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Like I'll Never Be The Same

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It’s edging midnight when Scott calls. Being awake right now is normal for Stiles, driven by Mountain Dew fueled gaming sessions. Sleep is for the weak, and Stiles is not at all weak. He could achieve a C average in his classes on three hours of sleep.

Scott, on the other hand, is an ‘in bed by 10, needs a solid 8 hours’ type of guy. His brain doesn’t work very well otherwise. So when Stiles’ phone vibrates across the end table and he sees that it’s Scott when he flips it open, Stiles is concerned.

Especially after the whole… everything that’s been happening lately. With the lycanthropy.

“What?” Stiles says, maybe a little too sharply, obviously worried. Scott’s panting into the phone. What? “Scott?”

“Dude!” Scott says, breathless. Like, asthma breathless, but Stiles know that’s not an issue anymore. Stiles gets that uncomfortably prickling over his body, going warm. It sounds like Scott’s jerking off. A little. Stiles kinda, definitely knows what that sounds like considering they’re two teenage boys who hit puberty together. It’s totally normal, okay.

“Dude?” Stiles asks, a little lost in the memory of Scott fisting his dick under the material of his shorts while Stiles tried not to watch and failed miserably. They don’t talk about that.

“My dick --” Scott says, confirming every fear Stiles has ever harbored -- “is doing freaky shit!”

“Define freaky shit for me?” Stiles asks, wincing. “Like pus, boils? Body horror?”

“Oh god,” Scott says, inhaling sharply. There’s a long stretch of silence. Stiles’ chest is tight. Worried, scared, excited? Who knows. They’re talking about Scott’s dick. It’s all of the above. “Think bulbus glandis.”

“Bulbasaur what, Scott?”

“Stiles,” Scott whines, voice high at the top of his throat. He coughs and sighs loudly. “Bulbus glandis is the erectile tissue that occurs... in male dogs… after breeding. In order to lock them with the female. To ensure impregnation.”

“You have a dog knot?” Stiles demands, far louder than he should. “You became a werewolf and now you have a dog knot?”

“Stiles!”

“Unlock your fucking window, gimme ten,” Stiles says, snapping his phone shut and jumping up, searching for his shoes. He’s off his roof and throwing his bike over the back gate before he realizes he literally announced to Scott that he was coming to look at his dick.

Well, then.

It doesn’t stop him. He scrambles over the gate and drops to the ground, staggering as the impact reverberates through him. After a minute of wincing, he shakes it off enough to jump on his bike and pedal hard towards Scott’s house.

The path to his window is a familiar route, but Stiles has never felt this nervous before, chest tight with anxiety. Now that he’s actually there, he feels ridiculous. Who goes to their best friend’s house to look at their dick?

Stiles does.

When he falls through the window, Scott jerks to look at him, eyes wide. There’s a blanket over his lap, thank god, but he doesn’t have a shirt on. The obvious conclusion here is that he’s naked.

This wasn’t thought out at all.

Scott’s right hand is tucked under the blanket, but the left is on top, gripping the material, knuckles white. The only light in the room is the lone lamp on his nightstand.

“Hey,” Stiles says, a little out of breath. A lot out of breath. He worked hard to get here. He bends over and puts his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“You good?” Scott asks, weakly.

“Good,” Stiles says. “I mean, I snuck out and biked to you so I could see your fucking dick knot, but considering the kind of month we’ve had. Weirder things have happened.” That makes Scott chuckle softly, smile tugging the corners of his cheeks. That’s what Stiles likes to see.

“Are you actually going to look at it?” Scott asks, brows furrowing, mouth dropping again. That’s not what Stiles likes to see.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” Stiles admits, toeing off his shoes. Melissa has a very strict shoe policy that he doesn’t break, even when he comes in the window. “But how often does this happen? It’s a magical miracle. I would regret it forever if I didn’t at least ask to see it.”

“You could have asked before you biked 10 minutes to get here,” Scott reminds him. Which reminds Stiles.

“Wait, are you still hard?” Stiles asks, stepping forward so that his calves hit the bed. Scott’s shoulders are around his ears he’s so tense. Considering he’s actively touching his dick, this should not be the case.

“Yeah, it hasn’t gone away,” Scott says, clenching his jaw. The way he looks punches Stiles in the gut. He didn’t really register it before, that heavy-sleepy look in Scott’s eyes, the swollen redness of his lips. It’s a lot to deal with.

“You haven’t come yet?” Stiles asks, knees nudging the bed. It creaks and sinks as he puts his weight forward, but Scott doesn’t flinch.

“No, I stopped when it started up,” Scott admits, shrugging. Tense shoulders.

“So, the knot swells before you come?” Stiles asks, eyes flicking down to Scott’s lap, the bunched up blankets. The knowledge that Scott’s dick is very much under all of that.

“Yeah,” Scott says, exhaling.

“I’m asking for science,” Stiles says, eyes jumping to Scott’s face, heart pounding fast.

“First it’s a ‘magical miracle’ and now it’s ‘science’?” Scott asks, face screwed up dubiously.

“It’s a little bit of both?” Stiles asks. He has both knees on the bed now, crouching in front of Scott. They’re staring at each other. The light reflects off of Scott’s tapetum lucidum making his eyes shine green and bright. It’s unnerving to look at Scott and not see the dark brown of his eyes. Another reminder of everything that’s changed.

Well, that. And the dog knot his penis formed.

“Okay,” Scott says, sighing loudly.

“Okay? Like I can look at your dick, okay?”

“Yes, Stiles, okay,” Scott says. His right hand comes up over the blanket. Scott shoves the whole thing down and -- yeah, god that’s his dick.

There’s definitely an… abnormal formation of erectile tissue close to the base of his shaft. That’s probably why Scott’s foreskin is pulled back over the shiny, pink head of his dick. Stiles’ mouth starts watering. He tries to pull his gaze away, but then there’s the smattering of hair across Scott’s public bone and the thin trail to his belly button, the soft jut of his hips under his skin.

It’s a lot to handle.

The dull thrum of arousal that’s been clinging to him ever since Scott called has intensified. He feels hot all over, sweaty and caged in by the stifling tension in the air. His sweatpants don’t leave anything to the imagination when it comes to how hard his cock is getting, but considering Scott can hear his heart and smell his arousal, he doesn’t think it matters.

“What’s it feel like?” Stiles asks, dropping to his hands and scooching closer. His face isn’t quite in Scott’s crotch, but it’s a close one, he could dip his head down and brush his lips against the back of Scott’s hand where he’s gripping the blanket.

“Tight?” Scott says, their eyes meet. “Tingly.”

Scott’s head tilts just the right way and the lights stops reflecting in his eyes. He’s back to good ol’ Scott from the waist up, and that makes Stiles’ heart beat harder. It’s easy to pretend that they’re not doing what they’re doing when it’s almost like Scott isn’t Scott. But when Scott is obviously Scott, Stiles is all too aware of what they’re doing.

“Achey?” Stiles asks, swallowing hard. There’s saliva at the back of his throat, but his mouth feels dry. His hands are clammy, heart pounding, but there’s a floaty calm feeling over his mind. There aren’t any thoughts, he’s completely in this moment. Or out of this moment, depending on the perspective.

“Throbbing,” Scott says.

Stiles can’t keep looking at him.

“Can I -- can I touch you?” Stiles asks, picking up his hand and reaching forward. ‘Can I touch it’ would have been more clinical, but Stiles can’t pretend that wanting to explore the length of Scott’s dick is about anything other than the fact that it’s Scott’s dick. Stiles has wanted to touch Scott’s dick since he figured out he wanted to touch dicks.

“Yeah,” Scott says. Stiles looks at his face, quickly, but Scott’s looking at his lap. His hands squeeze the blanket tighter as Stiles shuffles forward awkwardly on his knees.

He’s going to do this. He’s totally going to do this. He’s going to touch Scott’s dick. He’s going to just grab it. It’ll be fine.

A full body shudder runs through Scott when Stiles finally reaches out. The angle is terrible, it’s more of a handshake with a cock than anything else. Once Stiles changes the angle, it all slots into place. Scott gasps, back bowing as he arches forward. His dick slides into the cradle of Stiles’ hand, dry and hot and incredibly hard.

Stiles is throbbing in his underwear, dizzy with what’s happening. The sound of their panting is loud in Stiles’ ears, static white noise. It’s not like there’s anything to say, his heart is lodged too hard in his throat to break the silence. He wishes Scott would say something.

He doesn’t.

Stiles flexes his wrist so his hand slides up and down Scott’s shaft, settling loosely at the top of his knot. When he chances another glance at Scott’s face, he can’t tear his eyes away. Scott’s teeth are digging into his bottom lip, nostrils flared, cheeks stained a deep pink. Stiles squeezes, and Scott’s eyelids flutter.

“Can I…?”

Stiles doesn’t know what he’s asking for, not really. He wants to grab Scott’s knot, wants to jerk him off, wants to make him come. He wants to press Scott back into his pillows and bite at his lips until they’re swollen with blood, until Scott’s begging Stiles to kiss him.

“Yeah,” Scott agrees, readily. Stiles licks his lips. He leans forward, sliding his hand down at the same time. He doesn’t kiss Scott, not yet, anticipating the low groan that comes out of Scott’s mouth when Stiles grips his knot tight. Instead, he presses his nose to Scott’s cheek, drags their faces together, lips catching on the skin of his crooked jaw.

They’re locked in this bubble. Hot anticipation prickles over Stiles’ skin. He can hear every hitch of Scott’s breath, every whine that barely makes it past his throat. Stiles can feel every shift of Scott’s body, the drag of his hands against the blankets as they scramble against the top of bed while Stiles jerks him off. It’s quick and hard and fast and --

Stiles’ forearm goes prickly as his hand gets tired, but he doesn’t want to stop, too obsessed with the way Scott’s hips nudge up and their faces rub together and how everything feels like it’s suspended in a single heartbeat.

They’re unrecognizable to him. The ways that they’re usually Scott and Stiles are so different from this, he’s almost convinced that this isn’t them -- that they’ve dropped into some alternate dimension where they touch each other like this. Where it’s not abnormal. The whole world is shifting, Stiles is scrambling to catch up.

Who knew jerking off his best friend would be so profound.

Stiles slides his hand down to squeeze Scott’s knot and Scott yelps, hands coming up to cling to Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles feels Scott’s cock pulse hard in his hand, blinking in surprise as come jumps between them. Scott orgasms so hard his body bows.

“Holy shit,” Stiles says, ready to let go in case Scott is over-stimulated. Scott’s hand comes up around his with preternatural speed, squeezing their fingers together so that Stiles’ hand clamps back down around his knot. Stiles looks up at his face, but Scott’s eyes are screwed shut, biting into his cheek as he fucks into Stiles’ hand. Stiles exhales a groan and twists his fist, still keeping the pressure on Scott’s knot.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Scott says.

That does it.

The whole illusion shatters. The stillness erupts.

Scott’s eyes go wide, mouth dropping open as he looks at Stiles. Like he’s worried, scared?

It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. Stiles shifts his weight to his knees so he can get his hand on Scott’s jaw and guide him into a kiss. It feels like a fight. It’s not the gentle molding of bodies, but the desperation that Stiles has felt like a tight fist in his chest since he realized he was in love with Scott.

Their noses knock as they bite into each other’s mouths. Scott’s blunt nails dig into the meat of Stiles’ shoulder as Stiles pull him in by the back of his neck, holding him close. They break the kiss to pant wetly into each other’s mouths. Scott’s still coming between them.

“Holy shit,” Stiles says, looking down. There’s a veritable lake of jizz on his lap, soaking the sheets under him, the blanket. There’s a wet stain on the front of Stiles’ sweatpants. “How are you still coming?”

“Magic,” Scott says, roughly. They look at each other again. Stiles is waiting for the ‘oh shit’ moment, the moment where they draw back and move away from each other -- where they pretend like this was a mistake.

It never comes.

Scott pushes Stiles down and crawls on top of him, rutting against his hip until he’s done coming, jizz soaking Stiles’ shirt and his pants. Only after he’s drenched does Scott strip him, tugging impatiently on his clothes until they’re both naked. Stiles’ cock is hard and weeping against his belly, but Scott slinks down his body and sucks his dick with a sloppy urgency that has Stiles spilling down his throat almost instantly.

Scott rubs his sweaty forehead in the dip of Stiles’ hip, whining as Stiles tugs his hair, fingers tangled in the roots.

“I fucking hate you,” Stiles says. He doesn’t mean it, but it’s better than telling Scott that he’s halfway to devastatingly in love with him and there’s no stopping it. It’s better than asking Scott for more, even if wants to. He wants to ruin their friendship so thoroughly that there’s no going back.

“If I had known that all I had to do was tell you my dick was being weird in order for you to finally touch it, I would have done it a long time ago.” Scott’s making fun of him, but Stiles’ heart jumps at that, hope fluttering around in his chest.

“I wouldn’t have believed it before,” Stiles says, sternly. He tugs Scott up so that they’re side by side, facing each other. The moon spills over the bed, deepening the shadows in the hills and valleys of Scott’s body; the notches of his ribs, his hips, his lips. “Now there are werewolves. I pretty much believe anything.”

“Anything?” Scott asks, curiously. His eyes go all wide and innocent, like they do when he’s being a little shit.

“Anything,” Stiles says, tangling their hands together. He wants this moment. The press of their palms, their legs tangled together like tree roots, grounding his heartbeat and the fluttering of his thoughts.

“I love you,” Scott says, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss to the sharp tip of Stiles’ noise. Stiles watches him. It feels too good to be true, but who is he to judge? Life as they know it is radically different than it was before.

“I believe it,” Stiles whispers. He does.