I love that, without context, Scott is kind of like “… why is this dude rubbing my shoulders… and why does it feel so good…”
#please to be writing me an epic about dudebros falling in love with one another #slowly and very confused
You know that I’m largely indifferent to Scott/Stiles as a romantic couple, but I am REALLY INTO reading fic where they go off to college andit suddenly becomes clear how much they mean to each other, even how appallingly codependent they are. Maybe they go to a different college, and they’re both sort of adrift without the other, at first. Because the thing is, everyone was right about Stiles - college is better than high school, right from the beginning. There are people who want to talk mythology, who want to play D&D, who want to coordinate their WOW raids in one of the private library rooms. He even goes to a few parties where no one is drugged en masse or nearly murdered. There is sex, is what Stiles is saying - college is Stiles’s jam. So why does he feel like he took a wrong turn somewhere? Why is he suddenly Donna Noble, gone right instead of left?
Scott, meanwhile, has gone to different college. Closer to Beacon Hills, I think - closer to his mom, maybe closer to the pack, even if he doesn’t necessarily include Derek in that grouping. He wants to be able to go home on weekends and work for Deaton, to still see people, or maybe save more money by living at home the whole time. It takes a few weeks to get into the swing of things, that way, and even a month into it something still feels off, and it isn’t until Christmas break, until Stiles busts into Scott’s room at 8 o’clock in the morning, overly peppy from three sugarfree Red Bulls, throwing himself onto the bed while Scott looks up at him, bleary-eyed, because his last final was yesterday afternoon, okay, he feels like he hasn’t slept in days - but oh, Stiles smells like home, home in a way that Scott’s own goddamn home didn’t, and Scott didn’t realize what particular scent was missing until his nostrils are full of it. And he tells Stiles to shut up, he’s sleeping for at least another two hours, and Stiles is a little hurt at that, maybe. Starts to get up off the bed but Scott lashes out with those werewolf reflexes and pulls him in close. Rolls right on top of Stiles and breathes the scent of him in, a weird mix of arousing and soporific, and Stiles’s pulse beats like a goddamn timpani until the corner of his eyes crinkle up in amusement.
“My left turn,” he says, and Scott scrunches up his nose.
“Nothing,” Stiles says, and slides his hand just under Scott’s shirt. Falls back asleep too.