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I Want You To Know

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Stiles is comfortably warm. The soft light seeping into his eyelids tells him it’s still early morning. The house is quiet, his dad still probably in bed since he worked a double shift yesterday and didn’t get in till the wee hours. Thankfully. Stiles was not quiet last night, nor did he have the wits about him to remember to keep quiet. Speaking of.

He stretches, feeling wonderfully achy all over, and grins. Letting out a contented sigh, he lets his eyes open slowly. Beside him, radiating supernatural heat, Scott is still sleeping. He’s lying on his stomach with his face slightly mashed into his pillow, turned towards Stiles. There’s a small drool stain by his parted lips, which Stiles can’t help but find stupidly endearing.

His eyes slowly travel down the toned, naked contours of Scott’s back and over the pert, but sadly covered butt that he now knows fits so nicely in his hands. He’s tempted to reach out and squeeze it, but he doesn’t want to wake Scott just yet. But he can’t not touch anything with him so close. Reaching out, he trails the back of his fingers over Scott's shoulder and down to his tapered waist. Up and down, up and down.

It doesn’t take long for Scott to stir, snuffling a little into the pillow and blinking his eyes open. His dopey smile isn’t even at 50 percent, but it’s still so blinding. Stiles sometimes wishes he could bottle that--that pureness that is all Scott, and just keep it with him at all times.

“G’d morning,” mumbles Scott.


Aaaand they’re officially a walking (or horizontal, ha!) cliché because they’re just lying there, blissful morning after grins pasted on their faces.

“Oh jeez. Okay. Well I feel fine, a little sore,” he waggles his eyebrows, “but fine.”

Scott bites his lip, his eyes dancing over Stiles’ face. “Yeah, I’m good too.”

“Good good, we’re both good. Great even... Shouldn’t we feel weird?”

“Um, no?” Scott shifts onto his side, causing the sheet to slip just a little, but damn, still covered. 

But Scott asked Stiles a question, so he needs to focus. He shakes his head before saying, “Exactly, which is weirding me out.”

“Wait, you’re weirded out because you’re not weirded out?”

“Well, yeah.”

Scott’s face scrunches adorably. “That doesn’t really make sense.”

“Your face doesn’t make sense.”

And now Scott is looking at him fondly. Damnit, he can’t even insult the guy - not that Stiles was even trying to - but that’s not the point. The point is, Scott is making him soft inside, and Scott is soft enough for the both of them. Ugh, emotions, he means emotions.

Stiles turns his face into his pillow, trying to snuff out the morning light and Scott’s face, which is also too damn bright right now. See? Mush. His voice is muffled when he speaks.

“Ugh, stop it with that face. I know you’re laughing at me on the inside because you wear your emotions so openly.”

“I didn’t make a peep.”

“On the outside, Scotty. On the inside you’re all giggles and shit, I have a sixth sense about this.”

There’s a little bit of rustling, and then Scott is pressingly warmly against Stiles, one of his hands a comforting weight on the small of his back, rubbing soothing circles. Stiles melts a little.

When Scott speaks, his voice is much closer too, soft and so so familiar. “You have a sixth sense about me?”

Taking a breath, Stiles turns his head to look back at Scott, just far enough away so they’re not cross eyed when they look at each other. Not that Stiles would ever object to Scott being closer. Sometimes Stiles thinks he could hold Scott inside himself and it still wouldn’t be close enough.

Shrugging slightly, Stiles trails light fingers from Scott’s pink lips, to his chin, down that perfect jaw, to curl around his neck, his thumb sweeping just under his ear. “I know you. Sometimes I know you better than I know myself.”

Smiling, Scott says, “I can’t argue with that. And there’s nothing to feel weird about, not with us. I’m pretty sure this was a long time coming,” he turns and places a kiss on the inside of Stiles’ wrist, “don’t you think?”

Stiles is pretty sure if he were to look in a mirror, the look he has on could only be described as besotted. He still puts most of the blame on Scott for this, but inevitability and all that. Stiles is totally gone on this guy.

Grinning, Stiles butts his head against Scott’s shoulder, startling a laugh out of him. He keeps pushing until Scott rolls onto his back with an amused huff, and Stiles cozies up to him, satisfied.

Stiles cheekily gives Scott’s nipple a few little kitten licks, eliciting a breathless giggle (Goddammit how can this guy be so sexy and cute at the same time, it’s a dangerous combination. Then again, Stiles does love to toe the line of danger. Heh, wiiiiiink.), before saying, “Yeah, yeah I think so too.”


They’ve been dozing for a little while, or at least Stiles knows he has, what with Scott running his fingers through his hair, a sure fire way to lull him into slumber.

“You know we haven’t even said it,” Stiles says quietly.

Scott’s hands don’t pause. “Said what?”

“You know, the L word.”

Stiles can just feel Scott smiling. “Sure we have.”

“Uh, I don’t think so buddy.” Stiles lifts his head from where it was resting against Scott’s chest to look at him. And yep, there’s that smile.

“Stiles, we’ve been saying it since we were kids.”

“Yeah but, that doesn’t count, not quite.”

Scott just tilts his head and tugs on Stiles’ arm, who, without thought, rolls on top him, settling easily in the cradle of his hips, keeping himself propped on his forearms that are pressed snugly against Scott’s sides. He drops a kiss to his chest (because he can do that now, any time he wants) before sighing and saying, “We’ve loved each other since we were kids, yes, but that was--that was a different kind of love. That was a bro love. Okay, no, not in a brotherly love kind of way, because I’ve never had brotherly feelings towards you, and I really hope you haven’t either, otherwise this could end up awkward. Like, incestuously awkward, which is an awkward that I don’t want to think about or touch--”

Scott, thankfully, interrupts him from that line of thought.

“Stiles. I get it. And I’ve never felt ‘brotherly’ towards you either, trust me.”

Oh. Not that he ever thought Scott felt that way, but uh, it’s certainly nice to hear confirmation. And if he’s never felt that way towards Stiles, then how long...

Stiles smirks and says, “So then, how long have you been wanting to get all up in this business?” He does a slow roll of his body - like he needed to emphasize anything - but it makes Scott blush who then shoves half heartedly at his shoulder.

“Oh my God,” Scott chuckles. “For a while okay? And. I knew I wanted to kiss you back before I even knew what kissing could mean.”

It’s Stiles’ turn to blush.

He clears his throat. “Oh. Um, me too.”

Gentle fingers curl under his chin, bringing his eyes back up.

“But when did I know that I love you?” Scott asks, cupping Stiles’ face, who leans into the touch, nodding his head minutely.

Licking his lips, Scott says, “I know people say that they can remember a specific time or moment when they realized that they love someone. Perhaps some people do. But--” He looks so serious, not even nervous, just so sure of himself. “I’ve been in love with you too long for me to tell the difference anymore.”

Stiles swallows past a lump in his throat, heat spreading over his cheeks. He has to press his forehead against Scott’s chest for a few seconds before he can speak again.

“You uh, that was almost poetical in a way. Honestly, like a famous tagline or something from John Keats.” He taps his fingers against Scott’s sternum. “But, it’s the same for me,” he finishes softly. He then buries his face in the crook of Scott’s neck and huffs out a laugh. Beneath him, Scott wriggles a little to get more comfortable and wraps both arms around him. And Stiles? He feels so content, warm and safe. He’s happy. He’s happy and he doesn’t quite know what to do with this sense of feeling… right. He totally blames Scott for this.

He says, “This is ridiculous, we’re ridiculous.”

Scott tightens his arms. “You’re thinking too much.” As if anticipating Stiles is going to say something back, which he was, Scott continues, “Which you always do, I know. What I mean is--” he pauses, searching for the right words. “You and I? We make sense. We’ve always made sense. You understand me on a level no one else has come close to. You can take one look at me and know what I need or what I’m about to say, and you just--do it. You give me everything, everything I need or want and more.”

Stiles is pretty sure Scott doesn’t need werewolf hearing to hear, let alone feel that his heart his pounding. He places a lingering kiss where hours before a large claiming mark had been, and faded away too quickly.

“Okay, seriously, have you been secretly reading romance novels behind my back or something? You’re nailing this, dude.”

Scott starts snickering, making Stiles realize his inadvertent double entendre. He nips his shoulder in retaliation, which only results in a low, pleased sounding rumble that Stiles can feel all the way to his toes.

Scott nuzzles at his temple. “Stiles, what are you worried about exactly? We had sex last night, but you said you’re not weirded out by it, which neither of us need to be. Yet you seem concerned about when we have or have not said the L word? Are you--”

Before he knows what’s happening, Stiles finds himself flipped onto his back with Scott hovering over him, searching his face.

“What are you scared of?” Scott asks softly, because of course he chooses now to be far too perceptive than Stiles in comfortable with. But he can’t lie and not just because Scott could hear it if he did.

He has to take a few deep breaths before he can speak.

“Scott, I. I know how I feel about you, I’ve known for a long time. You’re the good one. You’re the good in my life, and I can’t-I don’t want to lose that. After all the crap we’ve been through these past couple years… You’re the constant for me, Scott. I can’t lose someone else that I love.”

Scott captures his lips in such an achingly sweet kiss, he has to squeeze his eyes shut. When they part a few seconds later, or maybe it was a few minutes, Scott speaks first.

“I’m not going anywhere, Stiles. I know I can’t promise that nothing will happen to me, but. I can promise that I’m not leaving you Stiles, I can never truly leave you. You have me, you’ve always had me.” He leans down and rubs the tip of their noses together. “You had me first. Remember?”

“Yeah,” he breathes a little shakily, “I had you first.”

Scott seals their lips together once more, so reassuring and speaking a thousand words neither of them could ever properly communicate. But that’s okay, because even without words they’ve always been able to understand each other with a single look, a simple hand gesture, or a knowing nod.

There may not be an absolute on either of their safety, especially with the lives they lead, but one thing that will remain absolute, a constant, is Scott and Stiles. They’re a package deal, two halves that make up a whole. You can’t have one without the other. And yes, Stiles realizes that he’s getting poetical inside his own head, but whatever. They’ve been talking about feelings, Scott is a comforting weight above him and they had an awesome night last night. Sure there was some fumbling and a few flailing limbs (shut up, from both of them), and noses bumping together, but they eventually got the hang of it. That’s what practice is for, right? And Stiles is all for more practice. Lots and lots of practice, in many different ways and several different positions. Werewolf stamina man, that’s a thing, on top of youthful energy from both parties.

Of course, they have to wait until Stiles’s dad leaves later to play ball (pun intended), but that doesn’t mean they can’t make out with a side order of medium petting. And if the L word happens to be passed around, well… It’s something Stiles will never tire of saying.