Scott's out at the grocery store, picking up some stuff to make for breakfast.
The shower is running hot, and Isaac strips down, stepping into the spray of water with an appreciative groan.
It's hard, living with other wolves. That's the thing they don't tell you.
Because werewolves know about all of your shit. They hear every breath, every heartbeat, every move. And that means you can't do private things like touching yourself, ever, unless you actually don't mind sharing the moment.
So even living with a wolf as chill as Scott, Isaac keeps his hands off his dick.
And it's difficult, it really is. Because Scott is incredibly fucking attractive, and lately Isaac's having more sex dreams than nightmares.
Last night it was Scott pinning him against the lockers after cross country and kissing the breath out of him, licking into his mouth as they rutted against each other. He'd woken up achingly hard, right across the hall from the source of his frustration, unable to do anything about it for fear of being overheard. And they don't warn you about that, not nearly enough.
He's alone now, though, and a week's worth of vivid dreams and countless glimpses of too much of Scott's skin has Isaac's cock demanding attention.
Isaac wraps a hand around his shaft and starts to pump, mouth falling open in a soundless sigh.
The water is perfect, warm rivulets flowing over his skin, and he remembers the way he shivered the time that they hugged and Scott's lips grazed his neck.
He thinks of two days ago, when he ran into Scott in the hallway, glistening wet from a shower and wearing only a towel slung low on his hips.
Isaac bites his lip and jerks faster, every dirty thought he's ever had about Scott on a never-ending loop.
And it's just so much better that Scott had been there first this morning and his scent still lingers, musky and tantalizing and everywhere.
Isaac closes his eyes and imagines he's there. Imagines Scott naked and dripping and hard against him as he presses Isaac into the wall.
His breathing is harsh and ragged, muscles tense as he teeters on the edge. He's frantic, stroking himself fast and rough. His body is humming and shaking and coiled so tight and he's desperate for it.
He thumbs over the tip every few strokes, teasing his slit and he's close, so close, and then he thinks of Scott on his knees, tonguing his head and swallowing his cock, and he keens.
Isaac braces himself against the wall, panting and jerking and inhaling the clinging scent of Scott, and he comes hard with a strangled moan.
Amidst the rush of water and breaths and his raging heartbeat, he hears something from downstairs that sounds distinctly like an egg breaking on the kitchen floor, and he knows he's been caught.