The room blazes in the midsummer heat. Stifled August wind whistles in through a cracked window, sunrays slanting through its panes. Next to Scott, Stiles is slippery as a minnow, his new muscles buried beneath a layer of baby fat and sweat.
Scott runs his hand over Stiles' buzzcut, watching the tendons in his friend's neck tighten up as Stiles sucks on a cock like it's the last piece of ice from the freezer.
"Good," Derek says with a grunt from the top of the bed. He's the coolest kid at high school and he's here, on Scott's bed. It's still kind of blowing Scott's mind. "Scott, help your friend get lower."
"Stiles?" Scott wonders, inching closer to the apex of Derek's legs, where the older boy's balls hang heavy and full onto the old Star Wars bedspread that Scott outgrew three years ago. With a nasty, naughty noise, Stiles slides his mouth off of Derek's dick and looks straight at Scott with dark eyes and bruised lips. Scott swallows. "You want me to help?"
"Ye --" Stiles has to clear his throat, coughing once. "Yeah, okay."
When Stiles lowers back onto Derek's dick, Derek fists his hand in the replica of Han Solo's face, fingers twisting in the sheets. Scott watches him, fascinated and scared, before Derek's gaze snaps to him. "Help him."
Like before Stiles is stuck three or four inches down, still a few away from the hair under Derek's belly button. Everything is too hot, the bedspread wet with spit and prespiration, enough that Scott's knee slides out from under him as he gets closer to his best friend. Gentle, he sets a hand on Stiles' head. Like this he can feel the urgency whipping through Stiles, the way his tongue is working on the flesh buried in his mouth. Scott pushes -- just barely -- and Stiles slides down a little further than before.
Derek curses above them, his thighs beginning to shake. There's water streaming down Stiles' face, and Scott belatedly realizes that Stiles is crying. Scott yanks his hand away from his friend's neck.
"He's crying!" Scott wipes his wet hand on the sheets and looks to Derek, who's biting his own lip viciously, eyes hazy.
"Fuck, really?" Derek asks, gaze sharpening, his voice garbled -- not upset, though, not at all. He stares at Stiles for a long moment, like Scott's promised him a show. When he sees a tear leak down Stiles' face, Derek groans and thrusts. Stiles chokes.
"Hey!" Scott protests, pulling Stiles up and off Derek's cock again. "Stop that! You said you wouldn't -- "
"Shut up, you little -- "
"Scott," Stiles says, interuppting Derek with a rough voice. "It's fine, dude. Just -- go up there with Derek, okay?"
"But," Scott says softly, twisting the bottom of his shirt. Stiles sighs, then leans forward. The kiss is quiet and too warm, the sun like a fire at Scott's back as he licks into Stiles' mouth, the salty taste of Derek heavy on their tongues.
"You wanna be first line, right?" Stiles breath gusts over Scott's lips after he pulls away.
Scott nods reluctantly and whispers, "He's an asshole, though."
"I can hear you both," Derek says, obviously annoyed and impatient.
Without even looking at Derek, Stiles wraps a hand around the older boy's dick. "Hush," Stiles says easily, and Derek does, a groan replacing whatever he was going to say. To Scott, Stiles says, "If you want to leave, go get some water and come back later, yeah? But if you want to stay..."
"I'm staying." Scott crosses his arms over his chest. He's not leaving Stiles alone.
"Okay." Stiles smiles and nods towards Derek, who's breathing heavily and panting. "Go make nice, then."
Like he's heading to his doom, Scott drags himself up the bed to Derek's side. This had been fun for the past hour, but Scott doesn't like it when Stiles cries; he doesn't really understand why Stiles isn't more upset.
"Hey." Derek twists to look at him, flicking his gaze up and down. "Take off your shirt."
"Take off yours first," Scott says mullishly.
Derek smirks and obliges. The sun soaks into his skin, turning it a warmer, inviting shade. Before he can think, Scott has his hand on Derek's pecs, outlining their perfect shape. He can't decide whether he's jealous or whether he simply wants to lick them.
Derek urges Scott to go next. Scott tries not to blush when his shirt slips over his head, but it's the first time he's shown his happy trail to anybody besides Stiles, and maybe the people at the neighborhood pool -- and this doesn't feel like any of the times at the neighborhood pool.
After his shirt's gone, Derek says that it's only fair Scott loses his jeans, too, and Scott doesn't protest because he's so hard that it hurts. Soon enough he's in his boxers and sidling up next to Derek, Derek's hand demanding on the skin at his side.
"You ever kissed anybody?" Derek cocks an eyebrow.
"Duh." Scott looks to Stiles -- who's licking at the head of Derek's cock, tongue swiping at the head. It explains the random shivers that keep running through Derek.
Derek huffs. "Besides your friend, I mean."
"His name is 'Stiles'," Scott says instead of answering the question. Derek grins likes he knows exactly what Scott isn't saying, how untouched Scott really is.
"C'mere," Derek says, gruff.
Kissing Derek is nothing like kissing Stiles. Ever since they started exchanging pecks when they were 13 and curious, Scott has considered Stiles' lips his personal safe-space. All his worries don't melt away, but Scott always feels bigger when they share each other. Braver.
Kissing Derek is, if possible, the opposite. Derek bites and takes, a bit of a bully -- Scott's lips buzz but he doesn't want to stop. He fists his hands in Derek's hair and lets himself be pulled in tight. Every few moments Derek breaks the kiss to moan at whatever Stiles is doing, and the whole bed shakes when Derek does. His muscles clench with it, his thighs bigger than anything Stiles or Scott are packing.
"Fuck," Derek says sharply all of a sudden, his hips jerking. Scott looks down and Stiles is -- Stiles is almost all the way down. "Oh, fuck, you're amazing."
Scott can't help laughing at the stupid words that start pouring out of Derek's mouth, the praise and the stuttered pleas for more as Stiles fucks his mouth on Derek's cock. This whole time Derek's been in control, seemingly suave, but now he's begging.
"I'm -- " Derek says, and Stiles pulls off quickly, but not quick enough: Derek comes all over Stiles' face, a ribbon of it falling onto Stiles' buzz cut, more splashing over Stiles' lips.
"Stiles," Scott says, voice full of worry. He grabs a tissue and helps his friend clean off, Derek's come thickening with each moment they let pass. They get most of it off of Stiles' face by the time Derek is dressed, but there's still a sheen of it on Stiles' lips when Derek pauses by the door.
"Next Tuesday, the practice field on Robinson Street at 4."
"We can't drive yet," Scott objects.
"Find me after school, then." Derek smirks and stares at Scott. "Next time it's your turn."
He's gone a moment later, and Scott turns to Stiles, ready to get him water or anything else he wants -- but Stiles pushes him down onto the bed, hand to Scott's chest.
"You're still," he starts, glancing at where Scott's stiffy is pushing through his boxers.
"It's okay," Scott says, "I'm fine." But Stiles is already leaning down and peeling off Scott's boxers, wrapping his still-wet lips around Scott's dick, and Scott's brain fucking shorts out like an overloaded fuse box. There is no higher thought here, nothing but Stiles' hollowed cheeks and his soaking wet tongue, bright eyes urging Scott to come. They've never done this before and Scott doesn't know why. It's amazing.
When Scott finally does come the sun is almost down, the room darkened and cooler at last. Still Scott can see Stiles wipe at his mouth, cleaning it roughly with a careless wrist.
"Dude," Scott says dumbly. "Dude."
"Come here, man," Stiles rushes out, grabbing his own dick. Together they jerk Stiles off until he splatters all over the bedspread, dripping onto Han Solo's face. They laugh and collapse back onto the bed, ignoring what feels like a puddle between them.
"So, Derek said it's your turn next time."
Scott nods and bites his lip. "Yep."
"Guess you'll have to practice before then, huh?" Stiles looks caught between leering and falling asleep.
"Guess so," Scott says, giving him a playful shove.
Later that night after they've changed the sheets and eaten dinner with mom, they kiss for a long time, sweet and warm and safe.