Chapter Text
Summer break begins like a held breath.
Beacon Hills empties in slow motion—graduation banners peeled down from lampposts, lockers standing open and hollow, the lacrosse field lying quiet beneath a relentless blue sky. College kids load their cars in stages, hugging parents in sunlit driveways before disappearing down highways that shimmer in the heat.
The town feels suspended.
The air turns heavy and golden, thick with chlorine, cut grass, sunscreen, and possibility.
For the first time in his life, Scott McCall doesn’t feel tethered to anything.
No exams.
No practice schedules.
No expectation that he has to be the responsible one all the time.
Just summer.
Just days stretching wide and humming, empty and entirely his.
He stands in his bedroom, bare feet against warm hardwood, studying himself in the full-length mirror behind the door. Eighteen. Finished with high school. Officially done.
Years of lacrosse have broadened his shoulders and carved lean definition into his arms. But it’s his expression that’s changed the most. There’s no tightness in his jaw, no stress lingering behind his eyes.
And he smiles.
It’s slow. Real. A little awed.
This is what freedom feels like.
His mum thinks he’ll spend the summer applying for part-time jobs before community college starts in the fall. She’s already left pamphlets and application forms stacked neatly on the kitchen counter.
Stiles assumes they’ll spend their last months glued to the couch — video games, late-night drives, rewatching their favourite movies until they can quote them in their sleep. One last stretch of familiar comfort before everything changes.
But Scott wants something different.
He doesn’t have a name for it at first. Just a restless buzz beneath his skin. A warmth low in his stomach when he catches someone looking at him a second too long. A flicker of curiosity when he imagines a version of summer that isn’t about planning the future or clinging to the past.
The first Friday night after graduation, that feeling sharpens.
“You’re seriously not coming to Lydia’s party?” Stiles literally squawks over the phone, bass-heavy music thumping in the background.
“I’m tired, man,” Scott says, lying back on his bed and staring at the ceiling.
It isn’t entirely a lie. Graduation had been overwhelming — ceremony speeches, too many photos, hugs that felt like endings. But exhaustion isn’t what’s keeping him home.
It’s anticipation.
“Fine, be boring,” Stiles teases. “But you’re missing out. Jackson just brought a keg bigger than his ego.”
Scott laughs, promises to catch up before his best friend leaves for Quantico at the end of next week, much sooner than anyone anticipated, and hangs up.
The house settles into quiet.
He rolls onto his side and scrolls through his phone. His thumb hovers over an app icon near the bottom of his screen.
He downloaded it weeks ago, late one night when curiosity got the better of him. He told himself he was just looking. Just exploring. A harmless experiment in a private space where he didn’t have to be Beacon Hills’ golden boy.
No team captain.
No dependable son.
No one’s expectation.
Just Scott.
The first time he taps the icon, his heart pounds hard enough to make him swallow.
The screen loads.
Faces appear. Smiles. Torsos. Bios only a few words long. Distances measured in miles.
Possibility. immediate and electric.
He feels anonymous. Untethered. Thrilled.
His profile is simple. No face, just a mirror selfie cropped at the collarbone, golden skin, lean muscle, the faint line of his hip visible above low-slung grey sweatpants. Suggestive without revealing too much.
Bio: 18. Summer break. New to this. Looking to have some fun.
The words make his pulse jump.
It feels bold. Reckless in the best way.
Exactly what he wants.
Notifications begin almost immediately.
Hey.
Looking good.
You local?
What are you into?
His thumb is slick against the screen. He ignores most of them at first, overwhelmed by the sudden attention. Each message feels like proof of something he’s only just begun to accept—that he’s desirable. That he doesn’t have to wait to be chosen. That he can choose.
Summer break.
No labels.
No pressure.
No five-year plan.
Just heat. Just freedom. Just him deciding what he wants and going after it.
He shifts onto his back, staring at the ceiling while his phone buzzes softly in his hand.
This is his hot girl summer. Or whatever it is Stile said once.
Not about settling down.
Not about being sensible.
Not about fitting into the version of himself everyone expects.
About exploring every restless, curious part of himself that he’s kept quiet for years.
One notification stands out.
Derek, 24. 1 mile away.
The profile picture is a sharp jaw, dark eyes, a shadow of stubble. No smile. Minimal bio. Just: Honest. Direct. Not into games.
Scott’s breath catches. The proximity is alarming. This person is in his town, his orbit. He hesitates, his finger hovering over the screen. Then he types: Hi.
The reply is immediate. You’re new.
That obvious?
Yeah. Your bio says it. Your picture screams it.
There’s something about Derek’s bluntness that makes Scott’s stomach flip, a mixture of fear and thrilling exposure. They talk. Not about the app, but about the silence of Beacon Hills in summer, about the best taco truck, about the oppressive heat. Derek’s sentences are short, but not unkind. They agree to meet at a quiet bar downtown—The Hideaway, a place Scott’s walked past a hundred times and never entered, a place with dark windows and a simple wooden door.
Inside, the air is cool and dim, smelling of polished wood and citrus cleaner. Derek is already there, seated at the far end of the bar, a half-empty glass of something amber in front of him.
He’s taller than Scott expects. Broad shoulders strain against the fabric of a simple black henley. His eyes are not just intense; they are observant, tracking Scott’s approach with a stillness that is unnerving. They pin Scott in place the moment he steps into his space.
“Scott,” Derek says, his voice a low rumble. It’s not a question. He says it like he’s testing how it feels in his mouth.
“Derek.”
They talk. About graduation. About Derek’s online coursework in architectural design. About the way the light slants through the bar windows at this hour. About nothing important and everything that matters. Derek doesn’t flirt much. He watches. His gaze is a physical weight, tracing the line of Scott’s jaw, the movement of his hands. When he leans closer, the scent of him—clean soap, cedar, something earthy—washes over Scott.
“First time with a guy?” Derek asks, his voice so low it’s almost submerged in the hum of the cooler.
Scott’s throat tightens. He forces himself to hold that dark gaze. “First time… anything like this. First date from an app. First… all of it.”
Derek studies him for a long, silent moment, his eyes searching. “No pressure,” he says finally. “We can just have a drink. Talk. Or you can leave right now. Your call.”
Scott surprises himself. The fear is still there, a fluttering in his chest, but beneath it is a current of pure, undeniable want. He takes a steadying breath. “Your place or mine?”
A flicker of something—surprise, respect—passes over Derek’s features. “Mine. It’s closer.”
***
Derek’s loft apartment is in a converted warehouse, all exposed brick and high ceilings. It smells like cedar and clean linen and faintly of black coffee. It’s meticulously tidy, almost austere. One wall is all windows, overlooking the quiet, sleeping town.
The kiss happens against that window, the cool glass a shock against Scott’s back. It is slow. Deliberate. Derek’s hands come up to frame Scott’s face, his thumbs brushing over Scott’s cheekbones like he’s holding something valuable. His mouth is firm, controlled, moving with a patient certainty that makes Scott’s knees weak. Scott melts into it, a soft sound escaping his throat as he grips Derek’s shirt, pulling him closer.
“Easy, tiger,” Derek murmurs against his lips, but he doesn’t pull away.
Clothes fall away piece by piece, not in a frantic tear but in a quiet unveiling. Derek’s hands are everywhere, mapping the terrain of Scott’s body, the swell of his pectorals, the dip of his navel, the sensitive skin along his ribs. Scott feels exposed under the moonlight streaming in, but not unsafe. Derek watches him like he’s memorising him, his eyes dark and intent and hungry.
“Still, okay?” Derek murmurs, breath hot against Scott’s neck.
Scott nods, beyond words. “Yeah, totally okay.”
Derek leads him to the bed; a large platform draped in charcoal stone-washed linen. He is patient in a way Scott wasn’t expecting. Careful preparation with slick, cool fingers that make Scott gasp and arch off the mattress. Soft words of guidance. Breathe. Relax. Tell me. Steady hands that anchor his hips.
Derek’s length - hot, hard and heavy - nudges against his hole, making Scott keen. And when Derek finally presses inside him, it’s so slow Scott can feel every millimetre of the heavenly stretch, the delicious burn and the incredible, shocking fullness. He breathes through it, his eyes fluttering shut, fingers clutching at Derek’s powerful, bulging forearms.
Oh.
This.
This is what’s been missing. Yearning for.
This euphoric sensation.
This exquisite pressure.
This beautiful duality of surrender and strength.
It’s exhilarating, intoxicating.
The way Derek fills him feels like a revelation, a door swung open to a world he didn't know existed. He can feel every inch of Derek's length, every subtle movement sending ripples of pleasure through him, igniting nerve endings he didn't know existed, didn’t know were so sensitive.
“Open your eyes,” Derek says, his voice strained with his own control. “I want to see you.”
Scott obeys, peeling his eyes open to meet Derek's heated gaze. The intensity in those dark eyes sends a thrill through him, igniting the fire of connection between them. Scott can see the way Derek's jaw tightens as he sinks deeper, the way his brow furrows with concentration and something more primal.
"God, you're beautiful," Derek breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. “You have no idea how good you feel.”
Scott grins, a mixture of shyness and pride swelling within him. Heat floods cheeks at the compliment, but it only fuels the fire building inside him as he leans up to capture Derek's lips with his own once more, losing himself in the taste of him, the way their bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle finally coming together.
“You too," he manages to say, his voice shaky with both awe and desire. The way Derek looks at him makes him feel seen in a way he never anticipated; it's utterly intoxicating.
Then, Derek begins to move, each thrust slow, deliberate and deep, filling Scott with a pleasure that is both foreign and exhilarating. Scott meets each movement with a soft gasp, his body responding instinctively, arching towards Derek, urging him for more and more. The rhythm builds, a dance of give and take, as Scott loses himself in the sensations-the stretch, the fullness, the intoxicating heat of Derek's body against his.
"Tell me what you want," Derek says, his voice low and rough it sends sparks shooting down Scott's spine.
"I want... Fuck me harder,” Scott breathes, the words tumbling out faster than he can blink or think.
Derek's eyes flash with something primal at Scott's request, a flicker of surprise quickly replaced by determination. He grips Scott’s hips tighter, adjusting his angle, and then he does exactly as Scott asked.
Every thrust sends shockwaves through Scott's body, pleasure pooling low in his belly, building higher with each movement. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of them entwined in this moment, caught in the heat of summer and the warmth of each other’s skin.
Scott gasps, his hands clawing at the sheets beneath him, desperate for something to ground him as the pleasure spirals. He feels alive, every nerve ending ignited in a way he never knew was possible.
"More," Scott pleads, a whimper escaping his lips. “Give me more. Feels so good.”
Derek responds to Scott's plea with a low growl, his pace quickening, each thrust becoming more urgent, more primal. “Yeah, this what you want?”
Scott nods fervently, lost in the haze of pleasure and the raw intensity of their connection. "Yes, just like that!" he gasps, his voice breathy and desperate.
Scott's breath quickens, matching the rapid pace of their bodies. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing over him, pulling him closer to the edge. He can feel the tension building, the way his body reacts instinctively to the pleasure coursing through him.
“God, yes,” Scott gasps, his voice barely a whisper, but the intensity in his tone tells Derek everything he needs to know. The heat between them is palpable, an undeniable force that pulls them tighter and tighter together.
“Look at me,” Derek commands, his voice low and gravelly, and Scott manages to meet his gaze, the connection between them electrifying. Derek’s eyes are dark and filled with a hunger that matches Scott's own. He can see the way Derek is losing himself in the moment, the way he’s just as caught up in this as Scott is.
Scott feels a rush of confidence surge through him, a boldness that comes with this newfound freedom. “I want to feel you,” he breathes, each word punctuated by a thrust that sends ripples of pleasure through his body. “I want all of you.”
Derek’s eyes flare with heat at Scott’s words, and he responds by adjusting his angle again, hitting a spot inside Scott that has him seeing stars and makes him cry out, the sound echoing in the dim space of the loft. Every thrust now sends shockwaves of ecstasy racing through him, and he’s lost in the rhythm, the heat, the pleasure.
“Scott,” Derek pants, a note of urgency creeping into his tone. “I’m close.”
“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop,” Scott gasps, tumbling out in a breathless rush.
The urgency in Scott's voice seems to ignite something primal in Derek. He responds with a renewed intensity, his thrusts becoming deeper, harder, as he chases the same high Scott is spiralling toward. The world outside ceases to exist; it's just them, wrapped in the summer night, bodies intertwined, hearts racing.
“Cum for me, Scott,” Derek urges, his voice thick with desire. “I want to see you fall apart.”
Scott’s breath hitches at the command, the rawness of it sending another jolt of pleasure through him. He can feel the tension coiling tighter in his belly, the heat pooling, ready to burst. “I—I'm close,” he gasps, his fingers digging into the mattress, his body arching beneath Derek's powerful form. With every thrust, every whisper, every heated glance, he feels himself unravelling, and he knows he’s on the brink. “Derek, I—”
Pleasure crashes over him like a tidal wave, pulling him under, drowning him in ecstasy. He moans Derek’s name, feeling himself pulse around him, his body tightening impossibly as he rides the waves of release.
Derek’s breath hitches, and he groans deeply, the sound vibrating through Scott as he follows him over the edge, his body shuddering with pleasure, filling the space between them with a warmth that feels almost sacred and leaves them both gasping for air.
They lie tangled together in the afterglow, the room filled with the soft sounds of their breathing, chests rising and falling, the tick of the clock.
"How was that for your first time with a guy?" Derek asks, his voice teasingly low as he Scott's damp hair from his eyes.
Scott lets out a soft laugh, still trying to catch his breath. "It was... definitely more than I expected…. but yeah, wow. Amazing.”
Derek chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates against Scott's skin. Derek's arm is heavy across Scott's waist as he tugs him into his side. Scott's cheek is pressed against Derek's firm chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. The scent of sex and Derek fill Scott's nostrils, a strangely comforting mix. He feels utterly spent, yet completely alive. Derek's fingers idly trace patterns on his hip, a gesture so gentle it makes Scott's eyelids feel heavy.
"You're not what I expected," Derek says softly, his lips brushing Scott's temple.
"Good or bad?" Scott hums, eyelids fluttering.
Derek’s thumb strokes a slow arc on Scott’s hip. "Very good. You’re… unique. It's... refreshing." He pauses, then adds, "Most people try to impress. You just… are."
Scott shifts, finding a more comfortable spot, feeling a warmth bloom in his chest at the unexpected compliment. He hadn't tried to be anything but himself, which, until tonight, he wasn't even sure who that was. "I didn't know what to hide from," he admits, his voice a sleepy murmur.
Derek lets out a low chuckle, a vibration against Scott's ear. "That's the point, I think." He pulls Scott a little tighter, a possessive, comforting weight. "Stay the night."
Scott hesitates for only a second. The thought of walking home alone through the quiet, knowing streets of Beacon Hills suddenly feels… anticlimactic. And the thought of waking up next to Derek, in this strange new intimacy, is surprisingly appealing. "Okay," he says, a soft exhale.
He drifts off to sleep, feeling Derek’s steady breathing against his hair, a new, profound sense of peace settling over him.
***
The pale morning light paints the loft in soft shades of grey and gold. Scott stirs, pulled from a deep, dreamless sleep by a growing awareness of warmth and weight, disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings, but then remembers. Derek is a solid line of heat against his back; one arm draped heavily over Scott’s waist. The silence is profound, broken only by the distant hum of the refrigerator and the slow, even sound of Derek’s breathing against the back of his neck.
Then Scott becomes aware of something else: a firm, insistent pressure against the curve of his lower back. Derek’s erection, so hot and hard, trapped in the space between.
A flush of heat, immediate and electric, spreads through Scott’s belly. The memory of the previous night—the stretch, the fullness, the shockingly delicious pleasure — floods back, leaving a phantom ache and a fresh, eager curiosity. He tries to lie perfectly still, relishing the feeling, the intimacy of this unspoken morning need.
He feels Derek shift slightly behind him, a slow, sleepy roll of his hips that presses him more firmly against Scott. A low, unconscious hum vibrates against Scott’s shoulder blade. Derek is still mostly asleep.
Scott’s own body responds, as if by instinct, a familiar tightening low in his abdomen. He bites his lip, considering. Then, driven by a boldness that feels both new and natural, he presses back just a little, aligning the curve of his body more snugly against Derek’s.
The effect is instant. Derek’s breathing hitches. The arm around Scott’s waist tightens, tugging him closer. “Morning,” Derek’s voice is sleep-roughened rumble directly in Scott’s ear that has Scott hard in mere seconds.
“Morning,” Scott whispers back, his own voice thick.
Derek’s hand, which had been resting flat on Scott’s stomach, slides lower, his fingers tracing the treasure trail of hair. “Sleep, okay?”
“Yeah.” Scott’s breath catches as Derek’s fingertips dip lower. “Really okay.”
“Good.” Derek nuzzles the nape of Scott’s neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there. His hips roll again, a slow, grinding motion that makes Scott gasp. “You feel that?”
“Hard to miss,” Scott manages, arching his back to increase the friction.
Derek’s chuckle is a dark, warm sound. “You’re not complaining.”
“I’m not.” Scott turns his head, seeking Derek’s mouth. The kiss is slow and deep, tasting of sleep and shared breath. It’s less frantic than the night before, more languid, a slow stoking of the embers that still glow between them.
Derek’s hand finally slips inside Scott’s boxers, wrapping around his throbbing length. Scott groans into the kiss, pushing into the firm, confident grip. “Derek…”
“Shhh,” Derek murmurs against his lips. “Just feel.”
He begins to stroke Scott, a lazy, luxurious pace that has Scott panting and writhing within moments. At the same time, Derek continues the slow, rhythmic press of his hips, his own hardness rubbing against Scott’s skin. It’s an overwhelming duality of sensation—the tight, slick friction in front, the hot, grinding pressure behind.
“Turn over,” Derek breathes, releasing him just long enough to help Scott roll onto his stomach.
Scott complies, burying his face in the pillow that smells intensely of Derek. He feels Derek settle over him, not his full weight, but enough to be deliciously overwhelming. Derek kisses a trail down his spine, his hands sliding over the swell of Scott’s ass, followed by the searing heat of Derek’s mouth as he kisses the base of Scott’s spine. Scott shudders, his fingers clutching the sheets.
“You’re so responsive,” Derek murmurs, his voice full of awe. He spreads Scott open, his thumbs gentle but firm. “Still sore?”
“A little,” Scott admits, his voice muffled by the pillow. “But... I don’t care. I’m good.”
A slick, cool touch tells him Derek has reached for the bottle on the nightstand. He prepares Scott again, but this time it’s different. There’s no nervousness, only a deep, aching anticipation. The first press of Derek’s finger is met with a low, welcoming moan from Scott.
“That’s it,” Derek soothes, working him open with a practiced, tender efficiency. “Just like that.”
When Derek finally replaces his fingers with the blunt, hot head of his cock, Scott is pushing back against him, wordlessly begging. Derek enters him in one slow, relentless slide, and the fullness is even more profound in the quiet morning light.
Derek wraps an arm around Scott’s chest, holding him close, his forehead dropping to rest between Scott’s shoulder blades. He begins to move, a deep, rolling rhythm that is less about frenzy and more about connection. Each thrust is measured, potent, reaching a place inside Scott that makes his vision blur and his trapped cock throb.
“God, you feel incredible,” Derek grits out, his control visibly fraying. “So tight. So perfect.”
Scott can only moan in response, lost in the sensation of being utterly filled and surrounded by Derek. The pleasure builds not in a sharp peak, but in a warm, expanding wave. He reaches a hand down to touch himself, but Derek’s hand is already there, wrapping around him, stroking him in perfect time with his thrusts.
It’s too much. The dual rhythm, the deep possession, the tender words growled against his skin. it all coalesces into a shimmering point of release. Scott cums with a choked cry, his body clamping down hard around Derek, triggering his own climax. Derek’s groan is long and guttural, his hips stuttering as he spills deep inside Scott, his body collapsing heavily atop him for a moment before rolling to the side.
The morning light filtering through the high windows casts’ long shadows across the loft. They share a silent, lingering look, a new understanding passing between them. Derek’s lips curve into another faint, almost imperceptible smile before they eventually get up, moving around the loft in comfortable silence.
Derek makes coffee. Scott finds an old t-shirt of Derek’s – soft, faded, smelling distinctly of him – and pulls it on. It hangs nicely on his frame, warm and comforting.
Before Scott leaves, Derek pulls him close again, a hand cupping the back of his neck. His kiss this time is softer, slower, a promise rather than an exploration. Scott opens his mouth, letting their tongues meet, savouring the taste of coffee and Derek on his tongue. When they break apart, Derek’s eyes are still intense, but softer.
“Text me,” Derek says, his thumb brushing Scott’s cheekbone. “If ya want.”
Scott nods, a genuine, easy smile on his face.
As Scott walks home through the quiet morning streets of Beacon Hills, exhilaration hums beneath his skin, bright and undeniable. He can still feel the lingering warmth of Derek inside him—a private reminder of what they shared—and instead of guilt, it fills him with a steady, electric sense of awakening. The air carries the scent of fresh coffee and blooming jasmine, the town hushed and golden in the early light, and everything feels sharpened, possible.
This summer isn’t just about freedom; it’s about exploration, about claiming new experiences with both hands, about having the courage to step into desire without apology. For the first time, Scott feels entirely at home in his own body—seen, awake, and brimming with anticipation for whatever comes next.