Scott and Stiles are strewn haphazardly across the couch of the McCall's living room, still kind of shell-shocked from their latest strategy meeting at Derek's loft. They're both kind of exhausted, Stiles' leg thrown unceremoniously over Scott's as he leans as far back into the plush cushions as he can.

"Man," Scott finally breaks their semi-comfortable silence, "you smell good. Like really, really good."

And that's really not what Stiles was expecting to come out of Scott's mouth. Maybe a 'we are so fucked' or a 'this all just keeps getting more and more terrifying' or possibly even 'we should order a pizza', but definitely not… that.

Stiles' mouth twinges almost invisibly at the corners, and he lets out a chuckle so subdued that it could only have been made by someone who'd spent the better part of the day poring over gruesome crime scene photos of dead virgins and then attempting to cook for an entire loft full of werewolves with the one good pan that Derek had in his kitchen.

"Thanks. I try to keep up a certain standard now that most of my best buddies seem to be able to smell a butt from the next town over."

Scott grins that lopsided grin and shakes his head. "Very considerate of you, but this is different. You smell like… something new. And it's really good on you," he says, shifting his legs out from under Stiles' and sitting up to lean in more, which Stiles finds laughably unnecessary.

"And again I say thank you," Stiles says, scrubbing a hand over his face before directing his gaze up to the ceiling. "Especially since you're the only one who noticed."

If Scott catches the bitter edge to his voice, he doesn't call him on it. He just scoots a little closer, not even trying to hide the way his nostrils are flaring as he breathes in Stiles' scent.

Briefly, Stiles tries to imagine Derek doing something so blatant, and he finds that he can't. Maybe it's just the kind of heavy sniffing that can only be done between a werewolf and his best friend.

"Mmn," Scott murmurs appreciatively, resting his head against Stiles' shoulder like it was something they did all the time. It really wasn't, but Stiles wasn't complaining. "I bet I'm not the only one who noticed, just the only one who said anything. You smell… I don't know, delicious?"

Stiles splutters at that, but he takes the compliment as graciously as he can. "That's actually exactly what I was going for. Good, that's one angry letter I won't be writing to Unilever."

"What is it?" Scott asks, nosing into the crook of Stiles' neck. Which, wow, totally unnecessary and also kind of spine-tingly. Stiles starts to flush involuntarily. He also tilts his head to better expose his neck, and that may or may not have been voluntary. Who can say with these things?

Scott makes a noise that sounds halfway between a moan and a growl and nuzzles in happily, dragging his nose along Stiles' pulse point and up to his ear. "Seriously, I'm not trying to be weird or anything but you have to tell me what that is. It's like sniffing heaven."

Stiles pats the back of Scott's head, either to console him or keep him where he is, he's not sure which, and laughs into Scott's hair.

"It's soap, Scott. Soap. Now stop molesting my neck before someone gets the wrong idea."

Scott pulls back enough for Stiles to see the coy smile on his face.

"The only ones who have the wrong idea are the ones who haven't decided to do this," Scott says.

And then he leans in and presses his lips softly to Stiles', and Stiles melts into the kiss as he says a silent 'thank you' to soap and mostly oblivious alpha werewolves and-

"Wait!" Stiles interjects, detaching himself violently from Scott's lips, and Scott actually whimpers at the loss. "Are you only doing this so that I don't die?"

Scott laughs and brushes his lips over Stiles' cheek. "I'm doing this because you smell better than soap and you're my best friend and you drive me crazy. Now shut up and kiss me."

Stiles nods jerkily. "That's- yeah, let's do that."