep, looking soft and cuddle-able on his own couch. Isaac was also pretty sure it’s a little bit creepy, the way he keeps staring but again, he isn’t sure how to reconcile this Stiles with the same rock/punk musician in his head.
He’s dead asleep and snoring a little. His mouth was parted a bit and his shirt had rucked up enough to expose a little bit of his stomach and the happy trail that Isaac was very carefully not looking at. His sweats were baggy and the right leg had bunched up around his knee. There was a few miscellaneous sheets of paper and a notebook next to the couch, sitting with a pen a few inches away and his guitar leaning against his right arm that had fallen off the edge of the couch.
I want to kiss you, but also break your teeth; how about you was written on one of the pages on his stomach and the notebook was open to a page where Biting my lip makes your cheeks pink but can I see the rest; I know I could make more of you blush was written. It’s both invigorating and nerve wracking to know Stiles writes his own songs, but at that moment, Isaac wanted to know who they were about.
“Isaac?” Derek called and Isaac started again, lifting his eyes from the sloppy red pen writing on a slightly crumpled page next to Stiles’ hip that was talking about sheets and hickeys. Derek came around the corner and Isaac shrugged, feeling helpless. “He fall asleep on the couch again?” Derek asked, his voice dry, like this was a normal occurrence. Isaac nodded, feeling frantic. “Just wake him. He’ll go upstairs and pass out again. Coffee?” He asked and Isaac nodded again, still lost for words, Derek disappearing back into the kitchen.
Isaac leaned over, shaking Stiles’ shoulder carefully. Stiles opened his eyes, blinking a couple of time and then bolted up, his guitar sliding off his forearm. Isaac reached out, saving the guitar was thunking against the ground. Stiles shook his head and reached around, grabbing crumpled sheets of paper and slowly standing.
“Sorry,” he apologized, for what Isaac didn’t know. “I’m… I’m going upstairs,” he said groggily. Isaac nodded and offered Stiles his guitar. He looked at it for a long time with tired eyes and then carefully wrapped his fingers around the neck and carried it upstairs with his pages, slumping up the stairs. Isaac swallowed and looked at the floor, finding the notebook still there.
Picking it up, Isaac flipped through the pages, finding more and more lyrics. Some were familiar from old songs, but some were new, a little more graphic than Stiles was known for. Of course, BISTF had a Parental Advisory sticker on it, but this was… it was was sexual. It was explicit in a way Isaac would never had connected to Stiles, making his cheeks heat and he closed it, wrapping the elastic around it and setting it on the table.
“Here,” Derek said, coming in with another mug of coffee. Isaac couldn’t imagine needing anything more than a hot cup of coffee at that moment.
-
Pink lips between my legs and fingers in gold hair
How I beg my dreams to be of more than you
“I’m amazed by how explicit this is,” Danny admitted and Stiles put his face in his hands. “Honestly, why didn’t you write this way about me?” Danny inquired, lowering the pages from his face.
“Danny, I was an emotionally stunted 18 year old. I have accepted myself and now I’m writing songs about getting my teeth on another man. Did you really ever want me to write songs about you?” He asked, looking equal parts put upon and embarrassed.
“I’m just saying, this is amazing,” Danny pointed out, reading over them again. “Maybe this is new direction for your music? You could get a lot of attention for this,” he continued and Stiles shook his head.
“I don’t need people knowing I want the guy redecorating my parents’ house inside of me,” Stiles sighed. He lowered his hands but Danny was still scrutinizing his lyrics. There was a reason Stiles didn’t take this to Scott, mostly because Scott would be too red in the face to look at the words and give him advice. Fact was, if he got nearly half as far as Danny had, he would be speechless and embarrassed for Stiles.
“It’s not like your lyrics say his name,” Danny pointed out, which, in Stiles’ opinion, was unhelpful. “You could absolutely release this. Maybe as an exclusive b-side. Keep it down low though, the last thing your dad needs to know is your preference for bottoming,” Danny told him, smirking that knowing smirk that was probably why Stiles was so glad they were no longer dating.
“I hate you,” Stiles said but Danny only shrugged.
“That why you come to me for my gay insight?” He inquired, picking up his drink. Stiles pursed his lips, looking down at the pages Danny had put down. Stiles reached out, snatching them away and shoving them in his bag. “You know, you could ask him out. Maybe you’ll stop being such an obscene writer if you give that a shot?” Danny suggested, putting his drink back down.
“He’s…” Stiles said, making a vague hand movement.
“Extremely hot? By the way you talk about him, he sounds like a god. Actually, he sounds like a wicked temptress, which I know is wrong because he redecorated my Aunt’s house last year.” Stiles choked on his water. “He’s cute, but he’s not anything worth drooling over. Then again, it’s very telling of why we broke up,” he admitted.
“You broke up with me,” Stiles pointed out. Danny shrugged.
“I wasn’t your type. Tall, gangly and blue-eyed is your type, though, so to each his own,” Danny brushed off. Stiles leveled him with a glare. “Really think you should ask him out.”
“Really think you should mind your own business,” Stiles shot back, causing Danny to roll his eyes.
“You’re so sad,” Danny sighed, picking at his lunch. Stiles twisted his mouth but didn’t reply.
He felt even more lost than before after his lunch with Danny. He didn’t know what he expected from that meeting, but this was not it. Then again, he walked into his house, finding Isaac sitting at the dining room table with a blonde girl, so there really was no way for the day to get worse. She was practically in his lap, leaning into his space. Stiles swallowed and shut the door, walking quietly past the dining room. He tried, really tried, to not think that he had this coming. Of course, Isaac had a girlfriend, a really gorgeous girlfriend.
“Stiles?” Isaac called but Stiles ignored it for heading up to his room. He closed the door behind him and settled down on his bed, looking around for his notebook. He had pining, sad lyrics to write about a taken man.
When it wasn’t under his sheets, his brow creased, he started lifting pages and pushing things off his desk in hopes of finding it, but the desk was empty. He was on the verge of flipping his entire mattress to find it, when he lifted his head, his eyes going wide in realization.
“Fucking shit,” Stiles swore and headed back out of his room, stomping down the stairs. He walked into the living room, tossing the cushions despite the two people at the table. The girl lifted an eyebrow and Isaac slowly stood up.
“Stiles…?” He asked and Stiles turned to look at him. “You looking for something?”
“Yeah. It’s a small notebook, it’s moleskine? You seen it?” He asked, shoving his words together in a rush. Isaac turned to lifted a paper and picked up the small book, holding it out for him. Stiles visibly relaxed but also turned a surprising shade of red, taking it from his outstretched hand. “Thanks. It’s practically got my life in it.”
“No problem,” Isaac swallowed and Stiles nodded, leaving the room. He knocked his head against the wall as soon as he left, hearing the girl start talking.
“That’s Stiles? Honestly, I can see your emotional trauma,” she said, and then yelped. “Dude!”
“I don’t have emotional trauma. I just… I would like you to stop talking about my feelings, okay? But can I tell you something, and if tell Boyd, we’re done, personally.” There was a snort.
“What’s that?” There was a pause and then a subtle shifting noise.
“I read some of that notebook, and don’t look at me like that, I know it was personal and wrong, but Erica. You know how Stiles’ stuff is really… mild. And I mean, like it’s chill or it’s about being an outcast.” Another pause. “This stuff, the new stuff, it’s… holy shit. It’s something.”
“Was it bad?”
“It was good. It was… god, it was obscene. I’m surprised I could look him in the eyes.”
“Y’know-”
“Don’t get my hopes up, Erica. Don’t do it.”
Stiles swallowed and then licked his lips, slipping away before he could hear more. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he didn’t think he wanted to know more.
It was almost ten at night when Isaac showed up at Stiles door. Stiles had finally put his guitar up and was lying in bed, watching Netflix on his computer. His father and Melissa had gone out for the night and he lifted his eyes as Isaac knocked on the door.
“Hey, I just thought I’d let you know I’m leaving. Thanks for letting me stick around this late,” he said and Stiles nodded.
“It’s no trouble, man. You got everything?” He asked and Isaac nodded back.
“Yeah, I think I’m good. See you tomorrow, maybe?” He asked and Stiles agreed, Isaac turning away to walk out the door. He paused halfway and then turned back around. “I know this is nosy, and you don’t have the answer... but who were those lyrics about? I mean, I know I shouldn’t have looked but,” he licked his lips, and Stiles pressed his lips together. “You know, nevermind,” Isaac brushed it off, turning back around.
He made it only a couple of steps before Stiles replied.
“They’re about you.”
Isaac froze where he was and turned back around to look at him through the open door. Stiles was looking apprehensive but also hopeful.
“It’s pretty fucking embarrassing, right? All those lyrics. Pretty… pretty gross,” he admitted. Isaac walked back, leaning in the doorway. “I bet the last thing you expected was a client trying to get in your pants, right? Unprofessional,” he joked, wryly, trying on a small, strained smile. “Your girlfriend probably thought it was pretty weird too,” he sighed, looking at his lap. Isaac’s brow furrowed.
“I don’t have a girlfriend, Stiles. If you mean Erica, she’s not my girlfriend. She’s… she’s just my friend, my best friend. My co-worker. And it wasn’t…” He paused and licked his lips. He didn’t miss the way Stiles watched him. “I thought about it too.”
“You- uhm…” Stiles seemed to be floundering for words. Isaac smiled a little. “So… what?” Stiles asked, sounding completely lost.
“You are so much better than I ever imagined you being,” Isaac admitted. Stiles went a little bit pink and Isaac crossed the room to cradle his cheeks and kiss his lips. Stiles made a soft sound in the back of his throat and his eyes fluttered shut, leaning up to kiss Isaac back, reaching up hesitantly to grasp at the back of his neck.
Isaac let go of one of Stiles’ cheek to blindly close the laptop, pushing it out of the way and straddle Stiles’ hips. Stiles made another soft noise in surprise, but his hands landed on Isaac’s hips, curling his fingers around and digging his fingers in a little bit.
“I can’t believe I spent a month not doing this,” Isaac murmured against Stiles’ lips, getting a gentle giggle in return. Stiles surged forward again to kiss him, licking along the seam of his lips until Isaac opened his mouth, Stiles’ tongue touching around the lines of his teeth. Isaac hummed and gave back everything he got, sliding his hand on Stiles’ cheek back into his hair, the other landing on his shoulder to dig into the fabric.
Stiles pulled back a little to kiss along his cheek, his chin, down his jaw and his throat, tearing his scarf away from his neck to suck marks along the line of it. Isaac tilted his head all the way back, pawing at his shoulders and swallowing around the way Stiles was licking at his adam's apple.
“I have so many more lyrics where those came from,” Stiles muttered into Isaac’s skin, Isaac only moaning quietly in return when Stiles nipped a hickey into his pulse point. “You have no idea how many ideas I’ve had about this,” he confessed and Isaac drifted his hands up the back of his neck, curling his fingers into Stiles’ hair, pulling a little bit.
“I want you to show me,” Isaac whispered. He pulled Stiles away from his abused neck, tilting his head up to look at his darkening brown eyes. “I want you to show me everything you want.”
“I think I can do that,” he agreed and leaned up to kiss Isaac again, crawling his fingers up Isaac’s shirt, bunching up the fabric. Isaac groaned, pulling away to pull his henley up and off, and then tugged at Stiles’ to get him to take his off. Stiles did the same, the frantic way he pulled at it causing it to catch around his chin. When it came off, he was pink in the face, reaching up to cradle the back of Isaac’s head. Isaac chuckled quietly, brushing his thumb against Stiles’ cheek before Stiles was pulling him in to kiss him deep and sliding his tongue against Isaac’s while he rocked his hips into Stiles’.
Stiles groaned and reached for his belt, pulling at the buckle. Isaac let him undo his belt, dropping his hands from Stiles’ face to fumble with Stiles’ button and zip. Stiles pulled away, the two of them breathing together while they worked together to get Stiles’ jeans undone, Isaac scrambling off of him to shed his jeans and boxers. Stiles noticed the way he was already half hard, flushed all the way through.
Stiles lifted himself up to pull off his clothes and Isaac straddled him again, Stiles pulling him down to bite at his mouth, lick his lips and kiss him hard and deep, almost frantic with it while reaching blindly for his bedside table, looking around for the condoms and lube he knew he kept there.
“I want you to fuck me. Can you- fuck, can you do that?” Stiles mumbled against Isaac’s mouth. Isaac kissed him hard again and reached between them to stroke once at Stiles’ hard cock. Stiles groaned into his mouth and Isaac smirked against his lips.
“Where’s the damn lube?” Isaac asked and Stiles fumbled once before it landed next to them on the bed. Isaac climbed off and Stiles spread his legs for him, Isaac leaning down to kiss down his thighs. Stiles pressed his lips together, trying to keep himself together while Isaac teased him within an inch of his life, trailing his fingers down his legs and sucking a mark into the inside of his thigh. Stiles groaned and Isaac smirked up at him, picking the lube back up and slicking up his fingers.
Putting his lips back to the red mark on Stiles’ thigh, Isaac carefully pressed in. Stiles groaned and Isaac worked the first finger in slowly, letting Stiles get used to the feeling. Stiles was trying to work himself back but Isaac was more than patient, putting his hand on Stiles’ hip to slow him.
“Isaac,” Stiles whined and Isaac added more lube to make the slide easier. When he finally got the first finger all the way in, Stiles was panting. Isaac stroked the thumb of his opposite hand against his hip and kissed this other thigh, looking up at him.
“You still want to do this?” Isaac asked and Stiles nodded, looking almost panicked about it. He reached for Isaac’s hand, threading their fingers together. Isaac smiled at him and started working a second finger in, careful about the speed and letting Stiles get used to the feeling.
By the time Isaac was four fingers in, Stiles was whimpering and still trying to work himself back onto Isaac’s fingers. Isaac wiggled them around and crooked them, making Stiles choke out a sob. Withdrawing his hand, and getting a whine for his troubles, Isaac made for the condom Stiles had thrown on the bed fifteen minutes ago with the lube.
Isaac pulled Stiles in by his hips once the condom was on, and slicked himself up. Stiles wouldn’t let go of his other hand, but Isaac didn’t mind, using his still slick fingers to guide himself inside of Stiles. He was trying to be careful about it but Stiles was leaking from the tip and red in the face, trying to get Isaac inside of him.
“Isaac, if you don’t hurry the fuck up…” Stiles trailed off, but they both knew it was an empty threat. Stiles was too wound up to not let Isaac fuck him now, but Isaac was still going slow until he was all the way inside and Stiles was groaning. Isaac’s eyes fluttered, feeling pretty overwhelmed. Stiles whined again and Isaac gave a little experimental thrust, getting a choked groan as a reward.
Stiles squeezed his fingers and Isaac pushed again, getting up to a steady rhythm. Stiles was groaning every time Isaac pushed back in, working himself back against Isaac’s cock. Isaac wasn’t expecting to be struggling with this so much, but his mouth was dry and there was already a tight warmth in his abdomen, tingles shooting up and down his spine with every single thrust.
“Isaac, c’mon,” Stiles moaned and Isaac went a little faster, a little harder, making Stiles whole body start to tingle. His spine was alight with sensation and his stomach was getting that fluttery feeling. Isaac thrust a little harder, feeling Stiles start to clench a tighter around him, making his stomach and his head get even lighter.
“Stiles, I’m… holy shit,” he swore loudly, his rhythm starting to stutter while he fucked into Stiles. Stiles squeezed his fingers again, fisting the sheets with his other hand.
“Fuck, Isaac, yes. C’mon, yes,” he moaned and Isaac only pushed in a couple more times before he was coming, the warm release of his orgasm hitting him all at once. He thrust into Stiles through it, lifting a hand to stroke Stiles, trying to get him to come. Stiles was biting his lip and moaning with every thrust, scrabbling at the sheets with his free hand.
“Stiles, Stiles,” Isaac repeated again and again, twisting his wrist on every upstroke. Stiles whimpered his way through his release, coming on his and Isaac’s stomach, and moaning lowly through his come down. Isaac slowly pulled out and tied off the condom, throwing it in the direction of the trash before falling onto the bed with Stiles.
Isaac turned over to curl into Stiles’ side while Stiles grabbed for the blanket, tugging it over themselves and turning over to rest his forehead against Isaac’s chest, closing his eyes.
-
Isaac turned over and found the other side of the bed empty. He lifted his eyes to the desk and saw Stiles wrapped in a blanket and draped over his notebook and guitar, plucking the strings and humming to himself. Isaac blinked twice and admired the way the mid-morning sun was reflecting off his eyes, making them an amber gold.
“How’s your album going?” Isaac asked and Stiles lifted his eyes to him. He smiled slowly and put his notebook down, leaning on his guitar in his lap.
“It’s going. I think more than half of them are unreleasable because of your face and your hands and your general being,” he admitted and Isaac smiled toothily at him. “But, it’s something.”
“Is Derek here?” He inquired, stretching out and putting his hands behind his head.
“Probably. My dad, the least subtle person in the universe, made a sly dig about our loud love making last night,” Stiles told him, watching the way a flush bloomed on Isaac’s pale skin. “I think I need my own place.”
“I would offer mine but it’s half headquarters and if you think your dad is bad, you really don’t want to deal with Erica and Boyd the morning after,” Isaac warned. Stiles sighed heavily and turned his head to put his cheek on the body of his guitar. “Do you think I could read those songs, sometime?” Isaac asked, delicately changing the subject.
“They’re very explicit. Also, they make my ex-boyfriend a little jealous, so maybe,” Stiles agreed with a little smug tilt to his lips.
“You want to do this?” Isaac asked and Stiles nodded, slowly.
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
“Good. Because I’m not going anywhere,” Isaac warned him. Stiles put his guitar down and sauntered to the bed, climbing into Isaac’s lap. Isaac watched him with careful eyes, Stiles curling his hands over his shoulders and kissed him. Isaac closed his eyes, letting Stiles kiss him, slow, soft.
This kiss, it was everything, and yet nothing Isaac had imagined when he saw Stiles live. The heated sex and the stripping and the making out on his bed, that had been the dream, the typical 18 year old dream, but this was something special. The way he kissed him, it was gentle and intimate and Isaac reached up to curl his fingers in Stiles’ hair, kissing him back the same way.
Stiles pulled away and smiled at him, stroking his thumb over his collarbone.
“I never want you to.”