So, what is the special couple name for scottxstiles?

Sciles?

Disclaimer: as seen in chapter one.

Edit: 08/22/2014: Stilinsky-Stilinski

Last time:

"That's another reason you need to stay out of this for now. I am not going to expose them," Hale denied, his eyes brightening to an electric blue and his teeth lengthening in a way I'd never seen due to his usually tight control, "I'm going to tear them into dripping pieces and set them on fire."

Hale won his argument in some obscure machismo way from the good old days of wolf packs that I could see involved a lot of chest puffing and shoulder rolling and a great deal of looming over one another with teeth exposed. At some unspoken signal, Scott's eyes had dropped from Hale's and he'd stepped back to my side sullenly as Hale let himself deflate with a triumphant hiss of air I imagined I could hear.

Then Hale had left. Wordlessly, soundlessly, though he'd ruffled Scott's hair on his way out the door.

"We should get out of here, too," I nudged Scott, "Unless you want to explain to your boss what you're doing here on a day off."

He paused before he answered, and pivoted so as to be face-to-face with me. "I guess so," he conceded. There was a breath hanging between us for a moment as our eyes reflected in one another before his arms latched about my waist and back, pitching me forward. I readjusted my balance, bringing my hands up his back to his shoulders as he pressed me more firmly against him and brought his nose to my neck with a sigh. A tilt of the head had me leaning on him as much as he leaned into the crook of my neck and real relief swept from my heart outward.

A slightly irrelevant thought occurred to me. "Why do you like my neck so much?" I murmured, less edgy from even the small amount of time spent so far in the hug.

Scott had me beat, however, the only muscles un-melted in his body were those holding me close to him, and he nuzzled my neck again, warm breath a stark difference from the cool air of the vet, before he replied muzzily, "I feel safe here," and pressed a lingering kiss just below my jaw line.

There wasn't a ready-made response to that, and though warmth bloomed in my chest, I couldn't help but feel uneasy. "I'm not exactly great protection," the human warned the werewolf.

His laugh almost tickled and irked me at the same time. I was being serious here, dammit! "I don't mean you'll physically jump in front of a charging hunter, Stiles. I feel like I can trust you. With anything. I do trust you with anything."

A throat cleared from the doorway and we jumped away from one another in shock, excuses bubbling to our lips as we expected to see the veterinarian. Instead, Hale cleared his throat with a slight smirk and leaned more heavily on the doorjamb, "I just wanted to say that you should take extra precaution to stay near Stiles for the full moon tomorrow night, but somehow, I don't think that'll be an issue." Scott's cheeks bloomed rose red and he murmured his assent. "This explains why you finally left the little Hunter, I suppose," He grinned toothily, disappearing from sight before either of us could muster up a response worth saying.

"Agh," I leaned against the metal operating table with only the slightest of tremors, "Paint me red and dip me in embarrassment."

Scott looked how I felt and he shrugged awkwardly, "I planned to tell him at some point, I guess."

I smirked half-heartedly, gathering my own resolve back into myself from the spike of adrenaline that had pushed it out, "But not like that, right?"

"No," Scott grinned, "I'd thought we should make out on his front lawn some early morning, actually." I laughed in surprise, my eyes widening, and Scott continued, more seriously, "But we should probably get out of here before my boss comes in."

"Yeah."

-x-

"Stiles!"

"Ms. McCall!"

"Scott!" Scott piped in from the doorway, obviously feeling left out of the name-shouting.

"Why did Stiles just tumble through the window?" Mrs. McCall exclaimed, still holding the baseball bat high.

"The front door was locked," Scott and I chimed in simultaneous reply. Instantly, we turned to grin at one another for the similar train of thought, throwing in a high five and ignoring Ms. McCall's incredulous lowering of the bat.

"It's only six in the afternoon," she began slowly, as if trying to sort out her own thoughts as she spoke, "You could have knocked."

"Well, I didn't want to disrupt your evening activities," I explained graciously, but she was already heading out the door, shaking her head and muttering to herself. The door was shut behind her by the sheer force of Scott's sudden impatience.

"So," He began, catching me by the waist, an arm sliding between my backpack and me, "We've got all night together…"

"Part of which you will be mentally almost an animal for, so no."

"No?"

I slid a hand up his nice, firm chest, and smiled beatifically, seeing the hope rise in his eyes, "Depends how human you stay. On the full moon." I turned from his deflating hopes and dumped my heavy backpack on his floor, unzipping the main compartment and unloading chains, handcuffs, and a protein bar. Because I didn't expect to sleep much that night, you see. I couldn't let werewolf-Scott rampage the countryside just because my effect on him was dulled.

"Chains? Kinky," Scott grinned cheekily and held his arms out for binding, totally recovered from the previous rejection.

"The chains are not for you," I admonished, holding up the other restraint, "Just the handcuffs."

He took half in hand and slowly kissed the metal curve of the afore-mentioned restraining device, not once taking his mischievous eyes from mine, "Fun." I was planning to handcuff him to the bed (get-your-mind-out-of-the-gutter-now) so he could potentially sleep or at least be less uncomfortable than he would in other positions and chain the door shut. Good thing I'd hyper-Google'd different ways to keep a door shut though, since that idea was dead was dead in the water when I remembered the lack of objects affixed to the wall or floor to help me out with that. Although, really I just ended up recruiting Scott to help me move his bookcase in front of the door (it opened inward) as quietly as werewolf-ish-ly possible. I was panting when it was done, even if Scott wasn't, so I knew the damn thing was heavy.

"You do see the flaw in having me help move the thing meant to barricade me in the room, right?" Scott pointed out, ignoring my breathless wave of dismissal, "I could just as easily move it back."

"More for my… State of mind… Than practicality. At least…It'll keep your mom out," I explained, beginning to catch my breath, "How many books have you got in that thing?"

"…All the ones my dad owned."

I'd caught my breath by then but that sealed it in my body. I knew he hadn't been on the best of terms with his dad before his mom kicked the no-good bastard out, but losing the chance to have a dad… Well, maybe it hurt as much as losing my mother had. And still did. My hand settled on his cheek of its own volition and he leaned into the touch, eyes closing and nostrils flaring once as he took in my scent. Heart gaining another hairline crack, I moved my thumb over his cheekbone and pulled away.

His trusting, dark eyes looked at me with a question in them.

I held up the handcuffs, "Safety first."

Those pretty eyes rolled.

"Get on the bed."

"Yes, sir!"

At first, he was his usual self, if slightly more whiny. He just lay in the bed and complained that I was too far away (sitting on his headboard guarding the window), that the room was too warm, that this was all just overkill, that he'd be fine unrestrained, and on and on and on.

I shared an exasperated glance with my fellow guard, the bookcase.

The moment the moon hit the sky, outside the room got brighter, but Scott fell the opposite direction. "Come on," he'd purr, "Let me go, Stiles... Let me out." I'd refuse and for a few moments he'd rage, fighting the handcuffs and flailing violently on the bed to the point I couldn't get near him, hissing obscenities in my direction. His eyes would glow yellow, then, as his hands flexed with nasty black claws and his jaw filled uncomfortably with sharp teeth. However, I'd always get a hand on some bare plane of skin, and then Scott's head would clear.

That was worse.

"It's just the moon, you know that, right?" He'd beg, looking up at me with those stupid big brown-yellow eyes, and pleading through his fangs, "I'd never act like that towards you; I can't believe I'd ever…" And then the self-recriminations and the stream-of-consciousness apologies would tumble from his lips like muddy water until he'd move away from my hand or once, one time only, I wasn't able to take his awareness anymore and I took the contact myself.

That was the worst moment.

And it happened hours in, halfway through the night. Goodbye, academic career, I farewelled to myself wistfully, Monday, tomorrow, I will be the walking dead. I just wanted to curl up in the corner or lean back out the window at that point, but I couldn't just leave Scott alone. So I stayed.

Sometime around one in the morning I must have dozed off though in the middle of one of Scott's bouts of awareness, because I woke an hour later to his voice.

"Stiles." He demanded, husky in his sleep deprivation, as I knew I must sound, too.

"Scott," I returned, and yep, there's that crackling wonder of a voice I only gain past midnight.

"C'mere." The slurred vernacular was accompanied by a sharp yank to the hand and attached arm I'd apparently left on his shoulder, so I could tell his commanding tone had not been a mistake of sleep as I tumbled onto the bed. "Y'need sleep, too, Stiles," He murmured, mysteriously wrapping his arms around me. I glanced down, and his wrists still bore the handcuffs, however the chain had broken and… I glanced up and affirmed that, yeah, so had part of his headboard. He appeared to be mostly in control of himself, though. Potentially because I'd fallen asleep with a hand on him, so he never had to move away to stop himself apologizing and thinking about it all. Scott pressed a hard kiss to my forehead, "M'sorry."

"Don't start," I warned, putting my own arms around Scott's waist in return, "I've heard enough apologies from you for a lifetime." Scott's grip on me tightened in silence, and I knew he was tightening his grip on the apologies fighting behind his lips. "Don't go out the window, either. I'ma sleep."

"S'good." A cold, thankfully dry, nose found the crook of my neck in what was coming to be a familiar gesture and Scott dropped another kiss good night on my throat.

I could deal with four hours of sleep. Not sure how Scott would fare, though. He was never one for all-nighters.

Except he was a freaking energizer bunny now he'd been bit. How could I have ever forgotten? The next day saw him up when I'd planned, but he was awake and bright-eyed. Every strain and struggle the moon provided had vanished under the glare of the sun. So. Not. Fair.

Or, at least, every physical struggle.

"I am sorry, Stiles," he repeated, trying to find a clean shirt that would fit me in his closet as I rummaged through his dresser drawers. Clean being the operative word and the momentary crisis here.

My irritation was evident in each sock I threw down on the young werewolf's bed. "Do you want me to slap you?"

"It might make me feel a little better."

"Scott!"

"What?!"

Potential domestic abuse aside, (it wasn't as if I hadn't slapped Scott before, or even vice versa) Scott's tone was not one I'd grown used to from him. Now that I looked a little closer, his eyes were downcast and his movements slow, still burdened with guilt. Reaching over, I flicked him in the nose.

He jerked back, "Ow! Stiles!"

"Wimp. And you wanted me to slap you." I shook my head forlornly and began to change for the day. I knew what pants and such Scott had that would fit me, since we'd been stealing one another's clothes since elementary school, and no one had ever noticed before. We were expected, after all, to seem alike with the excessive amounts of time we spent with each other. Come to think of it, I wondered that I hadn't seen anything but friendship coming for us earlier on.

I wouldn't stick around just anyone if they suddenly became a werewolf, after all. Shaking the thoughts from my head, I reached for the shirt Scott was waving in my direction, only a little surprised when he immediately yanked it backwards, out of my reach.

"Gotta pay the price, first," he teased, tapping his lips meaningfully with his free hand.

Though I moved obediently closer, leaning in suggestively, I had no intention of losing this game. The moment Scott's eyes closed in anticipation of a kiss, my sneaky, sneaky hand snatched the shirt from his fingers with a triumphant, "Yoink!"

Triumph never looked so sweet as the puppy-dog pout Scott graced me with when his eyes opened.

-x-

"Hey, does Jackson seem to be acting funny to you?" I asked later that day, in the middle of pulling on the last of my lacrosse gear.

Scott snorted and stood, having already finished dressing a minute before, "He thinks I'm on steroids."

I couldn't help the tense laugh, "If you're on a drug, it's moonshine."

"Punny."

"I try."

Scott shook his head and continued, more seriously, "I did notice an increase in weird looks, though." He nudged me onward and we moved to exit the locker room.

"And he's been hanging around Allison," I whispered uneasily, the noise of the boys changing around us hopefully making it inaudible to all but werewolf ears, "And I heard them talking about some Argent family crest."

"What's wrong with that?"

"If they're talking about the crest, they're talking about the history of the Argents," I explained under my breath, but after a glance back at Scott's uncomprehending expression, I groaned, continuing quietly, "History of a werewolf hunting family equals references to werewolves."

"Not good."

"Very not good, yes."

"What are we whispering about, my pretties?"

I know I jumped, but I couldn't be sure if Scott was startled by Paul's sudden, cheerfully looming appearance. "Nothing."

"Our honeymoon," Scott put in at the same time, deadpan and straight faced.

"Care to join us?" I continued sarcastically, rolling with Scott's off-angle approach.

"On the honeymoon? Hmm, don't mind if I do!"

Maybe Paul only tries to be funny. We didn't get a chance to speak again until practice was basically over.

Jackson, on the other hand, was skittish and suspicious of Scott all practice, scratching occasionally at the bandage on the back of his neck that had become a constant addition to his wardrobe since a little before the video store incident. He was even short with Lydia, who had returned to school frailer than before, her confidence more of a front than an aura. The only person he showed any humanity to was Allison, who he'd apparently convinced to come support him in spite of Scott's presence.

"Jackson is being an ass to Lydia, lately," I grumbled as we finished up. Jackson had not had to do any of the individual shots and practices since the healed status of his shoulder was still tentative, and he'd spent that time being a brat to Lydia and mooning over Allison.

Scott gave me an evaluating, sidelong look, "And this is just evidence for his weirdness."

For a moment, my mind turned that sentence over in a search for hidden meanings, and Scott's forced calm stance by my side finally pointed it in the right direction. "You cannot seriously be jealous."

"She is your nearly lifelong crush," Scott muttered, looking away, "It's not like you haven't told me over and over again how much you like her."

"Well, yeah, I had a crush on her. Who hasn't?"

Paul had started to look distinctly interested, down the field a bit from us with Isaac, at the tense body language and hushed conversation, and so I let out a quiet expletive and dragged Scott back toward the school, explaining why as we went.

He didn't exactly resist, but he didn't seem happy with the pause in discussion, either.

"Look," I started, when we'd ducked into an abandoned classroom, "I had a crush on Lydia, past tense. And I sort of dragged it out past its time, because I didn't think I had a chance with… Well, anyone." Scott was crossing his arms now, and I almost growled, myself, "You've got to know you're more important to me than Lydia."

"I've got to?" The arms uncrossed and Scott walked forward with each word, driving me backwards until I hit the wall, "It's always me chasing you, Stiles." Even though one of his hands had landed on the wall next to me, blocking any escape, his eyes somehow were soft with hurt rather than hard with anger, "I know how I feel about you, but sometimes I wonder if you're just going along with it."

I honestly could not see what he was angling at here, "What?"

The lines of his body stiffened again as the anger returned and he slapped his hand against the wall, loudly, "I can't tell, Stiles! I can't tell if you're just scared or if you really want me the way I want you!" His heavy breathing after that expulsion of emotion was loud in the empty room as he visibly struggled with his wolf, "Would you rather be… With Lydia?"

"Scott," I breathed, eyes wide as I tried to process what he was telling me. Did he think he'd somehow scared me into adding a romantic side to our friendship? I was grateful, then, for the cool wall supporting me, since I was too involved in the situation to pay any attention to my traitorous legs. "No. I…" The words felt strange, awkward to say aloud, and I realized this would be the first time I'd explicitly admitted the feeling to myself, much less to Scott, when they pushed past my lips bluntly, "I want you."

For a moment, he froze, breath stopped and eyes searching mine as if at any moment I'd cringe or cry or do something, anything to give away that it was only fear that kept me by his side. However, luckily for both of us, that wasn't the case.

"You…" Eloquent as always, Scott. Wolf boy let his arm drop by his side as he seemingly became aware of the situation; we stood alone in an empty classroom at the end of lacrosse practice, still decked out in our light practice gear, in an uncomfortably charged emotional atmosphere that had nowhere to discharge now that I'd laid low the main issue. "That's good, then."

"Yeah." I hesitated, and then patted Scott's cheek as I moved toward the door, "Let's just go. I want to get out of this gear."

Scott caught my hand just before I could leave, and moved it back up to his face with a doglike tilt of the head and a darkening of his brown eyes, "I'm sorry." Even the hardest of hearts would have been conquered, I was sure, and so there was no shame in leaning in to press my lips once against his in forgiveness.

Although, Scott didn't seem so content to leave it at that, his arms coming around my body and pulling me completely flush against him. My hand stayed on his cheek but the other arm looped around his neck when Scott kissed me again, keeping it slow and gentle like an extension of his apology. Despite that softness, though, his hands clutched at me, and I knew the remnant of the fight's adrenaline was still pumping through his veins. Heartbeat quickening to match his, I ran my hand from his cheek down his neck to his chest. As Scott returned his attentions to my lips, that hand continued to roam, sliding under his light practice padding and tracing the outlines of abdominal muscle beneath his skin. It was only when my fingers brushed along the front edge of his pants that Scott visibly reacted, drawing in a sharp breath and catching my hand in his.

"We have to go change," he reminded me, his voice tight with restraint, and I almost pulled out a pout, but decided against it. It was nice to know that I had that sort of an effect on Scott even through all the calming effects I'd been imbued with; after all the inequalities his wolfiness bestowed upon him, that knowledge felt like a bit of empowerment. His eyes flickered yellow again, and I could feel the hard evidence, ahem, of our mutual excitements between us. Since my brain was still in the mood for revelations, I grinned up at Scott mischievously.

"We are very, very gay."

He laughed and pulled away, opening the classroom door as he went, "I'm glad you said it first- I wasn't sure you'd figured that out yet." After that, we walked to the locker room in good-natured silence, even if Scott was exaggeratedly rubbing his newly sore shoulder as we went.

He had to hurry and leave, though, in order to get to work on time, and I found myself moseying along alone in the locker room. I pulled the clothes Scott had loaned me this morning back on, trying to avoid actually sniffing the cloth like some lovesick weirdo, and hummed absent-mindedly to myself as I pulled my backpack from my locker and strolled out into the sunlight- or the lack thereof. The semi-cloudy sky that had dominated at practice had apparently opened up and unleashed its torrential wrath while I was changing. Luckily, I'd left my car at school all weekend, and, balancing my backpack over my head to block the worst of the rain from lashing my eyes, I made my way around the school towards my beloved Jeep. I was around the front of the building when I noticed someone lingering under the front door's awning, looking anxiously out into the parking lot. Filled with energy and compassion for mankind, I walked heroically over, backpack still on my head, to see Allison's worried face come into focus.

"Stiles!" She called me over, waving unnecessarily, and when I'd entered the dry spot, dropping my backpack down to the ground, she approached with her arms once more wrapped around herself tightly, "Do you know if the power's out in town? My dad hasn't replied to any of my calls."

"I actually don't know, but it's probably just the storm messing with the phone-lines and things," I explained, not really knowing what I was talking about, but Allison nodded anyway, her damp waves of brown hair bouncing half-heartedly. "I can give you a ride home, if you want. What are you doing here so late, anyway?"

"That'd be great," She breathed, a relieved half smile coming over her face, "I was researching this necklace my Aunt gave me with Jackson. Would you mind giving him a ride, too? We were planning on walking to my house, and his dad has his car today..." Allison trailed off with a "please, please help me" expression with widened eyes and a half smile that would probably charm the pants off a straight man.

Which I recently learned I was mostly not, so...

"Aw, can't we leave him?" I asked, only half jokingly.

"That isn't very nice," Our topic of discussion commented as he stepped the rest of the way out of the school and into the awning's safety. Jackson punched my arm in a "friendly" manner, just slightly too hard, but with a grin, "Aren't we teammates, Stilinski?"

I swallowed. This had to be the absolute best thing that happened to me that day! With all the suspicious glances and whispered conversations he'd been having about Scott's sudden increase in athletic ability and my obvious closeness to his newest obsession, there couldn't possibly be anything I'd love better than to be trapped in close proximity to him with a witness on his side for a quarter to a half of an hour. A forced smile, "Yeah, I was just joking around." I laughed weakly, "You know me. Always..." An awkward, weak return punch to his shoulder, "Jokin'."

He gave a wary nod, and a look like I was half out of my head and he wanted to edge away, but continued to smile, "So, you'll drive us to Allison's?"

"Sure, yeah, of course. Follow me." This was just what I needed to bring me down from the intimacy high I'd obtained recently. Thank you, world, for always putting me in my place. Lifting my backpack over my head again, I shuffled out into the rain, like a hunchbacked waterfowl leading my two confused ducklings home.

This is going to be just lovely.