Allison had never been his first kiss.
It had been that weird and experimental phase of his teenage years. (Actually, scratch that—he was still smack dab in the middle of said experimental phase.) It was one of those hot and muggy nights, he was almost sixteen, and his mother was at her third night shift that week. She must've known that Stiles would use her absence as an excuse to sleep over, because there was extra food in the fridge for them.
Scott blamed the heat for his actions. Melissa had went on about how expensive it was to crank up the A/C for long hours at the time, and so Scott and Stiles were forced into coming up with ways of battling the summer weather. They'd stripped down to their boxers and T-shirts within the first hour, the fabric clinging to their perspiring bodies. At one point Stiles was so devoid of ideas that he started blowing on Scott's face, blasting him with warm air.
Scott swatted him away as beads of sweat continued to pour down his face. "Seriously dude?"
Stiles shrugged, wiping his brow with his arm as he fell back on Scott's bed. He rolled his eyes. "My brain's dead," he replied, blowing the rest of the air out of his mouth. "There's nothing to do but die of heat."
Scott bounced a little on the mattress, causing Stiles to roll to his side. "Then what do you propose we do?"
Stiles blinked once before casually suggesting, "I dunno, make out?"
Something strange and unexplored within Scott's mind began to turn. He knew that Stiles was joking—more like being a sarcastic asshole—but something clicked, and his heart began to pound. He felt the blood rush to his head, and his body began to move on his own accord. He swung one of his legs over Stiles' waist, his hands supporting him on either side of his friend's head.
Stiles looked up at him, his eyes wide as Scott carefully gripped his wrists, pinning him down.
"You know I was joking, ri—?" Stiles began, but he was cut off when Scott crushed his lips against his.
The movies always made the first kiss look perfect, as if the plot-forced couple had a natural instinct about the act. But now the ones fabricated by Hollywood been so unnatural and well-versed compared to theirs.
Scott and Stiles' first kiss was messy; Scott was off the mark and at the wrong angle or something. Their lips didn't lock into a perfect formation, but were everywhere.
Scott felt Stiles' body tense underneath his, and Scott broke contact, immediately feeling guilty. He released his wrists, and watched Stiles' face for a reaction.
He was reluctant to move away, however.
"Wow," began Stiles. "You really suck at… that."
Scott rolled his eyes, feeling his face redden. "Well, it's not like I've ever practiced or anything."
Stiles raised an eyebrow, a small smirk forming on his face. "Really? Not even with your lonely pillow late at night?"
"Shut up," Scott grumbled. But he couldn't stop his own smile.
"Just don't get hard on me, buddy," Stiles grinned.
That aggravating look on Stiles' face—like he'd just been named victorious—sparked something inside of Scott. A feral, wild feeling that was only satisfied with the constant contact of skin. It was certainly enough incentive to make him go down on Stiles and attack his mouth with more kisses.
Stiles' body soon loosened up, easing into a comfortable position beneath Scott. He grabbed the back of Scott's head, holding him in place as he returned the favour. Scott felt Stiles' tongue trying to breach his teeth, and he opened his mouth, allowing Stiles to explore the inside of his mouth. A loud moan escaped from him, and Scott was extremely grateful that they had the entire house to themselves.
Scott shoved his hands underneath Stiles' drenched shirt, pushing it up Stiles' torso. He then pressed his hot hands against his friend's flat stomach, dragging them upwards until they reached his chest. He heard a satisfied moan from below, and Scott broke their lips apart.
He hesitated, his heart slamming wildly against his ribcage. Scott's arms shook, and he felt his legs grow hot. Was this normal? Would things be too weird between them after this experimental make-out session?
Stiles cocked an eyebrow. His hands were still clutching the back of Scott's head.
"We're just drunk," Stiles said. "Really, really drunk."
He was giving Scott a way out, a flimsy excuse so he wouldn't feel stupid about this later. But that wasn't fair. Even though it was a sudden and unplanned moment, Scott still wanted his first kiss to mean something.
He believed it did.
"No," Scott whispered, pressing his lips to the corner of Stiles' mouth. "We're sober as fuck, alright?"
Stiles pulled Scott down on him, and the two began to kiss each other rapidly. It left Scott breathless, but he refused to come up for air. He was drowning in Stiles' heat and intoxicating touch. Scott felt Stiles tugging at his shirt. He briefly sat up, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the ground. He sank back down, latching his mouth onto Stiles' collarbone. The other boy responded with a long, drawn-out sigh and tilting his head back, exposing his throat. Scott licked upwards, leaving a wet trail behind as he made his way to Stiles' jugular. Meanwhile, Stiles grabbed Scott's hips, guiding them as Scott began to thrust.
Scott's pace quickened, and he heard mutter Stiles curse and groan happily underneath him. Scott dragged his teeth down Stiles' throat, scraping it gently until he reached the hollow base just between it and his shoulder.
He bit down, hard.
"Fuck, Scott," Stiles hissed. "What are you, a wild animal?"
"I can be," Scott murmured breathily into his ear. He reached down, gripping Stiles' thigh as he kissed his throat.
A laugh bubbled up from Stiles' throat. "Oh wow. You've gotten kinky real fast."
Suddenly Scott found himself being flipped over, and now Stiles was on top. He was sitting on top of Scott's stomach, a cocky grin spread across his face. He leaned down, and kissed Scott greedily, shoving his tongue down his friend's throat for emphasis.