cheshire-larson said: Skittles, date night c:
For Scott and Stiles, date night consists of:
Three rounds of Call of Duty. Scott always, alwaysloses the first round. It’s totally on purpose - Stiles knows it and Scott knows it, but neither of them verbalize that they know. But if Scott loses the first round, it means that Stiles looks over at him with that smug little smirk on his lips and Scott’s gut fills with warmth. That smirk, Scott knows from experience, is a promise of filth and sex and Scott’s dick twitches in completely unabashed anticipation. Stiles and Scott usually end up pretty close to even on the second round, and the third round is never finished.
Because date night consists of two rounds of sex. Sometimes, it’s just the two of them in the house and Scott’s loud. Gasps and curses and fucking whimpers at the perfect length of Stiles’s fingers in his ass, at the way they crook and push and fill him up in the most obscene way. He’ll let Stiles praise him, soak up the warmth in Stiles’s voice and the awe in his eyes as he watches Scott take two, three, sometimes four fingers. Scott loves being full, loves letting Stiles take care of him, and he can’t help but breathe out loud groans because really? It’s the only way Scott can hear himself over the thunderous sound of Stiles’s heartbeat.
But when they aren’t alone, when John or Melissa are in the house, too, Scott’s quiet. Bites down hard on his bottom lip as he fucks himself on Stiles’s cock, listens to the filthy sound of his ass meeting Stiles’s hips with each roll down. They always use too much lube, but Scott thinks that’s on purpose because the way they sound together - the way each of his thrusts are accompanied by a soft, wet sound of their bodies meeting makes Scott’s breath come in ragged, uneven pants against Stiles’s mouth.
They don’t kiss during sex. Before and after, sure, but during? Takes too much effort. But Scott’s open mouth is still against Stiles’s, anyway, both of them breathing the same warm, stale air as Scott fucks himself to an orgasm. Squeezes his eyes shut and listens as Stiles whispers, that’s my boy, Scotty. Fuck, you’re so tight. Clenching around my dick, s’like you’re trying to keep me inside you, you know that? Like you can’t get enough of my cock filling you up. Want me to fill you up with my come? That what you want, alpha?
Stiles has the filthiest mouth Scott’s ever heard. Scott loves every second of it.
Sometimes, round two is slower, sweeter sex. Sometimes, Scott blows Stiles and fucks his own fingers into his ass while Stiles watches.
And sometimes, Stiles slides his fingers into Scott’s ass, gathers the come there, and spreads it over Scott’s dick. Uses it as lube to slick his way as he jacks Scott to another orgasm, one that starts in his toes and lasts for what feels like hours.
After they’ve cleaned up (which consists of Stiles showering and Scott simply wiping away the come on his stomach because he likes smelling freshly fucked), they head downstairs and Stiles makes pancakes or waffles while Scott watches.
"I love you," Scott murmurs a while later, half-eaten pancakes on his plate and his fork in his hand.
Stiles just grins, tucks his foot around Scott’s ankle, and replies, “Love you back, Scotty. Pass the syrup.”