Stiles relaxed his body, his back resting on the wall of his room. A trickle of cum dripped from his mouth, dripping to mix with his own sperm on his chest. Scott's deflating dick fell out of his mouth, smacking the boy's tanned thighs. He backed up and sat on the floor in front of his friend, watching him let his heartbeat slow to normal after their usual fucking session. Scott wiped some sweat from his brow, lying down on the floor, his head resting on the pile of clothes that the boys had been wearing previously. A smiled played at his crooked jaw, his plump lips expressing satisfaction.
Scott had been returning to his best friend's house after every training session to get release. Over the weeks, they'd gotten a bit more adventurous, moving from jacking each other off to blow jobs. At first, they'd started by 69ing. Stiles flipped around while they were giving each other pleasure, wrapping his lips around Scott's long member. The tanned boy took the hint, doing the same to his friend. He was surprised and aroused by Stiles' boldness, and assumed he was trying to take their sexcapades to a new, more pleasing level. After a few sessions of this, the pale boy seemed to forget about getting his own cock serviced. He began to go down on Scott, and his friend would need to remind him that he couldn't reach his cock. Once, Scott decided to let the pale boy service him without getting reciprocation. He assumed that afterward, he'd ask Scott to do the same to him, taking turns. However, when Scott blew his load down the boy's throat, Stiles simply got dressed again. Scott decided not to say anything about it. Recently, the boy had begun to jack off while he gave oral pleasure to his friend. Finally, Scott made the decision to address the issue on his mind.
"So, Stiles, uh, what gives?" he said, tossing a towel to the pale boy.
Stiles wiped the jizz from his face and chest. They'd gotten better at keeping it off of the rest of the room, since it was hard to clean and harder to explain to Mr. Stilinski. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you know how we're just…having fun? You know, getting off? Except, lately you're getting me and yourself off. So what gives?" Scott said awkwardly, putting on his clothes to keep his eyes off of the boy.
Stiles' face and chest immediately turned red. He'd been slowly pushing the limits of Scott's sexual adventurousness, trying to get as much affection from the boy as he felt for him. He wanted it to feel less like a deal between friends and more like a relationship, and he hoped pushing the boundaries of Scott's comfort zone might push him into realizing that they were meant to be together. It hurt the boy to hear his friend refer to their sex as a "deal", but he put on a brave face, accepting that he may get hurt in his pursuit of the only thing he'd ever wanted in his life. "I dunno," he said coolly, trying to figure out the best way to approach the issue. "I just kind of like it better that way."
"So, are you, like, gay then?" Scott asked.
Stiles' stomach dropped at the word. He wasn't trying to come out, he was trying to confess his love. Saying that he was gay implied that he liked men, but Stiles felt like he wasn't remotely interested in anyone but Scott McCall. "I mean, yeah, I guess," he said.
"Alright, that's cool, but I'm not sure if we should be doing…this anymore. I mean, if it's more than just helping out a friend to you," Scott said, still putting on his clothes to avoid eye contact. He didn't want to do this, cutting off his friend, but he was scared.
Stiles felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He steeled himself, reminding himself that he'd prepared for this. "Is it? Is it really just me helping out a friend? Are you really just trying to get off?" he asked, hoping that probing his lover would make him realize that it was more than just sex.
"Yes, Stiles, it's just me trying to get off after training. You're just a substitute for Derek," Scott said, lashing out. He immediately felt empty after saying it, wishing he could turn back time, and take back the words. He'd only lashed out because he was afraid that Stiles was right.
Stiles' entire body felt hollow, and he felt tears suddenly pushing against his eyes. He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to recover without letting Scott know how much he cared for him. He was afraid to let the boy know, because he was afraid of rejection. Now that he'd been rejected by the one person he'd ever love, he'd faced the worst possible scenario. He just had to hold it together in front of Scott. "Oh," he said, his voice shaking. He didn't dare say anything more, for fear of his voice betraying the deep hurt within him.
Scott finally looked up, and saw the pain in his best friend's face. Stiles wasn't looking at him, but Scott immediately regretted saying anything. He suddenly wished that he hadn't said anything. He wished that he wasn't so scared, and could've just worked up the courage to sort through his feelings. A number of thoughts clouded his head all at once, many of which were about guilt and remorse. "Listen, Stiles, I-" Scott didn't know how to finish. He knew he couldn't just take it back, and he was still too scared to consider the possibility that Stiles was right.
"Whatever, Scott. I get it," Stiles said, wiping his eyes and forcing a smile. He stood up, clothing himself. "I'm not what you want. It's no big deal, really. I understand."
Scott couldn't manage to bring himself to his feet. He had no idea of how to remedy the situation that he'd created for himself. "You're still my best friend," Scott choked, trying not to cry himself. He didn't want to stop being friends with Stiles. They'd been best friends for years; since before Scott could even remember. He also enjoyed having sex with him. His mind continued to cloud, with too many thoughts attacking his brain at once, confusing him.
The admission that Scott still viewed him as a friend cut Stiles even deeper. It hurt to know that he was close to Scott, but not close enough. It was like being given a taste of perfection, without being able to fully experience it. He didn't know why he felt so deeply about this, but he knew that he was facing a difficult situation, and he was sure that his next move would affect the rest of his life. Paralyzed by fear and indecision, he was silent.
Scott stood, and drifted closer to the open window, waiting for Stiles to say something. Inside, Scott wanted the boy to admit that he loved him. He wanted to admit that he loved Stiles. But he didn't know if he loved Stiles. Maybe it was just because they were such good friends. He stood in silence for a few solid minutes, and then leapt from the window, almost wishing that he were normal so that he could crash to the earth and have his broken body reflect his insides. He landed gracefully on the grass.
"It felt different with you," Stiles whispered in his room, knowing Scott's sensitive ears would be able to hear him. "I'm pretty sure you felt more with me than Derek, and you know it. Coward."
Stiles moved next to his open window, looking out at his lawn bathed in red sunset. He wished that Scott would crawl back up to his window, romantically wrapping the pale boy in his arms and kissing him, like in a movie. His mind moved through romantic scenarios, and he began to cry, realizing they'd never be real.
He took a deep breath, calming himself. Moving over and sitting at his desk, he stared down at the patterns on the wood. Aware that he could potentially make or break the rest of his relationship with Scott, Stiles began going through possibilities in his head. He wanted to decide the best course of action. He imagined himself ignoring Scott for the rest of his years coming into contact with the boy. The thought hurt, but he wondered if it may be for the best. He thought of Scott avoiding him, which hurt more. He felt guilty for calling Scott a coward. Did Scott actually love him? He felt sure a few minutes ago, but now he considered the possibility that the boy did not. More thoughts swarmed his brain, making his head feel heavy. He needed to concentrate on what to do next.
The boy looked over, noticing the bottle of Adderall on the corner of his desk. He tried to remember the last time he'd taken it. Regardless, he decided to self-medicate, taking a few of the orange pills out of the bottle, and downing them with a swig of Red Bull. Maybe now, he could concentrate on fixing his life. Feeling a bit dizzy, Stiles stood up from the desk. In doing so, his arm knocked over the bottle of pills, scattering the capsules across his desk. His eyes had trouble focusing. Were the pills always red? He could've sworn they'd been orange every other time he'd taken them. He swaggered across his room, opening his mouth to call for his Dad. He remembered in his haze that his father was on duty. Limping drunkenly over to his bed, Stiles tried to lie down. He tried to fall onto his bed, but collapsed on the floor before he could make it. He knew he needed help, unsure of what was going on. "Help," he whispered weakly. As the darkness closed in around him, his mind immediately went to the one person that could always help him when he needed. "Please, Scott, help me."
