Scott didn't think he'd been asleep for very long when he felt the bed shift. He went from sleep addled to hyper alert in the span of seconds, his brain getting a little bit of whiplash in the process. Cold feet kicked against the side of his leg. He desperately wanted to know how Stiles could possibly have cold feet considering they were under the blankets together. Scott felt like he was on fire, forehead beading with sweat even though the air felt cool on his cheek.

The bed shifted again, dipped a bit behind him. It caused him to involuntarily rock backwards a little, and he went rigid when his back brushed against Stiles's side, or maybe Stiles's back. He couldn't tell. Nervous energy washed over him. Was Stiles awake? Did he think it was weird that they were touching? Did he touch Scott on purpose? Scott didn't know if he should act like he was asleep, stay where he was, or try to shift and adjust away so that they weren't in contact. At some point he'd stopped breathing. He took a single too quick breath, realized it wasn't enough and took another. In his mind he was like panting or breathing obnoxiously loud. He'd never been so aware of the process when he wasn't in the throes of an asthma attack.

Scott's head was spinning, not from lack of oxygen but because he was hyper aware of everything his body was doing and trying to decide what it meant. He opened his mouth wider, tried to take a larger but quieter series of breaths. The bed shifted. Stiles made some small noise that wasn't quite a word, but also not like a traditional snore. Scott wanted to figure out if Stiles was talking in his sleep, but he could barely hear anything over the ragged echoing of his own breathing in his ears.

Stiles twisted in the bed and took some of the blankets with him. Scott's feet came out from under the covers and he immediately pulled them back away from the slightly chilly air in the room. The backs of his feet bumped one of Stiles's ankles. The bed shifted more, and Stiles rolled back towards Scott instead of away. One of Stiles's arms came out from under the blankets, clipping Scott's shirt in the process and pulling it up his back more.

Scott froze in place, all his nerves wound up tight. He wasn't sure if it was okay for him to move. Stiles clearly wasn't burdened with the same concerns as he thrashed about back and forth. Was he dreaming of drowning? Dancing? Scott had seen Stiles dance and it sort of looked like he was drowning so maybe he was dreaming about both. Stiles shifted again, moving close enough that Scott could feel Stiles's breath on the back of his hair. Stiles's breathing was deep, even, and consistent. All things that Scott wanted his own lungs to be working towards, but once again he'd ended up on the short end of the… well of the lung stick.

God he was stupid. Or crazy. Or maybe both. Or maybe Stiles was driving him crazy. Because of the dip in the bed and how Stiles was laying gravity was implying strongly that Scott was going to roll off his side backwards a little more. He had a death grip on the blankets, and that wasn't really helping because the more Stiles had moved back and forth the more it had forced Scott's position to shift.

He couldn't remember a single moment in his life that he'd been so completely conscious of his body, of how he was positioned in a bed, of how he should be moving or not moving. This wasn't the first time he'd shared a bed with someone… except that it sort of was, and that's probably why all the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end, and goosebumps rippled along his arms. That, and the fact that Stiles was stillbreathing steadily into the back of Scott's hair.

The warm puffs of air were not going unnoticed by Scott's dick either, which frankly was the last thing he needed. Stiles shifted again, pulling his arm back under the blanket probably unconsciously looking for warmth. The arm, and more specifically the icy hand found that heat in the expanse of Scott's back that had been exposed. Scott pressed his lips together tightly to keep from making any noise as Stiles pushed his hand between Scott's side and the bed, burrowing for warmth.

Scott didn't really like that, his dick didn't like it either, but it hadn't really given up being interested in the overall situation. It seemed less confused than Scott's brain did, probably because even though his dick and brain were both competing for blood, his dick seemed to be winning. Did your blood go into your brain? He couldn't remember, he could barely think. Blood went to all your tissues right and your brain was tissue? His dick and his brain could really be in competition for the greater portion of his blood.

Stiles shifted his head, moving it forward slightly, probably seeking a cooler section of pillow and it brought his nose barely into contact with Scott's hair at the base of his neck. Scott's dick went from front runner to uncontested winner of the blood competition. It twitched, stretching against the fabric of his boxers, of Stiles's boxers actually. Was that weird? That he was wearing Stiles's underwear? Would it have been weird yesterday? Last week?

He could not get his thoughts under control, he was in a tailspin. Slowly, inch by painfully slow inch he tried to move one of his hands down to where he could adjust himself. He needed just a little pressure, a shift in position, something to take the edge off. He didn't want to wake Stiles up though. What would he do if Stiles woke up and found Scott touching himself in Stiles's bed, while wearing Stiles's underwear? They had just… you know done things for the first time. But the circumstances were complicated.

Finally, after what felt like hours he managed to get his hand down to his dick without significantly shifting the bed or blankets. He pushed himself into a better position and then just gripped himself tightly through the fabric of his, of Stiles's, underwear. He wasn't going to jerk off on Stiles's bed, especially with Stiles not only in the same bed, but breathing down Scott's spine. He just needed some pressure for a few moments so that his junk wasn't just flailing about on its own. As if to put the lie to his words his dick twitched against his grip.

Stiles made another not word, not snore noise and the sound of it reverberated right though Scott's neck, then down into his back, and continued all the way to his stomach. He froze again, well most of him froze. Some of him was not interested in being frozen at all.

"Shit, shit, shit," he whispered. He scrunched his eyes closed, tried to focus on his breathing, but his breathing had always been the most unreliable of his body's processes. If Stiles was awake and fucking with him Scott was going to be whatever came after very pissed off. Enraged? Did you need to be raged, or full of rage before you became enraged? Did one become enraged but not stay enraged, was the 'en' the act of becoming? What the hell was his brain doing? English was not his best subject.

Despite his brain being sidetracked his junk had definitely not gotten sidetracked. It was tracked. On track? It was definitely raged, or something. He let go of himself, pulled his hand minutely away, then further when once again his dick twitched forward pressing against his underwear hard enough he felt the waistband momentarily pull slightly away from his stomach.

Dicks were stupid. They were just out there. Like when they were interested they were just like, boom, here I am. Actually, sometimes when they weren't even interested they were like that. Like when you climbed out of a pool and your trunks were plastered against your skin they were basically just like, 'oh, hey, dude. I'm Scott's dick. What's happening? Nothing to me? Cool just let me know if you want to get into something, bruh.'

Fuck.

Scott's breathing was still too loud in his own ears, his nerves lit up, dick restless, brain basically worthless. He'd never been so uncomfortable in his life. He needed to do something to move to—

Stiles shifted again, this time moving his hips forward slightly and Scott felt the hard length of Stiles's cock brush against his tailbone. He completely froze. Stiles shifted again, grinding a little harder into Scott's back, then there was an abrupt movement as Stiles rolled away quickly and with enough force that Scott heard the impact of Stiles's back as it hit the wall his bed was pressed up against. For just a moment Scott almost laughed at the idea of what would have happened had he taken the side of the bed against the wall rather than the one closer to the window.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Stiles muttered quietly, it was barely audible over the sound of blood rushing in Scott's ears.

When Stiles rolled he ripped the blankets away with him, being far more tangled up than Scott had been. Scott had never felt so exposed, shirt pulled halfway up his back. Stiles probably staring, trying to make him out in the darkness of the room. He trembled a bit.

"Scott are you awake?" Stiles whispered.

Scott didn't respond. He was still on his side, turned away from Stiles but he was rock hard, and one of his hands was tucked down by his groin, his legs drawn up slightly towards his chest.

"Please be awake," Stiles said a tiny bit louder. "I need you to be awake, because if you aren't breathing, and you aren't awake, I think we have a major problem."

"I'm awake," Scott said. "I'm definitely awake."