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Scott is humping the bed again.
Stiles never really knows what to do with this. This is maybe the sixth time he’s seen it happen, and it’s never any less weird.
Or arousing.
Stiles sighs, shutting Scott’s laptop a little harder than he means to. Scott fell asleep way before the end of the movie and Stiles just wanted to finish watching, but now, in the dark, listening to his best friend make tiny sounds of pleasure as he rubs against his mattress, Stiles is really wishing he’d went to sleep before too.
It had been a while. Since the last time. Stiles had thought maybe it had stopped, maybe it was just an unfortunate phase of puberty. Maybe he did it too and Scott had never mentioned it? Although Scott is such a heavy sleeper that Stiles is pretty sure a fucking train going through his bedroom wouldn’t wake him up, never mind a little bit of bed squeaking.
He considers his options as he leans over to set the laptop on the floor by the bed.
He could go downstairs. That’s what he did the first time it ever happened, two years ago. Went for ‘a glass of water’ and lingered in the dark of the kitchen for fifteen minutes reading Melissa’s shopping lists and receipts by the light of his phone just for something to do.
But, as he listens to Scott let out heavy breaths, hips shifting and mussing up his sheets, Stiles decides he doesn’t want to go downstairs. He doesn’t want to roll over and pretend it’s not happening. His cock is throbbing in his pyjama pants and he doesn’t want to pretend that it’s not, for the sixth time. Doesn’t want to go through the next day trying desperately not to think about it (he’d fail, he knows it, he always does).
Stiles makes several abortive moves in each direction, not sure whether to get out of the bed or lay down or what.
Scott whimpers and it makes Stiles freeze, staring at his best friend’s body under the quilt. He’s squirming around, not quite humping any more, and Stiles wonders if maybe the angle’s bad. Maybe the fabric of his pyjamas are catching in a bad way. Maybe— maybe Stiles has spent too much of his free time thinking about this exact scenario since that very first time. He has another thought, too. A thought that he’s never been entirely comfortable having, but it’s always been there, in the back of his mind, every time.
He huffs to himself, squeezing his eyes shut and putting his head in his hands. He feels like screaming into a pillow, punching the air, running in circles… he hears his heartbeat in his ears and the itch in his fingers is just fucking unbearable. He can’t do that. He can’t.
Or—
Maybe?
Stiles turns a little in the bed, more towards Scott. His mouth is dry and he wrings his hands nervously before pulling the covers off of Scott. He’s topless, and Stiles knew that already, obviously, but now his lower back looks like it might be sort of… tacky with sweat, barely visible with the moonlight coming through the window, and Stiles really has to work hard to swallow.
He shifts closer, has to. Close enough for his knee to touch Scott’s arm and the body heat radiating off of him is intense. That almost makes it a little too real, but Stiles forces himself to stay put.
Before he can talk himself out of it, he puts one shaking hand on the small of Scott’s back. He jumps when Scott lets out a hiss, and Stiles realises his hands are probably really fucking cold compared to the furnace of his best friend’s skin right now.
Trembling from the fright, Stiles rubs his hands hard on his pants, rubs them together, blows on them, all in quick succession. He tries again, not wanting to lose his nerve now.
His hand presses down on Scott’s lower back, a firmer touch this time, and he pauses… no reaction. Okay. Adequately warm now, he supposes. He presses harder, and nothing happens, and honestly he doesn’t even know what he’s fucking doing, what the end goal is, why he’s even touching him in the first place even though all Stiles has wanted to do the past few years is touch Scott and not in a platonic way at all and—
Scott rolls his hips down against the mattress and lets out a choked off little noise that goes straight to Stiles’ cock.
Okay.
His free hand tightens on his pyjama pants.
He pushes down again on Scott’s back, a little harder, really having to put his body weight into it… and he’s rewarded with Scott making that noise again, longer this time, and rutting his hips repeatedly into the bed. The firmer, heavier friction is evidently welcome, at least in sleep.
Stiles tries to keep up with that but honestly, the pressing makes his arm shake and he can’t keep the pressure on the way Scott seems to be responding to, can’t keep helping him push his hips down hard into the bed.
But he doesn’t want to stop touching. Stiles is nothing if not greedy. Has to have just one more serving of dinner, one more cookie (five more cookies), watch one more episode before bed, stay out just a little later after curfew… he can’t help it.
He can, though. He knows he could help it, if he really wanted to. But he doesn’t want to, that’s just it.
So he lets himself get greedy, lets his hand drift down from Scott’s back to run over the curve of his ass, settling just underneath to cup his left cheek. Scott clenches every time he rolls his hips forward and it makes Stiles think about being underneath, grabbing his ass from below, encouraging him, feeling him get deeper…
Stiles whines when his dick flexes against the fabric of his pants, and he can feel them sticking, just a little. He feels shaky, the sheer arousal from this making him vibrate. Like every time he’s thought about touching Scott’s ass before is tied up in this one moment. Every glance in the locker rooms at school, every time Scott was running on the lacrosse field, every time it flashed in his mind when he was jerking off.
He squeezes a little, just wants to know what that feels like, still listening to Scott whimper as he rocks into the bed. He has to be getting close now, surely.
The thought of that almost makes Stiles shudder, and he moves his free hand to press against his own cock. The contact makes his back bow slightly into the touch, and he wants more, wants to wrap his hand around— no, he can’t. Can’t do that. It’s too much. Feels too weird.
He’s sitting in the dark groping his sleeping best friend’s ass. He can’t also jerk off. That’s just too fucking much.
Admitting the full scope of what he’s doing to himself makes Stiles cringe a little, actually, because honestly… what the fuck, dude.
He’s beginning to enter a guilt spiral about it when something interrupts him. Not that it helps the guilt spiral any.
“What are you doing?”
Scott’s sleepy voice makes Stiles about hit the ceiling, and he jerks his hand away from his friend’s ass like it’s on fire.
“Uh, uh— I— uh,” he grapples for something to say that isn’t completely fucking stupid. Fails, obviously. “Helping?”
Scott blinks a few times, eyes adjusting, assessing, seeming to register exactly what’s happening—his erection pressing into the mattress, the look of complete mortification on Stiles’ face… the tented front of his pyjama pants.
Stiles sees him looking and quickly jams his hands into his crotch, though why he bothers, he doesn’t know. It’s not like Scott hasn’t already figured it out.
Scott shifts, tugging the duvet up around himself as he rolls over so he can look at Stiles properly, his own cheeks feeling rather hot. And he could blame that on the fact it’s too warm tonight (it isn’t) but why lie at this point, really?
“Helping with what, exactly?” Scott clears his throat, head raised off the pillow.
Stiles wants a vortex to open up in the middle of the bed and suck him into it immediately.
“H-helping,” Stiles stammers, gesturing vaguely at Scott’s body where it’s hidden by the duvet. He really feels like he might die (which would be a mercy right now). “You— you were, um, you. Um— and I— I thought that I— um. Uh—”
“Stiles,” Scott cuts in, realising his best friend isn’t about to be able to finish a sentence anytime soon. “I can put two and two together. But… why?”
Stiles swallows hard over a lump in his throat, both hands anxiously fidgeting with the front of his pyjama pants (and his cock embarrassingly hard still underneath them). He thinks about lying. But Scott will see through it. He always does. Stiles is a terrible liar and Scott’s known him for far too long.
“I just wanted to touch you,” he whispers, focusing on only the duvet, because he can’t look at Scott’s face like this. He just can’t.
Things are quiet for the most agonisingly long seconds. It makes Stiles feel like his chest is constricting. Scott is going to tell him he’s disgusting, and weird, and creepy, and so many other terrible things that would all be so deserved, and then Stiles will have to walk home in the dark in the middle of the night, and then he’ll cry all day tomorrow, and his dad will worry, and Stiles won’t even be able to talk to him because then his own dad will think he’s weird and creepy and—
“You’ll have to let me return the favour.”
Stiles’ head snaps up, lips parting and eyes curious… confused. “Wh— um. What?”
“Let me help you out too.”
Stiles studies Scott’s face for some evidence that he’s being teased. This has to be a prank. In a second, Scott is going to burst out laughing, tell him he’s gross and to get the fuck out of his bedroom. But that second comes, and Scott still looks serious. Soft and kind, like he always does, but also very serious. Very much like he means that. Stiles just blinks at him a few seconds longer, to be sure.
“Stiles.”
It makes him jump even though he’s looking right at Scott when he says it. “Uh-huh?”
“Get under the covers?”
“Right! Right, right, right,” he springs into action, scrambling to join Scott.
But when he’s under the covers, lying down flat with Scott still propped on his side, he’s not sure what to do with himself. He’d jump if Scott asked and worry about the why later, every time.
Scott seems to sense his worry.
“Just humour me for a second,” he says softly, and he shifts under the duvet to get himself on top of Stiles. “Comfy?”
Stiles doesn’t know what to fucking say to that. His best friend is on top of him, and they’re both hard. They’re both hard and they’re pressing against each other and Scott’s body is so warm and Stiles can feel his breath against his face and there’s a dampness to the front of his best friend’s pyjama pants and Stiles knows why, and the thought makes his dick jerk so in the end he just whimpers and that’s embarrassing.
Scott feels the jerk and his own cock responds, though much more subtly.
“Do you want me to stop?”
The, “No!” bursts out of Stiles before he can contain it.
And to his surprise, Scott laughs. If it were anyone else, Stiles would have shrunk in on himself and wanted to die. But when Scott laughs, it’s never unkind. Especially around Stiles.
“So this is okay…?” Scott asks, experimentally rutting his hips into Stiles’. It makes them both grunt in surprise and pleasure, and when their eyes meet, each are wide and amazed. Scott swallows. “Please say it’s okay.”
Stiles nods hurriedly, both hands moving to Scott’s hips and holding on tight. It makes Scott rock down again, and then there’s an urgency to what they’re doing. The chafe of their pyjama pants provides a certain level of friction that both respond to with soft gasps, and Stiles rubs his bare feet against Scott’s ankles to keep himself grounded. Remind himself this is real. It’s real. It’s real. Okay. He lets himself raise up, pressing into Scott, and it’s so good. He supposes it’s the same on Scott’s end, because he hears his best friend let out a gentle whine.
“How long was I doing it for?”
Scott’s voice startles Stiles again, and he huffs out a breath, unsure how to answer. “Uh, uh. Like— uh. For tonight? Or in general?”
That makes Scott pause, pressing up on his hands so he can look at Stiles’ whole face properly. “Wait, what? What do you mean? I’ve done this more than once?”
“Um. M-maybe? Maybe. A bit. A few times.”
“Stiles.”
“Six.”
“Six?!” Scott looks a little appalled at himself, staring up at his headboard and slowly resting himself back down on his forearms, chest to chest with Stiles again. “Shit. I’m… I’m sorry, Stiles.”
“That’s okay,” he replies meekly. “Just. Happened sometimes. The past couple years.”
“And you wanted to touch this whole time.”
It’s not a question, and Scott’s breath is hot on the side of Stiles’ face. It makes him shudder, and he’s so burning hot all over. He can’t tell if it’s the embarrassment or the arousal, but either way, he struggles to say anything in response. So he just squeezes Scott’s hips a little tighter, nodding, his hair making a static scratch against the pillow.
That seems to be enough for Scott.
He ruts his hips down again, and Stiles lifts his, their dicks pressing together once more through the fabric of their pyjamas. It makes Stiles sigh heavily in pleasure, cotton pulling in every direction and brushing against his sensitive cockhead. The moan in response to that catches in his throat, and he’s grateful, because despite everything, he’s not sure he can bring himself to do that in Scott’s earshot quite yet. This is all a little bit overwhelming.
Scott seems to be in a completely different realm of thought though—he’s let his hips go at their own speed, rocking at a carefree and easy pace, panting against Stiles’ ear and the pillow. He’d been waiting so long already, squirming around deep in slumber in his sheets looking for some relief. Stiles figures he can at least help with that (again…).
His hands drift to Scott’s ass a second time, curious and gentle when he squeezes. It seems to do something because Scott moans, and it’s loud and appears to shock him because he stills. Only for a second though. Stiles feels pleased enough to squeeze again, experimenting with it. He’d sure spent a lot of time looking at Scott’s ass but touching it was very, very, very different. His grip remains light though. This feels a little more real now that Scott's awake. He’s never done this before, never touched someone else like that—
“Commit to the bit, Stiles, fuck,” Scott whispers harshly, nosing Stiles’ ear.
“Huh?”
“Squeeze it,” Scott instructs, hips going backwards further than normal to nudge his ass into Stiles’ palms, before rocking forward hard and grazing their cocks at a new angle.
It makes them both moan this time, Stiles too caught off guard to hold it back, keep it in his throat. His dick is throbbing and he can feel the pre-cum from Scott’s pyjamas starting to dampen his own. Or is this his pre-cum? He can’t tell, he just does his best to muddle through his racing thoughts and focus on Scott. Focus on what Scott wants. So he grips his best friend’s ass harder, squeezes as tight and rough as he dares, and he’s rewarded for it.
“Oh, fuck,” Scott chokes, and then Stiles feels his body stiffen and stutter, trembling on top of him. “Oh, fuck, fuck.”
Stiles keeps still, maybe a little bit in shock. Scott was coming on him. Because of him? Well, at least partly. Partly’s good enough, he did a good job. It’s a few seconds before Stiles feels the wet warmth soaking into his own pyjama pants and that makes his cock twitch hard against Scott’s. The action makes Scott hiss, sensitive.
He rolls away wordlessly, and Stiles fights the urge not to panic about that. Was it too much? Maybe he regrets it? Maybe now he’s gotten off, now he’ll tell Stiles to get the fuck out and never talk to him again—
Okay, needn’t have worried, because Scott’s shuffling down the bed and getting face-to-face with Stiles’ crotch. That’s… new.
Stiles remains very still, fingers curling into the bedsheets. What the fuck are you doing, man? That’s what he wants to ask. He hears it in his head, accompanied by a silly, nervous sort of laugh. But the words won’t come, he just stares at the ceiling with his chest heaving.
Then, he feels Scott’s mouth—Scott’s mouth?!—on his hip through his pyjama pants. His hot, wet, breathy mouth, licking the material, and then quickly drifting down to lap his tongue over Stiles’ cock. Stiles almost fucking chokes on nothing. What the fuck is happening. His balls draw up tight against his body, stomach muscles tensing, and he struggles not to just cry out because what the fuck is happening. He looks down just in time to see Scott attach his mouth to the head of Stiles’ dick over the cotton, sucking and slurping his own cum from it.
That pretty much does the trick.
Stiles cums with a strangled little mewl, cock jerking hard in his pants and completely soaking the crotch. Scott pulls off to watch, looking bemused.
It takes Stiles a couple of minutes to recover, by which point Scott has gotten up out of bed entirely and retrieved fresh pyjamas for the both of them, and topped up the glass of water on his bedside table.
“Hey,” he says quietly, slipping his soiled pants off, and Stiles is vaguely aware of Scott balling them up and rubbing them around his crotch to dry off before he changes into a clean pair. “You okay? I got you clean pants. We can wash yours in the morning if you don’t wanna put them in your bag… like that.”
Scott is so kind. Stiles feels stupid for it but it’s moments like this—though this is a particularly weird moment for them, he has to admit—that make him feel so lucky that Scott is his best friend.
“Thank-you,” he whispers. “Um.”
“I don’t have to look.”
“Great, great, yeah, because that would be a whole different type of naked from when we’re usually naked in front of each other, not like after lacrosse or like—”
“Stiles, it’s fine, just get changed.”
“Right! Right.”
Scott turns his back to the bed while Stiles shucks off his now very, very sticky pyjama pants and he copies what Scott had done before, balling them and using them as a haphazard wipe. He yanks on the fresh pair Scott had laid out. He realises Scott’s given him the light blue pair, the ones patterned with clouds. Stiles always liked this pair because they reminded him of Toy Story. It tugs at something in his chest a little.
“Okay, I’m decent.”
Scott turns back around, looking a little lost for a second before deciding just to slide back into his own bed.
They lie side by side silently for a minute or so, and it’s kind of a painful minute or so, but Stiles has no idea what to say. What do you say after that?
“Are you okay?”
Scott beats him to the punch, and it’s so basic, but it’s probably a good place to start.
“Yeah,” Stiles sighs, still feeling a little shaky. A lot shaky. “Are you?”
“Uh-huh,” Scott smiles, and then he laughs a little bit. “I was gonna blow you, dude.”
That makes Stiles feel hot all over. “Oh.”
Scott seems to pick up on the embarrassment immediately. “It’s fine though! It’s okay. That was a lot. You weren’t expecting it.”
“That doesn’t usually happen,” Stiles mumbles.
It’s a dumb line, kind of cliché. Not like he’s ever been with anyone else to know if it usually happens or not, but alone at least, he doesn’t tend to just finish without warning like that.
Scott gets it though. He just hums, letting Stiles save face however he wants. “Mhm. S’okay. I didn’t even ask.”
That makes Stiles positively burn up. “Well I didn’t ask. B-before. When you— like. You were asleep, and I was— I…”
Scott leans up on his elbows, looking at Stiles with a more sincere expression. “Hey. It’s… it’s fine. If it wasn’t, then I wouldn’t have… you know.”
“It was really creepy of me to do.”
Scott just looks at him for a second, then lays back down, eyes on his ceiling fan. “I was… maybe awake for a tiny bit longer than I let on.”
Stiles doesn’t breathe for a moment. “...How long?”
“Long enough.”
It’s quiet again while Stiles processes that, and the fact that Scott didn’t really seem to mind. He’s not sure what exactly that means. What any of this means. He wants to ask, but maybe that’s more of a daylight kind of conversation. After a good night’s rest and his dick doesn’t feel quite so raw after all the rubbing. It still feels like this heavy stone in his tummy though. He doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like not feeling as happy-go-lucky as he usually does. When he goes to overthinking, anxious, awkward Stiles, it’s when he likes himself the least.
“So. Six times, huh?” Scott breaks the silence, and there’s a candour to his tone. A little embarrassed, but smiling.
It brings Stiles back to Earth. Back to this bed, where it’s just him and his best friend having a sleepover and things are actually going to be fine. They’re going to be fine, because Scott is his best friend.
“Six times,” Stiles agrees, fiddling with the sheet, but he’s smiling too now. “That I was present for, at least.”
“And this was the first time that you…?”
“Uh-huh. Didn’t know what to do all the other times.”
“Well. Next time? Wake me up.”
Scott rolls away onto his side, settling down to go to sleep again, and Stiles just stares at his back dumbly for a moment. When he doesn’t move an inch, he hears Scott sigh, seemingly exasperated, and reach back behind him until he finds Stiles’ wrist. He tugs him in closer until Stiles gets the hint and shuffles up against him, effectively spooning. It makes Scott hum, content, and he pulls the covers up around their shoulders.
Stiles smiles to himself, a little surprised but pleased nonetheless. He brushes his bare feet against Scott’s ankles once more.
Okay.
It’s real.