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That's What Friends Are For

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Scott's foot starts up again, jounce-jounce-jouncing so fast his knee's a blur. Stiles sighs and tries to ignore it the best that he can. He's starting to empathize with everyone who's complained about his own vibratory tendencies in the past.

He has a reason to be anxious, Stiles tells himself for the third time this morning, and goes back to the top of the paragraph for the third time. Scott's leg settles not long after that. Stiles is just starting to get into a focused space when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Scott's hand dart towards his crotch again.

"Dude," he says, catching hold of Scott's wrist. "I promise we'll get your dick back, but it's not going to happen while we're sitting here. You don't have to keep checking."

Scott tugs his hand away, flushing adorably. It's not the same ruddy blush that used to darken his skin, but a softer pink that highlights the way his long eyelashes flutter above his cheekbones. The change has softened his jawline, enough that the unevenness is barely noticeable. His hair isn't any longer than it had been before, but the shape of his face has changed just enough that it seems that way, like Scott had gone to some fancy salon and picked the perfect 'do for those soft, bouncy curls.

"I wasn't," Scott grinds out. "I was just...." His lips press together as he trails off, but they're full enough now that it just looks like he's pouting.

"Just what, taking up spelunking?" Stiles is fully aware that the way he's staring at Scott's groin is anything but couth. It's Scott, though. He figures they passed considerate way back when they were seven and decided the best way to end arguments was to wrestle to see who could sit on the other's head first. They don't have a lot of boundaries, he and Scott. "That's cave diving, in case you weren't sure."

Scott glares up at him from under a disapprovingly lowered brow. "Gee, thanks, Stiles. It's so wonderful to have such an understanding and compassionate friend in a situation like this."

Stiles holds up both hands, gesturing at the pile of books in front of him. "I'm sorry, would you like me to take a break so we can cuddle? Maybe you want me to draw you a bath or something?"

"No," Scott says sourly. He slouches down even farther in the chair beside Stiles, rolling his head against the chair back as he sighs. "Freakin' Derek. This is all his fault."

Stiles just rolls his eyes. Blaming Derek has become Scott's go-to touchstone any time something goes a little wonky in their lives. He's not even sure if Scott realizes he does it.

"Deaton said it's temporary," Stiles reminds him for the thirtieth time. "Just relax, okay? Enjoy the ride."

"Easy for you to say," Scott mutters. "And he said 'probably' temporary."

"Yeah, well, if you want me to figure out a way to re-masculate you anytime soon, chill. I can't read when you're constantly checking on your junk."

"I'm not—" Scott huffs. "It burns, okay?"

Stiles knows the way his mouth curls with horror is totally unsupportive, but he can't seem to force his face into a more compassionate expression. "Burns? Do you need some Monistat or something?"

"No!" Scott's blush is dark red this time. "I already talked to my mom about it. It's not, uh, anything bad."

"Not bad? How can your girl parts burning not be a bad thing?"

Scott squirms in the chair. "I didn't mean burns like burning," he says, which is oh-so-helpful. "More like, Kings of Leon burning."

"I still swear that song is about STDs," Stiles says, and then his mouth clacks shut as he realizes what Scott means. "Oh. Um."

"Yeah." Scott shrugs. "I had no idea girls got horny like this."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "I thought you said Allison was always in the mood."

"Well, yeah. But I always thought that was more to do with, you know." Scott's gaze darts towards his hands. "The way she felt about me."

Stiles snorts. "I don't know whether the fact that you thought she was sacrificing her body for the sake of your true love is pathetically adorable or just plain creepy."

Scott shoves Stiles' shoulder. He hasn't lost any strength, that's for sure. "I didn't mean it like that. She was always pretty clear about wanting sex. I just thought it was more an 'us' thing, you know? Not because she just wanted sex."

"Huh." Stiles gets that, maybe. Sometimes he gets so horny he thinks his dick will fall off if he can't beat one out soon enough. The idea that girls can get that way too seems like something out of porn rather than reality. "So why don't you just do something about it?"

"I did," Scott hisses, and okay, they probably should have some boundaries after all, because all Stiles can think about now is Scott flat on his back in the middle of his bed, one arm stretched above his head as the other slips between his legs. "It only made things worse."

Stiles' eyebrows climb. "Seriously?"

Scott whimpers. "Seriously. I feel like my whole abdomen has been replaced by a space heater. I just want to grind up against everything, except there's nothing that'll actually help."

"Dude." Stiles bites his lip and actually puts some effort into not looking between Scott's legs this time. His imagination really doesn't need the assistance. "Have you thought about asking someone to help you out?"

"What, you mean sex?" Scott shrugs. "God, yes. But who?"

"Uh, Allison?" And oh, Jesus, now Stiles is picturing Allison's mouth—her tongue—pressing in deep. "Or is the whole girl thing a problem for her?"

Scott shrugs. "I think she'd be okay with it. But I can't ask that of her. Not when things are still so rocky between us. It wouldn't be fair."

Stiles almost suggests that maybe Allison would enjoy the opportunity, but he knows that look on Scott's face. The one that says his heart's just about to break and can they please move on to a different subject? Stiles drops his pen on top of his notebook and swivels his chair around so he can give Scott his full attention.

He clasps his hands behind his head. "There's gotta be another option. Would you, uh, be open to doing it with a guy?"

Scott's eyebrows draw together. "I wouldn't have been into it before, but, um, it sounds kind of awesome now. Is that totally weird?"

Stiles shrugs with his hands. "Hey, who's to say what's weird? I mean, there's a ton of theories out there on how hormones influence orientation and shit like that, but we're talking about a magically induced sex change. I don't think it comes with a lot of rules. Other than you being okay with whatever you decide, of course."

"If it was the right guy," Scott says quietly. "Yeah, I'd want that."

"Excellent. That opens the field up quite a bit." Stiles knows what the obvious suggestion is, but the lingering burn of jealousy drags against his tongue, making him play dumb longer than necessary. He picks up his pen again, fluttering the capped end against his notebook before dropping it, as if struck by sudden inspiration. "Isaac would probably do it. I'm pretty sure he had a thing for you way back when you still had dangly bits."

"You mean way back two days ago?" Scott shakes his head, amusement falling off of his face quickly. "You're not wrong. Which is why I can't ask him. Isaac's awesome, but I really don't feel that way about him."

"Okay, no, you didn't list feelings as a requirement." Stiles sits forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. "I thought we were just talking about getting you laid."

Scott levels the are you stupid glare on him.

"Right." Stiles sighs. "We are talking about you."

"I don't want it to get awkward afterwards," Scott says. "It'd be hard for me and Allison to go back to just friends. And I don't want to hurt Isaac."

"Which leaves—" Stiles pauses. He knows the face Scott would make if he brought up Derek, and he can't even get himself to offer up Jackson as a serious suggestion. Erica and Boyd are who-knows-where, and even if Danny could get past the not-his-usual-type thing, the whole Scott's temporarily a girl angle would split the supernatural business wide open for him. "I guess you're pretty much down to one option."

Scott's lips twitch. "Yeah, I kind of figured."

Stiles sighs. "I'm lifting my moratorium on the details of your sex life, just this once. Consider it repayment for some serious damage to the bro code."

"Wait, what?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "I know that you were under some serious moon mojo when you made out with Lydia that one time, and I've mostly forgiven you for it. I can't promise I won't get a little jealous if you guys actually have sex, but I understand the situation. But I totally want to know if she goes down on you."

"I'm not going to have sex with Lydia," Scott protests, like it's the most horrible thing he could imagine. "Jesus, Stiles."

"Oh, come on, why not?" Stiles sketches an hourglass in the air. "It's not like you thought she was horrible when you were sticking your tongue down her throat before."

"She stuck her tongue—" Scott jabs his finger at Stiles. "That! That right there is exactly why I'd never consider having sex with her. I wouldn't do that to you, not when I'm in my right mind."

"Oh." Stiles swallows. He really kind of regrets the whole dog bowl incident now. Well. Mostly. It was pretty funny. "I appreciate that, dude, I really do. But I'm over her. Mostly, anyway. I still think she's amazing, but it's pretty clear she's never going to be into me."

"Yeah, because she's in love with Jackson. Pretty sure she's not going to be interested in me, either." Scott looks down at his hands. "Besides, you know. She's Allison's best friend."

Well. That slams the book closed on the Lydia question. Stiles sighs and picks up his pen. "Sorry, buddy. Maybe you could order something off the internet? They do say a vibrator is a girl's best friend."

"I'll be changed back before it gets here. I'd better be, anyway," Scott growls.

Stiles holds up both hands. "I'm working on it!"

"I know." Scott holds out his hand. "Hand me the one with gold on the cover."

Stiles raises an eyebrow, but he passes over the gilt-embossed book. "It's in French, you know."

"Yeah, but it's got lots of pictures," he says, opening it to the middle, where a stylized wolf stares out from the yellowed pages. "All that allowance money I spent on comic books has to be worth something."

Stiles snorts. "Undoubtedly."

They sink back into their research. The soft rasp as Scott slowly turns the pages of his book creates a kind of white noise. Stiles sucks on the cap of his pen as he ponders the account he's been reading. It doesn't say anything about rearrangement of genitals, but it's about a hunter who was cursed to live as a pig for a week. Kind of a Circe-and-Ulysses thing, apparently. It seems like the same basic underlying principle—changing one form to another—but Stiles isn't at all sure that magic holds that firmly to logic.

He's moved on to researching the plants mentioned in the spell when Scott drops his book down on top of the pile with a dull thump, pulling Stiles out of his fugue.

"Problem?" he asks.

"You forgot somebody," Scott says, and wow, he sounds pissy. No, not pissy. Whiny. Like Stiles forgot his birthday.

"Sorry?" Stiles cleans the spit off the cap of his pen before snicking it back into place. "Also, you should know I have no idea what you're talking about."

Scott shrugs. He's standing now, shifting from foot to dainty foot, arms crossed under his pert breasts. "When you were trying to think of somebody for me to have sex with. You forgot somebody."

Stiles frowns. He didn't bring up every option before, but he thought he knew Scott well enough not to have to. "If you wind up doing Jackson, don't tell me. I mean it."

"Oh, my God!" Scott explodes. "Seriously, Stiles? Seriously?"

"What? What am I missing? I know for a fact you're not going to pick Derek, and there's nobody else in the know but—" Stiles shuts his mouth so fast his teeth strike together painfully. "Oh. Really?"

"Not if you're going to look at me like that," Scott snaps. "Forget it. It was a stupid idea, anyway."

"No, wait." Stiles isn't even sure what's going on right now, but he's absolutely sure he doesn't want Scott to shut down on him. "It didn't even occur to me that you'd want...." He swallows, but me still won't come out. He waves at his face instead, because that explains his reasoning well enough.

Scott shrugs. "I never really thought about it before, but, um, you're kind of hot."

Stiles gapes at him for a full second. "Uh, what?"

"Hey, you're the one who always wants to practice making out!"

"Those were jokes! I never thought you'd actually want to!"

"Because I've never been into guys before!"

All the words are dust in Stiles' mouth. His throat works desperately as he watches Scott duck his head so the waves of his hair fall forwards, obscuring his eyes.

"I know it's weird," Scott says. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

Stiles stands up. His mouth should be going a mile a minute right now, but his mind is blank. Scott's the only one who can ever do this to him, the only one who can shut down the power to the always-running bumper cars in his brain. His feet carry him across the room until he's standing right in front of Scott, and wow, Stiles is a lot taller than Scott is now. He hadn't really paid attention before, when he was too busy thinking about what it'd be like to swap his penis for a vagina, but Scott's about Lydia's height without heels.

Scott lifts his head, eyebrows anxiously inquiring as he peers upwards. Stiles brings his hand up, brushing Scott's hair back from the side of his face. "Do you, uh." Stiles licks his lips."Do you want to try making out for a little bit?"

"Not if you don't want to," Scott says immediately. "Not if it's going to be weird."

"It's going to be a little weird," Stiles says, because hi, they've spent afternoons trying to light each other's farts on fire. "But I want to. A lot."

Scott's smile is the sweetest thing he's ever seen. "Okay," he says, and then he's stretching up on his tiptoes, hand coming up to cradle the back of Stiles' neck. Stiles lowers his head without really thinking about it, and then their lips are brushing together.

He's kissing Scott.

The idea of it makes him gasp. Scott's tongue slips in where the air escaped, sliding against Stiles' own, and holy shit, he'd had no idea that it'd feel so good. He opens his mouth wider, wanting more of the way it sends heat flaring through his whole body. Scott whimpers and clutches at him so hard Stiles stumbles forward, too caught up in his own desire to be prepared for werewolf strength.

"Sorry," Scott says breathily, steadying Stiles easily despite their height difference. "You okay?"

"Other than the fact my mind's a little blown right now, I'm good." Stiles can't look away from Scott's reddened lips. "Great, actually. Uh. You?"

"Hornier than ever," Scott says, and Stiles has to reach down and adjust himself inside his shorts. Scott watches him the whole time, his gaze lingering on the clear outline of his cock after Stiles pulls his hand back. "Do you want to?"

What Stiles wants right now is to strip off all their clothes, shove Scott down onto the bed, and stuff him full of Stiles' cock. Instead he takes a moment, breathing harshly through his nose with his eyes closed, before he nods. "You do remember I've never done this before, right? It probably won't be very good for you."

Scott laughs softly. "Honestly? I don't think it needs to be good. And besides, I know you, Mr. You Can't Beat My Jackoff Record. It's not like we can't try again."

"I'm really freakin' glad my dad's working late tonight," Stiles says sincerely.

"Me, too," Scott says. He pulls Stiles down into another kiss. Or kisses. Stiles has no idea how he's supposed to keep count. Scott's into it as much as Stiles is, maybe more, grabbing at Stiles' back and head as their mouths move wildly against each other. His breasts are mashed into Stiles' chest, soft and firm at the same time. Stiles rests his hands in the hollow of Scott's lower back, stroking his thumbs over the dip of his waist.

"God, just touch me, Stiles," Scott moans, somehow shoving himself closer than Stiles thought was possible with their clothes still on. He's not sure how Scott wants to be touched, so he just drops his hands lower, grabbing Scott's perfect ass.

Scott groans. Instinct has Stiles tightening his grip and hauling Scott up against him. Scott's thigh slides between his, pressing against Stiles' cock, and Stiles rears his head back, gulping down air.

"I can't believe how good this feels," Scott says, shamelessly rubbing his crotch against Stiles' thigh. "God, I need to come so bad."

Stiles clenches his fingers. He's not too far from coming himself, almost dizzy from how hard he is. Everything's happened so fast; he feels one step behind. Maybe two, if he's being honest. What he does know for sure is that there's no way he's going to be able to make Scott come, not if they just start fucking right away.

"Okay," Stiles says, pressing a kiss to Scott's cheek before he makes himself let go and step back. Scott whines, high in his throat. "Why don't you get yourself off, then. Show me what you've figured out works."

Scott bites his lip, and then nods. "Yeah, okay. We can do that." He steps back, next to the bed, and strips the loose T-shirt he's wearing up and off. He's got a bra on, a lacey burgundy thing that presses his breasts up and together. It's not practical at all, and Stiles' brain goes chasing after the thought like a poorly behaved puppy. Scott reaches behind himself, pushing his chest out as he fumbles behind his back.

"And I thought these things were hard to get open when Allison was wearing them," Scott says, snarling a bit. Stiles takes a step forward; it's not like he's ever unhooked a bra, but he figures he can at least take a look at the problem, unlike Scott. Before he even gets close, though, Scott grunts and swings his arms back around, stripping the bra off.

"Oh, my God," Stiles says, staring dumbly. "You have breasts."

Scott rolls his eyes. "Did you miss the whole part where I got changed into a woman?"

"No, yeah, I know." Somehow his hands have wound up in front of him, uselessly cupping the air. "But this is the first time I've seen the evidence. Breasts, Scott. Real breasts. Ones not on my computer screen."

Scott grins. "Awesome, right?" He holds his hand out. "Come here."

He grabs Stiles' hand and just claps it onto his right breast. Stiles stares. Scott's nipples are hard, deep red and jutting out from his large, brown areolas.

"Does it feel good?" Stiles asks as he slides his thumb over and around the nipple. It's silky soft over the firmness. It doesn't feel much different than his own nipple, only bigger, but Stiles is pretty sure he'd be happy to keep doing this forever.

Scott shrugs. "Sometimes it feels awesome. Mostly when I'm about to come. The rest of the time they're just kind of there."

"Huh." Stiles brings his other hand up so he's cupping both of Scott's breasts. He pushes them together, experimenting, and Scott lets out a startled gasp. "Yeah?"

Scott nods. "Yeah."

He's not sure what the key difference is, so Stiles just starts playing. He squeezes lightly, then does a sort of kneading motion, grasping one firmly, then trading off to the other. Scott's breathing picks up like he's really getting into it, too. Stiles has just gotten lost in a happy place somewhere between the reality of the moment and remembering all the titty-fucking vids he's watched when Scott grabs both of his wrists.

"Okay, ow," he says. "I think I'm over that."

"Sorry," Stiles says, grimacing. "I guess I got carried away."

"No, it was good. Right up to the point where it wasn't." Scott laughs lightly, then unbuttons his jeans. "But I'm dying now. I can't wait."

"Don't let me slow you down." Stiles takes a step back, just so he has a better view as Scott pushes the tight denim down over his thighs. His panties are burgundy too, matching the bra, which is driving Stiles absolutely crazy. He doesn't think Scott had the nerve to go out much yesterday, but maybe he made a furtive trip to Victoria's Secret. Maybe he borrowed them from Allison. Maybe Scott already had them in his drawer, kept as a memento from when they're were getting hot and heavy.

"Ugh," Scott says. He flops onto his back on the bed and then begins wriggling, using his free foot to finally push his jeans the rest of the way off. His legs are just as muscular as they've always been. Hairy, too, but it doesn't seem out of place. Stiles is about to tease him about shaving when Scott slides the panties down and off.


"Yeah?" Scott asks breathily. His eyes are dark, unfocused, as he slides his hand down between his legs. He's got a full bush of black pubic hair, so different from most of the porn Stiles has seen. It looks good, though, almost classy, a dark arrow demurely pointing the way. Stiles cups his dick, telling himself he just needs a momentary grounding, but Scott's working his finger through that hair and Stiles just forgets to let go.

"That's so hot," Stiles says. "Fuck, Scott, you're beautiful."

Scott makes a noise that might be a reply, might just be a response to the way he's rubbing himself. He's biting his lip again, but then he does something that makes him throw his head back with an open-mouthed groan. He bends his knees and sets his feet flat on the bed, and holy shit, Stiles can see everything.

Stiles thinks about dropping his shorts, but he knows if he does it's going to be over before he can get inside Scott. Instead he grits his teeth and lets go of himself, crossing his arms and gripping his elbows so he's not tempted again. Scott's got a finger inside himself now, rocking his hips up against his hand in time with the soft grunts he's letting out.

"What's it like?" Stiles asks. "Is it the same as with a dick?"

"Yeah," Scott pants out. "Except, no. God, Stiles. I can't." Then he shoves his hips up, hand flying, and groans, long and low. By the time he collapses back down to the bed, still shuddering, Stiles is there, kneeling between his legs and leaning down to steal a sloppy kiss.

"That was the most amazing thing I've ever seen," Stiles says. Scott smiles up at him, eyes blissed out and unfocused. Stiles nuzzles into his neck, nosing up under his jaw and biting and licking without much purpose. It just feels good, all of it, being able to touch and taste somebody who wants him back.

"Stiles," Scott says, and it's so weird to hear him say his name like that, high and breathy.

"Yeah?" Stiles has found a spot at the side of Scott's neck that makes him dig his fingers into Stiles' upper arms. He drags his tongue across it, then bites down hard.

"Fuck, Stiles!" Scott bucks up, wrapping his legs around Stiles' hips and yanking him down so they're pressed together from chest to groin.

"Holy shit," Stiles breathes, because his dick is snugged up tight against Scott's pubic bone. It's a sweet heat, but the pressure is almost painful. He doesn't want it to stop, though, especially when Scott starts rocking against him. "God, don't do that, I'm gonna come."

"Then fuck me, damn it. I'm ready." Scott drops his legs to the side and stops moving. Stiles rests his head against Scott's sternum for a moment, breathing. Once he gets himself under control he starts to inch back, but Scott's breasts are right there in front of his face. He has to get Scott's nipple into his mouth. Has to suck on it, has to see how much of Scott's breast he can fit inside if he stretches his jaw as wide as he can.

"Stiles," Scott whines. "Come on!"

"Right." Somehow Stiles gets himself up off the bed. The room feels distant. Scott's got his knees bent again, spread wide, and Stiles is having a really hard time remembering what he's supposed to be doing.

Condoms. Getting a condom, that's what he's supposed to be doing, so he can fuck Scott without accidentally magically impregnating him. Because that would be bad. Very bad. Stiles spins in a circle, trying to remember where he'd stuffed the box of Trojans his dad had handed over the beginning of his freshman year, along with one of the more humiliating discussions of his life.

"Front pocket of my jeans," Scott says.

"What?" Stiles asks, but Scott's jeans are right by his foot, so he picks them up and reaches into the tight right pocket.

His fingers brush against a crisp foil square.

Stiles looks over to Scott, who's redder than the time he fell asleep in his backyard while trying to boost his Vitamin D levels.

"I might have spent all last night thinking about this," Scott says, biting his lip.

"Yeah, this is happening now." Stiles tosses the condom onto the bed, then strips off his clothes as fast as he can manage without getting tangled up in them. His cock bobs in front of him, but the way Scott licks his lips as he stares at it chases away the initial creeping heat of embarrassment. Stiles reaches for the condom, but Scott gets to it first.

"I've got this," he says, ripping the package open. He laughs a little. "Never thought I'd be doing this for someone else."

"Yeah—" Stiles cuts off with a strangling moan as Scott grips the base of his dick in his small hand. He's half-afraid just that touch is going to be enough to set him off, but then Scott starts rolling the condom onto him. "Holy fuck, that's cold!"

"It warms up quick," Scott says reassuringly. He strokes Stiles once, then scoots back on the bed. "How you wanna do this?"

"Now," Stiles say immediately, only realizing when Scott laughs that it isn't a real answer to what he was asked. "I mean, however you think is best for you."

Scott's nose crinkles with thought. "Allison always likes on top the best. So, um. I'm kind of used to being on the bottom. Why don't we just do that to start."

"I'm good with that." Stiles crawls between Scott's legs, holding his cock as he waits for Scott to arrange himself. And then they're there. At the moment. All Stiles has to do is line up and push forward, and they'll be having sex.

"Um." He looks into Scott's eyes, wondering if he should say something. He's about to lose his virginity. Scott's about to lose his girl virginity, or something. He's not really sure how to classify it, but it's kind of a big thing, surely.

"Stiles," Scott says softly. He's smiling like he does every time Stiles manages to sneak the lacrosse ball past him into the net. "It's okay."

"Okay." Stiles swallows. He pushes his cock down so the head is pressed against Scott's entrance. Before he can even adjust to how good, how hot that is, Scott bucks his hips up and Stiles is sliding in.

"Oh, oh, my God," Stiles gets out—and then Scott's thighs clamp hard around his hips, holding him in place only partway in.

"Whoa," Scott says, eyes wide.

"What? Is something wrong?" Stiles ask, voice strained. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No." Scott shakes his head, but he's breathing in shallow little pants and his brow is furrowed. "It's just. I'm tighter than I thought."

"Should I pull out?" Stiles asks, but then the impossibly tight grip around his cock eases a bit and the tension just melts out of Scott's body.

"Oh, wow." Scott lets up with his thighs. Stiles just glides the rest of the way in. It's incredible. Scott is so small beneath him, but so strong, all the muscles in his body making little undulations as he writhes against Stiles.

"You can go now," Scott says, the slow movements of his pelvis changing to a more definite roll. "As hard as you want."

"You sure?" Stiles ask as he pulls back. His eyelids flutter with the sheer amount of input shooting into his brain. His hand is never going to be as good as it was before he felt this.

"Werewolf," Scott pants out. "Come on. Fuck me, Stiles."

"Fucking," Stiles sing-songs, and draws his hips back and slams back in. His breath shudders out of him in a long, pitiful-sounding moan. It's the most natural thing in the world to fall into the rhythm. He pulls back again—

And slips out.

"Shit!" Stiles grabs his cock, his whole body hot with frustration and embarrassment as he tries to get back inside as quickly as possible.

"Yeah," Scott moans when he does. He brings his legs up around Stiles' hips, drawing him in deeper. "God, Stiles. That's so good."

Stiles can only grunt out his agreement. He looks up to Scott's face—and their eyes meet. His breath catches. Looking into Scott's eyes while they're doing this—while Stiles is inside him—hits him in the chest, in the gut, in the head of his cock. It feels like Scott can see every thought flitting across his mind. Like Stiles can see right inside his best friend's head—

Stiles drops his head and comes.

He pants his way through it, eyes squeezed tight as his balls pulse so hard he wonders about the integrity of the condom. He's not sure how long it takes him to come back to reality. He starts to pull out, but Scott's slow to let him go, legs dragging across Stiles' ass once he finally releases his grip with an unhappy whimper.

The condom looks good, thank goodness. Stiles is happy to get it off and into the trash, though the room-temperature air is a poor substitute for Scott's heat.

Speaking of.

"Hey," he says as he returns to the bed, laying an uncertain hand on Scott's ankle. Scott's got his forearm draped across his eyes as he bites his lip. "You okay?"

Scott nods. "Yeah. That was great. Just, um."

"Not enough, right?"

Scott nods fervently.

"I think I can do something about that," Stiles says, and before he starts shifting forward, Scott's got his legs spread wide.

"Do it," Scott says breathily. "Before I did it the first time I wasn't sure if I'd like it, you know? But it's kind of amazing. Sometimes I didn't even want to fuck. I just wanted to eat out Allison all night long."

"I've always wanted to try it," Stiles says, sliding his hands up Scott's silky-smooth thighs. He starts to lie down on his front, but there's no room on the bed for him to get comfortable. "Hey, scoot up some."

Scott shifts backwards until he's half sitting up, pillows squashed behind him for support. Stiles settles in on his elbows. He's been able to smell Scott since they started this, some kind of moist, sweet scent that translates in his hindbrain as sex, but it's even stronger now, almost overwhelming. In an entirely good way.

"I'm just gonna...." he says, trailing off as he spreads Scott open. He's so wet. So red and swollen, because Stiles just finished fucking him. Stiles, once upon a time, thought maybe he'd have to steel himself to do this, out of nerves or whatever, but he's leaning in before he even really thinks about it, pressing his tongue into its natural home.

"Fuck!" Scott shouts, drowning out Stiles' own low groan. "God, Stiles, don't stop!"

"Not planning on it," Stiles says, right against Scott's folds, and gets a whine in exchange. He licks up, finding the hard bump of Scott's clit, and slowly drags his tongue across it.

Scott's thighs clamp down around his head.

"Damn it, Scott!" he tries to yelp, but his words are muffled against Scott's pubis. He gets a hand up to the back of Scott's thigh and pinches the delicate skin. Hard.

Scott lets go.

Stiles sucks in a deep breath. "Bad Scott," he says, earning himself a narrow-eyed glower. It's not terribly effective, not when Scott's cheeks are pink with lust and his lips are wet and bitten. Stiles gets a hand under each of Scott's knees and pushes back, until Scott automatically grabs on and takes over. "I know I've joked about dying during sex before, but I'd really prefer not to. No killing the Stiles when you come."

"Sorry," Scott says, pulling his thighs up even higher. It shifts his pelvis up, spreads him open like a buffet, and Stiles forgets all about teasing him. He buries his tongue again, working it around to get a really good taste. It's so good, sweet and musky all at the same time.

He knows he should probably move up to Scott's clit, but Scott's kinda going nuts, panting and groaning as he rocks against Stiles' face, so he keeps going, shoving his tongue in and out like it's his cock. Scott lets out a series of rising oh oh ohs and then his muscles start contracting around Stiles' tongue. After a moment, he drops his thighs and pulls away from Stiles' mouth.

"Did you just come?" Stiles asks, swiping his hand over his mouth. He thinks there's a pubic hair wrapped around a tonsil somewhere, but he's holding off the urge to hack and spit for the moment.

"Yeah," Scott breathes, smiling that ridiculously goofy smile Stiles normally associates with Allison. "It was amazing. Different from when I did it."

"Oh, yeah?" Stiles asks, licking his lips. He doesn't feel finished yet. "Because you were more focused on your clit?"

"I guess," he says, and then, "Stiles!" when Stiles licks up into him again. Scott's hips twitch away from him, hot-stove fast, but then Stiles finds his clit and he stops, letting his thighs drop open with a contented, ooooh.

Stiles isn't really sure how long it'll take. Porn's weird, because even though he's watched tons of women being eaten out, there's no real money shot to tell him if they ever actually get off. Plus, porn. Not exactly excellence in documentary filmmaking, there. He's heard the old saw about painting the alphabet with his tongue, but Scott seems to like it better when he strokes his tongue over the same spot, again and again. He keeps going until his tongue starts to get tired—which is not something he'd ever predicted being a problem—and takes a second to swallow.

"Noooooo," Scott whines, heels pressing into Stiles' back until he obeys and goes back to what he was doing. He understands a few seconds later, when Scott shouts, his whole body going tight with the force of his orgasm. He curls upwards, abs working so hard that his head is just inches above Stiles'.

"God, come here," Scott says, finally unclenching. He grabs Stiles' shoulders and drags him upwards, more strength than grace involved. They kiss sloppily, mouths barely meeting. More like doggie kisses than anything, and the thought makes Stiles snort against Scott's cheek.

"What?" he asks, shoving Stiles to the side.

Stiles grins, collapsing happily to the bed, pressed up beside Scott. He's hard again, but wow, he needs a break. Who knew sex would be as exhausting as a full lacrosse practice? Maybe he'll convince Scott to go outside his comfort zone later, be on top next time.

"Come on, what?"

"Nothing," he says, and then, at Scott's disbelieving look, gives in to his baser side. "I was just thinking. Since you're a werewolf, does that mean every position for you is doggie style?"

Scott gapes at him for a second. Then he lets out a shriek of attack and falls on Stiles with his fingers arched, going right for Stiles' tickle spots.

It's a while before they get around to the second round, but hey. It turns out silly sex is pretty freakin' awesome, too.