"You know, you really have to stop doing that thing. That you do. With your face. Like you're—like you're doing right now, oh my god. Isaac. Stop it. Please."
It's not uncommon for Stiles to ramble on about Isaac's many infuriatingly unfair facial expressions, and sometimes he wonders if Isaac would rather him shut up, but then he does that thing – that thing that he just tried so desperately to describe, only managing to fail miserably.
Isaac was smiling. It was nothing like he had been earlier that year; he didn't look like he was about to murder someone, and it was nice. Mostly because he didn't have to wonder if he was about to get his throat slashed by Isaac's claws. But it was nice, because the werewolf's smile was something he'd never get tired of seeing, never get used to seeing. And it was nice, to see that he was happy; but maybe, just maybe, it was nicer to know it was because of him.
"I still don't know how you put up with my rambling. I'm like a stupid-word-blurting-machine. I don't know how anyone puts up with my rambling, actually. Come to think of it, I'm not sure even I can stand my rambling. W—" He's interrupted by Isaac's lips on his, and feels the other smiling into the kiss. It's slow and lazy, just like the afternoon that's slipping by as they lay in Stiles' bed, blanket tossed aside and limbs tangled together in a mess of something that Stiles has missed.
When Isaac pulls away, he's smiling again, and Stiles rolls his eyes at him, pretending to be annoyed. But really, he's just overwhelmed by how adorable and yet unbearably attractive (in a 'I want to rip your pants off' way) Isaac is. The werewolf nuzzles into his neck, snuggling into Stiles' chest, and Stiles' tugs him closer with a content sigh. "You smell like maple syrup." The statement makes Stiles raise a brow, amused, and he runs one of his hands through Isaac's curls – those stupid, perfect curls.
"Yeah? Well maybe if you hadn't smothered me in it this morning while I was trying to eat my pancakes in peace, I wouldn't smell like it." And Isaac laughs at that, because it's true, but also because it's just so perfectly Stiles. "Didn't you like getting cleaned up though?" He chuckles, right against Stiles' neck, and it makes the human shiver – because something like that shouldn't feel so damn good, so freaking satisfying.
"Do you even have to freaking ask? Oh my god, actually, I have to ask, is your tongue magic? Of course it is, you were crafted by the gods, forget I asked." Isaac chuckles again, low and happy, and Stiles sighs, burying his nose into the werewolf's golden curls, because he smells like mint and strawberries and outside, and it's the most amazing smell ever. He wonders, briefly, what it'd be like to smell it with a werewolf's nose. But he forgets again when Isaac is speaking, lips brushing every once and a while against his neck, making it so that he has to use every ounce of willpower in him not to moan.
"I really like it when you talk." Stiles knows; knows because Isaac has said it so much, and is intent on repeating it, even if Stiles says 'I know' every single time. So this time he says something different, in hopes that maybe Isaac will laugh, or do that thing where he gets all confused, and looks so much like a puppy that it physically hurts Stiles to look at him, and then breaks out into the most dazzling smile imaginable.
"I really like you." And Stiles hums, quiet and content, into Isaac's curls. His voice had been barely a whisper, but Isaac heard, and he was pulling away from where he had settled against Stiles, just far enough so he could look the other teen in the eyes. "Yeah?" And Stiles was right. Isaac did look so much like a puppy that it hurt. But it was odd; he'd never seen this look on Isaac before. Like he was so startled he might just die, and Stiles regrets having said anything at all.
Until, of course, Isaac is kissing him again, not like before. This time it's so much more meaningful, like Stiles had just hung the moon, and perhaps a few stars. When they pulled away to breathe, neither of them really knew what to say, what to do. Isaac opened his mouth, was going to say something; didn't. Stiles eyed him carefully, rubbing his thumb over a sensitive spot on Isaac's shoulder (the one Stiles sometimes bites down on when Isaac makes him cum) in a soothing fashion, and Isaac flashed a nervous smile.
Stiles almost didn't see it, but he did; was Isaac blushing? He was going to ask but Isaac's face was hidden again, buried in Stiles' neck, and he opened his mouth, to say something, and this time he did. "I love you." His voice is weak when he says it the first time, so he says it again, to make Stiles heard it loud and clear, and it's as if he's tasting the words, feeling them out, and how it is to say them. "I love you."
Stiles is silent for a while, as Isaac lays perfectly still in his arms, face red and eyes closed, as if he'd just done the most embarrassing thing in the world. He almost wants to take it back, but then Stiles is speaking. It's muffled, some of the sound swallowed by Isaac's curls, but the werewolf still hears it, and he thinks his heart might stop. "I love you too, Isaac."