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‘So, when are you coming back?’ Scott asks.
‘I don’t know,’ Isaac shrugs. It’s not a lie. Technically.
Isaac knows Stiles has come into the room before he appears on the screen. Scott turns, his mouth turning up in a small crooked smile, his eyes flitting up and down. When Stiles steps into view Isaac can see why. Stiles is wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, his hair sticking up in every direction, still wet from the shower. He bends over to lean his arms on Scott’s shoulders, then grins and waves at the camera.
‘You sure you don’t know?’ Stiles says with a wink. ‘It’s been tough keeping up with the werewolf stamina. It’ll be nice if we could, you know, take turns.’
The mic isn’t strong enough to pick up what Scott mutters, and the light in their bedroom is too low for Isaac to see clearly, but Isaac knows Scott well enough that he’s fondly berating Stiles and blushing. Stiles smacks his lips against Scott’s cheek to make it up to him.
‘It must be getting late over there. Get some sleep,’ Scott says, shoving Stiles out of the frame.
Isaac chuckles at Stiles’ indignant, ‘Hey!’
Scott’s right. It’s almost three in the morning. They don’t usually talk this late, preferring to talk when it’s morning in California and early evening in France, but both Scott and Stiles had to get up earlier this week for finals. They’re both back in Beacon Hills now, finals over, and catching up on sleep and laundry.
‘I love you,’ Isaac says.
‘Love you, too.’ Scott’s smile is soft and sweet. It’s almost sweet enough to make Isaac reach out and trace that crooked smile on his screen.
‘I love you, too,’ Stiles says, popping back into the picture, his voice saccharine sweet.
Isaac flips him off and ends the call.
He really does need to get some sleep, he has a train to catch tomorrow.
~
The train ride to Paris isn’t too bad. It’s early and most of the other passengers are business people silently preparing for their meetings or still half-asleep tourists. The plane ride is a completely different story. His memory of the journey to France has faded in the two years since. He knows it wasn’t pleasant, being cooped up with over a hundred people in a tiny metal box and recycled air sounds like a nightmare on his best day, but he’d been distracted by grief at the time. He’d hoped the joy of going back home would similarly distract him from the worst assaults on his senses.
It doesn’t.
The stops in Toronto and Denver give him a bit of a break, but they don’t make it easier. He spends most of the journey across the Atlantic breathing shallowly, and taking refuge in the bathroom of all places to give his nose a break. Thank god his claustrophobia has gotten so much better, or he wouldn’t have made it.
On the upside, the flight attendants take pity on him and try to make him as comfortable as possible. And who is he to say no to extra dessert? He’s still a growing werewolf after all.
When the plane lands at Sacramento, Isaac is ready to jump out of a window or tear a hole in the hull of the plane to get to fresh air. Getting through airport security goes relatively smooth. He’s antsy, eager to get home, and it shows. The security agents who check his luggage take a little longer than necessary, and he doesn’t miss the agent who follows him all the way to arrivals.
He doesn’t care though. When he sees Stiles, holding up an obnoxiously pink sign with “Welcome home, Scarfwolf” written in blue glitter, he manages to stop himself from running, but not from pulling Stiles tightly against his chest the moment he’s within reach.
‘Hey, wel– Ooph.’ Stiles flails in surprise before dropping the glittery sign and hugging Isaac back.
Isaac buries his face in Stiles’ neck, inhaling the scents of pack and home and Stiles. He squeezes a little tighter.
‘Dude, as fun as this is, we do need to get home before Scott does,’ Stiles says, voice muffled against Isaac’s shoulder.
‘Right. Sorry,’ Isaac says. He lets go reluctantly, and grabs his suitcase.
Stiles punches him lightly in the shoulder. ‘It’s fine. I knew you missed me.’
‘I was just trying to smell Scott on you.’
‘Lies,’ Stiles gasps, clutching his chest.
Isaac grins and shrugs, and gestures for Stiles to lead him to the car.
He expected there to be some awkwardness. They haven’t seen each other in two years and were barely friends when he left, but there isn’t. Stiles talks about the plans for tonight, about what Isaac missed while he was thirty-five thousand feet in the air; which isn’t much, just that Scott was almost late for work that morning.
As they walk, and Stiles talks, something in Isaac’s chest settles. He’s home again, well, almost. France was great, amazing even, but coming back to his apartment at the end of a long day had never felt like this.
‘I made it all the way from the other side of the planet, and now I’m going to die on the hour’s drive that’s left,’ Isaac says when he sees Stiles’ jeep.
‘Hey!’ Stiles smacks him in the chest. ‘I’ll have you know that she only stalled once this week.’
‘Wow. Only once, huh,’ Isaac deadpans. ‘It’s a miracle of engineering.’
‘Miracle of duct tape,’ Stiles corrects, opening the doors.
Isaac snorts and throws his luggage in the back. He settles in the passenger seat and starts fiddling with the radio the moment Stiles puts his keys in the contact. He settles on a station playing a song he vaguely recognizes and leans back.
Stiles keeps talking as he drives, but Isaac barely follows what he’s saying. The adrenaline from the anxiety of traveling and his excitement at being back home, is wearing off. He’s exhausted. He folds up the hoodie he wore one the plane and places it between his head and the window. He shifts sideways and looks at Stiles. With only two feet between them and the chance to really look, he sees how much Stiles has changed.
Stiles’ hair is a little longer, and he keeps pushing it back with an impatient gesture. His shoulders have broadened too, not that he was ever as skinny as he liked to pretend he was, but without the oversized plaid shirts, Isaac can actually see it. Despite the extra muscle, Stiles has something softer about him, the strain from all the crap they went through in high school mostly faded. Plus, there’s the fact that the amount of pizza he eats has more than doubled. The familiar restlessness is still there, fingers tapping on the steering wheel, head bobbing to the music, the oral fixation.
Stiles must feel him staring, because he looks at him. He smiles, then raises his eyebrows.
‘What?’ he asks.
‘Nothing.’ Isaac smiles back, his eyes fixated on the faint stubble on Stiles’ jaw.
It’s not nothing. His heart is doing a funny thing in his chest. His hands itch to reach out and touch Stiles, hold his hand, run fingers through his hair. I can’t wait to get home and fall asleep with my head on his chest, Isaac thinks. He almost groans. If he had the energy, he’d facepalm for not realizing sooner.
‘Am I talking too much?’ Stiles asks. He glances at him again and his eyes widen like he just had an epiphany. ‘Fuck, you must be exhausted. Did you sleep at all on the plane?’
‘Not much.’
‘I’ll shut up.’
Isaac huffs and shakes his head.
‘You don’t think I can do it? I can shut up if I want to. I’ll be so quiet, the only way you’ll know I’m here is because the car is still moving.’
Isaac shakes his head again. ‘Can you pull over?’
‘Sure.’ Stiles checks his mirrors, they’re already off the highway and there aren’t too many cars on this stretch of road, then flips on the blinker. He lets the car idle after parking it, probably to make sure it won’t stall. ‘Everything okay?’
Isaac inhales. He smells car fumes and the trees by the side of the road. There’s the lingering scent of Scott, but mostly he smells Stiles. Stiles smells like, happiness, green apple shampoo , and there’s that bittersweet scent of being in love. That could just be for Scott, of course. It could be only about Scott, but…
Isaac unbuckles his seatbelt, and scoots closer to Stiles. His eyes are fixed on Stiles’ chest. Stiles’ heart beats faster with every inch he closes between them. He looks up, catching Stiles’ deer-in-the-headlights look. He licks his lips. Stiles’ eyes flick down, heart stuttering.
Isaac smiles. It’s not just for Scott.
He closes the gap, pressing his lips to Stiles’. Stiles sinks into him immediately, sighing, his hands flying to Isaac’s hair. It’s not much more than a press of their lips, but it’s amazing, and Isaac has to pull back far too soon. He covers his mouth with his hand when he yawns.
‘Guess you being back home won’t be Scott’s only surprise tonight.’ With a grin, Stiles gently pushes Isaac back into his seat. ‘Dude, I can’t believe you kissed me before Scott. He’s gonna be so jealous.’
Isaac rests back and closes his eyes. He smiles, shaking his head. ‘He’s gonna do the sad face for ten seconds, and then make us tell the story fifty times.’ He yawns again.
‘And be ridiculously excited,’ Stiles adds. He slides his fingers between Isaac’s and squeezes. His heart skips a beat when Isaac squeezes back. ‘It’s still twenty minutes to my place. You can get some sleep.’
Isaac hums. ‘I’m gonna nap so hard in your bed.’
‘We have a guestroom,’ Stiles reminds him.
‘Guestroom, shmuestroom,’ Isaac mutters.
He doesn’t fall asleep. He dozes a little, the rumble of the engine and the music not quite enough as a lullaby. When they reach Stiles’ house, Isaac is so tired he almost falls out of the car when Stiles opens the door. The only way he makes it up the stairs is because Stiles threatens to carry him. He doesn’t take the time to take off any of his clothes, or even his shoes. He simply falls into the bed, shoving his face into the nearest pillow. This must be the one that Scott uses when he’s here, because it smells a little more of Scott than Stiles. The whole bed, the whole room, smells of ScottStilessex.
They really managed to stink this place up in just a couple days, Isaac thinks, idly wondering how long it’ll take for his own scent to be an established part of the mix.
He doesn’t really register Stiles’ grumbling or Stiles taking off his shoes for him. He does notice Stiles sliding in next to him and the blanket being pulled over him. He turns so he’s facing Stiles. He wraps himself around his boyfriend, his head on Stiles’ chest.
‘I thought you were a wolf, not a an octopus,’ Stiles whispers, his fingers carding through Isaac’s hair.
I need a comeback for that, Isaac thinks right before he falls asleep, at home, for the first time in two years.