FIC: Animal Urges (Scott/Stiles) M
Title: Animal Urges
Pairing: Scott/Stiles
Rating: M
Word Count: 711
Summary: Scott keeps breaking Stiles's PS3 controllers, and Stiles has to put his foot down: no more Call of Duty. But now what else are they supposed to do together?
Author's Note: Written for Week 1 of Mating Games: First/Last Times
It starts like this: with forty dollars worth of plastic and electronics crumpled in Scott's hands.
"This is the last time!" Stiles cries. "I am one thousand percent serious, the last time. Never again!"
Scott looks mournfully down at the shattered controller in his hands. "I'm really sorry."
"No! I will not be swayed by those puppy dog eyes. That's the third one you've broken in a month. This hurts me as much as it hurts you, but my wallet can't take it. I have to put my foot down." He takes a deep breath and says it. "No more Call of Duty."
Scott just gives him this wounded, horrified look, like he didn't expect Stiles to actually go through with it. "It was an accident!"
"I know, buddy. I know." Styles sighs and flops down on the couch next to him. "C'mon, don't look at me like that. We'll find something else to do together. Something that doesn't rile up those animal urges."
#
It's not as simple as that, of course. They've got many years of friendship built on the foundation of playing violent video games together. Scott's Netflix queue gets them through another week, but then they're back to boredom and Scott eyeing the PS3, conspicuously wondering what it would take to get Stiles to lift the Call of Duty embargo.
They compromise with computer games. Scott brings his laptop over and Stiles relents because at least if Scott breaks something, it'll be his own stuff, not Stiles's.
They make it another week before some asshat on their own team kills Scott when he's having a bad day and Scott smashes his first into the keyboard with a growl and that spells the end of his laptop.
Stiles expresses his condolences and starts counting. It takes three days before Scott caves and asks if he can use Stiles's computer. Stiles is grudgingly impressed he lasted that long.
"Please!" Scott begs. "You know Mr. Harris will never let me hear the end of it if I turn in a hand written lab report. I only need half an hour, I swear. And there's no way I'm going to get invested enough in Chem homework to start breaking things."
Stiles relents, because that's what best friends do. He goes downstairs to get pizza and soda, and takes his time about it since there's not much else to do. When he comes back upstairs, Scott startles and gives him such a guilty look that Stiles stops breathing.
"I wasn't snooping, I swear!"
Stiles's lungs restart, but now he's worried for a while new reason. He circles around and discovers that it's petty much as bad as he feared. Scott has found his porn.
"That is snooping," Stiles says. "That is the definition of snooping." He knows for a fact that his porn is buried five levels deep, in the recesses of the most boringly-named folders he could think of. "You brought this on yourself, and I have no sympathy for you if you've been traumatized for life."
Scott shakes his head. "I'm not traumatized," he says slowly, and his gaze stays steady on Stiles and his tongue comes out to run across his lip and Stiles is caught, staring, hurting, because there's no way this can go where he wants it to and that's just plain unfair.
Maybe Scott reads it in his face or hears it in the thump of his heart, but he turns away from the computer, catches a handful of Stiles's shirt, and kisses him.
#
And it ends like this: With Stiles on his knees in front of the computer chair and Scott's dick in his mouth. Scott's moaning, twisting, writhing, his hands closed around empty air because Stiles told him that if he could make it through a blowjob without destroying something, then he'd declare Scott's animal urges officially conquered and lift the PS3 moratorium.
He isn't at all surprised when Scott tears the armrests off the chair with a shriek of metal. He expected something like that would happen. This wasn't ever really about the game.
So they never play Call of Duty again, but they're too busy exploring all the much more interesting ways two people can pass the time together to mind the loss.
Pairing: Scott/Stiles
Rating: M
Word Count: 711
Summary: Scott keeps breaking Stiles's PS3 controllers, and Stiles has to put his foot down: no more Call of Duty. But now what else are they supposed to do together?
Author's Note: Written for Week 1 of Mating Games: First/Last Times
It starts like this: with forty dollars worth of plastic and electronics crumpled in Scott's hands.
"This is the last time!" Stiles cries. "I am one thousand percent serious, the last time. Never again!"
Scott looks mournfully down at the shattered controller in his hands. "I'm really sorry."
"No! I will not be swayed by those puppy dog eyes. That's the third one you've broken in a month. This hurts me as much as it hurts you, but my wallet can't take it. I have to put my foot down." He takes a deep breath and says it. "No more Call of Duty."
Scott just gives him this wounded, horrified look, like he didn't expect Stiles to actually go through with it. "It was an accident!"
"I know, buddy. I know." Styles sighs and flops down on the couch next to him. "C'mon, don't look at me like that. We'll find something else to do together. Something that doesn't rile up those animal urges."
#
It's not as simple as that, of course. They've got many years of friendship built on the foundation of playing violent video games together. Scott's Netflix queue gets them through another week, but then they're back to boredom and Scott eyeing the PS3, conspicuously wondering what it would take to get Stiles to lift the Call of Duty embargo.
They compromise with computer games. Scott brings his laptop over and Stiles relents because at least if Scott breaks something, it'll be his own stuff, not Stiles's.
They make it another week before some asshat on their own team kills Scott when he's having a bad day and Scott smashes his first into the keyboard with a growl and that spells the end of his laptop.
Stiles expresses his condolences and starts counting. It takes three days before Scott caves and asks if he can use Stiles's computer. Stiles is grudgingly impressed he lasted that long.
"Please!" Scott begs. "You know Mr. Harris will never let me hear the end of it if I turn in a hand written lab report. I only need half an hour, I swear. And there's no way I'm going to get invested enough in Chem homework to start breaking things."
Stiles relents, because that's what best friends do. He goes downstairs to get pizza and soda, and takes his time about it since there's not much else to do. When he comes back upstairs, Scott startles and gives him such a guilty look that Stiles stops breathing.
"I wasn't snooping, I swear!"
Stiles's lungs restart, but now he's worried for a while new reason. He circles around and discovers that it's petty much as bad as he feared. Scott has found his porn.
"That is snooping," Stiles says. "That is the definition of snooping." He knows for a fact that his porn is buried five levels deep, in the recesses of the most boringly-named folders he could think of. "You brought this on yourself, and I have no sympathy for you if you've been traumatized for life."
Scott shakes his head. "I'm not traumatized," he says slowly, and his gaze stays steady on Stiles and his tongue comes out to run across his lip and Stiles is caught, staring, hurting, because there's no way this can go where he wants it to and that's just plain unfair.
Maybe Scott reads it in his face or hears it in the thump of his heart, but he turns away from the computer, catches a handful of Stiles's shirt, and kisses him.
#
And it ends like this: With Stiles on his knees in front of the computer chair and Scott's dick in his mouth. Scott's moaning, twisting, writhing, his hands closed around empty air because Stiles told him that if he could make it through a blowjob without destroying something, then he'd declare Scott's animal urges officially conquered and lift the PS3 moratorium.
He isn't at all surprised when Scott tears the armrests off the chair with a shriek of metal. He expected something like that would happen. This wasn't ever really about the game.
So they never play Call of Duty again, but they're too busy exploring all the much more interesting ways two people can pass the time together to mind the loss.