The combination of steam and adrenaline made it difficult for Scott to breathe. The water had lost most of its heat, and the time he could spend in the shower with Stiles was running out. He pulled back, gently untangling Stiles's boneless arms from around his neck. Scott looked at his best friend through strands of his own wet hair that had fallen into his eyes. Stiles panted, still supporting his weight with the help of the shower's tiled wall.

"You okay?" Scott wasn't sure if that's what he was supposed to say, but nothing else came to mind. The thing about being in an enclosed space with someone else was that you had nowhere to hide. He looked down at the bottom of the tub, took a deep breath then raised his eyes to look at his best friend.

"No," Stiles said. He licked his lips and grinned. "I'm awesome. Getting cold, but awesome." With a sigh Stiles heaved himself away from the wall. "We should probably get out before the water turns cold enough to give us hypothermia."

Scott nodded. He turned back towards the nozzle of the shower and flipped it off. Cool hands ran up the length of his spine and into the back of his hair. The motion was so soothing he leaned forward and braced his weight with his arms against the wall.

"W-what are you doing?" Scott hated his stammer, when he was younger a lot of kids would tease him. Stiles never had, not even in jest.

"Just exploring. I kind of wanted to wash your hair, but we ran out of time." Stiles's fingers massaged the back of Scott's head then curled in the black strands. Scott pushed his head back into Stiles's hands.

"You wanted to wash my hair? That's weird." He couldn't deny that he loved the sensation. Stiles's fingers were magic, pulling tension from Scott's body with the simplest of touches. It somehow made him think that everything was going to be okay, that what they'd done wasn't going to ruin their friendship.

"Really? Of all the things we've done tonight, you think that's weird?" Stiles tugged lightly on Scott's hair. "I always keep my hair short, but yours is so much longer and thicker. I just wondered what it felt like."

Scott swallowed a lump forming in his throat. He straightened up, and Stiles seemed to take it as a sign that his touches were no longer welcome. Scott let out a small sigh. He turned in place, they stood looking at each other for a few moments, two sets of brown eyes regarding each other as if they weren't sure what the future held.

"Towels?" Scott reached over and pushed the shower curtain aside. Towels were the next logical step, though nothing about the night so far had followed anything resembling logic. He stepped over the edge of the tub onto the soft bathmat.

"Towels it is," Stiles said. There was something off about his voice, but Scott couldn't pick out what it was. Stiles stepped past quickly, pulled one of the towels off the rack attached to the wall. "Stay here a sec; I'll grab another one from the linen closet down the hall." He wrapped the towel around his waist, pushed the door open, and disappeared from the room.

Scott stood over the sink; let the water drip from his hair down into the basin. The heat in the room was dissipating, leaking out into the hall, had already weakened from the time they spent in the shower once it'd lost the greater portion of its heat. He was afraid to look at himself in the mirror, wasn't sure if he'd recognize the person looking back at him. His skin was pebbled with little bumps; he shifted his weight between his feet in the rapidly cooling air. He was so absorbed in thought that the towel Stiles tossed as he came back into the room hit him in the side of the head and fell to the bathroom floor.

"Ouch," Scott said on reflex. He shook his head, water sprayed from his hair like he was a dog shaking himself dry. He bent over to pick up the towel and quickly wrapped it around his waist. It was a relief to be covered up, which didn't make a lot of sense, but there was a difference between being naked with someone while you were being intimate and being naked with someone at any other time. Maybe Scott just wasn't comfortable enough in his own skin. There were guys on the lacrosse team who would hold conversations with each other bare ass naked and never seemed to think much of it.

"How do you do it?" Stiles came over and leaned on the sink next to Scott. He tilted his head to the side, tried to catch Scott's eyes.

Scott didn't have any idea what Stiles meant. He pushed wet strands of hair out of his eyes and looked everywhere but at his friend's face.

"What?"

"Manage to stay in such incredible shape despite having asthma. It's total crap that you're like ten times more ripped than I am. I've got no excuse for being so totally average." Stiles leaned over and started retrieving discarded pieces of clothing.

Scott watched Stiles move about the small room. There was nothing average about him. Sure he wasn't muscled like Jackson or Danny, but he was in good shape. The truth was Scott was kind of jealous that Stiles seemed to be able to eat anything he wanted, barely try during practice, and still not gain any weight. That was total crap.

"I work at it. Every day, I work and I keep my inhaler ready for any sort of emergency. You're lucky you don't have to put much effort into looking good, it just comes naturally." Scott blinked, snapped his mouth closed with an audible click.

Stiles dropped the underwear Scott had borrowed earlier, frozen in place for a few moments before leaning down to pick them up again. "You think I look good?" Color blossomed all across his face and neck, all the way to the tips of his ears.

Scott rubbed his fingers through the back of his hair and looked up at the wall. He was so stupid; talking about how he thought Stiles looked good. They may have traded handjobs or whatever, but it wasn't like that made it suddenly okay to talk about stuff like this. He shrugged, and then finally looked Stiles in the eyes.

"Yeah, man. You're good looking, or whatever. I've told you that before. I'm sure loads of people have," Scott said.

Stiles shook his head adamantly. "No way, dude. People tell me I'm annoying. People tell me I can't shut up. People even tell me that I should take more medication, but no one ever tells me I look good." He grinned, and then turned to walk out of the bathroom door, but he paused half way through. "It's kind of cool that someone in the world thinks I'm attractive."

Scott smiled. He was pretty sure Stiles just wasn't good at taking compliments. That was another one of the many things they had in common. He was glad that his complexion was so dark; otherwise Stiles probably would have been able to see him blushing when he'd said he was ripped. Scott hesitated for a couple of minutes, let his fingers trail over the wall on his way back to Stiles's room.

He turned the corner and his breath caught in his throat. Stiles was just finishing pulling on a pair of tight boxer briefs, the Superman ones, his favorite ones. Was it because they were what was on top? Was it because they were the ones Stiles maybe felt the most comfortable in? Or… or did he want to be ready in case he was called for action?

Stiles stood in front of his dresser, the underwear drawer Scott had rifled through looking for something suitable hanging open. Scott hadn't gotten off in the shower, and his body seemed ready for another round. He surreptitiously tried to adjust himself beneath the towel, but right at that moment Stiles turned to toss him a new pair of boxers. They hit Scott in the chest and fell to the floor. Stiles's eyes were locked onto Scott's crotch, his lower lip between his teeth.

Scott groaned, looked away from his friend in embarrassment. Being a teenager was bullshit. Stiles could obviously tell he was getting hard again, probably thought he was a complete horndog or something.

"S-sorry," Stiles mumbled. "I was so blown away by how good it was in the shower that I totally left you hanging. I'm a shitty friend."

Scott blinked rapidly, he shook his head. "No, it's cool. We were just getting even or whatever. You helped me out earlier when I was all twisted around. I returned the favor; it was a totally even trade."

"Was that all it was?" Stiles's voice was soft, so small that the room almost swallowed up the sound. "Just a favor? Nothing more?" He crossed his arms over his bare chest and stared at his toes.

Scott shifted nervously, crossed his arms over his own chest, unconsciously mimicking Stiles's position. He looked down, the underwear on the ground were the ones with the traffic sign and the warning about objects being larger than they appeared written on them. He swallowed with some difficulty, wondering if Stiles had picked them on purpose. So many things twisted through his head, through his stomach. Did Stiles think he was big? Small? Average? Should what Stiles thought of his junk matter? He was sure Stiles had seen it before, but it's not like they'd ever talked about each other's dicks.

He reached down and grabbed the boxers, turned away and slipped them on without letting the towel around his waist fall. They'd been undressed together countless times in their life, hell they'd just gotten each other off for the first time, but they'd never talked about anything like this. How was he supposed to answer Stiles's question when he didn't even know the answer himself? Was it just a favor, bros helping bros? He'd liked it, did that mean he was gay, or maybe bisexual? If he was one of those things would Stiles be okay with that? Would his mother? His stomach felt empty, like he hadn't eaten in days.

"I'm a little tired," he said. It was hard to think straight, maybe it was the alcohol still buzzing through his system. "The alcohol you know? My heads kinda spinning still."

There it was. He threw the alcohol into the conversation. It was a life raft that they could both use if they needed. They were drunk. You did stupid things when you were drunk, you made choices you wouldn't normally make. Maybe that's what all this was to Stiles, a choice he wouldn't normally make. Scott might not be the choice that Stiles would make.

Stiles laughed, high and tense like a piano cord about to snap. He nodded to himself a few times, eyes closing as his lips curled in. Earlier the room had been so hot, but now Scott felt cold. He wrapped the damp towel over his shoulders, pulling it around him to try to ward off the chill.

"Yeah, man." Stiles turned to close the window he'd opened earlier. He coughed into his hands, then clapped. "Yeah, I haven't been this wasted in such a long time. Crazy." He turned back to the dresser, crouching down and opening the bottom drawer. Without taking much time to consider he pulled two t-shirts out, tossed one to Scott, then pulled the other over his head.

Scott put the shirt on, unable to think about anything but how much it smelled like his friend. Before tonight he wasn't sure he'd ever thought about what Stiles smelled like. A pair of shorts followed the shirt, and without glancing over to see what Stiles was doing, Scott pulled those on too.

"I should, uh, I should clean up the floor," Stiles said. "Get a towel and stuff for the spilled soda and… stuff."

"We're good, right?"

"Totally," Stiles said, already darting past Scott and out into the hallway.

Scott nodded, pointlessly since he was alone. He walked in a daze around Stiles's bed to look at the mess they'd made on the floor. Whiskey, soda, and Scott's… well… yeah. He shook his head and turned away. He wasn't sure what he was feeling.

Had Stiles brushed everything away as the alcohol because that's what it was? Was it because he thought that's what Scott wanted? He'd never once felt uncomfortable in Stiles's room, but for the first time in his life he felt like maybe he didn't belong there.