Ah, the morning after. Let's see how Stiles and Sam cope with their dirty deed.

PART DOS

"Phone…Stiles, your phone!" I grumbled, rolling onto my side to face him. The bare chested youth moaned, sleep caking his voice. "Huh…?"

"Your phone." Growling, I shoved his shoulder. He gasped, flailing as he sprung upright. Snatching his phone off the bedside table, he flipped it open. "He-hello? Scott? Whoa, dude, slow down. Wait, what? Hold tight. I'll be there soon." Stiles snapped the cell shut and stood. He tugged on a pair of jeans. Through half lidded eyes I watched the denim slide up his pale body, covering his sculpted backside. "Um, Scott's in some trouble. I have to get him."

"Is he okay?" I yawned, propping up on my elbows.

"No, no, no," Stiles knelt on the bed. "Stay, please. Go back to sleep. I should be back soon."

"And when Sheriff Stilinsky finds a naked girl in your bed?"

He blushed darting off the mattress. He stalled then yanked a flannel button down off the back of his desk chair. He passed it to me. "It's clean…I think."

A giggle escaped me, my eyes playfully rolling. As I shrugged it on I couldn't help but notice the way his eyes followed the natural bounce of my breasts. The shirt was softer than I would've thought. It fell on my shoulders, leaving the valley between my breasts exposed. Stiles continued to peer down at me, lust disguisable in his eyes. Slowly, he lowered his mouth to mine. "Go back to sleep," he murmured.

A soft sound of agreement fizzled passed my lips. I fell back on to the pillows and pulled the thick, navy comforter around me. My gazed trailed after him as he disappeared through the bedroom door. Alone, I observed his room. I noticed that the space was clean for a teenage boy. It smelled like him, that sweet, homey vanilla scent. I buried my face in the comforter, fisting the ends of the flannel sleeves in my delicate fingers. I slept with Stiles. I slept with Stiles. And it was magnificent. As memories over routed my brain a furious crimson blush flames my skin. Tingles swept my body. At the mere thought of last night my body began to stir. "Holy shit."

Calming myself, I snuggled deeper into his bed and returned to a dreamless slumber. I awoke a little over an hour later to the sound of a stammering Stiles. "I-I know. I'm proud of me too…again. Yeah, o-okay. See ya, b-bud." Shutting the door, the flustered boy closed his eyes and slumped.

"Rough day?"

"Jesus Christ," he jumped. I laughed, "Sorry."

"Hey," Stiles spoke. His face was serene but worry laced his honey brown eyes. I sat up, "Is Scott okay?"

The youth sighed. He ran a hand over his close-shaven head. "For now, yes."

"Running from the police…strange phone calls….careful, Stiles, someone might think you were up to something."

He chuckled dryly. "You have no idea."

Stiles took me home roughly thirty minutes later. Exchanging goodbyes was slightly awkward. Neither one of us knew exactly what to say. Before I could slip out of the Jeep Stilinsky captured my chin in a gentle grasp and grazed my lips sweetly. "See ya, Sam."

It was a bold move for the usually shy guy. I graced him with a small smile. "Later, Stiles." With butterflies in my stomach I walked away.

I didn't see my mysterious friend again until a week after our one-night-stand. I was at my locker digging for the Econ notes I'd misplaced when the familiar squeak of ratty Converse his my ears. Stiles halted beside me, leaning against the row of metal containers.

"Hey, Stiles," I fought a blush. Groaning, I abandoned all hope of finding the lost notes and swung my locker shut, spinning the dial once more.

"I'm freaking out," he proclaimed with wide eyes. I cradled my books waiting for him to elaborate. When it became apparent he had no plans to do so I smirked, "Alright, I'll bite. Why are you freaking out?"

"When you flirt with a girl there is protocol. When you date a girl there is protocol. But when you-" He motioned between us. "-do what we did there is no protocol. At least none that doesn't end with me looking like a complete tool."

"Stiles," I chuckled. He continued before I could, speaking hastily and using wild hand gestures, "I didn't know whether to call or-or text or whether or not I should just leave you alone. I-I don't know. Do I leave you alone? Do I-"

"Stiles!" I pressed two fingers to his plump lips. His words fell, a cute but frustrated expression dawning his boyish features. "As usual, you need to relax. Are you always so…so…"

"Strung out? Energetic?" he suggested. I nodded. He smirked, "Yeah. I blame the Adderall."

"I don't really think there is any proper etiquette to follow in our situation. So, rest easy, you don't owe me anything," I shrugged as we strutted off towards my third period. "Unless, you know, you're interested in something more."

"More?" he squeaked.

Grinning coyly, I teased, "I'm very flexible, Stiles."

"Oh, I remember." A huge, wolfish grin spread his mouth. With a roll of my eyes, I stopped. We'd reached my classroom. I hugged my books tighter, my arm growing tired, and gave a lazy shrug. "Things like this happen, Stiles."

"Not to me they don't."

I wanted to kiss him them, push aside his self-doubts but at the risk of making him uncomfortable or pushing him away I resisted. He peered at me for a moment and the warning bell rand. Glancing down the hallway, which was rapidly clearing, Stiles sighed. "I need to get to class now, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm flattered. Maybe if you're still freaking out later we'll grab a coffee or something. Actually, you don't need coffee – too much caffeine. Perhaps lunch one day."

"Deal," he grinned.

I waved bye and entered the class.

Despite our plans to meet up Stiles and I haven't spoken in days. Every time we tried to make plans one of us fell through. I had swim practice. He had detention. I had a project. He had plans with Scott. And so on it goes.

"Have you talking to Stiles, yet?" my best friend Olivia asked. Tearing my gaze from the mirror I shot her a frown. "No."

"He's going to the dance, isn't he? Talk to him there."

I perked up, "He is?"

"Yep," she popped her p. "I heard he's taking Lydia."

My perk up vanished as hastily as it came. "Lydia? Lydia-Lydia? 'My brains are in my Botox' Lydia?"

Livy snorted, pinning on a false eyelash. "Those rumors are not true. Lydia has never had Botox. Plus, she's actually really smart. Book smart, as least. I used to copy off her in British Lit. Too bad she lacks general common sense."

I sighed. "Great. Gorgeous, rich, and now she's smart. Fuckin' super."

Damien and Taylor, our dates, arrived promptly at seven-thirty. The boys looked stunning in their tuxes. Damien caught Olivia as she flung herself at him, squeeing loudly. "Ravishing," he whispered, kissing his girlfriend's temple. My date, who was also my best guy friend, curled his lip in repugnance, "They're disgusting."

"I hate to say it, love," I hugged him. "But you only think that because you're gay."

"Gay or straight no two people should ever be that lovey-dovey. Where's the passion? Where's raw, unimaginable lust?" Coiling an arm around my waist, he stared at them in a tragic wonder. Finally, he snapped, "C'mon, love birds, we got a dance to get to."

Beacon Hills High, like all public schools, sucks. However, I'll give them two things. One – they serve damn good friend chicken. Two – when they throw a dance, they throw a dance.

The gym was decked to the nines. Decorated beautifully with dozens of twinkle lights strung over the dance floor, the room was packed with teenagers. Strobe lights gave the room an edgy feel that went perfectly with the pulsating pop music the live band was producing. One foot in the door and the boys drug us to the dance space.

The evening passed in a blissful blur and soon Damien was tapping Taylor on the shoulder.

"Time to roll."

"We're leaving?" My brow creased.

"Damien got the idea to ditch formal an hour early and go play some black-light bowling."

"Fun," I beamed. "Let me get my shoes."

We gathered our belongings and headed out. Bursting through the gym doors I stopped as a white and black blur caught my eyes. Peering over Taylor's broad shoulders, I dropped my date's arm, "Hang on." Detaching from the group I waltzed over to Stiles. "Hey, you."

"Sam," he gave a delicate nos. His eyes danced over my body, resting on the slits in my dress near my navel that showed off some skin. The corners of his lips shifted upward. "You look stunning, as usual."

"Thank you." I tugged at his tie. "You don't look too bad yourself. This is definitely a good look for you. Very James Bond." We shared a laugh and I glanced around. "Where's Lydia?"

He rose an immaculately arched brow. "Keeping tabs on me now?"

"Olivia," I stated simply.

"Right. She knows everything."

"That she does."

Stiles stuffed his hands in the pockets of his tuxedo pants. His watch glinted off the florescent lights and he sighed. "Lydia is off somewhere, running after Jackson."

"I thought they broke up."

"They did."

Pity swelled within me. Stiles looked so forlorn, the pout on his pretty face absolutely heart breaking. I expressed my sympathies. He casually rolled his shoulders, a bitter smile gracing his lips, "It's all good."

"No, it's not," I seized his hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze. "Do you want to get out of here?" His eyebrows hit the ceiling. I slapped him playfully. "Not for that. Some friends and I are going bowling. Tonight they're turning on the black lights. Consider this your invitation."

"While I appreciate the offer I have to get Lydia home," he mumbled. I sent him a hopeful look, "Are you sure? It's gonna be a blast. Livy and I are God awful bowlers; it's sure to be a riot."

"Yeah…thanks, though."

"Well, alright." I gather my dress, making sure I didn't step on the train. Sliding up to him, I pressed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Cold fingers grazed my back. Apparently a little peck wasn't enough for Stiles. Lush lips covered mine. The dress forgotten, my fingers grasped his shirt. I was losing myself in his kiss. He tasted like cheap punch. I licked every crevice of his mouth, lapping up the corn syrupy taste. We stumbled backwards until I collided with the metal lockers. Gasping, I arched forward in pain.

"I'm sorry, sorry," he winced.

"It's okay," I pulled him back to me, my fingers cupping the back of his neck. Our mouths melded beautifully, his strong hands rubbing my sides sensually. I felt my body burn as I recalled the chiseled perfection of Stiles' naked body.

"Sam…" Stiles nipped my bottom lip. "Your friends are watching."

Sure enough, he was right. Just down the hall my creeper friends stood, mouths agape, staring. Blushing fiercely, I relaxed my strong-hold on him and allowed my hands to slide down over his firm pecks to rest on his flat stomach, just above his happy trail. I bit my lip. "I guess I need to go."

"And I should probably find Lydia."

I pecked his lips, sent him a smile. "You know, we've got to stop meeting like this, Stiles," I joked before spinning in my heels and trudging away. "Don't speak. I mean it, not a word," I demanded of my friends as I reached the group. Silently laughing, they exchanged grins and followed me out to the car.

The first chapter seemed to get a pretty warm welcome. Let's see if chapter two can do the same. Thank you so much to everyone reading and especially to Crazyluver08, wizard101, and Spenceer for their lovely reviews. You people rock my penguin socks.