Chapter Text
Having the news of his dad coming for dinner sprung on him just a couple of hours before the actual dinner is not something that Scott enjoys that much. And doing it through text is worse. As soon as he reads it, he sends a text to his mom without replying to his dad, asking if she’s aware of their surprise guest.
There’s no way that she knows. She would never have said yes; whenever he tries to invite himself over, Scott knows that his mom makes it a point to be out of the house, even if it means taking a double shift. He’s had less luck. Getting extra hours at the animal clinic isn’t too easy, and it tends to not be until he’s actually at home and finds his dad with dinner that he knows about it, so fabricating an excuse isn’t all that easy either.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to spend time with him. It’s just… hard to be around him. Things are awkward and tense, and honestly, half the time, Scott wishes his dad would stay in San Francisco. Things were fine. Better than fine. Scott was more than happy with his mom. Yeah, he’s glad he at least knows why his dad left now. Or, at least, one of the reasons. But it doesn’t make him want him to stick around, no matter how much he’s changed. Not that he’s sure that change is all that significant in the first place.
It’s nearing the end of school and Scott is in a mild panic about going home seeing as how his mom hasn’t texted him back. His eyes keep flitting from his textbook to the clock on the wall.
“Dude.” He looks up at Stiles’ voice, finding him at the desk to his left and watching him with furrowed eyebrows. “You’ve been tapping that pen non-stop for the last ten minutes and you look more anxious than I do on a daily basis. What’s up?”
Scott quickly stops the tapping. He hadn’t even noticed.
Sighing, he sinks down a little in his seat to avoid Coach spotting them talking, before responding. “My dad’s coming for dinner. I can’t get out of it, but I am really not in the mood to deal with him right now. We’re just gonna sit there the entire time, saying barely anything, and when something does get said, he starts going on about work. The one time he’s actually asked something was when he asked if I had a girlfriend.”
Stiles sucks air in through his teeth and winces for him. “Ouch. Still not told him then?”
“About the fact that the only serious girlfriend I’ve actually had nearly died two months ago, but we weren’t even together at that point because we only went out for two months in eighth grade? Or that I’m gay?”
“Both? All of the above?”
Scott shakes his head, giving an even deeper sigh. “No to both… all. I was going to tell him about Allison out of panic, but then it’s the awkward parent-son talk about breakups, and it was four years ago, so I didn’t see too much point. But the second part, I’m…”
“Afraid?” Stiles suggests.
“No, not afraid,” Scott says. “More… wary, I guess? I don’t care what he thinks about me anymore, so if he wants to disown me or leave again, then he can feel free to. But I think I’m just wondering what his reaction will be. I don’t want a repeat of when we were kids, you know? I’m not just gonna stand there and take whatever he says, obviously, but I don’t want it to come down to that.”
“You want to believe him,” Stiles mutters.
Scott glances at him. Stiles shrugs, giving a small smile.
“You want him to be telling the truth about changing, being sober, trying to be a better person,” Stiles says. “It’s not the worst thing in the world to want to hold onto some hope that your parent isn’t actually a total ass.”
In truth, Scott hadn’t actually thought about it that way. He looks down at his desk, his nails scraping at the fabric of his jeans. Maybe he is holding onto a sliver of hope. Sure, his dad could leave tomorrow and he’d be fine, go back to normal, and be happy with that. But it wouldn’t be the worst thing if his dad meant everything he was saying and wasn’t just spouting lies to get Scott to let him back in.
“Hey, here’s an idea, totally okay if you say no.” Stiles waves a hand vaguely. “What if I’m there, too? Do you think that’ll help ease some of the tension or…?”
Scott perks up immediately. “Yes. Please. Would you?”
Stiles laughs, nods, and says, “Yeah, of course, dude! When should I come over? Should I just go to yours with you as soon as we’re out of here, or should I go home first?”
“Home first, I’ll text you, then you come over?” Scott suggests.
Stiles is on-board, no complaints. Scott really appreciates it, especially because he knows how much Stiles doesn’t like his dad. And he knows how uncomfortable Stiles is around him for the same reasons that Scott hasn’t come out to him yet. Stiles is out to everyone already, and happy about it, partially because no one bothered. But he remembers what Scott’s dad was like and everything he said as well as Scott does. He won’t go back into the closet just to feel safe around him. Scott would never want him to.
The class finally seems to speed up and end. Scott waves a temporary goodbye to Stiles, getting on his bike. He checks his phone before he leaves. His mom’s reply has finally come through. She wasn’t aware either, but she promises to be home in a half-hour. Scott thanks her then quickly replies to his dad’s initial text, letting him know he’ll be home for dinner. Then he starts up his bike and reluctantly makes his way there.
***
Stiles waits when he gets home. Patiently is not the word. He paces, he changes clothes about seven times, he makes a quick dinner for his dad, in case he comes home without having eaten. And throughout the entire time that he’s waiting not at all patiently for the text that’s going to throw him into the lion’s den, he goes over what’s going to happen at dinner.
Nothing bad, hopefully. But he’s not counting on that.
He’ll be civil and as polite as required, not say anything unnecessarily harsh or loathing, even if he’s thinking it. He’s just going to be there for Scott, as moral and emotional support. Otherwise, it’ll be like he’s not even there. Unless Scott’s dad says something first. Then everything’s out the window.
But he’s forcing himself to have at least some hope that it’s not going to come to that. At the very least that Scott’s dad can get through one dinner without saying something infuriatingly stupid.
His phone finally buzzes with a text from Scott. Stiles quickly throws a lid onto the very healthy salad, plasters a sticky note to it so that his dad knows to eat it, grabs a jacket, and heads out in his jeep for Scott’s house. The text itself already has Stiles worried. Just the tone of it, he knows Scott too well, and he can tell by the little typed-out smiley face that things must already be uncomfortable.
He’s pulling up outside the house that’s practically a second home to him within ten minutes. Skipping the porch steps, Stiles opens the front door and walks in. He and Scott established years ago with each other and their parents that there was no point in knocking anymore.
“Yo, Scotty!” he calls out as he closes the door. “Your knight in… a not so shining but still functional jeep has arrived!”
He walks into the living room and finds Scott and Melissa, sitting on the couch, and across from them, Scott’s dad. No one even has to say anything for Stiles to pick up on the tension. It’s suffocating already.
The instant relief on Scott’s face when he sees him though lessens it slightly. He grins at him, standing to move towards him.
“You’re soaking,” Scott comments, eyeing his accurately described appearance with amusement and fondness. “Is it bad out there?”
“Okay, I know this is going to be a nightmare but you don’t need to resort to small talk so soon,” Stiles mutters, just to get that soft chuckle out of Scott, before he more loudly adds, “But yeah, it’s coming down really hard out there. I could barely see out of my windshield. Little worried about getting home.”
Scott glances at the window, able to hear the rain pounding against the glass and the porch. It does sound a lot worse than it was when they left school. The knot in Stiles’ stomach tightens.
Storms never used to bother him; in fact, he kind of liked them. But these days, they always seem to be the cause of some supernatural occurrence, and never of the friendly kind. The sound of thunder sets him on edge every time. Hopefully it’s just some rain.
“Hey, if it comes to it, you’re always welcome to stay,” Scott tells him, patting his arm.
“Yeah, it would be nice if you actually stayed over by coming through the door instead of the window for once,” his mom chimes in, looking over at them from the couch. “Maybe then I wouldn’t keep nearly hitting you with a baseball bat.”
“Yeah, that—I would appreciate avoiding that,” Stiles agrees as Scott snickers.
Scott chances a glance at his dad. He’s quiet. His brow is furrowed into the slightest frown, just watching on in confusion. And a little something bordering on disapproval, or maybe irritation. Scott gives it a second. A combination of all three.
This is going to be an interesting night.
Stiles notices the staring as well. He doesn’t say anything either, just staring back with his lips pressed into a thin line of the most civilised smile he’ll get. Scott thinks his mom couldn’t have picked a more unfortunate time to need to check on dinner in the kitchen. But she does give him the signal asking if he needs her to excuse him for some plausible lie as well, and he shakes his head.
The only thing worse than this situation right now would be him leaving it and allowing his dad and Stiles to metaphorically rip each other’s heads off. God, he’s glad neither of them are supernatural. Bloodbath is a word that comes to mind, in Stiles’ voice no less.
As soon as his mom is out of the room though, Scott realizes that it was going to be a disaster with or without him. His dad finally stands up, gives an awkward clearing of his throat.
“So,” he tries to start, as if this is completely casual and normal for them, “Stiles. You’re, uh… well, here.”
Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Uh, yes, it would appear I am, thank you for informing me. Otherwise, I might’ve thought I was in an interrogation office. Not that this feels a lot different to that.”
Scott has to refrain from even a snicker this time. He can’t quite bite back the smile, but it’s wiped off when his dad scoffs in that exaggerated way he likes to do, rolling his eyes.
“All right, let me hear it,” Stiles says, everything immediately being tossed out the window. There was no avoiding it, and it’s just easier to do it this way.
“Stiles,” Scott says, gently. “Don’t bother. Seriously. We haven’t even eaten yet.”
“No, no, I think it’s best that your dad get everything he wants to say to me off of his chest right now before it can fester and explode during the lovely meal. So, come on,” Stiles shrugs, crossing his arms with a challenging glint in his eyes that Scott’s all too familiar with. “Hit me with it. Metaphorically speaking, of course .”
Scott can feel the shift in the air. His dad’s jaw is as tight as a wind-up toy, forcing whatever it is he wants to say to stay inside. He just breathes out another scoff through his nose instead.
“I don’t have a problem, Stiles,” he says.
“Oh, yeah, of course not,” Stiles replies, sarcasm dripping from every word. “No problem at all, you just happen to hate my dad and, you know, me. I mean, that’s not a problem at all for me, a lot of people hate me, some for valid reasons, some just because I ‘annoy’ them, but what’s your reason, exactly? Because that’s really what determines if we have a problem or not.”
Scott looks back over at his dad out of sheer curiosity. In all honesty, he’s never fully understood his dad’s dislike of Stiles—not dislike. It’s always been more intense than that. Even when they were kids, he hated that Stiles was Scott’s only friend. It didn’t matter to him that he was all Scott needed or wanted, there was just something that his dad didn’t like about Stiles.
“There is no problem, Stiles,” his dad says. “And I don’t hate you.”
Tick . Tick- tick . Tick.
Scott’s stomach sinks. He’s lying. Even if he doesn’t hate Stiles, he’s still lying, and he refuses to say about what. Scott sighs. It was foolish to think that tonight could go any other way.
“Look, I appreciate you trying to… make an effort, or whatever, but if this is how it’s going to be, then I’m sorry, but I’d rather you leave,” Scott says, a strange firmness to his voice.
“I—wait,” his dad quickly shakes his head, “I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to argue. With anyone.” He looks at Stiles. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be here. I was under the impression that I was having dinner with only my son, but—this is fine. I’m… glad you’re here.”
Stiles gives Scott a side-glance. Scott tries not to give away the answer he’s looking for, but he finds it anyway. They both know his dad is lying through his teeth so that Scott won’t kick him out. For now, it’s better than nothing.
“All right,” Stiles says, deciding the same. “A truce then. Besides, you technically are still having dinner with Scott, just… ignore that I’m here. Most people do.”
“Shut up.” Scott gently elbows him in the ribs, chuckling. He appreciates Stiles’ attempt to lighten things up a bit and regain a little more civility, and secretly appreciates Stiles’ hand brushing the inside of his arm before he fully pulls it back.
His dad at least cracks a slight smile. Scott’s just thankful that his mom comes back when she does, or else he’s sure something else would have gone wrong. She smiles, clapping her hands together, and clearly choosing to ignore the remains of tension still lingering in the room.
“Nearly done,” she announces. “Just five-ten more minutes. So, why don’t we… sit down?”
“Oh, uh, I’m not sure I can,” Stiles says, giving his still slightly dripping clothes a glance. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the furniture. It’s a really nice couch!”
Scott and his mom both make a face at him. One that he is fairly well acquainted with at this point in his life.
“Stiles, it’s a couch, I think it’ll live,” his mom tells him.
“But are you sure? Is it waterproof?”
“Oh my god,” Scott says. “You know what? You can have a change of clothes. You were going to need some anyway if you’re staying over, so.”
Stiles doesn’t protest this time. He follows Scott out of the room and up the stairs with the promise they’ll be quick. They both admittedly feel bad about leaving Scott’s mom to deal with his dad alone.
Pulling open a drawer, Scott tosses a pair of sweatpants and a top at Stiles without looking. He hears Stiles’ quiet little chuckle from behind him in the bathroom.
“What?” Scott asks.
“Nothing,” Stiles says, but Scott can still hear the smile in his voice. “I just like that you know which of your clothes are my favourites.”
Scott shrugs, ducking his head to hide the smile that Stiles can’t even see anyway. “Well, yeah, they’re the ones you always wear when you come over. Your scent’s all over them half the time.”
“Ah, sorry about that.”
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
Stiles is quiet for a moment. Then he’s chuckling again.
“Oh my god, what?” Scott asks again, unable to stop himself from laughing along with him.
“Why aren’t you looking at me?”
Scott pauses. He hadn’t even realized he had turned away from him. They just never bother with each other while getting changed; something that came from growing up around each other, a ton of sleepovers, and changing rooms. It was just never something they really cared about.
A thought crosses Scott’s mind but he doesn’t want to voice it. He tries to shrug, but it’s half-hearted as he swallows. “I, uh… you know, privacy.”
“ Okay ,” Stiles says slowly, “Well, as much as I appreciate and love how respectful you are, as always, I don’t remember privacy being much of an issue for us? I mean, it’s fine! But… is that all it is?”
Scott feels Stiles’ hand on his shoulder, and he turns around. He’s met with a concerned smile, a frown lining his face. Scott wavers under his gaze and he has to look away.
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Scott frowns. “I think so. I don’t know. I just…” He clears his throat, shaking his head. “I guess I didn’t want to do anything to make you… uncomfortable.”
“What?” Stiles’ eyebrows furrow. “Scotty—” He stops himself. Clarity hits him along with a deep-seated hatred for Scott’s dad. “Is this because of your dad being here?”
“What?”
Stiles shrugs, but he’s feeling anything but casual and nonchalant right now. “You used to think like that all the time when we were kids. When your dad was away for work or wasn’t with us, you didn’t mind changing with me, or being, well, us. But every time he was around, even somewhere else in the building, you would get really nervous about doing something wrong.”
Scott knows he’s right. The feeling he’s getting--deep, in his chest, like he can’t breathe and can’t move without fear of misstepping or misspeaking--it’s the same one he carried around with him all the time.
“I honestly thought that I was fine with it,” Scott admits, looking back up at him. You know, the idea of coming out to him, and not caring what he thinks. But… some part of me… I can’t stop thinking about the things he used to say. It’s just—it’s getting in my head, I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be,” Stiles says gently. “I just don’t like what this is doing to you. You never cared what people thought about you being gay before, not after you stopped seeing your dad. You were happy, and confident, and now…”
Scott sucks in a breath, nodding, and lets it back out on a sigh.
“I know. I feel like I’m still stuck in the closet. Something about the thought of him knowing… I don’t care what he thinks about me, but at the same time, I—I don’t want him to think about me the way he talked about gay people when we were kids.”
“Hence the turning away, and worrying that you’re doing something wrong out of instinct just by being in the same room as me while I’m changing,” Stiles finishes, understanding. He doesn’t fully get the feeling himself, not in the same way that Scott does. But he understands enough. “Scotty, you know you don’t have to worry about that kind of thing with me.”
“No, I know,” Scott says, sighing again. “I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I guess I’m just more worried than I thought I was. Kind of terrified, actually. I mean, he can leave if he wants, I still don’t care about that, but I just—I don’t know.”
“Hey, you don’t need to explain it to me,” Stiles says, giving a gentle smile as he squeezes Scott’s shoulder. “I get it. And, you don’t have to tell him. It’s none of his business anyway. But… if you do want to, then you know that I am right here, and so is your mom.”
Scott smiles back, saying, “I know.” Then he groans, a little over-the-top in that joking way that he knows will smooth out the crease of worry on Stiles’ face. “I just wish it was easier.”
“Yeah, the world tends to make it pretty hard,” Stiles agrees. “But—you’ve come out to your mom! And my dad, and pretty much everyone we know, including Argent . And Derek . I mean, those are the scariest people in terms of who’s going to judge you, really, so. And—we’ve handled homophobes before.”
“It’s just different with him,” Scott says, moving backwards and taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Stiles drops his hand from Scott’s shoulder. “He didn’t even believe I had asthma! Do you really think he’s going to believe I’m actually gay? He’ll probably try and say I’m faking that as well, I mean—”
“Wait, Scott, that’s it.”
Scott stops, frowning up at Stiles’ lit up, wide-eyed expression. “What’s it?”
Stiles quickly crosses the room to him, saying, “You need a boyfriend! We both know your dad is a man who needs hard, solid proof, I mean, he’s in the FBI, for crying out loud! It’s his whole profession and basically life to require evidence! So, instead of hoping he’ll be any normal, loving parent like the two lovely ones we already have, we have to kinda recreate what happened when he didn’t believe your asthma! Remember?!”
Scott racks his memory and thinks he vaguely recalls what Stiles is talking about.
“He only accepted that you actually had asthma when you had an attack but didn’t have an inhaler on you,” Stiles explains in a rush. “Because you nearly died without it, he realized that you were telling the truth. Evidence . So—”
“So, if I had a boyfriend… then my dad would have to believe that I wasn’t lying about not being straight?” Scott ventures, and Stiles nods vigorously. Scott frowns. “Isn’t that just playing into the thing people say, how you need to have been with a guy or a girl to know you’re not actually straight?”
Stiles pauses, mouth opening. “Well… sort of, yeah. And—all right, fine, we are resorting to homophobes logic in a way, and it sucks, but I’m pretty sure it’s the best way to go about getting your dad to actually take you seriously. Again, it sucks so much. Unless, of course, you’d rather tell him about going out with Danny in Freshman year and hope he takes your word for it?”
Scott knows he isn’t serious about that last part. He rolls his eyes at him, letting him know that his mocking suggestion is very much not appreciated. Stiles takes notice and ignores. He sighs.
“Okay, but even if I did think that was a good idea, I’d still have a problem,” Scott points out, but Stiles just looks on in utter bewilderment, not understanding how his genius plan could have a flaw. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a fake one for that matter. And if I’m going to make someone up then I might as well just tell him about Danny, because it’ll have just about as much chance of convincing him.”
The confusion quickly leaves Stiles’ face. “Oh, well, that’s not a problem, dumbass! Hello! Perfect convincing fake boyfriend material sitting right here, on your bed, right next to you?”
Scott stares at Stiles, raising an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, of course!” Stiles says with a touch of offence. “I’ll have you know that I would be a great boyfriend, and I have references to prove that! Two—I have two references. And Malia really wouldn’t give a fair and accurate summary, so, maybe just one. But I would definitely trust Erica to give a fair review of our brief entanglement in eighth grade.”
Scott laughs, and Stiles lets the moment linger with a smile. Then he narrows his eyes at him.
“Okay, you’re aware that you can just say no, right?” he jokes.
“No, no—it’s perfect!” Scott quickly says, already perking up at the thought of the plan now that it actually makes sense. “My dad knows that you’re bi, and—I mean, if he was going to expect me to be dating any guy, it would be you. It’s the most realistic scenario, and… it might actually work.”
“Oh.” Stiles straightens up, a little surprised, but definitely pleased. “Well… good! So.”
He takes a seat beside Scott, taking on that tone he uses for scheming, mischief, and everything that gets them in trouble. There’s a bright glint in his eyes to round it all off.
“Ground rules. We should set some, you know, make sure we both agree on whatever answers we might need to give, and what we’re both okay with in terms of acting, yeah?”
Scott nods, agreeing. They wouldn’t want to go to a lot of effort to make this smoother only to be caught out because Stiles said their first date was at the diner and Scott said it was in the park.
“Right: How long have we been together?” Scott asks.
Stiles thinks. “Well, your mom is going to be as surprised as your dad if we don’t fill her in before we say anything, so… three months? Four?”
Scott shakes his head. “No, we should make sure she knows, that way we can make it more believable. Then we can say over a year.”
“Ooh, already had an anniversary,” Stiles says, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows, “I like it. Speaking of, what did we do for that anniversary?”
“I doubt he’s going to ask that,” Scott objects.
Stiles gives him a look and Scott reads it perfectly.
“FBI Agent.” Scott sighs. “You’re right. Uh, okay… we… went to the ice skating rink?”
“Because that’s where we had our first date,” Stiles continues on, lighting up like an excited puppy. “Good, good, okay, and our first date was a double date?”
“Started as a group hang” —they both wince— “with Lydia, Jackson… Allison was there as well.”
“And Danny? Just so there were six of us, makes more sense that way,” Stiles says, nodding confidently. “Plus, this would have been after you two broke up, so probably hanging out to make things feel casual between you again.”
“It was during winter,” Scott continues, “a few days before New Year—”
“About two weeks,” Stiles chimes in. “We got together just before Christmas, that way we’re only about a week away from our second anniversary.”
“On Christmas Eve,” Scott agrees. “There was a small party at Lydia’s.”
“Our first kiss was under the mistletoe.”
Scott tries to suppress a smile, biting the inside of his cheek. Stiles notices.
“What?” he asks, a smile creeping onto his face. “Too cheesy? Scott, come on, what is it?”
“It’s just… Mistletoe was always how I imagined having my first kiss,” Scott says. “You know, before I actually had my first kiss, and before a lot of people nearly died from mistletoe. I just always liked the idea of it.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Stiles says. “That’s why I thought it would make sense for our first kiss.”
Scott blinks in surprise, his smile growing slightly. He doesn’t even remember telling Stiles about that. They were still kids when he believed that that’s how it would happen, and then thirteen when he had his first kiss, not under the mistletoe.
But Stiles remembers vividly. He thought it was cheesy, and very much too Christmas-y for his little Jewish heart, despite celebrating Christmas with him and his family every year. Yet, when Scott told him how he wanted to have that cliched, cutesy moment, Stiles had decided then and there that he would have it. Of course, he never managed to keep himself to it.
Scott clears his throat when he realizes he’s staring, and thankfully breaks Stiles out of his own unfocused gazing, neither of them realizing that the other was lost in the same moment.
“Uh, yeah,” Scott says. “Yeah, that works. And, everyone knows, right?”
Stiles takes a breath, nodding, and saying, “If we can tell your mom beforehand, then yeah, everyone knows. My dad—who was very happy, not at all surprised—and all of our friends.”
“So… that’s all the details worked out then? Are we missing anything?”
“Unless he plans on interrogating us about our future plans, then yeah,” Stiles says, quickly going over everything they’ve already discussed. “And if that’s the case, the most we’ll probably have to say is that we are looking for a cheap apartment somewhere in Northern California, we haven’t fully decided where yet.”
“And you’re looking into law enforcement training programs, so that you can work at the station with your dad,” Scott says, and cracks a grin. “Or so you can open up that PI business you always wanted when we were kids.”
“And you’re going to UC Davis to become the absolute best vet.” Stiles nudges his leg, grinning back. “And so that I can have the pleasure of calling you Dr. McCall on a daily basis. Oh, yeah, I definitely like the sound of that.”
Scott rolls his eyes, shoving him gently. “Do we have all of the bases covered or not?”
“Yeah, yeah, I think that’s everything,” Stiles says, then gestures between them. “Now, the actual ground rules. PDA? I know it’s one night, but we need to be convincing. I’m realizing we may also need to fake a breakup at some point in the near future, but we’ll handle that later. Where do we stand?”
"Casual touches are fine. Like that thing you do when you put your hand on my thigh."
"And that thing you do where you take my hand when I'm fidgeting, and you trace little circles into my palm and the back of my hand."
"We're meant to be coming up with rules for things we don't already do," Scott points out. "Like…"
Stiles’ expression gives away where his mind is straying to. "Like…" He sucks in a breath, and quickly says, "Kissing? We shouldn't need to, as most people would probably refrain from kissing in front of their parents anyway, but you know, just in case. Yay or nay?"
Scott's face heats up—the flush spreads down his neck, across his chest, along his arms. He tries not to be obvious about it. It's strange that he's even getting worked up at the thought of this at all.
“Uh, yeah, that would be okay,” he says, but then hesitates. “What kind of kiss are we talking about?”
Stiles shrugs. “Nothing too over-the-top, obviously. Just, you know, a kiss.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to look surprised if you go to kiss me because I didn’t catch some unspoken signal or something.”
“Or we could just, not kiss. Problem solved.”
“No, I don’t mind kissing you, I just want to be prepared,” Scott says. “Like, will you give me a signal before you do it? And who should pull away first? Do I lean in or do you lean in?”
“Okay, are you sure you’ve actually kissed someone before?” Stiles asks.
Scott rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but not while pretending to date someone. Usually, it just… you know, comes naturally. And it’s never usually in front of other people. I don’t know what to expect, I don’t know how you kiss.”
“Fine, if that’s the issue, then come here.”
Scott stops. Goes statue-still, totally frozen. “Wait, what?”
Stiles gestures towards himself. “Well, it makes sense to have kissed at least once before trying to fake one, right? So, that way, we’ll both be prepared if the situation arises. Sound good?”
Scott’s heart is beating so fast that he’s almost certain even Stiles must be able to hear it. His stomach lurches and rolls over itself at the suggestion. Not because he doesn’t want to; surprisingly, he’s almost excited about the idea. The lurching is more of a pack of butterflies, really. That’s weird, definitely never had that before. Not with Stiles .
He finds himself fumbling, but nodding, and presses his open mouth closed. “Yeah. That’s—that’s smart.”
“Okay then,” Stiles says.
He takes in a breath, then he’s leaning forward. Just like that, barely any time for Scott to collect himself. But his eyes know when to close, out of some instinct, and he holds his breath right on time to lean in. He finds him in the middle with a brush of their lips. Stiles presses forward a little more, making full contact, and kisses him properly.
Scott’s heartbeat is somewhere in his stomach and his throat and his head at the same time. He was expecting it to be… different. It is, but he had thought that kissing Stiles would be stranger, would feel less comfortable. But, actually, it feels more comfortable than any other kiss he’s had. They’ve never done it before, and yet it’s like they both know exactly what the other is thinking, when they’re going to move.
Angling his head the tiniest bit, Scott presses forward as well. Stiles easily matches the change in pace when he kisses him faster, staying in sync. It doesn’t even surprise Scott when Stiles’ hand slips up the side of his neck, thumb under his jaw, tilting his head up. It does surprise him how willingly Stiles lets his control melt away the second that Scott’s hands find their way to resting on Stiles’ thighs and his heartbeat skyrockets.
Scott pulls back, breaking the kiss. They’re both a little out of breath, Stiles somewhat more than Scott. Although Scott feels pretty breathless when he takes in the state of Stiles. Pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, lips pink and parted and a little more swollen than usual.
The realization that this is what Stiles looks like after he’s been kissed hits him. This is what he looks like after he ’s kissed him. And, he has to admit, he’s pretty fond of this look.
Blowing out a breath, Stiles nods slowly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and Scott’s stomach does a somersault. Oh no.
Oh, no . No, no, no.
He forces his eyes back up to Stiles’ gaze, pressing his own lips together.
“Okay…” Stiles says, slowly, and oh no , why does his voice sound like that? Why is it deeper like that, and why can Scott not think about anything other than kissing him again?
He can see the bob in Stiles’ throat when he swallows and that’s not better, because now there are images of his lips against Stiles’ throat, his teeth scraping his skin ever so gently, Stiles tilting his head back as far as possible while his hands tangle in Scott’s hair, making these little noises that—
“That was… that was good, uh.” Scott snaps out of it as Stiles clears his throat, shaking his head. He almost looks as flustered as Scott feels. “Yeah, probably shouldn’t do that in front of your parents.”
“Absolutely not,” Scott agrees.
“It was good, though,” Stiles says again. “Like… really good. In terms of, you know, for practice, so that we’re not, um, caught off-guard or anything. ‘Cause, now we’ll be super comfortable with just a—a normal, simple kiss. A simple, fake kiss. Nothing to it.”
He’s rubbing the heel of his hand along his—Scott’s—sweatpants, next to Scott’s own hand still resting on his thigh. Scott can hear his heart ticking away like a woodpecker. The air is suffocating with chemosignals.
“Yeah,” Scott says, and tries to sound at least kind of convincing. “Nothing to it at all. All just… acting. Right?”
Stiles looks at him, wide-eyed. “Uh-huh. Acting! Totally! We’re great at that!”
“So… we should go back downstairs, right? No bases left to cover?”
Stiles swallows again and Scott’s stomach clenches. Shaking his head, Stiles says, “Nope, don’t think so. You’re confident about the kissing thing now?”
“Oh, yeah,” Scott breathes out in a chuckle, and Stiles grins. “Definitely.”
“Okay, then we’re good! We are officially in a fake relationship!”
Scott bites his lip, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Okay, but now I’m a little worried we’re going to seem over-the-top.”
Stiles nods without missing a beat. “Yeah, me too. We need to be casual. Composed. We can manage that, right? I mean, a casual kiss can’t be that hard for us to do?”
Scott stays quiet. In all honesty, right now, in this very moment, he’s not sure Stiles is right about that, because his mind won’t shut up for some reason. He’s never seriously thought about kissing Stiles aside from their joking little pecks on the cheek when they were kids, but now that he’s done it, it’s pretty much all he wants to do.
“Just—come here, we are not half-assing this.”
“I feel like preparing for it is only going to make it less convincing. I mean, we’re not exactly going to be able to tell the other to get ready because we’re about to kiss, can we?”
“Well, no, but if we get comfortable enough, then we’ll be fine with it being a surprise,” Stiles reasons.
“I would say we were pretty comfortable with the first one,” Scott says, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Anymore comfortable and I think we’ll be practising more than a kiss.”
Stiles blinks, eyebrows rising high on his forehead. “Did you just make a sex joke? Dear go—since when were you the one jokingly hitting on me ?”
Scott rolls his eyes and waves a hand at him. “Let’s just figure this out, okay? Come here, kiss me. Just… not like you did before.”
“Why?” Stiles’ mouth twitches as he shifts closer, his disbelief vanishing fairly quickly in place of teasing, because that’s easier, that’s safer. Well, not safer, but it feels more natural for him than this entire situation. “Am I too hard to resist?”
He doesn’t give Scott a chance to answer, because that is dangerous. before he leans in again. Scott still has a few milliseconds to close his eyes, meet him in the middle. This time, it’s just one kiss, their lips moving together once, twice, slow and just as heart-racing as the first, before they break apart.
Stiles pulls back, looking at Scott questioningly. “That felt more convincing, right? More realistic, and definitely more pg.”
Scott swallows, sucking his lips in, and nods. “Mhm. Yep.”
“What? Still not good?” Stiles asks, frowning. “Because I’m pretty sure anyone would believe that kiss. It felt pretty convincing to me!”
That might be the problem, Scott thinks, his stomach-churning. It’s a little too convincing. Possibly because he wasn’t acting, and that’s really a problem, because he needs to be acting. That’s the point of this. That it’s fake.
“Maybe this isn’t a good idea…” Scott says, finally moving his hand from Stiles’ thigh.
“What? No, of course it is!” Stiles insists, grinning, completely oblivious to everything going on in Scott’s head right now. “Look, I know, our chemistry is very hard to resist, but we can do it. It’s just one night! And I will kiss you with the least amount of passion I can possibly muster, all right? But, you know, enough to still be convincing.”
Scott makes a face, snorting. “How do you do both?”
The look on Stiles’ face tells Scott he shouldn’t have asked. He couldn’t resist.
“Well…” Stiles’ voice goes soft, quiet, a murmur as he leans closer, eyes flicking down to Scott’s lips, “... kind of like this?”
Scott’s almost worried to close his eyes this time. But they do it on their own the second that he feels Stiles’ lips brush his. It’s a feather-light press for a second, and Scott’s heart is beating too fast for his completely still body. Then Stiles kisses him again, with a little more pressure, enough for Scott to actually reciprocate—which he does. They’re so slow that it feels like everything else around them is moving at the same speed. Everything frozen in time.
At this point, Scott is having a hard time telling if either of them are acting anymore. Either way, he leans further into Stiles, shifting slightly on the bed to move closer. His hand gently smooths along Stiles’ thigh, and Scott admittedly relishes in the uptick of his heartbeat. His skin warms beneath Stiles’ hands when they move to either side of his neck, pulling him in closer.
It is the complete opposite of lacking in passion is all Scott can think, but he has to admit that it’s definitely convincing. He’s so distracted by Stiles’ lips, hands, his scent, his heartbeat, he doesn’t hear—
“Oh— oh , my god.” His mom quickly turns away, looking at anything but them from the doorway.
“Mom!”
They’re immediately scrambling apart, Stiles practically jumping away from Scott, hands and all returning to his own lap. Scott’s hasty to pull his own hand back from Stiles’ thigh. His entire face is flushing with heat and a good amount of something akin to embarrassment. He feels like a fourteen-year-old that just got caught with the door closed. Then again, an eighteen-year-old with the door closed isn’t much better.
“Um.” His mom throws them a cautious glance, realizes it’s safe and looks at them properly, but she still fumbles for the right words to say. “I was just… coming to check on you, because dinner’s ready, and you said you’d be quick… I… god, please tell me that getting a change of clothes was not a metaphor.”
“Mom! God—no, it wasn’t,” Scott quickly says, shaking his head frantically. “It’s not…”
“It’s not what it looks like!” Stiles chimes in. “We were just acting!”
“Oh, acting?” his mom says, her eyebrows rising with her disbelief. “Is that right?”
Scott groans, closing his eyes, and kind of wishing the earth would swallow him whole. Instead, he explains the plan to her. She keeps the same expression the whole way through, making it difficult to tell what she’s thinking. Though, Scott thinks he can take a pretty good guess.
When they finish explaining, she’s quiet. Very, very quiet. Then she shakes her head.
“Of all the things you two have come up with, this… this is by far the most unbelievable… and yet, completely believable,” she says, to two frowns, then she sighs. “All right. Dinner’s ready.” She points at them. “You two. Downstairs.”
She moves to leave, but Scott’s still reeling slightly and can’t help but stop her in his confusion.
“Wait—mom!” She turns back to them as he shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re okay with this? You don’t… think it’s a bad idea?”
“Oh, I think it’s probably high on the list of your bad ideas,” she assures him. Then she smiles. “But, honey, I want you to be happy. And, trust me, I understand the logic behind it when it comes to your father. So, if this is what makes you most comfortable, then I’m not going to stop you. Just… make it convincing. Do not underestimate him.”
Scott can’t believe she’s even encouraging them on this. He musters a disbelieving smile back and a quick nod as she leaves the room. She leaves the door open as she heads back downstairs.
“Did we… just get your mom’s blessing to date?” Stiles asks, uncertainly, staring at the doorway with a frown.
“I guess so,” Scott answers. He hits Stiles’ arm gently, nods his head towards the door and says, “Come on.”
Stiles bounds to his feet with him, and they hurry back down after his mom.