Work Text:
At 25, Stiles Stilinski found himself under the distinct assumption that his life turned out about as good as it was going to get.
While he worked a fantastic job as a cyber crime analyst for the San Francisco Police department, and helped get the pedophiles and money-cheating filth off the net to tremendous job satisfaction? While he lived in a two bedroom apartment lavishly furnished thanks to long time friend (and interior decorator) Jackson Whittemore? While he knew material comfort thanks to a mild inheritance from his deceased mother that continued to earn him more and more money in the investment market?
Those “things” turned out to be all he had. All superficial forms of success and "wealth" and a perceived “safety net” had been built up over the years..
As nice as the comfort of all of that was, he was at the point where Maslow was slapping him to find a relationship. He was past the concept of “safety” and was firmly into the belonging stage in his pyramid of needs.
Not easy, considering he was a literal beanpole of a man with the muscle tone of 3 month old baby. While he loved the way he'd gotten his hair to finally look like Q from James Bond, that was all he had going for him. His high grade prescription glasses and pale white skin tone guaranteed he'd only ever be able to land himself a hipster or someone with a glasses fetish. (Though that wasn’t his only struggle.)
Single and lonely, Stiles had desperately been considering moving to a different city to find something more in life than just his job. As lively as it was, it just didn’t have what he needed, specifically.
Well, he would have, but it turned out to be a good thing he didn't leave.
Tapping his foot against his leather sectional, Stiles kept glaring at the clock above his fireplace. 4:30 in the afternoon.
Sighing, Stiles kicked back against the sectional and chuckled. "I've known you since we were 3 years old, why am I still surprised that you're never on time?" he said to himself aloud.
Grateful he'd put off the plans to leave, Stiles was waiting for his best friend and confidant, Scott McCall. They'd been friends since diapers, having gone through their entire lives together. Same schools, same colleges, same part time jobs, and even lived in the same town after graduating.
Scott had been there when Stiles lost his first tooth in a fistfight, been there when he lost his mother to cancer, been there when Stiles' father went down the swirling vortex of alcoholism, been there during the awkward high school years (and helping him into mild popularity), and stood up for him against the bullies when nobody else in the planet had.
In turn, Stiles had been there when Scott’s asshole father Rafe left their family, been there during the bitter divorce proceedings and custody battles, been there in all the ups and downs of living between two hostile home, and been there during Scott’s sexual crisis in high school and college.
They were more than friends. They were each other’s support network, leaning on each other when the world tried to kick their ass left and right. Even after college, they still supported each other. They were each other's worlds, and Stiles liked it that way.
Those bonds sparked why Stiles took off work that afternoon, to prepare his house for an extra guest in the coming weeks or possibly months. He spent the better part of three hours moving all his extra junk out of his closet and into the guest room. Not to mention a cleaning spree and thorough scrubbing of toilets.
The house had to be ready.
Scott's house, early that morning, had burned down to the ground. Nothing was salvageable, and even the nearby properties had gone down in a blaze. Stiles had been called at 7 that morning, with a near hysterical Scott talking at a million miles an hour. Poor guy was not good in a crisis.
Which was exactly why Stiles wanted a stress free environment for Scott to come home to.
After dealing with all of the insurance and paperwork douchebags, Scott needed a place to crash for a while. So naturally, he went to Stiles first, given their decades long history together and solemn promise to always help each other as long as they lived.
Stiles switched on the television set, because knowing Scott, the "I'll be there at 3:30" probably meant somewhere along the lines of 5:30 or later. Which was also why he never got out of his pajamas that Friday morning, or even bothered to have any kind of dinner ready.
Turns out, Stiles was right on the money as always.
An hour worth of classic NCIS later, and the door finally rang out a loud knock. A pattern of three strikes, followed by two strikes, finishing off with a near deafening final beat.
Scoffing, Stiles stood up, turning down the TV volume as he made his way across the apartment.
"I'm coming, I'm coming! Don't break down the freaking door, I have a security deposit to think of!" Stiles shouted, feigning annoyance.
Swinging open the door, he couldn't help but smile. A natural bodily function when he was around this man. Always had been, always would be.
"Scott!" Stiles shouted, throwing his arms around his long-time friend and pseudo-brother, Scott McCall.
Build like a brick wall but with more muscles, the 25 year-old bodybuilder-turned-vet tech had a strong figure, dark skin from his mother's Hispanic heritage, and brown hair thick enough to lose a wallet in. The man was strikingly handsome, and ever the target of any man or woman's affections. Those honey-brown puppy eyes were always a one way street into seeing undergarments drop like a rock.
"Stiles... God it's been too fucking long!" Scott shouted, nearly breaking Stiles' neck from the force of his bear hug.
"Scott I literally went drinking with you last night. We bowled with Jackson and Lydia on Wednesday night," Stiles chuckled out.
Laughing, Scott shook his head. "Still too long! You work too much!" He countered.
"Says the vet tech who makes house calls at 4 in the morning while his house is burning down!" Stiles fired back.
This had been their usual argument since moving out on their own spaces after college. A tiny fight to always make sure they never actually went too long without seeing each other. Mutual guilt tripping. Scott usually won these altercations.
After a few more moments of bromatic feels, Scott finally let Stiles go, and the two slowly made their way into Stiles' tiny two bedroom apartment. Scott's brand new luggage was rolling behind him with ease, without much in the way of anything in them.
"Lemme guess on why you are horrendously late. You went to wal mart to buy temp clothes and got lost in the protein section again," Stiles said, as he helped Scott throw his meager belongings down by the entrance to the hallway.
Scott rolled his eyes. "Asshole. It wasn't Walmart and it wasn't the protein section," he grumbled. His face scrunched in annoyance.
"Ah, then Target, and you couldn't find anything that could fit your hulking body," Stiles answered smugly.
"Had to actually go to the goddamn mall and shop at under armor. Freaking target and their tiny-ass shirts," Scott spat, unable to hide that Stiles knew him like book.
Sighing, Stiles shook his head. "Well not a big deal, I basically figured. How does Japanese delivery from Oum's sound?" He asked.
"Like an ungodly amount of msg that would go straight to my ass?" Scott said, rummaging through his bag and looking for more comfortable clothes to wear. Still in his scrubs and lab coat from work, the poor man looked exhausted with dark circles under his eyes.
"So that would be two orders of hibachi steak, three jumbo spring rolls, and a wonton soup, or you need anything else for that black hole in your stomach?" Stiles asked, smirking. He knew his friend's orders for everything.
"Add some sushi, Spicy tuna. Today has sucked," Scott answered back, sighing loudly.
Stiles laughed, grabbing his cell phone and texting out an order to their usual contact at the restaraunt. While he did, Scott stripped off his clothes in the living room, down to just his boxers before he stepped into the newly purchased pajamas from Target, and an under armor spandex shirt.
Finished with their order, Stiles shook his head. "So, time to murder the elephant in the room. Hell, how'd it happen?" Stiles asked, running into the kitchen and snagging several cold beers out of the fridge. While neither pretended to be avid drinkers (coffee and soda were more their type), some nights called for them more than others.
Sighing, Scott just shook his head as he collapsed on Stiles' leather couch. "Man, I don't even know. One minute I'm out on an emergency call to help a frantic old lady out with a premature cat birth, the next minute I come back home and see everything's just up in flames and... Gone. Some asshole rat chewed through some wiring, started a fire, and poof. There goes 2 years of mortgages, my family photos, grandma's quilt, and just everything... Gone," he said, rubbing his forehead painfully. The dark circles under his eyes became more prominent.
Stiles frowned, taking the seat right next to Scott and handing out one of the beverages. "At least you were insured... Small comfort, I guess, but... Well, at least you weren't in there. You didn't even have a pet yet, so nobody got hurt," he said, attempting a form of optimism.
With a nod, Scott popped open the top and threw back the entire can in a matter of a minute. "Fucking... Yeah, I guess you're right," he sighed, collapsing on the couch and using Stiles' lap as a pillow. An old high school habit the man hadn't grown out of, even 8 years later.
The kind man that he was and knowing his cue, Stiles ran his hands through Scott's hair, trying to provide any semblance of comfort. On the really bad days, they'd both done the same for each other. "Hey... You're gonna be okay. You stay here as long as you need to get back on your feet. Just don't stress, relax, and let's just pretend it's like college again," he offered.
Scott laughed, as a low grade buzz came over his body. Even from a single beer. "Duuude, if it's college again, then I want a repeat of that awesome frat party Jackson put on," he said, laughing quietly to himself.
Stiles rolled his eyes. "Scott, eleven people got arrested for public nudity that night, and you barfed right into Aiden Reed's brand new truck. He broke your jaw for that," he said, sighing at the night's rather "hectic" memories.
"Yeah... But damn it was fun up until then. Hell, even after that was fun, because I had you nursing me back to health. Then you had the flu right after that, so then I had to help you out, and it was like a neverending cycle of vomit," Scott countered, as his eyes fluttered shut, and the laughter in his chest seemingly died down.
The humor of the situation vanished.
"I am so sorry to crash your pad. It's just... Mom's halfway across the world with that international doctoral program, I still hate Dad after all the crap he pulled when I was twelve, and I just... I didn't want to stay in a fucking hotel for months until all the legal shit got taken care of for the insurance claim," Scott said, shaking his head. "You were... You were the only person I could figure I could trust to fall onto," he explained.
Stiles, smiling, scratched Scott's hair, frizzing it up into a mess. "Hey, you know our rule. If one of us falls, the other one falls with them. Besides, you were there for me after... Well, you know... The fallout with my dad. I just.. I owe you anyway, so don't make a big deal about it," he said depressingly. Crestfallen, Stiles leaned his head up against the comfort of the sofa.
With one eye open, Scott met Stiles' bleak expression. "Is your dad still psycho about the whole anti-sexual thing? I thought you two made up? That's what you said anyway," he asked.
"Aesexual not anti-sexual, and yes... We sort of made up," Stiles corrected. His tone was sharp, but not angry.
"Sorry. Man, that sucks though," Scott said, reaching his hand up and grabbing Stiles'. He squeezed it tightly. "I mean, what's there to make such a big fuss over? So you don't like sex, what's the big deal? Why's he all crazy about it?" he asked.
Cringing mentally, Stiles sighed louder. Scott meant well, but some things he could be rather blunt about. "There's more to it than that, but... I guess your sentiment is right on the money anyway," he replied. Squeezing Scott's hand back, Stiles just shook his head. "Dad just thinks there's something wrong with me. That mom's death "screwed with my head", and that I just need some therapy to be "normal" again. He just doesn't understand, it's a product of his generation not having the same level of LGBTQIA awareness we have now," he said. A bitterness coated his words.
"Well, whatever the fuck you like or don't like Stiles, it's none of your dad's business, it's none of my business, and it's none of the world's business. So they can all kindly go straight to hell. And if they do think it's part of their business, just let me know and I'll have their legs broken," Scott stammered out confidently.
Stiles smiled at that. He knew Scoft meant every word. Even if he was crude at times, Scott had a big heart to make up for it.
"Dad's not a bad guy, he's just... He's from a different generation, different ways of thinking. You know him, he nearly died when he found out you had sex before marriage. Because virginity to him is like up there with his sense of justice," Stiles answered.
"He's also a stubborn piece of shit with a pig head. I know he's who you got that from, Mr. I Am always right Scott so you can just suck it,", Scott replied, complete with air quotes.
"That too," Stiles chuckled, knowing it was true.
Things were quiet for a few moments. Neither really needed to say anything. The TV was on, they were comfortable, and their presence was enough.
At least, until Scott started fidgeting.
“So uh... Can I pay half the rent and whatever else you think would be fair?" Scott asked.
Stiles nodded. “How about half the rent, and we’ll split up the bills later like we did out of college? I pay everything on the 1st day of the month, that cool with you?” he asked.
Nodding immediately, Scott sighed. “Yep. Oh, and not be an immediate pain in the ass, but does the guest room have a TV? If not, then I’ll go buy one,” he answered.
Stiles laughed. “Dude, why don’t you just crash in my room with me? The guest bed sucks, and you can watch TV in my room anytime you want,” he answered.
It wasn’t that odd of a thought, at the time, for Stiles. He and Scott had been sharing beds together since kindergarten, even up until college at times. There weren’t any awkward barriers, it was just how they did things.
“Sure. I’m cool with that,” Scott answered, yawning loudly. “You still doing the 7 to 3 schedule? Or did they finally swap you?” he asked.
Stiles nodded. “Yeah, so I’m usually up by 5:30. You’ll sleep through me getting ready, I’m not that loud in the mornings,” he answered, patting Scott on the forehead.
Laughing, Scott nodded. “Yeah, no biggie if you do. I’m always like fifteen minutes late for work anyway,” he joked.
“Those poor kitties,” Stiles said, twapping Scott on the nose playfully.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Life with Scott transitioned as though nothing had really changed in Stiles’ life. The only difference being that he wasn’t alone anymore, he had some extra cash in his life, and always had a warm body next to him when he woke up.
They had their usual difficulties, mostly with Scott and his nasty ass bathroom habits (leaving towels to wallow in water and get a moldy smell), and Stiles eating chips in bed that Scott couldn’t stand the smell of, but they both slowly got back into the groove of living with another person. Compromises were made, and in the end, Scott learned to pickup his goddamn towels, and Stiles quit eating Sour Cream and Onion chips.
Though despite the difficulties, their compromises and lifetime of working together made the house a lot more effective. Scott was the cleaner and chef, with the dishes and laundry being his biggest duties. Stiles was the grocery shopper, the guy that made sure they always had a stocked pantry, and one who organized the paying of bills. Scott was the doer, Stiles was the organizer. The two worked well together.
After a week, Stiles didn’t even want to think about living alone again. Having Scott there was like a dream come true, in more ways than one.
Such as that Thursday evening, a week after Scott had started living with him.
Walking through his apartment door after a rather rough shift, Stiles inhaled deeply and could have cried on sight. The scent of bubbling cheese, sizzling beef, and peppers frying on the skillet let his feet float over into the kitchen. Stiles also swore he could smell cinnamon bread baking in the oven. Fresh tortillas being steamed.
Thursday night was, and had been like in College, Scott’s night to cook. Having inherited a repertoire of homemade (and often authentic) Mexican cuisine recipes from his mother and grandmother, Scott was one hell of a chef.
In the kitchen, Scott was still in his scrubs, with an apron covering most of his body. He stood over six sizzling pots and pans, with something delicious baking in the oven.
Stiles moaned as he popped behind Scott and laid his head down on his friend’s shoulder. “Dear God, Enchiladas, tacos, beans, and actual honest to god queso dip? How did you know I needed to drown my sorrow in calories?” he asked, as Scott had a smug smile of satisfaction on his face.
“Well, you keep talking about the Renor Case that’s stressing you out, and I know you worked overtime yesterday just to make sure the prosecution had an iron-tight evidence outline, so I figured you needed some of Scottie’s famous home cooking,” Scott answered, patting Stiles on the shoulder. “It’ll be ready in like another five minutes, so go sit down and tell me how the case prep went. Take the cheese dip and go eat your heart out,” he answered, shooing Stiles to the already set two-person dining room table setup in the kitchen.
Doing just that, Stiles grabbed the bowl of piping hot dip, and threw his work messenger bag down on the floor next to where he also stripped off his shoes and socks. He wasted no time in dipping some already laid out chips on the table into the bubbling cheese. “So like, I already told you that Mr. Renor was a hard core bastard that liked to scam old people through e-mail. He’d send them messages saying he was collecting money for a local orphanage that didn’t even exist, usually making them feel obligated in just downright guilt-trips that would put our parents to shame,” he explained disgustingly. Taking a seat down on the table, Stiles kicked his feet up, sitting cross-legged on his chair. “His lawyer was basically just trying to counter our whole case by saying the money he collected WAS going to a good cause, he just hadn’t donated it yet. They had a shit ton of “evidence” showing it was all in savings accounts that hadn’t been touched. So it was my job to track down all his domestic and foreign accounts to hand over to the forensic accountants to show what they weren’t showing us. I did, the asshole had actually bought a condo in Maui with this fraud money and trust funds in Europe. Moron didn’t even wipe his laptop. I can’t wait to see his face in court tomorrow when the pictures I found of it go up on the TV screen, GOD, it’s going to be thrilling!” he said, with an eager smile flashing across his face.
Scott whistled loudly. “Man, that’s just fucking awesome. You really love your job, don’t you?” he asked.
Stiles nodded immediately. “I’m on a computer all day long, can have headphones in listening to my rock playlist while plotting the downfall of the bad guys my boss wants me tracking,” he said, feeling the day’s weariness melt off his face. As tough as his job could be at times, it really was constantly rewarding.
“So you’re Abby from NCIS?” Scott said with a playful smile. He started switching off all the heat sources on the burners, while shucking off the apron.
Scoffing, Stiles shook his head. “Nah, Abby’s way smarter than I am in science stuff. I like to think of myself like Garcia from Criminal Minds, we’ve at least got a similar job description, but she could school me,” he replied cutely.
Grabbing some plates from the above cabinets, Scott began plating large helpings of his dinner out for the both of them. He even wrapped several tacos for the both of them, in a burrito style with all the toppies they each liked. “Meh, but Garcia is Garcia and Garcia is like God herself, so not really a fair comparison. You’re only human, but a damn good one at that,” he replied thoughtfully.
Stiles waved off the compliment. “But enough about me and my amazing research and computing skills. How was your day at work? Get any cutie-pies in today?” Stiles asked.
Scott nodded, a white flash covering his face. “German Shepherd named Sarah came in today for a checkup. She’s pregnant with a litter, and her owner was a nervous wreck because she stopped eating for a day or two. Luckily, it was just a chipped tooth that made it painful to eat. I was able to file it down, so all was well. Other than that, a couple of neuterings, which wasn’t fun, but then I was able to get Jackson out for a walk,” he answered.
“The old Shih Tzu you guys found on the side of the road by the clinic? How’s he doing?” Stiles asked.
Scott took a deep breath, bringing over two very full plates over to the table. He handed Stiles his specially prepared plate, as well as a fork. They both began cutting into their food eagerly, after Scott snagged them a few glasses of ice already chilling in the freezer. “I’m cautiously optimistic, at least he’s eating again and can walk for about five minutes at a time. Though I’m not under any delusion that he’s going to be adoptable or last longer than a few more months, he’s just too far gone.. I just… I couldn’t let him suffer and die like that. I can at least make his life good up until he’s ready to go,” he answered. The man’s face fell, forking a massive helping of his enchilada into his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, frowning. He knew how much Scott loved animals, loved every living creature on the planet, and how seeing anybody in pain could negatively affect him. Taking one of his tacos, Stiles took a large bite of the meal, chewing quietly. “But you know.. I bet he’s happy right now with his Daddy. Hell, a little bit of happiness goes a long way considering where he was at,” he answered, trying to put on a bright smile for Scott’s sake.
Which seemed to do the trick. Scott let a small smile crack at the edge of his face. “Thanks,” he said, taking another deep breath. “So! Have you thought about what you want to do this weekend? Jackson, that’s our asshole Jackson not the dog Jackson, is asking us to go clubbing, but my buddy Isaac from work is thinking about a day at the hiking trails,” he asked.
Stiles groaned. “No clubbing, God, no clubbing,” he said, banging his head against the table to make an emphasis.
Scott pouted. “Aw, I was kind of wanting to go get smashed,” he replied.
Glancing up from the table, Stiles laughed. “Oh yeah, and who gets to be the DD every fucking time because cheapass Whittemore won’t ever want to go in a cab?” he asked. Short answer was : ALWAYS him.
Laughing nervously, Scott nodded. “Yeah, well… Sorry,” he admitted, not able to really combat the accusation.
“So yeah, no on the clubbing for me. You guys can go if you want, but I’m definitely out. I hate drinking anyway. Makes everyone want to grab my ass and my ass doesn’t like getting grabbed,” Stiles admitted.
Scott shook his head. “Not a big deal. So like, you want to go hang out with me and Isaac? The trails aren’t long, I swear,” he asked.
“Depends,” Stiles answered immediately, turning back to his food. He began piling his beans and queso topping with a spoon onto his taco. “Are you and Isaac trying to be a thing, because I also don’t do third wheels,” he replied.
“Nah,” Scott answers, shaking his head. “Isaac’s engaged to a guy named Parrish. He’s just a friend,” he answered honestly.
Stiles nodded. “Then I’m in!” he answered brightly. Munching into his taco, Stiles chewed for several moments, while pouring himself some tea that Scott had placed in between them earlier. “Speaking of trying to be a thing, you find anyone special lately? I mean, the last person you dated was the Kira girl, right? What’s the hold up, you’re like smokin hot and shit!” he asked.
Groaning, Scott shook his head, standing back up to go for a series of second helpings. “You sound like my mom,” he said, pouring a copious amount of queso on his plate while also checking on the cinnamon bread dessert. “Kira just wanted to be fuckbuddies, and I wasn’t into that. You know me, if I’m going to be with someone, it’s for the long haul. That’s why Allison and I broke up in college. She was adamantly opposed to children in any way, shape and form, and… Well that wasn’t going to happen with me,” he answered.
A low grade hum of pity coated Stiles’ stomach. Allison and Scott had dated all throughout high school, and even into college. He thought they were perfect together, a perfect balance to each other’s personalities. The breakup was one of the most painful spots in Scott’s life. After 6 years of serious dating, one conversation ended it all.
Which, granted, it was more than just the concept of children. Allison was a wanderer, wanting to travel the world and be a journalist in the new techno age. The idea of having a house and 2.5 children was akin to death for the woman’s grand life plans and bucket list.
While amicable on both sides and obviously the right thing to do, the breakup still hurt. To have someone that perfect, who knew your every secret, your every emotion, and love you unconditionally, then watch them walk out of your life? Painful.
Stiles knew how much it really bothered Scott, the man didn’t stop crying for over three days after it happened. Though that would forever be a secret never to be shared with anyone, and Stiles kept his friend’s confidence.
“You’ll find someone Scottie,” Stiles offered kindly. Standing up, Stiles rushed over to the refrigerator, knowing full and well that an Allison-fueled evening of mixed emotions veered itself into their lives again. He grabbed a few beers.
Sighing, Scott took his place back at the table, not arguing as Stiles handed him the alcoholic beverage. “I know, it’s just hard… I really thought she was the one. I could tell her anything Stiles! Anything! It was like talking to you. I felt like I was constantly at ease around her, and could just… You know, be with her without things being weird. I… I thought she was the one,” he said, huffing as he cracked open the beer and shot it back.
Wordlessly, Stiles nodded. Scott would probably be talking for the better part of a few hours, needing to get all of it out of his system. Not a big deal, they’d done it plenty of times before, and Scott had done it plenty of times for him when he was reminded of his mother
Scott would reminisce about the good, the bad, and the ugliest day in his life. He’d probably cry a bit. Then they’d both move to the couch, turn on something from the DVR and try to quietly get their lives back to normal. Eat way too much dessert and probably go out for doughnuts the next morning and laugh off the whole thing.
Just about half a day of his time. Not a big deal, Scott would do it for him, no questions asked.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Sleeping usually came easy for Stiles. Especially in the month since Scott had come back into his life, and he could genuinely enjoy a warm night’s sleep.
Except… That night.
Splayed out on his side of the king sized bed, Stiles just focused on the dull glow of the television and Scott's slow breathing. He glanced over their room, appreciating the changes.
Scott’s clothes took up a good half of their closet, between the medical uniforms, his workout clothes, and casual wear he’d been attempting to rebuild after the fire. Their DVD library was a lot more varied, with Scott’s obsession with zombie and horror pictures melding with Stiles’ Miyazaki, rom-com, and animated films. New photos stood up on the dresser, with Mrs. McCall sending Scott copies of the pictures he lost in the fire. Pictures of Scott and Stiles in their youth, a few pictures with Allison, and even one with the lacrosse team gathered after the big championship game in high school.
The whole room wasn’t even his anymore. It was their room, like their dorms had been back in college.
His life was great again.
Which was the cause for his night to be such a pain in the ass and why he couldn't’ sleep.
Sighing, Stiles leaned away from Scott.
“What’s wrong?” Scott asked.
Stiles tried not to move, hopefully feigning sleep.
“I know you’re not asleep, asshole. You snore like a train and you go to bed crazy early. So what’s wrong?” Scott said, clearly accusing Stiles.
Huffing, Stiles turned back around and me Scott’s eyes.
“Long story,” Stiles said, curling his legs up under the covers.
“I don’t have anything better to do right now,” Scott said, smiling. He nudged Stiles’ leg under the covers. “So talk Depressy McGee or I’ll take your deep hatred of feet and do nothing but touch you with my big toe all day long,” he explained.
Shivering at the idea, Stiles nudged Scott’s legs right back. “I’ll try and do the cliffsnotes version, because frankly I’m still pissed about it. Dad called me. Guilt trip about not having any grandchildren. Subtle hinting that I’m in my mid-twenties and should be dating. Saying my mother would be crushed that her death “affected me so”. Bitched about me living in the big city and away from home. Basically, he complained for an hour straight about my life, again,” he explained.
Scott frowned, scrunching up his face to express his extensive disgust. “Dude, what happened to your dad? He would have never said that shit before,” he answered immediately.
Stiles shrugged. “No idea. I think he’s drinking again and quit doing his therapy. He lost mom, and now I’m gone, so there’s nobody to keep him in check. Though he’d never beg, I think he wants me to come home to take care of him again,” he explained sadly.
“That’s not your job, you’ve got your own life to live. You can’t bail him out all the time, you did that for ten goddamn years and it nearly killed you then,” Scott replied instantly.
“I know that, and he agreed with me on that back when I left for college, but… I mean, when he starts drinking, he’s a different man. That wasn’t my father I talked to, I’ve just got to remember that,” Stiles said, slamming his head repeatedly against his pillow.
Scott moved closer to Stiles’s side, pulling him into a hug. “Man, you shouldn't have to put up with that shit. My dad was the same way when he had visitation rights. He'd try to play himself against my mom to make him look better, or buy me expensive shit to make me move out and live with him. Be a manipulative asshole just to “own” me. I know it's not the same shit, but my advice?" He said, patting Stiles on the back. "Don't worry, be happy, and tell your best friend how he can make it all better," Scott asked. He colored his words in a sweet tone, as if they were talking about something unrelated.
Stiles sighed, but let a little smile glower on his face. "Find me a date who isn't a complete asshole, or get another season of Scrubs made," he asked, content to stay in Scott's arms.
Worried, Scott's face shifted into concern. “Is that how come you don’t date? I mean is the aesexuality thing really that big of a deal? Tell me about it, I wanna know," he asked.
Stiles had to blink a few times. "You're serious? You really want to know?" He asked.
It was no secret that Scott had been out as bi since college, but Stiles knew his friend had struggled for years with it. In high school, he figured he was gay until he met Allison and figured that was that, he liked girls. Then after the breakup, Scott had a serious thing for a few guys he met in his frat, and didn’t know what to make of everything. A Catholic family made things even worse. A lot of struggling trying to figure out what he was, until his Junior year in college made everything make sense thanks to an on-campus psychiatrist and a massive falling out with most of his extended family..
Without a doubt, the whole thing was a painful situation. Talks about sexuality generally brought up pained memories, so he tended to block them out, in all shapes and forms. Including Stiles' asexual awakening his sophomore year in college.
Scott nodded to Stiles without any hesitation.
“Yeah, I do. I mean… I feel bad that I don’t even know that much about it, and you’re my best friend, I just… I never figured it was that big of a deal, and I'm not good with these things. Sexuality talks just aren’t my favorite subject," Scott explained. Huffing, Scott put on his best smile. "But I'm your best friend, so I can suck it up for you. That's what we're here for," he said confidently.
Stiles, taking a deep breath, made himself comfortable in Scott's arms. “Mostly people just don’t know about it. About all the grey areas in between asexuals and sexuals, and that being asexual is basically different for each and every one of us. Me personally? I get horny and love a good jack off every now and then just for the pleasure it provides, but I mean it’s like… People don’t actually get me horny. A naked guy or gal? Yeah, it just doesn’t do it for me. Little Sitles ain’t getting it up then. Hell, Little Stiles requires vigorous stimulation to even get up. I just don’t experience sexual attraction, period. Simple as that," he said, shaking his head in frustration.
“So if you can’t get attracted to someone, how do you… I mean, do you get romantic at all? Do you feel love at all?” Scott asked immediately.
Stiles snorted, bumping his head on Scott’s forehead. “Well, yeah. Actually, correction. There are some aesexuals who do and some who don’t, but I personally do. I feel love and romantic attraction, and want to have a family and a relationship with someone, I just… I won’t ever be sexually attracted to them. For a lot of people, that’s a deal-breaker. I understand it, I do, because sex is a big deal to sexuals, just like not having sex is a big deal to me. It still sucks though. I want someone that will love me, someone to have a family with. That just… That’s just really hard to find these days,” he answered solemnly.
Slowly, Scott leaned up in bed, breaking his and Stiles’ hug. Stiles leaned up as well, both of them leaning on each other for support.
“I didn’t know you felt that way. I’m sorry I never realized it before,” Scott said, frowning.
Stiles smiled, patting Scott’s bare knee. “Man, it’s fine, I know you had a rough time with your own, so… Don’t even worry about it. Thanks for listening. I’m glad I could talk to this about you finally,” he explained.
Sighing, Scott rubbed his bedhead. “Yeah, but… Even if I had a shitty time with mine, I shouldn’t have let that get between us. I mean, fuck… How many times did you hear me bitch and moan about me having a sexual crisis pretty much every day in high school before I met Allison? After all of that, I couldn’t just hear you out to explain how you felt. I’m so sorry,” he explained.
Playfully punching Scott in the side of the arm, Stiles laughed. “Scott. In twenty-five years, that was the only thing you’ve ever done to make me even a little bit uncomfortable. You also just fixed it. Let’s not worry about it, okay?” he asked.
The two shared a lighthearted moment, as each smiled back at each other.
“Okay, so… Who’s up for a 2 AM run to the donut shop, all-night night marathon of whatever crap TV we can find, and both of us calling in a vacation day at work tomorrow when we wake up miserable as hell?” Scott asked.
“Can I whine some more about my dad?” Stiles asked.
“Only if you let me whine about the stupid-ass insurance company still holding me up,” Scott counted.
Both smiled simultaneously. “Deal,” the replied in unison.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Three months after Scott moved in, Stiles finally felt as though Maslow was finally giving him a bit of breathing room. Scott was better than a lover, better than any date, and the experience turned out being like having another part of his soul hanging around the house.
Which is why the words coming out of Scott’s mouth turned out to be so painful.
The two had stopped at a local diner to meet for lunch, like they did every Wednesday. Scott was in his scrubs, while Stiles was in button up and tie. Stiles had been texting his superior about the results of his morning’s work, when Scott cleared his throat, a nervous hitch in his breath.
“I got the insurance funds from everything. I can uh… I can buy a house again,” Scott said quietly.
Stiles nearly dropped his phone in the process. “You uh… What?” he asked, stumbling over his words.
Scott nodded. “Yeah… I mean, it’s been three months, they drug their feet up until the very end. Had to actually get a lawyer to get them to cough it up, but… They check went through today,” he explained.
“Oh. Oh,” Stiles said, putting on a smile as best he could. “Well that’s great! I’m glad you got that straightened out. I bet that’s a big relief of your chest,” he explained.
Anxiously, Scott rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes and… No,” he said, sighing painfully. “Truth is, I’m not all that psyched to buy another house. I really don’t want to go back to being… By myself. I like living with you, I like how nice and easy everything is, and I like how we eat together, watch TV together, and even sometimes just sit in the same room together without having to make awkward small talk. I like… Us. I'd rather keep my roommate, and have fun at home. Is that weird? Am I weird?” he said painfully.
The momentary panic lifted instantly. Stiles felt his chest flutter.
“Oh my God, I feel the same. Don’t move out,all of this has been so much fun! I like us too!” Stiles said, relief flooding through his face and words. He laughed, pocketing his phone instantly. “Don’t fucking scare me like that you asshole!” he exclaimed.
Scott, equally relieved, wiped a few beads of sweat from his forehead. “Sorry! I mean, I figured you didn’t hate me living with you, but I wanted to give you an out if you wanted it. Good, awesome! See, we are adults talking about adult things. No angsty teenage bullshit!!” he exclaimed brightly.
Their conversation ebbed for a few moments as their waitress moved by and handed them both their lunch special with egregious amounts of fries surrounding greasy double cheeseburgers. She brought them refills on their sodas, gave them a kind smile, and left them to their meals.
Naturally, Scott was the first to dig in, shoving the gigantic serving straight into his mouth. Though that didn’t stop him from talking. “So man, I actually thought about this, but… Why don’t we take the money I got and put a massive down payment a small house and furnish it with some really nice shit? We can put the deed in both our names and share the mortgage,” he explained.
With about thirteen fries stuffed in his mouth, Stiles choked for a moment. “Wait, what?!” he asked, dropping his jaw in the process.
Scott nodded. “If I have to hear our upstairs neighbors fucking with the massive dirty talk one more time, I think I might actually barf,” he said, putting his burger down and raising up his hands. “Oh Daddy, Oh Daddy, Fuck me! Fuck me hard!” he said, attempting to mimic the screaming they’d heard on a bi-weekly basis for months since their neighbor found himself a new boyfriend.
“Ew Scott, I’m eating. Why would you even say that?!” Stiles said, fake-vomiting as an elderly couple passed by them with horrific looks on their faces.
Scott laughed, shaking his head. “But seriously, we could get a nice house for what I got from the insurance. Nothing big, but nice enough we could have some privacy and actually own it,” he explained.
Cutting his massive burger into portions, Stiles shook his head. “Scott, you realize that us buying a house together would make us co-owners? That’s like a massive deal, legal-wise. What if I was a maniacal psycho and rented out our basement to serial killers? I’m on the lease I could totally do it,” he offered colorfully.
Scott shrugged it off. “Dude, you’re Stiles. I trust you more than life itself. You’d ask me if you could rent out to the psycho killers, and probably if we could use their services on a few choice people you come across in work. Like that pedo you say keeps getting off because of his expensive lawyers,” he replied, slurping down his soda.
“Mr. Penman is always at the top of the list. Always,” Stiles said creepily and slowly, with a dark scowl. Stiles seemed possessed and Scott knew he was chanting a painful curse on the man.
“Beside the point. Though seriously, we could get a nice place, but there’s no hurry on it. Let’s just play it by ear, okay?” Scott asked.
Hesitantly, Stiles nodded. “Sure. We can totally do that,” he finally answered, grateful to put the conversation aside for another day.
“But uh… One big deal I’d like to say if I’m going to stay at your place,” Scott said, having finished his burger and now already snagging the dessert menu to the side of their booth.
“Oh?” Stiles asked, popping one of his cut up pieces of burger into his mouth.
Scott nodded. “I want a dog, I’ve gone my whole life without one and I’m sick of waiting. Your apartment is okay with pets, right?” he asked.
Taken aback, Stiles nodded. “Well, yeah… But uh… What kind of… Dog?” he asked. While Stiles loved dogs, he had a morbid fear of bigger breeds bordering on a phobia. Having a Golden Retriever pee on you when one is four, or a three hundred pound Bull Mastiff take a chunk out of your arm at 12 tends to be a bad memory. Granted, the latter was practically his fault for accidentally stepping on the dog’s leg while it was sleeping, the point remained.
Scott snorted. “Dude, I’m not gonna make you get some big ass dog, I’m not that mean. What about like a Yorkie or a Corgi or a Pomeranian? What are you comfortable with?” he asked.
“No… No Corgis,” Stiles answered, he man’s voice low and solemn. His late mother had adored Corgis, and they’d had three of them growing up. The last one passed away not a month after his mother died, adding salt to the already gaping wounds at the time.
“Oh. Oh man, I’m sorry,” Scott said, slapping himself in the face. He realized his mistake instantly. “Listen, we don’t have to get a dog right now if you don’t-”
“A Yorkie. There’s an officer at work that’s trying to find a stray Yorkie a new home. It’s about two years old, but… Housetrained and really polite, he brought it by the office last week. Want me to have him bring it by the apartment after work?” Stiles asked, trying to force feed himself another serving of his lunch and be happy.
Scott stammered for a moment or two, but finally cleared his throat. “Yeah. Does he or she have a name yet?” he asked.
Stiles nodded. “Bella, and she’s a sweetheart,” he answered.
“Cool! So uh… Should I go ahead and bring home some supplies tonight from work?” Scott asked.
Laughing, Stiles nodded his head. “Knowing you, buddy boy, you’re going to take her in your arms and never let go, so that’s a big yes in my book,” he explained, taking a nearby ketchup bottle and cradling it like an infant to bring the point home. “You are such a cuddly sap,” he teased lovingly.
Scott rolled his eyes. “I am manly as fuck,” he counted.
“Says the coward that always makes me kill the spiders!” Stiles replied, putting the ketchup back on the table as he cocked a smile in his friend’s direction.
"That was a brown recluse!" Scott countered, pouting in his friend's direction.
"Daddy long legs," Stiles said, laughing quietly under his breath.
"Really want to go down this road? Mr. I cry watching Nicholas Sparks movies and sob when your OTP doesn't get their sempai noticed or whatever crap is involved with that anime stuff," Scott replied. He glared a smug smile right back at Stiles.
Stiles put down his burger. "Have you been reading my manga?" He asked.
Blushing, Scott cleared his throat. "So uh, how about some milkshakes? I'd like some milkshakes. Chocolate for me, Strawberry for you, right?" He asked, getting up from the booth and scrambling to the ice cream section of the diner.
Smugly, Stiles laughed under his breath. "I will show you the world motherfucker. The world of pain," he said, already planning the marathon of Clannad After Story they'd be watching later that night, followed by Angel Beats.
+++++++++++++++++++
Scott, a year long visitor with Stiles at this point, found himself at the local bakery/cafe, after an incredibly exhausting day at work.
The hole-in-the-wall lodge-styled shop on the opposite side of town was Stiles's favorite, and Scott knew they were to blame for his pudgier ass.
They were also apparently a breeding ground for America's next top model, if their wait staff was any indication.
"Welcome to Hale's! How may I service you tonight?" A waitress said, with a playful (almost predatory) smile.
The waitress, a tall muscular woman in her late teens, had some of the silkiest black hair he'd ever seen. Her name tag read Cora, and she had been subtly hitting on him since he'd walked in. Mostly with her eyes.
"I uh.. I ordered a cake," Scott explained, laughing nervously as he stepped away from the personal space invader.
Cora smiled, moving behind Scott and pushing him away from the cafe section and over to the smaller area off to the side. "Right this way, you came on a good day, my brother had been on his A-game today!" She explained. The waitress pushed him all the way to the counter, where Cora obnoxiously rang the bell several times. "Paige! Get out here, we've got a very valued customer here!" She said, with a playful grin on her face.
"Thanks?" Scott asked, edging away from the crazy lady.
"Cora, stop scaring our customers," a soft voice rang, stepping out of the back kitchen and wiping flour off her face with a waist towel.
The bakery cashier, a brunette with soft features, had a more classic beauty. "Paige" (based on her name tag), with soft honey eyes that met his. There was a brightness in those eyes, as though she was happy with each day life provided her.
Cora rolled her eyes, patting Scott on the shoulder before making her exit.
"Sorry about her, she's just very... Sure of herself and sure of what she wants," Paige said, clearing her throat. "How can I help you?"
Scott laughed. "It's alright. I had an order for Scott McCall to be picked up today," he explained.
"Oh! Just a moment, my husband just finished that one! He was very excited about your order. It's not many people that let him do whatever he wants!" Paige exclaimed, suddenly very happy. "Derek! Get out here! The McCall order is ready to be picked up!" She exclaimed.
After a few moments, Scott was met with a hulking mound of muscular meat. The man had broad shoulders, a well sculpted face, and soft black hair that was spiked up in the front.
Though all of that was diminished by a third thanks to the beard net covering half of his face.
"McCall? Nice to meet you, I'm Derek, Derek Hale. Co-owner," the baker said, placing a delicate white box on the counter space between them. He ripped off his beard net, wiped off his hands, and shared a firm handshake with Scott.
"So... How's it look?" Scott asked eagerly. Never really one for style, Scott just asked the shop to do whatever they wanted.
Derek smiled. "Take a look. You said the woman liked flowers?" he offered, cracking open the white box and turning it around to Scott's vision.
Scott smiled. The cake was perfect. The simplistic design had a round red fondant cake with white buttercream roses dancing around the edges. Roses, orchids, or all kinds of other flowers that he didn't know the names for. All ending with a flawless script reading “Happy Birthday Claudia” in white swirls.
"Perfect!" Scott said, his jaw impressively dropped and never coming off the floor.
Derek beamed, closing the box and snagging a thick red ribbon from his wife to tie it up with. “Who is Claudia, a special lady in your life? Fiancé?" He asked curiously.
Scott chuckled. “Nah, she's my best friend’s dead mother," he answered bluntly.
Fumbling with his fingers, Derek turned his head up with raised eyebrows and an incredulous look on his face.
"Oh uh.. Yeah, that probably sounded creepy," Scott said, rubbing the back of his head.
"Very creepy," Paige said, off to the side and under her breath.
Scott cleared his throat. “So my buddy Stiles, he lost his mom a while back, and loved her like crazy and a half. But he hates celebrating the anniversary of her death, and hates talking about her during holidays. Her birthday though, he can celebrate her life and not feel so sad about. So we always do a little party in her honor. We talk, drink, eat a cake, and remember all the good times with her. Stiles likes doing it, so I try to facilitate it every year. He can never actually order the cake though, he gets upset, so I take care of that part," he explained, laughing nervously.
"Oh my God, that is so sweet," Paige said kindly.
Derek smiled as well, finishing up the box wrapping. He keyed in the price to the cash register and took Scott's debit card. "Well I'm happy to have provided the cake for something so special. So is this Stiles your husband, or a boyfriend?" He asked.
Scott laughed. "Nah, he's just my roommate. I mean, we've known each other since we were born, and we're best friends, and we're sort of talking about buying a house so we're more than just roommates, but we're both single," he explained.
A set of blank stares from Derek and Paige told volumes.
"Derek... I don't even think you were this oblivious in high school. I think I Need to call Guinness," Paige whispered.
“Not to state the obvious, but… You’re living with a man, you buy him a cake on his dead mother’s birthday to help him through the memory, a date that you know off the top of your head, and... You're just friends? Friendship is one thing, but that sounds like love, one way or another," Derek explained, sliding the wrapped up cake and his receipt across the counter.
Scott took the package in his hands. Something rumbled in his stomach, slowly making its way up to his heart. A fluttering cold.
"Love? I mean, I do love him, but do I actually? Love love him?" Scott asked himself.
Remembering how horrible it felt to even think about moving out a few months back? The relief when Stiles wanted him to stay?
Thinking about how amazing it felt to move in back after the fire? How living with Stiles was so easy and comfortable?
How he slept better these days than he ever had before in his life?
Were those feelings really just friendship? If not, then... He'd had them his entire life. This comfort, this
"I uh.. Thanks..." Scott said, taking the cake and his card back and stepping away from the counter.
Lost in his mind, Scott stepped out of the bakery, into the street and was walking the distance to his parked car.
Piling into his Accura, Scott carefully placed the cake in the passenger seat. He was already picturing Stiles' smile. Already looking forward to their guy night, and whatever amazing dinner Stiles was going to cook. His stomach was eagerly waiting for their late night marathon of TV in their bedroom, or maybe the way Stiles felt sleeping next to him.
Which.... Given Scott's other friends? He knew he would never feel that same way about someone like Isaac or Jackson.
Hell, he never felt that way about any of his earlier lovers.
"Well fuck... I love him," Scott realized quietly to himself.
++++++++++++++++++
"You... What?" Stiles stammered out.
Sitting across from each other at the dining room table of their apartment, Stiles and Scott were halfway through his homemade lasagna. He must have hear me Scott wrong, because there is no way he actually said that.
Must have been Bella's barking to the side, or the jingling of her collar as she tried to get some pity scraps.
"I said... I love you," Scott repeated.
"You... Love me?" Stiles asked, as his chest thumped loudly in his ears.
Nodding, Scott laughed to himself. "Crazy, right? But I mean, I thought about everything we've gone through this last year, and doesn't it feel right?" He asked.
Stiles had no words. Of course he loved Scott. He loved Scott like crazy, as a brother, as a friend, and in the last months? Maybe more than that. Living with him had been a dream come true. A close knit relationship without sex tied into it, but even better was the unconditional love and respect. No games. No bullshit.
Hell, maybe Stiles had even fantasized about them staying like that forever. He knew it was a stupid thought, and...
Hiding those feeling had been difficult, because he'd always known that Scott would never... Say the words he'd just said.
"You... You love... Me?" Stiles asked again, feeling his chest burst in a low grade joy.
Scott nodded. "Well yeah... I mean, what else would you call what we've been doing the last year? Playing house?" He asked with a colorful smirk. Though he put his hand across the table and took Stiles' hand in his. "I was stupid not to see it before. But hell, I get it now. You've been the best relationship I've ever had," he explained happily.
Stiles pushed his food around his plate, sneaking a small set of the noodles to Bella on the floor, clenching his hand in Scott's. "Well... I guess I didn't want to screw the good thing we have up. Because what we have now is good. Really good," He said, beaming happily.
Scott nodded. "Yeah, it is," he replied, stuffing his face with more of Stiles' amazing home cooking. He chewed and swallowed loudly. "So like... Wanna go out on a date? Wanna be my boyfriend?" He asked eagerly.
A low grade nausea bubbled up in Stiles' chest. "I... I think we ought to have a talk about a few things. If this is a thing you want," he said. Fear creeped on his words.
"Sure!" Scott replied, clearly carefree.
Taking a deep breath, Stiles let Scott continue to cusp his hand. "Sex is not ever going to happen for me, naturally anyway. Though frankly the idea of forcing it is horrifying. I don't want it... I need you to really understand that, and accept it," he said. Blunt as he could be, Stiles needed that particular elephant in the room slaughtered.
There was an immediate nod. “I get that, I really do. Even before I realize all of this, I’ve been on AVEN, trying to understand all this better. I understand that Stiles, and I accept that as a part of our relationship," Scott replied confidently.
A soft sigh left Stiles' lips.
“Are you really sure?… Scott, you’re very sexual. That’s sort of who you are, and I can’t… I mean, even if I did want sex, and I don't, it would never be often enough to… Please you. If we were a thing, you'd have blue balls for the rest of your life,” Stiles answered, a little embarrassingly.
Scott chuckled nervously. “I mean… Yeah, I haven’t thought about that part too much in the long run, not going to lie. But I mean… Sex isn’t everything, and I could handle that part myself in private, with a laptop and some lotion and maybe budgeting for some fancy toys or shit. I mean, if that part didn’t bother you with my self pleasure. I wouldn't do it front of you, obviously, but... Well, does it bother you?,” he said, genuinely curious.
Stiles flushed. There was no way in hell that he was actually having a legitimate, adult conversation about sex and a relationship. Was it really this easy?
“I mean, I don’t think I’d want to see it because… Yeah no, like I said, bodies don’t arouse me, but... You jerking off to porn or using toys in privacy wouldn’t bother me, I get it’s your need, but like… If this was actually a relationship, then I couldn’t handle it if you slept with someone else. Just because I don’t want sex doesn’t mean I’d be okay with our relationship meaning shit and having you cheat on me. So yeah, no-go on an open relationship, one asshole I dated actually suggested that so we could “work it out”,"Stiles explained, rolling his eyes.
"Jeeze, Stiles, I would never do that to you," Scott said,a mild horror on his face, combined with a stronger anger at whoever suggested such a thing.
The slightest amount of relief covered Stiles’ face. “Good… Good,” he said, breathing a little easier.
Scott took his turn, letting go of Stiles’ hand for just a moment as he stood them both of and maneuvered them into the living room. Bella followed close behind as they all three collapsed onto the couch, sprawled out on each other. Stiles was laid out on top of Scott, face to face, with Scott’s arms around Stiles’ waist, hugging him tightly. With his arms around Scott’s chest, Stiles returned the loving gesture.
Even though serious relationship discussion was taking place, neither man seemed to care about the subtle shift in gentle, romantic touches.
“So my turn… You want kids?” Scott asked, a nervous tic in his voice. Stiles didn’t blame him. The last time the question had been asked, a whirlwind of depression followed.
Stiles nodded. “Duh, yeah. I’ve always wanted kids. I want a big family, as long as we could afford to take care of them and do it right,” he answered, smiling.
Relaxing, Scott beamed. “Me too, like maybe four or five? I’m a vet, I bring home some pretty serious bank, and you’re not that bad either,” he asked eagerly.
“I could seriously handle that. But a little spread out?” Stiles asked.
“Definitely,” Scott said, leaning in for a kiss before stopping dead in his tracks. “Oh. Fuck, do you like… Kiss and stuff? I read on those aesexual forums that some liked it, some loved it, and others are like meh about it. What’s your take?” he said, flushing quietly to himself.
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yes you goofball, I kiss. I like kissing, but not like gross tonguing make out stuff that leads to grinding and sex. Kisses that matter, kisses that show you love me. So… Kiss me,” he said, with a gentle smile.
Scott did just that, leaning up and pressing a kiss into Stiles’ lips. He moved his hands up from Stiles’ waist and cupped them around the man’s head. Slow, quiet, gentle kissing exchanged between their lips.
Leaning off Scott, Stiles felt his lips spark and flare as he pulled away. Meaningful, romantic, affectional fire that danced on his face. All compounded by the way Scott looked at him. There wasn’t any lust in his eyes, or the expectation of things to go any further. Honey brown eyes, looking at him like he was a person, like he was… Loved.
That look drove him to open his mouth.
“I love you too,” Stiles replied immediately.
From there, that night, a night that had been previously a horrific experience and poor memory for Stiles, would turn into something much brighter.
Claudia’s birthday cake remained untouched that night.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Two years since Scott’s house burned down. A full year since Scott and Stiles had started dating.
Their new home, purchased 4 months into their relationship, turned out to be one of many cookie-cutter homes in a local suburb area. A two story home, with wide open rooms, mahogany wooden floors, decorated with virtually the same style as Stiles’ apartment.
Scott purchased the home with the funds from his insurance, with Stiles using part of his savings to chip in. At 28, both men were homeowners. A lot came with that title.
They had another dog, named Drake, a labrador retriever that Scott originally brought home for therapy (assuring Stiles and his fear of large dogs that it was just work related and the dog would stay in the guest room at all times), but who had warmed Stiles’ heart and fears. The 80 pound giant of a dog and the 25 pound Yorkie were best friends.
Both men were an active part of the neighborhood community that came along with their new home. On Stiles’ days off, he babysat the Mahalani infants so that Danny and Ethan Mahalani (their next door neighbors) could have some time to sleep, away from the teething crying masses that were newborn twins fresh from a surrogate. Scott played on a casual baseball league that had started up during the summer, including Isaac who became a common visitor in their home. They had an honest-to-God dinner party on every Sunday night, with thirteen or fourteen people.
Their life was peaceful, punctuated with only a few mild arguments.
Mostly about petty things. Scott's obsession with fatty fast food, Stiles' borderline crazy spending on music and books, and their mutual growling over the TiVo recording schedules.
Their life together was… More than Stiles ever wanted, arguments and all.
Sleeping in the early morning hours of a peaceful Saturday, Stiles fluttered his eyes open. Drake was sleeping to Stiles’ right, his head tucked into Stiles’ chest. Scott was behind him, arms lazily draped close to him, but not touching. They both had long since been sleeping in their underwear, Scott a boxers man, while Stiles preferred bikini briefs.
The poor man was as far away as he could stand. Because as much as Stiles loved the closeness, the hugs, the affection, the cuddling? God damn Scott was like a built in heater and Stiles could seriously not handle that shit all night long, he was hot-natured.
Though as a chill from their air conditioning struck Stiles’ spine, he found himself shifting slowly to Scott’s side, with Drake and Bella huffing angrily at him.
“Morning Stiles,” Scott said groggily, running his hands through Stiles’ hair as he pulled Stiles in closer to him. Somehow, Scott always seemed to know when Stiles was awake.
Stiles smiled, yawning loudly and making sure to not face Scott, in fear of his vomit-inducing morning breath. “Mornin’” he answered, taking Scott’s hand and holding it tightly.
“Happy Anniversary Stiles. Love you,” Scott said, nuzzling his nose in the crook of Stiles’ neck.
“Love you too. Happy Anniversary,” Stiles replied, groaning as Drake happily started to jump in between both Scott and Stiles, looking for whoever would pe him first. Because Goddamnit the labrador thought he was a lap dog, like Bella.
Scott gave in, grabbing the scrappy blonde dog and rubbing behind his ears and hugging him tightly next to Stiles.
“So… Anniversary surprise, but I’ve got us reservations at Boulevard tonight,” Scott said warmly.
Stiles wanted to gasp, but instead was met with Bella licking his face. “Oh wow… Seriously? That’s like… One of the best places in town!” he exclaimed excitedly.
Scott nodded. “Well, you took me to Quince for getting my promotion to full doctor at work with all my last classes and certifications finally going through. Isn’t food how we show our devotion?” he asked excitedly.
“Food and DVDs,” Stiles replied, prodding Scott in the side. “Which by the way, after dinner, I’ve got us tickets to the movies. Full night of feature flicks, the classics,” he explained.
“Please tell me it includes Casablanca and Citizen Kane,” Scott asked.
“And the Wizard of Oz,” Stiles smirked.
The two men leaned up against the headboard, sharing a kiss on the cheek. Drake jumped into Stiles’ lap, while Bella curled around Scott’s foot. They leaned on each other.
“Can I have a few minutes to just say that this is the best relationship I’ve ever been in, hands down? Like nothing has ever compared," Scott said, happily petting Drake's back while Stiles pet the beast's head.
“Even with the blue balls?” Stiles asked playfully.
"Dude. I have the opposite of blue balls. I get off when I want and go at my pace. That freaking toy you got me last month? Holy fuck, awesome!" Scott replied.
"You're welcome. Though it was Ethan that suggested it," Stiles said, grateful for his neighbor's assistance.
It was no secret. A few times a week, Scott would disappear into the guest room for “private time”. He had gathered a collection of items to satisfy his sexual needs, and apparently was all he needed on that end of things. Stiles never asked about it. Scott deserved his privacy and space just as much as Stiles did. Though while Stiles didn't enjoy carnal desires in privacy, Stiles did enjoy being drunk and goofy in the bathtub with his iPad and weird ass movies for his own gratification.
Though their understanding went beyond the need for privacy for "fun" things.
There were certain lines neither crossed, and both respected that line. Like when it came to Stiles' "off" days. Days when the filth of being involved in cybercrime was too much, and he needed seven hours in a tub to soak off all the disgusting shit he had to see. Or gross sobbing after a perp got off on a legal technicality that Stiles wanted to work off on his own. Scott let Stiles blow off steam, knowing his boyfriend would come to him for support if he needed it.
That respect was also extended to Scott as well. Days when Rafe, his asshole father, called and tried to weasel back into Scott's life, which generally ended in a shouting match because of his “partner”. Or how Scott needed a good cry in the bathroom if he had any animals he couldn't save at work, and if he ever felt like it was his fault they died.
Scott pecked a kiss on Stiles' cheek. "Love you. Love you so much," he said, nuzzling on Stiles' shoulder.
"Me too. Love you too," Stiles replied, content to never leave the bed. He smiled happily. "I... I'll be honest. When we started dating, I figured we would have fought more about the sex thing. Nothing outrageous, but just every now and then having an awkward conversation about boners," he said, chuckling.
Scott chuckled right back. “Stiles, I’ve had a long time to think about this. You want to know how I feel being in a sexless relationship? Want me to tell you the results of my study? I have footnotes and everything,” he joked.
“How's it feel like?” Stiles asked, genuinely curious. Sure, they talked frequently to make sure both parties were satisfied with the relationship, but the actual subject from Scott’s perspective never came up.
Scott smiled goofily, pulling Stiles closer by wrapping his arm around his boyfriend’s waist. “For sexuals, sex can be meaningful. It’s two bodies, completely naked and bared to the world in an act that will ultimately creature mutual pleasure for both parties. It’s letting someone you know and love see you for who you are, without clothing, and trusting someone to put a part of them inside of you, exposing yourself and letting yourself be open. It’s intimate, and can be a source of romance and feelings. I was like that with Allison. When we had sex, it was… Us being close together and sharing our love, I’m not going to lie about that. Sex can be a powerful force,” he explained.
Without a doubt, Stiles knew Scott and Allison had sex. It was a topic of frequent discussion back in high school and college. He also figured it was obvious that Scott wasn’t the “fuck and leave” types. If he and Allison had sex, it was love-making, not a quick fuck. Stiles might have felt a pang of jealousy at this closeness the two shared, except that he knew Scott would never go back to Allison. He trusted Scott, knew that he had nothing to be jealous about.
“But… Sometimes a fuck is just a fuck, and that’s why most one night stands don’t turn into whirlwind romances or involve people you’d bring home to your mother. That kind of sex? It’s friction. Soft friction that plastic or a hand can’t replicate. Friction can’t create romance by itself. Friction is fun, friction is fine to seek out every now and then, I’m not judging friction, but… Unless there’s something more than friction, what do you have? You have instinct. You have the human desire for sexual release,” Scott explained, sighing to himself.
“Stiles… Ultimately speaking, what you and I have together? I get all the romance and affection I need without sex. Just right now, this cuddling? Our history? Our mutual love and respect? Our trust? I think that shows how much you and I love each other, because frankly speaking, I feel closer to you than I ever did with anyone. You are my best friend, my lover, and who I want to spend the rest of my life with. I don’t ever doubt that,” Scott said, wiping a stray tear of his his eyes. “I can apply the friction myself for what instinct calls for. Like hell am I ever going to give us and what we have up because of friction,” he finished.
There was a quiet moment between them. Stiles placed his hand on Scott’s thigh.
“Everything’s so easy with you. I feel like we’re… Really something special. You know? Like you and I fill in the gaps that the other lacks, and just know each other like nobody else in the world knows us. I think you know me as good as I know me! I love that about us,” Stiles answered, tracing his fingertips around Scott's leg. "We're more than friends. We're more than lovers. We're... We're drift compatible, if you know what I mean. So... Hearing you say that? Well, that means a lot to me," Stiles said.
Scott rolled his eyes. "You did not just do a Pacific Rim quote to talk about our relationship. I swear that movie moves you to tears every time," he said, bonking his head playfully with a laugh on Stiles'.
Shooing the dog off Scott's lap, Stiles made himself comfortable in his partner's chest. The thick muscle bound chest acted as a pillow, Stiles' favorite pillow.
"Shut up, at least I don't fucking sob like a little baby every time we watch Big Hero 6," Stiles asserted.
Scott scoffed. "Dude, you're like my goddamn Tadashi. Of course I'm going to cry when the handsome, sweet, kind, amazing big brother character dies," he replied.
"Awww... I'm your Tadashi?" Stiles quipped, hugging Scott around the neck tightly.
"You sure are..." Scott answered, pushing Drake away from tying to start a puppy pile on top of them.
They went back and forth like that. Shamelessly flirting and cuddling for the better part of an hour, until the sun was high enough to be obnoxious. That, combined with their mutual stink-breath, finally forced them to untangle from each other.
"I'm calling dibs on the tub first!" Stiles said, scrambling over to his dresser drawers and looking for some fresh clothes.
Scott nodded. "Sure. Oh, and this time next year, I'm going to ask you to marry me. Okay?" he asked.
Stiles stumbled over the flat floor, turning around with an incredulous look on his face.
Smiling, Scott shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "In a year, I think we can have enough money to go somewhere nice. I know you hate the idea of a big wedding, I do too, but just a little something nice for my mom to come? Ethan, Danny, Isaac, Lydia, and Jackson would kill us if we didn't let them come. Then we can honeymoon somewhere nice for a week or two. I mean, if you say yes, I mean this is all me-"
"Yes Scott," Stiles said, standing in the doorway with a flushed expression. He turned away, chuckling to himself. "Yes Scott, I'll marry you in a year. I'd marry you today if you wanted. Whenever you're ready..." he said excitedly.
Scott let out a deep breath, relief flooding his tone. "Awesome... So I guess... We can start the 5 year plan after that?" he asked.
Stiles nodded, gulping excitedly. "Register as foster parents in year one, start a college fund for our kids. Adopting by year 2 and 3. We make sure we're doing okay by year 4 and 5 before we adopt any more kids," he explained.
"Can we get another dog too?" Scott asked playfully.
"Over my dead body," Stiles exclaimed.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Six years since the fire. Five years since they started dating. Three years of marriage. In their early thirties, Scott and Stiles were the proud parents of a five-year-old girl, a newborn baby boy, and a German Shepherd that had lost a leg in a car accident. Another "bring home for just a few days for therapy" type until Stiles finally gave in for the third addition to their canine family, Shep.
One such happy little five year old girl, that Scott was more than gleeful to see as he walked inside their toy-scattered home. A tiny blond girl with pigtails, in full princess attire, sitting on the couch next to Stiles, Shep on her lap. A baby was sleeping soundly in Stiles' arms.
"PAPA!" she screamed, leaping off the couch and running over to Scott. Leaping into Scott's arms, she giggled wildly as Scott spun her happily around in a circle.
“Clara, baby girl, how are you?!” Scott shoued, pressing kiss after kiss into her tiny cheeks.
Clara grinned playfully. “Good! How was work!? Did you bring home any more animals today?!” she asked excitedly.
"If he did, he's in big trouble!" Stiles added in a subtle, kindly veiled threat.
Scott pouted exaggeratingly. “No baby girl, I didn’t! Your Papa is too good at his job! All the animals are well forever and ever!” he exclaimed, spinning her around once more before plopping her back down on the ground.
"Awww..." Clara responded, pouting right alongside Scott. She tried to mimic the facial features.
Clara was a Papa's girl. They'd clicked immediately after the first few interviews with child services. She explained that Scott looked like her big brother that had to go away to heaven, and thought Scott was an angel at first. That was probably why she clung onto Scott constantly, and why she had him wrapped around her pinky.
Not that she didn't love Stiles, she adored her Daddy, and loved it when she got to go to the police station and get a sucker from "the boss".
Stiles was so proud of his little girl, and bought her anything sparkly and princess-y that she wanted. He was a good father, and thrived around kids.
"Clara, why don't you go grab the picture you drew Papa in preschool? I bet he'd love to see it," Stiles added, as he stood up from the couch.
Drake and Bella stirred from their comfortable position at his feet, walking alongside Shep in the protective circle that had been prominent since the baby had come into the household not a few weeks earlier.
"Okay Daddy!" Clara shouted, clamboring off to the upstairs bedroom/nursery that she shared with her little brother.
Scott turned his attention to Stiles, and the cooing laughing mess of the baby in his arms.
"Such a quiet baby, even the sitter says so," Stiles said, rocking the baby in his arms before leaning it over in Scott's direction.
Scott took the infant from Stiles, cradling his son carefully in his arms. “God… My handsome little Matthew,” he said, hugging the child tightly in his arms.
"The paperwork should go through next week, our attorney called us. Neither of his birth parents are contesting the adoption. Too busy doing god knows what in some godforsaken slum," Stiles added. His face scowled.
Scott pressed a gentle kiss on Matthew's forehead. His soft brown hair had just barely started to come in on his head. "We won't even worry about them then, will we Matt? We'll keep you nice and safe here all on our own!" he said, as Stiles wrapped his hand around Scott's waist.
"Daddy and Papa will give you a good home. Forever," Stiles said, choking on the words as he leaned up to press a kiss on Scott's cheek.
Scott beamed. "Is it wrong that I want more? Is that greedy of me? Wanting more children, a bigger family? More love?" he asked.
Rolling his eyes, Stiles chuckled. "According to my father, no. Also, he called again and said he's coming over this weekend to see the kids. Maybe we could do something outdoorsy?" he asked.
Nodding, Scott kissed Stiles right back on his cheek. "Glad you and your father made up," he said, as Matt started grabbing onto Scott's finger for dear life.
"I'm glad you told him to shut the fuck up the last time he insulted my sexual orientation. Even happier you told him to lay off the booze or he’d never see our kids. That got him to finally straighten the fuck up,," Stiles said, beaming proudly. "It's not many men that would get into a screaming fest with a sheriff and actually win. Even less who actually make said Sheriff apologize," he explained.
"Nobody fucks with my Tadashi," Scott said, as he and Stiles both made their way over to the couch and sat down next to each other. The dogs joined them as well, creating a massive pile of limbs and wagging tails.
Shep hung onto Stiles like a monkey, and the man didn't even have it in him to complain anymore.
"Speaking of not fucking with your Tadashi... I'm hoping you'll be just as protective when I tell you I sort of may have... Arranged a meeting with our social worker? Nothing final, of course, but... She'd kind of coming over tonight. With a kid. I tried to call you, but you were in the middle of a surgery and I had to make a call," Stiles said nervously.
"Oh?" Scott asked, with a raised eyebrow. That wasn't like Stiles to do something serious without consulting him first. Still, he waited for the coming explanation. Stiles probably had a good one, he always did.
Sighing, Stiles shook his head. "Miss Tate called. She says she knows we're not actively looking for anymore kids, but... There's a thirteen year old who needs a place to stay and she hoped we could accommodate him at least until she found a permanent solution for the kid. He sort of... Well, he sort of got beaten half to death for coming out to his parents, and she knows we're the kind of people who would take to him easier," he explained.
Any concern Scott had earlier about Stiles' decision making skills vanished in an instant. Instead, he smirked proudly at his husband. That was the kind of man that he married.
"Well, then bring him on over. I'm sure we can renovate the downstairs guest room quickly enough. Just have to make sure I hide all my stuff," Scott said, bouncing Matt up and down on his arms.
"Papa! Papa!" Clara exclaimed, running down the stairs at Mach speeds. She threw herself in Stiles' lap, shoving the white paper in Scott's face.
Scott smiled. The picture was a crudely drawn family portrait. Scott, Stiles, their dogs, and baby Matthew were all outside their house.
"Mrs. Boyd told us to draw our favorite place in the world! So I drew us all at home! I wanted to draw Grandpa, Grandma, Uncle Danny and Uncle Ethan, and the baby cousins, but I ran out of time!" Clara said, pointing to the picture and explaining all of her masterful art stylings.
Stiles and Scott smiled simultaneously.
It was picture perfect.