Fic: Or What; Scott/Stiles
Author: calrissian18
Title: Or What
Rating: R
Pairing/s: Scott/Stiles
Character/s: Scott, Stiles, Malia
Summary: Stiles nearly died. Scott's still trying to figure out what the hell that means.
Warnings: Canon-Compliant, Post Season 4, Infidelity
Submission Type: Fic
Word Count: 2,043
Prompt: Ephemeral
Author's Notes: I seriously use the word ‘chub.’ I don’t know why. I could not talk myself out of it, though I swear I tried. Also, you can read this as taking place before or after Scott and Kira agreed they were dating. You can also define Stiles and Malia as dating if you like. (Basically read it as infidelity or not, it’s up to you. [Stiles already assumes Scott and Kira are dating, based off 3B happenings.] Either way, it’s not a focus or a concern).
Scott stared blankly at the corkboard behind Stiles’ computer, tapping his pen against the page rather than actually reading it. He’d flipped forward through a couple, giving the impression that he was doing the assignment but mostly he was just waiting for Stiles to declare it time to fall down for the Fallout. He rested his chin on his hand, breathed out forcefully enough that it rustled a stack of pages tacked up on the board.
Scott lazily walked through the pile with his first two fingers before he realized what they were. He snorted, yanking out the tack and thumbing through the pages. “Dude, you kept track?” Written on each page was his word of the day with the definition underneath. He held up the one that said ‘ephemeral.’
Stiles looked up, distracted until he focused on the page and grinned widely. “Yeah, of course. Had to reinforce it, didn’t I?” He brought up one shoulder, downplaying the effort that must have went into it.
Scott whacked the pile of PSAT words down on his textbook and frowned. “Guess this resolution kind of fell to the wayside.” He tossed the lot of them across the desk and sighed.
Stiles scoffed, unfolding one of his legs out from underneath himself and letting it hang down so his socked toes were brushing his carpet. He pulled at his lower lip, thumb and forefinger dragging it out as he blinked at Scott. “Dude, dark druid sacrificing half the town then me, getting possessed by a chaos-loving dick of a fox spirit. I kind of would’ve been pissed if you’d managed to keep up with your word of the day updates through all that.”
Scott swallowed, staring at Stiles, at the reminder of-at the thought of-
“Manly hug or clingy, embarrassing, dear-God-I hope-my-dad-doesn’t-walk-in-on-it-again hug?” Stiles asked, unfazed, reading him easily. His head was tilted to the side and he was looking at Scott with pinched eyes, considering him.
Scott practically leapt up and Stiles let his book fall from his lap to meet him as Scott clung to him, one arm wrapped around his back, fingers digging into Stiles’ ribs, and the other bracketing his shoulders. Stiles let himself be hugged, hugged back with the same intensity and Scott let his hand find Stiles’ shoulder, the curve of his neck, fingers burying themselves in his spiky hair.
“Whoa.” Stiles pressed closer reflexively, laughed breathily. “Hand in the hair, that’s new.”
Scott grinned into Stiles’ shoulder, moving his nose into the hollow of his neck. “Shut up, I’m entitled. Still traumatized over here.”
Stiles grinned back, Scott could feel his cheek rounding out against his temple. He stepped up a little closer and said, “Break on three?”
“Yeah,” Scott agreed.
“One. Two.” Scott squeezed him as tightly as he could without putting any wolf powers into it and released just as Stiles said, “Three.” Stiles gripped his shoulder as he pulled back, bunching up skin and muscle under his hand. He raised both brows, caught Scott’s eye. “Staying over?”
Scott knocked Stiles in the chest on his left side with the heel of his palm, not hard enough to hurt him but enough to make him fall back a few steps, huge grin on his face. “I think I’ll be all right,” he said with a roll of his eyes.
Scott stared up at his ceiling, blinking sluggishly at the slow turn of the blades of his fan. Between one blink and the next, the fan blades became katana blades and Stiles was saying, ‘Scott, I have to do this.’ Scott watched silver knife into Stiles’ abdomen and he shot up in bed, claws out and fangs dropped.
Pulling the wolf back was simple enough but calming himself down was near impossible. He was drenched in sweat and breathing hard and he could feel Stiles was fine, but it wasn’t good enough.
He changed his tank to one that was less damp and pulled on a pair of basketball shorts over his boxers, leaving out his window.
Stiles’ was cracked. His room was dark save for the glow of his computer screen, which meant he couldn’t have been in bed all that long. The comforter was balled up mostly on top of him, like he’d been tossing and turning, the sheet kicked almost entirely off the mattress and his wild hair was really all Scott could see.
He rolled over with a frustrated whump, the skin under his eyes dark and rubbery. Scott wasn’t the only one having trouble finding some solace then. Stiles blinked when he saw him, peered at him through the dark until he knew to whom the silhouette belonged and a slow smile spread across his sleepy mouth.
Scott bit down on an answering grin. He kicked off his sneakers, shimmied out of his shorts and warned, “Not a word.”
Stiles held up his hands, still grinning hugely, and backed across his bed a bit to leave more room for Scott. He waited until Scott had settled in next to him and pulled the comforter over himself to drag a hand down his face and ask around a yawn, “Dreams or what?”
Scott shrugged, mouth twisted. “Or what.”
Stiles frowned sympathetically before kicking Scott in the hip, shoving him with his foot. Scott glared at him.
Stiles smirked, pushing hard enough that Scott stumbled out of the bed. Stiles looked him over, as if to say, ‘since you’re standing.’ “Get the fan, dude. I’m not waking up with my shirt plastered to my back again.”
Scott rolled his eyes but did as he was asked-or told rather. Because Stiles wouldn’t stop bugging him until it was done, Scott knew from experience. He piled back into bed with Stiles, feeling Stiles’ answering yawn make his own limbs go heavy with sleep. He was out before he could even pull the covers back over him.
The hair on his forearms stood on end and a feeling of unease prickled over his scalp. A vague shot of wrong centered in his chest, made his lungs constrict and then his clawed hands were curling under something and he was propping himself up on his elbow, eyes red and a low snarl raising his lips.
Malia was raising up from a crouch under Stiles’ window.
Scott claws dug in slightly and he realized his arm was wrapped around Stiles’ back, fingers wedged under him, and he was pulling him closer, into his body as though playing keep away with Malia. Stiles’ forehead pressed into his collarbone and the scent of sweat on his skin was strong under Scott’s nose.
Stiles made a whining noise and pushed away from him, flopping onto his back, pushing the comforter down haphazardly trying to get cool again.
Scott didn’t take his eyes off Malia, who was growling back now. She no longer looked surprised to see him there. Now her eyes were flashing blue in the dark, not ceding to him in the slightest and looking ready to throw down with him for the right to Stiles’ room.
Stiles groaned, rubbed at his face, and his eyes cracked open. He seemed to read the tenseness in the room as his muscles went rigid even before he caught sight of either of them. He turned to Scott, noted the shift to beta form and frowned. He followed Scott’s gaze to Malia and his face went red. “Oh shit, yeah, not a, um-not a good night for, uh…”
Scott snarled.
Stiles winced, tried, “I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”
Malia looked between them, like she couldn’t figure out what the hell had just happened.
Scott smirked victoriously, placing a hand on Stiles’ shoulder just in case she’d missed the part where Stiles had picked Scott and told her to get lost. Stiles shrugged him off, shooting a glare at him that clearly said he was not making this better. Which was fair. Scott wasn’t. And he didn’t want to either. She’d challenged him, completely ignored their hierarchy, an Omega facing off with an Alpha with no respect for Scott’s position.
There was the aggravated wolf part of him that needed to be soothed but also the Scott part of him that was just getting how shitty it must have been for Stiles when he’d been with Allison-and that thought hurt on so many levels-so maybe he was a bit possessive over his best friend, who was more important than anyone else who could come into his life. It had taken nearly losing him-and owning up to the horrible thought he’d had that if the trade off was Stiles’ life for Allison’s then he’d do it every time-for him to realize that Stiles was the one who was going to be there while people would come and go.
He wanted to be able to decide he needed a night with Stiles and not have anyone else come along and try take that time from him. His muscles unclenched at having won this round. He didn’t know how much longer, through how many relationships, he would come out on top so he reveled in this one.
Malia’s eyes narrowed and her pissed off glare made it clear that Stiles was going to have to do some serious groveling tomorrow to get back in her good graces.
Scott didn’t even bother to watch her leave, just settled in next to Stiles, pulling him closer, and closed his eyes. She was that little of a threat to him and he wanted her to know it.
Not even a minute later, Stiles elbowed him in the sternum. Which probably meant Malia was gone. Scott didn’t open his eyes, just smiled.
Stiles flicked him in the nose.
Scott sat up, rubbing it with a glower.
Stiles was staring at him, sitting up too, eyes narrowed and curious. “Dude, you just went all Alpha territorial over me.”
Scott shrugged, only a tad uneasily, because it had been a bit much and he couldn’t really explain himself. All he knew was that Malia hadn’t belonged there and seeing her in Stiles’ room had massively unsettled him and his wolf. “Yeah, well, you’re my pack,” he said simply.
Stiles snorted but the lightheartedness of the action didn’t make his eyes unpinch in the slightest. Clearly he wasn’t buying that as an explanation. “Pretty sure she wasn’t here trying to steal me away from it,” he pointed out.
Scott shrugged again, admitting, “She didn’t fit. Here.”
“Between you and me,” he said slowly, eyes opening wider as realization dawned on his face, “or in my room?”
Scott knew he was being asked two very different questions. Was it because he felt their friendship was being interrupted or because seeing Stiles with someone was fucking him up. Scott swallowed. “I think both,” he said, trying to keep his voice even.
“Oh,” Stiles said blankly. He tightened his grip on the comforter in his lap, unclenched slowly. He bit his lip over a grin and said nonchalantly, “So you should probably put your mouth on me. I don’t really care where, though it seems like you’ve been angsting over not taking me up on that offer to make-out so I’d be okay with-”
It was a terrible kiss because Scott couldn’t stop smiling. He crawled over Stiles eagerly, Stiles agreeably leaning back, hands pulling him closer and they were both half-laughing into each other’s mouths because Stiles was a sarcastic dick even about this. Scott didn’t know why he’d expected any different.
Stiles turned his head away, deciding gravely, “You’re awful at this.” He tsked. “How have you gotten two girlfriends who were so much hotter than you?”
Scott pretended to consider it. “I’ve lowered that bar, clearly,” he said solemnly.
Stiles looked like he might be offended for a quarter of a second before he agreed, confiding, “Lucky thing too, because I’m not even sure if I like dick yet.”
Scott spread Stiles’ thighs with a wolfish grin, pressing his cock up against Stiles’ half-hard chub and grinding. “I suppose we’ll just have to find out together,” he said, words put-upon and nearly drowned out by Stiles’ answering moan as his knees came up to squeeze Scott’s hips.