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Stiles has never prided himself on his good decision making. Sure, when it comes to werewolf bullshit, he can squeeze by, make the wise decision. But when it comes to normal life? That's where he has a problem. He procrastinates, avoids, always chooses the immediate pleasure over the lasting one.
He's always fucking up when it comes to basic life choices. This weekend, for example. He convinced himself he didn't need to spend two whole days doing homework. Instead he spent half of that with Scott, in a haze of video games, junk food, and sex.
See, Scott was smart. Scott had started writing his midterm paper weeks ago. Scott didn't have to do a last minute cram session. Scott was a responsible student. And Scott was now reaping the rewards of that responsibility: sleeping. In their bed. Still naked from their last round of sex hours earlier.
It's 1am on Saturday night, and Stiles should be fucking his boyfriend into the mattress. Instead he's doing homework.
He's only been at it for four hours, but he's ready to quit. He can't though, can't afford to. He and Scott are both on scholarships, they have to keep their grades as high as possible. He could probably scrape by with a C on this paper without much effort, but he can't afford to risk it, can't waste a precious good grade. What happens if supernatural bullshit crops up and his grades start to slide? He needs to do well.
His adderall is wearing off, his coffee going cold. He stands and stretches, yawning wide, all the while keeping his eyes averted from Scott's sleeping form. He can't let himself start thinking about it; once he does there's no turning back. He's tried doing homework with a boner before, already knows how unsuccessful he'll be.
He pops another adderall, refills his coffee, and settles in for a long night.
He goes another two hours before it starts: Scott’s body moving, the mattress creaking as he slowly shifts against it.
Stiles has done so well up 'till now. He's gotten his entire paper outlined and more than half of it written. He could probably get away with quitting for the night, but he should really keep going. If he works for a few more hours tonight he’ll have Sunday completely free.
But there's Scott, naked in their bed, the sheets wrapped loosely around his waist, hips moving in slow circles against the mattress. Stiles can't handle it, knowing that Scott is hard and horny, probably dreaming of him.
If he didn't know, he might be fine. But the knowledge is killing him, has him hardening in his shorts, blood slowly moving from his brain to his cock. How is he supposed to work now?
He tries to buckle down, puts his headphones in and turns on some background music, white noise to block out the creaking of the mattress. But Stiles knows. Knows Scott's cock is probably leaking against the sheets. If Stiles fingered him, he knows how easily Scott would open up for him. Scott showered before they fucked earlier - that's how the last round started. And Stiles knows how he'd taste if he just spread his ass open and licked. And worst of all, he knows he's allowed to.
Neither of them has any qualms about being woken up that way. Stiles could do whatever he wanted to Scott, anything within the bounds of their normal sex life. Some mornings Stiles wakes to his dick hardening under Scott’s persistent mouth. Other mornings it's Stiles who eases Scott into consciousness with his hand around both their cocks, his fingers teasing at Scott’s hole.
Scott probably wouldn't wake up easily now, though. He crashes pretty hard on the weekends, especially after letting his brain shut down to the drone of video games. It's a thing for Scott - he keep his mind so engaged throughout most of his days, always on alert, watching out for everyone around him. But sometimes, around Stiles, he'll let himself just zone out.
So Stiles knows; knows he could fuck Scott into the mattress, that Scott would probably barely stir, that he'd be allowed to do it all. And how the fuck is he supposed to write an essay knowing all that?
His own cock is fully hard now, straining against the seam of his boxers.
Stiles closes the computer and shuts off the desk lamp. He'll finish up later. He needs a break right now, needs to let his mind roam to something more interesting than Merton’s Scientific Norms for a few hours.
He stands and adjusts himself, not ready to take his clothes off completely. He knows if he does, he'll end up coming far too soon. He wants to draw this out, it’s the only way he’ll be able to focus later when he really needs to work.
He sits down on the edge of the bed and lifts the sheets from around Scott's waist. Scott's still moving his hips minutely, but he seems to have calmed down a bit, not as frantic as he was earlier.
Stiles runs a hand along Scott's back, over his ass. He knows this is allowed but that doesn’t stop the thrill he feels. It’s never been like this before. It's always lazy mornings where they’re both half-conscious, waking up draped over each other and just getting started. Not one asleep without the other. These days, they rarely sleep without each other. Living together changed both of them a lot. Scott rests easier knowing at least one of the people he loves is safe, and Stiles sleeps better with Scott there to keep him from getting lost in Wikipedia spirals until the sun rises. They work together like that, so there haven't really been any opportunities for this.
Scott responds to his touch, leaning into it, barely perceptible but that Stiles is so attuned to it. Stiles takes it as encouragement; he knows that Scott trusts him, even in sleep. He leans over Scott and pulls his legs so they're spread wide.
Stiles undresses, taking off everything but his boxers. The warm fabric creates a burning friction that keeps him grounded. He settles between Scott's legs.
He loves having Scott like this, open and receptive. Scott is always receptive to him, always eager, always willing to go along with whatever new thing Stiles wants to try. Stiles is always willing to do whatever Scott wants as well; whenever Scott needs to take charge, Stiles lets him. It works well that way, they always work well together, a give and take. Scott is a leader, an Alpha, always ready to take control, take responsibility. Stiles is always happy to follow him. He’d would follow Scott anywhere, for anything. He trusts Scott.
But sometimes Scott needs to give up that responsibility, stop leading, trust Stiles to take care of him. If only when they're naked, alone between the sheets.
Scott rocks against the bed gently, but he stills when Stiles settles a hand on his back, as if he knows that Stiles is about to give him what he wants.
Stiles wants to relish this, but it’s so hard not to just dive right in. He takes his time though, rubs his hands along Scott’s back, massaging, kisses his shoulders. Even as he sleeps, there’s so much tension in his body and Stiles wishes he could drain it all away like Scott can take pain.
He kisses down Scott’s back while massaging it; it feels nice to just do something for Scott, whether or not he’s awake to know it.
When he gets down to Scott’s ass he adjusts his position between Scott’s legs and spreads him open. There’s the slight smell of sweat and his own come from earlier. It’s not unpleasant, though. If anything it turns him on, brings out the possessive side of him and makes him swell with pride.
He dips his head to lick over Scott’s hole, just a long swipe with the flat of his tongue. Scott doesn’t really respond at first, just shifts slightly, so Stiles licks again, tracing the rim with the tip of his tongue. Stiles listens for a hitch in Scott’s breath, but it’s still even, he’s still asleep.
Stiles decides to make a game of it, to see how long he can rim Scott until his body really responds, trying to get a reaction without waking him up. It’s not long though before he loses track, gets lost in the thought of making Scott feel good. Scott’s relaxed underneath him, and Stiles has stopped trying to use any technique. He has his whole mouth on Scott, tongue insistent.
He’s so caught up that he doesn’t even realize Scott’s started rocking against the bed again. It’s just a slow roll of hips, unconscious, and it just makes Stiles lick faster, more; he makes broader sweeps of his tongue as he holds Scott open.
Scott’s still asleep, or so he thinks, until he feels Scott’s hand on his own. His fingers grasp for purchase, trying to hold Stiles’s hand and hold himself open. He rocks back against Stiles and lets out a needy whine.
Stiles pulls away with a smirk. He pauses for a second to take it all in: Scott strung out and desperate in front of him.
Scott lets out a broken moan.
“Stiles.”
His desperation draws Stiles back in. Still smirking, he leans in and circles Scott’s hole with his tongue.
Scott’s hips jerk forward at the contact. He’s rubbing himself against the bed again, not lazy like before but purposeful, relentless.
Stiles won’t have that though, Scott can’t come until he wants him to. He pulls Scott up onto his knees, his shoulders pressed into the bed.
“Stiles, please -” Scott’s voice is sleep-rough and sweet as it breaks over the words. It almost makes Stiles want to give in.
“Hold yourself open,” he says instead.
Scott complies, spreading his ass and burying his face into the pillows.
Stiles licks at Scott’s hole again, humming when Scott presses back towards him. Scott tries to grab his hair, hold his face there, but Stiles pulls away. He replaces his tongue with a finger. He doesn’t need to stretch Scott; between being fucked earlier and having Stiles’s tongue relaxing him, he’s already loose. Stiles adds another finger anyways. He rubs at Scott’s prostate for a few minutes just to see him writhe, unable to get any friction on his cock.
Stiles bites at his ass and thighs all the while, soothing every bite with a kiss. He could spend hours doing only this, trailing his lips all over Scott’s body and filling him up with his fingers.
By the time Stiles finally pulls away, Scott is panting, a sheen of sweat all over his body.
Stiles takes his own boxers off franticly. He’s grateful he kept them on so long. He feels all the better for it now that his cock is no longer trapped and rubbing against the fabric.
He grabs the lube from where they carelessly tossed it on the floor earlier, slicks himself up with just enough before lining his cock up with Scott’s hole. Scott’s still on his knees, face and shoulders buried in the pillows.
With a firm hold on Scott’s hips, Stiles sinks in slowly, achingly slowly. Once he’s all the way in, he has to take a moment to breathe, the heat of Scott’s body overwhelming. Scott push back against him, too desperate to wait. Stiles gives a few shallow thrusts, watches his cock as he moves in and out of Scott.
He feels distant though, wants to be closer. He drapes himself across Scott’s back, his weight pushing Scott’s hips flush against the bed.
It’s not the most comfortable position, or the most accommodating, but it’s okay because he can reach Scott’s neck now. He pants into it, biting and sucking hickies as he rocks into Scott.
He still hasn’t let Scott touch himself (won’t anytime soon, it’s not the way this works), but based on Scott’s moans, the friction of his cock against the sheets is enough.
They haven’t kissed since Stiles started this, not since Scott fell asleep in Stiles’s arms earlier, and that feels like far too long. Stiles kisses at his cheek and Scott twists his head to meet him. Scott’s mouth is cool, a sharp contrast to the heat otherwise radiating from him. Stiles swipes his tongue at Scott’s lower lip where it’s swollen from biting and sucks it into his mouth.
Stiles’s thrusts grow more frantic, causing their their kiss to become sloppy and uncoordinated. When Stiles tries to pull away, Scott whimpers, laces his fingers through his hair to hold him there.
Stiles is on the verge of coming, could topple over at any moment. He feels the need to be connected with Scott at every point, reaches for Scott’s other hand to entwine their fingers. A few more deep thrusts and Stiles comes. His orgasm pushes Scott over the ledge a moment later. Scott shudders, moaning into Stiles’s mouth. Stiles hardly notices, though, lost in the bliss.
They’ve been doing this for nearly two years and it’s always like this. This intense, this all-consuming. After a long moment, Stiles draws back from their kiss and just lies on top of Scott, still inside him, panting against his cheek. He lets out a contented sigh when he finally catches his breath. Scott responds with a grunt.
“Werewolf or not, you’re heavy. And I’m in the wet patch.”
Stiles laughs and leaves a smacking kiss on Scott’s cheek. He pulls out and shifts to the side so Scott can move again. Scott groans and rolls over as Stiles stands.
“Whatever dude, don’t act like that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had.” Stiles says from the bathroom as he wets a washcloth.
“Yeah, sure. For the part I was conscious for.”
Stiles stills in the doorway, throat suddenly dry.
“I thought - ”
But when he looks at Scott’s face, he’s grinning.
“You’re the worst,” he says, before tackling Scott on the bed.
Scott hugs him, keeps an arm wrapped around his shoulders even as Stiles backs up so he can clean them up. He runs the the washcloth over Scott, over his ass and thighs and stomach.
Scott lays limp, lets Stiles take care of him.
“But you love me,” he says, leveling Stiles with his gaze, a sincere smile on his face.
“Yeah, I do.” Stiles breathes out.
He goes in for a kiss, tossing the washcloth behind him as he wraps his arms around Scott.
They lay like that for a while, limbs tangled up, Scott’s head on Stiles’s chest. Scott’s skimming his fingers over Stiles’s ribs, Stiles has his fingers in Scott’s hair. It’s peaceful.
“We are doing that again, right?” Scott tilts his head up, and Stiles can see a slight blush on his cheeks. “I mean… You can do that again, if you want.”
Stiles swallows, watching as Scott tracks the movement of his Adam’s apple through heavy lidded eyes. Stiles closes his eyes, starts to drift.
“Yeah,” he says, “Yeah, I want.”